<!DOCTYPE ETS PUBLIC "-//UMDLPS//DTD EEBOPROOF 2.0//EN">
<ETS>
<TEMPHEAD>
<REVDESCR>
<CHANGE>
<DATE>2011-02-22</DATE>
<RESPSTMT>
<NAME>Kayla Ondracek</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
</RESPSTMT>
<ITEM>Checklist:
x Add TEMPHEAD, change DATE, validate
x Add DIV TYPEs, validate
x Review structure, use BODY or rarely GROUP
x Check PB placement and completeness, ensure sequence of N=""
x Proof title page(s)
x Check HEAD TRAILER ARGUMENT EPIGRAPH OPENER CLOSER SIGNED SALUTE BYLINE
x Check ^, oe, abq, italic I / J, _Initals, space between &amp;c.
x Check # @ -- UNCLEAR LB FIGURE
x Check q; startq endq Q
x Search for GAPs
x Correct illegibles from proofsheet
x Check illegible page, para, line, span, word, dollar signs
x Final validate

Corrected [ ] illegible groups out of [ ].
Converted [ ] illegible groups to GAP DESC="illegible".
DONE</ITEM>
</CHANGE>
</REVDESCR>
</TEMPHEAD>
<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="A20018">
<STC T="S">6457</STC>
<BIBNO T="umi">99845137</BIBNO>
<VID>10022</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT LANG="eng">
<FRONT>
<DIV1 TYPE="title page">
<PB REF="1" MS="y">
<PB REF="1" MS="y">
<P><HI>THE</HI> Schoole of Slovenrie: Or, Cato turnd wrong &s;ide outward.</P>
<P>Tran&s;lated out of Latine into Engli&s;h ver&s;e, to the v&s;e of all Engli&s;h Chri&s;tendome, except Court and Cittie.</P>
<P>By <HI>R. F.</HI> Gent.</P>
<P>LONDON Printed by <HI>Valentine Simmes</HI> dwelling on Adling hill neere Bainards ca&s;tle at the &s;igne of the white Swanne. 1605.</P>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="translator to the reader">
<PB REF="2">
<PB REF="2">
<HEAD>&para; To all that can write and reade and ca&s;t accompt, the Tran&s;lator.</HEAD>
<P>_MAY it plea&s;e you: To bee a foole in Print, is as ordinarie, as a foole at an Ordinarie; and therefore t'were no good fel|low&s;hip to breake companie. Tis a Proverb, The child thats borne mu&s;t be kept, though't be a ba&s;tard, &s;eeing tis murder by the law to make away even the vn|lawfully begotten. If the rugged cadence of this Ver&s;e, and &s;currile har&s;hne&s;&s;e of this &s;ubiect, doe chance to e&s;cape a murdring cen&s;ure <HI>(Quod Dij pri|us omen in ip&s;um)</HI> If: then the Tran&s;lator vowes to conclude, that either Signior <HI>Malevole</HI> his &s;ure of Gumme is fretted out at elbowes, and hee put to the naked &s;hift of keeping his chamber (tis well he hath a chamber;) or at lea&s;t the &s;ubiect of this Booke is entertained with &s;uch abiection, that de|traction like your breath-broaker in a Mid&s;um|mer vacation can find no &s;ubiect to worke vpon. Many a man may <HI>Petere &s;ibi &s;imile,</HI> that intends not <HI>Procreare &s;ibi &s;imile,</HI> may take a &s;natch and away,
<PB REF="3">
that would be loth to be tied to racke and manger, or pa&s;&s;e billes of &s;ope and candle. Tis my ca&s;e: Who, though in the minority of my grammar-&s;choller&s;hip, I was induced by tho&s;e, whom du|tie might not with&s;tand, to vnmaske the&s;e Ro|man manners, and put them on an Engli&s;h face; notwith&s;tanding, witne&s;&s;e my native ba&s;hfull ig|norance, how di&s;tant it ever was from my de&s;ires; nay, how I ever feard to be pre&s;&s;ed to death, by the publike cen&s;ure of tho&s;e, who (as I have heard) have it by Patent to &s;candalize what&s;oever vn|dergoes the publike Pre&s;&s;e. The truth is, this tran|&s;lation was halfe Printed ere I knew who had it: So that <HI>Quo fata trahunt,</HI> without prevention or correction the fooles bolt mu&s;t needes be &s;hot. And this is it. Tho&s;e which mi&s;like the ver&s;e in Engli&s;h, let them reade it in Latine (for I allowe no mi&s;likers, vnle&s;&s;e at lea&s;t they can reade Latin) &amp; then perhaps thei'le wonder that a man of &s;uch wi&s;edome as my Author, being neyther borne a Roman, nor a <HI>Na&s;o,</HI> &s;hould with &s;uch confidence of a generall applau&s;e publi&s;h &s;o elaborate a trifle: from which admiration of yours, I hope your curte&s;ie will derive a miracle viz. my pardon, e&s;pecially con&s;idering that both <HI>Ovid</HI> and <HI>Virgill</HI> (both Poets Laureat) have beene metamorpho|&s;ed into as indige&s;t and breathle&s;&s;e a kind of ver&s;e
<PB REF="3">
as this. All that I can &s;ay for my Author, is, hee &s;peakes broad Engli&s;h, but by contraries: all for my&s;elfe, is, tis a Punies tran&s;lation onely, an or|phane, how&s;oever (fathered vpon me, becau&s;e I taught him Engli&s;h, yet begotten without my pre&s;ence, borne before my witte, and publi&s;hed again&s;t my will, vnle&s;&s;e wee may be &s;aide to will what we can not prevent. So fare ye well, and I pray picke as much matter out of this Epi&s;tle, as may be,</P>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>Yours in print again&s;t his will, R.F. Gent. and no more.</SIGNED></CLOSER>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="preface">
<PB REF="4">
<HEAD>&para; The Preface of <HI>Frederike Dedekind to mai&s;ter</HI> Simon Bing <HI>Secretarie</HI> of Ha&s;sia.</HEAD>
<L>_SVch happine&s;&s;e on you (deere friend)</L>
<L>the heau'ns I pray be&s;tow,</L>
<L>As you for your &s;o vertuous minde</L>
<L>mo&s;t requi&s;ite doe know.</L>
<L>If that your matters of more weight</L>
<L>did not your pre&s;ence crave,</L>
<L>Your coun&s;ell and your ayde, concerning</L>
<L>this my booke I'de have.</L>
<L>My Mu&s;e, which whilome in two bookes</L>
<L>did ru&s;ticke faults deride,</L>
<L>I have recalld, and into three,</L>
<L>foorthwith will it divide.</L>
<L>And now againe, through all the worlde</L>
<L>I purpo&s;e it to &s;end,</L>
<L>If fortune, friends, and you doe favour</L>
<L>that which I intend,</L>
<L>Then marke I pray, for vnto you</L>
<L>I'le open all the truth,</L>
<L>My minde, my meaning, and intent,</L>
<L>vnto well nurturde youth.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e manners which vn&s;eemely are</L>
<L>in the&s;e decaying times:</L>
<L>And auntient rude &s;implicitie</L>
<L>I checke in ie&s;ting rimes:</L>
<L><PB REF="4">If this my Booke will profite yeeld</L>
<L>to men of any kind,</L>
<L>And make them weed home-bred behavior,</L>
<L>quite out of their minde:</L>
<L>That's all I want, that's all I crave,</L>
<L>that is the furthe&s;t &s;cope</L>
<L>Of all my paines, of all my cares,</L>
<L>of all my furde&s;t hope.</L>
<L>But out alas, how dares my Mu&s;e</L>
<L>&s;uch good &s;ucce&s;&s;e ex&s;pect?</L>
<L>Since bad mens ill conditions</L>
<L>do &s;o the times infect.</L>
<L>I hope, but other mens examples</L>
<L>do me much di&s;may,</L>
<L>Which have in vaine whole ages &s;pent</L>
<L>in coun&s;elling that way.</L>
<L>What skill'&s;t too late for to relate</L>
<L>renowned <HI>Platoes</HI> Bookes?</L>
<L>And all tho&s;e lights, and guides, who&s;e lo&s;&s;e</L>
<L>poore <HI>Greece</HI> but hardly brookes,</L>
<L>Which tride indeede, but all in vaine,</L>
<L>tho&s;e vices to amend,</L>
<L>Which did mens mindes, by follies meanes,</L>
<L>in bea&s;tly &s;ort offend.</L>
<L>And for our later Latine writers,</L>
<L>did they aught prevaile?</L>
<L>Which did &s;o long, with &s;uch great paines,</L>
<L>gain&s;t ru&s;ticke vices raile.</L>
<L>Did not &s;age <HI>Tully</HI> in his bookes,</L>
<L>mens dueties plainely tell?</L>
<L>And teach both yong and old, the meanes,</L>
<L>to live and die right well?</L>
<L><PB REF="5">Yet for all this, what good? what gaines?</L>
<L>procur'd that learned worke,</L>
<L>Since vntamde actions well doe &s;hew,</L>
<L>what in mens minds doth lurke:</L>
<L>So did old learned <HI>Roterodam</HI></L>
<L>&s;et foorth a booke of price,</L>
<L>From which, for manners &s;traite&s;t rule,</L>
<L>all youth might take advi&s;e,</L>
<L>And yet what profite did he get</L>
<L>by that mo&s;t worthy booke?</L>
<L>Or who did on it, as he ought,</L>
<L>for better coun&s;ell looke?</L>
<L>Too few do now (God wot) regard</L>
<L>that jewell of &s;uch price,</L>
<L>Whenas whole multitudes of men</L>
<L>runne headlong vnto vice.</L>
<L>I touch not heere &s;mall common faults,</L>
<L>of a di&s;orderd life,</L>
<L>(Although of the&s;e in every place</L>
<L>the world is too too rife)</L>
<L>But let them pa&s;&s;e as trifling faults,</L>
<L>and vertues, in re&s;pect</L>
<L>Of tho&s;e great crimes and bea&s;tly deedes,</L>
<L>which I will heere detect.</L>
<L>For you &s;hall finde, if you vncloake</L>
<L>mens manners ba&s;e and rude,</L>
<L>Many which in Ru&s;ticitie,</L>
<L>farre pa&s;&s;e the multitude.</L>
<L>Put ca&s;e you finde them eating meate,</L>
<L>to &s;tuffe them till they bur&s;t,</L>
<L>Or quaffing liquor pot by pot,</L>
<L>to quench their drunken thur&s;t.</L>
<L><PB REF="5">You'le &s;weare they do no whit re&s;pect</L>
<L>the end of their creation,</L>
<L>Nay, (which is more,) you'le almo&s;t &s;weare</L>
<L>they care for no &s;alvation.</L>
<L>What though their &s;ouls were &s;ent from heaven?</L>
<L>as things of peerele&s;&s;e price,</L>
<L>Yet thei'le love Rea&s;on wor&s;e then Follie.</L>
<L>Vertue wor&s;e then Vice.</L>
<L>They &s;quare their actions by the rule</L>
<L>of bea&s;ts of bruti&s;h kinde,</L>
<L>And to their bellies blinde de&s;ires,</L>
<L>they captivate their minde.</L>
<L>Their wide &s;tretcht guts, beyond the v&s;e</L>
<L>of Nature or of neede,</L>
<L>In every place, at every time,</L>
<L>vn&s;atiately they feede.</L>
<L>Pots by the dozens filld to'th brims,</L>
<L>into their guts they pre&s;&s;e,</L>
<L>Whenas (God knowes,) their greate&s;t thir&s;t</L>
<L>might well be quench'd with le&s;&s;e.</L>
<L>If after Gods gifts thus abus'd,</L>
<L>they heere at length would end,</L>
<L>T'were well, but they ex&s;pect for faults,</L>
<L>that men &s;hould them commend.</L>
<L>And yet this fault, this great offence,</L>
<L>which daily men live in,</L>
<L>By cu&s;tome and continuance,</L>
<L>goes currant for no &s;in.</L>
<L>But what's the cau&s;e I pray, that men</L>
<L>neglecting coun&s;ells guide,</L>
<L>Leave Vertues &s;traight and narrow path,</L>
<L>and hold on Vices &s;ide?</L>
<L><PB REF="6">Why this, bid him that doth offend,</L>
<L>in &s;ober quiet talke,</L>
<L>To mend his faults, and in the &s;teps</L>
<L>of vertuous men to walke.</L>
<L>Hee'le either laugh in plea&s;ant &s;ort,</L>
<L>as if you tolde a ie&s;t,</L>
<L>Or el&s;e with &s;corning &s;couling lookes,</L>
<L>your ab&s;ence hee'le reque&s;t.</L>
<L>But if again&s;t his greater faults,</L>
<L>with bitter words you &s;colde,</L>
<L>Hee'le tell you that in others faults,</L>
<L>your iudgement is too bolde.</L>
<L>So that, he which doth nowadaies,</L>
<L>precepts of manners give,</L>
<L>May preach, and teach, but all in vaine,</L>
<L>men as they li&s;t will live.</L>
<L>And &s;o, good men which in this &s;ubiect</L>
<L>have great &s;tudie &s;pent,</L>
<L>Have lo&s;t their labor, for to follow them,</L>
<L>no man is bent.</L>
<L>And yet example of their fortune,</L>
<L>troubleth me no whit,</L>
<L>But that &s;ame marke which all they mi&s;&s;t,</L>
<L>I'le venture for to hit.</L>
<L>And though to dance after their pipe,</L>
<L>the vulgar &s;ort refu&s;e,</L>
<L>Yet I'le pre&s;ume to teach them manners,</L>
<L>which they ought to v&s;e.</L>
<L>Perhaps I &s;hall be counted ra&s;h,</L>
<L>and all my hopes but vaine:</L>
<L>And yet I'le hope, perhaps my meanes</L>
<L>more auditors will gaine.</L>
<L><PB REF="6">Dame Fortune is vncon&s;tant, changing</L>
<L>cour&s;e each other while:</L>
<L>Then, though on &s;ome &s;he frowne,</L>
<L>yet &s;he on me may glance a &s;mile.</L>
<L>Tu&s;h, no man knowes the wages, which</L>
<L>I looke for at her hand,</L>
<L>I doubt not but the vulgar &s;ort</L>
<L>my methode will command.</L>
<L>Fortune, I'le try thee, for I thinke</L>
<L>in triall there's no harme;</L>
<L>And god <HI>Apollo</HI> from ill lucke,</L>
<L>my enterpri&s;es charme.</L>
<L>What though perhaps I not prevaile?</L>
<L>t'is but my labour lo&s;t,</L>
<L>A few ill ver&s;es &s;pent in vaine,</L>
<L>and this is all my co&s;t.</L>
<L>But for becau&s;e au&s;tere commands,</L>
<L>and precepts cannot win,</L>
<L>Which &s;ay, that all but hone&s;tie,</L>
<L>to do, or thinke, is &s;in.</L>
<L>I'le try by other meanes new found,</L>
<L>the &s;elfe-&s;ame marke to hit,</L>
<L>Refu&s;ing all tho&s;e other waies,</L>
<L>wherein fore-fathers writ.</L>
<L>Free leave to live di&s;ordredly,</L>
<L>vnto all &s;orts I give,</L>
<L>And I command, that in good order,</L>
<L>none pre&s;ume to live.</L>
<L>Each clowne &s;hall &s;ee what fits him be&s;t,</L>
<L>and what his manners be,</L>
<L>And I affirme, that craftie deeds</L>
<L>with crafty knaves agree.</L>
<L><PB REF="7">Perhaps when many &s;ee the&s;e faults</L>
<L>&s;o fitting their owne name,</L>
<L>Such clowni&s;h manners from their mindes,</L>
<L>thei'le bani&s;h quite for &s;hame.</L>
<L>No other meanes is left behinde,</L>
<L>to cure this eating &s;ore,</L>
<L>For being &s;encele&s;&s;e of their faults,</L>
<L>they love them more and more.</L>
<L>Within the minde of &s;infull man,</L>
<L>vice now hath got &s;uch roote,</L>
<L>As by &s;light meanes to weede it out,</L>
<L>it would be little boote.</L>
<L>Yet let vs not di&s;paire for helpe,</L>
<L>&s;ince this one meanes is left,</L>
<L>Whereby our mindes of vices buds,</L>
<L>may quickly be bereft.</L>
<L>Since to forbid vice will not helpe,</L>
<L>we will alow vice too;</L>
<L>The common people, that which you</L>
<L>forbid them, often doo.</L>
<L>Health mo&s;t di&s;paired, healths greate&s;t cau&s;er,</L>
<L>&s;ometimes proved is,</L>
<L>And that from which men looke for bale,</L>
<L>doth often bring forth bli&s;&s;e.</L>
<L>You &s;ee the good Phi&s;itian,</L>
<L>whenas he cannot cure</L>
<L>By medcines might, a &s;icknes great, &s;prung</L>
<L>from a bod<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter"> impure.</L>
<L>How many waies he &s;eekes, to ea&s;e</L>
<L>his patients grievous &s;mart,</L>
<L>By &s;eeking learned phi&s;ickes aide,</L>
<L>by labour or by Art.</L>
<L><PB REF="7">One while with Poticarie drugs,</L>
<L>he mitigates his paine:</L>
<L>Now he with du&s;t opens his wounds,</L>
<L>now &s;huts them vp againe.</L>
<L>One while with mangling &s;alve, he cuts</L>
<L>a member almo&s;t dead,</L>
<L>Another while he &s;eares the &s;ame,</L>
<L>with yron burning red.</L>
<L>At length when all <HI>Machaons</HI> arte</L>
<L>and phi&s;ickes force hath done,</L>
<L>(And yet the patient is as &s;icke,</L>
<L>as when he fir&s;t begunne.</L>
<L>He gives him hote pre&s;ervatives,</L>
<L>to comfort vp his heart,</L>
<L>But all in vaine, he &s;till is &s;icke,</L>
<L>(di&s;ea&s;es ma&s;ter Art.)</L>
<L>At length he comes to contraries,</L>
<L>and alters quite the ca&s;e,</L>
<L>From hote, to colde, he gives him Antidots</L>
<L>in Cordialls place.</L>
<L>And thus to him he doth re&s;tore</L>
<L>his vnex&s;pected health,</L>
<L>Which he before could not procure,</L>
<L>by phi&s;icke, friends, nor wealth.</L>
<L>So I perceiving whole&s;ome precepts,</L>
<L>fitting for the minde,</L>
<L>Neglected, and fault-finders workes,</L>
<L>to purcha&s;e naught but winde.</L>
<L>All that which good men ought to practi&s;e,</L>
<L>I forbid them flat,</L>
<L>And all which country clownage</L>
<L>counteth currant, I bid that.</L>
<L><PB REF="8">That &s;o, whereas throughout my booke.</L>
<L>I &s;till forbid the good,</L>
<L>The contrarie I meane, the bad</L>
<L>I would have vnder&s;tood.</L>
<L>Perhaps while &s;ome with greedie minde,</L>
<L>my ie&s;ting rimes doth view,</L>
<L>He &s;hall behold of his owne life,</L>
<L>a looking-gla&s;&s;e mo&s;t true.</L>
<L>And blu&s;hing, of his owne accord,</L>
<L>when no man doth him &s;ee,</L>
<L>Will &s;pie his faults, and mend them all,</L>
<L>and give &s;ome thanks to mee.</L>
<L>But by the way, thou which within</L>
<L>this gla&s;&s;e do&s;t thus behold</L>
<L>Thine owne di&s;ordred manners, and</L>
<L>thy life, be not &s;o bold,</L>
<L>As to finde fault with me thy friend,</L>
<L>or with my little booke,</L>
<L>Which vpon thee, as vpon all, with</L>
<L>&s;elfe-&s;ame eyes doth looke.</L>
<L>If any will a&s;&s;ume the&s;e faults</L>
<L>as theirs, at the fir&s;t view,</L>
<L>Know they that they confe&s;&s;e them&s;elves</L>
<L>&s;ome of the ru&s;ticke crew.</L>
<L>Wherefore, vnle&s;&s;e he purpo&s;e</L>
<L>to proclaime him&s;elfe a clowne,</L>
<L>All anger lately taken vp,</L>
<L>I wi&s;h him to lay downe.</L>
<L>Perhaps &s;ome &s;evere Catoni&s;t</L>
<L>will this my booke accu&s;e,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e I good behaviour,</L>
<L>by contraries abu&s;e.</L>
<L><PB REF="8">And &s;ay that I in common &s;ence,</L>
<L>have made a grievous breach,</L>
<L>Who tho&s;e things, which to do t'is &s;inne,</L>
<L>have thus pre&s;um'd to teach.</L>
<L>And I confe&s;&s;e, within my booke</L>
<L>there are bad precepts &s;tore,</L>
<L>And I may &s;eeme to &s;purre a hor&s;e,</L>
<L>which ranne too fa&s;t before.</L>
<L>But tho&s;e which looke into the worlds</L>
<L>bad nature with good eyes,</L>
<L>I thinke concerning this my booke,</L>
<L>will iudge farre otherwi&s;e.</L>
<L>And finde that in this booke of mine,</L>
<L>no hurt at all doth lurke,</L>
<L>But that a man without much danger,</L>
<L>may perv&s;e this worke.</L>
<L>For clowni&s;h cu&s;tomes long ago,</L>
<L>have made our mindes &s;o bad,</L>
<L>That to our ill behaviours</L>
<L>we can no wor&s;er adde.</L>
<L>We neede not have a ma&s;ter then,</L>
<L>to make vs &s;inne the more,</L>
<L>For we without a guide, of vice</L>
<L>can quickly get great &s;tore.</L>
<L>Men &s;inne mo&s;t willingly, and for their</L>
<L>hainous faults &s;eeke prai&s;e,</L>
<L>And have &s;uch per&s;ons as will &s;till,</L>
<L>to skies their vices rai&s;e.</L>
<L>What&s;e're I write, in other men</L>
<L>I often have it &s;eene,</L>
<L>From things oft done, the &s;ubiect of</L>
<L>my booke deriv'd hath beene.</L>
<L><PB REF="9">Tho&s;e faults, which ere I thought to write,</L>
<L>in other men were knowne:</L>
<L>How can you iu&s;tly &s;ay, that I</L>
<L>devi&s;de them of mine owne?</L>
<L>Or by what meanes &s;hould this my booke,</L>
<L>make any to be bad,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e before from vertues paths,</L>
<L>their mindes declined had?</L>
<L>Wherefore I guiltle&s;&s;e am of this,</L>
<L>that I &s;hould now devi&s;e,</L>
<L>Or &s;et new found ru&s;ticitie,</L>
<L>before the readers eyes.</L>
<L>If none I profite, (as God knowes,)</L>
<L>I meane to profite many,</L>
<L>Yet &s;ure I know that this my booke</L>
<L>can bring no hurt to any.</L>
<L>And now at length (my good friend <HI>Bing,</HI>)</L>
<L>who&s;e favour I e&s;teeme,</L>
<L>Thou which the chiefe of all my friendes,</L>
<L>at all my neede ha&s;t beene;</L>
<L>Re&s;pect the&s;e youthfull ver&s;es, fruits</L>
<L>of an vntamed braine,</L>
<L>And let your favour the&s;e my lines,</L>
<L>with wonted love maintaine.</L>
<L>Be ready now to take tuition</L>
<L>of my booke and me,</L>
<L>And let my ver&s;e be patroniz'd,</L>
<L>vnder the name of thee.</L>
<L>Gain&s;t all the poi&s;ned tongues of tho&s;e,</L>
<L>that would my booke defame,</L>
<L>Defend the&s;e trifling toyes of mine,</L>
<L>vnder thy worthie name.</L>
<L><PB REF="9">In briefe, this booke with all his faults,</L>
<L>I dedicate to thee,</L>
<L>That by thy hand from after-claps,</L>
<L>it may defended bee.</L>
<L>If aught I have, (as &s;ure I have)</L>
<L>let pa&s;&s;e in this my booke,</L>
<L>Supply the wants I you de&s;ire,</L>
<L>as over it you looke.</L>
<L>If any thing in this my worke,</L>
<L>be added more then &s;hould,</L>
<L>Correct it for its ma&s;ters &s;ake,</L>
<L>for &s;o full faine I would.</L>
<L>And &s;o I being well per&s;waded,</L>
<L>of your &s;trength and might,</L>
<L>Commit this &s;cepter to your hand,</L>
<L>which is your owne by right.</L>
<L>And furthermore, vnto your lawes,</L>
<L>all &s;uch I do &s;ubiect,</L>
<L>Which this my perfect worke, of old</L>
<L>Simplicitie re&s;pect.</L>
<L>Behold your mightie empire &s;tretcheth</L>
<L>over &s;ea and land,</L>
<L>And in all kingdomes of the earth,</L>
<L>your kingdome hath command.</L>
<L>For this great gift, what benefit</L>
<L>can you repay to mee?</L>
<L>Let me be thine, and thou be mine,</L>
<L>that's all I aske of thee.</L>
<L>Keepe me thy friend, and with the favour</L>
<L>which thou ha&s;t begunne,</L>
<L>Pur&s;ue me, and my heart to thee</L>
<L>for ever thou ha&s;t wonne.</L>
<L><PB REF="10">Behold thy friend, whom if thou lov'&s;t,</L>
<L>as of him lov'd thou art,</L>
<L>Thou mai&s;t command to do thee good,</L>
<L>him&s;elfe, his goods, his heart.</L>
<L>And if the gods re&s;pect my thoughts,</L>
<L>I hope ere long, to &s;end</L>
<L>A greater matter than this trifle,</L>
<L>for thee to defend.</L>
<L>Meane time, becau&s;e thou of thy &s;elfe,</L>
<L>de&s;erve&s;t to live ever,</L>
<L>The gods pre&s;erve thee from all harme, and</L>
<L>grant thee to die never.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="table of contents">
<PB REF="10">
<HEAD>&leaf; A Table of the contents of every <HI>Chapter in this Booke.</HI></HEAD>
<LIST>
<ITEM>OF mode&s;ty to be ob&s;erved in the morning, in the apparell, the haire, and making cleane of the face and teeth. folio 2</ITEM>
<ITEM>The breakfa&s;t, and ordering the body and lookes 4</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of waiting at the table. 9</ITEM>
<ITEM>Behaviour at the table before meate. 13</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of manners in eating. 16</ITEM>
<ITEM>Concerning manners after dinner. 21</ITEM>
<ITEM>The adorning of the table before &s;upper, and other dueties. 26</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of waiting at the table in &s;upper time. 30</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of the v&s;age of the gue&s;ts after &s;upper. 35</ITEM>
<ITEM>Concerning the talking, debating, and wrangling of the gue&s;ts. 38</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of &s;ending away the gue&s;ts, and what is requi&s;ite to be done before you go to bed. 42</ITEM>
</LIST>
<DIV2 N="2" TYPE="book">
<PB REF="11">
<HEAD>The &s;econd Booke.</HEAD>
<LIST>
<ITEM>HOW to prepare him&s;elfe being invited of an o|ther. 47</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of behaviour in eating. 52</ITEM>
<ITEM>Behaviour at the table after the fir&s;t cour&s;e. 55</ITEM>
<ITEM>As concerning other precepts of mode&s;tie in eating and drinking. 50</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of devouring, laughing, vomiting at the table, and other &s;uch like civilities to be ob&s;erved. 63</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of wa&s;hing the handes after &s;upper, &s;econd cour&s;es, and how to behave your &s;elfe in the company of maides. 67</ITEM>
<ITEM>Concerning exclaiming after &s;upper, goeing out, and bargaining for the next nights &s;upper. 71</ITEM>
<ITEM>How going drunke home you &s;houlde behave your &s;elfe in the way homeward, after &s;leepe, and the day after. 76</ITEM>
<ITEM>How to entertaine, v&s;e, and &s;end away your gue&s;ts. 89</ITEM>
</LIST>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="3" TYPE="book">
<PB REF="11">
<HEAD>The third Booke.</HEAD>
<LIST>
<ITEM>BEhaviour at an hone&s;t fea&s;t in eating brewe&s;&s;e and crab-fi&s;h. 87</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of daintine&s;&s;e of drinke, and behaviour when you departe. 91</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of &s;coffes, farting, hawking, aun&s;wering to a de|maunde, and looking into other mennes let|ters. 95</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of behavior in other mens hou&s;es, diver&s;e-colored parted coates, the adorning of the beard, the v&s;e of papers and bookes, entertaining friends, and other &s;uch like civilities. 99</ITEM>
<ITEM>Examples of civilitie at the table. 105</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of emptying the bladder, vomiting, and other &s;uch like elegancies of behaviour. 112</ITEM>
<ITEM>Of belching, holding his vrine, and &s;uch like rude|ne&s;&s;e. 121</ITEM>
<ITEM><HI>Grobiana,</HI> concerning the behavior of maides. 126</ITEM>
</LIST>
</DIV2>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="to the reader">
<PB REF="12">
<HEAD>&para; The Author to &s;uch as love Civilitie, health:</HEAD>
<L>Give place time-&s;courging <HI>Ari&s;totle,</HI> vice-controuling <HI>Plato,</HI></L>
<L>Yeeld learned <HI>Tully,</HI> deepe <HI>Era&s;mus,</HI> and fault-finding <HI>Cato:</HI></L>
<L>And you which by your tedious works, though to your mickle paine,</L>
<L>Did teach behaviours perfect meanes, and manners to attaine.</L>
<L>This Booke, which from a new found Schoole of late time did ari&s;e,</L>
<L>Behaviours pure &s;implicitie within it doth compri&s;e:</L>
<L>Then yong and olde that doe de&s;ire nurture and education,</L>
<L>Peru&s;e this Booke each day and houre, with great deliberation.</L>
</DIV1>
</FRONT>
<BODY>
<DIV1 N="1" TYPE="book">
<PB N="1" REF="12">
<HEAD>THE FIRST BOOKE OF antient Simplicitie of Behavi|our. Written by M. Fredericke Dedekinde.</HEAD>
<L>_IF thou de&s;ire an antient, harmele&s;&s;e, &s;imple life to lead,</L>
<L>And in old, homely, clowni&s;h plow-mens perfit &s;teps to tread:</L>
<L>Come hither, and vnto my ver&s;e lend thine attentive eare,</L>
<L>It may be for thy private v&s;e, &s;ome profit thou mai&s;t heare.</L>
<L>Perv&s;e it through, and it no doubt, a way to thee will tell,</L>
<L>How to conforme thy manners &s;o, as thou mai&s;t live right well:</L>
<L>Doubt not a &s;ingle &s;imple man, thou certainely &s;halt be,</L>
<L>If thou with good advi&s;e doo&s;t marke, the things thou learn'&s;t of me.</L>
<L>Too hard and intricate a thing it is, and farre from ea&s;e,</L>
<L>So &s;trictly to behave thy &s;elfe, as all men thou mai&s;t plea&s;e:</L>
<L>Tho&s;e I commend, which &s;corne to &s;uffer every paltry foole</L>
<L>To weigh their words, and iudge their deedes, as Mai&s;ter of a Schoole.</L>
<L>And tho&s;e which &s;corn a ma&s;ters check, and think their own deeds good,</L>
<L>Are right true Troyans, gallant &s;ouldiers, brave men by the Rood:</L>
<L>Pine-girted <HI>Silvane,</HI> country god, thou art mo&s;t welcome hither,</L>
<L>Concerning country cu&s;tomes, let vs two conferre together.</L>
<L>The prai&s;e of rude &s;implicitie, in country &s;waines wee'le &s;ing,</L>
<L>Of all my thoughts, of all my words, O <HI>Silvane</HI> thou art king:</L>
<L>You mountaine-treading gods in woods and fields, I you reque&s;t,</L>
<L>Declare to me, for country-men, the life that you thinke be&s;t.</L>
<L><PB N="2" REF="13">Old <HI>Bacchus</HI> father, god of wine, be&s;t knowne to drunken crew,</L>
<L>The perfect way of quaffing right, &s;et downe before my view:</L>
<L>And thou which of the gut wert wont iolly governour to be,</L>
<L>Further me, if I chance to handle all thy rights and thee.</L>
<L>And thou neate god Ru&s;ticitie, the greate&s;t of our time,</L>
<L>Be pre&s;ent heere, and &s;et thy hands to this my Ru&s;ticke rime:</L>
<L>T'is no &s;mall thing in perfect &s;ort, good manners thus to frame,</L>
<L>Great men, good &s;chollers, have beene oft times troubled with the &s;ame.</L>
<L>Yet by the helpe of all tho&s;e gods and godde&s;&s;es Ile try,</L>
<L>To pa&s;&s;e the tedious laborinth, of this &s;implicitie:</L>
<L>O helpe (friend <HI>Bing.</HI>) judge of this cau&s;e, your aide heerein I aske,</L>
<L>For tru&s;ting to your helpe and aide, I vnder-go this taske.</L>
<L>If then my Mu&s;e with cheerefull lookes, you kindely do revive,</L>
<L>My vaine will be more plentifull, my ver&s;e will better thrive.</L>
<DIV2 N="1" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>What mode&s;tie is to be ob&s;erved each morning in the apparell, and making the haire, the face, and the teeth cleane. <HI>Chapter. I.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>WHo&s;e're thou art that hat'&s;t at heart a Ma&s;ters crabbed charge,</L>
<L>Which reades a Lecture every day of gravitie at large:</L>
<L>Harke hither, come and heare this man, a man of quiet &s;peech,</L>
<L>No thunder-thumping Catoni&s;t, you neede him not be&s;eech.</L>
<L>My &s;peech is brode, be rul'd, and then Ile do the be&s;t I can,</L>
<L>Be rudible, and &s;ure I thinke you'le prove a learned man:</L>
<L>Be but a carefull and: for and &s;choller vnto me,</L>
<L>And then you'le &s;oone excell your Ma&s;ter in &s;implicitie.</L>
<L>What though &s;ome crabbed wittall do not like my precepts well,</L>
<L>Yet they can never hurte you, if you marke all that I tell.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When <HI>Morpheus</HI> drow&s;ie god of &s;leepe, from bed doth thee di&s;mi&s;&s;e,</L>
<L>(Which mu&s;t be iu&s;t at dinner time, for &s;o my coun&s;ell is:)</L>
<L>Thy parents ble&s;&s;ing never aske, learne that good point of me,</L>
<L>This is a rule and perfect note, of great civilitie.</L>
<L><PB N="3" REF="13">Good morrow nor good even to friend nor foe impart too fa&s;t:</L>
<L>If they beginne, repay no thanks, walke on, you are in ha&s;te:</L>
<L>What though you both &s;hould v&s;e, to both you know t'would be but vaine,</L>
<L>Then loo&s;e no words, for good words pa&s;t, cannot be cal'd againe.</L>
<L>Let fond Hebritians which account, their &s;uper&s;tition wealth,</L>
<L>Salute their friends, pray for their foes, and aske them of their health:</L>
<L>T'is vaine to have &s;o great a care, of &s;uch &s;uperfluous things,</L>
<L>This too much care to iocond youth, white haires and &s;orrow brings.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When you are vp, to &s;tretch your &s;elfe, de&s;erveth mickle prai&s;e;</L>
<L>This is pre&s;crib'd by all that practi&s;e phi&s;icke in our daies:</L>
<L>For when your &s;inews numb'd with &s;leepe, cannot performe their worke,</L>
<L>This &s;tretching drives away all numbne&s;&s;e, which in them did lurke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Being out of bed, let it &s;uffice, to clothe thee in thy &s;hurt,</L>
<L>To &s;tay to put on all thy clothes, with colde thou might&s;t thee hurt:</L>
<L>All thy apparrell el&s;e get vp forth-with vnder thine arme,</L>
<L>Then to the chimney corner runne, for there thou mai&s;t it warme.</L>
<L>What though a maide or married wife, be there before thou come,</L>
<L>Go forward with thy purpo&s;e though, as thou would&s;t er&s;t have done.</L>
<L>If any man obiect to thee, that manners thou doo&s;t lacke,</L>
<L>Bid him if he mi&s;like that &s;ight, be gone and &s;hew his backe.</L>
<L>Let every man give place to thee, thy &s;elfe give place to none,</L>
<L>What man? why Nature made thee free, then boldely hold thine owne.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>At length, when thou art well araide, let both thy ho&s;e hang downe</L>
<L>About thy heeles, this onely thing will get thee great renowne:</L>
<L>For by this &s;ecret meanes, the maides will &s;eeke thy love to have,</L>
<L>And every wench thee for her husband, of her friends will crave.</L>
<L>Your rea&s;on &s;ir. O &s;ir, there is a &s;peciall rea&s;on why,</L>
<L>I cannot &s;tay to tell it now, Ile tell it by and by.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Simplicitie commands, that you forget to tru&s;&s;e your pointes,</L>
<L>Hard tying is an enimie to bellie and to ioynts.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Le&s;t &s;ome men &s;ay, you are too han&s;ome, ne're combe your haire,</L>
<L>As Nature &s;ets it, and bed leaves it, v&s;e it &s;o to weare:</L>
<L>Leave plaited haires, and curled lockes, vnto the female &s;ex,</L>
<L>And let them v&s;e to combe their haire, whom cruell love doth vex.</L>
<L>Beleeve me, not a wench vnto thee will affection beare,</L>
<L>If &s;he perceive that thou ob&s;erv'&s;t &s;uch nicene&s;&s;e in thy haire:</L>
<L><PB N="4" REF="14">Who can abide yong men that dre&s;&s;e them&s;elves as female crew,</L>
<L>A Creeti&s;h dame writ to an Amazonian lover true:</L>
<L>Tis prai&s;e and credite to have feathers &s;tore vpon your head,</L>
<L>For thereby men may well perceive, you &s;corne &s;traw in your bed.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>In any ca&s;e cut not your haire, but let it hang at length,</L>
<L>For t'will both keepe away the colde, and argue <HI>Samp&s;ons</HI> &s;trength.</L>
<L>When father <HI>Saturne</HI> rulde the world, all men did v&s;e long haire,</L>
<L>And gloried in it, though now wenches v&s;e it mo&s;t to weare:</L>
<L>Fore-fathers plaine &s;implicitie, is prais'd in every place,</L>
<L>Then let not vs di&s;daine to v&s;e it, it is no di&s;grace.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thy face and hands too oft to wa&s;h, is cau&s;e of mickle hurt,</L>
<L>Therefore (a Gods name) let them both, have ever &s;tore of durt:</L>
<L>Let other men, that with hands, have care to wa&s;h them cleane;</L>
<L>But as for wa&s;hing of my hands, to take no care I meane.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Some nice-controuling mate, will coun&s;ell thee to wa&s;h thy teeth;</L>
<L>But I &s;ay water in the mouth, not with the health agreeth:</L>
<L>What though your teeth through o're-much ru&s;t, are dide to a red hue?</L>
<L>That is a perfect &s;affron colour, t'will much credite you.</L>
<L>What other colour then this red, hath the bright glittering gold,</L>
<L>For which pro&s;&s;e&s;&s;ions, tenements, lands, lives, and all are &s;old?</L>
<L>Then thinke not, that golds perfect colour, doth your teeth di&s;grace,</L>
<L>That colour which in few mens pur&s;es, in your teeth hath place.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="2" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>The breakefa&s;t, the mode&s;tie of the eyes, the forehead and the no&s;thrills: al&s;o of pratling, &s;neezing, bawdine&s;&s;e, belching and going, and behaviour in the &s;treetes. <HI>Chapter II.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>WHen your are vp, before that &s;leepe hath fully left your eyes,</L>
<L>Call for you breakefa&s;t pre&s;ently, marke that in any wi&s;e.</L>
<L>Which being got, incontinent, with both hands gripe it round,</L>
<L>Le&s;t if you take not &s;ure fa&s;t hold, it &s;lip vpon the ground,</L>
<L>At breakefa&s;t never v&s;e a trencher, wherefore &s;erves your hand?</L>
<L><PB N="5" REF="14">At dinner time t'is farre more meete vpon &s;uch pointes to &s;tand.</L>
<L>In any ca&s;e &s;ee that the fat runne downe thy fingers thicke,</L>
<L>Which with your tongue as downe it runnes, you alwaies ought to licke.</L>
<L>As for a ready way at meate, your dinner to devoure,</L>
<L>I cannot tell you yet, but you &s;hall heare within this houre.</L>
<L>For fir&s;t I mu&s;t in&s;truct you how, your bodie for to frame,</L>
<L>And all your lookes in fitte&s;t &s;ort, then briefly of the &s;ame.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And fir&s;t in any ca&s;e take heede, of too much mode&s;tie,</L>
<L>For that doth very much abhorre; from true &s;implicitie.</L>
<L>I&s;t not a fooli&s;h thing, that yong hot bloods &s;hould be &s;o nice,</L>
<L>You will be callde a ledden &s;louthfull fellow of the wi&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>I will that all men with turnde lookes, you v&s;e for to behold,</L>
<L>For if you looke men in the face, they'le &s;ay you are too bold.</L>
<L>Tis not allowed that tender youth, &s;uch gravitie &s;hould v&s;e,</L>
<L>Wherefore with di&s;tort eyes and forehead, every man abu&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Let &s;uch as learne at vertues &s;choole, and purpo&s;e to be wi&s;e,</L>
<L>And &s;eeke to live by others prai&s;es, care for ba&s;hfull eyes.</L>
<L>But as for you, we give you leave, each way to rowle your eye,</L>
<L>Then v&s;e it, for it is a marke of great &s;implicitie.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Tis not ami&s;&s;e though &s;tore of wrinckles, do thy forehead plow,</L>
<L>And though your face be full of furrowes, we will it allow.</L>
<L>Tis like a plowing heifers face, that many a blow of might</L>
<L>Hath borne; or like a &s;avage bea&s;t, which gain&s;t a man doth fight:</L>
<L>Even &s;o a valiant gentleman, his countenance &s;hould frame,</L>
<L>Which hopes by &s;tratagems in fight, to get renowne and fame.</L>
<L>For all tho&s;e hidden vertues, which mans minde do decke and grace.</L>
<L>Are with a lively portraiture, prefigurd in the face.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>To no man &s;peake, but with &s;uch wordes, as may him halfe affright,</L>
<L>For if thou doo&s;t, as by a foole, by thee they'le &s;et but light.</L>
<L>Wherefore with might and maine, prevent &s;uch ill report alwaies,</L>
<L>(And yet I'de with you never try, the meanes to get true prai&s;e.)</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The proper v&s;e of every tongue, is for to talke apace,</L>
<L>Then let your tongue like a mill-clacke go fa&s;t in every place.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>It is a cu&s;tome in &s;ome countries, at each no&s;thrills ends,</L>
<L>To hang great jems and pretious &s;tones, &s;uch as rich <HI>India</HI> &s;ends.</L>
<L>Hath Fortune in the&s;e pretious jems, denyde to thee a part?</L>
<L><PB N="6" REF="15">Take courage though, and heare a friend, that loves thee at his heart,</L>
<L>As ice &s;ikles in winter time, which hang on hou&s;es hie</L>
<L>Doe grace the roofes, and &s;hew full faire to him that pa&s;&s;eth by;</L>
<L>So &s;not, which from the no&s;trils both, like bel-ropes hangeth downe,</L>
<L>Doth grace a youth, which doth profe&s;&s;e him&s;elfe a &s;imple clowne.</L>
<L>Nature the maker of all things, to decke thy life the more,</L>
<L>Hath lent thee, of &s;uch ornaments, a mo&s;t aboundant &s;tore:</L>
<L>Wherefore, as in all things be&s;ides, &s;o in this, keepe this meane,</L>
<L>When &s;tore of &s;not is in thy mouth, thy no&s;e then make thou cleane:</L>
<L>Do this, but clo&s;ely now and then, and &s;ure I thinke, than thee</L>
<L>No man de&s;erveth greater prai&s;e, for his civilitie.</L>
<L>If when thou lack&s;t an handkerchiefe, thou v&s;e thy cloake or hat</L>
<L>To blow thy no&s;e, thou wilt be knowne a perfect clowne by that:</L>
<L>Or fill thy hand top full with &s;not, and ca&s;t it on the ground.</L>
<L>It is a very &s;eemely thing to heare the &s;ame re&s;ound,</L>
<L>And let it lie: What neede you care? I charge you &s;tirre it not,</L>
<L>And let them treade it out, that &s;ay you have not &s;tore of &s;not.</L>
<L>I &s;awe a cu&s;tome in a country where I lately was,</L>
<L>Where hung with cordes vpon their &s;leeves a little pretty gla&s;&s;e:</L>
<L>You may (if &s;o it plea&s;e you) take example from that towne,</L>
<L>And &s;ee your picture in your &s;not, as it hangs dangling downe.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And le&s;t you &s;hould lacke change of manners, fetch &s;ighs now &amp; then,</L>
<L>And rattle in the no&s;e, this ge&s;ture plea&s;eth many men:</L>
<L>To fetch great bla&s;ts of breath together, argues that you can</L>
<L>Blowe downe whole townes, and all will &s;ay, Oh, hee's a valiant man.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When you would &s;neeze, &s;trait turne your &s;elfe vnto your neibors face:</L>
<L>As for my part, wherein to &s;neeze, I know no fitter place;</L>
<L>It is an order, when you &s;neeze, good men will pray for you:</L>
<L>Marke him that doth &s;o, for I thinke he is your friend mo&s;t true.</L>
<L>And that your friend may know who &s;neezes, and may for you pray,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure you not forget to &s;neeze full in his face alway.</L>
<L>But when thou hear&s;t another &s;neeze, although he be thy father,</L>
<L>Say not, God ble&s;&s;e him, but, Choake vp, or &s;ome &s;uch matter, rather.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Never be &s;hamefa&s;t, never blu&s;h for any fault thats pa&s;t,</L>
<L>Let them do &s;o which, &s;ory, &s;ay, This fault &s;hall be the la&s;t.</L>
<L>What though thou &s;peake vn&s;eemely words, yet know it is not good</L>
<L><PB N="7" REF="15">To have thy face and cheekes looke red, as they were dide with blood.</L>
<L>What though of bawdie bea&s;tly words, thou learn&s;t to &s;peake great &s;tore,</L>
<L>Why tis a &s;hame that from a childe, thou did&s;t not &s;o before.</L>
<L>To give each thing that proper name, which it of Nature had,</L>
<L>Is neither in the law of God, nor man, accounted bad.</L>
<L>The rea&s;on-wanting multitude, do thinke tho&s;e things are ba&s;e,</L>
<L>Which nature in her &s;ecret wi&s;edome, made mankinde to grace.</L>
<L>I would not have you from the common &s;peech depart &s;o farre,</L>
<L>As again&s;t Nature our be&s;t guide, vnwi&s;ely to wage warre.</L>
<L>All that which in thy bladder and thy belly lieth hid,</L>
<L>To empty whenas thou ha&s;t neede, what man will thee forbid?</L>
<L>Crabbed preci&s;e fault-finders, only will not &s;peake each word,</L>
<L>Thinking it is by proper names, to call each thing ab&s;urd.</L>
<L>What kinde of men are the&s;e? true rea&s;on &s;oone will prove them mad,</L>
<L>Which will not &s;peake the words, but do the deedes, which is as bad.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any man do tell you newes, which ne're before you heard,</L>
<L>And pre&s;ently with ready words, you can him not reward,</L>
<L>Then tis a great decorum, your wide mouth forthwith to &s;tretch,</L>
<L>And &s;o &s;tand &s;till, as though &s;ome harmele&s;&s;e flies you meant to catch.</L>
<L>If that he tell a iea&s;t, which worth your laughter you &s;uppo&s;e,</L>
<L>(But laugh not at each trifling thing,) then laugh &s;o lowde that tho&s;e</L>
<L>Which do about their owne affaires, walke over-thwart the &s;treete,</L>
<L>May tell you that you laugh full lowde, when next they do you meete.</L>
<L>And if by laughing your red teeth, &s;ome pretty wench e&s;py,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e that colour is the be&s;t, &s;hee'le love you pre&s;ently.</L>
<L>And if you &s;ee &s;hee likes you well, then laugh afre&s;h againe,</L>
<L>This is of rude &s;implicitie, an argument mo&s;t plaine.</L>
<L>It is a very prettie thing, when you by laughing much,</L>
<L>Do make your mouth by di&s;torture, your very eares to tutch.</L>
<L>Sometimes though no man give you cau&s;e, laugh as lowd as you can,</L>
<L>For this is a mo&s;t &s;peciall &s;igne, of a prai&s;e-worthy man.</L>
<L>Oft times you &s;hall e&s;py &s;ome &s;ober man with lookes mo&s;t grimme,</L>
<L>Which will be angry, thinking that you laugh at none but him.</L>
<L>And this will be exceeding good, and make you laugh the more,</L>
<L>To &s;ee a fellow collericke, knowing no cau&s;e wherefore.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If now and then you meane to lie, (as who would tell the truth?)</L>
<L><PB N="8" REF="16">Betweene each word cough once or twi&s;e, this is a tricke of youth.</L>
<L>Are not your words in readine&s;&s;e, according to your minde?</L>
<L>Then cough a while, and by this meanes, perhaps you them may finde.</L>
<L>Tut, doubt not man none can perceive whether you cough or no,</L>
<L>It is great cunning, what is true, and what is fal&s;e to know.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When you have neede to cough indeede, you know this tricke of old,</L>
<L>To cough into your neighbours face, you well may be &s;o bold.</L>
<L>Let him take halfe the breath, which from thy winde-pipe thou ha&s;t got,</L>
<L>T'wil &s;erve him for a cooler well, if that he be too hot.</L>
<L>If he take that in ill part, which thou gav'&s;t to him in good,</L>
<L>What neede you care? his force is weake, it well may be with&s;tood.</L>
<L>What&s;oe're thou did&s;t, thou'lt an&s;wer it, where, when and how he can;</L>
<L>Thus thou by great out-braving words, mu&s;t prove thy &s;elfe a man.</L>
<L>Tell him, within his curri&s;h heart, anger hath &s;et her re&s;t,</L>
<L>If that he cannot take that well, which thou did&s;t meane in ie&s;t;</L>
<L>What would he do (trow,) if he were not, as thou art, a man?</L>
<L>Which no &s;uch little trifling ie&s;t, with patience &s;uffer can.</L>
<L>Or bid him, if he thinke thy breath could do him any ill,</L>
<L>That pre&s;ently for full revenge, he would thy heart blood &s;pill.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When thou ha&s;t neede to belch, ne're hold it, freely let it out,</L>
<L>Di&s;&s;emble not, it will not &s;tay, helpe it away you lowt.</L>
<L>Tis hard to hold it without hurt, if that it &s;eeke a vent,</L>
<L>Then let tho&s;e bla&s;ts from forth thy &s;tomacke &s;ayle, be freely &s;ent.</L>
<L>They le breede di&s;ea&s;es infinite, in head, and every part,</L>
<L>As &s;tinking breath which doth infect, and the vn&s;avory fart.</L>
<L>Therefore, to &s;hunne all hurtes and harmes, which thereof &s;oone would breede,</L>
<L>Be not too coy, but belch thy fill, when&s;oe're thou ha&s;t neede,</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thou de&s;ire at any time to walke into the &s;treete,</L>
<L>That all thy hat with dirt and du&s;t be&s;prinkled it is meete.</L>
<L>He that regardeth cleaneline&s;&s;e, which onely women v&s;e,</L>
<L>At him let all men mocke and &s;coffe, let all men him abu&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>What though thy &s;hooes be doubde with dirt: to make them cleane tis vaine,</L>
<L>For why you know, do what you can, they mu&s;t be fowlde againe.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>A long gowne weare, which all the ground may &s;weepe as thou doo&s;t go,</L>
<L>For &s;o no man the place whereon thou trodde&s;t well can know.</L>
<L>The dirt which on thy hem thou get&s;t, as thou doo&s;t walke along,</L>
<L><PB N="9" REF="16">Will make the lowe welt of thy Gowne &s;eeme to be very &s;trong:</L>
<L>And if a man e&s;py the durt, when he is farre remote,</L>
<L>Hee'le thinke you weare a very rich embroydred garded cote;</L>
<L>Cloth made by &s;ilke-wormes paineful Art, from <HI>Scythia</HI> land doth come:</L>
<L>Some &s;trangers give to deere&s;t friends, to others they &s;ell &s;ome;</L>
<L>A man would think, that with this cloth, your gowne were garded thick,</L>
<L>If on the hemme, a great way off, he &s;hould &s;ee dry durt &s;ticke;</L>
<L>Or if you like not the&s;e long gownes (as oftentimes we &s;ee</L>
<L>As many men, &s;o many mindes and manners there will be)</L>
<L>Weare a &s;hort coate, which &s;carce will keepe your buttockes out of &s;ight,</L>
<L>Like Noble men, and tho&s;e which doe reioyce in martiall fight;</L>
<L>Olde &s;age <HI>Era&s;mus</HI> coun&s;aile tis, Regarde not thine attire.</L>
<L>(The precept of &s;o grave a man, who will not much admire?)</L>
<L>Doe as he bids thee then, regarde not how thy garments &s;it,</L>
<L>Whether they be too little, or too bigge, or very fit.</L>
<L>Let both thy hands behinde thy backe together alwayes meete;</L>
<L>Whether thou &s;it, or &s;tand, or walke, in citty, or in &s;treete.</L>
<L>But le&s;t my Lecture &s;eeme too tedious for the multitude,</L>
<L>This Exerci&s;e in three &s;hort wordes I purpo&s;e to conclude:</L>
<L>Thus I would have thee frame thy life and deedes in any ca&s;e:</L>
<L>Let this thy manners and behaviour be in every place,</L>
<L>That he which &s;ees the good behaviour, which thou learn&s;t of me,</L>
<L>May know thou arte an expert Scholler, in Simplicitie.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="3" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>The &s;etting on, and taking off the meate, and waiting at the Table. <HI>Chap. III.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>BEhold; the boy hath layde the cloth, and on the Table put</L>
<L>Tho&s;e cates, which Cookery provides, to fill mans hungry gut:</L>
<L>You're glad of that, that you &s;uch dainty di&s;hes &s;hall ore&s;ee,</L>
<L>As with your rav'nous empty &s;tomacke very well agree.</L>
<L><PB N="10" REF="17">But &s;oft &s;ir, fir&s;t vpon your Mai&s;ters trencher you mu&s;t waite;</L>
<L>And afterward, when he hath dinde, you &s;hall be &s;erved &s;trait:</L>
<L>And yet too ready never be vnto your Mai&s;ters hand,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e your helpe, by word of mouth, he twice or thrice command.</L>
<L>And now &s;it, your behaviour fit I will lay foorth at large;</L>
<L>Your onely duetie is (as you were wont) to marke my charge,</L>
<L>You cannot &s;ay my precepts are too &s;ubtile for your reach,</L>
<L>And therefore doubt, I &s;hall not learne, the things which I &s;hall teach</L>
<L>My mu&s;e is ru&s;ticke, and my Mu&s;e is ea&s;ie, homely, plaine,</L>
<L>Which being perfectly attainde, can ne're be lo&s;t againe.</L>
<L>Whether your &s;ervice be at home, or out of doores extend:</L>
<L>Whether you &s;erve your mai&s;ter onely, or your mai&s;ters friend,</L>
<L>Your methode and your maners eke, mu&s;t be the &s;elfe &s;ame ever.</L>
<L>And all which you have done before, mu&s;t be forgotten never.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>At dinner when you meane to wait, lay by your clothes all,</L>
<L>So &s;hall you be the lighter for to come at every call.</L>
<L>Have on your ho&s;e whenas you wait on them that are at meate;</L>
<L>But let your brea&s;t be naked, to be &s;eene of them that eate,</L>
<L>That &s;o your bodies &s;lenderne&s;&s;e the &s;trangers may perceave,</L>
<L>And give you prai&s;e, which none but fooles &amp; mad men ought to leave.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if, the weather being colde, apparell you doe weare,</L>
<L>The &s;ame to button, tie, or tru&s;&s;e, be &s;ure that you forbeare.</L>
<L>As for tho&s;e partes which we are bound to hide by natures bandes.</L>
<L>My coun&s;ell is, that all them partes thou cover with thy hands;</L>
<L>So mode&s;t Matrons and wilde wenches thou &s;halt plea&s;e I know,</L>
<L>And &s;halt thy &s;elfe a prety &s;tripling vnto all men &s;how.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>I like not tho&s;e, which when they wait, mu&s;t &s;tand on both their feete,</L>
<L>And carefull be, that as they &s;tand, their legges may alwayes meete.</L>
<L>To v&s;e the right foote and the left by turnes I holde it be&s;t:</L>
<L>For &s;o, while that you v&s;e the one, the other legge may re&s;t.</L>
<L>But if my coun&s;aile you will take, ne're &s;tand on both togither;</L>
<L>For that which wanteth re&s;t and ea&s;e, mu&s;t needes wax weake and lither.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>A nimble, &s;tirring, hobling pa&s;e in yong men I like be&s;t:</L>
<L>The &s;cabs, the gowt, and &s;uch di&s;ea&s;es breed, by too much re&s;t.</L>
<L>Good Smiths do hobble with their feete, as they their bellowes blowe.</L>
<L>Then &s;ince good trades doe it allow, why &s;hould&s;t not thou doe &s;o?</L>
<L><PB N="11" REF="17">Marke that which mo&s;t men v&s;e to doe, and &s;corne to learne of none;</L>
<L>But good behaviour, and perfection get of every one.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Be &s;ure, that where&s;oe're you wayt, your fingers never &s;tand,</L>
<L>But &s;till be fumbling, tis a credite, not to hold your hand.</L>
<L>Prai&s;e comes to them by due de&s;ert, which &s;omething do alwayes:</L>
<L>But &s;louthfulne&s;&s;e is a great let to him that &s;eeketh prai&s;e:</L>
<L>Wherefore be &s;ure in both thy hands, thou alwayes &s;omething have,</L>
<L>Le&s;t &s;uch as finde thee doing nothing, call thee idle knave.</L>
<L>In right hand hold thy trencher &s;till, and let thy left hand hold</L>
<L>Thy breeches, le&s;t they &s;lipping downe, thou chance to catch &s;ome cold;</L>
<L>Though thou doo&s;t nothing el&s;e, yet let thy finger &s;cratch thine eare,</L>
<L>Or with thy left hand lay at length, thy knotty tangled haire:</L>
<L>Or turne thy hat vpon thy finger, or, among the re&s;t,</L>
<L>Finde out &s;ome pretty plea&s;ing &s;port, that fits thy humour be&s;t.</L>
<L>Or if you would be thought a learned Poet of your friends,</L>
<L>Then licke and gnawe with tong and teeth, your nailes and fingers ends;</L>
<L>They v&s;e this action, whome, for thoughts a&s;piring men admire:</L>
<L>And &s;o doe they which Hymnes doe &s;ay, in god <HI>Apolloes</HI> quire.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or &s;et your armes vp by your &s;ide, like to a man of might,</L>
<L>And frowne, and by your very lookes, theile thinke you meane to fight.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Doe nothing that is fit or meete, vnle&s;&s;e they you con&s;traine:</L>
<L>For if you do, nor prai&s;e, nor price, youle get, you worke in vaine.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If you perceive a man ill nurturde, marke him pre&s;ently;</L>
<L>His going, &s;itting, &s;tanding, deedes, marke with a carefull eie.</L>
<L>Marke how he eates and drinkes, and how his hands he placeth be&s;t;</L>
<L>And if out of his life and maners, you can picke &s;ome jea&s;t</L>
<L>Thats worth the laughing, thats enough, deride him pre&s;ently.</L>
<L>Be not a&s;hamde, but laugh &s;o long, till that you &s;eeme to cry:</L>
<L>And from thy wit, of his behaviour, let &s;ome quips ari&s;e:</L>
<L>It may be, when he &s;ees his faults, hee'le learne to be more wi&s;e</L>
<L>And when thy mai&s;ter &s;hall have greate&s;t &s;tore of merry gue&s;ts;</L>
<L>Then from thy biting budget bring mo&s;t &s;tore of plea&s;ant jea&s;ts:</L>
<L>And this will be an argument of thine exceeding wit.</L>
<L>If each mans &s;undry humour, thou with biting jea&s;ts can&s;t fit.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perchaunce at length for &s;econd cour&s;e, &s;ome rowme mu&s;t needes be made;</L>
<L>Then learne this tricke, a point mo&s;t fit, for this thy &s;erving trade:</L>
<L><PB N="12" REF="18">Art thou an hungry? on a trencher &s;ome good bit, lay by,</L>
<L>That is a waiters proper fee, no man will it deny:</L>
<L>Thou ha&s;t a leather &s;achell, to what purpo&s;e bought&s;t thou it?</L>
<L>But now and then, for thine owne v&s;e, to keepe a friendly bit.</L>
<L>What though perchance &s;ome man e&s;pie thy &s;achell in thy &s;leeve;</L>
<L>Take a good courage though, and let not that thy con&s;cience grieve.</L>
<L>But if perchance for this thy tricke, he give thee &s;ome reproofe,</L>
<L>Have &s;omething &s;till which thou mai&s;t freely &s;ay for thy behoofe.</L>
<L>What &s;ir, when other &s;trangers have their bellies full, at lea&s;t</L>
<L>I&s;t any rea&s;on that I &s;hould goe empty from the fea&s;t?</L>
<L>What can he &s;ay when this he heares? perforce hee'le &s;urely yeelde.</L>
<L>Then courage man, for &s;ure from him thou'lt quickely winne the field.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thou &s;et&s;t on a dainty di&s;h of creame filld to the brimme,</L>
<L>Make bread, and meate, and &s;alt, and all, in curds and creame to &s;wimme.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When all is gone, and for a voider they doe call to thee,</L>
<L>Learne this good point of manners and behaviour of me;</L>
<L>Get from thy mai&s;ters &s;ight; and le&s;t with worke thy bones &s;hould ake,</L>
<L>Thou &s;et&s;t all on for his, let him remoove all for thy &s;ake:</L>
<L>Say you have waited long enough, and are ev'n &s;tarv'd for meate.</L>
<L>And its a hard ca&s;e, if that now you may not freely eate.</L>
<L>But if at length with thundring words, your mai&s;ter call his man;</L>
<L>Returne, but with as &s;low a pa&s;e, as po&s;&s;ible you can:</L>
<L>Ha&s;te maketh wa&s;te, and he which runneth, oft doth catch a fall,</L>
<L>When he which goes a &s;ober pa&s;e, doth &s;urely be&s;t of all.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And when you come, out of its order every di&s;h remove,</L>
<L>When all the &s;weete&s;t bittes are gone, what man would order love?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Take all at once, a weary man ought not to &s;tand all day.</L>
<L>What foole will goe about, when he can goe a neerer way?</L>
<L>What though perhaps out of your hands, the meate doe chance to fall?</L>
<L>Tu&s;h, a &s;mall matter, care not for it, tis no fault at all.</L>
<L>In trueth, the platters were &s;o heavy, they weighd downe mine arme,</L>
<L>If that I had not let them fall, I &s;hould have caught &s;ome harme:</L>
<L>If that a &s;tronger man than I, had felt the weight of all,</L>
<L>I doe not thinke but that he al&s;o, would have let them fall:</L>
<L>And if your mai&s;ter greet you not, with, Take them vp I pray:</L>
<L>Fir&s;t looke vpon them a good while, and then depart away.</L>
<L><PB N="13" REF="18">And laugh, as though you did reioyce in doing of the &s;ame.</L>
<L>And for that fault, its tenne to one, that no man will you blame.</L>
<L>But if your mai&s;ter, with a frowne, bid you remove them thence;</L>
<L>Looke &s;adly, and hee'le thinke that you are &s;orie for th'offence:</L>
<L>If all at once you cannot take, tis good to let &s;ome lie,</L>
<L>And after you have placde the other, fetch them pre&s;ently:</L>
<L>I thinke not one of all the gue&s;ts will judge your fault &s;o great,</L>
<L>As for the &s;pilling a few &s;craps, your mai&s;ter &s;hould you beate.</L>
<L>Nay rather, in a merrie vaine, thei'le laugh and jea&s;t at thee,</L>
<L>Which proov'&s;t thy &s;elfe a perfect Scholler in Simplicitie.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="4" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>Concerning the behaviour at the Table, before meate be &s;et on. <HI>Chap. IIII.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>HArke how thy hunger-pining panch for meate doth crie and rore,</L>
<L>And yet to comfort it with foode, whie ha&s;te&s;t thou no more?</L>
<L>Make ha&s;te, make ha&s;te, and now at length, after thy fa&s;t &s;o great,</L>
<L>Prepare thy &s;elfe mo&s;t &s;peedily to give thy bellie meate.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If anie great impediment forbids thee to proceede,</L>
<L>As points, or girdle, thou wert be&s;t to loo&s;e them all with &s;peede:</L>
<L>Although if thou remove all lets, thou wilt be thought vnkinde,</L>
<L>Thy doublet thou mai&s;t well vnbutton, when thou ha&s;t halfe dinde.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Tis vaine with water (which cannot be cleane) to wa&s;h thy hands:</L>
<L>How often into cleere&s;t ponds are clods throwne from the lands?</L>
<L>If water which &s;hould clean&s;e our hands, have lumps of durt in it:</L>
<L>Then &s;urely from our hands it cannot wa&s;h the durt a whit.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thy nailes ne're cut, but let them grow, it is a comely &s;ight:</L>
<L>Hawks with long nailes do catch their meate; yet Lords in them delight:</L>
<L>Or if thou needes wilt cut thy nailes, cut them as thou doo&s;t dine,</L>
<L>Betweene the fir&s;t and &s;econd cour&s;e, for then thou ha&s;t good time.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="14" REF="19">
<L>If any gentleman, at dinner with thee chance to &s;it,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure to get the highe&s;t roome, thats for thy credite fit.</L>
<L>If any man chance to pre&s;ume, to bid thee leave that place,</L>
<L>Yet &s;it thou &s;till, for if thou ri&s;e, twill be a great di&s;grace.</L>
<L>For when a man is plac'd aloft, according to his v&s;e,</L>
<L>Vnto a wor&s;e place to be thru&s;t, it is a great abu&s;e.</L>
<L>What rea&s;on ha&s;t thou for to &s;hew, thou ha&s;t &s;o ba&s;e a minde,</L>
<L>As when thou ha&s;t a place before, thou wilt be thru&s;t behinde?</L>
<L>Had we not all one father <HI>Adam,</HI> and one mother <HI>Eve?</HI></L>
<L>Shall earth and a&s;hes thru&s;t thee downe? at that who would not grieve?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Whenas our Grand&s;ire <HI>Adam</HI> dig'd, and Grandam <HI>Eve</HI> &s;pan,</L>
<L>Who then I pray among&s;t vs all, was the be&s;t gentleman?</L>
<L>Whenas you come too late to dinner, and a &s;toole you lacke,</L>
<L>(Stand not in any ca&s;e, for too much &s;tanding hurtes your backe.)</L>
<L>By head and &s;houlders, from his place, thru&s;t out &s;ome &s;imple foole,</L>
<L>If to his elder, and his better, hee'le not yeelde his &s;toole.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perchance your knife is fowle, with bread which ye&s;terday it cut,</L>
<L>Or in &s;ome other dirtie place, perhaps it hath beene put.</L>
<L>This fault your &s;hoo will quickely mend, if you no whet&s;tone have,</L>
<L>For whet it on your &s;hoo-&s;ole well, and it will &s;hine mo&s;t brave.</L>
<L>If any man do marvaile, that you v&s;e &s;o plaine a way,</L>
<L>Tell him, that you have v&s;de that cu&s;tome many a &s;ummers day.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If when you are &s;harpe &s;et to dine, you nothing have to eate,</L>
<L>And for your hungry bellie, you can get no &s;tore of meate;</L>
<L>Becau&s;e the Cooke is &s;omewhat long, before he will you &s;erve,</L>
<L>If that you thinke, vnle&s;&s;e you eate forthwith, you &s;trait &s;hall &s;terve:</L>
<L>Be angry &s;trait, for why you have good cau&s;e, &s;tampe, &s;tare, and fume,</L>
<L>How dare they on thy patience, ba&s;e pe&s;ants, thus pre&s;ume?</L>
<L>Aske thou thy meate with angrie lookes, with choller, and with heate,</L>
<L>And if they will not bring it thee, cry &s;till out, meate, meate, meate.</L>
<L>But if they &s;till deny to come, with angry forehead &s;ay,</L>
<L>That thou wilt beate them everie one, if that they thus delay.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perhaps at length the meate is readie, and they onely tarrie</L>
<L>For one, which &s;hould the meate from thence, vnto the table carrie.</L>
<L>Then &s;it thou &s;till, &s;tirre not a foote, tis better farre to &s;terve,</L>
<L>Then like a paltry blew-cote knave (thats ba&s;e) thy &s;elfe to &s;erve.</L>
<L><PB N="15" REF="19">Let no man, had he <HI>Tullies</HI> wit, make thee &s;uch follie v&s;e,</L>
<L>What? &s;erve thy &s;elfe? thou never can&s;t thine honour more abu&s;e.</L>
<L>Meane time be ca&s;ting with thy &s;elfe, which way the time to &s;pend,</L>
<L>Beware on idlenes, on which all vices do attend.</L>
<L>Hath the &s;cabd-dogge, with tickling itching all thy bodie bit?</L>
<L>Thou mai&s;t have meanes to &s;pend thy time, by over-looking it.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Scratch off the &s;cabs with bu&s;ie fingers, that is verie good,</L>
<L>For &s;o of putrefaction, thou mai&s;t let out a flood:</L>
<L>Or as our Mettall-mongers do, with their indu&s;trious paines,</L>
<L>By digging mountaines, rob the earth, of her rich mettall vaines.</L>
<L>So with thy knife, from out thy body &s;cabs thou mai&s;t dig &s;tore,</L>
<L>And &s;eeke di&s;ea&s;es which do lacke, in every hidden pore.</L>
<L>Then with your vnwa&s;ht knife to cut your meate, can breede no hurt,</L>
<L>Nor wa&s;h your hands, you know that water cannot &s;cowre off durt.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Tis common for yong men, to have great &s;tore of lu&s;tie lice.</L>
<L>Their names declare their forme, they have &s;ix feete, be not &s;o nice.</L>
<L>If that your fle&s;h doth &s;uffer any hurt by their &s;harpe teeth,</L>
<L>Deferre no whit their puni&s;hment, that with your health agreeth.</L>
<L>But with a courage from your head, &s;trait pull them by the taile,</L>
<L>And for their trea&s;on, &s;trait behead them, with your thumbs &s;harpe nail</L>
<L>From forth your bo&s;ome take them quicke, vnto their great di&s;grace,</L>
<L>And on the table valiantly, their captive bodies place.</L>
<L>T'will be a prettie &s;ight to &s;ee, how fa&s;t thei'le run away,</L>
<L>To &s;ave them&s;elves, and all their kinne, from that mo&s;t bloodie day.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Though all things faile thee el&s;e, yet &s;ure thou &s;halt finde trenchers &s;trong,</L>
<L>To help to drive away the time, which thou do&s;t think &s;o long.</L>
<L>O'relooke them well on every &s;ide, each corner, and each end,</L>
<L>And if they are not, as they &s;hould be, helpe their faults to mend.</L>
<L>The Trencher-maker in his worke, doth often make great wa&s;te,</L>
<L>Whenas he cannot &s;tay, to finifie each part for ha&s;te.</L>
<L>Thou which ha&s;t time enough, correct tho&s;e faults in any wi&s;e,</L>
<L>With thy &s;harpe knife, which &s;eeme not han&s;ome in thy curious eyes.</L>
<L>And when thou ha&s;t corrected, of each trencher everie whit,</L>
<L>Thy Ma&s;ter cannot choo&s;e, but prai&s;e thy labour and thy wit.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The table-cloth, with pin or knife, to pricke, or cut, beginne,</L>
<L>No rea&s;onable man I trow, will &s;ay this is a &s;inne.</L>
<L><PB N="16" REF="20">For let the foole your Ma&s;ter know, that he did cau&s;e this deede,</L>
<L>In keeping &s;uch bad Cookes, as would not give you meate with &s;peede.</L>
<L>T'will make him charge his Cookes, that at the fir&s;t call they you &s;erve,</L>
<L>And not to let his &s;ervants, to &s;it without meate and &s;terve.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perhaps a &s;alt-&s;eller &s;tands by, tis good with that to play,</L>
<L>And &s;trike it with your knife, t'will &s;erve to drive the time away.</L>
<L>This by two &s;undry profits, &s;ure will &s;tand thee in great &s;teed,</L>
<L>For fir&s;t the noi&s;e will make the Cookes, remember thee to feed.</L>
<L>And &s;econdly, vnto thine eares, a pretty &s;ound t'will &s;end,</L>
<L>Wherefore, above all other trickes, this one I do commend.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If that your ma&s;ter, or your father, leave his knife behinde,</L>
<L>For their &s;akes v&s;e it favourably, never be vnkinde.</L>
<L>With &s;tones, or wood, or keyes, be &s;ure you make it blunt and dull,</L>
<L>Le&s;t that it cut too fa&s;t as from their &s;heathes they do it pull.</L>
<L>So when their knife dooth cut their hands, in carving out a me&s;&s;e,</L>
<L>By that good meanes which you fore&s;aw, their wound will be the le&s;&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>In briefe, if that you had almo&s;t forgot your points to loo&s;e,</L>
<L>And now you have &s;uch &s;uddaine ha&s;te, you cannot will, nor choo&s;e,</L>
<L>And that you feare your breeches &s;hall partake your heavie waight,</L>
<L>And all the hou&s;e you &s;hall perfume, if you depart not &s;traight.</L>
<L>Then ri&s;e, and if your fellow needes will know whither you went,</L>
<L>Tell him, to thru&s;t away a knave, that would not pay his rent.</L>
<L>So come againe, and without wa&s;hing either hands or face,</L>
<L>As &s;oone as may be, (as I told you,) get the vpper place.</L>
<L>Perchance if you in wa&s;hing of your hands, had &s;taied long,</L>
<L>The knaves would &s;oone have parted all your part them&s;elves among.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="5" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>Your behaviour all the while you eate. <HI>Chapter V.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>VVHen you are &s;et with pottage, fir&s;t your &s;tomacke is vnlockt,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e, before all other meates, you may that be&s;t concoct.</L>
<L><PB N="17" REF="20">And now for&s;ooth you lacke a &s;poone, yet hardely can ab&s;taine,</L>
<L>Why then to &s;up it vp with mouth and lips, you mu&s;t be faine:</L>
<L>Aske but of Nature, our deare mother, and &s;hee'le lend thee &s;oone,</L>
<L>A paire of lips, which thou mai&s;t v&s;e, better then &s;coupe or &s;poone.</L>
<L><HI>Diogenes</HI> did &s;corne a &s;poone, but from a fountaine cleere.</L>
<L>Did drinke as well out of his hand, as we from pots of beere.</L>
<L>And &s;ure he had no other cau&s;e, the &s;poone for to de&s;pi&s;e,</L>
<L>But that he &s;aw his ance&s;ters, do &s;o before his eyes.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When as the meate is all &s;et downe, according to thy wi&s;h,</L>
<L>See that thy right hand wre&s;t and all, be fir&s;t in every di&s;h.</L>
<L>And if there be a daintie bit, tis good to &s;natch it &s;trait,</L>
<L>Le&s;t that another for the &s;ame, do craftilie lay wait.</L>
<L>If thou be wi&s;e, ob&s;erve this cour&s;e and cu&s;tome evermore,</L>
<L>So for thy bellie, daintie bits, thou ever &s;halt have &s;tore.</L>
<L>If that &s;ome envious man, do &s;eeme for to repine at this,</L>
<L>Love others well, but thy &s;elfe better, &s;ay the proverbe is,</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perchance vpon the platters furthe&s;t &s;ide, there lies a bit,</L>
<L>Which thou doo&s;t verie much de&s;ire, but can&s;t not reach to it.</L>
<L>And if thou &s;it by no &s;uch friend, as &s;trait will helpe thee to it,</L>
<L>By &s;tretching out thy limbes vpon the table, thou mai&s;t do it,</L>
<L>If any &s;eeme offended with thee, tell them tis the fa&s;hion,</L>
<L>To &s;et the be&s;t meate, to the be&s;t men of the congregation.</L>
<L>Now &s;ir, tis a more &s;eemely tricke, to turne the platter round,</L>
<L>That by that meanes, the daintie bits may on your &s;ide be found.</L>
<L>The turning of the platter round, in this &s;ort it is be&s;t</L>
<L>To hide, and cloake, and in my minde it is a prettie ie&s;t.</L>
<L>After this &s;ort, all &s;tarres, and the cele&s;tiall bodies move,</L>
<L>Which daily motion, and perpetuall &s;tirring ever love.</L>
<L>Then bid your neighbour &s;peake of plants, &s;o your talke to quite,</L>
<L>He &s;miling hits you on the eare, yo'are planet-&s;trucken right.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Whenas your friend doth on your trencher, daintie wilde-fowle lay,</L>
<L>Strait cover it with both your hands, for feare it flie away.</L>
<L>And though your neighbour ne're &s;o much, vpon you do be&s;tow,</L>
<L>Yet keepe it all within your clutches, let not one bit go.</L>
<L>It is no profit for to give thy neighbour any part,</L>
<L>Of tho&s;e good bits, which thou thy &s;elfe doo&s;t love with all thy heart.</L>
<L><PB N="18" REF="21">And as for him which gave it you, his kindnes ne'recommend,</L>
<L>Although he be a man of wor&s;hip, and your very friend;</L>
<L>Tell him, you were of age enough, your &s;elfe with cares to fit,</L>
<L>Although from off his trencher he had reachd you ne're a bit.</L>
<L>After that you have twice or thrice thus an&s;werd everie friend,</L>
<L>No man from off his trencher dainties vnto you will &s;end;</L>
<L>And &s;o heereafter for your &s;elfe, you where you will may out,</L>
<L>And out of everie daintie di&s;h, choo&s;e bits for your owne gut.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>On everie &s;ide of everie di&s;h, be &s;ure you ta&s;te and trie,</L>
<L>And that which plea&s;eth not your minde, for others let it lie:</L>
<L>Fal&s;e obiects oftentimes deceive this mortall &s;ight of our,</L>
<L>And that which beares the &s;weete&s;t &s;hew, in ta&s;te is often &s;owre:</L>
<L>Wherefore my coun&s;ell is, that in thy mouth thou ta&s;te aright,</L>
<L>That which doth make &s;o faire a &s;hew, vnto the outward &s;ight.</L>
<L>If that it hath a plea&s;ant ta&s;te, and like your pallate well,</L>
<L>What then you ought to doe therewith, I hope I neede not tell.</L>
<L>But if the ta&s;te which you expected, fit not to your minde;</L>
<L>Then take my coun&s;ell, for in it great profit thou &s;halt finde:</L>
<L>Into the platter with an angry looke you may it ca&s;t,</L>
<L>There is no &s;en&s;e that you &s;hould eate that meate you cannot ta&s;te:</L>
<L>Or keepe it, and the be&s;t thereof in cleanely &s;ort gnaw round;</L>
<L>For doing this, as I &s;uppo&s;e, no fault can well be found.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>For whie, with tooth and naile, to bite, and &s;cratch, and gnaw your meate,</L>
<L>Is both a &s;eemelie thing, and al&s;o bringeth profite great:</L>
<L>For by this meanes, you &s;pare your knife, which el&s;e might loo&s;e his edge,</L>
<L>If in your meate there &s;hould be bones. O Wi&s;edomes priviledge?</L>
<L>That which thou leav'&s;t, into the platter wilt thou throw? O wit!</L>
<L>Perchance &s;ome other will it take, for a mo&s;t plea&s;ing bit.</L>
<L>Ill men (as thou art) ever bare &s;uch malice in their hart,</L>
<L>That if they have a good thing, thei'le not give their neighbor part.</L>
<L>That which you cannot eate, &s;ome greedie got will &s;natch vp &s;trait,</L>
<L>And give you thankes, as if for him you had re&s;erv'd that bait:</L>
<L>And that his hungrie paunch at length may well be cramd with meate,</L>
<L>That which vpon your trencher lies, mo&s;t ravenou&s;lie hee'le eate.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But yet I thinke it is a tricke more civill, and more fine,</L>
<L>To loade thy neighbours trencher with tho&s;e &s;craps that lie on thine.</L>
<L><PB N="19" REF="21">Hee'le thanke you with a ioyfull heart, for that &s;o royall fare,</L>
<L>And &s;aie, he &s;ees (he thankes you) that you mindefull of him are;</L>
<L>T'will moove you for to be his friend mo&s;t faithfull and mo&s;t kinde,</L>
<L>And yet a faithfull friend, in the&s;e bad daies is hard to finde:</L>
<L>Such meate as thou gav'&s;t to thy friend, when he did none de&s;ire,</L>
<L>I thinke a ful-filld dog, would &s;corne to give his hungrie fire.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When bisket bread, cimnells, and wine vpon the Table &s;tand,</L>
<L>If that thou &s;ee&s;t the Butler fills it, with a &s;paring hand,</L>
<L>Hide thou the pot behinde thy backe, and vnto others fill:</L>
<L>And vnto no man pre&s;ent give a droppe again&s;t thy will.</L>
<L>If anie one of them be griev'd which at the Table are,</L>
<L>Tell him, tis good that everie man &s;hould for him&s;elfe have care.</L>
<L>And &s;ir, my coun&s;ell is, that you the pot doe next time get,</L>
<L>If when you dine abroad, you meane your lippes with wine to wet.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thus, having filld your &s;tomacke with the fir&s;t cour&s;e at the boord,</L>
<L>If that you thinke the &s;econd will &s;ome daintie cates affoord,</L>
<L>And that you feele your girdle doth your &s;welling bellie pinch,</L>
<L>Tis better &s;trait to take it off, than from good meate to flinch:</L>
<L>Thinke it no &s;hame, or if thou dar'&s;t not do &s;o, tis thy be&s;t,</L>
<L>To pull it off though, for thou well mai&s;t cloake it with this je&s;t:</L>
<L>Neighbour, you have a prettie gerdle, it &s;hews verie fine;</L>
<L>What boote ifaith? let me &s;ee yours, and you &s;hall &s;trait &s;ee mine.</L>
<L>And by this meanes you may have cau&s;e, your gerdle to put off.</L>
<L>Whereas if you had not done &s;o, you might have had a &s;coffe.</L>
<L>And if &s;ome bits of new gnawne meate, within your mouth doe &s;ticke,</L>
<L>Out of the &s;ame with hands and nailes, tis maners it to picke;</L>
<L>Within the Crocodiles wide jawes, when jagges of fle&s;h do lie,</L>
<L>Some little bird to pull them out, doth help her pre&s;ently.</L>
<L>For while that &s;he her tonguele&s;&s;e mouth, in wide&s;t &s;orte dooth &s;tretch,</L>
<L>Some &s;harp billd bird from forth hir jawes, the meat for food doth fetch:</L>
<L>The &s;eelie bird within the bea&s;ts wide jawes doth walke, and feede,</L>
<L>And hath no hurt, becau&s;e her bellie dooth help the bea&s;t at neede.</L>
<L>But as for thee, thou need&s;t not this, Nature our mother free,</L>
<L>Fore&s;eeing this, hath lent both hands and fingers ends to thee,</L>
<L>Then with thy fingers &s;earch thy mouth, or with a knife, or pinne:</L>
<L>Since thou ha&s;t &s;uch meanes of thine owne, a birds help &s;corne herein.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="20" REF="22">
<L>And if from foorth thy teeth thou bring a bloodie peece of meate,</L>
<L>Le&s;t that it &s;hould be lo&s;t, tis good foorthwith thou &s;hould&s;t it eate:</L>
<L>Or with your vnwipte knife, from foorth the platter take &s;ome bit,</L>
<L>Which for your almo&s;t halfe-filld &s;tomacke you doe thinke mo&s;t fit.</L>
<L>Your gnawne meate on your neighbours trencher &s;miling you may lay,</L>
<L>V&s;ing the&s;e flattring glo&s;ing termes, refu&s;e it not I pray.</L>
<L>And if that he accept the meate, which from your teeth you drew,</L>
<L>T'will &s;tirre vp &s;tore of laughter, vnto all that merry crew:</L>
<L>And by this meanes all men will &s;aie, your wit is very quicke,</L>
<L>And count you for a merrie fellow for this cleanely tricke.</L>
<L>Some fooles (to what intent, who knowes?) their knife mu&s;t needs make cleane,</L>
<L>When as to cut a cleanly piece of common bread they meane.</L>
<L>Thou foole, whie do&s;t thou wipe the fat vpon the table cloth?</L>
<L>Who ever knew a &s;en&s;le&s;&s;e foole, to learne good maners loth?</L>
<L>Wert not a thing more plea&s;ing, and more welcome to thy tongue,</L>
<L>To wipe it on the common loafe, when thou doo&s;t cut along?</L>
<L>Perhaps manie a hungrie man would give thee thankes for that,</L>
<L>Which bread and butter loves at heart, and &s;uch things as are fat.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>This tricke, although there be &s;ome &s;hew of bea&s;tline&s;&s;e in it:</L>
<L>Yet &s;ure of manie a daintie di&s;h, t'will get thee many a bit,</L>
<L>Whenas your ho&s;te &s;ome daintie cates vnto the Table &s;ends,</L>
<L>Which vnto you your meate and drinke-con&s;uming gut commends,</L>
<L>Take thou tho&s;e jewells from thy no&s;e whereof before I tolde,</L>
<L>I meane thy &s;not, and in thy hollow palme do thou it holde,</L>
<L>And craftily into the platter, either ca&s;t it all,</L>
<L>Or hold it dangling over, &s;o that it may almo&s;t fall:</L>
<L>And by this meanes the company will &s;traitway loathe their meate,</L>
<L>And all the delicates remaining, thou thy &s;elfe mai&s;t eate.</L>
<L>A man well knowne in everie place, did often doe the &s;ame,</L>
<L>Who from an Owle joynd to a Gla&s;&s;e did fir&s;t derive his name.</L>
<L>This Owgla&s;&s;e all in everie place, prai&s;de, honoured and admirde;</L>
<L>And to relate his prettie prancks, each merrie man de&s;irde:</L>
<L>Wherefore his life, and his behaviour doe not thou refu&s;e,</L>
<L>And then no doubt but times to come, thy merrie trickes will v&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Do&s;t thou a meane and end of eating now at length require?</L>
<L>And when to know a readie time to leave doo&s;t thou de&s;ire?</L>
<L><PB N="21" REF="22">Leave eating when thy &s;welling bellie will not let thee &s;peake,</L>
<L>And when thou think&s;t with one bit more, thy very guts would breake.</L>
<L>I &s;hould proceede, and yet more precepts for thy dinner tell,</L>
<L>But tis too late, and I at &s;upper time may doo't as well.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="6" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>Behaviour fit to be ob&s;erved after dinner, and when you are walking. <HI>Chapter VI.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>NOw having fild your bellie full, with daintie plea&s;ing fare,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure that for your owne affaires, you take but little care.</L>
<L>The belly fild with daintie meates, can hardely cares indure,</L>
<L>For carefull thoughts, are deadly foes, vnto concoction &s;ure.</L>
<L>And care doth with di&s;ea&s;es, the be&s;t bodies oft infect;</L>
<L>Wherefore out of thy mind, all care in any ca&s;e reiect.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If that in &s;ummer, you your dinners in the fields do keepe,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure that forthwith in a baulke, you frame your &s;elfe to &s;leepe.</L>
<L>There you may lie, vntill you thinke, tis almo&s;t time to &s;up,</L>
<L>And then tis time from drowzie &s;leepe, to rowze your &s;pirits vp.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And as you lie, to fart and fi&s;te at plea&s;ure, you have leave,</L>
<L>For why you know theres no man by, &s;uch trickes for to perceive.</L>
<L>If that you finde by triall, that no man a fart can hold,</L>
<L>By good experience &s;o to &s;weare, I thinke you may be bold.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If that to lie and &s;leepe all day, doth not your fancie plea&s;e,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e your nimble body, alwaies &s;corned &s;louthfull ea&s;e,</L>
<L>Then ri&s;e at lei&s;ure, and through every &s;treete walke vp and downe,</L>
<L>The doing &s;o, will &s;ure procure both profit, and renowne:</L>
<L>For by this walking, thou thy meate, the better mai&s;t dige&s;t;</L>
<L>Among all other rules, Phi&s;itians hold this for the be&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>As thou did&s;t come to dinner with vnwa&s;ht hands, even &s;o</L>
<L>My coun&s;ell is, that from the &s;ame with vnwa&s;ht hands thou go.</L>
<L><PB N="22" REF="23">Tis better that of daintie meats, thy dirtie hands &s;hould &s;mell,</L>
<L>Then of that water, which is drawne, from every dirtie well.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>What though your &s;hooes be thicke with diet? to purge them it is vaine,</L>
<L>For why you know in dirt and dung, they mu&s;t be fowlde againe.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thou ha&s;t cau&s;e to vomit, as the &s;treete thou walk&s;t about,</L>
<L>All which thou can&s;t not keepe, with wide mouth freely let it out.</L>
<L>Nor care thou though great &s;tore of people &s;tand about thee round,</L>
<L>But all that goes again&s;t thy &s;tomacke, ca&s;t it on the ground.</L>
<L>Grave <HI>Anthony</HI> the &s;ame did do, when many did him &s;ee,</L>
<L>Yet he was cho&s;e in famous <HI>Rome,</HI> a Con&s;ull for to bee.</L>
<L>And looke how much worlds mirrour <HI>Rome,</HI> our &s;mall townes doth &s;urpas,</L>
<L>So much to be preferd before thee, good <HI>Antonius</HI> was.</L>
<L>That which &s;o great a man as he, dur&s;t do in &s;uch a place,</L>
<L>For thee to do in this &s;mall towne, can be no great di&s;grace.</L>
<L>But if this mans example, cannot move thy minde one whit,</L>
<L>Yet if I vrge thine owne good health, I know thou'lt yeelde to it.</L>
<L>The learned wi&s;e Phi&s;itians, their patients hurt to cure,</L>
<L>Pre&s;cribe them certaine bitter vomits, which they mu&s;t indure.</L>
<L>Ech month one vomit at the lea&s;t, or more, they ought to v&s;e,</L>
<L>A vomit doth mens lives pre&s;erve, you can it not refu&s;e.</L>
<L>If in a month, one vomits v&s;e, can drive all hurts away,</L>
<L>How long &s;halt thou live, if thou vomit twice or thrice a day?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thou ha&s;t neede to pi&s;&s;e, as thou doo&s;t walke thy friends among,</L>
<L>Vnlode thy bladder pre&s;ently, tis ill to keepe it long.</L>
<L>What though &s;ome hone&s;t Matron, or &s;ome cha&s;te maid thee perceave,</L>
<L>Yet do not thou in any ca&s;e, thy former purpo&s;e leave.</L>
<L>Re&s;pect good manners, but re&s;pect thy health a great deale more,</L>
<L>Care while thou mai&s;t, for health once lo&s;t, is hard for to re&s;tore.</L>
<L>Men that are carele&s;&s;e of them&s;elves, do lo&s;e that in one night,</L>
<L>For which they'de give, what not? poore fooles, if &s;o they get it might.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any cloake, or &s;uch like garment on thy &s;houlders be,</L>
<L>What need&s;t thou care which way it hangs, &s;uch vaine care ca&s;t from thee.</L>
<L>Or if you weare a gowne, take heede that not your legs it hides,</L>
<L>Le&s;t that it hinder all your pace, your &s;teps, and eke your &s;hides.</L>
<L>Ca&s;t it behinde with both your hands, that all men &s;o may &s;ee,</L>
<L>Your perfect bodie, and your limbs, and fore parts what they bee.</L>
<L><PB N="23" REF="23">And that which el&s;e your gowne would cover, tis enough to hide</L>
<L>It with your doublet, and your breeches, lac'd on every &s;ide.</L>
<L>Such &s;ights do plea&s;e old Matrons very well, I tell the trew,</L>
<L>And the&s;e are very welcome &s;ights, vnto the virgins crew.</L>
<L>For then thei le marke your &s;lendernes, and all your nimble ioyntes,</L>
<L>And eke how well your bellie is tide, with girdle and with pointes.</L>
<L>And then forthwith with love of thee, thei'le quite be &s;et on fire,</L>
<L>Which done, each act will more and more inflame their hot de&s;ire.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If as you go, &s;ome friend or foe, do bid you, &s;ir God &s;peede,</L>
<L>I thinke to give him a good an&s;wer, there is little neede.</L>
<L>Fir&s;t looke him in the face, and marke with what good minde t'was &s;aid,</L>
<L>And as you like his, &s;ir God &s;peede, &s;o let it be repaid.</L>
<L>Thou ought&s;t to bid no man God &s;peede, vntill that thou ha&s;t &s;eene,</L>
<L>What his behaviour, and his manners, vnto thee have beene.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>For why the wandring multitudes good will, thou needes mu&s;t lacke,</L>
<L>If they perceive thou &s;peak&s;t &s;o friendly vnto every jacke.</L>
<L>And by this meanes, the name of a light fellow thou wilt have,</L>
<L>Which even now wert thought to be a man both wi&s;e and grave.</L>
<L>And thus thine honour and thy maie&s;tie, will have a fall,</L>
<L>If thou by &s;uch familiar termes, doo&s;t every fellow call.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if perchance &s;ome prettie wench, do &s;tand at any doore,</L>
<L>Then which, a fairer in thy life, thou never &s;aw'&s;t before.</L>
<L>Ca&s;t thou vpon her all the cheerefull loookes thou can&s;t devi&s;e,</L>
<L>Though &s;he be one, whome ne're before, thou did&s;t behold with eyes.</L>
<L>Then go &s;trait to her, and in this ca&s;e lay a&s;ide all &s;hame,</L>
<L>And with a plea&s;ant &s;miling looke, demand the virgins name.</L>
<L>All that thou think&s;t can laughter moove, lay downe before her face,</L>
<L>Let nothing &s;eeme vncivill, or vn&s;eemely in this ca&s;e.</L>
<L>Mong&s;t all the things which Nature made in wi&s;edome, for mans v&s;e,</L>
<L>Nothing is &s;imply bad, but it from man receives abu&s;e.</L>
<L>If nothing but the crabbed mindes of Stoickes, you do tell,</L>
<L>She ne're will laugh, &s;uch &s;adnes will not plea&s;e her fancie well.</L>
<L>De&s;pi&s;e the &s;harpe decrees of Catoni&s;ts, that are &s;evere,</L>
<L>And le&s;t you tell her <HI>Zenoes</HI> &s;tatutes, you mu&s;t have a care.</L>
<L>The flattering &s;ect of &s;hameles men, fulfills her fancie fit,</L>
<L>And that which curri&s;h Cinickes teach, tis good to tell her it.</L>
<L><PB N="24" REF="24">When thou ha&s;t tolde her all thy minde, and ript vp all thy heart,</L>
<L>And that thou think&s;t tis time for thee, now homeward to depart;</L>
<L>Then round about her necke, be &s;ure that thou thine armes do ca&s;t,</L>
<L>And till that thou ha&s;t ki&s;t thy fill, be &s;ure thou hold her fa&s;t,</L>
<L>If &s;he reiect thy gentle offers, and away would go,</L>
<L>Then ki&s;&s;e her and embrace her both, whether &s;he will or no.</L>
<L>If that &s;he flie, then follow her, and once caught, hold her fa&s;t,</L>
<L>Though &s;he di&s;&s;emble for a while, yet &s;ure &s;heele yeelde at la&s;t.</L>
<L>And call her mi&s;tris &s;weete hart, love, and &s;peake her very faire,</L>
<L>Le&s;t &s;he &s;hould thinke, thy prote&s;tations are but winde and aire.</L>
<L>Let all the yong men of the towne, behold your &s;port and iea&s;t,</L>
<L>That all may &s;ay, he is a comely fellow I prote&s;t.</L>
<L>What other wench &s;o e're you meete, while you do v&s;e this &s;port,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure &s;he ta&s;te of the &s;ame cup, and v&s;e her in this &s;ort.</L>
<L>You can no whit impeach by this, your gravitie and fame;</L>
<L>Nor is there any man, that ought to blame you for the &s;ame.</L>
<L>If any wench &s;peake to thee fir&s;t, thanke her not for that deede,</L>
<L>But count her light in &s;peaking fir&s;t, let that be all her meede.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>What though you count your &s;elfe a prai&s;er of Simplicitie,</L>
<L>And by your clowni&s;h manners, looke to get &s;ome high degree.</L>
<L>Yet beare &s;o brave a loftie minde, as all men to de&s;pi&s;e,</L>
<L>And with a frowning &s;cowling looke, on all men ca&s;t your eyes.</L>
<L>He which doth beare a ba&s;er minde, and thoughtes which are &s;o low,</L>
<L>Doth &s;eeme his owne perfections, not perfectly to know.</L>
<L>And by this meanes, he &s;oone may take vnworthily di&s;grace,</L>
<L>Whereas if he would brave it out, all men would give him place.</L>
<L>What every man thinkes of him&s;elfe, that others thinke its meete,</L>
<L>And he that will not rai&s;e him&s;elfe, may long he vnder feete.</L>
<L>Then yeelde to none, but &s;corne thou all, of none re&s;pectfull be,</L>
<L>And thinke all places, all degrees, are farre too low for thee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If that you meete a man of worth, whom all the people grace,</L>
<L>Whether he be a Magi&s;trate, or Ruler in that place;</L>
<L>Or teach the ruder multitude, to heaven to lift their eyes,</L>
<L>Or for &s;ome other hone&s;t life, he be accounted wi&s;e:</L>
<L>In any ca&s;e &s;corne to looke on him, when your head is bare,</L>
<L>But let your cap for feare of cold, cover your head and haire.</L>
<L><PB N="25" REF="24">We all are du&s;t, we all one forme, we all one matter have</L>
<L>Both rich and poore &s;hall have alike, whenas they go to grave.</L>
<L>The fatall &s;i&s;ter <HI>Clotho,</HI> neither &s;pareth rich nor poore,</L>
<L>Since then we all are like, why &s;hould &s;ome men be honour'd more?</L>
<L>Wherefore, where&s;oe're thou art, give none the way, who&s;oe're he be,</L>
<L>Nay, if he &s;tand vpon &s;uch points, then make him yeelde to thee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When in a common way, thou with thy friend doo&s;t walke the &s;treete,</L>
<L>Take thou the right hand both of him, and all that thou doo&s;t meete:</L>
<L>But if the way bee fowle, then marke this order not a whit,</L>
<L>Take thou the cleane as for the durtie, let him go in it.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perchance you have a fart, to &s;end into the world &s;o wide,</L>
<L>Which rumbling in your bellie, troubled you on every &s;ide;</L>
<L>Then let it forth in every place, and where&s;oe're you will;</L>
<L>That which our mother Nature made, I thinke cannot be ill.</L>
<L>If any man for doing &s;o, you are a &s;loven &s;ay,</L>
<L>In this good &s;ort, his vaine obiections, you well an&s;wer may.</L>
<L>Foure great di&s;ea&s;es will ari&s;e, by keeping in your winde,</L>
<L>A giddie head, the cholicke, drop&s;ie, and the crampe vnkinde.</L>
<L>Phi&s;itians do pre&s;cribe this rule, among&s;t their coun&s;ells deepe,</L>
<L>A rule, which every man that loves his health, &s;hould alwaies keepe.</L>
<L><HI>Claudius</HI> bids that farts and belches, we &s;hould never hold,</L>
<L>Le&s;t in pre&s;uming on our health, we make our &s;elves too bold.</L>
<L>All that which in this point is &s;aid, it tendeth to this end,</L>
<L>Thy good behaviour for to prai&s;e thy bad for to defend.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>In &s;ummer time, whenas the hearbes grow greener every day,</L>
<L>With &s;ome good talke, the tedious time, tis good to drive away.</L>
<L>When &s;ome in &s;ober &s;ort, of weightie matters do intreate,</L>
<L>And proove the land that lives in peace, hath &s;ure a ble&s;&s;ing great,</L>
<L>Or &s;ome one read in hi&s;tory, doth orderly declare,</L>
<L>The manners of our ance&s;tors, and cu&s;tomes what they were.</L>
<L>Be &s;ure with trifling matters, that thou cro&s;&s;e their purpo&s;e quite,</L>
<L>Let others talke of former times, in ours take thou delight.</L>
<L>Old wine, old friends, and eke old faith, may be allowed well,</L>
<L>And yet tis follie to allow, all old things that you tell.</L>
<L>Tis fitter for vs yonger men, to &s;peake of yonger daies,</L>
<L>And &s;ee if for their good de&s;erts, they may have any prai&s;e.</L>
<L><PB N="26" REF="25">And then beginne vnto them all, to tell &s;ome prettie ie&s;t,</L>
<L>Which may enforce great &s;tore of laughter vnto all the re&s;t.</L>
<L>Tell them what kindenes you of late, did of your love receave;</L>
<L>And thus with &s;tories of her flattring words, the time deceave.</L>
<L>Since none in crabbed words delight, v&s;e ie&s;ts in every place,</L>
<L>And bawdie termes, for the&s;e oft times, procure a &s;peciall grace.</L>
<L>O yong man, while thy time is fit, in plea&s;ure take thine ea&s;e,</L>
<L>If thou thy good companions mindes, doo&s;t purpo&s;e for to plea&s;e;</L>
<L>Reiecting &s;hame, &s;peake any filthie words that may be namde,</L>
<L>No valiant man, but onely fainting cowards are a&s;hamde.</L>
<L>This all your yonkers v&s;e to do, whenas abroade they walke,</L>
<L>And &s;corning hone&s;t &s;ober words, they fall to &s;hamele&s;&s;e talke.</L>
<L>That which all yong men v&s;e to do, the life that all men leade,</L>
<L>(Since it is &s;ure, the &s;afe&s;t cour&s;e in be&s;t knowne paths to treade.)</L>
<L>The &s;ame in every point to imitate I coun&s;ell thee,</L>
<L>And &s;ay, and do, that which thou think&s;t to mo&s;t will plea&s;ing bee.</L>
<L>As long as you of nothing el&s;e, but toies and trifles talke,</L>
<L>So long you may have worke enough, how farre &s;oe're you walke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if at length, when you have vttred all that e're you meant,</L>
<L>(Although I thinke your &s;tore of words, can hardly &s;oone be &s;pent;)</L>
<L>Then what&s;oe're another &s;aith, be &s;ure you mocke and flowt,</L>
<L>As &s;corning to be over-talkt, by &s;uch a clowni&s;h lowt.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="7" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>The adorning the Table before &s;upper, and other &s;uch like duties. <HI>Chap. VII.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>BVt now &s;ir <HI>Phoebus</HI> prancing hor&s;es to the &s;ea do ha&s;te,</L>
<L>There to refre&s;h that &s;trength againe, which burning <HI>Sol</HI> did wa&s;te.</L>
<L>And now I thinke the time drawes neere, thy &s;upper for to take,</L>
<L>Wherefore go home, that thou in readine&s;&s;e each thing mai&s;t make.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="27" REF="25">
<L>Bid talke farewell, which &s;taies the bellie from his wi&s;h for food,</L>
<L>The fine&s;t &s;peech vnto a gut halfe &s;ter'vd, can do no good.</L>
<L>Yet will I not in any ca&s;e, that too much ha&s;te thou make,</L>
<L>But with a good advi&s;e and coun&s;ell, all things vndertake.</L>
<L>Sometimes tis good thou &s;hould&s;t &s;tay out, beyond the pointed time,</L>
<L>For then &s;ome other will performe that dutie which was thine.</L>
<L>Some other then will lay the cloth, and on thy ma&s;ter tend,</L>
<L>And e're thou com&s;t, of all thy bu&s;ines he will make an end.</L>
<L>If that thy father or thine ho&s;t, do for thy comming &s;tay,</L>
<L>Thou &s;ure &s;halt get great profit and great credite by that way.</L>
<L>Profit, for why thou both their loves &s;halt try, how great they be;</L>
<L>And i&s;t not credite when thine ho&s;t or father &s;taies for thee?</L>
<L>And &s;ure I thinke, for &s;hame their hunger cannot be &s;o great,</L>
<L>As whenas thou art in the fields, they &s;hould devoure the meate.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When home you come, if that you &s;ee that neither man nor maid</L>
<L>Did lay the cloth, and yet tis more then time that it were laid;</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e thy ma&s;ter thee command, lay thou no cloth at all,</L>
<L>For if thou too officious art, who can thee &s;imple call?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Ne're labour for great &s;tore of wi&s;edome and agilitie,</L>
<L>For neither wit nor vertues deedes can one whit profit thee.</L>
<L>Simplicitie great profit brings, this will defend thee &s;till,</L>
<L>At every time, in every place where thou committe&s;t ill.</L>
<L>And if in every dutie thou doo&s;t &s;hew thy &s;elfe vnfit,</L>
<L>Thy ma&s;ter in his great affaires, will never tru&s;t thy wit.</L>
<L>The man that &s;trives to &s;hun the harmes, he &s;ees before his eyes,</L>
<L>And he which knowes whats fitte&s;t for him&s;elfe, is &s;urely wi&s;e.</L>
<L>The man which boa&s;teth of his wealth, is often robd we &s;ee,</L>
<L>When tho&s;e which hide their goods vp clo&s;e, in plea&s;ure &s;till may bee.</L>
<L>Such as do of their vertues brag, are oft vndone thereby,</L>
<L>When tho&s;e that looke like lazie knaves, in quiet &s;till may lie.</L>
<L>That <HI>Chicons</HI> darling, brave <HI>Vly&s;&s;es,</HI> might e&s;cape vn&s;pide,</L>
<L>All his exploites vnder a di&s;taffe he was glad to hide.</L>
<L>And had not wi&s;e <HI>Vly&s;&s;es</HI> faind him&s;elfe to have beene mad,</L>
<L>In tho&s;e hot broiles of Troian warres, he &s;urely peri&s;h'd had.</L>
<L>In like &s;ort thou, if any act or vertue in thee lie,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure thou keepe it all &s;o clo&s;e, that no man may it &s;pie.</L>
<L><PB N="28" REF="26">Thy ma&s;ter and thy father both, will &s;et great taskes to thee,</L>
<L>If they di&s;cry tho&s;e vertuous parts, which by thee cloak'd &s;hould bee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The trenchers and the bread to place, before the gue&s;ts do &s;it,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e thy ma&s;ter thee command, thou need&s;t not count it fit.</L>
<L>You neede not have a care, in what good &s;ort the &s;tooles do &s;tand,</L>
<L>Nor neede you care to order every thing, with your owne hand.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>It is not meete that from the loafe, you chip the vpper cru&s;t,</L>
<L>Which on your ma&s;ters trencher, for his owne mouth place you mu&s;t.</L>
<L>Your ma&s;ter oft forbids, that any good thing &s;hould be lo&s;t,</L>
<L>Then if his chippings he &s;hould loo&s;e, t'would put him to great co&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Do onely that which thou art bid, but do thou that with &s;peede,</L>
<L>It is not good at any time, to take more paines then neede.</L>
<L>Mo&s;t wretched is that &s;ervants ca&s;e, who&s;e lucke it is to have,</L>
<L>A ma&s;ter at who&s;e becke, he mu&s;t do all that hee &s;hall crave.</L>
<L>If he do that which no man bade him, tis a fault mo&s;t great,</L>
<L>And for it he forthwith is &s;ure, mo&s;t &s;oundly to be beat.</L>
<L>Which to prevent, a wittie youth that well did love his ea&s;e,</L>
<L>Did take this order, le&s;t he el&s;e his ma&s;ter &s;hould di&s;plea&s;e.</L>
<L>Of all the things he had to do, he forthwith made a bill,</L>
<L>That by this meanes, his ma&s;ters minde he better might fulfill.</L>
<L>And having made it by oft reading got it all by heart,</L>
<L>Thinking that he by no meanes then, could from his dutie part.</L>
<L>And as for doing other things, he dur&s;t not be &s;o bold,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e he them within his paper, written did behold.</L>
<L>By chance his ma&s;ter on a time, bade him put out a flame,</L>
<L>Which kindling in a corner of the hou&s;e, had burnt the &s;ame.</L>
<L>He fearing le&s;t he &s;hould do more, then in his bill he found,</L>
<L>Stood &s;eeking, till the hou&s;e was almo&s;t burnt vnto the ground.</L>
<L>Get &s;uch a b ll as this, and then you evermore &s;hall finde,</L>
<L>If any bu&s;ine&s;&s;e chance to fall out of your &s;lipperie minde.</L>
<L>I told thee many duties fit for dinner time before,</L>
<L>Which le&s;t I &s;pend my time in vaine, I will recite no more.</L>
<L>Vnto each willing per&s;on, all my precepts are but plaine,</L>
<L>If by my doctrine they their lives to guide, will take the paine.</L>
<L>For many have &s;o quicke a wit, that they my precepts know,</L>
<L>Although my methode and my doctrine, no man to them &s;hew.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="29" REF="26">
<L>Whenas your ma&s;ter hath to &s;upper, neither gue&s;t nor friend,</L>
<L>And doth for all his hou&s;hold &s;ervants, very kindely &s;end;</L>
<L>Forthwith to get the vpper place, have alwaies in your minde,</L>
<L>Le&s;t others getting it before, they thru&s;t you downe behinde.</L>
<L>Its alwaies &s;eene, that he mo&s;t labour &s;till doth vndergo,</L>
<L>Which comming after all his fellowes, hath his place below.</L>
<L>Ho, &s;irra, boy, vnlocke the doore for them that knocke &s;o fa&s;t,</L>
<L>If they be &s;trangers, aske their arrants, why they make &s;uch ha&s;te.</L>
<L>Go fetch &s;ome bread, and bring the ven&s;on pa&s;tie in your hands,</L>
<L>And draw &s;ome wine out of the tunne, which in the corner &s;tands.</L>
<L>Perchance the dog hath let a &s;cape, for which he mu&s;t be gone,</L>
<L>Then leade him out, and when hees &s;weeter, bring him in anone.</L>
<L>The&s;e things mu&s;t &s;ometimes all be done, by him that &s;its below,</L>
<L>Wherefore for any other &s;eate, the lowe&s;t place for go.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if perchance, your ma&s;ter makes you onely &s;tand and waite,</L>
<L>While all your fellowes take their choi&s;e, of every plea&s;ing bait.</L>
<L>Then &s;hew &s;ome token, that this place is yours again&s;t your will,</L>
<L>And with &s;uch angry words as the&s;e, your hungry &s;tomacke fill.</L>
<L>I&s;t any rea&s;on that I onely, in &s;uch &s;ervile &s;ort</L>
<L>Should &s;tand and waite, while others eate their meate with plea&s;ant &s;port?</L>
<L>I &s;ee no &s;en&s;e, why onely I &s;hould &s;tand and waite on thee,</L>
<L>Whenas my fellowes are at &s;upper, from &s;uch bondage free.</L>
<L>But as the hedge is mo&s;t gone over, where it lieth low,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e it in that lowne&s;&s;e, mo&s;t humilitie doth &s;how.</L>
<L>So I becau&s;e I le&s;&s;e re&s;i&s;t, then others that &s;tand by,</L>
<L>Am quite ca&s;t downe, and at my ma&s;ters feete mo&s;t ba&s;ely lie,</L>
<L>And thus the more I do obey, the more I &s;till mu&s;t toile,</L>
<L>I &s;ee tis hard for him to ri&s;e, that once hath tooke the foile.</L>
<L>It may be, the&s;e thy words to moove thy ma&s;ters heart may &s;eeme,</L>
<L>And hee'le both give thee le&s;&s;e to do, and better thee e&s;teeme.</L>
<L>And if hee &s;ees, in ioyfull manner that thou part away,</L>
<L>Hee'le love thee better, and appoint thee le&s;&s;er taskes each day.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if he be obdurate &s;till, refu&s;e not then to waite,</L>
<L>Le&s;t he a crooked &s;ticke, vpon thy &s;houlders broad make &s;traight.</L>
<L>Simplicitie that is too fooli&s;h, &s;he in any ca&s;e,</L>
<L>Le&s;t it procure thee &s;tore of &s;tripes, on &s;houlders, backe, and face.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="30" REF="27">
<L>As er&s;t I told thee, &s;o be &s;ure thou never tie thy points,</L>
<L>So mai&s;t thou as thou &s;erv'&s;t at boord, be nimbler in thy ioynts.</L>
<L>Whether your ma&s;ter and his hou&s;hold, onely dine together,</L>
<L>Or el&s;e your ma&s;ter &s;tore of &s;trangers, hath invited thither;</L>
<L>Let all things after one &s;et order, &s;till be done of thee,</L>
<L>And &s;till ob&s;erve one onely kinde, of rude Simplicitie.</L>
<L>Why &s;hould&s;t thou &s;trive at any time, more manners for to reach,</L>
<L>Then this my home-bred country mu&s;e, in &s;imple ver&s;e can teach?</L>
<L>Whether you &s;up at home, or all your curious friends among,</L>
<L>The &s;elfe-&s;ame manners in both places, vnto you belong.</L>
<L>To differ in your actions, cannot choo&s;e but breede di&s;grace,</L>
<L>That which is &s;eemely heere, is not ami&s;&s;e in any place.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="8" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>Waiting at the Table all &s;upper time. <HI>Chapter VIII.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>WHen all the gue&s;ts thou ha&s;t invited for thy ma&s;ters &s;ake,</L>
<L>Whom he with &s;tore of <HI>Bacchus</HI> liquors, merry means to make.</L>
<L>As thou wert wont, &s;o have a care, a trencher to provide,</L>
<L>And let Simplicitie in all thy actions be thy guide.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Then be thou carefull to ob&s;erve, all that I &s;aid before,</L>
<L>And vnto that tis requi&s;ite, I adde a little more.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Carry your di&s;h &s;o &s;tedfa&s;tly, that being filld to'th brim,</L>
<L>The bread, the &s;alt, the cloth and all, may in the potrage &s;wim.</L>
<L>What though the pottage &s;pilt, do all the &s;trangers clothes &s;taine,</L>
<L>Yet tho&s;e that know the profit, could indure it &s;o againe.</L>
<L>For why the &s;pice wherewith the Cooke did &s;tore the pottage well,</L>
<L>Be&s;ides the daintie ta&s;te, will al&s;o yeelde a fragrant &s;mell.</L>
<L>And by this meanes, their garments afterward will &s;mell more &s;weete,</L>
<L>Then e're they could, before they with this hot perfume did meete.</L>
<L>They cannot well forget this kindene&s;&s;e, if you have your due,</L>
<L><PB N="31" REF="27">For alwaies when they &s;mell that &s;pice, they needes mu&s;t thinke of you.</L>
<L>If that this deede do &s;eeme to make them ioyfull at the heart,</L>
<L>Then forthwith for to laugh aloude, you know it is your part.</L>
<L>And by this meanes, the company will &s;urely laugh at thee,</L>
<L>And prai&s;e thee for thy good intent, and plaine Simplicitie.</L>
<L>But if &s;ome te&s;tie crabbed fellow, liking not this v&s;e,</L>
<L>With angry lookes do tell thee plaine, thou offer&s;t him abu&s;e.</L>
<L>It &s;hall &s;uffice, if with good words, thou le&s;&s;en his di&s;grace,</L>
<L>Since hotte&s;t anger vnto gentle words, oft giveth place.</L>
<L>Sir, &s;o it is, each mortall man doth often times offend</L>
<L>Again&s;t his will, and cannot pre&s;ently his fault amend.</L>
<L>But &s;eeing that his fault is great, he forthwith doth repent,</L>
<L>And then le&s;t he &s;hould thus di&s;paire, he hath a pardon &s;ent.</L>
<L>And by this meanes, I doubt not but his anger you'le appea&s;e,</L>
<L>What though he were &s;o hot of late? yet thus you may him plea&s;e.</L>
<L>Or if the foole will needes be angry, raile as fa&s;t as hee,</L>
<L>I hope the foole was old enough, vnto his clothes to &s;ee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Then as you &s;tand, with carefull lookes marke all that &s;it at meate,</L>
<L>And marke the quantitie, that every man doth drinke and eate.</L>
<L>Hide not your lookes, but vnto every man vnfold your minde,</L>
<L>For why your ma&s;ter by this meanes, great profit &s;ure &s;hall finde.</L>
<L>For then for &s;hame, each man le&s;&s;e bits into his mouth will put,</L>
<L>And leave halfe that, which el&s;e he would have thru&s;t into his gut.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Have neither care nor reverence, of ma&s;ter, man, nor maid,</L>
<L>But all that fits thy fancie be&s;t, let that be done and &s;aid.</L>
<L>Though all men blame thee, yet if thou doo&s;t like thy deedes alwaies,</L>
<L>Thou know&s;t a mans owne guiltle&s;&s;e minde, de&s;erves the great &s;t prai&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any man thats not thy ma&s;ter, do thy &s;ervice crave.</L>
<L>Strait bid him doo't him&s;elfe, for why thy helpe he &s;hall not have.</L>
<L>But if thy father or thy ma&s;ter, bid thee do the &s;ame,</L>
<L>If then thou giv'&s;t them &s;uch an an&s;wer, thou art much too blame.</L>
<L>Do that which they command at lei&s;ure, alwaies be thou &s;low,</L>
<L>Le&s;t &s;omething thou &s;hould&s;t hurt or loo&s;e, if thou too fa&s;t &s;hould&s;t go.</L>
<L>Be &s;ure to frowne, and make &s;uch &s;tore of faces in that kinde,</L>
<L>That all may know, thou goe&s;t about it with no willing minde.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perhaps thou &s;ee&s;t the candle lacke a &s;nuffer, that it might</L>
<L><PB N="32" REF="28">Vnto the &s;trangers at the table, ca&s;t a better light.</L>
<L>Thou foole, why doo&s;t thou make &s;uch ha&s;te to &s;nuffe it with thy hand,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e thy ma&s;ter twice or thrice at lea&s;t, do thee command</L>
<L>If thou doo&s;t put it out, while thou to &s;nuffe it doo&s;t intend,</L>
<L>All that are by, will pre&s;ently, this cleanely tricke commend.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>It is a very civill tricke, whenas the candle's out,</L>
<L>To let the &s;tincking &s;moake, a&s;cend their no&s;trills round about.</L>
<L>If that you dare not put it out quite, le&s;t your ma&s;ter chide,</L>
<L>Yet that the &s;tincke may trouble them, you thus may well provide.</L>
<L>The &s;nuffe cut off you on the ground may ca&s;t without offence,</L>
<L>A &s;moakie vapor, will di&s;turbe their no&s;es all from thence.</L>
<L>Why &s;hould you treade it out? vnle&s;&s;e they erne&s;tly you pray,</L>
<L>Although they you command, yet &s;corne their plea&s;ures to obey.</L>
<L>Nay, rather you to leave the &s;nuffers open &s;hould pre&s;ume,</L>
<L>From whence will come a &s;mell, which will againe the hou&s;e perfume.</L>
<L>I thinke this &s;mell to wives with childe, but little good will do,</L>
<L>Though &s;ure t'will profit in &s;ome &s;ort, both men and women too.</L>
<L>If &s;ome one man among the re&s;t do firmely that denie,</L>
<L>And &s;ay hee'le prove the contrarie by rea&s;ons pre&s;ently:</L>
<L>And that he may the better proove, that which he doth defend,</L>
<L>Doth vrge the words of men, who&s;e writings all times did commend.</L>
<L>(For <HI>Plinie</HI> &s;aith, the babe which in the mothers wombe doth lie,</L>
<L>If that the mother feele this &s;mell, immediately doth die.)</L>
<L>Then cry aloude, that he again&s;t the truth doth plainely &s;peake,</L>
<L>And that thou pre&s;ently, wilt proove his argument but weake.</L>
<L>Nor be a&s;ham'd to trouble and di&s;turbe the &s;tanders by,</L>
<L>But with the&s;e words in loftie &s;ort, be &s;ure thou him defie,</L>
<L>I hope good fellow, thou wilt freely give me leave to &s;peake,</L>
<L>Since thou the lawes of mode&s;tie, long &s;ince thy &s;elfe did&s;t breake.</L>
<L>He &s;urely is a wicked man, which &s;eekes by vaunting lies,</L>
<L>To get him credite and renowne, before vs that are wi&s;e.</L>
<L>As I remember, I no place of <HI>Plinies</HI> can recall,</L>
<L>Wherein he any whit makes mention of the&s;e words at all.</L>
<L>For how could he know this? or el&s;e put ca&s;e he did &s;ay &s;o,</L>
<L>Tis vaine for to beleeve each word, of every man you know.</L>
<L>For many things vnto this day, are extant in his bookes,</L>
<L><PB N="33" REF="28">Which he may finde to be mo&s;t fal&s;e, that wi&s;ely in them lookes.</L>
<L>If thus you an&s;wer his obiection, everie man will &s;weare,</L>
<L>That &s;urely you a skilfull man, and well read &s;choller are.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The cups being emptie, catch them in your hand with wine to fill,</L>
<L>And then in ha&s;te fill them &s;o full, that they may almo&s;t &s;pill.</L>
<L>Tis good to fill them ful at fir&s;t, le&s;t you more paines &s;hould take,</L>
<L>What though your trembling hand &s;pill &s;ome? you &s;oone amends may make.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>What though the cup being too full, you powre &s;ome on the ground?</L>
<L>I thinke if you &s;hould v&s;e this tricke, great fault could not be found.</L>
<L>Or if you dare not give it full, for feare your ma&s;ter brawle,</L>
<L>Then kindely &s;up off &s;ome, as if you dranke vnto them all.</L>
<L>Or (which is much more civill,) if too much you chance to fill,</L>
<L>Into the flaggon emptie &s;ome, for feare you &s;hould it &s;pill.</L>
<L>For if perchance &s;ome durtie drugs, within the cup do lie,</L>
<L>By mingling it with all the wine, t'will forthwith clarifie.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perhaps your ma&s;ter on his gue&s;ts, be&s;towes &s;uch &s;tore of wine,</L>
<L>That no two cup fulls, grew vpon the &s;elfe-&s;ame kinde of vine.</L>
<L>You neede not take great care, to know each &s;undry &s;ort and kinde,</L>
<L>But alwaies fill of that, which next vnto your hand you finde.</L>
<L>What though a man &s;hould alwaies mixe, all kindes of wine together?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The &s;elfe-&s;ame earth did beare all wine, which Marchants can bring hether.</L>
<L>The vertues of all &s;ortes of wine, in one cup one might hold,</L>
<L>If all men in this &s;ort, would v&s;e to mingle new with old.</L>
<L>As many vertues ioynde in one, do make that one excell,</L>
<L>So divers wines are of mo&s;t force, when they be mingled well.</L>
<L>If any man this cu&s;tome, with &s;ome vp-&s;tart name abu&s;e,</L>
<L>Tell him, he knowes no orders, which the wi&s;e Phi&s;itians v&s;e:</L>
<L>Which would not v&s;e to give their patients compound potions &s;till,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e they found &s;uch mixture good, by Phi&s;ickes &s;acred skill.</L>
<L>The &s;elfe-&s;ame order mu&s;t be kept, which I pre&s;crib'd before,</L>
<L>In that good ale which vnto vs is brought from <HI>Saxon</HI> &s;hore.</L>
<L>From <HI>Hamburg</HI> cittie on our &s;hore, great &s;tore thereof is ca&s;t,</L>
<L>Which doth both nouri&s;h very well, and hath a plea&s;ant ta&s;te,</L>
<L>Next vnto that, Bracket, a kinde of happy plea&s;ant beere,</L>
<L>A kinde of drinke thats made of <HI>Hannoveraes</HI> water cleere.</L>
<L>And Cydar which was brought from thence, where <HI>Brunon</HI> old was king,</L>
<L><PB N="34" REF="29">And that good kinde of drinke which men from <HI>Embecke</HI> cittie bring.</L>
<L>Let all the&s;e &s;undrie &s;ortes of drinke, be mingled well together,</L>
<L>Since onely for the dry throates v&s;e, they were convaied hether.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any man intreateth you, to fill his emptie cup,</L>
<L>All that which in the bottome lies, be &s;ure you &s;trait drinke vp.</L>
<L>If thou perhaps art drunke to, by &s;ome antient friend of thine,</L>
<L>Which pre&s;ently, will have thee pledge him in a cup of wine,</L>
<L>At fir&s;t refu&s;e his gentle offer, after take the cup,</L>
<L>And all the wine that is therein, mo&s;t boldly drinke it vp,</L>
<L>As for the cup, in any ca&s;e let it not emptie &s;tand,</L>
<L>And having &s;illd it fre&s;h, re&s;tore it to your ma&s;ters hand,</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>I do not bid you &s;tirre your hat, whenas you pledge your friends;</L>
<L>Or if you will, then onely touch it with your fingers ends.</L>
<L>Or if for manners &s;ake, at length to take it off you choo&s;e,</L>
<L>Then ca&s;t it &s;trait behinde your backe, as meaning it to loo&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And as you &s;tand expecting carefully your ma&s;ters will,</L>
<L>As fa&s;t as they can drinke them off, the emptie cups to fill.</L>
<L>If as you fill, from forth your hands, the bottle you let fall,</L>
<L>You &s;hall be thought to be a han&s;ome fellow of them all.</L>
<L>What though your ma&s;ter heerevpon, beginne to fume and rage?</L>
<L>Yet with this gentle an&s;wer, you his an&s;wer may a&s;&s;wage.</L>
<L>For&s;ooth you ought for this, to blame my drunkennes, not mee,</L>
<L>And heerevpon he cannot choo&s;e, but pardon give to thee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thou perchance e&s;pi'&s;t a cup, which voide of liquor is,</L>
<L>Which everie man doth con&s;tantly, denie to have beene his</L>
<L>Becau&s;e perhaps &s;ome &s;ober man, to &s;cape it &s;o, did thinke,</L>
<L>And &s;et it by, le&s;t el&s;e he &s;hould be over-come with drinke.</L>
<L>It is great &s;hame, that emptie cups &s;hould on the table &s;tand,</L>
<L>And tis your fault, if any gue&s;t want liquor in his hand.</L>
<L>Then take it &s;trait and drinke to him, which for your friend you faine,</L>
<L>And by this meanes, the v&s;e of drinking you'le renew againe.</L>
<L>Yet do not this, without &s;ome cunning tricke of craft or other,</L>
<L>For tis a credite nowadaies, to coofin your owne brother.</L>
<L>Wherefore be &s;ure to fill the cup whereon you drinke, with beere,</L>
<L>The common kinde of <HI>Saxon</HI> drinke, which daily we v&s;e heere.</L>
<L>But for your friend mingle good wine, your &s;tronge&s;t beere among,</L>
<L><PB N="35" REF="29">For why the mixture of the&s;e liquors, makes them both more &s;trong.</L>
<L>And by this meanes, if of this drinke you give them but your fill,</L>
<L>The company will all be drunke, when you are &s;ober &s;till.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or if your ma&s;ters friends you love not thus for to deceive,</L>
<L>Then of each cup of perfect wine, be &s;ure no drop to leave.</L>
<L>And thus to drunkards haven thou thy &s;hipping fir&s;t &s;halt take,</L>
<L>And all that halfe-drunke company, mo&s;t merrie thou &s;halt make.</L>
<L>And thus by thy example, thou wilt make them drinke the more,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e they &s;ee &s;uch good effects of wine in thee before.</L>
<L>For &s;ince that wine &s;tirres vp &s;uch gallant &s;porting trickes in thee,</L>
<L>Thei'le all be drunke, that in like &s;ort they all may plea&s;ant bee.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="9" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>The manner how to &s;erve the gue&s;ts with drinke after &s;upper, and how to prevent them with craftie trickes. <HI>Chapter IX.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>THat you have done your bu&s;ines well, t'wil make your ma&s;ter think,</L>
<L>If by your meanes your ma&s;ters friends, have tooke good &s;tore of drinke.</L>
<L>Wherefore let no man of your ma&s;ter offer leave to take,</L>
<L>Before he with his feete do &s;eeme, indentures for to make.</L>
<L>And though your ma&s;ter give him leave, at length to go his way,</L>
<L>Yet tis your dutie ne'rethele&s;&s;e, perforce to make him &s;tay.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Nor would I have you fill the cup, at any mans reque&s;t,</L>
<L>Before he doth each drop which in the bottome lies, dige&s;t.</L>
<L>Sir, you mu&s;t drinke off everie whit, el&s;e not a drop Ile fill,</L>
<L>My office bindes me thus to do, and that ob&s;erve I will.</L>
<L>Plaine dealing's be&s;t, &s;uch drops of wine to what end &s;hould you &s;pare?</L>
<L>Thinke you that I of right and iu&s;tice, have no better care?</L>
<L>Drunkards, have alwaies beene the iu&s;te&s;t men in every place,</L>
<L>Wherefore I &s;corne that our old cu&s;tome, you &s;hould now deface.</L>
<L>My ma&s;ter alwaies gives me charge, to give his gue&s;ts their due,</L>
<L><PB N="36" REF="30">Which charge I could not choo&s;e but breake, if I &s;hould favour you.</L>
<L>Thus &s;ay, and though a thou&s;and times he bid you fill it vp,</L>
<L>Fill not a whit, vntill each drop he drinke out of the cup.</L>
<L>This profit thou &s;halt get, if thou do&s;t that which I have &s;ed,</L>
<L>Thy gue&s;t, will &s;ooner all be drunke, and &s;ooner gone to bed.</L>
<L>And thou mai&s;t &s;ooner take thy re&s;t, and get againe that &s;leepe,</L>
<L>From which thy early ri&s;ing, doth thine eyes &s;o often keepe.</L>
<L><HI>Na&s;o,</HI> which in &s;uch learned &s;ort of flattring love doth &s;peake,</L>
<L>Doth &s;ay that want of &s;leepe doth make mens bodies verie weake.</L>
<L>Then &s;ince &s;leepe doth the contrarie, be &s;ure thou have a care,</L>
<L>That all thy ma&s;ters gue&s;ts betimes, with wine well drunken are.</L>
<L>And by the way hee<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">e is a tricke, which I mu&s;t teach to thee,</L>
<L>Which &s;urely is a perfect point, of pure Simplicitie.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Have you two &s;undry &s;ortes of gue&s;ts, at &s;upper in your hou&s;e,</L>
<L>As heere a &s;ort of bellie gods, that love the grand carou&s;e.</L>
<L>And heere a &s;ort of hone&s;t quiet men, that v&s;e to play</L>
<L>At Ruffe, at Noddie, and at Pinke, to drive the time away:</L>
<L>And hath thy ma&s;ter made thee &s;upravi&s;or over all his wine?</L>
<L>Is both his key, his wine, his &s;eller, and his &s;ugar thine?</L>
<L>The &s;trong wine to the clownes, the wor&s;e vnto the good men give,</L>
<L>And theres good rea&s;on, why good men without good wine &s;hould live.</L>
<L>Such men as rule the multitude, and weightie cau&s;es heare,</L>
<L>Le&s;t they &s;hould erre by drunkennes, &s;hould hate &s;trong wine and beere.</L>
<L>For drunkennes o'recomes our &s;ence, and captivates the minde,</L>
<L>And is the greate&s;t fault, when it in greate&s;t men we finde.</L>
<L>Wherefore, le&s;t thou &s;hould&s;t &s;eeme the cau&s;e and author of this ill,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure th<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">t thou the wor&s;t wine, for the be&s;t men alwaies fill.</L>
<L>Thou &s;ee&s;t they love to &s;it and talke, and pa&s;&s;e away the time,</L>
<L>Which prove's that they love hone&s;t talke, better then &s;tronge&s;t wine.</L>
<L>Thus will they &s;it and talke all night, forgetting to depart,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e thou carefully prevent them with this cunning art,</L>
<L>Give them &s;uch ta&s;tele&s;&s;e wine, as thou doo&s;t v&s;e with drugs to mixe,</L>
<L>And then thei'le &s;urely &s;trait depart, not liking the&s;e thy trickes.</L>
<L>For they will neither for &s;uch tappings any mony &s;pend,</L>
<L>Now will &s;uch ta&s;tele&s;&s;e drugs as tho&s;e, their &s;tomacks &s;o offend.</L>
<L>But every man to leave that hou&s;e, will forthwith thinke it be&s;t,</L>
<L><PB N="37" REF="30">And to his owne hou&s;e, every man will go to take his re&s;t.</L>
<L><HI>Xantip,</HI> wife to <HI>Socrates,</HI> in fame &s;hall ever live,</L>
<L>Who when to certaine worthie men, a banquet &s;he did give.</L>
<L>They talked long and learnedly, of things that lik'd them be&s;t,</L>
<L>Including many a weightie matter in a plea&s;ant ie&s;t.</L>
<L>When halfe the night they thus had &s;pent, <HI>Xantip</HI> malecontent,</L>
<L>Devi&s;de &s;ome meanes, whereby at length their pratling to prevent.</L>
<L>She being well tong'd, both her husband and her gue&s;ts did chide,</L>
<L>But &s;eeing that they &s;cornde her words, this other meanes &s;he tride.</L>
<L>She threw the table vnder feete, and forc'd them all to go</L>
<L>Incontinent out of her hou&s;e, whether they would or no.</L>
<L>This I could wi&s;h thee eke to do, if they &s;hould &s;it too long,</L>
<L>But this I doubt thou &s;carce would&s;t do, &s;uch &s;ober men among.</L>
<L>Wherefore I thinke with naughtie wine, they &s;ooner will leave talke,</L>
<L>And every man will care, vnto his proper hou&s;e to walke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perchance t'will make them leave their chat, to tell them &s;uddainely,</L>
<L>Where <HI>Charles waine</HI> is, and other well knowne candles of the skie.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>What though you tell a lie? tu&s;h, thats a trifle very light;</L>
<L>Or, that they may be gone to bed, tell them what time of night,</L>
<L>Suppo&s;e the Cocke hath &s;carce crow'd once, nights comming to declare,</L>
<L>Yet &s;ay the &s;tarres vnto the waters, now de&s;cending are.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or &s;ay (what though thou lie&s;t?) that each man may his owne hou&s;e &s;ee,</L>
<L>Why &s;hould their trifling iea&s;ts, di&s;turbe thy ma&s;ter thus and thee?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or if thou wilt not drive away &s;uch grave men in this wi&s;e,</L>
<L>Then let them talke, and do what &s;oe're is &s;eemely in their eyes.</L>
<L>But leave tho&s;e wi&s;e men all alone, vnto the clownes go thou,</L>
<L>Who plea&s;ant iea&s;ts, and &s;tore of wine; vnto thee will allow.</L>
<L>Mean while, leave tho&s;e grave Catoni&s;ts, as men that are forlorne,</L>
<L>And let them &s;it, (but without wine,) vntill the next day morne.</L>
<L>Wh n they perceive you &s;corne them thus, and leave them all alone,</L>
<L>Then &s;ure (if ever,) every man will to his hou&s;e be gone.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But for the drunkards, men well minded, give them better drinke,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e on nothing but the throate well drench'd, they v&s;e to thinke.</L>
<L>As little wi&s;edome as you can, will fit their humours be&s;t,</L>
<L>And as for knowledge and good con&s;cience, th y do both dete&s;t.</L>
<L>Their heads with matters of importance, &s;eldome troubled are,</L>
<L><PB N="38" REF="31">And from their mindes, I thinke they alwaies bani&s;ht carke and care.</L>
<L>They neither care for wife, nor children, nor exce&s;&s;e of wealth,</L>
<L>Their onely care, is now and then in mirth to drinke a health.</L>
<L>God <HI>Bacchus</HI> frolicke fea&s;ts, and plea&s;ant wine they &s;till commend,</L>
<L>And all their life in &s;portive plaies and trickes, they v&s;e to &s;pend.</L>
<L>For tho&s;e good fellowes at the fir&s;t, bring forth immediately,</L>
<L>The &s;tronge&s;t wine, though vnder twentie lockes and keyes it lie.</L>
<L>Such men as the&s;e each day and houre, make drunkennes a iea&s;t,</L>
<L>And if you bring your &s;tronge&s;t wine, the &s;tronge&s;t they love be&s;t.</L>
<L>V&s;e all thy wit, to make the&s;e wel-nie drunken fellowes mad,</L>
<L>And though they come too fa&s;t before, yet v&s;e a &s;purre to adde;</L>
<L>And force them thus to runne that way, which they before did go,</L>
<L>By giving the &s;tale&s;t wine, which &s;tronge&s;t thou do&s;t know.</L>
<L>For why, the &s;ooner they be drunke, the &s;ooner thei'le for&s;ake</L>
<L>The hou&s;e; the &s;ooner thei'le depart, the &s;ooner &s;leepe thei'le take.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="10" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>The talke, debating, and wrangling of the gue&s;ts after &s;upper. <HI>Chapter X.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>VVHenas with <HI>Bacchus</HI> plea&s;ant iuyce, they have bin liquord well,</L>
<L>Thei'le fall to talke, and every man his &s;undrie tale mu&s;t tell:</L>
<L>Then all the newes that flies abroad, you &s;hall be &s;ure to heare,</L>
<L>And all the miracles that have beene done, both farre and neere.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>One tells how gallantly he &s;pent his &s;portive youthfull daies,</L>
<L>How readie and how apt he was to &s;undry kinde of plaies;</L>
<L>How cunningly his hobbie-hor&s;e, in tho&s;e daies he could drive,</L>
<L>And in the Troyan hor&s;e how they their battaile did contrive.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Another &s;hewes &s;ome lines, received from his whilome love,</L>
<L>And tells how happie and effectuall, all his &s;uites did prove:</L>
<L>And often-times, a cau&s;e of fetching bitter &s;ighes hee'le finde,</L>
<L>When his pro&s;peritie thats pa&s;t, he calles into his minde.</L>
<L><PB N="39" REF="31">When he his &s;weete&s;t daies and plea&s;ures pa&s;t, doth thus recall,</L>
<L>He cannot choo&s;e, but into &s;tore of &s;ighes he needes mu&s;t fall.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>A third will on the tother &s;ide, his ill &s;ucce&s;&s;e recite,</L>
<L>While he, (vnhappie he) did vnder <HI>Cupids</HI> colours fight,</L>
<L>How he was cold and numbe, even in the mid&s;t of all his fire:</L>
<L>And how he went through fro&s;t and &s;now, to compa&s;&s;e his de&s;ire.</L>
<L>And yet for all this, he his purpo&s;e never could attaine,</L>
<L>But for his praiers and his paines, bad words were all his gaine.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Another yonker to the heavens, his &s;weete harts prai&s;e will tell,</L>
<L>And &s;weare her haire &s;trives with the gold, the &s;affron doth excell.</L>
<L>Her glittring eyes do &s;hine like &s;tarres, to them that pa&s;&s;e them by,</L>
<L><HI>&V;enus</HI> I thinke <HI>Idaliaes</HI> Queene, had not a purer eye.</L>
<L>Her mouth well framde, her face and cheekes in forme are verie round,</L>
<L>Life-breathing ki&s;&s;es, in her ro&s;e-excelling lips are found,</L>
<L>Her white with red, and red with white, &s;o well is inter-linde,</L>
<L>As if the blu&s;hing Ro&s;e, were to the pale-fac'd Lillie ioynde:</L>
<L>Her fingers long and &s;lender are, her teates are even &s;o,</L>
<L>Her thighs (&s;weete thighs,) excell in whitenes the <HI>Sithonian</HI> &s;now.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Others perchance in other matters place their chiefe delight,</L>
<L>And everie man will &s;peake of that, which fits his &s;tate mo&s;t right,</L>
<L>The &s;ouldier &s;peakes of cruell battailes, <HI>Mars,</HI> and bloodie wounds,</L>
<L>The hunts-man which delightes in dogs, commends the &s;wifte&s;t hounds.</L>
<L>He that delightes in &s;tore of fruites, commends mo&s;t fertile fields,</L>
<L>The &s;hepheard he commends the flock, which mo&s;t wooll to him yields.</L>
<L>The marriner &s;ets forth the windes, and quicke-&s;ands where they bee,</L>
<L>And talkes to them of raging &s;eas, which never &s;ea did &s;ee.</L>
<L>Each man according to his life, doth &s;peake of every thing,</L>
<L>The hearing of &s;uch newes as the&s;e, great profite may thee bring.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Some will repeate tho&s;e trickes, which they have done in all their daies,</L>
<L>And for the&s;e tricks (though they be faults,) wil looke to have &s;ome prai&s;e.</L>
<L>Oft have I heard old chancele&s;&s;e men, with one foote in the grave,</L>
<L>Brag of tho&s;e vices, which they in their youth committed have.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Tho&s;e good examples of old men will teach thee, in like &s;ort,</L>
<L>Yong heads vnto decrepite &s;yres, for coun&s;ell &s;hould re&s;ort.</L>
<L>Be &s;ure thou li&s;ten with both eares, vnto each word they &s;ay,</L>
<L>And in thy carefull minde, each matter firmely beare away.</L>
<L><PB N="40" REF="32">If in the meane time any gue&s;t, de&s;ire thy helping hand,</L>
<L>And either bid thee fill &s;ome wine, or &s;omething el&s;e command.</L>
<L>Looke thou another way, as if his voice thou did&s;t not heare,</L>
<L>And with each hand from that ill &s;ound, be &s;ure thou &s;top each eare.</L>
<L><HI>&V;li&s;&s;es,</HI> le&s;t the Syrens &s;ongs to death &s;hould him intice,</L>
<L>Stopt all his fellowes eares with wax, and &s;capt by that devi&s;e.</L>
<L>So le&s;t thou &s;hould&s;t be forc'd to go, whither thou ha&s;t no minde,</L>
<L>Be deafe, and then to heare their talke, thou &s;till mai&s;t &s;tay behinde.</L>
<L>But if without your credites cracke, you can no longer &s;tay,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e he &s;till with lowde&s;t voice praies you to come away,</L>
<L>And yet to heare their trifling talke, you have a great de&s;ire,</L>
<L>This favour at his hands, by this meanes you may well require.</L>
<L>Pray him to &s;tay, but till you heare the end of that one iea&s;t,</L>
<L>And then you'le come, he cannot choo&s;e but grant that &s;mall reque&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When &s;tore of <HI>Bacchus</HI> drunken iuyce, into their braine is &s;ent,</L>
<L>And drunkennes in every part, hath firmely pitch'd his tent;</L>
<L>Triumphing, that poore rea&s;on from his native &s;eate is gone:</L>
<L>And when the &s;oule is headlong thru&s;t, by force from off her throne,</L>
<L>Great &s;trife, concerning &s;undry weightie matters will ari&s;e,</L>
<L>And every tongue made glib with drinke, will talke in divers wi&s;e.</L>
<L>One &s;aieth, that after death, our &s;oules do live eternally,</L>
<L>And that it is not like, that with our bodies they &s;hould die.</L>
<L>They change their place indeede, but enter other &s;ubiects tho,</L>
<L>As that &s;oule which was once a mans, into a bea&s;t doth go.</L>
<L>But this ab&s;urde opinion, will of &s;ome reiected be,</L>
<L>Which in like iudgement, with <HI>Pythagoras</HI> do not agree.</L>
<L>Others will thinke, the &s;oule and bodie both together die,</L>
<L>Even as the heare together with the fire, ends pre&s;ently.</L>
<L>And that this is impo&s;&s;ible, another forthwith &s;aith,</L>
<L>Mo&s;t con&s;tantly di&s;prai&s;ing tho&s;e that dare defend this faith.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Another will declare great wonders of another land,</L>
<L>Which in a place, thats farre beyond heavens axletree, doth &s;tand.</L>
<L>There <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="2 letters">en have mouthes &amp; teeth like dogs, and do on mans fle&s;h feede;</L>
<L>Thats fal&s;e another cries, with mon&s;ters Nature ner'e agreed.</L>
<L>Each man brings &s;tore of arguments, that he may get the field,</L>
<L>And every man will rather die than to another yield.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="41" REF="32">
<L>Others would gain&s;t &s;uch kings as they, mi&s;like, exception take,</L>
<L>And oftentimes great iarres and warres, by their great words they make,</L>
<L>Some Captaines thei'le extoll beyond the heavens, and &s;tars with prai&s;e,</L>
<L>Others thei'le wi&s;h at <HI>Stigian</HI> lakes, in hell to end their daies.</L>
<L>Others will &s;peake quite contrarie to the&s;e, to move debate,</L>
<L>And tho&s;e which they &s;o hate, thei'le prai&s;e, which they &s;o prai&s;e, thei'le hate.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Others make difference in the daies, one blacke, another white;</L>
<L>Others by making all alike, da&s;h this di&s;tinction quite.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Each man will onely like of that, which he him&s;elfe doth know,</L>
<L>Iudgeing, that as he thinkes, tis meete that every man thinke &s;o.</L>
<L>Another cannot &s;uffer that, but thus it needes mu&s;t be,</L>
<L>That he knowes what belongs to things, as well as any he.</L>
<L>And then thei'le proove and di&s;proove, all the cau&s;es they can get,</L>
<L>And thus their wrangling, wre&s;tling &s;trife, and &s;waggring will be great.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>It may be then from words to bloodie blowes this &s;trife will leade,</L>
<L>And then in&s;teede of arguments, a naked &s;word mu&s;t pleade.</L>
<L>As for old Logicke, that in this ca&s;e can no whit &s;uffi&s;e,</L>
<L>Which never taught to prove your words, in this &s;o boi&s;trous wi&s;e.</L>
<L>Some <HI>Ari&s;totle</HI> mu&s;t be found, to print this art anew,</L>
<L>By &s;hewing from what &s;ecret place, his &s;hining &s;word he drew.</L>
<L>Be &s;ure that with a lu&s;tie courage, thou on one &s;ide take,</L>
<L>And by thy coun&s;ell and advi&s;e, the battell greater make.</L>
<L>Thru&s;t thou thy &s;elfe into the mid&s;t, and all feare ca&s;t behinde,</L>
<L>Concerning all the matter, freely vtter thou thy minde.</L>
<L>In &s;tore of &s;tirre, and whooping lowde, be &s;ure thou pa&s;&s;e them all,</L>
<L>And &s;peake &s;o lowde, that thou mai&s;t almo&s;t &s;hake thy ma&s;ters hall.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Boldly give thou the lie, to him which contradicteth thee,</L>
<L>Then at thy thunder-thumping words, thei'le all amazed bee.</L>
<L>And thus to honour and renowne, thou pre&s;ently &s;halt ri&s;e,</L>
<L>And for this wit, the multitude will prai&s;e thee to the skies.</L>
<L>But from his hands to whom thou gav'&s;t the lie, be &s;ure thou live,</L>
<L>Le&s;t for that &s;alutation, &s;ome wound to thee he give.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="11" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="42" REF="33">
<HEAD>The manner how to &s;end away the gue&s;ts after &s;upper, and what is to be done before you go to bed, and the con|clu&s;ion of this fir&s;t booke. <HI>Chapter XI.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>IF halfe the night be &s;pent in waging warre the gue&s;ts among,</L>
<L>This iniurie in any ca&s;e, mu&s;t not be tooke too long.</L>
<L>He which with carefull diligence, vnto his things will looke,</L>
<L>Mu&s;t have a care, that all his gue&s;ts with craft be over-tooke.</L>
<L>That banquet, la&s;t it ne're &s;o long can bring to thee no gaine,</L>
<L>Although by keeping thee from &s;leepe, it put thee to great paine.</L>
<L>Wherefore to make them all depart, thy wit mu&s;t finde &s;ome feate,</L>
<L>Some trickes I have alreadie taught, which heere I will repeate.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perchance &s;ome one among the re&s;t, demands what time of night,</L>
<L>Then be thou &s;ure in any ca&s;e, thou never tell him right.</L>
<L>Perhaps the Cocke doth tell you plaine, t'was ten the clocke &s;trucke la&s;t,</L>
<L>Yet be not thou a&s;hamde, to &s;ay that it is twelve and pa&s;t.</L>
<L>Though no man aske, yet tell them this each houre, on thine owne head,</L>
<L>That they may know the better, that its time to go to bed.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If neither they re&s;pect thy words, nor yet the time thats pa&s;t.</L>
<L>Then warne them flatlie, that each per&s;on to his hou&s;e make ha&s;te.</L>
<L>And though your ma&s;ter did not bid you, thus his gue&s;ts to v&s;e,</L>
<L>Yet if you do &s;o, this his credite cannot much abu&s;e.</L>
<L>I doubt not, but your ma&s;ter would him&s;elfe have &s;aid the &s;ame,</L>
<L>If that it would not have beene preiudiciall to his fame.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>As &s;oone as they halfe-drunken, do beginne to part away,</L>
<L>Set ope the doore, le&s;t thou &s;hould&s;t give them any cau&s;e of &s;tay.</L>
<L>Set ope the doores I &s;ay, and freely lend them &s;tore of light,</L>
<L>And tell each man which is the way, vnto his owne hou&s;e right.</L>
<L>And when each one hath tooke his leave, as fits his humour be&s;t,</L>
<L>Be take thee to thy chamber, there at length to take thy re&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>As for the &s;hutting of the doores, it is thy ma&s;ters right</L>
<L>To &s;hut them all, if that he meanes they &s;hall be &s;hut that night.</L>
<L>Let him put out the candles all, and eke rake vp the fire,</L>
<L><PB N="43" REF="33">Thy ma&s;ter mu&s;t go la&s;t to bed, that <HI>Cato</HI> doth require.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or el&s;e take thou the candle, for I thinke thats farre more fit,</L>
<L>Whenas thou go'&s;t to bed, and for thine owne v&s;e keepe thou it;</L>
<L>Le&s;t in the darke, thy legs or feete be hurt by any thing,</L>
<L>The night, before all other times mo&s;t hurt doth &s;oone&s;t bring.</L>
<L>As for your ma&s;ter, he may in the darke more &s;afely go,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e each corner in the hou&s;e, he perfectly doth know.</L>
<L>Let him a Gods name in the darke, put off his clothes alone,</L>
<L>Hee's old enough, as for thy helpe, be &s;ure thou give him none.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The night is &s;horter then the day, then &s;ure I thinke it be&s;t,</L>
<L>To have a care, that nothing hinder thine expected re&s;t.</L>
<L>Wherefore prevent the ha&s;ting time, by all meanes that thou can,</L>
<L>Care for thy &s;elfe, but have no care for any other man.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>As for the pots and cups, which &s;till are left vpon the table,</L>
<L>To &s;turre them ere tomorrow morne, I thinke thou art not able.</L>
<L>If all the pots &s;hould be remoov'd that night, and purg'd by you,</L>
<L>After &s;uch paines and lo&s;&s;e of &s;leepe, what profit would en&s;ue?</L>
<L>Then let them &s;tand, that every man may tell his fellow, heere</L>
<L>Was ye&s;ter night a royall banquet, &s;tuffde with daintie cheere.</L>
<L>For by this meanes, of tho&s;e great plea&s;ures they may have a ta&s;te,</L>
<L>Tis comfortable to remember plea&s;ures that are pa&s;t.</L>
<L>Nay which is more, this bu&s;ine&s;&s;e thou ever &s;hould&s;t neglect,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e no wi&s;e man, will &s;uch labour and &s;uch paines re&s;pect.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Next morning, tis my coun&s;ell, that thou &s;leepe till iu&s;t mid-noone,</L>
<L>Left thou &s;hould&s;t hurt thy braine and wit, if thou &s;hould&s;t ri&s;e too &s;oone.</L>
<L>Nay then, to leave thy &s;leepie bed, take thou no care at all,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e thy father or thy ma&s;ter, twice or thrice thee call.</L>
<L>Meane time, the &s;ervants all the pots will place in comely wi&s;e,</L>
<L>And quite di&s;patch thy bu&s;ine&s;&s;e, before that thou can&s;t ri&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When thou ha&s;t &s;lept &s;o well, that all thy wine is wa&s;h'd away,</L>
<L>Then ri&s;e, whenas the &s;unne hath &s;hined brightly halfe the day.</L>
<L>Such precepts as are fitte&s;t for thee, whenas thou doo&s;t ri&s;e,</L>
<L>And all fit manners, we have tolde before in ample wi&s;e.</L>
<L>Be &s;ure that thou in every place, doo&s;t all of them maintaine,</L>
<L>Le&s;t thy forgetfulnes, make me repeate them all againe.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Many there are, which next their heart do burnt wine whole&s;ome thinke,</L>
<L><PB N="44" REF="34">For why (&s;ay they,) our &s;ences are re&s;torde by that warme drinke.</L>
<L>Do thou the &s;ame if for &s;uch kinde of drinke thy pur&s;e do care;</L>
<L>For ill with ill, and wine with wine, oft times expelled are.</L>
<L>To teach thee more, concerning this thy &s;imple life I meant,</L>
<L>But I mu&s;t ha&s;te, for why mine owne affaires do me prevent.</L>
<L>V&s;e thine owne wit as much as may be, for thou &s;o mai&s;t well</L>
<L>By thine owne practi&s;e, all my words and coun&s;ell farre excell.</L>
<L>I onely &s;lightly touch tho&s;e precepts, which I give to thee,</L>
<L>Which if I &s;hould at large define, too tedious I &s;hould bee.</L>
<L>Few words will &s;erve, &s;ince from thy v&s;e great learning thou ha&s;t had.</L>
<L>Vnto my precepts by thy practi&s;e, thou mai&s;t daily adde.</L>
<L>For me to put all things in one booke, it would be but vaine,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e the greate&s;t place that is, could not that booke containe.</L>
<L>How I (poore wretch,) &s;uch labour &s;hould &s;u&s;taine, I do not know,</L>
<L>It is a burthen, greater then my wit can vndergo.</L>
<L>For why, no place (though ne're &s;o wide,) all fooles can comprehend.</L>
<L>Becau&s;e their court is infinite, their number without end.</L>
<L>Ca&s;t but your eyes in carefull &s;ort, through all the worlds wide round,</L>
<L>And marke each &s;undry &s;ort of men, that therein can be found.</L>
<L>You &s;till mo&s;t &s;hamele&s;&s;e filthie faults, in every place &s;hall finde,</L>
<L>For why alas to rudenes, now no meane can be a&s;&s;ignde.</L>
<L>Old age to live by vertues line, have nowadaies no care,</L>
<L>Not &s;haming by vilde vices, to di&s;grace their &s;ilver haire.</L>
<L>And which is wor&s;e, they vnto youth &s;uch bad examples give,</L>
<L>That they in imitating them, mo&s;t wickedly do live.</L>
<L>And youth, (&s;uch is the wickednes of the&s;e inclining daies,)</L>
<L>Doth thinke, that living out of order, merits mickle prai&s;e.</L>
<L>Who teacheth youth to mend their lives, or bids them to for&s;ake</L>
<L>Their former mo&s;t di&s;orderd life, and better cour&s;es take?</L>
<L>Nor man nor woman nowadaies, their credite do re&s;pect,</L>
<L>But loving vice mo&s;t &s;hamele&s;ly, all vertue they neglect.</L>
<L>In times of olde, when men by vertue did to honour ri&s;e,</L>
<L>Yong maids were much commended, for their cha&s;te &amp; &s;hamefa&s;te eyes.</L>
<L>They &s;eldom &s;pake, and when they &s;pake, their &s;peech was cha&s;te &amp; pure,</L>
<L>Which of a cha&s;te and pure minde, was an argument mo&s;t &s;ure.</L>
<L>Now tis a credite for a wench, to have a gadding eye,</L>
<L><PB N="45" REF="34">And if &s;he cannot keepe her way, &s;hee's prai&s;de immediatly.</L>
<L>Now, tis a credite for a wench, to have her tongue to walke;</L>
<L>And &s;he is thought a clowni&s;h wench which cannot boldely talke.</L>
<L>Tis vaine to talke of tho&s;e great men, which are in great account,</L>
<L>And, which in rule and dignitie all others do &s;urmount.</L>
<L>Forgetfull of all comelines, tho&s;e things they &s;peake and doe,</L>
<L>Which all their mindes regardle&s;&s;e lu&s;t mo&s;t headlong leades them to:</L>
<L>And tho&s;e which in a kingdome over others rulers are,</L>
<L>Doe that them&s;elves, from which they &s;hould keepe others with great care.</L>
<L>Enter the halles of noble men, pufft vp with pompe and pride;</L>
<L>The high built hou&s;es of great men, their porches large and wide:</L>
<L>And at your very entring in, &s;uch obiects you &s;hall &s;ee,</L>
<L>I meane &s;uch men as you, of &s;oules would iudge them voyde to be:</L>
<L>There drunkenne&s;&s;e, and lives be&s;eeming bea&s;ts, do rule and raigne:</L>
<L>Heere gluttony the chiefe&s;t rule and empire dooth obtaine:</L>
<L>And in another corner pride doth beare the greate&s;t &s;way,</L>
<L>Which doth mens mindes from good behaviour headlong leade away.</L>
<L>In the&s;e and &s;uch like &s;teppes, the &s;ubiect multitude doth treade,</L>
<L>Which from all vertue to all vice, our mindes do captiue leade.</L>
<L>I would proceede by the&s;e complaints the&s;e vices to amend,</L>
<L>But that I am inforc'd at this time here to make an end:</L>
<L>For why, the ru&s;ticke rowt with piercing cries do me command,</L>
<L>To fini&s;h that my taske, which lately I have tooke in hand.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<TRAILER>The end of the fir&s;t Booke.</TRAILER>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 N="2" TYPE="book">
<PB REF="35">
<PB REF="35">
<HEAD>THE SECOND BOOKE of auntient Simplicitie of <HI>Behaviour.</HI></HEAD>
<DIV2 N="1" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>How to behave your &s;elfe, being invited by another, with what behavior to come to &s;upper, and how to &s;it downe at the Table. <HI>Chap. I.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>_THus farre I have &s;et downe, according to my &s;hallow vaine,</L>
<L>The means wherby your ma&s;ters ge&s;ts with mirth to intertain</L>
<L>But as a &s;ervant which as yet, can have no full command,</L>
<L>But is perforce inforc'd to live, vnder his mai&s;ters hand.</L>
<L>But now the meanes to v&s;e your owne invited gue&s;ts and frends,</L>
<L>This &s;econd Booke in ample &s;ort and manner comprehends.</L>
<L>If then you of your neighbour as a gue&s;t invited are,</L>
<L>Learne heere, of what good manners you mu&s;t have a &s;peciall care.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Fir&s;t, of the boy that comes to bid you, many que&s;tions aske,</L>
<L>As, whome he bids, and why his mai&s;ter pointed him that taske,</L>
<L>He rather for that purpo&s;e &s;hould &s;ome &s;erving man have got,</L>
<L>Whereby more grace and credite might have fell vnto your lot:</L>
<L>What fi&s;h, what fle&s;h, his mai&s;ter for that dinner doth provide;</L>
<L>And, how much &s;ilver, he among&s;t the Butchers did divide:</L>
<L>What curious cates, and &s;tore of &s;awce, the Cooke provides for thee;</L>
<L>What &s;ortes of bread, wherewith thy whining paunch may glutted be:</L>
<L>What kindes of wine the Butler hath provided for your ta&s;te;</L>
<L>What junkets you &s;hall carry with you, when you part at la&s;t:</L>
<L><PB N="48" REF="36">And whether after meate, there mu&s;t be dauncing in the hall,</L>
<L>Whether his mai&s;ter to that fea&s;t did any virgins call.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And aske him, if the gue&s;ts, the cookes, and cates which thou &s;halt find,</L>
<L>May be &s;uppo&s;de, agreeing to your wor&s;hips &s;tately minde.</L>
<L>Thus having notice of each thing, which that day &s;halbe done,</L>
<L>Intreate the lad, with thankes, to tel his mai&s;ter that you'le come.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if among the number of the gue&s;ts, you chance to finde</L>
<L>Some hatefull fellowes name, who&s;e actions fit not to your minde;</L>
<L>Then never give your word, that you (God willing) there will be,</L>
<L>Let not all &s;orts of knaves be mates and fellowes fit for thee.</L>
<L>Among&s;t a crew of crabbed Catoni&s;ts &s;corne thou to dine,</L>
<L>Which vnto grave &s;everitie do all their words incline:</L>
<L>Wherefore commaund the boy, to charge his mai&s;ter to prepare</L>
<L>A &s;ort of plea&s;ant &s;portive youths, which of thy nature are.</L>
<L>And if the cates, which he repeates doe not thy &s;tomacke plea&s;e,</L>
<L>Bid him provide thee better meate, thou can&s;t not dine with the&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But that thou in particular more perfectly mai&s;t know,</L>
<L>All which the Cooke provides for dinner, ere thou thither go,</L>
<L>Demaund thou of the boy, a bill containing all the meate,</L>
<L>Whereof thou at thy neighbours hou&s;e doo&s;t meane thy part to eate.</L>
<L>Thus mai&s;t thou know both what to eate, and what to &s;et a&s;ide:</L>
<L>And, for what wines and daintie cates a rowme you &s;hould provide.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Take out your bill from out your bagge, that hangeth at your backe,</L>
<L>And marke as well each di&s;h receiv'd, as each di&s;h which you lacke:</L>
<L>If in your bill you finde &s;ome boild di&s;h fitting to your minde,</L>
<L>Which was not brought vnto your table, but was kept behinde,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e your neighbour bade his Cooke re&s;erve it for a friend,</L>
<L>Who&s;e pre&s;ence doubtle&s;&s;e he ex&s;pected ere that dinners end.</L>
<L>Strait &s;tampe and &s;tare, fret, rage, and fume, as if that you were madde;</L>
<L>To cloake your anger in this ca&s;e, I holde it very bad.</L>
<L>There is no &s;en&s;e, your ho&s;te &s;hould offer you &s;uch mighty wrong,</L>
<L>In &s;coffing &s;ort, to make you &s;it, with empty mouth &s;o long.</L>
<L>When &s;till you thought (well meaning man) they did provide for you</L>
<L>More dainty di&s;hes as you bade them, but it prooves vntrue,</L>
<L>Why cea&s;e&s;t thou with piercing voyce, to bid them bring away</L>
<L>Tho&s;e di&s;hes, which thou found&s;t contained in thy bill to day:</L>
<L><PB N="49" REF="36">Thou ha&s;t not this abu&s;e alone, but every &s;tranger there</L>
<L>As well as thou, in this indignitie doth beare his &s;hare.</L>
<L>Though no man bid you &s;peake a word, yet &s;ay you &s;peake for all,</L>
<L>If onely you had beene abu&s;de, th'had had no cau&s;e to brawle.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thus having well preparde your &s;elfe, to &s;upper &s;ee you hie,</L>
<L>Whenas you &s;ee the time &s;o long expected, draweth nie.</L>
<L>As for your neighbour which mu&s;t go to &s;upper that &s;ame way,</L>
<L>Since you can finde the way your &s;elfe, tis vaine for him to &s;tay.</L>
<L>Neglect thy bu&s;ine&s;&s;e all at home, to &s;upper make thou ha&s;te,</L>
<L>Tis better to be there too &s;oone, then for to be the la&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When you into your neighbours hou&s;e, mo&s;t boldly entred are,</L>
<L>Le&s;t that you bid, God &s;peede too oft, you needes mu&s;t have a care.</L>
<L>But &s;trait from thence, vnto the &s;moaking kitchin go with &s;peede,</L>
<L>To &s;ee what daintie di&s;hes they provide, thy paunch to feede.</L>
<L>Nor &s;tay thou longer, but demand &s;ome provender to eate,</L>
<L>Re&s;i&s;tle&s;&s;e hunger can be tamde by nothing but by meate.</L>
<L>And after that, require a cup of foming wine to drinke,</L>
<L>And by this meanes, thou &s;halt deceive the lingring time I thinke.</L>
<L>That when the re&s;t to &s;upper come, thou mai&s;t be liquord well,</L>
<L>The more thou drink&s;t, the greater &s;tore of plea&s;ant iea&s;ts thou'lt tell.</L>
<L>And all will take thee for a ie&s;ting fellow in the&s;e daies,</L>
<L>A drunkard and a ie&s;ter, cannot live without his prai&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thou doo&s;t &s;tay alone, becau&s;e the re&s;t no ha&s;te do make,</L>
<L>How thou the time mai&s;t pa&s;&s;e away, my coun&s;ell thou mai&s;t take.</L>
<L>With lowde&s;t voice, be &s;ure that thou beginne to &s;ing &s;ome rime,</L>
<L>And let the &s;ubiect of it be, the prai&s;e of plea&s;ant wine.</L>
<L>The &s;ound whereof will &s;pread it&s;elfe, quite over all the &s;treete,</L>
<L>And thou by this meanes, with great &s;tore of companie mai&s;t meete.</L>
<L>For when thy fellowes perfectly, do this thy mu&s;icke heare,</L>
<L>They &s;urely will per&s;wade them&s;elves, that &s;upper time drawes neere.</L>
<L>And every man will ha&s;te to heare, thy &s;weete enchanting voice,</L>
<L>And leaving all their things vndone, with thee thei'le eke reioyce.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or if thou take no great delight, in making &s;uch great ha&s;te,</L>
<L>When all the re&s;t are &s;et and &s;erv'd, then come thou in at la&s;t.</L>
<L>Stay thou at home &s;o long, vntill they &s;end in po&s;t &s;ome man,</L>
<L>To pray you for to make all ha&s;te, which po&s;&s;ibly you can.</L>
<L><PB N="50" REF="37">Say that you'le follow pre&s;ently, but &s;tirre not from that place,</L>
<L>Vntill they &s;end another man, your companie to grace.</L>
<L>Let all the gue&s;ts for thy &s;ake, from their &s;uppers hindred bee,</L>
<L>This is a credite, which &s;hould never be refu&s;de of thee.</L>
<L>Thei'le &s;urely thinke &s;ome great affaires, your coun&s;ell do require,</L>
<L>And that &s;ome man of wor&s;hip, doth your pre&s;ent aide de&s;ire.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If having &s;taid a while, they &s;ee you come not yet away,</L>
<L>And therefore thinke you purpo&s;e not, to dine with them that day:</L>
<L>And at the la&s;t, the Cooke vnto the table &s;ends the meate,</L>
<L>And every gue&s;t, as he likes be&s;t, beginnes thereof to eate.</L>
<L>Then enter thou, when every man is at his &s;upper quicke,</L>
<L>And all the places are po&s;&s;e&s;t, becau&s;e they &s;it &s;o thicke.</L>
<L>With frowning face and lowring lookes, be &s;ure to checke thine ho&s;t,</L>
<L>For making &s;uch a man as you, &s;o ba&s;ely ki&s;&s;e the po&s;te.</L>
<L>Tell him of this his boldenes, all his chiefe&s;t gue&s;ts among,</L>
<L>Tis hurtefull to forget to puni&s;h this reproach too long.</L>
<L>Are the&s;e the cates wherewith you &s;aid, I entertaind &s;hould bee?</L>
<L>Is this your love? is this the care you ought to have of mee?</L>
<L>But fare you well &s;ir, for a meale the matter is not great,</L>
<L>I hope I &s;till &s;hall live, without your friend&s;hip, or your meate.</L>
<L>And having boldly &s;poke the&s;e words, with a re&s;olved heart,</L>
<L>Go forth, as if you to your hou&s;e would pre&s;ently depart.</L>
<L>Then &s;trait with cap in hand, your ho&s;t will to you humbly come,</L>
<L>De&s;iring you to pardon that, which ra&s;hly hath beene done.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And after he with flattring words, hath woo'd you halfe an houre,</L>
<L>Returne to meate with &s;miling lookes, cea&s;ing to frowne and lowre.</L>
<L>And then perchance each man, will freely ri&s;e from off his place,</L>
<L>That they thy kinde returne, may with the greater credite grace.</L>
<L>Take thou the be&s;t place, which for thee thou fitte&s;t think&s;t to bee,</L>
<L>That is thy due, el&s;e why did all tho&s;e &s;trangers ri&s;e to thee?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if when thou return&s;t, no man will offer thee his place,</L>
<L>And yet thou &s;pi'&s;t a roome re&s;erv'd, &s;ome worthy man to grace.</L>
<L>Le&s;t thou be forc'd to &s;it behinde, take vp this roome for thee,</L>
<L>It is a rule in every place, fir&s;t come, fir&s;t &s;erv'd mu&s;t bee.</L>
<L>It is a proverb which will la&s;t, vntill the day of doome,</L>
<L>He that comes late, mu&s;t either loo&s;e his &s;upper, or his roome.</L>
<L><PB N="51" REF="37">If by the bench thou can&s;t not come, then thinke it is no hurt,</L>
<L>To &s;taine the cloth, the table, or the trenchers, all with durt.</L>
<L>Climbe o're the table, breake the pots and gla&s;&s;es, &s;pill the wine,</L>
<L>Throw downe the platters, if they hinder this intent of thine.</L>
<L>Or with thy feete bemire their clothes, which on the bench do &s;it,</L>
<L>I thinke to v&s;e them in this &s;ort, cannot be much vnfit.</L>
<L>What &s;ence had they to keepe that &s;eate from thee, when it was void?</L>
<L>Since for a better man then thee, it could not be emploid.</L>
<L>If any man finde fault, becau&s;e the cloth is &s;poilde with durt,</L>
<L>Blame onely them, becau&s;e that they were authors of that hurt.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Though many ere they take their meate, to wa&s;h their hands do love,</L>
<L>Yet, that cold fountaine water hurts a man, I thus could prove;</L>
<L>Great &s;tore of cold, vnto the heart thats hot doth breede offence;</L>
<L>(Mans heart is therefore hot, becau&s;e all heate proceedes from thence,)</L>
<L>Into thy hands and fingers, as into each other part,</L>
<L>Come certaine &s;preading hidden veines, which ri&s;e from forth the heart.</L>
<L>If thou to put thy fingers in the water, art &s;o bold,</L>
<L>Thy fingers by the waters chilne&s;&s;e, are made numbe and cold.</L>
<L>Which chilne&s;&s;e by the&s;e &s;preading veines into the heart is &s;ent;</L>
<L>Alas, &s;uch nipping cold as this, doth much thy heart torment.</L>
<L>Great coldes expell that heate, which we of Nature do receave,</L>
<L>Which once exhau&s;ted, we are &s;trait enforc'd our life to leave.</L>
<L>Wherefore, vnle&s;&s;e you love in danger of your life to &s;tand,</L>
<L>Ab&s;taine to pierce your heart with colde, by wa&s;hing of your hand.</L>
<L>For if you long to wa&s;h your hands, have &s;uch exceeding care,</L>
<L>Old age will &s;eize vpon your limbs, before you are aware.</L>
<L>And whenas vnexpected age, hath of you got the field,</L>
<L>Then to his mercie, you your breath, your life, and all mu&s;t yield.</L>
<L>If any wonder why &s;uch nicene&s;&s;e you in wa&s;hing v&s;e,</L>
<L>Tell him, this is the cau&s;e why you &s;o oft to wa&s;h refu&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if you come before the meate be tooke from off the fire,</L>
<L>And all the gue&s;ts before they &s;up, to wa&s;h their hands require:</L>
<L>And every man &s;tands &s;triving, who &s;hall fir&s;t of all begin,</L>
<L>If thine be fowler then the re&s;t, be &s;ure thou thru&s;t them in.</L>
<L>The be&s;t man there can take no hurt, by wa&s;hing after thee,</L>
<L>Thou art a gue&s;t as welcome to thy neighbours hou&s;e as hee.</L>
<L><PB N="52" REF="38">Thy fingers thou mu&s;t al&s;o wa&s;h, thy mouth and eke thy face,</L>
<L>What though thou make the &s;trangers &s;tay? it can breede no di&s;grace.</L>
<L>When thou ha&s;t wa&s;ht enough, and fowlde the water with thy fi&s;ts,</L>
<L>Then let them with thy dirtie leavings, wa&s;h their hands and wri&s;ts.</L>
<L>Meane time have thou a care, the chiefe&s;t roome for to provide,</L>
<L>From whence I thinke, no &s;ober man will bid thee &s;tand a&s;ide.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or marke what &s;orts of bread, the boy doth on the table put,</L>
<L>Some &s;orts are better then &s;ome other, for thy hungry gut.</L>
<L>One &s;ort is like the &s;unnes eclips, as blacke as is the ground,</L>
<L>Another &s;ort, as white as the <HI>Sythonian</HI> &s;now is found.</L>
<L>Then le&s;t thou dine with browne bread, have a care for to provide</L>
<L>Good &s;tore of white, which in thy bo&s;ome thou mai&s;t &s;afely hide.</L>
<L>After, when &s;ome few men have &s;natcht the white bread for their neede,</L>
<L>The re&s;t mu&s;t be con&s;trainde that meale, on hou&s;hold bread to feede,</L>
<L>When all are &s;erv'd, then at the length bring forth thy bread to light,</L>
<L>All that behold this craftie tricke of thee, will iudge aright.</L>
<L>Thy wittie fore-&s;ight thei'le admire, and like this prettie part,</L>
<L>And every man will &s;ay, that &s;ure a wittie man thou art.</L>
<L>And many a man that &s;ees it, will therein thy &s;choller bee,</L>
<L>When he perceives the practi&s;e takes &s;uch good effect in thee.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="2" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>What manners and ge&s;tures the gue&s;t ought to ob&s;erve in eating. <HI>Chapter II.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>AS &s;oone as ere thou &s;pi'&s;t &s;ome di&s;hes on the table &s;tand,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure that thou before the re&s;t, thru&s;t in thy greedie hand.</L>
<L>Snatch that you like, I told you &s;o before, you know it well,</L>
<L>It is but labour lo&s;t, that I againe the &s;ame &s;hould tell.</L>
<L>That which I once have told to you, you never &s;hould refu&s;e,</L>
<L>But in each place and companie, you boldly mu&s;t it v&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L><PB N="53" REF="38">And what&s;oever meate your ho&s;te vnto the boorde doth &s;end,</L>
<L>Although you cannot choo&s;e, but very much the ta&s;te commend;</L>
<L>Yet finde therein &s;omething or other that mi&s;likes your minde,</L>
<L>And though it can de&s;erve no blame, be &s;ure &s;ome fault to finde:</L>
<L>This is too &s;alt, and this too fre&s;h, and this is too much ro&s;t,</L>
<L>This is too &s;owre, and this too &s;weete, your cooke's too blame mine ho&s;t,</L>
<L>And &s;peake &s;o lowde, that all may heare thee, which are then in place:</L>
<L>For by this meanes thou mai&s;t in jea&s;t, the carefull cooke di&s;grace.</L>
<L>And by this tricke thou wilt de&s;erve, a civill yonkers name,</L>
<L>And happy is he nowadayes, which can attaine &s;uch fame.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When ev'ry man is at his meate, and no mans tongue dooth walke,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure that thou with plea&s;ant jea&s;ts doo&s;t hold them all in talke.</L>
<L>It is not good for him which would be prai&s;de of all men, long</L>
<L>To &s;it among&s;t his friends at meate, not v&s;ing of his tong.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When thou arte &s;et, devoure as much as thou with health can&s;t eate,</L>
<L>Thou therefore wert to dinner bid, to helpe away his meate.</L>
<L>Thru&s;t in as much into thy throate, as thou can&s;t &s;natch or catch,</L>
<L>And with the gobbets which thou eat&s;t, thy jawes and belly &s;tretch.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If with thy meate thou burne thy mouth, then cloake it craftely,</L>
<L>That others may as well as thou, partake that mi&s;erie.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>To throw thy meate from out thy mouth into the di&s;h againe</L>
<L>I dare not bid thee, for it is too clowni&s;h, and too plaine.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But le&s;t thou &s;hould&s;t be burnt againe, thou &s;halt a medcine know,</L>
<L>Thy burning meate with cooling breath, thou &s;towtly ought&s;t to blow:</L>
<L>In little bla&s;ts again&s;t this heate, no comfort can be found:</L>
<L>Then puffe thy cheekes with winde, as if a trumpet thou would&s;t &s;ound:</L>
<L>From whence, as if the boy&s;trous windes were from their pri&s;on freed,</L>
<L>Let foorth great bla&s;ts again&s;t thy meate to helpe thee at thy neede,</L>
<L>With rumbling noy&s;e let &s;tore of cooling bla&s;ts, breake forth their fill:</L>
<L>In like &s;ort as do flames of fire, from <HI>Aetnaes</HI> burning hill.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If to thy neighbours face thou turne, I will thee much commend,</L>
<L>And &s;tore of breath and pottage, to his cheekes be &s;ure to &s;end.</L>
<L>If thus thou doo&s;t, all will applaude thee, and thy trickes allow,</L>
<L>And often will de&s;ire to learne this pretty jea&s;t of you.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>It is a prai&s;e, to have a loving dogge on you to waite;</L>
<L>Wherefore, if you are bid to &s;upper, get a puppie &s;trait:</L>
<L><PB N="54" REF="39">Let him in any ca&s;e hard by thee, on a cu&s;hon &s;it,</L>
<L>And give him out of every di&s;h, &s;uch meate as thou think&s;t fit;</L>
<L>To thru&s;t him downe from off his &s;eate what gue&s;t dares be &s;o bolde?</L>
<L>This dog (&s;ir) hath a mai&s;ter heere that will his deedes vpholde.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When you are almo&s;t wearie, and de&s;ire your teeth to re&s;t,</L>
<L>Then, that your puppie make you merrie, it is &s;urely be&s;t.</L>
<L>And let your dog licke o're your lippes, with fawning tongue put out,</L>
<L>And eke your hands, with which more meate to reach you are about.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or catch the fleas which hurt your dogge, by all the trickes you can,</L>
<L>And killing them vpon your trencher, proove your &s;elfe a man.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Whenas you eate, &s;tretch wide your iaws, &amp; thru&s;t great gobets down:</L>
<L>Even as the cheekes are &s;tretcht with wind, of &s;ome &s;ong-tuning clowne.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>It is not meete, that in the di&s;h, you &s;hould leave anie meate;</L>
<L>That which your ho&s;te dooth &s;et vpon the boord, he would have eat:</L>
<L>Tis better farre, to &s;tand in feare of breaking of a gut,</L>
<L>Than leave one bit of that, which is vpon the Table put.</L>
<L>If thou &s;ome little bit thats &s;omewhat tougher than the re&s;t,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e thy throate wants liquor, can&s;t not very well dige&s;t,</L>
<L>Then take &s;ome drinke, and keepe it in your mouths mo&s;t hollow part,</L>
<L>T'will make your meate from out your mouth into your gut depart.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Out of your mouth, into the cup, &s;ome little crummes to &s;end,</L>
<L>Though &s;ome will &s;ay tis clowni&s;h, yet it cannot much offend.</L>
<L>I pray, whie is it hurtfull, thus to mingle meate with drinke?</L>
<L>If they be mingled thorowly, they nouri&s;h more I thinke.</L>
<L>That meate and drinke &s;hould thus be ioynd, Nature her &s;elfe hath &s;aide,</L>
<L>For in this world, one thing doth &s;till de&s;ire anothers aide.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The bones and &s;craps, and &s;uch things as thou &s;corn&s;t thy &s;elfe to eate,</L>
<L>Throw down among&s;t the dogs, how can they live without &s;ome meate?</L>
<L>Each dog regarding his owne dinner, none will quiet be.</L>
<L>For want of victualls you a plea&s;ant battell there &s;hall &s;ee.</L>
<L>Perchance, in&s;teede of dogs, thei'le &s;nap the &s;trangers as they &s;it,</L>
<L>In &s;uch an hurlie burlie this cannot be much vnfit.</L>
<L>Then laugh alowd, whenas thou doo&s;t vnder the Table &s;ee</L>
<L>Such warres and iarres, which had their fir&s;t originall from thee.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="3" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="55" REF="39">
<HEAD>What behaviour is to be ob&s;erved at the Table, after the fir&s;t cour&s;e. <HI>Chap. III.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>VVHen with the fir&s;t cour&s;e you have filld your hungrie bellie well,</L>
<L>Your gerdle mu&s;t be loo&s;de, as I before to you did tell;</L>
<L>For thus your meate will of your mouth, his leave the &s;ooner take,</L>
<L>And your concoction yet to come, you may the better make.</L>
<L>Your bellie will the &s;ooner rowme for other cates provide,</L>
<L>Which with your vnkinde gerdle, was before too hardelie tide.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And now the boy to take away the trenchers hath a care,</L>
<L>To make them cleane again&s;t the &s;econd cour&s;e he doth prepare.</L>
<L>When all the re&s;t deferre the time, be &s;ure that in great ha&s;te</L>
<L>Thy trencher thou before the re&s;t into the Voider ca&s;t.</L>
<L>But now, le&s;t this might &s;en&s;le&s;&s;e &s;eeme, ile give my rea&s;on whie</L>
<L>It is not &s;eemely, that your trencher vppermo&s;t &s;hould lie.</L>
<L>If when &s;ome great man ca&s;ts his trencher in the lowe&s;t place,</L>
<L>Thou ca&s;t thine over it, and hurt his trencher; O di&s;grace!</L>
<L>Know'&s;t thou not, that the vulgars &s;hould lie troden vnder feete?</L>
<L>Then, le&s;t thou &s;hould &s;eeme prowd, to lay thy trencher low, tis meete.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Anothers trencher, though he be a man of high degree,</L>
<L>Stirre not, but let him ca&s;t it in, el&s;e let it lie for thee.</L>
<L>But when cleane trenchers come, in &s;natching be not thou the la&s;t,</L>
<L>If at the fir&s;t the boy vnto thee doe no trencher ca&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>To maides and wives &s;ome will for credite the fir&s;t trencher give;</L>
<L>But doe not thou &s;o, if in perfect health thou meane to live.</L>
<L>Thou know'&s;t mens manners nowadaies &s;ell at the markets rate,</L>
<L>For that which thou did&s;t do in kindene&s;&s;e, men will give thee hate.</L>
<L>If thou in friendly &s;ort doo&s;t maides or matrons kindely grace,</L>
<L>T'will be mi&s;likt of &s;ome, then tru&s;t not ev'rie &s;miling face,</L>
<L>Their husbands will not like of this, but note thee with their eies,</L>
<L>And thinke that all this duetie from &s;ome kindled love dooth ri&s;e.</L>
<L>The choler of a jealous husband which doth thee &s;u&s;pect,</L>
<L><PB N="56" REF="40">E&s;chew: &s;u&s;pition, hurt, deceit, and death doth oft effect:</L>
<L>Then &s;ave thy life, and keepe thy &s;elfe from each en&s;uing wrong,</L>
<L>Le&s;t being once &s;u&s;pected, thou do &s;o remaine too long.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thus the trenchers being layd, the meate comes not away,</L>
<L>Let not your teeth and bellie re&s;t, if more meate get you may:</L>
<L>But nimbly fall afre&s;h vnto the meate you eate before;</L>
<L>Fowle thou new trenchers, though thy fellowes cannot eate no more.</L>
<L>When you are at your dinner, ca&s;t all &s;hame behinde your backe;</L>
<L>He that denies this principle, doth &s;ure his &s;en&s;es lacke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>At length, when all the &s;econd cour&s;e is on the table placde,</L>
<L>Into the be&s;t thru&s;t thou thy hand, before the re&s;t in ha&s;te:</L>
<L>But wipe thy trencher on the cloth fir&s;t, be it ne're &s;o deere,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e it were for this intent, why did they place it there?</L>
<L>Namely, to wipe from off each trencher, all the fat away;</L>
<L>And that with it, your hands your mouth and fingers clean&s;e you may.</L>
<L>This which I once have &s;aide vnto you, v&s;e for to repeate,</L>
<L>Whens'ere that hunger is not bani&s;ht from your paunch, with meate.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or if thou be the chiefe man that doth at the Table &s;it,</L>
<L>And therefore till thou ha&s;t begunne, no man will cut a bit;</L>
<L>Sit &s;till a great while ere thou cut, t'will argue maie&s;tie,</L>
<L>Whenas thou mai&s;t be counted light, to fall to pre&s;ently.</L>
<L>Indeede, if thou no great man wert, thy hand might fir&s;t be in:</L>
<L>But &s;ince thou arte, vntill thou arte intreated, ne're beginne.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Deferre the time, in talking, laughing, or &s;ome &s;uch like arte,</L>
<L>Play with thy trencher, or thy knife, to make thy time departe;</L>
<L>Which while thou doo&s;t, the company mu&s;t on thee gazing &s;it,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e, vntill thou ha&s;t begunne, they dare not eate one bit.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Nor let it &s;hame thee, when thy fainting chinne doth drop,</L>
<L>Like two &s;trong po&s;tes, with both thy hands, the &s;ame to vnderprop,</L>
<L>Leane lazily with one or both thine elbows on the boord,</L>
<L>This tricke of manners can no cau&s;e of &s;hamefa&s;tnes affoord.</L>
<L>But if this deede vnto thy nature doth not much arride,</L>
<L>Then have a care, that both thy hands thou in thy codpeece hide,</L>
<L>Thou then mai&s;t pull them out, whenas the time is neere at hand,</L>
<L>Again&s;t thy meates inva&s;ion of thee, on thy ward to &s;tand.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>At length, when as thou &s;ee&s;t the time, to fall vnto thy meate,</L>
<L><PB N="57" REF="40">Be &s;ure to &s;natch the daintie bits, tis meete thou &s;hould&s;t them eate.</L>
<L>Of veale, tis be&s;t to &s;natch the reines, that is the &s;weete&s;t bit,</L>
<L>Wherefore, I thinke vnto thy &s;tomacke, that agrees mo&s;t fit.</L>
<L>As for the Wolfe-fi&s;h, gluttons hold the taile to be the be&s;t;</L>
<L>But of the buble fi&s;h, the head is &s;weeter then the re&s;t.</L>
<L>Thou art the cheefe man, then with the&s;e be &s;ure thy &s;elfe to grace,</L>
<L>To &s;natch them have a care, and on thy trencher them to place.</L>
<L>Take them alone, keepe them alone, devoure them all alone,</L>
<L>As for thy neighbour, though he longs for &s;ome, yet give him none.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If that thy knife be blunt, thou doo&s;t ex&s;pect &s;ome lo&s;&s;e to beare,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e it will not &s;erve thy turne, as if it &s;harper were.</L>
<L>But &s;ome there are, which v&s;e their knives &s;harpe edge with &s;tones to wa&s;te,</L>
<L>Le&s;t it it be too &s;harpe, it chance to cut the meate too fa&s;t.</L>
<L>What though your knife in teeth and edge, like to a &s;aw &s;hould bee?</L>
<L>Yet &s;ure I doubt not but this tricke, with rea&s;on would agree.</L>
<L>For if when you at dinner are your neighbour &s;endeth in</L>
<L>A ro&s;ted goo&s;e, which hath a very fat and tender skinne.</L>
<L>Good &s;tore thereof thy mangling knife, will to thy trencher bring,</L>
<L>Which of the vulgar &s;ort, is thought a very daintie thing.</L>
<L>This dutie can your knife performe, having a mangling edge,</L>
<L>And eke excu&s;e all faults, which they again&s;t you can alleadge.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>That you the better may the &s;tore of meate receiv'd dige&s;t,</L>
<L>To keepe good &s;tore of liquor &s;till, I count it alwaies be&s;t.</L>
<L>And when another in his hand, doth hold the pot to drinke,</L>
<L>Demand it from him, and he cannot &s;ay thee nay, I thinke.</L>
<L>If he deny to give it, till his thir&s;t be quencht at full,</L>
<L>Then from thy neighbours mouth in ha&s;te, pre&s;ume the pot to pull.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And having catcht it once againe, be &s;ure to hold it fa&s;t,</L>
<L>If it depart, it will not vnto thee returne in ha&s;te.</L>
<L>Then though the re&s;t de&s;ire to drinke, and humbly thee reque&s;t</L>
<L>To drinke thy &s;elfe, and then re&s;tore the pot vnto the re&s;t.</L>
<L>Regarde them not, but though they &s;hould be raving mad for drinke,</L>
<L>Yet keepe the pot, and v&s;e it when thy &s;elfe mo&s;t fit doo&s;t thinke.</L>
<L>With &s;ounding cries, be &s;ure thy &s;elfe alone to fill the hou&s;e,</L>
<L>Men are mo&s;t eloquent, when they have drunke a full carou&s;e.</L>
<L>Let none but thee di&s;turbe the gue&s;ts, which at the table &s;it,</L>
<L><PB N="58" REF="41">To &s;uffer others voices to be heard I count vnfit.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>That others &s;hould, or drinke, or crie, thou would&s;t be verie loth,</L>
<L>But as for thee, be &s;ure that thou be cunning found in both.</L>
<L>And when you drinke, to wipe your lips, and clen&s;e your &s;nottie no&s;e,</L>
<L>Are trifling things, it is not meete that you take care for tho&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Why &s;hould&s;t thou of &s;uch light affaires as the&s;e, take any care?</L>
<L>They mu&s;t be greater matters, which of thee regarded are.</L>
<L>All which you know, vnto the &s;elfe-&s;ame bellie to pertaine,</L>
<L>Why &s;hould you wipe away, as if their league you did di&s;daine?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Whether it be fle&s;h, drinke, bread, fat, or what&s;oe're be&s;ide,</L>
<L>Let it into thy &s;tomacke pa&s;&s;e, through thy throat &s;o wide.</L>
<L>Or if you love &s;ometimes to wipe your dirtie mouth a whit,</L>
<L>The cleane&s;t table cloth, is for that purpo&s;e &s;ure mo&s;t fit.</L>
<L>Let that thy braines ill excrements in friendly &s;ort receave,</L>
<L>And all the fat thats on thy lips, be &s;ure on it to leave.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Others delight to take the &s;leeve of their new &s;hifted &s;hirt,</L>
<L>And on that blow their no&s;e, and from their mouthes wipe off the dirt.</L>
<L>If that you thinke it is a cleanely tricke, the &s;ame to v&s;e,</L>
<L>For my part, I for cleaneline&s;&s;e, the &s;ame will not refu&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When thou ha&s;t drunke thy fill, although he do it not demand,</L>
<L>Yet let the pot before thy neighbours trencher alwaies &s;tand.</L>
<L>Le&s;t that it hinder thee, when thou &s;ome daintie bit &s;hould&s;t eate,</L>
<L>And make thy right hand lacke the roome, wherein to cut thy meate.</L>
<L>Reach it againe for thine owne v&s;e, when thou &s;ee&s;t fitte&s;t time,</L>
<L>And water all thy jawes and throat, with plea&s;ant ta&s;ting wine.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if thy neighbour knowes as well as thou, that tricke to v&s;e,</L>
<L>And &s;etting it before thy trencher, doth it oft refu&s;e.</L>
<L>Then either with a cheerefull voice, tell him you are not drie,</L>
<L>And &s;o returne it kindely, to his owne hands pre&s;entlie.</L>
<L>Or rather, into fretting rage and anger forth-with breake,</L>
<L>And all the thundring words thou can&s;t devi&s;e, be &s;ure to &s;peake.</L>
<L>Why &s;hould you offer me your drinke, when as I do not thir&s;t?</L>
<L>You rather &s;hould have let it &s;toode, whereas I plac'd it fir&s;t.</L>
<L>Or thinke you for this, any favour at my hand to get;</L>
<L>Whenas your pot from cutting of my meate, my hand doth let?</L>
<L>And if to adde &s;ome railing &s;peeches vnto this you v&s;e,</L>
<L><PB N="59" REF="41">Tis ten to one, he in this &s;ort will not you oft abu&s;e.</L>
<L>Yet notwith&s;tanding, tis a comely thing forth-with to drinke,</L>
<L>For &s;tore of liquor tempers well the meate receiv'd, I thinke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When all the re&s;t leave drinking, vrge them in &s;uch valiant wi&s;e,</L>
<L>That none pre&s;ume (for &s;hame,) in &s;ober &s;ort from thence to ri&s;e.</L>
<L>Go thou before, and let them follow thee that drinke&s;t be&s;t,</L>
<L>It is a credite for thee, to be drunke before the re&s;t.</L>
<L>Then if thou by thy drunkennes, doo&s;t any fault commit,</L>
<L>They may the &s;ooner and the fitter, freely pardon it.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="4" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>Mode&s;tie in eating and drinking. <HI>Chapter IIII.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>I Oft have &s;eene (the rea&s;on of that v&s;e, I do not know,)</L>
<L>Divers which to their neighbours hou&s;e, will never &s;cot-free go.</L>
<L>Wherefore each man will carrie wine at dinner for to drinke,</L>
<L>That &s;ort of wine which in his iudgement, he the be&s;t doth thinke.</L>
<L>One carries wine, brought from the &s;hore of <HI>Rhene,</HI> that runs &s;o &s;wift,</L>
<L>Another thinketh French wine fitter for a friendly gift.</L>
<L>A third will carrie wine, that grew on the <HI>Pannonian</HI> hills;</L>
<L>And all will carrie &s;undry &s;orts, agreeing to their wills.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If touching this, thou doo&s;t demand my coun&s;ell as a friend,</L>
<L>I will not be the man, that &s;hall this cu&s;tome much commend.</L>
<L>Faith carrie none, but &s;pare co&s;t, if my coun&s;ell thou wilt heare,</L>
<L>Thine ho&s;t provideth wine I hope, if not, thou mai&s;t drinke beere.</L>
<L>But if without &s;ome, thou can&s;t not with credite thither go,</L>
<L>Take heede, le&s;t on thy wine thou too much mony doo&s;t be&s;tow.</L>
<L>That wine which thou doo&s;t know, the wor&s;t in all the towne to bee,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure to carrie that, to drinke among thy friends and thee.</L>
<L>But when the wine which each man brought, is &s;et vpon the boord,</L>
<L>Search out forth-with, the be&s;t wine which the table can affoord.</L>
<L><PB N="60" REF="42">And get a pot thereof, and &s;et it full behinde your backe,</L>
<L>And drinke thereof alone, whenas you any wine do lacke.</L>
<L>It may be fear'd the daintie wine will hardly come to thee,</L>
<L>By this meanes, this en&s;uing hurt may well prevented bee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Then, that thou mai&s;t be thought a man more plea&s;ant then the re&s;t,</L>
<L>To make them laugh, be &s;ure to tell them many a prettie iea&s;t.</L>
<L>With loude&s;t voice, beginne to &s;ing &s;ome plea&s;ant tuned &s;ong,</L>
<L>And of thy love repeate a dittie thats an houre long.</L>
<L>Foure &s;undry humours, vnto humane bodies do re&s;ort.</L>
<L>Which moove the heart in &s;undry &s;ort, as learned men report.</L>
<L>For earthly choler doth men &s;ad, au&s;tere and &s;louthfull make,</L>
<L>But anger, rage, and furie, men from fierie choler take.</L>
<L>Of fleame to thee (light foole,) I neede not &s;peake as of the re&s;t,</L>
<L>The &s;anguine which doth cau&s;e mirth, is of all complexions be&s;t.</L>
<L>Wherefore, that thou vnto a &s;anguine mai&s;t be thought mo&s;t nie,</L>
<L>With cheerefull &s;inging, lift thy chanting voice beyond the skie.</L>
<L>Tell tales of dances, of yong wenches, and of plea&s;ant wine,</L>
<L>And with &s;uch flattring plea&s;ant trifles, drive away the time.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any friend doth drinke to thee, out of a full filld cup,</L>
<L>Ere he hath ended &s;carce his draught, be &s;ure to &s;natch it vp.</L>
<L>Care not, though he perhaps at la&s;t, to reach it you did thinke,</L>
<L>But &s;natch it, though perhaps a better draught he meant to drinke.</L>
<L>Tell him, that man gives twice which gives his gift without delay,</L>
<L>Le&s;t he vnto another man, &s;hould give the cup away.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When thou at length with much ado, ha&s;t got both pot and drinke,</L>
<L>The&s;e three good rules, will teach thee when to leave, thou ought&s;t to thinke.</L>
<L>When want of breath, doth of thy vitall forces thee bereave,</L>
<L>Then in my iudgement is it time thy formo&s;t draught to leave.</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e perhaps (which I commend,) thou doo&s;t it better love,</L>
<L>To take thy winde, and yet not from thy mouth the pot to move.</L>
<L>Then when a certaine watry humour, filleth vp thine eyes,</L>
<L>And out of them as from a &s;pring, great &s;tore of drops do ri&s;e.</L>
<L>This is a &s;igne or token, when to leave the &s;econd time,</L>
<L>He is too blame that leaves to drinke, before he &s;ee this &s;igne.</L>
<L>The third, and la&s;t, mo&s;t certaine token when thou ought&s;t to leave,</L>
<L>Which is a &s;igne infallible, it cannot thee deceave;</L>
<L><PB N="61" REF="42">Is, when the wine is all drunke out, and now the pot is drie;</L>
<L>Then is it time to pull it from thy mouth immediately.</L>
<L>It is meere folly, at thy mouth the empty cup to hold,</L>
<L>Although the cup it &s;elfe were made of pure <HI>Pannonian</HI> gold.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When thou from out the cup ha&s;t &s;uckt each drop of wine at la&s;t,</L>
<L>Vpon the middle of the boord, its good the cup to ca&s;t,</L>
<L>That both thy neighbour may perceive it voyde of wine to be,</L>
<L>And al&s;o know, that he therein &s;hould foorthwith follow thee.</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e thou doo&s;t thus, there will &s;trait ari&s;e &s;ome wrangling brawle;</L>
<L>But with thy mo&s;t couragious hand thou ought&s;t to quiet all.</L>
<L>They will not thinke that thou alone could&s;t empty &s;uch a cup,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e before their face they foorthwith &s;ee thee drinke it vp.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Then to the vittailes yet remaining fall with might and maine,</L>
<L>And out of every di&s;h, beginne to &s;natch the be&s;t againe:</L>
<L>For why, &s;weete meate dooth nouri&s;h vs, and &s;tore of <HI>Bacchus</HI> wine,</L>
<L>If that we v&s;e to take them oft, a little at a time.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And as thou eat&s;t tis very good great bits of bread to cut,</L>
<L>Which thou mai&s;t plainely feele, as they into thy mouth are put.</L>
<L>For little birdes indeede, the meate mu&s;t needes be minced &s;mall,</L>
<L>Le&s;t eating great bits, they offend their tender throate withall.</L>
<L>But valiant men in this ca&s;e, from all feare &s;hould &s;tand aloofe,</L>
<L>Which have a throate thats thicke and hard, and a well temperd roofe.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When with thy knife a peece of hou&s;hold bread thou mean&s;t to cut,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure thou cut not there, where other men their knives have put,</L>
<L>But cut thou on the other &s;ide, perchance thou there mai&s;t meete</L>
<L>With &s;uch a cru&s;t, as to thy dainty ta&s;te will proove more &s;weete.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>From whence to have a care to cut &s;ome &s;ops thou mai&s;t be bolde,</L>
<L>Which having cut, within thy hand be &s;ure them fa&s;t to holde,</L>
<L>To dip them in the fat of well &s;picde pottage ev'ry whit:</L>
<L>Or at the lea&s;t one end of them, I count it very fit.</L>
<L>Which being done, tis meete thou &s;hould&s;t devoure them all in ha&s;te,</L>
<L>Vnto thy throate this cannot choo&s;e but be a plea&s;ant ta&s;te.</L>
<L>And having gnawd them, now and then to &s;op them there againe,</L>
<L>Will &s;urely bring great &s;tore of prai&s;e, of profite, and of gaine.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>To &s;peake full mouth'd, if for thine v&s;e it nece&s;&s;ary bee,</L>
<L>Rather than Ile forbid it, Ile per&s;wade and coun&s;ell thee.</L>
<L><PB N="62" REF="43">For why, if often thou it v&s;e, it bringeth mickle gaine,</L>
<L>Which vnto thee by this example I will proove mo&s;t plaine.</L>
<L><HI>Demo&s;thenes</HI> his eloquence o're all the world is knowne,</L>
<L>Who of that famous cittie <HI>Athens</HI> was the floure alone;</L>
<L>A great impediment from perfect &s;peech his tongue did holde,</L>
<L>So that in pleas he could not as he would his minde vnfolde.</L>
<L>Wherefore he diver&s;e &s;undrie meanes devi&s;ed in his minde,</L>
<L>Whereby for his imperfect &s;peech a remedie to finde.</L>
<L>Within his li&s;ping mouth he &s;tore of little &s;tones did &s;et,</L>
<L>Which, as he walked by the &s;ea &s;ide he did dailie get.</L>
<L>He had a double fight; the fir&s;t to tame his li&s;ping tong,</L>
<L>Which warre, vnto tho&s;e little &s;tones he &s;uffered to belong.</L>
<L>For letting alwaies &s;tore of &s;tones within his mouth to bee,</L>
<L>He thought at length, when they were gone, his &s;peech would be more free:</L>
<L>The &s;econd was, he &s;trivde to make his voice be heard the more,</L>
<L>By &s;peaking then whenas the &s;ea mo&s;t boi&s;trou&s;ly did rore,</L>
<L>That &s;o he might indure the peoples tumults and their cries,</L>
<L>If any &s;uch among&s;t them while he pleaded &s;hould ari&s;e.</L>
<L>Without &s;uch fooli&s;h trickes as the&s;e, thou &s;oone &s;halt doe as well,</L>
<L>If thou wilt carefully give eare, to that which I &s;hall tell.</L>
<L>In &s;teede of hard &s;tones, thou thy mouth with bread and meate &s;halt fill,</L>
<L>And rowling that within thy mouth, &s;halt full mouth'd &s;peake thy will.</L>
<L>And with thy &s;hreeking cries excell the drunkards loftie voyce,</L>
<L>As did <HI>Demo&s;thenes</HI> excell the Oceans roaring noi&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When thou art almo&s;t full, the &s;trangers deedes beginne to marke,</L>
<L>Thou had&s;t no lei&s;ure to &s;uch trifling toyes before to hearke.</L>
<L>And all tho&s;e deedes, which from thy manners &s;eeme to goe a&s;ide;</L>
<L>My coun&s;ell is, that thou in &s;cornefull &s;ort do them deride.</L>
<L>Be &s;ure to carpe at all thou can&s;t, and &s;coffe at all thou may;</L>
<L>And &s;tore of faults (though &s;ometimes fal&s;e) on others neckes to lay.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thou e&s;pie anothers knife, which on the backe dooth lie,</L>
<L>As if the edge lookt to the heav'ns, or to the &s;tarry skie,</L>
<L>Again&s;t it pre&s;ently be &s;ure the backe of thine to &s;trike,</L>
<L>All that beholde it will this prettie jea&s;t applaude and like.</L>
<L>Some men will tell you pre&s;ently, from hence how many mile</L>
<L>It is to <HI>Rome,</HI> by counting on your knifes edge all the while,</L>
<L><PB N="63" REF="43">I doe not much mi&s;like this cu&s;tome, follow it alwayes,</L>
<L>And &s;ure I thinke you cannot chu&s;e, but merite &s;tore of prai&s;e.</L>
<L>And yet although I give you leave to others it to v&s;e,</L>
<L>I would not wi&s;h, that in this &s;ort my knife you &s;hould abu&s;e.</L>
<L>For if you do, at &s;ometime I your kindne&s;&s;e &s;hall repay,</L>
<L>And puni&s;h you as you de&s;erve, for this your craftie play.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="5" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>Of devouring, laughing, vomiting, and others civilities at the Table. <HI>Chap V.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>THer are moe precepts that might prove thee clowni&s;h tricks to have</L>
<L>At &s;upper; and that thou ne're knew&s;t, &s;uch maners as are grave:</L>
<L>But by that meanes, my labour and my care would be too great,</L>
<L>If in this place I all thy &s;undry dueties &s;hould repeate.</L>
<L>Although I had the skill which <HI>Ovid</HI> had in making ver&s;e,</L>
<L>Yet could I not, as it de&s;erves, each &s;undrie thing reher&s;e.</L>
<L>But yet, (although thou of thy &s;elfe, arte better learnd than I,</L>
<L>To teach thee &s;ome few needefull things, I will pre&s;ume to try.</L>
<L>That &s;mall time which thou &s;pend&s;t with me, thinke it not &s;pent in vaine;</L>
<L>For in that little time perhaps thou mai&s;t great profite gaine.</L>
<L>Both yong and old, both men and boyes, behaviour learne of me,</L>
<L>Since that the &s;liding time for no mans cau&s;e prolongd will be.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>To throwe downe pots vpon the table, filld vnto the brimme,</L>
<L>So that each thing vpon the &s;ame in <HI>Bacchus</HI> iuice may &s;wimme.</L>
<L>Long cu&s;tome an continuance, at length, to pa&s;&s;e hath brought,</L>
<L>That in the&s;e daies of ours, it mu&s;t no fault all be thought.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Oft times, when yong men would be counted plea&s;ant, I have &s;eene</L>
<L>At that &s;ame in&s;tant, when their harts full light with wine have beene,</L>
<L>That they with good bread would their vnprovided fellowes hit,</L>
<L>And eke with meate, which they into their hands could clo&s;ely get.</L>
<L><PB N="64" REF="44">They doe reioyce their youthfull hearts with &s;uch bad kindes of play,</L>
<L>Whereby they may the lingring times the &s;ooner drive away.</L>
<L>I oft have &s;eene &s;uch men as were in yeeres, and coun&s;el old,</L>
<L>Which thought no &s;hame to patronize &s;uch faults, to be &s;o bold:</L>
<L>What &s;hall the yonger men commit, whenas they daily &s;ee</L>
<L>Such filthy faults, by old men in their fea&s;ts maintaind to bee.</L>
<L>I dare not be &s;o bold as vnto olde men rules to give,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e their age doth priviledge them, as they li&s;t to live.</L>
<L>But yoong men, if they will attend, may quickely learne of mee,</L>
<L>What manners &s;eemely at their fea&s;ts, and what vn&s;eemely bee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The bread (as each man knowes) dooth v&s;e to have a double cru&s;t,</L>
<L>The one whereof, in purene&s;&s;e needes excell the tother mu&s;t.</L>
<L>The bottome cru&s;t is burnt, and full of a&s;hes and of durt,</L>
<L>There can no good be found, in &s;uch vn&s;av'rie cru&s;t, but hurt.</L>
<L>Wherefore, ob&s;erve the coun&s;ell which thou &s;halt receive of me,</L>
<L>With good advi&s;e, and men will thinke thee wondrous wi&s;e to bee.</L>
<L>From off the whole loafe for thy v&s;e, that cru&s;t be &s;ure to cut,</L>
<L>On which there are no burnt &s;pots, by the &s;cortching oven put.</L>
<L>For by this cru&s;t, your body from much loo&s;ene&s;&s;e keepe you may;</L>
<L>And, if the laske doe trouble you, this will it quickely &s;tay.</L>
<L>But if the cru&s;t without the crumme you dare not cut for &s;hame,</L>
<L>Although I thinke your &s;hamefa&s;tne&s;&s;e will never get you fame:</L>
<L>And you had rather in that place more mannerly to be,</L>
<L>Then have a care that cru&s;t and crumme be tooke alike of thee.</L>
<L>Although if in my perfect paths thou take delight to treade,</L>
<L>And hearken to my ver&s;e, which thee to hone&s;ty &s;hall leade,</L>
<L>Not cutting any off, without re&s;pect, thou all &s;halt eate,</L>
<L>Both good &amp; bad, both foule and cleane, both crum and cru&s;t is meate:</L>
<L>The greedy panch is al&s;o filld with a&s;hes, coles, or durt,</L>
<L>Wherefore to cut the&s;e from thy bread, it is both lo&s;&s;e and hurt.</L>
<L>It is a wondrous gift of God to men that mortall are,</L>
<L>If that which they with paines have got, with paines they eke can &s;pare:</L>
<L>Or if thou lik&s;t not this, becau&s;e thou know&s;t that at this time,</L>
<L>Thou at anothers table and anothers co&s;t doo&s;t dine:</L>
<L>Then care not, for tis ea&s;ie at anothers boord to live,</L>
<L>In this ca&s;e thou mo&s;t freely without any lo&s;&s;e mai&s;t give.</L>
<L><PB N="65" REF="44">If any durt &s;ticke on the bread, which may offend thy teeth;</L>
<L>Of any ta&s;tele&s;&s;e bit, which not vnto thy tongue agreeth:</L>
<L>Cut off a thicke peece, cru&s;t and crumme, which thou away mai&s;t throw:</L>
<L>Or on the barking hungry dogs, in friendly &s;ort be&s;tow,</L>
<L>Or chop away that dirty cru&s;t which on the loafe did lie,</L>
<L>Its pretty &s;port to &s;ee the chippings what a way thei'le flie.</L>
<L>Perchance thei'le fall into their eies which at the table &s;it;</L>
<L>This cunning tricke agrees vnto their humors very fit.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>In divers places, divers meates with Almond &s;yrrope &s;wimme,</L>
<L>Others are filld with ta&s;te-delighting &s;ugar to the brimme.</L>
<L>Next, melted butter is a &s;awce fitting a dainty me&s;&s;e:</L>
<L>And al&s;o grapes, which have great weight indured in the pre&s;&s;e.</L>
<L>Or, &s;ome &s;uch &s;awce to grace the cates, as fine as heart can wi&s;h,</L>
<L>Do commonly, where&s;e're you dine, &s;wimme round about the di&s;h.</L>
<L>I &s;pying the&s;e, vpon my trencher, foorthwith did them &s;weepe,</L>
<L>This was an order which my mother alwayes bade me keepe.</L>
<L>And having got them, &s;trait into my belly did them &s;end;</L>
<L>Yet (as I can remember) they did never me offend.</L>
<L>If that you thinke the&s;e manners will not to you hurtfull be,</L>
<L>My coun&s;ell is, that you in this, example take by me.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>It &s;ometimes fals out vnawares, as you your vittailes eate,</L>
<L>Into your throate, there &s;lips a bone together with your meate:</L>
<L>Which either makes your loo&s;ened teeth to &s;mite again&s;t your gumme,</L>
<L>Or &s;tops the way by which your meate into your throate &s;hould come.</L>
<L>What mean&s;t thou man? why do&s;t not thou prevent this hurt no more?</L>
<L>Why &s;eeke&s;t thou no meanes, thy halfe lo&s;t life for to re&s;tore?</L>
<L>Take coun&s;ell of thy hands, and holding ope thy mouth with one,</L>
<L>With tother, pull from out thy jawes that hurtfull &s;ticking bone.</L>
<L>Or having pulld thy teeth out, lay them on a trencher by,</L>
<L>And then the bone will fall from forth thy jawes immediately:</L>
<L>Though others like it not, in no ca&s;e thou mu&s;t it refu&s;e,</L>
<L>Such mode&s;ty as hurtfull is, no wi&s;e man ought to v&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And when with &s;tore of meate your &s;tomacke is refre&s;ht at la&s;t,</L>
<L>Strait catch the full filld pots within thy greedy hands with ha&s;te.</L>
<L>Then having &s;et the pot before you, ope it pre&s;ently.</L>
<L>And le&s;t my coun&s;ell &s;hould be vaine, Ile give my rea&s;on why;</L>
<L><PB N="66" REF="45">Tho&s;e vapors which are in the cup may thus exhaled be,</L>
<L>Which el&s;e perhaps might have beene hurtfull to thy braine and thee.</L>
<L>Then with the cup in this &s;ort open thou a while mai&s;t &s;it,</L>
<L>And talke an houre or two, this practi&s;e cannot be vnfit.</L>
<L>Thus li&s;tning to thy talke, of liquor none perhaps will thinke,</L>
<L>And then as much as thou think&s;t good thou all alone mai&s;t drinke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>At length beginne with plea&s;ant lookes thy plea&s;ant lookes to tell,</L>
<L>And bragge that thou in heart&s;-ea&s;e doo&s;t all men alive excell.</L>
<L>The merry minde, by &s;tore of laughter, will it &s;elfe bewray;</L>
<L>The world affoords no better thing, then merry life this day.</L>
<L>Wherefore be &s;ure that thou of laughter doo&s;t at all times thinke,</L>
<L>What&s;e'er you do, whether you worke, play, &s;it, &s;tand, eate, or drinke.</L>
<L>You &s;o &s;hould &s;omtimes laugh, that meate, which in your mouth doth lie,</L>
<L>Might &s;odainely from out the &s;ame into the platter flie.</L>
<L>And let it flie, I count better that it &s;hould doe &s;o</L>
<L>Then that it &s;top that aire which &s;hould into the windr-pipe goe.</L>
<L>There can be found no perfecter and &s;traighter way to death,</L>
<L>Then for to &s;top your throat with meat, which &s;trait wil &s;top your breath</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But now the time drawes nie, wherein the &s;ervant ha&s;te mu&s;t make,</L>
<L>That he the cloth and all things el&s;e may from the table take.</L>
<L>If then all hunger is not from thy &s;tomacke put away;</L>
<L>Make &s;peedy ha&s;te, it is not good to make the lea&s;t delay.</L>
<L>Into thy &s;tomacke while thou mai&s;t, thru&s;t &s;tore of meate and drinke.</L>
<L>Time &s;taies for no man, then of Time tis good in time to thinke.</L>
<L>Both eate and drinke &s;o much, that thou both drunke and filld mai&s;t bee,</L>
<L>Till when, nor re&s;t, nor quiet mu&s;t be looked for of thee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And if of hickets, or of &s;obs thou v&s;e to vtter &s;tore,</L>
<L>They both are &s;ignes which future vomites v&s;e to goe before.</L>
<L>Let not the newne&s;&s;e of the thing &s;eeme bea&s;tly in thine eies,</L>
<L>But boldly make all tho&s;e which hinder thy proceedings, ri&s;e.</L>
<L>And ca&s;ting that which with thy quea&s;ie &s;tomacke not agreeth,</L>
<L>Returne vnto the table, having &s;lightly wa&s;ht thy teeth.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And being &s;et, take care againe to fill thy belly &s;traite,</L>
<L>And in the rowme of all thats gone, thru&s;t in another baite.</L>
<L>Nature her &s;elfe which made all things, cannot indure that wrong,</L>
<L>That any thing thats vnder heaven &s;hould thus be empty long.</L>
<L><PB N="67" REF="45">But, if thou ha&s;t not time to ri&s;e thou ha&s;t &s;uch wondrous ha&s;te,</L>
<L>Vnder the table thru&s;t thy head, and there beginne to ca&s;t.</L>
<L>Heere let thy &s;tomacke ca&s;t vp all which in the &s;ame doth &s;ticke,</L>
<L>Which will be welcome to the dogs, they will it kindely licke.</L>
<L>In briefe, vpon the table thou mai&s;t boldely ca&s;t thy fill,</L>
<L>If any thing is in thy &s;tomacke, that dooth make thee ill.</L>
<L>Nay, if into the very di&s;h, thou &s;hould&s;t thy vomit ca&s;t,</L>
<L>There's none &s;o hard, but yet I thinke hee'd pardon thee at la&s;t.</L>
<L>Nor is it like that vomites &s;hould vnto them filthy &s;eeme,</L>
<L>Which doe all drunken gluttony as vertuous deedes e&s;teeme.</L>
<L>Yea, &s;ome there are (I know them well) which will no &s;tranger love,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e that he be drunke indeede, by certaine &s;ignes he prove.</L>
<L>Wherefore all drunkards will commend thee, if as thou doo&s;t &s;uppe,</L>
<L>To proove thee drunken, all thy &s;upper thou wilt vomite vp;</L>
<L>Thou &s;halt both plea&s;e the gue&s;ts, and him, which hath invited thee,</L>
<L>And thou the onely credite of that plea&s;ant fea&s;t wilt bee.</L>
<L>For, by thy vomiting thou &s;halt perceive it was good wine,</L>
<L>Which by thine ho&s;te was giv'n to thee, and to tho&s;e friends of thine.</L>
<L>The gue&s;ts next morning &s;hall have &s;omething to their friends to tell,</L>
<L>And thou from all that drunken crew &s;halt beare away the bell.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="6" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>Of the wa&s;hing of the hands after &s;upper, the &s;econd tables, and what is fitte&s;t to be done among the maides. <HI>Chap. VI.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>VVHenas the cloth is tooke away, and every plea&s;ing baite,</L>
<L>Cleane water for to wa&s;h is &s;et vpon the table &s;trait.</L>
<L>Slouth is a vice; then, le&s;t thou &s;hould&s;t be &s;louthfull, it is be&s;t</L>
<L>To thru&s;t thy hands into the bo&s;ome fir&s;t before the re&s;t:</L>
<L>Then wa&s;h thy face and mouth whenas thou think&s;t the time mo&s;t fit,</L>
<L>And water all thy no&s;trils with the plea&s;ing deaw of it.</L>
<L><PB N="68" REF="46">When thou ha&s;t wa&s;ht, then let the water for thy fellowes &s;tand,</L>
<L>Which is made fowle enough already by thy dirtie hand.</L>
<L>Let married wives wa&s;h after thee, though beautifull they bee,</L>
<L>And though the virgine be &s;o fine, yet let her waite on thee.</L>
<L>Cleane water from thy filthie hands, will wa&s;h the dirt the more,</L>
<L>Than that which hath with dirtie hands, been dirtie made before.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Yet oftentimes, you many men &s;hall finde to be &s;o neate,</L>
<L>That thei'le not touch the water fir&s;t, vnle&s;&s;e you them intreate.</L>
<L>They looke that others &s;hould beginne, and when the re&s;t have done,</L>
<L>Then thei'le beginne to wa&s;h their hands, and to the ba&s;en come.</L>
<L>As thus they &s;tand, (well meaning men) de&s;iring to be la&s;t,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure that thou good &s;tore of water, doo&s;t vpon them ca&s;t.</L>
<L>Take water in thy hand, and ca&s;t it boldly in their face,</L>
<L>Sprinkle it in their eyes, their head, or any other place.</L>
<L>Thats all the good, which by their manners they &s;hall get of thee,</L>
<L>T'will make them that another time, they wi&s;er men will bee.</L>
<L>Among&s;t a &s;ort of hone&s;t folkes, one tride this tricke of late,</L>
<L>But &s;ped not well, for all the harme returned on his pate.</L>
<L>For thinking certaine wives, with water thus to circumvent,</L>
<L>They by their craftie fore-&s;ight, did his policie prevent.</L>
<L>He &s;carce could ope his eyes to &s;ee, the water &s;topt them &s;o,</L>
<L>And all his bri&s;ly beard, with &s;tore of water &s;treames did flow.</L>
<L>He being thus di&s;grac'd, and loth thus ba&s;ely there to yield,</L>
<L>Pre&s;umed rather to proceede, then thus to loo&s;e the field.</L>
<L>He tooke the ba&s;on in his hands, and from him &s;towtly threw,</L>
<L>As well the ba&s;on as the water, mong&s;t the female crew.</L>
<L>The &s;trangers all laught merrily, at this &s;o &s;uddaine hap,</L>
<L>And every man and woman there beganne his hands to clap.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or whenas none to put his hands in fir&s;t, dares be &s;o ra&s;h,</L>
<L>But every man lookes when his neighbour doth beginne to wa&s;h,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e &s;uch gravitie, doth to the gue&s;ts great credite get,</L>
<L>And each man thinks &s;uch pompe as this, is for his credite fit.</L>
<L>If the&s;e their manners do from wa&s;hing them, too long detaine,</L>
<L>Thou mai&s;t before the re&s;t, great &s;tore of prai&s;e and credite gaine.</L>
<L>If &s;eeing no man all this while, beginnes to wa&s;h his hand,</L>
<L>Thou &s;uffer not the water, longer in that place to &s;tand.</L>
<L><PB N="69" REF="46">Why &s;hould the river water, ba&s;ely thus v&s;urpe that place,</L>
<L>Which was preparde, a better liquor farre, the wine to grace?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>At length, perchance a banquet to the &s;econd boord is brought,</L>
<L>The be&s;t place heere, le&s;t &s;ome prevent thee, mu&s;t of thee be caught.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e iunckets which are be&s;t of all, thou ought&s;t to &s;natch vp fir&s;t,</L>
<L>He that comes la&s;t into the di&s;h, may chance to finde the wor&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Turne round the di&s;h on every &s;ide, till thou ha&s;t found the be&s;t,</L>
<L>And having found them, &s;natch them without &s;hame before the re&s;t.</L>
<L>If that you thinke that Nature &s;erves all creatures from one well,</L>
<L>You are deceivde, for things in goodnes other things excell.</L>
<L>The divers differences made among mens mindes that live,</L>
<L>Is not in vaine, &s;ince carefull nature divers gifts doth give.</L>
<L>But God him&s;elfe of ma&s;ters v&s;e having a &s;peciall care,</L>
<L>Provideth greater gifts to give, to them that ma&s;ters are.</L>
<L>That thus each man in his degree, might thus di&s;tingui&s;h the&s;e,</L>
<L>And every man might choo&s;e tho&s;e things, which be&s;t their humours plea&s;e.</L>
<L>V&s;e iudgement then, and let no ra&s;hnes in thy deedes be &s;pide,</L>
<L>And for thy &s;elfe from out each di&s;h, the &s;weete&s;t bits provide.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>It is not needefull that from apples, thou &s;hould&s;t pare the skinne,</L>
<L>To do that which may needele&s;&s;e &s;eeme, thou never &s;hould&s;t beginne.</L>
<L>That &s;o thy meate receivde, the better may concocted bee,</L>
<L>The paring of the greene&s;t apple, mu&s;t be eate of thee.</L>
<L>For if too long in paring of thine apple, thou &s;hould&s;t &s;tay,</L>
<L>The re&s;t which in the platter lies, will &s;oone be &s;natcht away.</L>
<L>And when from forth the di&s;h, to take another tis thy minde,</L>
<L>Thou art prevented of thy purpo&s;e, thou not one can&s;t finde.</L>
<L>Therefore, as long as any bit is left, cea&s;e not to eate,</L>
<L>Thou &s;halt not every day perchance, meete with &s;uch daintie meate.</L>
<L>Have &s;till a care to leave no bit behinde you when you ri&s;e,</L>
<L>For if you do, your ho&s;t will thinke that you his fruit de&s;pi&s;e.</L>
<L>He did not therefore &s;et them on, that you &s;hould them refu&s;e,</L>
<L>Then if you leave them thus, your carefull ho&s;t you &s;hall abu&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If when thy &s;elfe art filld, there &s;till &s;ome iunkets do remaine,</L>
<L>To beare them in thy &s;leeve, vnto thy hou&s;e thou &s;halt be faine.</L>
<L>If thou ha&s;t any children there, thei'le be a welcome thing,</L>
<L>Thei'le call thee loving father, if &s;uch knackes to them thou bring.</L>
<L><PB N="70" REF="47">Though thou no children have, no dammage can &s;u&s;tained bee,</L>
<L>That which they &s;hould have had, till thou art hungry keepe for thee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>To cracke thy nuts, thy teeth may &s;erve, vnle&s;&s;e thou rather love</L>
<L>To breake thy knife, then &s;uch a luckele&s;&s;e hard attempt to prove.</L>
<L>I oft have &s;eene &s;trong &s;turdie clownes, which with their bended fi&s;t,</L>
<L>With one good blow, would cleave a nut as quickly as they li&s;t.</L>
<L>The &s;hells would flie again&s;t the pots, and into &s;trangers eyne,</L>
<L>And often times would make the pot halfe crackt, to leake the wine.</L>
<L>Meane time, while this their &s;trength was very much admirde of mee,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e I thought them &s;urely full of fortitude to bee.</L>
<L>I in another place, a &s;ort of lu&s;tie fellowes found,</L>
<L>Stamping vpon their nuts, and picking them from off the ground.</L>
<L>Thou mai&s;t of both the&s;e follow either, onely &s;pare thy knife,</L>
<L>Le&s;t being conquerd by a nut, it chance to loo&s;e its life.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The &s;hell vpon thy neighbours trencher, thou mai&s;t kindely &s;et.</L>
<L>And by that deede of charitie great credite thou mai&s;t get.</L>
<L>Thy credite thou mai&s;t &s;ave, and prove thou ha&s;t a loving heart.</L>
<L>And giving &s;o much to thy friend, that thou no glutton art.</L>
<L>The companie thereby may know thou art no greedie gue&s;t,</L>
<L>But thou can&s;t barre thy throat from meate, when&s;e're thou thinke&s;t be&s;t.</L>
<L>Perchance while thou art eating, thou among&s;t thy meate mai&s;t finde</L>
<L>Some bit, or rather that agrees not to thy daintie minde.</L>
<L>Whether thine apple, rottennes within it doth containe,</L>
<L>Or little creeping wormes, within thy peares or nuts remaine:</L>
<L>Of &s;uch like peares and nuts as the&s;e, give to thy neighbour &s;tore,</L>
<L>Am I deceivde? or did I teach this prettie tricke before?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When being full, at la&s;t thy &s;tomacke doth the&s;e cates for&s;ake,</L>
<L>Then finde out &s;omething el&s;e, wherein thou more delight mai&s;t take.</L>
<L>If that a maide a prettie cheerefull maide do &s;it thee by,</L>
<L>A maide which hath a ba&s;hfull looke, but yet a rowling eye.</L>
<L>V&s;e many &s;awcie ge&s;tures to her, many &s;awcie words,</L>
<L>Such plea&s;ant youthfull age as thine, &s;uch youthfull &s;port affoords.</L>
<L>Nor can there any thing, make women like thy talke &s;o well,</L>
<L>As if thou vnto them, doo&s;t &s;tore of iea&s;ts and trifles tell.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And touch tho&s;e partes, wherein their greate&s;t ioy doth v&s;e to &s;tand,</L>
<L>Into the virgins bo&s;ome eke, be &s;ure to thru&s;t your hand.</L>
<L><PB N="71" REF="47">And with thy fingers touch the paps, of the delightfull maid,</L>
<L>And let thy tributarie ki&s;&s;es, to her lips be paid.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or if &s;ome ring or jewell, thou vpon thy finger beare,</L>
<L>Or el&s;e &s;ome golden copper chaine, about thy necke doo&s;t weare.</L>
<L>Or ha&s;t a &s;ilke &s;owde garment on, in &s;hew and colour light,</L>
<L>Or any other thing, wherein thou &s;eem&s;t to take delight.</L>
<L>By all the drifts and meanes thou can&s;t, be &s;ure to &s;hew her the&s;e,</L>
<L>Commend thy &s;elfe, and thou thy &s;elfe beginne thy &s;elfe to plea&s;e.</L>
<L>She cannot choo&s;e, but &s;trait be ravi&s;hed with the love of thee,</L>
<L>And ca&s;ting all things el&s;e away, or ever thine &s;hee'le bee.</L>
<L>Yong maides before all other things, do &s;hining clothes approve,</L>
<L>And gli&s;tring gold, will pre&s;ently procure a virgins love.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Oft times with &s;ighes, tell her that thou till death her &s;ervant art,</L>
<L>And privately before her view, lay ope thy fainting heart.</L>
<L>And that &s;he may perceave, that you for her do daily pine,</L>
<L>As privately as may be, touch her tender foote with thine.</L>
<L>What though &s;he frowne? yet drinke vnto her oft at &s;upper tho,</L>
<L>For by this meanes you &s;hall perceave, whether &s;hee'le yeelde or no.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If at the la&s;t &s;he pledge thee kindely, then the truth is knowne,</L>
<L>Follow thy &s;uit, ne're give her over, for &s;he is thine owne.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>In briefe, of mode&s;tie thou need&s;t not have too great a care,</L>
<L>But do tho&s;e things, which to thy nature be&s;t be&s;eeming are.</L>
<L>All faults committed, cloak'd and hid by drunkennes may bee,</L>
<L>If thou be drunke, the greate&s;t faults are not vnfit for thee.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="7" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>Cries and tumults after &s;upper, going out, and bargai|ning for next nightes &s;upper. <HI>Chap. VII.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>BVt when at la&s;t (which cannot choo&s;e but grieve thee at the heart,)</L>
<L>The tender dam&s;ell with her mother, homeward doth depart.</L>
<L><PB N="72" REF="48">What bu&s;ines wilt thou then devi&s;e, the lingring time to &s;pend?</L>
<L>Le&s;t this &s;o long prolonged banquet, &s;hould thee much offend.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Why this: to tho&s;e that talke, be &s;ure thy li&s;tning eare to lay,</L>
<L>That thou the better mai&s;t ob&s;erve, each private word they &s;ay.</L>
<L>What though they whi&s;per &s;ecretly, their private &s;elves among?</L>
<L>Yet mai&s;t thou li&s;ten, to thy profite it doth much belong.</L>
<L>For why, perchance thy neighbour had &s;ome hurt of thee to &s;peake,</L>
<L>Then by this &s;uddaine comming, this his purpo&s;e thou mai&s;t breake.</L>
<L>Concerning what&s;oe're they talke, be &s;ure thou them mole&s;t,</L>
<L>Thus privately to talke at dinner, fits not any gue&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>In briefe, whats'ere is &s;aid or done, while they at dinner are,</L>
<L>To make thy &s;elfe a partie in it, thou mu&s;t have a care.</L>
<L>In every place, &s;uch &s;tore of worthie talke be &s;ure to finde,</L>
<L>As may be mo&s;t agreeing to thy prai&s;e-de&s;erving minde.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or, if which loves to talke alowde, among the rowt there's none,</L>
<L>Then tis thy dutie ne'rethele&s;&s;e, to talke alowde alone.</L>
<L>In lowde&s;t &s;ort with &s;hrieking cries, a noi&s;e thou ought&s;t to make,</L>
<L>That all which do behold thee, may by the example take.</L>
<L>Of &s;undry kindes of words, thou needes mu&s;t have exceeding choi&s;e,</L>
<L>If (as thou doo&s;t profe&s;&s;e,) thou ha&s;t a Rethoritians voice.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The time will pa&s;&s;e, while thou art ripping vp anothers fault,</L>
<L>This is no vice mong&s;t them who&s;e wits are over-come with mault.</L>
<L>But if thou &s;hould&s;t approve of &s;uch a filthy fault as it,</L>
<L>That thou &s;hould&s;t be my &s;choller, I could hardly thee permit.</L>
<L>For why among&s;t the wicked &s;ort, thou would&s;t accounted bee,</L>
<L>All which, for ever mu&s;t be bani&s;ht from my booke and mee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Mary to count your owne ill deedes, I like it very well,</L>
<L>And give you leave with cheerefull voice, your former faults to tell.</L>
<L>By this you divers men &s;hall finde, which get immortall prai&s;e,</L>
<L>By &s;etting to the publike view, their owne di&s;orderd waies.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or if thou art a&s;hamde of this, (though I no &s;hame commend,)</L>
<L>Then learne at la&s;t this meanes, whereby the lingring time to &s;pend.</L>
<L>Rai&s;e &s;tore of &s;trife and wrangling words, concerning trifles &s;mall,</L>
<L>If any thou can&s;t finde, which will vouch&s;afe with thee to brawle.</L>
<L>With lowde&s;t voice, hold &s;ome opinion which thou thinke&s;t be&s;t,</L>
<L>What though thy cau&s;e be bad&punc; yet let thy voice exceede the re&s;t.</L>
<L><PB N="73" REF="48">V&s;e thou the lowde&s;t voice thou can&s;t, le&s;t if thou &s;hould&s;t be &s;till,</L>
<L>Thy neighbour &s;hould have audience, to do and &s;peake his fill.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any man intreate thee in more quiet &s;ort to talke,</L>
<L>And not to let thy tamele&s;&s;e tongue, &s;o freely there to walke;</L>
<L>Then boldly with a wide mouth, into lowder &s;peeches breake,</L>
<L>Thy tong is free, no rea&s;on then but freely thou &s;hould&s;t &s;peake.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And alwaeis (though what&s;e're thou &s;ay be very fal&s;e and vaine,)</L>
<L>Yet have a care, that thou thy purpo&s;e con&s;tantly maintaine.</L>
<L>Yeelde thou thy captive hands to none, to none be counted weake,</L>
<L>Affirme that no man but thy &s;elfe, one word of truth doth &s;peake.</L>
<L>But if &s;ome &s;towter adver&s;arie, &s;cornes to leave the field,</L>
<L>Or for thy thundring great bravadoes, &s;cornes an inch to yield:</L>
<L>This great reproach in any ca&s;e, thou mai&s;t no longer beare,</L>
<L>But if thou art a man, thy vaunting threatnings let him heare.</L>
<L>In rage and choler leave the table, furiou&s;ly depart,</L>
<L>Bid none farewell, tell no man to what place thou going art.</L>
<L>For by this meanes, the companie will &s;tand in feare of thee,</L>
<L>And every man will &s;ay, that thou the Conquerour &s;halt bee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or if thou can&s;t not thus defend thy &s;elfe, by force of word,</L>
<L>Then looke that at this pintch, thine hand &s;ome helpe to thee affoord.</L>
<L>With naked &s;word, confirme both true and fal&s;e, both more and le&s;&s;e,</L>
<L>Without all faile, this cannot choo&s;e but aide thee in di&s;tre&s;&s;e.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e arguments, wherein thy craftie foe would thee involve,</L>
<L>Thy naked &s;word and broken pots, may &s;erve for to di&s;&s;olve,</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If this thou &s;corne, and idlenes doth not thy fancie plea&s;e,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e a banquet ought not to be po&s;ted off with ea&s;e;</L>
<L>Vpon the table cut a marke, that it may tell thy fame,</L>
<L>And let ingraved letters plainely &s;hew the makers name.</L>
<L>So future ages by oblivion cannot thee di&s;grace,</L>
<L>For every man may know, that thou did&s;t banquet in that place.</L>
<L>Or on the chimney with a coale, draw forth thy picture well,</L>
<L>Which picture vnto future ages, will thy wi&s;edome tell.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But all this while, I would not have thee to forget thy drinke,</L>
<L>But making greater ha&s;te thereof, with carefull minde to thinke.</L>
<L>When having drunke each drop of drinke, thou leav'&s;t the tankard drie,</L>
<L>And thou perceave&s;t that thy frind mu&s;t have it pre&s;ently:</L>
<L><PB N="74" REF="49">Before thou give it him, thou ought&s;t to have a &s;peciall care,</L>
<L>To &s;ee, that with thy hand thou wipe the brimmes, which moi&s;te&s;t are.</L>
<L>For why, your hand is alwaies cleaner then your dirtie lip,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e in purer water oft, you v&s;e the &s;ame to dip.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Sometimes great &s;tore of foaming froth, vpon the cup doth &s;tand,</L>
<L>Which tis thy part to wipe away, mo&s;t boldly with thy hand.</L>
<L>Then pre&s;ently, thou ought&s;t as much as ere thou can&s;t to drinke,</L>
<L>Or el&s;e to give it to &s;ome friend, whom thou mo&s;t fit doo&s;t thinke.</L>
<L>And if vpon thy neighbours head and face, the froth thou &s;pill,</L>
<L>For my part, I will not be hee that &s;hall account it ill.</L>
<L>Some laughter thou &s;halt move thereby, &s;ome profite thou &s;halt take,</L>
<L>Or (which thou can&s;t not mi&s;&s;e,) thou &s;halt &s;ome neighbour angry make.</L>
<L>Some men with &s;welling cheekes, within the pot do v&s;e to blow,</L>
<L>It is not hurtfull though thou learne, this prettie tricke to know.</L>
<L>For when the windes have leave, to wander from their &s;tronge&s;t cage,</L>
<L>The aire is oft infected, by their boi&s;trous rumbling rage.</L>
<L>If any &s;uch infectious things, within the pot do lie,</L>
<L>Thy &s;earching breath, will bring it into light immediatelie.</L>
<L>As thou art breathing, if thou chance to &s;pit into the &s;ame,</L>
<L>I know no neerer way, whereby to get renowne and fame.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When every man is hard at drinke, I count it very naught,</L>
<L>To leave one drop of that, which may be drunke at one good draught.</L>
<L>Philo&s;ophers in all their actions, count it verie vaine,</L>
<L>For that which may be done at once, to take a double paine.</L>
<L>Wherefore drinke off the gla&s;&s;e, and fill it fre&s;h vnto thy hand,</L>
<L>And for thy private v&s;e, vpon thy trencher let it &s;tand.</L>
<L>And pledge thy friend, once, twice, and thrice, and when he dares againe,</L>
<L>Yet never doubt that any lo&s;&s;e, thou &s;halt thereby &s;u&s;taine.</L>
<L>The &s;ooner thou art drunke, by taking of the grand carou&s;e,</L>
<L>The &s;ooner thou in reeling &s;ort, mai&s;t walke vnto thy hou&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>To leave that crew, and go to bed, nere make thou any ha&s;te,</L>
<L>Vntill the clocke doth prove, that mid-night long ago was pa&s;t.</L>
<L>And though you &s;ee that this your &s;tay, from re&s;t your ho&s;t doth keepe,</L>
<L>Yet &s;tay the longer, that you may detaine him &s;till from &s;leepe.</L>
<L>Yea, though for Gods &s;ake he intreate you from his very heart,</L>
<L>Yet tell him flatly, that you &s;corne &s;o quickly to depart.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="75" REF="49">
<L>And if you heare that any man is gone vnto his bed,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e that wine had long before (poore man) po&s;&s;e&s;t his head.</L>
<L>Then have a care, that from his bed you &s;traitway call him backe,</L>
<L>And make him come perforce, although his garments he do lacke.</L>
<L>And then beginne afre&s;h, great &s;tore of &s;tronge&s;t wine to take,</L>
<L>And drinke it off, therewith thy &s;elfe more plea&s;ant for to make.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Then breake the pots and windowes all, this cannot much offend,</L>
<L>For this next day, the glazier &s;hall have &s;omething for to mend.</L>
<L>And make him in that gla&s;&s;es roome, thy picture for to place,</L>
<L>Mo&s;t noble men e&s;teeme of this, as of a &s;peciall grace.</L>
<L>Each man will looke vpon thine armes, which to thy hou&s;e doth flocke,</L>
<L>And thinke that thou art of-&s;pring of &s;ome very worthie &s;tocke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Vpon the benches and the tables, boldly thou mai&s;t go:</L>
<L>Nay, which is more, I give thee leave all the&s;e to over-throw.</L>
<L>In briefe, with formes throwne vp and downe, thou ought&s;t the harth to breake.</L>
<L>Before one word of thy departure, thou begin&s;t to &s;peake.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But yet be &s;ure in any ca&s;e, to keepe this in thine head,</L>
<L>And have a care to thinke thereof, before thou go'&s;t to bed.</L>
<L>To make a league with all thy friends, it is gainefull thing,</L>
<L>And &s;uch a league, as may vnto thy bellie profite bring.</L>
<L>Chiefly, be friends with tho&s;e which did again&s;t to morrow night,</L>
<L>Vnto a daintie &s;upper, thee in friendly &s;ort invite.</L>
<L>This prettie tricke, with &s;ome hath often tooke &s;o good effect,</L>
<L>That I have dinde with tho&s;e, who&s;e kindenes I did nere expect.</L>
<L>Faith, when infriendly &s;ort at your hou&s;e &s;hall we merrie bee?</L>
<L>Or when will you invite to &s;upper, the&s;e my friends and mee?</L>
<L>Thus I a&s;&s;aile him, he replies, come all when&s;e're you dare,</L>
<L>Yet &s;hall be welcome to &s;uch cates, as at my cottage are.</L>
<L>To morrow night, if you will come to &s;upper to my hou&s;e,</L>
<L>You &s;hall be &s;ure of meate enough, and eke a good carou&s;e.</L>
<L>Forthwith I take him at his word, and give him faith and troth,</L>
<L>That I will come, but yet to trouble him, I would be loth,</L>
<L>Ob&s;erve the&s;e manners, and heerein example take by mee,</L>
<L>And doubtle&s;&s;e thou to many banquets, &s;halt invited bee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if another in this &s;ort, do likewi&s;e thee a&s;&s;aile,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure to promi&s;e nothing, and he cannot thus prevaile.</L>
<L><PB N="76" REF="50">Tell him when thou would&s;t have him come, he &s;hall be calld of thee,</L>
<L>But now becau&s;e of other things it cannot fitly bee.</L>
<L>At this time (&s;ir,) of certaine bu&s;ine&s;&s;e I have mightie ha&s;te,</L>
<L>And yet I know not certainely, how long the &s;ame will la&s;t.</L>
<L>Of &s;ay your wife at this time cannot all things fit provide,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e a kinde of &s;icknes, makes her in her bed to bide.</L>
<L>Say that &s;he now as patient, in Phi&s;itians hands doth live,</L>
<L>That they to her a &s;trong purgation, tother day did give.</L>
<L>Tell him, that now a certaine laske her bellie doth offend,</L>
<L>But that you hope ere long, her phi&s;icke will her bodie mend,</L>
<L>And then both hee and other friends, &s;hall all be welcome thether,</L>
<L>Youle finde a day (no doubt) ere long, to laugh and quaffe together.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="8" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>How to go home after &s;upper being drunke, what tumults to rai&s;e in the way, and at home before you go to bed, and how to behave your &s;elfe the next day. <HI>Chapter VIII.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>VVHen every thing hath hapned thus, according to thine heart,</L>
<L>Beginne with doubled &s;howts and &s;hriekings, homeward to depart.</L>
<L>You neede not &s;tay &s;o long, as of your friends your leave to take,</L>
<L>Nor need you thanke your ho&s;t for that good cheere which he did make.</L>
<L>For why your ho&s;t, whenas he verie drunke doth you behold,</L>
<L>To keepe you thus again&s;t your will, dares hardly be &s;o bold.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>You neede not &s;tay to know your &s;hot, or what your vittailes co&s;t,</L>
<L>To morrow morning you may know &s;uch trifles of your ho&s;t.</L>
<L>It is his dutie for to tell you, what you have to pay,</L>
<L>If you perceave that he deferres it, quickly &s;linke away.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And walking home, be &s;ure to make great clamors in the &s;treete,</L>
<L>That every man may know where you have beene, that doth you meete.</L>
<L>Be &s;ure that not a neighbour neere thee, thou permit to &s;leepe,</L>
<L><PB N="77" REF="50">But with thy &s;tirre, thy neighbours from their re&s;t have care to keepe.</L>
<L>Mi&s;-call one neighbour, and provoke another vnto fight,</L>
<L>If that thou ha&s;t within thee, either courage, heart, or might.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e quarrells which among&s;t you have a long time beene forgot</L>
<L>Recall afre&s;h againe, when you have tooke the tother pot.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And when hee comes to tame thy tongue, or el&s;e to trie thy might,</L>
<L>It is thy faire&s;t, pre&s;ently to take thy &s;elfe to flight;</L>
<L>Le&s;t in his mad-braind furie, he &s;hould &s;plit &s;ome tender veine,</L>
<L>And thou thereby great lo&s;&s;e of blood and danger &s;hould&s;t &s;u&s;teine.</L>
<L>It oft falles out, when by a veine the blood thus fa&s;t dooth runne,</L>
<L>The man is forcde to droope and faint, and life is almo&s;t done.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The man that would with clubs &amp; &s;tones his neibors window &s;trike</L>
<L>At midnight when the doores are fa&s;t, I would not much mi&s;like.</L>
<L>This al&s;o would I have thee doe, for tho&s;e that drunken are,</L>
<L>Concerning &s;ober life and manners neede not have a care.</L>
<L>But if whenas thou &s;ober wert, this fault thou &s;hould commit,</L>
<L>To be mine Auditor, I &s;hould not thinke thee verie fit.</L>
<L>Committing this, if thou the cittie watch encounter can,</L>
<L>And they commit thee to the Counter, th'art an happie man.</L>
<L>Thou &s;halt be &s;afe from all thy foes, thus lying in the gaole,</L>
<L>Their greate&s;t malice cannot in that place gain&s;t thee prevaile.</L>
<L>What though the Sunne be ne're &s;o hote? it cannot burne thee tho,</L>
<L>Thou &s;halt be &s;afe enough from raine from haile, and eke from &s;now.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if thou be &s;o luckie that thou chance to &s;cape the watch,</L>
<L>And no man for the&s;e knavi&s;h prankes dares venture thee to catch.</L>
<L>At length, when thou with knavi&s;h trickes ha&s;t filld thy longing hart,</L>
<L>By waking of thy neighbours all, then to thy hou&s;e depart.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And learne what &s;tore of bouncing clamours at thy gate to make,</L>
<L>And in what gentle &s;ort thy carefull wife thou ought&s;t to wake.</L>
<L>Fir&s;t have a care, that with &s;o great a noi&s;e thou v&s;e to rappe,</L>
<L>That all which heare thee, may &s;uppo&s;e it is &s;ome thunder-clap.</L>
<L>Nor take thou re&s;t, vntill the gate be broke in peeces &s;mall,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e it was not opend to thee, when thou fir&s;t did&s;t call.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Then if at length thy wife be forcde to come downe in her &s;mocke,</L>
<L>Thinking (well-meaning &s;oule) with &s;peede the doores for to vnlocke.</L>
<L>And with a, welcome home good husband, doth thee entertaine,</L>
<L><PB N="78" REF="51">Becau&s;e &s;he plainely &s;ees, that thou art in thy drunken vaine.</L>
<L>To quite her kindenes, with thy fingers give her boxes &s;tore,</L>
<L>And as her carefull ha&s;te de&s;erves, be &s;ure to beate her &s;ore.</L>
<L>And &s;tore of thundring word to word, and weightie blow to blow,</L>
<L>Is this the care &s;hee hath of thee, to entertaine thee &s;o?</L>
<L>Three things, a nut, an a&s;&s;e, a woman without &s;tore of blowes,</L>
<L>Will nere be fit for any v&s;e, for &s;o the proverbe goes.</L>
<L>Wherefore, that &s;he the better may thy future charge re&s;pect,</L>
<L>Severely for this negligence, thou ought&s;t her to correct.</L>
<L>And yet this v&s;e is fitter farre for men of <HI>Ciclops</HI> race,</L>
<L>Which in <HI>Sicilia</HI> vncoth harbours have their biding place.</L>
<L>He which in beating of his wife, without de&s;ert doth boa&s;t,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e he would be thought a valiant man, and rule the ro&s;t;</L>
<L>Tho&s;e markes and limits which I did appoint him, doth &s;urmount,</L>
<L>And &s;ure I thinke, a wicked man I may him well account.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Before thou go'&s;t to bed, be &s;ure &s;o great a &s;tirre to keepe,</L>
<L>That all thy &s;ervants be con&s;trainde, to ri&s;e from out their &s;leepe,</L>
<L>One &s;ervant thou with thundring threates, and wrangling words mu&s;t chide,</L>
<L>Another mu&s;t both brawling words, and weightie blowes abide.</L>
<L>All that which every man hath done, while he hath dwelt with you,</L>
<L>Now being over-come with drinke, you mu&s;t againe renew.</L>
<L>That thee, they as a ma&s;ter may, both honour, love, and feare,</L>
<L>And tremble at each word, which from thee to proceede they heare.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Then at the la&s;t, give leave vnto thy drow&s;ie pate to &s;leepe,</L>
<L>When all is &s;till, and thou can&s;t finde no greater &s;tirre to keepe;</L>
<L>And being laid, there take thine ea&s;e as long as ere thou will,</L>
<L>But in &s;uch &s;ort, as thou be &s;ure the bed with () to fill.</L>
<L>Thus may thy maids have &s;heetes to wa&s;h, to hold them worke next day,</L>
<L>Le&s;t thou for nothing to &s;uch idle maids &s;hould&s;t wages pay.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And when next day you from your bed beginne to ri&s;e at la&s;t,</L>
<L>Which mu&s;t not be vntill that noone, and dinner time be pa&s;t.</L>
<L>When by your &s;leepe your &s;tore of meate is all dige&s;ted quite,</L>
<L>And all that &s;tore of liquor, which you drunke but ye&s;ternight:</L>
<L>Then being readie, to &s;ome neighbours hou&s;e you ought to walke</L>
<L>With him, vntill your wife provide your dinner, there to talke.</L>
<L>There drive away the lingring time, in eare-delighting chat,</L>
<L><PB N="79" REF="51">Long talke procures an appetite, then have a care of that,</L>
<L>And that his favoure thou mai&s;t get, and be a welcome gue&s;t,</L>
<L>With readie wit, thou ought&s;t to vtter many a plea&s;ant ie&s;t.</L>
<L>Recall to minde all that, which by you ye&s;terday was done,</L>
<L>Whenas your &s;ences all, with beere and wine were over-runne.</L>
<L>If any man la&s;t night, was too much over-come with drinke,</L>
<L>And in the morning of the &s;ame, he not one whit dooth thinke.</L>
<L>It is thy dutie, which did&s;t note his manners ye&s;ternight,</L>
<L>To publi&s;h it before his friends <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">nd bring it all to light.</L>
<L>Which thou repeating, &s;ome will laugh, others be mov'd to wrath,</L>
<L>Each man will take it &s;undry waies, as he his nature hath.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Nor whem thou art among&s;t thy friends, thou &s;hould&s;t it faultie thinke.</L>
<L>To brag, that after &s;upper thou took'&s;t greate&s;t &s;tore of drinke.</L>
<L>It is a credite thus to brag, my head was then &s;o light,</L>
<L>That it could hardly guide my feete, to finde mine owne hou&s;e right.</L>
<L>Although they all were prettie well, yet no man found could bee,</L>
<L>Which did not in that drunken art, yeelde cup and kanne to mee.</L>
<L>It can be no di&s;credite, but a prai&s;e and &s;ame, to &s;ay,</L>
<L>That thou in drinking from the re&s;t, did&s;t beare the bell away.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or waking iu&s;t at noone, in ha&s;te vnto thy wife depart,</L>
<L>Demanding of her meate and drinke, to comfort vp thine heart.</L>
<L>But fir&s;t of all, a draught of burnt wine, would do very well,</L>
<L>All giddines and aches this will from thine head expell.</L>
<L>Which having drunke and eate a bit, vnto thy bed repaire,</L>
<L>And take thy re&s;t vntill thy wife, thy dinner do prepare.</L>
<L>When all is readie, then I thinke to ri&s;e it will be time,</L>
<L>To recreate thy fainting corpes, with meate and plea&s;ant wine.</L>
<L>And when each di&s;h and pot, is &s;orted to his pointed place,</L>
<L>Then (as it is a womans dutie,) let thy wife &s;ay grace.</L>
<L>To tell tho&s;e trickes, which were by thee committed ye&s;ternight,</L>
<L>How farre thy tongue and minde did &s;tray, from rea&s;on and from right.</L>
<L>What railing words and weightie blowes, of thee &s;he did &s;u&s;taine,</L>
<L>I thinke a rea&s;onable volume hardly would containe.</L>
<L>Shee'le tell you what by you was broke to whom you offerd wrong,</L>
<L>And of your trickes, will make a &s;torie of an houre long.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If this her talke delightes thee not, but doth thy wrath increa&s;e,</L>
<L><PB N="80" REF="52">Charge her, on paine of thy di&s;plea&s;ure, &s;trait to holde her peace.</L>
<L>If then &s;he leave, be thou content, if &s;he proceede to &s;ay</L>
<L>Her plea&s;ure, &s;corning this thy friendly warning to obay:</L>
<L>Then catch what&s;e're thou finde&s;t neere thy hand, in rage and ha&s;te,</L>
<L>And at the varlets head be &s;ure with might the &s;ame to ca&s;t.</L>
<L>Twill teach her in thy pre&s;ence that her prating tongue to hold,</L>
<L>And as to &s;peake before her husband, not to be &s;o bold.</L>
<L>More coun&s;ell, but for tediou&s;ne&s;&s;e, I vnto thee might give,</L>
<L>Although I know, that of thy &s;elfe in order thou can&s;t live.</L>
<L>If I mo&s;t common things can tell, I therewith am content,</L>
<L>All &s;ortes and kindes of manners to declare I never meant.</L>
<L>Thou for thy &s;elfe mai&s;t divers good examples &s;oone devi&s;e,</L>
<L>Which cannot be mi&s;liked much in country farmers eies.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="9" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>How to entertaine, v&s;e, and &s;end away tho&s;e gue&s;ts which you have invited. <HI>Chapter IX.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>IT is thy parte &s;ometimes &s;ome gue&s;ts vnto thy hou&s;e to call,</L>
<L>Le&s;t men &s;hould thinke thy hou&s;e is naught, or thou ha&s;t none at all.</L>
<L>Or le&s;t &s;ome picke-thanke which dooth greatly at thy good repine,</L>
<L>Say thou thy neighbours drinke doo&s;t love, but no man ta&s;tes of thine.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And when to come to dinner, you your neighbour doe intreate,</L>
<L>Take heede le&s;t this (you &s;hall be welcome) you too oft repeate.</L>
<L>And &s;o departing from them, for their vittailes take no care,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e you hope that none will come, you nothing need prepare.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any come, who&s;e paines and company you do not lacke,</L>
<L>This pollicie may &s;erve to bid him from your hou&s;e to packe.</L>
<L>It may be as a friend to &s;upper I did you invite,</L>
<L>I &s;carce can thinke my &s;elfe &s;o fond, but I was drunke that night.</L>
<L><PB N="81" REF="52">If any words which then I &s;poke in drinke, were over-heard,</L>
<L>Since they were onely words and winde, you mu&s;t not them regard.</L>
<L>The pot-mate dooth offend, which much regard of wordes doth make,</L>
<L>That which I &s;poke in ie&s;t, you &s;hould not thus in earne&s;t take.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or that thou mai&s;t excu&s;e thy &s;elfe, into this humour breake,</L>
<L>That then thou being drunke, in bragging &s;ort tho&s;e words did&s;t &s;peak;</L>
<L>For credite &s;ake, a man may oft in publike &s;ay that thing,</L>
<L>Which after no man can enforce him to effect to bring.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or &s;ay, if now you heere &s;hould dine, you could not merry be,</L>
<L>For I am &s;icke, you cannot have the company of mee:</L>
<L>The beere I dranke hath rai&s;de &s;uch &s;tore of vapours in my braine,</L>
<L>That I per&s;wade my &s;elfe that I &s;hall never drinke againe.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or you may lay the fault vpon your cur&s;t and crabbed wife,</L>
<L>Which over-rules you &s;o, that you are weary of your life.</L>
<L>Wherefore, intreate them heartily at this time to depart,</L>
<L>When you are well, they &s;hall be welcome all, with all your heart.</L>
<L>But &s;ometimes to your kinder friends, more love you mu&s;t affoorde,</L>
<L>And for their welcome, &s;et a few &s;mall di&s;hes on the boord.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But alwayes you mu&s;t have a care, as long as ere you live,</L>
<L>To &s;pend but little coyne, on tho&s;e things which you meane to give,</L>
<L>Why &s;hould&s;t thou for an other man, &s;uch co&s;tly dinners make?</L>
<L>There are but few which will to their hou&s;e, thee to dinner take.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If iu&s;t at &s;upper time they there vpon thee will attend,</L>
<L>Then bid them welcome, if they came not, for them never &s;end.</L>
<L>I &s;ee no rea&s;on, that to any thou &s;hould&s;t &s;end a man,</L>
<L>To pray him for to make all ha&s;te, which po&s;&s;ibly he can.</L>
<L>There is no rea&s;on on they gue&s;ts &s;uch &s;ervice to be&s;tow:</L>
<L>A cau&s;e why I this coun&s;ell give, I pre&s;ently will &s;how.</L>
<L>If thus for him you &s;end a man, his comming for to grace,</L>
<L>Hee'le thinke he credites you, to come to &s;uch a clowni&s;h place.</L>
<L>Nay which is more, hee'le thinke that you to him beholding are,</L>
<L>And for your co&s;t, to give you thankes, will have but little care.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Deferre the time for no mans &s;ake, but if a while he &s;tay,</L>
<L>Regarde him not, fall to your meate, and let him keepe away.</L>
<L>As &s;oone as ere the meate is ready, downe to &s;upper &s;it,</L>
<L>And fall to &s;uch things, as thy wife thinks for thy &s;upper fit.</L>
<L><PB N="82" REF="53">Let tho&s;e which linger, either loo&s;e their &s;upper, or their place;</L>
<L>And yet they are not offerd, either wrong or much di&s;grace.</L>
<L>What rea&s;on had the foole (I pray,) no greater ha&s;te to make?</L>
<L>It was his owne fault; for thee, as he brewd, &s;o let him bake.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or when the pointed time is come, give charge to locke the doore:</L>
<L>Let no man enter that comes late, he &s;hould have come before.</L>
<L>Be &s;ure that thou to no man doo&s;t, the doore once &s;hut, vnlocke,</L>
<L>But either let them go their waies, or &s;till &s;tand there and knocke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thou perchance doo&s;t let them in, then give them neither meate,</L>
<L>Nor water for to wa&s;h their hands, nor &s;carce a cleanly &s;eate,</L>
<L>Tis likely they at home had water, ere they came to thee,</L>
<L>And tooke their ea&s;e before, le&s;t comming they &s;hould wearie bee.</L>
<L>Command thy maid to &s;weepe the hou&s;e, when every man is come,</L>
<L>Le&s;t they &s;hould thinke it was not &s;wept, they ought to &s;ee it done.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When every man is come, and doth his &s;upper long ex&s;pect,</L>
<L>Beginne to make it readie then, and till then it neglect.</L>
<L>Take thou no care at all, to place or order any gue&s;t,</L>
<L>But give free leave to every man, to fit where he thinks be&s;t.</L>
<L>And then thou &s;halt be &s;ure, that none can well of thee complaine,</L>
<L>Though by the lowe&s;t roome, &s;ome wrong he chance for to &s;u&s;taine.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>For feare the cates which thou ha&s;t bought, &s;hould any man offend,</L>
<L>It is thy dutie, every di&s;h mo&s;t highly to commend.</L>
<L>Tell them from whence they came, and what a mightie price they co&s;t,</L>
<L>What paines you tooke to get them fir&s;t, and after, them to ro&s;t.</L>
<L>And tell them how they boiled were, how many &s;undry waies</L>
<L>You v&s;de therein; in briefe, neglect not any kinde of prai&s;e.</L>
<L>And that they may the deerer &s;eeme, bid them them&s;elves to prove,</L>
<L>And they &s;hall hardly get &s;uch meate, for mony or for love.</L>
<L>Then will they like the di&s;hes highly, and commend the ta&s;te,</L>
<L>Perceaving that &s;o cunningly, thou them commended ha&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And yet I would not have thee coun&s;ell any man, to feede</L>
<L>Tho&s;e which are hungry, of a prompter have but little neede.</L>
<L>But being full, they cannot fall afre&s;h to meate againe:</L>
<L>For being full, to coun&s;ell him to feede afre&s;h, is vaine.</L>
<L>To eate thy meate again&s;t his will, thou no man ought&s;t to make,</L>
<L>It is &s;ufficient, if he but by thee example take.</L>
<L><PB N="83" REF="53">As for thy &s;elfe, be &s;ure thy teeth be wagging &s;till apace,</L>
<L>This is the onely cure whereby thine hunger to deface.</L>
<L>They which to meate, by thine example are not mov'd at la&s;t,</L>
<L>Let them depart with emptie guts, a Gods name let them fa&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thou vpon thy neighbours trencher, needes &s;ome bit wilt place,</L>
<L>Thou ought&s;t to do it warily, le&s;t thou thy &s;elfe di&s;grace;</L>
<L>That which thou mean&s;t to give, thou ought&s;t thereof to ta&s;te a bit,</L>
<L>Thereby to know the better, if it for thy friend be fit.</L>
<L>By this meanes, thou the perfect ta&s;te thereof thy &s;elfe mai&s;t know,</L>
<L>And iudge thereby, if thou on &s;uch a friend mai&s;t it be&s;tow.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>To give cleane trenchers to the &s;trangers is a needele&s;&s;e thing,</L>
<L>Whenas thy &s;ervant to the boord, the &s;econd cour&s;e doth bring.</L>
<L>They ought to turne their dirtie trenchers, on the tother &s;ide,</L>
<L>And wipe them on the cloth, which for that v&s;e thou did&s;t provide.</L>
<L>Why &s;hould you let your &s;ervant &s;uch great paines in vaine to take?</L>
<L>He may do other things, while he the trenchers cleane &s;hould make.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When all is done, and they have eate as much as ere they will,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure as fa&s;t as they can drinke it, &s;tore of wine to fill.</L>
<L>If any man in drinking, &s;eemes to take too long an ea&s;e,</L>
<L>Then for his lingring, puni&s;h him according as you plea&s;e.</L>
<L>Make him perforce, to take what&s;e're thou requi&s;ite doo&s;t thinke,</L>
<L>In quaffing make him follow thee, and after thee to drinke.</L>
<L>And being drunke, refu&s;e not to fall out with any man,</L>
<L>V&s;e railing words, and &s;peake as lowde as po&s;&s;ibly thou can,</L>
<L>If any one thats drunke, of naughtie words doth give thee &s;tore,</L>
<L>Fir&s;t beate him well and thriftily, then thru&s;t him out of doore.</L>
<L>There is no &s;ence, that in thine owne hou&s;e he &s;hould thee abu&s;e,</L>
<L>E&s;pecially &s;ince all therein thou as thou li&s;t mai&s;t v&s;e.</L>
<L>I thinke to come againe in ha&s;te, he will have little li&s;t,</L>
<L>If once or twice in this &s;ort, he hath felt thy weightie fi&s;t.</L>
<L>But if thou dare not &s;trike him, having of thy &s;elfe a care,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e the &s;trangers then thy folkes, a greater number are.</L>
<L>Yet breake &s;uch &s;tore of iea&s;ts again&s;t him, as thou be&s;t doo&s;t like,</L>
<L>Whenas thou mai&s;t not with thy fi&s;t, be &s;ure with tongue to &s;trike.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any man offended be, that thou &s;o plea&s;ant art,</L>
<L>Command him &s;trait in angy &s;ort, thine hou&s;e for to depart.</L>
<L><PB N="84" REF="54">Why &s;hould &s;uch frowning angry fellowes, thus di&s;turbe the re&s;t?</L>
<L>Becau&s;e for&s;ooth that onely he mi&s;likes &s;uch plea&s;ant je&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thou mai&s;t be merry with the re&s;t, when he hath left thy hou&s;e,</L>
<L>Onely regard that every per&s;on take the grand carow&s;e.</L>
<L>With yron bolts and barres make fa&s;t the doores with thine owne hand,</L>
<L>And have a man which at each doore vndauntedly &s;hall &s;tand.</L>
<L>Let no man pa&s;&s;e, vnle&s;&s;e their fingers force he love to ta&s;te,</L>
<L>Although he give to thee a rea&s;on why he hath &s;uch ha&s;te.</L>
<L>This is a pollicie, by making them endure this paine,</L>
<L>There will be few that wiil be brought to &s;up with thee againe.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And let an empty chamber pot vnder the boord be put,</L>
<L>That every man may there vnloade his bladder, or his gut:</L>
<L>What though they chance to doe the la&s;t? it is not much ami&s;&s;e,</L>
<L>This vapour a mo&s;t plea&s;ing &s;mell vnto your no&s;trels is,</L>
<L>According as your neede requireth, ca&s;t out pre&s;ently</L>
<L>From foorth a ca&s;ement, all which in the chamber pot did lie.</L>
<L>If thy companions out of it &s;ome wine &s;hould foorthwith drinke,</L>
<L>A man might &s;ay and &s;weare, that they were merry men I thinke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>As long as thus their greedy paunch with meate and drinke is fed,</L>
<L>Were it all night, I thinke not one would thinke vpon his bed:</L>
<L>Whenas the day &s;tarre ginnes to leave the Ocean, not before,</L>
<L>Commaund thy Porters at the la&s;t to open every doore,</L>
<L>When thus the day is victor of the darke&s;ome parting night,</L>
<L>Then every man may finde his hou&s;e, not needing any light.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Sleepe all the day, though all the re&s;t from re&s;t by worke are kept,</L>
<L>Thy wine will all be gone by night, if thou all day ha&s;t &s;lept.</L>
<L>V&s;e this a while, and when in riches other men doe flowe</L>
<L>Thou (tis the &s;weete&s;t life that is) a begging &s;till &s;halt goe:</L>
<L>Though many men a carefull and a painefull life doth plea&s;e,</L>
<L>Yet, if my coun&s;ell thou wilt follow, live thou &s;till at ea&s;e.</L>
<L>This &s;tore of pinching labour, often makes our ioynts the le&s;&s;e,</L>
<L>And too much care, with great affliction dooth our hearts oppre&s;&s;e.</L>
<L>Yet oftentimes when many men have tooke this paines and toyle,</L>
<L>Before they can obtaine their wi&s;h, they oft receive the foyle.</L>
<L>God graunt me onely that which for my neede I &s;hall de&s;ire,</L>
<L>And I will take no care at all, nor further wealth require.</L>
<L><PB N="85" REF="54">Honours and goods, two things whereat the multitude hath cought,</L>
<L>Have oftentimes the keepers of them, to de&s;truction brought:</L>
<L>Wherefore, if you be wi&s;e, imploy your good whenas you may,</L>
<L>Le&s;t having &s;tore, you cannot v&s;e it, if you make delay.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<TRAILER>The end of the &s;econd Booke.</TRAILER>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 N="3" TYPE="book">
<PB REF="55">
<PB N="87" REF="55">
<HEAD>THE THIRD BOOKE of auntient Simplicitie of <HI>Behaviour.</HI></HEAD>
<DIV2 N="1" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>The order of this Booke, and behaviour at an hone&s;t fea&s;t, in eating brewe&s;&s;e and crab-fi&s;h. <HI>Chap. I.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>THo&s;e precepts which within my former books I did include,</L>
<L>Which cannot hurt thee much, although they make thee &s;omewhat rude.</L>
<L>Have certaine bonds in every place, thou mai&s;t them not commit,</L>
<L>But with &s;ome caveats, for certaine times are onely fit.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But now into the &s;urging &s;eas, my &s;ailing &s;hip is borne,</L>
<L>It now will take a larger cour&s;e, if it may &s;cape vntorne.</L>
<L>Helpe, helpe, (friend <HI>Bing,</HI>) which in <HI>Apolloes</HI> eyes doo&s;t gratious live,</L>
<L>That by thine aide, I to the vulgars the&s;e my lines may give.</L>
<L>Draw neere I &s;ay, and helpe my &s;hip the&s;e &s;urging &s;ulkes to pa&s;&s;e,</L>
<L>And make my cour&s;e as &s;wift, as if a <HI>Pega&s;us</HI> I was.</L>
<L>You can conduct me with a calme, and very quiet winde,</L>
<L>To aide atlea&s;t my fainting wit, let me that favour finde.</L>
<L>A few more precepts to the former, in this place Ile adde,</L>
<L>Which vnto tho&s;e that love Simplicitie, cannot be bad.</L>
<L>My &s;elfe in rea&s;ons paths I cannot very well containe,</L>
<L><PB N="88" REF="56">For Mode&s;tie and Rea&s;on, they no whit to me pertaine.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e things to which blinde Appetite doth leade vs, I mu&s;t tell,</L>
<L>Which without tediou&s;nes, before I could not have done well.</L>
<L>Once more vnto my Cuckoe notes, lend thine attentive eare,</L>
<L>Who&s;e're thou art, which &s;imple manners doo&s;t de&s;ire to heare;</L>
<L>Expect to heate that kinde of life, which fitte&s;t is for thee,</L>
<L>You cannot in that art which you profe&s;&s;e, too cunning bee.</L>
<L>I doubt not but that &s;tore of manners fitting to thy minde,</L>
<L>If carefully thou reade this booke, thou in the &s;ame &s;halt finde,</L>
<L>I know, the practi&s;e of my precepts will thee homely make,</L>
<L>If in the daily v&s;e thereof, thou any paines wilt take.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>All kinde of manners for all ages will not fitting bee,</L>
<L>Then have a care, that divers &s;orts be mingled well by thee.</L>
<L>From hence, and thence, and every place, good manners thou mu&s;t get,</L>
<L>And mix them with thine owne, and make them for thy purpo&s;e fit.</L>
<L>I do not thinke it is your dutie for to have a care</L>
<L>In what place, or among&s;t what men, your manners v&s;ed are.</L>
<L>What&s;e're it is which can thy life and manners much commend,</L>
<L>To get the &s;ame, it is thy dutie all thy force to bend.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thou need&s;t not have another ma&s;ter, learne of me a while,</L>
<L>Ile teach thee trickes, a thou&s;and craftie marchants to beguile.</L>
<L>Stand you to no mans iudgement but your owne, when you offend,</L>
<L>Simplicitie will in thy greate&s;t danger thee defend.</L>
<L>He which is made at other beckes, in other &s;teps to treade,</L>
<L>Regarding not his future haps, a wretched life doth leade.</L>
<L>It may be thou vnto &s;ome place, as gue&s;t invited art,</L>
<L>Where thou among&s;t a &s;ort of worthie men, mu&s;t take thy part.</L>
<L>When every daintie di&s;h, to which an appetite you finde,</L>
<L>Is plac'd and all things &s;et in order, to your daintie minde,</L>
<L>Ca&s;t &s;hame afide, and into mo&s;t vn&s;eemely &s;peeches breake,</L>
<L>Thy tongue is free, why mai&s;t thou not at all time freely &s;peake?</L>
<L>All &s;ence and pining care, thou ought&s;t to bani&s;h from thy brea&s;t,</L>
<L>And boldly &s;natch &s;uch meate and drinke, as fits thy fancie be&s;t,</L>
<L>With &s;hrieking cries and &s;undry clamors, pierce the loftie skies,</L>
<L>Refu&s;e not any thing, that &s;eemeth plea&s;ant in thine eyes.</L>
<L>For when you in your neighbours hou&s;e, at &s;portive banquets &s;it,</L>
<L><PB N="89" REF="56">To have a care of mode&s;t manners, is not very fit.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any man in dinner time permits his tongue to walke,</L>
<L>Pre&s;uming with a plea&s;ant &s;peech, of loftie things to talke;</L>
<L>Beginne as gravely as the re&s;t of weightie things to tell,</L>
<L>And have a care, that all the re&s;t in wrangling thou excell.</L>
<L>This cu&s;tome vnto great preferment will thee quickly rai&s;e,</L>
<L>For this thy quicke and readie wit the &s;trangers will thee prai&s;e.</L>
<L>To be more wi&s;e then thou&s;ands more, thy neighbours will thee deeme,</L>
<L>No better meanes there is to prove a man of great e&s;teeme.</L>
<L>There is no fitter time to &s;peake; for when the wine is in,</L>
<L>It addes great eloquence, whereby much credite you may win.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perchance the Cooke doth to the boord a me&s;&s;e of brewe&s;&s;e bring.</L>
<L>Which doubtle&s;&s;e to the &s;tomacke is a very plea&s;ing thing.</L>
<L>Then take the broade&s;t &s;moothe&s;t &s;poone, be&s;t fitting to thy minde,</L>
<L>And to that di&s;h before the re&s;t beginne a path to finde.</L>
<L>The neere&s;t way that I can tell thy bellie for to fill,</L>
<L>Is, heape thy &s;poone &s;o full with &s;ops, that it perforce mu&s;t &s;pill.</L>
<L>As much as will &s;uffice thy turne, at one time thou mai&s;t take,</L>
<L>Concerning toyes, it is not good &s;uch re&s;tle&s;&s;e toyles to make.</L>
<L>All that which in thy &s;poone at once, thou from the di&s;h did&s;t fetch,</L>
<L>At one time thru&s;t into thy mouth, although thy jawes thou &s;tretch.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any &s;op among&s;t the re&s;t doth &s;eeme to lacke &s;ome &s;ault,</L>
<L>Mo&s;t carefully by this meanes thou mai&s;t quickly mend that fault.</L>
<L>Fir&s;t fill thy &s;poone with &s;tore of fat and grea&s;e-be&s;miered cru&s;t,</L>
<L>Which done, into the &s;alt-&s;eller be &s;ure the &s;ame to thru&s;t.</L>
<L>Or (which if thou will boldly do, will for thy credite make,)</L>
<L>With all thy fingers for thy v&s;e, thou &s;alt enough mai&s;t take.</L>
<L>For &s;ure it is impo&s;&s;ible, that meate be ta&s;ted well,</L>
<L>If &s;alt be wanting, which alone all rancour doth excell.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>A Crab-fi&s;h is a di&s;h agreeing to your &s;tately minde,</L>
<L>Which if at any time, vpon the table you &s;hall finde,</L>
<L>The &s;maler and the leaner, vnto &s;trangers you mu&s;t leave,</L>
<L>Your hungry &s;tomacke from the great more comfort &s;hall receave.</L>
<L>Yet thinke not that the great, are alwaies be&s;t of all to eate,</L>
<L>This may deceive, for why the &s;mall &s;ometimes excell the great.</L>
<L>Then, that the good ones, from the bad, you may the better know,</L>
<L>Ob&s;erve this rule, which alwaies will the fine&s;t fi&s;hes &s;how.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="90" REF="57">
<L>Vnder their tailes have care to looke, if any egges you finde,</L>
<L>You neede not doubt, they are not hurtfull to the nice&s;t minde.</L>
<L>Eate the&s;e thy &s;elfe: but if no egges can there be found to bee,</L>
<L>Su&s;pect their goodnes pre&s;ently, they &s;carce are fit for thee.</L>
<L>Thus &s;corning them thy &s;elfe, vnto thy friend thou mai&s;t them give,</L>
<L>By tho&s;e things which thou &s;corn&s;t to eate, thy poorer friends may live.</L>
<L>Or having &s;earcht them thorowly, take better vp at la&s;t,</L>
<L>And in their roomes, be &s;ure tho&s;e bad ones in the di&s;h to ca&s;t.</L>
<L>Keepe not the fine&s;t fi&s;h, if of the fore-tolde marke it faile,</L>
<L>It is not whole&s;ome, if it hath not egges within the taile.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>My coun&s;ell is not, vndivided fi&s;hes to devoure,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e I thinke, the very foote would hold you tacke an houre.</L>
<L>To &s;ucke vp all thats in their bellie would do prettie well,</L>
<L>Tho&s;e parts I thinke will &s;erve thy turne, which are within the &s;hell.</L>
<L>As for the taile and fore-parts, you &s;ome corner mu&s;t provide,</L>
<L>It is a mo&s;t convenient place, to keepe them by your &s;ide.</L>
<L>That &s;o, when every bit of fi&s;h is from the platter gone;</L>
<L>Yet thou mai&s;t have tho&s;e fore-parts &s;till, when all the re&s;t have none.</L>
<L>And by this meanes, thou all the re&s;t in eating &s;hall excell,</L>
<L>To take this coun&s;ell of a friend, will oft do very well.</L>
<L>Fore-fathers, therefore calld this fi&s;h a kinde of waiting meate,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e when every man hath dinde, you ought the &s;ame to eate.</L>
<L>A certaine fellow tride of late to put this tricke in vre,</L>
<L>But &s;ped not, for a &s;tranger pre&s;ent would not it indure.</L>
<L>This merrie &s;tranger, (as he was much giv'n to merriment,)</L>
<L>Devi&s;de this plot, whereby the tothers craft he did prevent.</L>
<L>Seeing the fi&s;hes fore-parts by this craftie knave to &s;tand,</L>
<L>Before the tother was aware, he caught them in his hand.</L>
<L>I pray &s;ir, what the cau&s;e (quoth he,) that you the&s;e parts refu&s;e?</L>
<L>To make the mo&s;t account of the&s;e, we country fellowes v&s;e.</L>
<L>The fore-pars of this fi&s;h were wont in great e&s;teeme to bee,</L>
<L>What though they be refu&s;de of you? they &s;hall be likde of mee.</L>
<L>Thus having &s;aid, he broke the meate and made an end of it,</L>
<L>And vnto him from whom he &s;natcht it, would not give a bit.</L>
<L>Therefore it is more wi&s;edome, in &s;ome &s;ecret bag to hide</L>
<L>Both taile and fore-parts, which thou for thy &s;tomacke did&s;t provide.</L>
<L><PB N="91" REF="57">For then thou &s;halt be &s;ure, that none can from thee &s;natch thy meate,</L>
<L>But at thy hou&s;e, or where thou plea&s;e, thy &s;elfe the &s;ame mai&s;t eate.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Not onely this, but any thing thats plea&s;ing to thy gut,</L>
<L>In &s;ecret &s;ort, thon for thy private v&s;e therein mai&s;t put.</L>
<L>If this mi&s;like thine ho&s;t, which to his hou&s;e did thee invite,</L>
<L>Tell him he was to blame, to place the&s;e di&s;hes in thy &s;ight.</L>
<L>He is not wi&s;e, that will de&s;pi&s;e the gift of any friend,</L>
<L>If thus he do denie thee meate, why did he for thee &s;end?</L>
<L>I do not love at any fea&s;t, to &s;hew my &s;elfe &s;o prowde,</L>
<L>As to refu&s;e that meate, which by my neighbour is alowde.</L>
<L>Nay, &s;ure it is my cu&s;tome rather, like a thankefull man</L>
<L>To rid mine ho&s;t of all the meate, that po&s;&s;ible I can.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="2" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>Notable waies of drinking, and &s;uch behaviour as mu&s;t be ob&s;erved at your departure. <HI>Chapter II.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>SOmetimes your ho&s;t vpon his gue&s;ts, &s;uch liquor will be&s;tow,</L>
<L>As in a private vineyard of his owne, did lately grow.</L>
<L>If by the &s;macke, you finde the fruite was of a naughtie vine,</L>
<L>And therefore not agreeing to &s;o nice a ta&s;te as thine.</L>
<L>Be &s;ure this naughtie wine, forthwith from off the boord to fling,</L>
<L>And bid the Tap&s;ter for your drinking better wine to bring.</L>
<L>If he replies, it is of gift, it nothing &s;hall you co&s;t,</L>
<L>Tell him for this, &s;mall thanks are due to &s;uch a pinching ho&s;t.</L>
<L>If for the wine alreadie drawne he &s;eeme his coine to crave,</L>
<L>Aske him the rea&s;on, why &s;uch cu&s;tomers &s;uch tappings have?</L>
<L>Aske him, if coine be nowadaies &s;o lightly got, he thinke?</L>
<L>Or is it meete, that &s;ilver &s;hould be paid for naughtie drinke?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if perchance to dine with thee, thou ha&s;t invited &s;ome,</L>
<L>Or el&s;e like men that lacke their &s;uppers, they vnbidden come.</L>
<L><PB N="92" REF="58">It is thy parte to give to them the ba&s;e&s;t wine thou ha&s;t,</L>
<L>Such wine is for this purpo&s;e be&s;t, as lackes both &s;trength and ta&s;te.</L>
<L>Perchance &s;ome one among the re&s;t will better wine demand,</L>
<L>But it may breede both hurt and lo&s;&s;e, to doe as they command.</L>
<L>Who knowes their purpo&s;e? if they meane the &s;hot receiv'd to pay?</L>
<L>Or thinking not to pay for this, would &s;cot-free parte a way?</L>
<L>If all the things which they have yet received naughty were,</L>
<L>Thy lo&s;&s;e will be the le&s;&s;e, and thou the better mai&s;t it beare.</L>
<L>If better wine thou give, theile heape carow&s;e vpon carow&s;e:</L>
<L>But give them weaker wine, and then theile &s;oone departe your hou&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If vnto any friend of yours among the re&s;t you drinke,</L>
<L>Take off as much at once, as well will quench your thir&s;t you thinke.</L>
<L>Vntill the man to whome you drunke have pledgd you to the full,</L>
<L>Permit him not in any ca&s;e, the pot from mouth to pull:</L>
<L>Though he prote&s;t before them all, that he is &s;carce &s;o &s;trong,</L>
<L>As while he drinkes a beaker dry to hold his breath &s;o long.</L>
<L>Yet, will he, nill he, both by words and blowes thou &s;halt be faine</L>
<L>To make him drinke it off, that thou thy purpo&s;e mai&s;t attaine.</L>
<L>But if he chance to &s;hrike and crie, as loath to be controld,</L>
<L>And force perforce do what you can, his fir&s;t intent will hold.</L>
<L>In raging fume put foming wine into &s;ome empty cru&s;e,</L>
<L>And powre it downe his necke, becau&s;e he did your love refu&s;e.</L>
<L>V&s;e this but now and then, and &s;ure he will not be &s;o nice,</L>
<L>But that heereafter he will pledge his friend, once, twice, and thrice.</L>
<L>In &s;elfe &s;ame &s;ort, a certaine fellow once did me abu&s;e,</L>
<L>He would not pledge me, wherefore I this &s;elfe &s;ame tricke did v&s;e:</L>
<L>I got a famous lawrell bough, for my de&s;erved prai&s;e.</L>
<L>When&s;e're I v&s;e &s;uch &s;imple trickes my lucke is &s;uch alwayes.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Whenas the &s;tore of vapours which the foming wine did make,</L>
<L>Are got into thy &s;acred wit, and there po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion take.</L>
<L>Whenas thy &s;en&s;e-bereaved tongue doth &s;tamring &s;peeches yeeld,</L>
<L>And when the minde di&s;poild of wit, to vice hath lo&s;t the field.</L>
<L>Then is it time from foorth your heart to bani&s;h carke and care,</L>
<L>And eke to proove by lofty laughters, that you plea&s;ant are.</L>
<L>Deferre no time, it is not good on trifles long to &s;tand,</L>
<L>Take pot or gla&s;&s;e filld full with wine, which holding in your hand,</L>
<L><PB N="93" REF="58">Beginne a full carow&s;ing draught, vnto &s;ome friend to drinke,</L>
<L>Who for his skill in drunkards art, dares pledge you as you thinke.</L>
<L>The drinke and eke the brickle gla&s;&s;e, although it co&s;t a groate,</L>
<L>Together you for fellow&s;hip, may &s;end into your throate.</L>
<L>Though &s;encele&s;&s;e bruti&s;h creatures, void of rea&s;on and of wit,</L>
<L>(For aught I ever heard,) did never &s;uch a fault commit.</L>
<L>Yet &s;ome there are, (O times, O manners!) men of wealth and might,</L>
<L>Which in &s;uch filthie crimes as the&s;e, do take their chiefe delight.</L>
<L>Thinke nothing vilde, thinke nothing ba&s;e, or vn-be&s;eeming thee,</L>
<L>Which may by men of welthie callings, patronized bee.</L>
<L>All that which other men have done, pre&s;ume to do the &s;ame,</L>
<L>If thou de&s;ire by deedes of worth to get immortall fame.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Though other men perceaving the&s;e thy &s;encele&s;&s;e crimes, refu&s;e</L>
<L>By treading in thy wicked paths, the &s;elfe-&s;ame faults to v&s;e:</L>
<L>Yet mu&s;t you not in any ca&s;e, &s;corne any wicked deede,</L>
<L>But con&s;tantly, you mu&s;t in vices further &s;till proceede.</L>
<L>Command a boy to bring a pot which hath a bottome wide,</L>
<L>Which fill'd, another neighbour to a&s;&s;aile you mu&s;t provide.</L>
<L>When you are drunke, it is a credite &s;toutly to refu&s;e</L>
<L>Tho&s;e narrow &s;lender-bellide pots, which &s;ober you did v&s;e.</L>
<L>Command &s;uch vn-accu&s;tomed ve&s;&s;ells to be brought to thee,</L>
<L>That at the fir&s;t draught with the &s;ame, thy thir&s;t may quenched bee.</L>
<L>Ere you proceede, you ought to fill the ba&s;on full with wine:</L>
<L>Which done, you &s;trait mu&s;t &s;end it downe that rav'nous throat of thine.</L>
<L>And after that, with carefull eye looke over all the hou&s;e,</L>
<L>What other ve&s;&s;ells you can finde, wherein you may carow&s;e.</L>
<L>Pots, buckets, caldrons, frying-pans, according to your minde,</L>
<L>As al&s;o kettles, barrells, pitchers, doubtle&s;&s;e you &s;hall finde:</L>
<L>Then &s;hall you finde cups, kans, and tankards, jackes, and bottles blacke,</L>
<L>Such nece&s;&s;arie tooles as the&s;e, your neighbour cannot lacke.</L>
<L>All the&s;e, (if for your purpo&s;e them you requi&s;ite do thinke,)</L>
<L>Bring forth of hidden holes, in them your plea&s;ant wine to drinke.</L>
<L>If none of the&s;e you there can finde, and yet you lacke a cup,</L>
<L>Out of a dirtie pi&s;-pot, you may drinke your liquor vp.</L>
<L>And yet I would be very loth that you &s;hould drinke to mee,</L>
<L>That bea&s;tly ve&s;&s;ell is not fit for any man but thee.</L>
<L><PB N="94" REF="59">Among&s;t that rout, can none be found that will you kindely pledge?</L>
<L>Becau&s;e they all have drunke too much, do they a &s;cu&s;e alledge?</L>
<L>Then may you freely brag and boa&s;t, that you the victor are,</L>
<L>And from the re&s;t that leave you off, the laurell you &s;hall beare.</L>
<L>Yet would I not, that you are yet proclaime your victorie,</L>
<L>But coun&s;ell you before you do it, onely thus to trie:</L>
<L>Provide a funnell, (fie, tis &s;hame &s;uch trifles for to &s;how,</L>
<L>Me thinks &s;o wi&s;e a man as you this tricke before &s;hould know,)</L>
<L>Which you to &s;et within their gaping mouthes, mu&s;t be &s;o bold,</L>
<L>If you perceave they are &s;o drunke, that they no pots can hold.</L>
<L>And by the funnells helpe, have care to liquor every frinde,</L>
<L>Which having fini&s;ht, of your challenge you may make an end.</L>
<L>At length, when you with meate have &s;topt your hungry panches cries,</L>
<L>And eke with &s;tore of wine, have almo&s;t drunke away your eyes;</L>
<L>You neede not &s;tay, to give your neighbour thanks with all your heart,</L>
<L>But when you plea&s;e, not taking leave, you homeward may depart.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When you depart, beginne to raile and quarrell with your ho&s;t,</L>
<L>Let that be all the thankes that you repay for all his co&s;t.</L>
<L>Fir&s;t blame him&s;elfe, and afterward beginne to blame his meate,</L>
<L>It was not fine enough for &s;uch brave men as you to eate.</L>
<L>Raile at the Butler, for his not providing better drinke,</L>
<L>Finde fault with any thing whereof you pre&s;ently can thinke.</L>
<L>Each thing was farre too ba&s;e, for tho&s;e which dined in the place:</L>
<L>Then let them all perceave the markes of anger in thy face.</L>
<L>You hop'd that with a greater banquet, he would you receave,</L>
<L>But all your hopes were vaine, your purpo&s;e he did quite deceave.</L>
<L>I would have &s;cornd for &s;uch a banquet to have left my doore,</L>
<L>But that I thought of daintie meate, we &s;hould have lackt no &s;tore.</L>
<L>What though indeede you had no cau&s;e, &s;o many faults to finde?</L>
<L>Yet &s;peake as con&s;tantly, as if you &s;pake it from your minde.</L>
<L>Thus having griev'd with angry words, your carefull ho&s;t at heart,</L>
<L>If you have nothing el&s;e to do, you homeward may depart.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And if the morrow after, this your vexed ho&s;t you meete,</L>
<L>That you may both be friends, you ought mo&s;t kindely him to greete.</L>
<L>Or if you plea&s;e, with iea&s;ts beginne the &s;imple man to mocke,</L>
<L>To make m<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">nds for ye&s;ternight, make him your laughing &s;tocke.</L>
<L><PB N="95" REF="59">Tell him, you never gave him cau&s;e of anger, you prote&s;t:</L>
<L>If he perchance mi&s;like your words, you &s;pake them all in iea&s;t,</L>
<L>What can he do? for &s;hame, he cannot blame the ie&s;ting vaine,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e he be too curri&s;h naturde, hee'le be friends againe.</L>
<L>That very houre of all his quarrell he will make an end,</L>
<L>And thinke you, as he did before, to be his very friend.</L>
<L>Perchance vnto a daintie &s;upper, he will you invite,</L>
<L>With this your wittie ie&s;ting humour being conquerd quite.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="3" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>How to &s;pread and &s;uffer &s;coffes and iea&s;ts, farting, &s;pitting, an&s;wering to que&s;tions, and looking into other mens letters. <HI>Chap. III.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>SOme men there are, which in their actions count it alwaies be&s;t,</L>
<L>To &s;pread abroad among their neighbours many a biting ie&s;t.</L>
<L>And therefore v&s;e to carpe at faults, which other men commit,</L>
<L>By this meanes thinking to declare their merrie ie&s;ting wit.</L>
<L>But as for you, although your neighbours no&s;e be nere &s;o great,</L>
<L>Yet ought you not his name with naughtie &s;peeches to intreate.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any man makes ie&s;ts of you, to keepe his wit in vre,</L>
<L>I give you leave to &s;peake your wor&s;t, you mu&s;t not this indure.</L>
<L>Let him by certaine &s;ignes perceave, that thou can&s;t angry bee,</L>
<L>I thinke if he perceave thee mov'd, hee'le hardly &s;coffe at thee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If he proceede, and into greater flowting &s;peeches breake,</L>
<L>Rather then you will &s;till be wrongd, thus boldly to him &s;peake:</L>
<L>Whenas my father lackt a foole wherewith to &s;port and play,</L>
<L>That &s;o, the better he might drive the lingring time away;</L>
<L>After he many meanes had tride, at la&s;t he found out mee,</L>
<L>That I to bani&s;h all his carefull thoughts, a foole might bee.</L>
<L>So &s;ir, if you would have a foole which would your ie&s;ts abide,</L>
<L><PB N="96" REF="60">My coun&s;ell, is that you &s;ome foole on purpo&s;e do provide.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thus you take vp every flowter in his ie&s;ting vaine,</L>
<L>Its very likely, few or none will ie&s;t at you againe.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any man with gifts of mony, thinks thee to abu&s;e,</L>
<L>Accept &s;uch ie&s;ting, &s;o that he this cu&s;tome do not v&s;e,</L>
<L>Refu&s;e no kinde of ie&s;ts, which may commoditie procure,</L>
<L>Such flowtes as bring, or gaine, or profite, you may well indure.</L>
<L>And yet, although &s;ome profite by their ie&s;ts you beare away,</L>
<L>It is your dutie word for word, vnto them to repay.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e men which you in loving league, have tide vnto your heart,</L>
<L>From love of you till you have vext them, let them not depart.</L>
<L>With &s;tore of &s;ugred promi&s;es, their humours you mu&s;t feede,</L>
<L>And tell them you will &s;uccour them, if ere they &s;tand in neede.</L>
<L>But yet I would not have thee &s;uch a &s;imple foole to bee,</L>
<L>As to performe all that which hath beene promi&s;ed by thee.</L>
<L>To every man you ought mo&s;t kingly promi&s;es to give,</L>
<L>But never to performe the &s;ame, if you in peace would live.</L>
<L>And yet, if you in weightie cau&s;es do your friend deceave,</L>
<L>It is a precept which of me you never did receave.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When you at dinner mong&s;t a &s;ort of hone&s;t men do &s;it,</L>
<L>Or wives and maids, the la&s;t whereof is for your purpo&s;e fit.</L>
<L>If you have neede, from forth your griping bellie let you winde,</L>
<L>The &s;cent whereof, the gue&s;ts will quickly in their no&s;thrills finde.</L>
<L>And le&s;t the &s;trangers &s;hould perceave that you have done ami&s;&s;e,</L>
<L>Be &s;ure to cry before the re&s;t, fie, what a &s;tinke is this?</L>
<L>Affirme, that in the tender virgins all the fault doth lie</L>
<L>And &s;trait a red and blu&s;hing colour will their faces die.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e which offend, have commonly this colour in their face,</L>
<L>When guiltie men beginne to blu&s;h, it is a &s;igne of grace.</L>
<L>Or if a little dog be me, be &s;ure the &s;ame to kicke,</L>
<L>As if that his perfumed taile, had cau&s;de this bea&s;tly tricke.</L>
<L>By this meanes your decrea&s;ing credite you may finely &s;ave.</L>
<L>And others &s;hall have that reward, which you de&s;erve to have.</L>
<L>That noi&s;ome &s;mell without offence the gue&s;ts mu&s;t vndergo,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e that none but you do certainly the father know.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Sometimes there from the liver comes an humour like to &s;not,</L>
<L><PB N="97" REF="60">Which either ri&s;eth from &s;ome cold or &s;urfet lately got.</L>
<L>This divers men with hauks and hems, will from their &s;tomacke bring,</L>
<L>And keepe it on their tongue, as if it were a pretious thing.</L>
<L>And in their mouth this fleamie &s;tuffe, they love to rowle about,</L>
<L>A prettie while before they will beginne to &s;pit it out.</L>
<L>What profite by this bea&s;tly tricke they get, I do not know,</L>
<L>But in my iudgement it doth make a very &s;eemely &s;how.</L>
<L>Although if &s;ome &s;hould &s;ee this tricke, their meate they would refu&s;e,</L>
<L>Yet this I thinke a rea&s;on is, for which they &s;hould it v&s;e.</L>
<L>Though ne're &s;o often in my &s;ight this tricke &s;hould v&s;ed bee,</L>
<L>Yet &s;ure it &s;hould be counted for a welcome &s;ight to mee.</L>
<L>And as for my part, I could wi&s;h, if I might have my minde,</L>
<L>That I at dinner, &s;tore of &s;not within your mouth might finde.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Suppo&s;e your father or your ma&s;ter doth &s;ome que&s;tion aske,</L>
<L>Or el&s;e &s;ome &s;tranger calls you, which would &s;et you any taske:</L>
<L>Be &s;ure that you vnto their que&s;tions an&s;wer not at all,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e your father or your ma&s;ter, twice or thrice do call.</L>
<L>Make an&s;wer then, as if from &s;leepe they then had wakned thee,</L>
<L>But &s;uch a one, as to their que&s;tion may no whit agree.</L>
<L>If they demand your an&s;wer when you &s;carcely are awake,</L>
<L>You needes mu&s;t an&s;wer fooli&s;hly, becau&s;e you did mi&s;take.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When you of certaine weightie matters purpo&s;e for to tell,</L>
<L>Ob&s;erve this methode, which will &s;erve your purpo&s;e very well.</L>
<L>You mu&s;t not talke in fooli&s;h wi&s;e, nor mu&s;t your &s;peeh be &s;hort,</L>
<L>The longe&s;t tedious tatling tales, will make the fine&s;t &s;port.</L>
<L>That you may &s;eeme in Rhetorike all others to excell,</L>
<L>Of &s;undry trifling toyes you ought a tedious tale to tell.</L>
<L>In any ca&s;e your proeme mu&s;t an houre or two indure,</L>
<L>In which, your auditors good wills you onely mu&s;t procure.</L>
<L>If you no &s;ubiect have, whereof your future &s;peech to make,</L>
<L>It is no matter, you of mee may &s;tore of &s;ubiects take.</L>
<L>The Romane battells and the credite which they got in fight,</L>
<L>And all the worthie &s;ouldiers names and noble deedes recite.</L>
<L>The great exploites of <HI>Hanniball</HI> and Carthaginian warres</L>
<L>You may repeate, and eke the cau&s;e of <HI>Troyes</HI> vnhappie iarres.</L>
<L>Or of the &s;tarres and heavenly bodies you a &s;peech may make,</L>
<L><PB N="98" REF="61">And &s;hew from whence the world its fir&s;t originall did take.</L>
<L>Thus having opend all their eares, of trifles make an end,</L>
<L>Beginning at the la&s;t vnto the purpo&s;e to de&s;cend.</L>
<L>If any man among the re&s;t doth interrupt thy talke,</L>
<L>Again&s;t him in this railing &s;ort, permit your tongue to walke.</L>
<L>And art thou not a&s;hamde, thou foole of manners mo&s;t corrupt,</L>
<L>So great a man as I, &s;o boldly thus to interrupt?</L>
<L>Where were you taught into &s;uch &s;hamele&s;&s;e boldnes for to breake,</L>
<L>As not to keepe your tongue in awe when wi&s;er per&s;ons &s;peake?</L>
<L>If thus your bold pre&s;uming friend you v&s;e to entertaine,</L>
<L>You cannot choo&s;e but &s;tore of prai&s;e and credite you &s;hall gaine.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any man be reading letters which were to him &s;ent,</L>
<L>Although to tell the &s;ecrets vnto you he never meant.</L>
<L>To &s;tand behinde the readers backe you ought to have a care,</L>
<L>And reade them o're as well as he before he be aware.</L>
<L>Vnto the King of <HI>Macedon, Ephe&s;tius</HI> calld by name,</L>
<L>A certaine friend of his pre&s;umde of late to do the &s;ame.</L>
<L>It was his cu&s;tome alwaies boldly to commit this thing,</L>
<L>Yet he continued in the love and favour of the king.</L>
<L>And &s;ure I thinke that no man can thy &s;awcie boldnes blame,</L>
<L>Although in immitating him you &s;hould performe the &s;ame.</L>
<L>Though &s;ome men thinke this v&s;e a mo&s;t vn&s;eemely vice to bee,</L>
<L>Yet &s;ure it rather for a vertue &s;hall be thought of mee.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e learned mens examples which have liv'd in former time,</L>
<L>Will plainely prove that this can hardly be &s;o great a crime.</L>
<L>Did not old <HI>Tully</HI> all his country mo&s;t entirely love?</L>
<L>As when he was in <HI>Rome</HI> a Con&s;ull he did plainely prove.</L>
<L>To greete his friends with carefull letters he did daily v&s;e,</L>
<L>And yet to print them every one he never did refu&s;e.</L>
<L>Then why &s;hould the&s;e our letters which are ba&s;er farre then they,</L>
<L>From all mens &s;ight and publike view be clo&s;ly kept away?</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="4" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="99" REF="61">
<HEAD>Behaviour when you enter into other mens hou&s;es, going into hot-hou&s;es, or baths, divers coloured parted coates, the adorning of the beard, the v&s;e of papers and bookes, entertaining your friends, and other &s;uch like civilities. <HI>Chapter IIII.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>DIvers there are which of their credite &s;uch account do make,</L>
<L>That they without advi&s;e and care will nothing vndertake.</L>
<L>If they vnto an hone&s;t neighbours hou&s;e invited are,</L>
<L>Softly to knocke before they enter they will have a care.</L>
<L>And though the doores &s;tand open, granting entrance vnto all,</L>
<L>Yet is it not their v&s;e to enter in before they call.</L>
<L>That &s;o their neighbour of their comming may fore-warned bee,</L>
<L>Le&s;t he &s;hould have &s;ome &s;ecret which he would have no man &s;ee.</L>
<L>Thinking to &s;eeme well nurturde men by often v&s;ing it,</L>
<L>And I confe&s;&s;e, for hone&s;t men it is a cu&s;tome fit.</L>
<L>But if vnto a neighbours hou&s;e you purpo&s;e for to go,</L>
<L>You neede not take, or care, or paines, to frame your manners &s;o.</L>
<L>If any gate &s;tand ope, ru&s;h boldly in vpon your friend,</L>
<L>The very name of friend&s;hip may from boldnes you defend.</L>
<L>If thus you &s;hould not make a noi&s;e but enter &s;uddainely,</L>
<L>Something perchance which he would have vn&s;eene you &s;hould e&s;py.</L>
<L>You may procure great &s;tore of mirth by entring boldly in,</L>
<L>By giving warning of your comming you his love &s;hall win.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If you into a &s;weating bath or hot-hou&s;e chance to come,</L>
<L>Whether you onely are a &s;tranger there, or knowne to &s;ome.</L>
<L>If you be chill, to runne vnto a furnace be &s;o bold,</L>
<L>That &s;o you may both from your hands and feete expell the cold.</L>
<L>Then pre&s;ently be &s;ure to put your &s;hooes from off your feete,</L>
<L>In &s;pite of which (vnhappie man,) the cold did with them meete.</L>
<L>Which having done, again&s;t the fire prepare your feete to warme,</L>
<L><PB N="100" REF="62">That by this meanes you may e&s;chew the colds outragious harme.</L>
<L>To put your ho&s;e and breeches off, is &s;ure a plea&s;ant thing,</L>
<L>I do it not mi&s;like, becau&s;e it will great profite bring.</L>
<L>Suppo&s;e the aire (as oft it hath) hath &s;ome infectious &s;mell,</L>
<L>Which will di&s;turbe your temperd braine, though it before was well.</L>
<L>That plea&s;ant &s;mell which from your ho&s;e and breeches doth proceede,</L>
<L>Will quite expell that other &s;mell to helpe you at your neede.</L>
<L>Which having done, the tothers place this will po&s;&s;e&s;&s;e and v&s;e,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e the tother did your &s;ence and &s;melling much abu&s;e.</L>
<L>By this meanes you the aires vnwhole&s;ome &s;mells may &s;oone prevent,</L>
<L>This new-found &s;mell will &s;top the &s;trongnes of the tothers &s;cent.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thinke it a trifling thing to labour all men for to plea&s;e,</L>
<L>He which regardeth all to plea&s;e, can never live at ea&s;e.</L>
<L>Since none is found &s;o good that he can every man content,</L>
<L>It is thy be&s;t to di&s;plea&s;e all, this labour to prevent.</L>
<L>Why &s;hould&s;t thou &s;trive to make thy &s;elfe to all mens humors fit?</L>
<L>It is a toile which cannot choo&s;e but farre exceede thy wit.</L>
<L>It is in vaine again&s;t your nature fooli&s;hly to &s;trive,</L>
<L>He which attempts impo&s;&s;ibilities will never thrive.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>At length, when you are forc'd the furnace and the bath to leave,</L>
<L>Then you of me your tru&s;tie friend this coun&s;ell &s;hall receave.</L>
<L>That you from all en&s;uing harme may keepe your tender feete,</L>
<L>If you heereafter &s;hould with fro&s;t and pinching coldnes meete.</L>
<L>Thru&s;t &s;tore of &s;traw into your &s;hooes to keepe your feete from harme,</L>
<L>The &s;traw which lies within your &s;hooes will make them very warme.</L>
<L>And yet vnle&s;&s;e you put it &s;o that it may all be &s;eene,</L>
<L>T'had beene as good, that in your &s;hooes it had not placed beene.</L>
<L>This good example, who&s;oever feareth future cold</L>
<L>Will immitate, and for a fruitfull precept will it hold.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If any tell thee that to leave thy clowni&s;h life tis be&s;t,</L>
<L>And for thy plaine ru&s;ticitie beginne at thee to ie&s;t.</L>
<L>Such iniuries as the&s;e, if patiently thou &s;uffer can,</L>
<L>For my part, I &s;hall hardly thinke thou art a valiant man.</L>
<L>If thou can&s;t hardly mend thy &s;elfe, for thou no weapons ha&s;t,</L>
<L>(Although t'were good, if thou at him a dagger &s;trait would&s;t ca&s;t.)</L>
<L>Forthwith it is thy dutie into raging words to breake,</L>
<L><PB N="101" REF="62">Although no weapons you may v&s;e, yet freely you may &s;peake.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e whom you &s;harply reprehend in &s;uch a raging fume,</L>
<L>Heereafter to abu&s;e you thus they hardly will pre&s;ume.</L>
<L>I once before forbade thee any &s;coffings to indure,</L>
<L>And will inculcate it to keepe thee in the better vre.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thy garments having divers colours better plea&s;e the &s;ight,</L>
<L>All men in the&s;e our daies do in varietie delight.</L>
<L>Nature her&s;elfe in divers things doth &s;undry colours v&s;e,</L>
<L>To follow &s;uch a guide as Nature do not thou refu&s;e.</L>
<L>The man which followes Natures rules, lives happily they &s;ay,</L>
<L>If &s;uch a perfect guide you follow you can never &s;tray.</L>
<L>Of &s;uch a perfect guide be thou an immitator too,</L>
<L>For &s;he will teach thee what is fit in every place to doo.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If you with carefull minde the heavenly Raine-bow do behold,</L>
<L>You &s;hall perceave how many &s;undry colours it doth hold.</L>
<L>Con&s;ider well the formes of plants, the wings of birds which flie,</L>
<L>And all tho&s;e pretious jems which in the <HI>Indian</HI> lands do lie;</L>
<L>And you &s;hall finde that all of the&s;e in colours do abound.</L>
<L>And all things el&s;e which Nature for the v&s;e of man hath found.</L>
<L>Al&s;o, your garments into divers peeces for to cut,</L>
<L>Is nowadaies in great account and e&s;timation put.</L>
<L>This mu&s;t before all other things be v&s;ed oft of thee,</L>
<L>If thou wilt harken to my ver&s;es, or my &s;choller bee.</L>
<L>Like &s;ome vnwi&s;e and &s;encele&s;&s;e blocke all men will thee deride,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e thou v&s;e thy ho&s;e and dublet finely to divide.</L>
<L>But if in curious manner you your garments v&s;e to teare,</L>
<L>So that vpon your bodie you no perfect peece do weare.</L>
<L>A man of noble birth and linage you may quickly &s;eeme,</L>
<L>And all your friends to be a man of credite will you deeme.</L>
<L>Or el&s;e you will be thought to be a man of <HI>Mars,</HI> his rowt,</L>
<L>Such men in &s;uch apparell v&s;e to march the &s;treetes about.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Vnto what place &s;oe're you come, it is a mightie grace,</L>
<L>To have a frowning countenance and eke a crabbed face.</L>
<L>Ne're laugh at all, but then when you &s;ome dolefull fight have found,</L>
<L>As &s;ome vnluckie ma&s;tle&s;&s;e &s;hip, in danger to be drownd.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e men which do your mourning lookes and countenance behold,</L>
<L><PB N="102" REF="63">Will thinke that weighty matters do from &s;miling you with-hold.</L>
<L>So every man that &s;ees you, will vnto you honour give,</L>
<L>Suppo&s;ing that in hone&s;t paths and gravitie you live.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perchance in publike &s;ort &s;ome publike matters acted are,</L>
<L>When every man both yong and old doth meete together there,</L>
<L>And then beginnes &s;ome clarke to reade the &s;tatutes all alowde,</L>
<L>That every precept may be markt, of all the pre&s;ent crowde.</L>
<L>At all &s;uch publike meetings, thou mu&s;t al&s;o pre&s;ent bee,</L>
<L>To heare the newes, although perhaps it not concerneth thee.</L>
<L>If to regarde tho&s;e great affaires you neede not have a care,</L>
<L>It is your duty to di&s;turbe all others that are there.</L>
<L>Devi&s;e &s;ome boy&s;trous &s;ports and playes which thou approove&s;t be&s;t,</L>
<L>And with thy &s;hriking cries, be &s;ure to countervaile the re&s;t.</L>
<L>Let thy delight be placde in making others to be &s;taid,</L>
<L>Le&s;t they attentively &s;hould hearken vnto what was &s;aid.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>This al&s;o cannot choo&s;e but purcha&s;e mo&s;t de&s;erved grace,</L>
<L>To have a beard be&s;et with bri&s;&s;els, hiding halfe your face.</L>
<L>Or let vpon thine vpper lip, a great mu&s;chatoe bide,</L>
<L>Which oft will hinder you from opning of your chaps too wide.</L>
<L>By which you oftentimes great help and profite may receive,</L>
<L>You know my carefull coun&s;ell never yet did you deceive.</L>
<L>Perchance within the dirty pot &s;ome filthy thing doth lie,</L>
<L>Which by the narrow mouth thereof you hardly can e&s;pie.</L>
<L>Your bri&s;ly beard and long muchatoes will its pa&s;&s;age &s;tay,</L>
<L>When otherwi&s;e the filth would by your chin have &s;capt away.</L>
<L>The wines bad hue, tho&s;e haires wil change which on your lips do grow,</L>
<L>So that the pure wine onely will into your bellie flowe.</L>
<L>Be&s;ides, tho&s;e dirtie rotten teeth, which in your mouth have place,</L>
<L>As oft as you with laughter gap'd, would breed you great di&s;grace,</L>
<L>But that your beard to hinder this, a meanes will &s;oone provide,</L>
<L>Which hanging over both your lippes, your teeth will quickly hide.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If ever you have cau&s;e to &s;peake of any weightie thing,</L>
<L>Your beard vnto you pre&s;ently will prai&s;e and credite bring.</L>
<L>Which hanging downe vpon your brea&s;t, you gravely ought to &s;troke,</L>
<L>And make a &s;top at ev'rie &s;undrie word, which you have &s;poke.</L>
<L>This in &s;uch &s;ort will for thine honour and thy credite make,</L>
<L><PB N="103" REF="63">That all which &s;ee thee, for a grave and wi&s;e man will thee take.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If thou at anie time doo&s;t write a letter to thy frend,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e thy purpo&s;e and intent thou vnto him mu&s;t &s;end,</L>
<L>To keepe the &s;ame from blots and blurres I holde it verie vaine,</L>
<L>It is no hurt, although the &s;ame with &s;tore of incke you &s;taine.</L>
<L>The man which in &s;uch trifling things &s;uch labour will abide,</L>
<L>Forgets the meanes whereby his owne perfections for to hide,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e your arte and cunning alwayes hidde and cloaked bee,</L>
<L>What things &s;oe're you write, &s;hall hardly be beleev'd of mee.</L>
<L>And that your friend more carefully may keepe within his minde,</L>
<L>Tho&s;e things which in your loving letter he dooth written finde,</L>
<L>So carefully your penne and inke to v&s;e you &s;hall be faine,</L>
<L>That all your paper you be &s;ure with &s;tore of blots to &s;taine.</L>
<L>In &s;elfe &s;ame &s;ort you alwaies ought to v&s;e the fine&s;t booke,</L>
<L>Although another kindely lent it you thereon to looke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If anie friend that dwells farre off, or kin&s;man of your owne,</L>
<L>Come to your hou&s;e, which vnto him mo&s;t perfectly is knowne.</L>
<L>In any ca&s;e you ought to have a &s;peciall care of this,</L>
<L>To tell him, not too often, that he very welcome is.</L>
<L>For if he chaunce to finde, that he &s;o welcome is to thee,</L>
<L>It may be feard his often comming trouble&s;ome will be,</L>
<L>Yet ev'ry time he comes, be &s;ure to give him &s;o much wine,</L>
<L>That being drunke he neither know, what is his name, nor thine,</L>
<L>In better &s;ort an antient friend you cannot entertaine,</L>
<L>Then for to give him wine, vntill he &s;pew it vp againe.</L>
<L>When he begins, at la&s;t, to be de&s;irous to be gone,</L>
<L>And therefore both his bootes, his cloake, his &s;word and all is on,</L>
<L>Permit him not in any ca&s;e &s;o &s;oone to part away,</L>
<L>But though he earne&s;tly reque&s;t you, make him longer &s;tay;</L>
<L>Whether he will or no, con&s;traine him more and more to drinke.</L>
<L>This is a &s;ure and certaine pledge of kinde&s;t love I thinke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Concerning &s;uch things as are fitte&s;t when you goe to bed,</L>
<L>In this my Booke in ample &s;ort I &s;hould to you have read.</L>
<L>But if I all occa&s;ions offred &s;hould pre&s;ume to take,</L>
<L>I &s;hould &s;uch &s;tore of matter find that I no end &s;hould make,</L>
<L>Remember like thy &s;elfe in all thy actions for to bee,</L>
<L><PB N="104" REF="64">And thou &s;halt finde that onely they are rules enough for thee.</L>
<L>From taking either &s;leepe or re&s;t, be &s;ure the re&s;t to keepe,</L>
<L>When thou perceav'&s;t that thou can&s;t hardly &s;et thy &s;elfe to &s;leepe:</L>
<L>If any &s;port thou can&s;t invent thy fellowes to abu&s;e,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e it will procure thee prai&s;e, thou ought&s;t the &s;ame to v&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>As &s;oone as ere thy &s;hooe is tooke from off thy &s;tinking feete,</L>
<L>Thy no&s;thrills with a mo&s;t vnwhole&s;ome &s;avour it will greete,</L>
<L>Which &s;avour, if into the braine it chanceth to a&s;cend,</L>
<L>It is incredible how much it will the &s;ame offend.</L>
<L>Wherefore, if thou would&s;t be &s;uppo&s;de a wittie man to bee,</L>
<L>Have care to &s;et thy &s;hooes a great way from thy bed and thee.</L>
<L>Be &s;ure to have this cunning tricke within thy craftie head,</L>
<L>To let thy &s;hooes be alwaies &s;et before anothers bed.</L>
<L>And let the &s;mell which comes from thence, anothers no&s;thrills fill,</L>
<L>Le&s;t &s;uch a &s;tinking &s;avour &s;hould procure thee any ill.</L>
<L>More &s;tore of ru&s;ticke practi&s;es I vnto thee would give,</L>
<L>Who&s;e're thou art which doo&s;t according to my precepts live;</L>
<L>But that I &s;ee that &s;leepe at this time rather is requir'd,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e thy members all for want of re&s;t are almo&s;t tir'd.</L>
<L>Wherefore, I grant vnto thee leave to part vnto thy bed,</L>
<L>On it, without, or care, or feare, to re&s;t thy &s;leepie head.</L>
<L>Meane time &s;uch good examples to &s;et downe I will proceede,</L>
<L>As thou mai&s;t alwaies immitate whens'ever thou ha&s;t neede,</L>
<L>From which when you have &s;lept enough, &s;uch precepts you may take,</L>
<L>As in your future words and actions for your purpo&s;e make.</L>
<L>In all my cour&s;e which is to come, I nothing el&s;e will tell,</L>
<L>But tho&s;e things which may ev'ry day of you be v&s;ed well.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="5" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="105" REF="64">
<HEAD>Sundrie &s;orts of civilities at the Table. <HI>Chapter V.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>NOt long ago there at a wedding was a co&s;tly fea&s;t,</L>
<L>To which, a certaine &s;tripling was invited as a gue&s;t;</L>
<L>Wherefore his &s;tart-vps on were put, be&s;miered all with durt,</L>
<L>What then? you know a little mire can do but little hurt.</L>
<L>To put a &s;purre vpon his heele he al&s;o had a care,</L>
<L>To make his hor&s;e go fa&s;ter that he might be &s;ooner there;</L>
<L>And yet do what he could, of all the re&s;t he late&s;t came,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e his palfray in the hinder leg was &s;omewhat lame.</L>
<L>As &s;oone as he was lite, vpon the boord he found the meate,</L>
<L>And every &s;tranger by the Bride plac'd in his proper &s;eate:</L>
<L>For ha&s;te he dur&s;t not &s;tay, from off his heele his &s;purre to take,</L>
<L>Nor yet to put his &s;tart-vps off, he then &s;uch ha&s;te did make.</L>
<L>But running to the boord with both, his comming for to grace,</L>
<L>A certaine hone&s;t maid vouch&s;afde to grant to him her place.</L>
<L>It was his fortune next vnto another maid to &s;it,</L>
<L>Although of &s;uch vnlookt for kindenes he was farre vnfit.</L>
<L>Forthwith a fat and tender hen before his face was &s;et,</L>
<L>That he although he came too late, his part thereof might get.</L>
<L>He being &s;carce a skilfull man in carving of his meate,</L>
<L>Scarce knowing what was be&s;t to leave vntoucht, and what to eate;</L>
<L>Pre&s;umde to take both legs and wings which in the platter lay,</L>
<L>Le&s;t leaving them behinde him, they might chance to flie away.</L>
<L>The carkas he vpon the virgin thinking to be&s;tow,</L>
<L>By great misfortune chanced on the ground the &s;ame to throw.</L>
<L>For which he forthwith blu&s;ht for &s;hame; but thinking mends to make,</L>
<L>Beganne to &s;toope, from off the ground the carkas for to take.</L>
<L>But out alas he let a fart which made a grievous &s;cent,</L>
<L>As he by &s;tooping downe too low, too much his bodie bent.</L>
<L>For which his fault, he being &s;orely vexed at the heart,</L>
<L><PB N="106" REF="65">Leaving his dinner, pre&s;ently he purpo&s;de to depart.</L>
<L>As he was climing o're the boord his &s;purre the cloth did teare,</L>
<L>And hung &s;o fa&s;t, that with him he was forc'd the cloth to beare.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e pots and platters which as then vpon the table &s;tood,</L>
<L>And all the candles downe he ca&s;t in this his ha&s;tie mood.</L>
<L>Be&s;ides, (more ha&s;te, le&s;&s;e &s;peede,) as he departing was away,</L>
<L>The tablefull of pots and gla&s;&s;es forc'd him for to &s;tay.</L>
<L>The which with all the other things which on the &s;ame he found,</L>
<L>Thus being over-rulde by rage, he ca&s;t vpon the ground.</L>
<L>As he was going out of doores, he with a &s;ervant met,</L>
<L>Which had another di&s;h of meate vpon the boord to &s;et.</L>
<L>Thus running headlong on his way, by chance again&s;t his will,</L>
<L>He made the &s;ervant all the meate vpon the ground to &s;pill.</L>
<L>In this &s;ort at his neighbours wedding having plaid his part,</L>
<L>He got vpon his halting jade and homeward did depart.</L>
<L>Although by practi&s;ing the&s;e prancks great profite you may make,</L>
<L>And for your pre&s;ent purpo&s;e out of them example take:</L>
<L>Yet mu&s;t he not be numberd mong&s;t the vulgar multitude,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e that he (good man,) was more vnfortunate then rude.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And at a certaine other time it chanced to betide,</L>
<L>A neighbour for his &s;peciall friends a banquet did provide.</L>
<L>When every one had tooke his place, there was among the re&s;t,</L>
<L>A gentlewoman, and a man of wor&s;hip at the fea&s;t.</L>
<L>The &s;tranger as he was a man of manners very grave,</L>
<L>In friendly &s;ort a Carps head to the gentlewoman gave.</L>
<L>She thinking well of this his offer, tooke that daintie meate,</L>
<L>Beginning of the &s;ame according to her minde to eate.</L>
<L>She &s;cornde to &s;earch the head, or ev'ry corner to perv&s;e,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e &s;he never knew the meate, &s;he did the &s;ame refu&s;e.</L>
<L>Each part for to anotomize &s;he thought it mickle paine,</L>
<L>E&s;pecially for that, from which &s;he did ex&s;pect no gaine.</L>
<L>Wherefore &s;he vnderneath the table ca&s;t the daintie head,</L>
<L>Suppo&s;ing it was meate wherewith the dogs might all be fed.</L>
<L>When this the womans fooli&s;h deede the &s;tranger did behold,</L>
<L>Not able longer to forbeare, to chide her he was bold.</L>
<L>From off the ground the head which &s;he refu&s;de he fir&s;t did take,</L>
<L><PB N="107" REF="65">And then in angry &s;ort vnto her in this manner &s;pake.</L>
<L>And are you not a&s;hamde (you foole,) &s;uch follie to commit?</L>
<L>It greeves me much to &s;ee that you &s;hould have &s;o little wit.</L>
<L>This head I as a &s;peciall favour did on you be&s;tow,</L>
<L>And not to that intent that on the ground you &s;hould it throw.</L>
<L>Though thus to open it your &s;elfe you would not take the paine,</L>
<L>Yet had it beene your part to have re&s;torde it me againe.</L>
<L>She being overcome with &s;hame, no words at all replide,</L>
<L>But le&s;t &s;he &s;hould be mockt the more, was forc'd her face to hide.</L>
<L>Iudge whether of the two &s;eeme better mannerd vnto thee,</L>
<L>Or whether of the two mi&s;likte or prai&s;ed mo&s;t &s;hall bee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>A Cittizen did on a time with fea&s;ting entertaine</L>
<L>A mightie Prince and Potentate, with all his pompe and traine.</L>
<L>Who comming, was receivde with &s;uch &s;tore of &s;tately cheere,</L>
<L>As if his pallace it had beene, nothing was thought too deere.</L>
<L>Great &s;tore of daintie fle&s;h and &s;undry &s;ortes of co&s;tly fi&s;h</L>
<L>Were &s;ent vnto the boord; there lackt not any princely di&s;h.</L>
<L>The man &s;u&s;pecting le&s;t his Princes favour he &s;hould loo&s;e,</L>
<L>From forth the di&s;h among the re&s;t the fine&s;t fi&s;h did choo&s;e.</L>
<L>Which thinking on the Princes trencher han&s;omely to lay,</L>
<L>The fi&s;h by great ill lucke from forth his fingers &s;lipt away.</L>
<L>But ere it came to ground, his &s;lipper with the &s;ame did meete,</L>
<L>A &s;lipper blacke as jeate was on the entertainers feete.</L>
<L>Whence having tooke it, it vpon the Princes trencher laid,</L>
<L>And that his fault might &s;eeme the le&s;&s;e, the&s;e words to him he &s;aid:</L>
<L>Yet take it (gentle Prince I pray,) the fall did it not hurt,</L>
<L>You know my pantolfe was cleane and not be&s;mirde with durt.</L>
<L>Beleeve me &s;ir, my &s;ervant lately clen&s;de it with a cloth,</L>
<L>I put it on e'ne now, to hurt you I'de be very loth.</L>
<L>The&s;e words he &s;aid, and earne&s;tly the Prince he did intreate,</L>
<L>To pardon this his &s;mall offence, and fall vnto his meate.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Another time a gentleman of wor&s;hip and of fame,</L>
<L>To dinner to a Princes table by inviting came.</L>
<L>The Prince becau&s;e he thought of him a &s;peciall care to have,</L>
<L>In friendly &s;ort a peece of daintie meate vnto him gave.</L>
<L>The &s;tranger being finely nurturde wondrous ha&s;te did make,</L>
<L><PB N="108" REF="66">The Princes kinde and loving proffer &s;peedily to take,</L>
<L>But by a great misfortune he could hardly hold it well,</L>
<L>So that into a cup of wine vnluckily it fell.</L>
<L>And as with all the ha&s;te he could, he &s;triv'd to take it thence,</L>
<L>His trembling hand did adde vnto the fir&s;t a great offence.</L>
<L>For he with &s;haking, all the cup of wine did over-throw,</L>
<L>So that both bread and meate vpon the boord in wine did flow.</L>
<L>With &s;tore of blu&s;hing purple colour, both his cheekes were dide,</L>
<L>He was &s;o vexed for his fault, that he his face did hide.</L>
<L>But &s;ure I thinke &s;ome angry gods did cro&s;&s;e his good intent,</L>
<L>For being farre from clowni&s;h fa&s;hions, mannerly he meant.</L>
<L>But you by his example &s;tore of manners ought to take,</L>
<L>The v&s;e whereof will you a rude and &s;imple fellow make.</L>
<L>That which by great ill lucke again&s;t his will he did commit,</L>
<L>Thou ought&s;t to &s;tudie to performe it with a willing wit.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e things which you on purpo&s;e do, will more your name advance,</L>
<L>Then that which you again&s;t your will committed have by chance.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>I &s;aw another, who becau&s;e his knife was &s;omewhat ill,</L>
<L>And would not cut his meate apace according to his will.</L>
<L>Not willing for to loo&s;e his part this tricke he did invent,</L>
<L>Whereby he thought his great en&s;uing danger to prevent.</L>
<L>He tooke from forth the di&s;h the bigge&s;t bits that he could finde,</L>
<L>And all &s;uch daintie peeces as were fitting to his minde,</L>
<L>Which having got, to put them vnderneath his arme was bold,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e he thought in &s;uch a place more firmely them to hold.</L>
<L>From whence according to his &s;tomacke he could teare his meate,</L>
<L>Both ro&s;t and &s;od, with tooth and naile, as he de&s;ir'd to eate.</L>
<L>For finding that his knife in tho&s;e affaires did often faile,</L>
<L>He doubted not but with his hand he quickly &s;hould prevaile.</L>
<L>But having filld his &s;tomacke, he was carefull to lay downe</L>
<L>Into the di&s;h, all which he left, le&s;t he &s;hould &s;eeme a clowne.</L>
<L>And of his leavings, to his neighbours he would offer part,</L>
<L>Reque&s;ting that they would accept them e'ne with all his heart.</L>
<L>I would not have you thinke, that of my &s;elfe I this do faine,</L>
<L>To lie when no man doth compell me, were but little gaine.</L>
<L>The rude&s;t things which in my booke I can repeate or tell,</L>
<L><PB N="109" REF="66">At &s;undry times in &s;undry places, often have befell.</L>
<L>Nay, greedie gutlings have committed many a cleanly feate,</L>
<L>Which neither I, nor any other Poet can repeate.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Another time the man and ma&s;ter &s;ate at boord together,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e there was a fea&s;t, and they were both invited thether.</L>
<L>And divers other men of credite were invited there,</L>
<L>Which of the Cittie worthy Magi&s;trates and Rulers were.</L>
<L>While at the table every &s;tranger curte&s;ie did v&s;e,</L>
<L>And every man to carve the re&s;t did earne&s;tly refu&s;e;</L>
<L>Each man with carefull eye, his neighbours ge&s;ture did behold,</L>
<L>But for to give the formo&s;t on&s;et, none dur&s;t be &s;o bold.</L>
<L>The &s;ervant having &s;ate &s;o long his hunger did him teach,</L>
<L>To &s;tint the quarrell of his guts, &s;ome daintie di&s;h to reach.</L>
<L>By your leave now at length, to &s;tay my &s;tomacke Ile be bold,</L>
<L>For why to tell the troth (quoth he,) I can no longer hold.</L>
<L>He tooke a peece of daintie meate, thus having to them &s;aid,</L>
<L>And having tooke it, boldly on his trencher he it laid.</L>
<L>Which when his ma&s;ter had e&s;pide, to blu&s;h he &s;trait began,</L>
<L>To thinke that he before the re&s;t &s;hould have &s;o bold a man.</L>
<L>Vnto his &s;awcie man he many becks and &s;ignes did make,</L>
<L>And in a &s;oft and whi&s;pring manner many words he &s;pake.</L>
<L>That he the meate which he had tooke, into the di&s;h &s;hould put,</L>
<L>And let the &s;trangers which were better men before him cut.</L>
<L>The &s;ervant when his ma&s;ters nods and becks he did e&s;py,</L>
<L>Not knowing well the cau&s;e thereof or what he meant thereby.</L>
<L>Having a gobbet in his mouth which round about he rold,</L>
<L>It was &s;o big that in his mouth he &s;carcely could it hold.</L>
<L>He &s;pewd the meate dige&s;ted all againe into the di&s;h,</L>
<L>Thinking thereby to &s;atisfie his ma&s;ters &s;ilent wi&s;h.</L>
<L>His ma&s;ter frowning more and more for that he did commit,</L>
<L>He halfe be&s;ide him&s;elfe as in an exta&s;ie did fit.</L>
<L>Thus having &s;ate a prettie while, he tooke the meate at la&s;t</L>
<L>From forth the di&s;h, and on the ground he boldly did it ca&s;t.</L>
<L>For &s;eeing that his ma&s;ter thus &s;ome future harme did threat,</L>
<L>And every &s;tranger el&s;e ab&s;taind from touching of the meate,</L>
<L>He thought the meate dige&s;ted did with poi&s;on him infect,</L>
<L><PB N="110" REF="67">And therefore did &s;ome &s;uddaine chance of pre&s;ent death ex&s;pect.</L>
<L>A country farmer came to dinner to a kin&s;man deere,</L>
<L>He was vnto him both by kindred and acquaintance neere:</L>
<L>He very glad of his approach great welcome to him gave,</L>
<L>A&s;&s;uring him, that all the cheere that might be he &s;hould have,</L>
<L>He calls his neighbours pre&s;ently that they might with him dine,</L>
<L>And promi&s;eth that no man there &s;hall lacke for daintie wine.</L>
<L>They come, and every man doth take the place which he thinks fit,</L>
<L>Except his kin&s;man which will after all the &s;trangers &s;it,</L>
<L>In briefe, from forth his countrie &s;heathe his clowni&s;h knife he tooke,</L>
<L>Which being &s;tainde with hou&s;hold bread, did &s;omewhat bluntly looke.</L>
<L>Which he e&s;pying, &s;trait with &s;pittle did his whittle wet,</L>
<L>Suppo&s;ing that by this meanes he the dirt from thence might get.</L>
<L>Then having wipte it on the cloth it &s;hone as bright as day,</L>
<L>So that vpon his trencher then, he boldly might it lay,</L>
<L>When vnto &s;ome the ho&s;t &s;uch bits as he thought be&s;t had gave,</L>
<L>He bade the re&s;t to carve them&s;elves if they good meate would have.</L>
<L>And &s;trait the country fellow in the platter did e&s;py</L>
<L>A daintie mor&s;ell clad in fat, which by it &s;elfe did lie.</L>
<L>He being hungry, &s;natcht it as a daintie peece of meate,</L>
<L>And &s;etting it before him, &s;trait began thereof to eate.</L>
<L>His ho&s;t enforc'd to blu&s;h for &s;hame did into laughter breake,</L>
<L>And in that merrie vaine, vnto him in this &s;ort did &s;peake.</L>
<L>Good vnckle ca&s;t into the platter that vnwhole&s;ome bit,</L>
<L>I pray re&s;tore it, for it is not for your diet fit.</L>
<L>And which agrees vnto your &s;tomacke, take this peece of mee,</L>
<L>Which for your daintie diet I &s;uppo&s;e more fit to bee.</L>
<L>The countriman replide, good coo&s;en &s;et a&s;ide your care,</L>
<L>Tho&s;e cates which I have cho&s;e, according to my &s;tomacke are.</L>
<L>That meate which next vnto me in the platter I do finde,</L>
<L>Although you thinke it ne're &s;o bad, it plea&s;eth well my minde.</L>
<L>I &s;carce &s;hall finde a &s;weeter bit in any daintie di&s;h,</L>
<L>And were it wor&s;e I were content, &s;uch choi&s;e I do not wi&s;h.</L>
<L>Which having &s;aid, before them all the meate he did devoure,</L>
<L>Yet had no hurt at all, the man is living at this houre.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Another ho&s;t by chance at boord mong&s;t gentlemen did &s;it,</L>
<L><PB N="111" REF="67">A clowni&s;h foole which was for &s;uch companions farre vnfit.</L>
<L>And yet for&s;ooth for all the re&s;t he would a carver bee,</L>
<L>Although &s;uch neatenes with &s;uch clowni&s;h life did not agree.</L>
<L>He tore the raines from off the meate, a cleanly tricke I trow,</L>
<L>And on a man of wor&s;hip (as t'was meete,) did them be&s;tow.</L>
<L>He thinking them too good a bit refu&s;de the &s;ame to have,</L>
<L>And therefore to a man which was his friend, that morcell gave.</L>
<L>He likewi&s;e offerd to another friend that daintie meate,</L>
<L>But none among them all was found that would that morcell eate.</L>
<L>At length vnto the carvers trencher they were turned &s;trait,</L>
<L>But he &s;u&s;pecting that within them there was &s;ome deceit.</L>
<L>Halfe angry with them an&s;werd thus, what rea&s;on do you finde,</L>
<L>That &s;ince all others do de&s;pi&s;e them they &s;hould fit my minde?</L>
<L>Which having &s;aid, in rage and fume he ca&s;t away the meate,</L>
<L>That &s;ince the men refu&s;de it &s;o, the dogs the &s;ame might eate.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But now a bea&s;tly tale I tell, your patience I mu&s;t crave,</L>
<L>Such things as bea&s;tly are, in bea&s;tly words you needes mu&s;t have.</L>
<L>There was a gentleman of late was knowne to me full well,</L>
<L>But for a certaine cau&s;e, his name I li&s;t not heere to tell.</L>
<L>Him many noble men into their company would take,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e he was a man which many prettie je&s;ts could make.</L>
<L>With &s;tore of bitter biting ie&s;ts he any man would &s;trike,</L>
<L>And therefore merrie minded men his company did like.</L>
<L>And when he was among&s;t a crew who&s;e favour he did love,</L>
<L>He many je&s;ts would offer, &s;tore of laughter for to move.</L>
<L>A &s;ort of youths con&s;trainde him on a table for to clime,</L>
<L>To make their wor&s;hips merrie with &s;ome eare-delighting rime.</L>
<L>About him many flockes of plea&s;ant yonkers did re&s;ort,</L>
<L>To heare his ie&s;ts, and try if he could make them any &s;port.</L>
<L>While they were gazing on him thus, he &s;ilent &s;till did &s;tand,</L>
<L>Premeditating of the matter which he had in hand.</L>
<L>At length reiecting &s;hamefa&s;tnes, his breeches downe he put,</L>
<L>And in the pre&s;ence of them all he emptied there his gut.</L>
<L>Which when it was perceivde of tho&s;e which on the ground did &s;tand,</L>
<L>Each man began to laugh alowde and eke to clap his hand.</L>
<L>The gentlemen great &s;tore of mony vnto him did give,</L>
<L><PB N="112" REF="68">This was the lo&s;&s;e that he &s;u&s;tainde, becau&s;e he thus did live.</L>
<L>Let tho&s;e men now which have refu&s;de to be accounted plaine,</L>
<L>Tell me if clowni&s;h manners do not &s;tore of riches gaine.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="6" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>Other civilities in emptying the bladder, vomiting, and other eleganties of behaviour. <HI>Chap. VI.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>THe &s;tore of vrine oftentimes doth offer &s;trangers wrong,</L>
<L>Whenas they are con&s;trainde to &s;it at &s;upper over long.</L>
<L>And therefore &s;ome well nurturde fooles pre&s;ume to be &s;o bold,</L>
<L>As longer then is requi&s;ite their water for to hold.</L>
<L>But they are &s;encele&s;&s;e fooles, their healths and lives to venture &s;o,</L>
<L>And for a little manners &s;ake &s;uch lo&s;&s;e to vndergo.</L>
<L>Thou which a wi&s;e man art, &s;hould&s;t ca&s;t &s;uch fooli&s;h care a&s;ide,</L>
<L>That for thy future profite by thy care thou mai&s;t provide.</L>
<L>Ri&s;e thou in dinner time if thou perchance ha&s;t neede to leake,</L>
<L>A Gods name let that pa&s;&s;age have which would thy bellie breake.</L>
<L>If any one among the re&s;t do &s;top thine enterpri&s;e,</L>
<L>Although he be thy very friend, yet force him for to ri&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or &s;itting at the table, if you finde that you are ill,</L>
<L>Not fearing any, on the ground your vrine you may &s;pill.</L>
<L>All &s;harpe, &s;evere, and crabbed manners you mu&s;t now refu&s;e,</L>
<L>Which of &s;o many faults do plaine ru&s;ticitie accu&s;e.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e things which thou by other mens examples v&s;ed ha&s;t,</L>
<L>Are iu&s;t, thou ha&s;t not beene the fir&s;t, nor &s;halt thou be the la&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>A gallant youth which of a worthie linage did de&s;cend,</L>
<L>Vnto a banquet was of late invited by a frend.</L>
<L>Vpon the boord was &s;et &s;uch &s;tore of ta&s;te delighting meate,</L>
<L>As when the gods above do <HI>Nectar</HI> and <HI>Ambro&s;ia</HI> eate.</L>
<L><PB N="113" REF="68">According to his calling every &s;tranger downe did &s;it,</L>
<L>Each choo&s;ing &s;uch things as he counted for his &s;tomacke fit.</L>
<L>This yonker &s;carce was &s;uffered his hor&s;es backe to leave,</L>
<L>But he was called pre&s;ently his place for to receave.</L>
<L>He had no time allowd, his bootes from off his legs to take;</L>
<L>Nor (which was woor&s;t of all) his pinching water for to make.</L>
<L>As good lucke was, he by a dainty wenches &s;ide did &s;it,</L>
<L>And now beganne his future paine and trouble to forget.</L>
<L>But haple&s;&s;e he (as nothing which is good can ever la&s;t)</L>
<L>His future paine a&s;&s;ailed him, his plea&s;ure &s;oone was pa&s;t;</L>
<L>For being very dry, he &s;tore of drinke beganne to gull,</L>
<L>So that before he was aware, his bladder &s;oone was full.</L>
<L>And yet (vnhappy he) he dur&s;t not from the table ri&s;e,</L>
<L>Le&s;t he &s;hould &s;eeme vnmannerly in all the &s;trangers eyes.</L>
<L>Wherefore a great while &s;undry meanes and helps he did invent,</L>
<L>Whereby the better this en&s;uing harme he might prevent.</L>
<L>But &s;till his paines increa&s;ing more, he was in &s;uch a ca&s;e,</L>
<L>That he was forcde to take this coun&s;ell of the time and place,</L>
<L>Into his boote (which was a wide one) &s;uch a thing he put,</L>
<L>That he in little &s;pace of all his water freed his gut.</L>
<L>Vnder the boord to hold his hand a while he was compelld,</L>
<L>As if &s;ome other weighty thing he in the &s;ame had held,</L>
<L>Vntill his boote was filld vp with the vrine to the top;</L>
<L>And yet the water powred from the fountaine drop by drop.</L>
<L>Meane time the maide which at the table &s;ate vnto him neere,</L>
<L>Perceiving all, per&s;waded him to have a valiant cheere,</L>
<L>And &s;trait &s;he tooke him by the hand, which he &s;o bu&s;ied had,</L>
<L>De&s;iring him to tell the rea&s;on why he was &s;o &s;ad:</L>
<L>And &s;trait from foorth his codpeece he was forcde his hand to bring,</L>
<L>And in the &s;ame again&s;t his will, his maid-delighting thing.</L>
<L>Looke off, looke off &s;ome other way, you maides, by nature kinde,</L>
<L>For feare that &s;uch an object make you ever after blinde.</L>
<L>This luckle&s;&s;e yonker being thus &s;urpri&s;ed in &s;uch ha&s;te,</L>
<L>Was forcde vpon the table &s;tore of water for to ca&s;t.</L>
<L>In &s;elfe &s;ame &s;ort as when the neighbours water v&s;e to fling</L>
<L>Vpon an hou&s;e halfe burnt with fire, or any other thing.</L>
<L><PB N="114" REF="69">He came vnto that banquet in a mo&s;t vnhappie morne,</L>
<L>And &s;ure I thinke vnder a luckle&s;&s;e plannet he was borne.</L>
<L>Thus being &s;cofft of all, he &s;ate, not daring once to ri&s;e,</L>
<L>But in a &s;ad and mournefull &s;ort he hid his ba&s;hfull eyes.</L>
<L>At length, by &s;tore of plea&s;ant wine the&s;e cares his heart for&s;ooke,</L>
<L>And &s;etting &s;hame and feare a&s;ide, a courage &s;towt he tooke.</L>
<L>In briefe, when every man had tipled well, it &s;o did chance,</L>
<L>That every man mu&s;t after &s;upper leade a wench a dance.</L>
<L>This yonker then, (although this dancing he did hardly love,)</L>
<L>Was forc'd according to the fiddles &s;ound his legs to move.</L>
<L>Each time that he remov'd his feete, he &s;hooke the ma&s;&s;ie ground,</L>
<L>And all the hou&s;e with &s;tore of &s;howts and Ecchoes did re&s;ound.</L>
<L>As oft as ere this yonker from the ground his legs did pull,</L>
<L>(Having his bootes (too big before,) with &s;tore of water full:)</L>
<L>So oft they forc'd him to remember that vn&s;eemely thing,</L>
<L>And oft the fault forgot, they did afre&s;h remembrance bring.</L>
<L>And then afre&s;h each man began at him to laugh and mocke,</L>
<L>He was the cau&s;e that made him&s;elfe &s;o ba&s;e a laughing &s;tocke.</L>
<L>As &s;oone as dancing time was pa&s;t that he might private bee,</L>
<L>He found a means whereby from laughter he him&s;elfe might free.</L>
<L>In mid&s;t of all the maides and men which compa&s;t him apace,</L>
<L>He put his watry buskins off, the cau&s;e of his di&s;grace.</L>
<L>And gave them to his man, that to the fire he might them beare,</L>
<L>Which quickly would exhau&s;t the vapors that within them were.</L>
<L>His tru&s;tie &s;ervant by the way e&s;pide a bed by chance,</L>
<L>Provided for to re&s;t their bones which in the hall did dance.</L>
<L>Hither the carefull &s;ervant did his ma&s;ters buskins beare,</L>
<L>And having made the bed-po&s;te fit, he forthwith hung them there.</L>
<L>And then began the youth to bani&s;h care from forth his brea&s;t,</L>
<L>Beginning once againe to be as iocond as the re&s;t.</L>
<L>But now the time of drow&s;ie mid-night had approached nie,</L>
<L>And every &s;tranger made him readie to his bed to hie.</L>
<L>When every man in quiet &s;ort was gone vnto his bed,</L>
<L>Therein vntill the morrow morne to re&s;t his &s;leepie head.</L>
<L>Among&s;t the re&s;t there was a fellow of a fooli&s;h minde,</L>
<L>Which having eate &s;uch meate as hurtfull to him he did finde.</L>
<L><PB N="115" REF="69">When all the other &s;trangers did their &s;leepe in quiet take,</L>
<L>He eating over-much, was troubled with the bellie ake.</L>
<L>And therefore was he forc'd to ri&s;e, thinking to walke abroad,</L>
<L>That in the yard, he of his burden might him&s;elfe vnload.</L>
<L>The doores by chance were lockt, and therefore he could finde no way,</L>
<L>And which was wor&s;e then all the re&s;t, he could no longer &s;tay.</L>
<L>In briefe, he found the bootes vpon the bed which there did &s;tand,</L>
<L>The which as &s;oone as ere he felt, he caught them in his hand.</L>
<L>Both hard and &s;oft which hurt his bellie, into them he &s;ent,</L>
<L>Which having done, immediately vnto his bed he went.</L>
<L>As &s;oone as ere the &s;hining day-&s;tarre gan for to appeare,</L>
<L>To manife&s;t vnto the world that <HI>Sols</HI> approach was neere.</L>
<L>The yonker mindefull of the &s;turre which he la&s;t night did make,</L>
<L>Began betimes vnto his hor&s;e him&s;elfe for to betake.</L>
<L>Providing, on his legs in ha&s;te his cleanly bootes to pull,</L>
<L>But out alas vnhappie man, with dirt the one was full.</L>
<L>What &s;hall he do? if cry, the company will him deride,</L>
<L>Wherefore its be&s;t to keepe it clo&s;e and every thing abide.</L>
<L>He mu&s;t indure it, if heereafter he have any wit,</L>
<L>Vnto &s;o bad a crew in ha&s;te him&s;elfe hee'le not commit.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Suppo&s;e thou art a man of credite and of great e&s;teeme,</L>
<L>And one which in a cittie Ruler once or twice ha&s;t beene.</L>
<L>When in a &s;trange and vnknowne country you arrived are,</L>
<L>It is your be&s;t your offices and titles to declare.</L>
<L>Such wor&s;hip as is requi&s;ite they will not to you give,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e you brag in what account you in your country live.</L>
<L>But if a meanes to blaze abroad your name you cannot tell,</L>
<L>And neither any man demands nor knowes your wor&s;hip well:</L>
<L>Then with a mo&s;t attentive eare, this precept learne of mee,</L>
<L>Which if you practi&s;e, you in great account with all &s;hall bee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Vpon a time, a Doctor to a famous Inne did come,</L>
<L>About the time whenas the world is robbed of the Sunne.</L>
<L>And after him there thither came more &s;trangers pre&s;ently,</L>
<L>It being late, each man forthwith vnto his bed did hie.</L>
<L>This Doctor not vnto one &s;tranger that was there was knowne,</L>
<L>And therefore he not once &s;aluted, &s;adly &s;ate alone.</L>
<L><PB N="116" REF="70">When all were &s;et to dinner, he was faine to be the la&s;t,</L>
<L>And therefore heavily vpon the ground his eyes he ca&s;t.</L>
<L>He tooke nor plea&s;ure nor delight with eating of his food,</L>
<L>The &s;tore of dainty wines he drunke did him but little good.</L>
<L>To be in honour and account &s;o greatly he did thur&s;t,</L>
<L>That he with care to compa&s;&s;e it his heart did almo&s;t bur&s;t.</L>
<L>Thus having &s;ate awhile, when he with wine was whitled well,</L>
<L>Be this meanes he occa&s;ion tooke, his calling for to tell:</L>
<L>From off his &s;haven crowne, his Doctors cap he tooke with &s;peede,</L>
<L>Hoping by meanes thereof to get &s;ome credite at his neede.</L>
<L>And hanging it vpon a naile which there he did e&s;pie,</L>
<L>Such plea&s;ant words as the&s;e, began to &s;peake immediatly.</L>
<L>Enough, enough at length of &s;orrow and of pining care;</L>
<L>Tis time at length to laugh and quaffe with tho&s;e which merry are.</L>
<L>There hang the Doctor which the crabbed le&s;&s;ons v&s;de to reade,</L>
<L>Mirth more befits this plea&s;ant crew, this is no time to pleade.</L>
<L>Then le&s;t my Doctors name &s;hould hinder all my future &s;port,</L>
<L>And tell me, that it fits not me mong&s;t roy&s;ters to re&s;ort:</L>
<L>The title of a Doctor for a while Ile lay a&s;ide,</L>
<L>And take it vp when I into my native country ride.</L>
<L>When all the &s;trangers in the hou&s;e the Doctor did behold,</L>
<L>Each man began to thinke that with him they had beene too bold.</L>
<L>And ri&s;ing, asked pardon of him for that great di&s;grace,</L>
<L>Intrea&s;ing him, as was his due, to choo&s;e the highe&s;t place.</L>
<L>And every one began a cup of wine to him to drinke,</L>
<L>And thus the Doctor got his grace and honour due I thinke.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When you with any place of publike credite graced are,</L>
<L>Or when the Citty on your necke hath layde the publike care,</L>
<L>Within thy lofty minde be &s;ure to lodge di&s;daine and &s;corne,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e thou know&s;t that vnto fame and honour thou arte borne.</L>
<L>If to abu&s;e thy calling thou doo&s;t any man permit,</L>
<L>I cannot choo&s;e but thinke, that thou ha&s;t almo&s;t lo&s;t thy wit.</L>
<L>I will repeate, although I almo&s;t am a&s;hamde to tell,</L>
<L>When great di&s;grace vnto a learned &s;choller once befell,</L>
<L>When many tedious toyles in diver&s;e places he had pa&s;&s;t,</L>
<L>By learning he was made a mai&s;ter of his Arte at la&s;t:</L>
<L><PB N="117" REF="70">And therefore he with &s;peede into his native country rid,</L>
<L>To &s;ee his antient kin&s;men and acquaintance how they did.</L>
<L>And after in that plea&s;ant iorney he a day had &s;pent,</L>
<L>Being both wearie and be-nighted, to an Inne he went,</L>
<L>Within the &s;elfe &s;ame Inne a maid that night her lodging tooke,</L>
<L>A maid which had a &s;hining beautie, yet a ba&s;hfull looke.</L>
<L>Their &s;upper being readie made, when every thing was fit,</L>
<L>The &s;choller by the &s;elfe-&s;ame virgins &s;ide did chance to &s;it.</L>
<L>Forthwith a loftie kinde of pride the &s;chollers minde po&s;&s;e&s;t,</L>
<L>And he de&s;ired to be bolder farre then all the re&s;t.</L>
<L>He thought it rea&s;on that the greate&s;t &s;tranger he &s;hould &s;eeme,</L>
<L>And &s;o did, for mo&s;t of them did highly him e&s;teeme.</L>
<L>One man there was among the re&s;t which greatly di&s;allowd</L>
<L>In &s;ecret &s;ort, that any &s;choller &s;hould be thought &s;o prowd.</L>
<L>For having in another place his fellow lately beene,</L>
<L>He knew the &s;choller, and his pride he oft before had &s;eene.</L>
<L>Having a wit which he before in divers ie&s;ts had tride,</L>
<L>He practi&s;de divers meanes whereby the &s;choller to deride;</L>
<L>Still noting all the fooli&s;h trickes which in him he could finde,</L>
<L>His onely purpo&s;e was to make him leave his naughtie minde.</L>
<L>The &s;choller not regarding well this craftie fellowes drift,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e his head did itch, his hand vnto the &s;ame did lift.</L>
<L>And with his hand his itching head in tender &s;ort did &s;cratch,</L>
<L>From which a cau&s;e of great abu&s;e the tother &s;trait did catch.</L>
<L>And then intending certainely his loftie thoughts to breake,</L>
<L>Vnto him pre&s;ently the&s;e vnex&s;pected words did &s;peake:</L>
<L>I pray &s;ir tell me, if as yet tho&s;e lice about you bee,</L>
<L>Which, as you know, vpon your body I did lately &s;ee?</L>
<L>And is it po&s;&s;ible that you no remedie &s;hould have,</L>
<L>By that &s;ame medicine which to you the Poticarie gave?</L>
<L>Why &s;ure the man I &s;peake of, makes an ointment very well,</L>
<L>And hath as many powrefull &s;alves as any man can &s;ell.</L>
<L>The&s;e words as if they had beene truth he &s;oberly did &s;peake,</L>
<L>And though they were but faind, he into laughter did not breake.</L>
<L>The &s;choller being thus di&s;grac'd, was forc'd to part away,</L>
<L>And putting vp this great abu&s;e had not a word to &s;ay.</L>
<L><PB N="118" REF="71">Anger and &s;hame did &s;o his loftie &s;welling heart confound</L>
<L>His minde which lately pierc'd the skies, was then vpon the ground.</L>
<L>His learned Logicke could not then his fading fame defend,</L>
<L>Nor could he be reveng'd for this di&s;credite of his friend.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>By this di&s;credite and ill lucke you may example take,</L>
<L>Le&s;t &s;ome man in the &s;elfe&s;ame &s;ort a foole of you &s;hould make.</L>
<L>And if you &s;ee a man which vnto credite loves to mount,</L>
<L>Which of his neighbours and his friends is held in great account.</L>
<L>T'will be a meanes, whereby thou mai&s;t thine owne preferment get,</L>
<L>If thou in lower e&s;timation can&s;t this peacocke &s;et.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>At meate mong&s;t many gallants once a carter chancd to &s;it,</L>
<L>And tooke from forth ech di&s;h, &s;uch meate as did his &s;tomacke fit.</L>
<L>One onely cup there was, and every man drunke of the &s;ame,</L>
<L>According as in order due, vnto his cour&s;e it came.</L>
<L>At length it came vnto the carters cour&s;e to take a &s;ip,</L>
<L>Which doing, in his cour&s;e he quite forgot to wipe his lip.</L>
<L>And therefore all the grea&s;ie fat which on his lips did cleave,</L>
<L>Within the pot in comely &s;ort he was con&s;trainde to leave.</L>
<L>Which thing when &s;ome e&s;pide, they did not like it very well,</L>
<L>And yet were loth the country fellow of his fault to tell.</L>
<L>But &s;trait among them&s;elves a &s;tatute they did &s;oone invent,</L>
<L>Whereby the like committing of this fault they might prevent.</L>
<L>He which heereafter &s;hould infect the wine within the pot,</L>
<L>Should all alone for puni&s;hment di&s;charge the future &s;hot.</L>
<L>The Carter, when he &s;aw they did a law gain&s;t him devi&s;e.</L>
<L>Summond his wits, and cro&s;t their purpo&s;e in this craftie wi&s;e.</L>
<L>The next time that to drinke a &s;ip vnto his cour&s;e it came,</L>
<L>Turning the botome to the skies, he tipled off the &s;ame.</L>
<L>Which having done, vnto the yonkers in this wi&s;e he &s;poke,</L>
<L>You cannot &s;ay that I (well meaning man,) your law have broke.</L>
<L>What filth can any of you all finde &s;wimming in the pot,</L>
<L>When theres no wine? if youle accu&s;e me, Ile di&s;charge the &s;hot.</L>
<L>Thus did the Carter co&s;en them without their &s;tatutes breach,</L>
<L>And by his over-&s;eeing wit, their craft did over-reach.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>A common officer was once on an Amba&s;&s;age &s;ent,</L>
<L>And from a needie country to a wealthie king he went.</L>
<L><PB N="119" REF="71">His bi&s;nes was &s;ome naughty wine vnto the king to give;</L>
<L>But he which alwayes did before in &s;imple manners live,</L>
<L>As &s;oone as ere the per&s;on of the King he did e&s;pie,</L>
<L>In trembling &s;ort for feare of him beganne alowd to cry.</L>
<L>Thus &s;tanding, of his emba&s;&s;age had not a word to &s;ay,</L>
<L>But (as the lambe dooth from the woolfe) would faine have run away.</L>
<L>The King perceiving him to tremble, thus vnto him &s;aide,</L>
<L>Take courage man, I give thee leave to &s;peake, be not afraide.</L>
<L>At length th'emba&s;&s;ador from off his head his hatte did take,</L>
<L>And &s;imply rowling it vpon his thumbe, a leg did make;</L>
<L>And taking courage, &s;oone could &s;peake as fa&s;t as ere he li&s;t,</L>
<L>Wherefore he thus beganne his &s;peech, when all the hall was whi&s;t:</L>
<L>Good morrow woorthy Prince, which in this place arte held &s;o deare,</L>
<L>Attentively &s;uch wordes as I &s;hall &s;peake, vouch&s;afe to heare.</L>
<L>The Marchants of our country for a truth to vs report,</L>
<L>That you (thrice noble King) have &s;tore of wine of ev'ry &s;ort,</L>
<L>And that among good fellowes night and day you love to bee,</L>
<L>And eke that you will quaffe and drinke as long as you can &s;ee;</L>
<L>They therefore hoping thus to make you their vnfained friend,</L>
<L>Pre&s;umed to your maie&s;ty this plea&s;ant wine to &s;end.</L>
<L>Such naughty wine as this is, &s;ince no better we can get,</L>
<L>We are con&s;trainde to quench our thir&s;ts in great e&s;teeme to &s;et,</L>
<L>But &s;eldome thou ha&s;t ta&s;ted this, thou glutted arte with thine;</L>
<L>Accept it then, not ev'ry man hath &s;uch a cup of wine.</L>
<L>Which having &s;aide, from foorth a bagge the wine he quickely tooke,</L>
<L>Intreating him mo&s;t heartily vpon the &s;ame to looke.</L>
<L>By chance, as thus he reacht it forth, he in the &s;ame did &s;pie</L>
<L>Some du&s;t, or little &s;traw which on the top thereof did lie,</L>
<L>And thinking vpon many &s;hifts whereby to take it out,</L>
<L>His carefull eies in evry corner he did ca&s;t about;</L>
<L>By chaunce as thus he lookt about him with a carefull minde,</L>
<L>A paire of cleanely &s;nuffers on a table he did finde.</L>
<L>Which having thus e&s;pide, on poynts he dur&s;t no longer &s;tand;</L>
<L>But thinking they were therefore made, he caught them in his hand;</L>
<L>And boldly with a nimble hand he put them in the cup,</L>
<L>Wherewith from the &s;ame the du&s;t and &s;trawes he fi&s;hed vp.</L>
<L><PB N="120" REF="72">Then to the &s;miling king he drunke a draught with all his heart,</L>
<L>And without taking leave, into his country did depart.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>More drunken trickes concerning wine I would not heere repeate,</L>
<L>But that a crew of drunkards earne&s;tly do me intreate.</L>
<L>I long to make an end, and yet &s;o in&s;tantly they crave,</L>
<L>That force perforce two other trickes of drunkards you mu&s;t have.</L>
<L>Such &s;tore of &s;undry wines vpon a time a drunkard dranke,</L>
<L>That no two kindes among&s;t them all grew on the &s;elfe-&s;ame banke.</L>
<L>Each &s;undry kinde within his bellie gan to pitch its field,</L>
<L>No wine there was among them all which would allegeance yield.</L>
<L>The&s;e civill warres the drunkards &s;teepie minde did hardly plea&s;e,</L>
<L>And therefore thus he gan to &s;peake being not well at ea&s;e.</L>
<L>I wonder what &s;hould be the cau&s;e my gots are at &s;uch &s;trife,</L>
<L>I never felt &s;uch civill warre before in all my life.</L>
<L>Tell me, you raging wines, which in me &s;uch a tumult keepe,</L>
<L>What is the cau&s;e that you di&s;turbe your ma&s;ter in his &s;leepe?</L>
<L>I charge you, either pre&s;ently your &s;elves to reconcile,</L>
<L>And lay a&s;ide tho&s;e armes which you have v&s;de &s;o long a while.</L>
<L>Or el&s;e from forth my bellies bounds I will you bani&s;h quite,</L>
<L>Ile &s;pew and belch you vp againe vnle&s;&s;e you leave your fight.</L>
<L>Which having &s;aid, they venturde &s;till to trouble him againe,</L>
<L>Then he a man which &s;cornde to &s;eeme to threaten them in vaine.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e wines, in drinking of the which his &s;ilver he had &s;pent,</L>
<L>From forth into the emptie aire from out his bellie &s;ent.</L>
<L>Whereby his bani&s;ht re&s;t vnto his guts he did re&s;tore,</L>
<L>The battell cea&s;de, and he was troubled with their &s;trife no more.</L>
<L>If &s;uch like fits at any time pre&s;ume to trouble thee,</L>
<L>Follow but this example and thou quickly &s;halt be free.</L>
<L>If &s;o it chance to thee as vnto one it once befell;</L>
<L>Thou well mai&s;t brag invomiting thou all men &s;halt excell.</L>
<L>Which while as briefly as I can, I doe to thee repeate;</L>
<L>If thou wilt but attentive be, thy profite &s;hall be great.</L>
<L>A &s;ort of good companions once for &s;tore of wine did call,</L>
<L>And drunke thereof &s;o largely, that they tooke no re&s;t at all.</L>
<L>Among&s;t the re&s;t a bea&s;tly knave of belches vtterd &s;tore,</L>
<L>A &s;igne which future vomiting doth alwayes goe before;</L>
<L><PB N="121" REF="72">Another which was by, from off his head did take his hat,</L>
<L>Promi&s;ing if he wanted, he &s;hould have the v&s;e of that.</L>
<L>If thou perchance ha&s;t neede to vomite, this I will thee lend,</L>
<L>And fill it if thou can&s;t (quoth he,) becau&s;e thou art my frend.</L>
<L>Which having &s;aid, the fellowes &s;tomacke gan to ri&s;e in ha&s;te,</L>
<L>So that into the &s;ame, great &s;tore of wine and meate he ca&s;t.</L>
<L>And &s;trait his hat began with meate and wine to over-flow,</L>
<L>This was a plea&s;ant &s;mell for him that held the hat I trow.</L>
<L>As &s;oone as ere he &s;aw his hat was &s;poild therewith indeede,</L>
<L>He thought he would not &s;o give o're, but further did proceede.</L>
<L>And on his hone&s;t neighbours head pre&s;umde the hat to place,</L>
<L>And &s;trait the vomite ranne about his &s;houlders and his face.</L>
<L>Each man began to clap his hands which did the fellow &s;ee,</L>
<L>This plea&s;ant tricke to all their homours fitly did agree.</L>
<L>The man which vomited, therewith was plea&s;ed at the heart,</L>
<L>And after they were all made friends, they homeward did depart.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="7" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>Farting and belching of Orators, holding your water, and other &s;uch like clowni&s;hnes. <HI>Chap. VII.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>THus farre concerning duties when at banquets you do &s;it,</L>
<L>And now Ile tell tho&s;e things which are for other places fit.</L>
<L>An Oratour vnto a forraine country late did go,</L>
<L>Which both in eloquence and coun&s;ell did abound and flow.</L>
<L>Before a mightie Prince&s;&s;e and a &s;ort of virgins kinde,</L>
<L>This eare-inchanting Oratour mu&s;t vtter all his minde.</L>
<L>Wherefore obtaining leave to &s;peake, &s;uch grace with them he found,</L>
<L>Before he would beginne he gravely lookt vpon the ground.</L>
<L>Which having done, as &s;oone as to beginne his &s;peech he meant,</L>
<L><PB N="122" REF="73">In comely &s;ort for manners &s;ake his knees he gravely bent:</L>
<L>And being full of courte&s;ie, he chancde to bend too lowe,</L>
<L>And vnawares into the ayre he let a fart to go:</L>
<L>But notwith&s;tanding not a whit a&s;hamed at the deede,</L>
<L>Vnto his purpo&s;e which he had in hand he did proceede.</L>
<L>Each one di&s;&s;embling made as if the fart they had not heard,</L>
<L>Except one maide, which all their maners with her laughter marr'd:</L>
<L>Who while &s;he &s;trivde out of her laughing vaine her &s;elfe to put,</L>
<L>Vnhappy &s;he her tender buttockes clo&s;e &s;he did not &s;hut.</L>
<L>And therefore let a fart, who&s;e plea&s;ant &s;ound was &s;omewhat &s;harpe:</L>
<L>If you had heard it, youlde ha thought t'had beene a tuned harpe,</L>
<L>He being mindefull of his owne fault, from his &s;peech did breake,</L>
<L>And tooke occa&s;ion in this wi&s;e vnto the maids to &s;peake;</L>
<L>Proceede in order ev'ry one of you (faire Nymphs) proceede,</L>
<L>To give your winde free pa&s;&s;age, it will helpe you at your neede.</L>
<L>And when it comes vnto my turne to doe the &s;ame againe,</L>
<L>Ile doe my be&s;t to let another, though my &s;elfe I &s;traine.</L>
<L>Then &s;trait the maide beganne to blu&s;h &s;eeing her fault was &s;pide,</L>
<L>Her cheekes were dide as red as bloud, and &s;he her face did hide:</L>
<L>The other maides with &s;tore of laughter did their bodies &s;hake,</L>
<L>And thus the Rethoritian of his &s;peech an end did make.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But, for we have begunne to &s;peake of learned men indeede,</L>
<L>We will not leave our fir&s;t intent, but in the &s;ame proceede.</L>
<L>Another time there to a princes &s;tately pallace came,</L>
<L>An Orator, which by his wit purcha&s;de immortall fame,</L>
<L>With &s;tore of co&s;tly &s;ilkes and &s;tately robes he was attirde.</L>
<L>He was a man whome all his country honord and admirde.</L>
<L>As &s;oone as might be he was &s;ent for to the princes hall,</L>
<L>And there had licence to pronounce his &s;peech before them all:</L>
<L>Strait into many lofty wordes he boldely gan to breake,</L>
<L>And with a &s;tately &s;welling voyce, he thundring wordes did &s;peake.</L>
<L>But he was forcde by belching ev'ry &s;entence to repeate,</L>
<L>Which was a &s;igne what kindes of cates he ye&s;terday did eate:</L>
<L>It was a fault which from his childhoode he did alwayes v&s;e,</L>
<L>And though he labord nere &s;o much, he could it not refu&s;e.</L>
<L>The prince which did attentively behold him, markt the &s;ame;</L>
<L><PB N="123" REF="73">And angry, marveld that he dur&s;t pre&s;ume &s;o much for &s;hame;</L>
<L>And yet he cloakt his wrath, and would into rayling breake:</L>
<L>But with a plea&s;ant looke vnto him thus beganne to &s;peake:</L>
<L>Mo&s;t learned man, it grieves me not thine eloquence to heare,</L>
<L>For vnto it with all my heart I lent my li&s;tning eare;</L>
<L>But for becau&s;e more weighty matters doe my pre&s;ence crave,</L>
<L>The re&s;idue thereof to morrow willingly weele have.</L>
<L>Meane time the King devi&s;ed many pollicies to v&s;e,</L>
<L>Whereby the Rethoritians vtterance he might abu&s;e.</L>
<L>As &s;oone as ere the morrow came, the Scholler he did call,</L>
<L>To make an end of his begunne Oration in the hall.</L>
<L>By chance a ba&s;e and &s;imple man was thither &s;ent for too,</L>
<L>Which for a little &s;ilver any bea&s;tly tricke would doe:</L>
<L>He was &s;o well a practi&s;de man in farting, that he coulde</L>
<L>Let farts at any mans commaundement when&s;oere he woulde.</L>
<L>As &s;oone as ere he came, the king in friendly manner &s;aide,</L>
<L>There is a certaine feate to doe, wherein we lacke thine aide.</L>
<L>A Doctors coate and cap vpon him he did quickely place,</L>
<L>And tolde him all things which were fitte in &s;uch a crafty ca&s;e:</L>
<L>The Rethoritian &s;poke as he the day before had done;</L>
<L>And at the end of ev'ry &s;entence, he to belch begunne.</L>
<L>The Doctor al&s;o not forgetting his enjoyned arte,</L>
<L>Beganne at end of ev'ry belch mo&s;t decently to fart.</L>
<L>What &s;hall the Rethoritian doe? he fir&s;t beganne to chide,</L>
<L>The Doctor for his bea&s;tline&s;&s;e which quickely was e&s;pide,</L>
<L>Thus thinking to proceede in railing at him for the &s;ame,</L>
<L>He thought vpon his owne offence, and then he blu&s;ht for &s;hame.</L>
<L>Which when the King e&s;pide, he into laughter &s;trait did breake,</L>
<L>And to the blu&s;hing Rethoritian thus beganne to &s;peake:</L>
<L>This Doctor al&s;o vnto vs from forraine countries came</L>
<L>To make a &s;peech: he is a man of great renowne and fame.</L>
<L>And as it is your v&s;e to belch at ev'ry &s;entence end,</L>
<L>Which in your country as a credite all perhaps commend.</L>
<L>To fart in like &s;ort this our Doctor counts a royall thing;</L>
<L>And as a cu&s;tome from his country hither doth it bring.</L>
<L>Which having &s;aide, the Rethoritian &s;trait his leave did take,</L>
<L><PB N="124" REF="74">Enforced in the middle of his &s;peech an end to make.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>A man began to tell a tale of newes and manners pa&s;t,</L>
<L>The Preface of the which, was like an houre or two to la&s;t.</L>
<L>To which, one man among the re&s;t gave his attentive eare,</L>
<L>As being willing that which he recited for to heare.</L>
<L>Meane time his bladder was &s;o full, no more it could &s;u&s;taine,</L>
<L>(The keeping of the vrine, often breedeth mickle paine)</L>
<L>But (fooli&s;h man,) the pre&s;ent tale &s;o much he did effect,</L>
<L>That he dur&s;t hardly &s;tirre, le&s;t he the &s;torie &s;hould neglect,</L>
<L>By chance he had a little pur&s;e made of a Squirrels skin,</L>
<L>Which lately he provided had, to keepe his mony in.</L>
<L>He thought it better this his pur&s;e with vrine for to fill,</L>
<L>Then loo&s;ing of that plea&s;ant &s;torie, &s;o to want his will.</L>
<L>He knew that vrine held too long, did often danger bring,</L>
<L>And therefore carefully prevented &s;uch a future thing.</L>
<L>Not long a go, a Doctor which in learning well was taught,</L>
<L>By this meanes, mo&s;t vnluckily vnto his end was brought.</L>
<L>Among&s;t a &s;ort of gallant maides he in a coach did ride,</L>
<L>Incompa&s;&s;ed with &s;tore of ba&s;hfull maides on every &s;ide.</L>
<L>Not many houres among&s;t the youthfull virgins he had &s;ate,</L>
<L>Talking of cha&s;te virginitie, and &s;uch like harmele&s;&s;e chat.</L>
<L>But that his bladder being filld with vrine to the brim,</L>
<L>Some &s;peedie pa&s;&s;age privately it did demand of him.</L>
<L>And yet to &s;tirre from forth the coach he would not take the paine,</L>
<L>Thinking it better any paine or perill to &s;u&s;taine,</L>
<L>He was &s;o cha&s;te, that rather then hee'd trouble maid or wife,</L>
<L>He thought it better farre to &s;tand in danger of his life.</L>
<L>At length, his bladder with &s;uch &s;tore of vrine was ore-lade,</L>
<L>That all his bowells bur&s;t, and &s;o the water pa&s;&s;age had.</L>
<L>And he within a day or two was forc'd his life to leave,</L>
<L>This was the profite which by &s;hamefa&s;tnes he did receave.</L>
<L>Wherefore, le&s;t thou the like incurre, refu&s;e not any thing,</L>
<L>Rather then thus thy &s;elfe in danger of thy life to bring.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>I thinke it good the tale which followes to recite to thee,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e it is a tale which argues great Simplicitie.</L>
<L>Of late, a clowne which all the trickes of former times did know,</L>
<L><PB N="125" REF="74">And livde therein, for the&s;e our dayes can none &s;o &s;imple &s;how,</L>
<L>Came to an antient friend of his whome long he had not &s;eene,</L>
<L>And when that &s;tore of friendly talke had pa&s;&s;ed them betweene;</L>
<L>At length they came (as &s;trangers v&s;e) to couple hand in hand,</L>
<L>It is a right on which olde friends do often v&s;e to &s;tand.</L>
<L>But fir&s;t to make his no&s;trels cleane, the clowne would be &s;o bolde,</L>
<L>And all the &s;not which thence he tooke he in his hand did holde,</L>
<L>And then his antient friend he boldely by the hand did take,</L>
<L>Saying, lo, heeres a &s;igne how much of thee (my friend) I make.</L>
<L>The cau&s;e why thus he did, was this, he in great feare did &s;tand,</L>
<L>Le&s;t that perhaps the tothers fi&s;t &s;hould hurt his tender hand.</L>
<L>Wherefore to ea&s;e his palme with &s;oft and tender fleame he meant,</L>
<L>That he thereby the future blow the better might prevent.</L>
<L>A thou&s;and &s;uch like trickes as the&s;e I could to thee repeate,</L>
<L>The practi&s;e of the which would make thy fame and credite great,</L>
<L>But that I know this little booke of mine too long would bee,</L>
<L>If all things which my &s;elfe have &s;eene I &s;hould recite to thee.</L>
<L>If by thy wit the things which I have tolde thou practi&s;e can,</L>
<L>I doubt not but thou &s;oone wilt proove a rude and &s;imple man.</L>
<L><HI>Flaccus</HI> him&s;elfe de&s;ires in precepts brevitie to finde,</L>
<L>That &s;o they may be kept the better in the Schollers minde;</L>
<L>And yet tho&s;e precepts which are writ i'th end of this my booke,</L>
<L>Since they be few, you ought vpon them carefully too looke:</L>
<L>The &s;imple life of country farmers which the field doe plow,</L>
<L>And all their ru&s;ticke trickes mu&s;t be e&s;teemed deere of you.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e things which other curious Critickes doe exhort thee to,</L>
<L>Neglect them all, with gravitie you nothing have to doe:</L>
<L>If &s;ome men you can cro&s;&s;e, and &s;tirre vp laughter vnto &s;ome,</L>
<L>You neede not care for any more, your duety you have done.</L>
<L>And now (well nurturde youth) I bid thee kindely to farewell,</L>
<L>And thinke on all tho&s;e whole&s;ome rules which I to thee did tell.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="8" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="126" REF="75">
<HEAD>Grobiana, or concerning fitting virgins, both at home and abroad, in banquets, and divers other places. <HI>Chapter VIII.</HI></HEAD>
<LG>
<L>ME thinks already I have &s;aid enough of manners rude,</L>
<L>And therefore willingly this pre&s;ent booke I would conclude.</L>
<L>But that the tender virgins do &s;o earne&s;tly intreate,</L>
<L>That &s;ome few precepts for their v&s;e, I al&s;o would repeate.</L>
<L>What &s;hall I do? con&s;ent or no? whether will prove the be&s;t?</L>
<L>To do as they require, or contradict their iu&s;t reque&s;t?</L>
<L>The la&s;t I will not do; attend, attend, you virgins all,</L>
<L>Behold a man which is preparde and readie at your call.</L>
<L>Some precepts I will give, whereby your manners for to frame,</L>
<L>They &s;hall be few, but you &s;hall reape great profite by the &s;ame.</L>
<L>It is not neede for your in&s;truction many trickes to tell,</L>
<L>You are &s;o prone, that all men you in clowni&s;h trickes excell.</L>
<L>Nature her &s;elfe, which &s;cornes the helpe of any others trade,</L>
<L>Vnto all kindes of vice your &s;ect mo&s;t tractable hath made.</L>
<L>Yet notwith&s;tanding that which vnto me <HI>Apollo</HI> told,</L>
<L>Since all I &s;peake is true, to tell it you I dare be bold.</L>
<L>You maides which neither mode&s;t, hone&s;t, nice, nor ba&s;hfull are,</L>
<L>Approach, and for your profits of my precepts have a care.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When through a publike cittie &s;treetes to wander you de&s;ire,</L>
<L>(For my part, I am not enforc'd to looke to your attire.)</L>
<L>Permit your wandring gadding eyes in every place to bee,</L>
<L>So that before, behinde, on everie &s;ide, you all may &s;ee.</L>
<L>The minde which nere committed any tre&s;pa&s;&s;e may be bold,</L>
<L>Each man, each thing in every corner, freely to behold.</L>
<L>And with a brazen fore-head, looke the prowde&s;t in the face,</L>
<L>Let tho&s;e looke downe which for offence have &s;uffred &s;ome di&s;grace.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>With both your hands in comely &s;ort hold vp your coates you may,</L>
<L>If as you walke, you chance to enter any dirtie way.</L>
<L><PB N="127" REF="75">Let both your knees and eke your milke-excelling thighes be &s;pide,</L>
<L>But go no further; parts which higher are you ought to hide.</L>
<L>By this meanes, many yonkers hearts and favours you &s;hall have,</L>
<L>And &s;ome will of your parents for their wedded wife you crave.</L>
<L>What though perchance your &s;tockings are be&s;potted all with durt,</L>
<L>Yet if I &s;hould e&s;py them, I &s;hould thinke it little hurt.</L>
<L>It argues that about your bu&s;ines diligent you are,</L>
<L>And of the thing which you have tooke in hand, you have a care.</L>
<L>This maid about her bui&s;nes with &s;uch care and fore-&s;ight goes,</L>
<L>That &s;he can &s;carce finde idle time to rub her durtie ho&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>To &s;hew your bo&s;ome vnto all, and eke your naked brea&s;t,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e it is a very comely &s;ight, I hold it be&s;t.</L>
<L>Your tender dugges and &s;now-white necke mu&s;t be beheld of all,</L>
<L>Which when &s;ome wenching youth e&s;pies, in love with you hee'le fall,</L>
<L>I neither will &s;o &s;encele&s;&s;e nor &s;o ba&s;hfull ever bee,</L>
<L>But that I will de&s;ire a maid in &s;uch a ca&s;e to &s;ee.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e lovely partes which may be &s;eene of all men, all will love,</L>
<L>But no man choo&s;eth hidden things, before he do them prove.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>As thus you walke to take your plea&s;ure in the dirtie &s;treete,</L>
<L>If with a wench which your acquaintance was, you chance to meete.</L>
<L>You neede not with good morrow, nor good den begin to &s;peake,</L>
<L>But bluntly into talke of divers weightie matters breake.</L>
<L>Maides and great mi&s;haps there are, which many men oppre&s;&s;e,</L>
<L>Which they (poore &s;oules,) are forc'd to beare with patience ne'rethele&s;&s;e.</L>
<L>Their parents hard and crabbed &s;en&s;ure oft they mu&s;t abide,</L>
<L>With cruell words, and bitter taunts, their daughters oft they chide.</L>
<L>Their cur&s;t and crabbed mi&s;tris, makes them oftentimes to weepe,</L>
<L>When &s;he their tender neckes in choler churli&s;hly doth keepe.</L>
<L>And yong men al&s;o do their tru&s;tie lovers oft deceave,</L>
<L>When promi&s;ing to marrie them, alone they do them leave.</L>
<L>Of the&s;e, and &s;uch like things, to her be &s;ure thy plaint to make,</L>
<L>That v&s;e of tongue which Nature gave thee, freely thou mai&s;t take.</L>
<L>Your &s;ect hath &s;tore of eloquence, its weakenes to defend,</L>
<L>That gift to woman-kinde I thinke great <HI>Iove</HI> him&s;elfe did &s;end.</L>
<L>Then &s;ince it is your gift to talke, have &s;omething &s;till to &s;ay,</L>
<L>With trifling matters it is good to drive the time away.</L>
<L><PB N="128" REF="76">For ten houres &s;pace at lea&s;t your talke begun had neede to la&s;t,</L>
<L>By no meanes you mu&s;t cea&s;e till then, although you have great ha&s;te.</L>
<L>Meane time, (although when maides lacke words it is a &s;trange event,)</L>
<L>If you perchance lacke words wherewith the time for to prevent.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The trickes and acts of other men beginne for to repeate,</L>
<L>Of &s;uch things you &s;hall matter have, all day for to intreate.</L>
<L>What rules and precepts to their folkes your neighbours v&s;e to give.</L>
<L>As al&s;o in what order they them&s;elves do v&s;e to live.</L>
<L>What meate your neighbours boord affoords, what drinke he mo&s;t doth drinke,</L>
<L>What &s;tore of cattell he doth keeepe, how rich he is you thinke.</L>
<L>The&s;e things, and &s;uch as the&s;e, and many an hundred thou&s;and more,</L>
<L>If you lacke things whereof to talke, will yield you matter &s;tore.</L>
<L>Speake boldly any thing of any man that him may vex,</L>
<L>You have a priviledge thereto, by rea&s;on of your &s;ex.</L>
<L>And yet if with your words you any hone&s;t man defame,</L>
<L>I would not have you &s;ay that I was author of the &s;ame.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>By this time you have cea&s;de from prating with your loving frend,</L>
<L>Begin at length reiecting trifles homeward for to bend.</L>
<L>As home you go, with peares, with nuts, with apples you &s;hall meete,</L>
<L>Which men and women v&s;e to &s;ell to tho&s;e that walke the &s;treete.</L>
<L>You for a pennie or three halfe-pence may as many buy,</L>
<L>As will your daintie co&s;tardmonging &s;tomacke &s;atisfie.</L>
<L>As you go homeward in the &s;treete you may them boldly eate,</L>
<L>No man I thinke will blame a maid for eating of her meate.</L>
<L>If any chance to mocke thee, tell them they are all thine owne.</L>
<L>Thou paid&s;t for them, not one by him vpon thee was be&s;towne.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Meane time perchance vnto the cittie Players there are come,</L>
<L>Which round about the towne proclaime their Play by &s;ownd of drum.</L>
<L>Vnto the vulgars &s;tore of feates and active trickes theile &s;how,</L>
<L>That they vpon them to maintaine them, &s;omething may be&s;tow.</L>
<L>Many profane and ba&s;e, both words and actions they will have,</L>
<L>Which are mi&s;likte of &s;uch as are of life and manners grave.</L>
<L>And yet it is thy dutie vnto every word to harke,</L>
<L>And all their ge&s;tures and their actions carefully to marke.</L>
<L>To all their wanton words, you your attentive eare mu&s;t give,</L>
<L>According vnto that you heare, heereafter you mu&s;t live,</L>
<L><PB N="129" REF="76">Whether you naughty words do heare, or bea&s;tly &s;ights do &s;ee,</L>
<L>To blu&s;h at either of them both is not be&s;eeming thee.</L>
<L>For one which for &s;ome great offence hath &s;uffred &s;ome di&s;grace,</L>
<L>You will be thought, if blu&s;hing colours are within your face.</L>
<L>Let nothing in your cheekes a red vn&s;eemely colour rai&s;e,</L>
<L>Keepe &s;till this rule, there can be found no neerer way to prai&s;e.</L>
<L>All men will thinke that you the way to vice did never know,</L>
<L>If in your ge&s;tures you no &s;igne of blu&s;hing v&s;e to &s;how.</L>
<L>But if you v&s;e to laugh alowd as if that you were madde,</L>
<L>All men will thinke that of my Book the practi&s;e you have had.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thinke it not any great di&s;grace to make thy &s;elfe a mate,</L>
<L>At &s;uch like fea&s;ts as olde and yong do v&s;e to celebrate.</L>
<L>But if thou wilt give eare vnto my precepts, and to me,</L>
<L>At &s;uch like banquettings as the&s;e thou pre&s;ent oft &s;halt be.</L>
<L>For mong&s;t a &s;ort of youths who&s;e wits are &s;harp with &s;tore of beere,</L>
<L>Great &s;tore of things convenient for thy purpo&s;e thou mai&s;t heare;</L>
<L>Which to thy &s;imple life thou mai&s;t apply I tell thee plaine,</L>
<L>Among&s;t &s;uch men in &s;uch like places, clowni&s;hnes doth raigne.</L>
<L>I tell you maide, it is no trifle clo&s;ely for to &s;pie</L>
<L>Tho&s;e vices which in yong mens maners clo&s;ely v&s;e to lie.</L>
<L>When wine dooth rule them, all their &s;ecret coun&s;els you may finde,</L>
<L>Wine is a great betrayer and bewrayer of the minde.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Perchance there at the pre&s;ent fea&s;t will al&s;o drunken bee,</L>
<L>Thy love, thou then mai&s;t know th'affection which he beares to thee:</L>
<L>And that his meaning and intent thou mai&s;t the better prove,</L>
<L>Thou ought&s;t to have a care to &s;it the next vnto thy love.</L>
<L>When he is drunke, to all his deedes and wordes thou ought&s;t to harke,</L>
<L>And with a carefull eie how many pots he drinkes, to marke.</L>
<L>Perchance the wine and you may vrge him promi&s;e for to make,</L>
<L>That very &s;hortly for his loving wife he will you take.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If he con&s;ent, love domineering o're the captive boy,</L>
<L>You mu&s;t not hide your love too long, nor mu&s;t you be too coy.</L>
<L>Beginne to drinke a cup of wine vnto him for his &s;ake,</L>
<L>Thy good example will enforce the youth more wine to take.</L>
<L>And having tooke the cup, be &s;ure to drinke off ev'ry drop,</L>
<L>Although the wine be &s;trong and olde, and filld vnto the top.</L>
<L><PB N="130" REF="77">Intreate thy love to pledge thee; then beginne thy cup to fill,</L>
<L>And tell him that you dranke it off, to purcha&s;e his good will:</L>
<L>If then for maners &s;ake thy love beginne to thee againe,</L>
<L>You cannot &s;hunne it, kindely it to take you &s;halbe faine.</L>
<L>And at one draught, becau&s;e your lover dooth the &s;ame de&s;ire,</L>
<L>You ought to drinke it off, for &s;o your youthfull yeeres require.</L>
<L>Inchaunted with thy kindenes then his love he will impart,</L>
<L>Which he &s;o long in &s;ecret &s;ort, had nouri&s;ht in his hart.</L>
<L>And then by many publike &s;ignes his love he will betray,</L>
<L>Which from you he &s;o long before in jea&s;t had kept away.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Then heele beginne to holde your tender dugs within his hand,</L>
<L>And range in all tho&s;e &s;nowie vales which round about them &s;tand.</L>
<L>Which while he doth, in loving &s;ort you ought to &s;it at ea&s;e,</L>
<L>I know this likes you wel, and therefore cannot me di&s;plea&s;e.</L>
<L>It is no hurt to me; and yet thus much you ought to know,</L>
<L>If this you &s;uffer, you your credites cracke mu&s;t vndergoe:</L>
<L>Your credite and your hone&s;t name may quickely both be lo&s;t:</L>
<L>But to repaire them both againe, a greater price twill co&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>When thus your love is &s;urely drunke, you ought of him to know,</L>
<L>With fawning wordes what giftes he meanes vpon you to be&s;tow.</L>
<L>He needes mu&s;t yeeld, for with a double wound he gins to pine,</L>
<L>The one with love of thee, the other &s;tore of &s;tronge&s;t wine,</L>
<L>Though many gifts he give, and al&s;o promi&s;e greater &s;tore,</L>
<L>Yet be not thou a&s;hamed &s;till to aske him more and more.</L>
<L>Though many great rewards he give thee, never be content;</L>
<L>Tell him he &s;pares, and all his goodes on other maides are &s;pent,</L>
<L>And yet &s;ometimes that greater gifts of him you may procure,</L>
<L>To &s;end &s;ome little gift or token vnto him be &s;ure.</L>
<L>I purpo&s;e not in this my Booke to teach you <HI>Ovids</HI> art,</L>
<L>My &s;cope is nothing like, my precepts doe from him depart.</L>
<L>If you to &s;coffe or mocke your faithful lover have a minde.</L>
<L>I tel you plaine in my booke no &s;uch coun&s;el you &s;hal finde.</L>
<L>But if you with a carefull minde <HI>Pelignus</HI> ver&s;es reade,</L>
<L>Heele teach you perfectly in the&s;e my ru&s;ticke lines to treade.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>In former times it was accounted as a &s;peciall grace,</L>
<L>A garland made of &s;weete&s;t flowers in your head to place:</L>
<L><PB N="131" REF="77">But &s;ince that this no other maides but country vulgars did,</L>
<L>To &s;et &s;uch garlands on your head I flatly you forbid.</L>
<L>Indeede the former &s;imple ages did the &s;ame approve;</L>
<L>But the&s;e our latter times doe other finer garments love.</L>
<L>Such things as are too vulgar, are of vs di&s;prai&s;ed quite,</L>
<L>The world dooth nowadayes in newer fa&s;hions more delight.</L>
<L>Wherefore, hang you a garland on your no&s;e in plea&s;ant wi&s;e,</L>
<L>That it may cover almo&s;t halfe your forehead and your eies.</L>
<L>But le&s;t you &s;hould &s;uppo&s;e my coun&s;ell fooli&s;h for to bee;</L>
<L>Attend, and you a rea&s;on of my coun&s;ell &s;trait &s;hall &s;ee.</L>
<L>Thus much you know, the garland that you weare mu&s;t needs be made,</L>
<L>Of fine&s;t hearbs and flowers &s;weete, which will not quickely fade.</L>
<L>You may delight your tender no&s;thrils with the plea&s;ant &s;mell;</L>
<L>And of your braine twill al&s;o be accepted very well,</L>
<L>That &s;mell into the empty ayre with currant pa&s;&s;age goes,</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e your garland made of flowers, hang vpon your no&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Be not a&s;hamed alwayes in your armes a whelp to beare,</L>
<L>Wherewith you may both &s;port and play, when&s;e're you idle are.</L>
<L>When in your belly you have any painefull rumbling fart,</L>
<L>Which dooth beginne (vnhappy wench) to grieve thee at the hart.</L>
<L>The &s;ame you boldely ought into the empty aire to &s;end,</L>
<L>Which with its gripes and pinchings did your bowells much offend.</L>
<L>Perchance the &s;mell thereof offends &s;ome per&s;on in that place,</L>
<L>Beginning &s;hamele&s;ly the maker of it to di&s;grace.</L>
<L>Your little dogge to &s;ave your credite then is very fit,</L>
<L>Blame onely him, as if that he your tre&s;pa&s;&s;e did commit.</L>
<L>Say that twas he, and none but he, that did the aire perfume;</L>
<L>To contradict you in this ca&s;e, theres no man dares pre&s;ume.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Twixt fleas and women there was &s;trife ere &s;ince the world begunne</L>
<L>Ane will (I thinke) continue al&s;o, till the &s;ame be done:</L>
<L>The crafty flea in little holes and corners &s;till doth he;</L>
<L>And in the night (which is her day) &s;he prickes your tender thigh.</L>
<L>And into womens tender skinnes her biting beak &s;heele thru&s;t,</L>
<L>Where &s;he will feede vpon them, till &s;he ready be to bur&s;t.</L>
<L>This paine doth in the night from &s;leepe the maidens &s;o awake,</L>
<L>That they are forede for ayde them&s;elves vnto their armes to take.</L>
<L><PB N="132" REF="78">Wherefore, if any &s;uch like foe thy tender skinne offend,</L>
<L>Betake thee to thy weapons &s;trait thy body to defend.</L>
<L>Whether it be at home that &s;he pre&s;umes thee to a&s;&s;aile,</L>
<L>Or gain&s;t you when you are abroad hopes better to prevaile,</L>
<L>You neede not care though ne're &s;o many men be &s;tanding by,</L>
<L>Which will your cruelty again&s;t the nimble flea e&s;py.</L>
<L>But having ca&s;t off all your clothes, &s;eeke you your &s;ecret foe,</L>
<L>That he the puni&s;hment which he de&s;ervde may vndergo.</L>
<L>In valiant &s;ort from foorth his lurking denne the captive bring,</L>
<L>Let no man there beg pardon for his life for any thing.</L>
<L>The re&s;t perceiving this your cruelty will have a care,</L>
<L>Le&s;t feeding on your tender skinne they al&s;o taken are.</L>
<L>It is impo&s;&s;ible that you in re&s;t &s;hould ever live,</L>
<L>Vnles his deaths wound vnto &s;ome one enemy you give.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But now le&s;t you &s;hould thinke &s;ome precepts wanting for to bee,</L>
<L>A tricke which thou mu&s;t immitate I mu&s;t propound to thee.</L>
<L>A publike meeting once there was, within an antient towne,</L>
<L>And many weighty matters heard, fore men of great renowne.</L>
<L>Hither a certaine woman came their orders for to know,</L>
<L>De&s;iring to have notice how ech matter there did goe.</L>
<L>When &s;he with great attention had many howers pa&s;t</L>
<L>Her belly filld too full with meate, beganne to ake at la&s;t.</L>
<L>The meate which &s;he dige&s;ted had, began of her to crave,</L>
<L>That if &s;he lovde her health, with &s;peede &s;ome pa&s;&s;age it might have.</L>
<L>She taking in the matters handling plea&s;ure at the hart,</L>
<L>Having &s;o good a place, was loath from foorth it to depart,</L>
<L>By chance &s;he had a bag, wherein great &s;tore of bookes there was,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e &s;he was an holy maide, and given much to ma&s;&s;e;</L>
<L>Into the which her bellies griefe &s;he pre&s;ently did put,</L>
<L>And &s;taid to heare all matters ended, having ea&s;de her gut.</L>
<L>If you wil take my coun&s;el, you this tricke &s;hall oft perv&s;e,</L>
<L>Perchance there will occa&s;ion come when you the &s;ame &s;hall v&s;e.</L>
<L>But (fooli&s;h as I am) the lingring time what neede I &s;pend?</L>
<L>Since all which is to come behinde, in three wordes I might end.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e whole&s;ome precepts which I lately vnto yongmen gave,</L>
<L>To &s;erve your turne whenas you lacke you may them al&s;o have:</L>
<L><PB N="133" REF="78">But yet I dare not &s;ay that all their precepts will be fit,</L>
<L>But take the be&s;t, as for the wor&s;t, to others them commit.</L>
<L>Ex&s;pect, nor love, nor prai&s;e, of tho&s;e which wi&s;e and hone&s;t are,</L>
<L>And as for plea&s;ing crabbed Sophi&s;ters, take you no care.</L>
<L>But as your Tutor I command, be alwaies &s;ure to live,</L>
<L>And have a care vnto my yoake your captive necke to give.</L>
<L>My &s;elfe the &s;traighte&s;t way that is, to mode&s;tie will leade,</L>
<L>You cannot erre, nor go ami&s;&s;e, if in my &s;teps you treade.</L>
<L>A greater &s;tore of precepts yet to you repeate I might,</L>
<L>In practi&s;e of the which, you could not choo&s;e but take delight.</L>
<L>But that my mu&s;e me to my bed to re&s;t my &s;elfe doth &s;end,</L>
<L>Commanding me of this my morall booke to make an end.</L>
<L>Wherefore farewell, If by my booke you any profite take,</L>
<L>I aske no more but this, defend it for its Authors &s;ake.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 TYPE="conclusion">
<HEAD>The Authors conclu&s;ion to Ma&s;ter <HI>Simon Bing,</HI> wherein he &s;heweth all the intent and practi&s;e of this pre&s;ent worke.</HEAD>
<L>THis raging &s;ea (mo&s;t deere friend <HI>Bing,</HI>) with good &s;ucce&s;&s;e at la&s;t,</L>
<L>Helpt by thy friendly Pilots hand, my tattred &s;hip hath pa&s;t:</L>
<L>If to the waters mercy I had tru&s;ted all alone,</L>
<L>I know my &s;hip had long ago with waves beene over-throwne.</L>
<L>But your ex&s;pected kindenes without faintnes did me leade,</L>
<L>Inticing me with fearele&s;&s;e heart, in paths vnknowne to treade.</L>
<L>I thinke that you vnto my &s;hip a gentle hand did &s;end,</L>
<L>By who&s;e conducture this my boat obtainde its hop'd for end.</L>
<L>My &s;hip at length hath found the haven which &s;he did de&s;ire,</L>
<L>And now in quiet from &s;uch boi&s;trous waters will retire.</L>
<L>Although perhaps I nothing got, but labour for my paine,</L>
<L>And cannot as I would, the marke at which I aimde attaine.</L>
<L>Yet is your favour ne'rethele&s;&s;e, the fault my &s;elfe commit,</L>
<L>All the defect which can be found, is in my &s;lender wit.</L>
<L>But &s;ince it can no better be, with this I am content,</L>
<L>That I have hit the marke as well as I to hit it meant.</L>
<L>Wherefore the &s;hip with all the &s;ailes I dedicate to thee,</L>
<L>That by thy care from after-claps it may defended bee.</L>
<L><PB N="134" REF="79">Le&s;t any &s;welling &s;tormes &s;hould hurt it being torne and weake,</L>
<L>Or future tempe&s;ts by their raging bla&s;ts, the &s;ame &s;hould breake.</L>
<L>For what availes it to have caught the long de&s;ired &s;hore?</L>
<L>Or to have &s;cap'd tho&s;e gulfes which &s;afely we have pa&s;&s;ed o're?</L>
<L>Vnle&s;&s;e your wonted love and kindenes do me &s;till pur&s;ue,</L>
<L>And I heereafter al&s;o may inioy the love of you.</L>
<L>Although my &s;hip at haven &s;tands, yet when the windes do blow,</L>
<L>The raging waves which ri&s;e, my &s;hip may quickly over-throw.</L>
<L>But your good will may as an anchors vnremoved &s;tay</L>
<L>My wavering &s;hip from all mi&s;chances when it lies at bay.</L>
<L>To take tuition of my ver&s;e, of thee I humbly crave,</L>
<L>And (gentle <HI>Bing,</HI>) be &s;ure of it vnfained care to have,</L>
<L>If that the matter and the methode be but lik'd of thee,</L>
<L>I hope of no man el&s;e my paines can much mi&s;liked bee.</L>
<L>It may be, few or none at all, will much e&s;teeme my ver&s;e,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e in civill &s;ort my ie&s;ts I v&s;e not to reher&s;e.</L>
<L>Some men perchance will therefore not my painefull labours love,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e for&s;ooth my ver&s;es do not &s;tore of laughter move.</L>
<L>What though &s;ome other thinke my ver&s;es loth&s;ome, ba&s;e, and vile?</L>
<L>Becau&s;e for&s;ooth they are not written in a loftie &s;tile.</L>
<L>Will therefore every man condemne my labour and my paine?</L>
<L>Is both my care, my time, and toile con&s;umed all in vaine?</L>
<L>I cannot tell, I looke for better fortune; for I know,</L>
<L>Though this my worke will vnto &s;ome both ba&s;e and loth&s;ome &s;howe</L>
<L>Yet &s;ome there are I know, which will my painefull worke applaude,</L>
<L>And tis as much as I de&s;ire of &s;ome to merite laude.</L>
<L>Within my booke no prai&s;e-de&s;erving precepts written are,</L>
<L>Nor any &s;alves which from the minde have force to bani&s;h care.</L>
<L>And yet vnle&s;&s;e that my coniecture doth me much deceive,</L>
<L>He which perv&s;eth well this booke, &s;ome profite may receive.</L>
<L>Manners which clowni&s;h are, I have &s;et downe in clowni&s;h wi&s;e,</L>
<L>Which I have &s;et in carefull &s;ort before the vulgars eyes.</L>
<L>Mo&s;t of the trickes which I have writ, my &s;elfe before did &s;ee,</L>
<L>The re&s;t, a tru&s;tie friend of mine repeated vnto mee.</L>
<L>And &s;ome thereof, (it is no &s;hame to tell the naked truth,)</L>
<L>My &s;elfe (as I was apt thereto,) committed in my youth.</L>
<L><PB N="135" REF="79">Mong&s;t all the precepts which my booke containes, there is not one,</L>
<L>Who&s;e author (be they ne're &s;o clowni&s;h,) is to me vnknowne.</L>
<L>They much perv&s;e my booke, (if any man &s;uch paines will take,)</L>
<L>Doubtle&s;&s;e this gaine (if nothing el&s;e,) they &s;hall be &s;ure to make.</L>
<L>I know &s;ome prettie cleanly tricke or other he &s;hall reade,</L>
<L>Wherein he knowes that he him&s;elfe before did often treade.</L>
<L>When he e&s;pies &s;ome tricke agreeing to his manners fit,</L>
<L>Which in a youthfull merrie vaine he whilome did commit.</L>
<L>The blu&s;hing red which in his vi&s;age to and fro will pa&s;&s;e,</L>
<L>Will make him thinke, that of that fault he whilome giltie was.</L>
<L>And le&s;t heereafter &s;uch a blu&s;h his reading &s;hould offend,</L>
<L>He will have better care his life and manners to amend.</L>
<L>And for becau&s;e in mirth and plea&s;ant manner I have writ,</L>
<L>Such things as I &s;uppo&s;ed for my pre&s;ent purpo&s;e fit.</L>
<L>I doubt not but &s;ome &s;ortes of men will very thankfull bee,</L>
<L>And &s;ure I thinke for all my paines &s;o much they owe to mee.</L>
<L>But thou which moved&s;t me to write, (for onely for thy &s;ake,</L>
<L>And no mans el&s;e (friend <HI>Bing,</HI>) I did this labour vndertake.)</L>
<L>Shalt for the mentioning hereof, have an eternall fame,</L>
<L>And all the future times will daily thinke vpon thy name.</L>
<L>Each man which doth peru&s;e this booke, to thee will render prai&s;e,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e from darke oblivions rage, thou onely did&s;t it rai&s;e.</L>
<L>And though the readers &s;till &s;hould render &s;tore of thanks to you,</L>
<L>Yet could they not to &s;uch a patron render more then due.</L>
<L>For doubting whither &s;uch a trifle I abroad &s;hould &s;end,</L>
<L>Which I at idle times a while before had ra&s;hly pend.</L>
<L>Knowing it was no worke whereon the learned ought to looke,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e the Mu&s;es every one were ab&s;ent from my booke.</L>
<L>He having &s;eene the worke before, per&s;waded me at la&s;t,</L>
<L>From forth my minde &s;uch abiect thoughts and cau&s;ele&s;&s;e feare to ca&s;t.</L>
<L>And boldly at the length, to bring my Poeme into light,</L>
<L>That others al&s;o for their v&s;e and profite reade it might.</L>
<L>I knowing that in friendly &s;ort he councell'd for the be&s;t,</L>
<L>Agreed to publi&s;h it according to my friends reque&s;t.</L>
<L>Wherefore as long as any &s;hall accept of this my paine,</L>
<L>As long as this my booke in v&s;e and credite &s;hall remaine.</L>
<L><PB N="136" REF="80">So long <HI>Bings</HI> name &s;hall live in&s;pight of blacke oblivious blot,</L>
<L>The name of him in future time &s;hall never be forgot.</L>
<L>The hidden &s;parkes of vertue which inclo&s;de in him do lie,</L>
<L>Do merite that their ma&s;ters name and fame &s;hould never die.</L>
<L>The Mu&s;es all, and tho&s;e which of them favorites do prove</L>
<L>He holdes in great account, and mo&s;t entirely them doth love.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e which to vertue and to learning all their mindes will give,</L>
<L>He doth promote and gives them riches wherewithall to live.</L>
<L>But nowadaies, to finde a learned &s;choller it is hard,</L>
<L>So few there are which &s;uch a jem as learning do regard.</L>
<L>Rather then learning, any other kinde of life thei'le choo&s;e,</L>
<L>They love in ba&s;e maechanicall Arts their youthfull age to loo&s;e.</L>
<L>All meanes they try, and all too few their riches to provide,</L>
<L>They pa&s;&s;e the riche&s;t <HI>Lydian</HI> king in &s;corne, di&s;daine, and pride.</L>
<L>The marke which each man nowadaies de&s;ireth for to hit,</L>
<L>Is mo&s;t aboundant &s;tore of wealth and riches for to get.</L>
<L>And therefore, oftentimes they catch a mo&s;t de&s;erved fall,</L>
<L>By running whether&s;e're the gods of riches do them call.</L>
<L>Meane time, tho&s;e holy Nimphs which on <HI>Perna&s;&s;us</HI> hill do keepe,</L>
<L>For want of &s;uters, ever vnfrequented &s;it and weepe.</L>
<L>But thou which love&s;t learning, wilt not &s;uch abu&s;e permit,</L>
<L>That godde&s;&s;es &s;hould vnfrequented without &s;uccour &s;it.</L>
<L>Tho&s;e which are learned thou do&s;t love, becau&s;e thou learned art,</L>
<L>All aide and favour which thou can&s;t to them, thou do&s;t impart.</L>
<L>Proceede, proceede, as thou begin&s;t thy bountie to declare,</L>
<L>And as thou do&s;t, of painefull &s;chollers &s;till to have a care.</L>
<L>So in this world eternall fame and credite you &s;hall gaine,</L>
<L>And in the world to come, a full reward you &s;hall attaine,</L>
<L>There can no &s;traighter paths be found nor any neerer waies</L>
<L>Then the&s;e, whereby to merite &s;tore of everla&s;ting prai&s;e.</L>
<L>Wherefore proceede to love the learned as thou ha&s;t begunne,</L>
<L>And have a care to cheri&s;h them as alwaies thou ha&s;t done.</L>
<L>Continue long my friend, and with a kinde and loving looke,</L>
<L>Vouch&s;afe for to accept my gift, this little merrie booke.</L>
<L>If Fortune and the Gods above vpon my purpo&s;e &s;mile,</L>
<L>You &s;hall have better fruits then the&s;e within this little while.</L>
</DIV2>
<TRAILER><HI>The end of the la&s;t booke of</HI> Grobianus <HI>and</HI> Grobiana.</TRAILER>
<PB REF="80">
</DIV1>
</BODY>
</TEXT>
</EEBO>
</ETS>
