If dread of drenching waues or feare of fire,
Had stayde the wandring Prince amydde his race,
Ascanius then, the fruite of his desire,
In Lauine Lande had not possessed place.
But true it is, where lottes doe lyght by chaunce,
There Fortune helpes the boldest to aduaunce.
Sic tuli.

By too too much Dan Croesus caught his death, And bought with bloud the price of glittering gold, By too too litle many one lackes breath And sterues in stretes a mirroure to beholde : So pride for heate, and Pouertye pynes for colde. Wherefore to lacke the most, and leaue the least, I coumpt enough as good as any feast.

Store makes no sore: loe this seemes contrarye, And mo the merier is a Prouerbe eke, But store of sores maye make a maladye, And one to many maketh some to seeke, When two be mette that bankette with a leeke; Wherefore to lacke the most and leaue the least, I coumpt enough as good as any feast.

The rych man surfetteth by glottony, Which feedeth still, and neuer standes content, The poore agayne he pines for penurye, Which liues with lacke when all and more is spente : So to much and to little bothe bee shente. Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least, I coumpt enough as good as any feast.

The conquerour with vncontented swaye, Doth rayse vp rebelles by his auarice, The recreaunt dothe yeeld himselfe a praye, To forraine spoyle by slouth and cowardyce : So too much and to little both be vyce. Wherefore to lacke the most, and leaue the least, I coumpt enough as good as any feast.

If so thy wife be too too fayre of face: It drawes one gest too many to thine inne : If she be fowle, and foyled with disgrace, In other pillowes prickst thou many a pinne : So fowle poore fooles, and fayrer fall to sinne, Wherfore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least, I coumpt enough as good as any feast.

And of enough, enough, and nowe no more, Bycause my braynes no better can deuise, When thinges be badde, a small summe maketh store, So of suche verse a fewe maye soone suffice: Yet still to this my weary penne replyes. That I sayde last, and though you like it least, It is enough and as good as a feast. Sic tuli.

John Vaughan deliuered him this theame. Magnum vectigal parcimonia, wherevppon he wrote thus. THE Common speech is, spend and God will send But what sendes he? a bottell and a bagge, A staffe a wallet and a wofull ende, For such as list in brauery so to bragge. Then if thou couet coyne enough to spend, Learne first to spare thy budget at the brinke, But he that list with lauish hand to linke, So shall the bottome be the faster bound: (In like expence) a pennye with a pound, May chaunce at last to sitte a side and shrinke His harbraind head with out dame dainties dore. Hick, hobbe, and Dick, with clouts vpon their knee, Haue many times more goonhole grotes in store And change of crownes more quicke at cal then he, Which let their lease and take their rent before. For he that rappes a royall on his cappe, Before he put one penny in his pursse, Had neede turne quicke and broch a better tappe, Or els his drinke may chance go downe the wursse. To climbe a lofte by scales of courtly grace, I not denie but some men haue good hap, And winne the world with liberalitye: Yet he that yerks old angells out apace, And hath no newe to purchase dignitye, When orders fall, may chaunce to lacke his grace. For haggard hawkes mislike an emptie hand: So stiffely some sticke to the mercers stall, Till sutes of silke haue swet out all their land, So ofte thy neighbours banquet in thy hall, Till Dauie Debet in thy parler stand, And bids the welcome to thine owne decay. I like a Lions lookes not worth a leeke When euery Foxe beguiles him of his praye: What sauce but sorrow serueth him a weeke, Which all his cates consumeth in one daye? First vse thy stomacke to a stand of ale, Before thy Malmesey come in Marchantes bookes, And rather were (for shifte) thy shirte of male, Than teare thy silken sleues with teynter hokes, Put feathers in thy pillowes great and small, Lette them be princkt with plumes, that gape for plummes,

Heape vp bothe golde and siluer safe in hooches, Catche, snatche, and scratche for scrapings and for

crommes

Before thou decke thy hatte (on high) with brooches.
Lette first thyne one hand hold faste all that commes,
Before that other learne his letting flie:
Remember still that soft fire makes sweet malte,
No haste but good (who meanes to multiplye:)
Bought witte is deare, and drest with sower salte,
Repentaunce commes to late, and then saye I,
Who spares the first and keepes the last vnspent,
Shall finde that sparing yeeldes a goodly rent.
Sic tuli.

Alexander Neuile deliuered him this theame, Sat cito, si sat bene, wherevpon hee compiled these seuen Sonets in sequence, therin bewraying his owne Nimis cito: and therwith his Vir bene, as foloweth.

In haste poste haste, when first my wandring minde,
Behelde the glistring Courte with gazing eye,
Suche deepe delightes I seemde therin to finde,
As might beguile a grauer guest than I.

The stately pompe of Princes and their peeres,
Did seeme to swimme in flouddes of beaten goulde,
The wanton world of yong delightfull yeeres,
Was not vnlike a heauen for to behoulde.
Wherein dyd swarme (for euery saint) a Dame,
So faire of hue, so freshe of their attire,
As might excell dame Cinthia for Fame,
Or conquer Cupid with his owne desire.
These and suche lyke were baytes that blazed still
Before myne eye to feede my greedy will.

2. Before mine eye to feede my greedy will,
Gan muster eke mine olde acquainted mates,
Who helpt the dish (of vayne delighte) to fill
My empty mouth with dayntye delicates:
And folishe boldenesse toke the whippe in hande,
To lashe my life into this trustlesse trace,
Til all in haste I leapte a loofe from lande,
And hoyste vp soyle to catche a Courtly grace:
Eche lingring daye did seeme a world of wo,
Till in that haplesse hauen my head was brought :
Waues of wanhope so tost me to and fro,

In deepe dispayre to drowne my dreadfull thought:
Eche houre a day eche day a yeare did seeme,
And every yeare a worlde my will did deeme.

3. And euery yeare a worlde my will did deeme,
Till lo, at last, to Court nowe am I come,
A seemely swayne, that might the place beseeme,
A gladsome guest embraste of all and some:
Not there contente with common dignitie,
My wandring eye in haste, (yea poste poste haste)
Behelde the blazing badge of brauerie,
For wante wherof, I thought my selfe disgraste :
Then peeuishe pride puffte vp my swelling harte,
To further foorth so hotte an enterprise:
And comely cost beganne to playe his parte,
In praysing patternes of mine owne deuise.
Thus all was good that might be got in haste,
To princke me vp, and make me higher plaste.

4. To prinke me vp and make me higher plaste, All came to late that taryed any time, Pilles of prouision pleased not my taste, They made my heeles to heauie for to clime: Mee thought it best that boughes of boystrous oake, Should first be shread to make my feathers gaye. Tyll at the last a deadly dinting stroake, Brought downe the bulke with edgetooles of decaye: Of euery farme I then let flye a lease, To feede the purse that payde for peeuishnesse, Till rente and all were falne in suche disease, As scarse coulde serue to mayntayne cleanlynesse: They bought, the bodie, fine, ferme, lease, and lande, All were to little for the merchauntes hande.

5. All were to little for the merchauntes hande, And yet my brauerye bigger than his booke: But when this hotte accompte was coldly scande, I thought highe time about me for to looke: With heauie cheare I caste my head abacke, To see the fountaine of my furious race. Comparde my loss, my liuing, and my lacke, In equall balance with my iolye grace. And sawe expences grating on the grounde Like lumpes of lead to presse my pursse full ofte, When light rewarde and recompence were founde, Fleeting like feathers in the winde alofte: These thus comparde, I left the Courte at large, For why? the gaines doth seeldome quitte the charge.

6. For why? the gaines doth seldome quitte the charge,

And so saye I, by proofe too dearely bought,
My haste mad wast, my braue and brainsicke barge,
Did float to fast, to catch a thing of nought:
With leasure, measure, meane, and many mo,
I mought haue kept a chayre of quiet state,
But hastie heads can not bee setled so,
Till croked Fortune giue a crabbed mate :
As busie braynes muste beate on tickle toyes,
As rashe inuention breedes a rawe deuise,
So sodayne falles doe hinder hastie ioyes,
And as swifte baytes doe fleetest fyshe entice.
So haste makes waste, and therefore nowe I saye,
No haste but good, where wisdome makes the waye.

7. No haste but good where wisdome makes the

waye,

For profe whereof, behold the simple snayle,
(Who sees the souldiers carcasse caste a waye,
With hotte assaulte the Castle to assayle.)
By line and leysure clymes the loftye wall,
And winnes the turrettes toppe more conningly,
Than doughtye Dick, who loste his life and all,
With hoysting vp his head to hastilye.

The swiftest bitche brings foorth the blyndest whelpes,

The hottest Feuers coldest crampes ensue,
The nakedst neede hathe ouer latest helpes:
With Neuyle then I finde this prouerbe true,
That haste makes waste, and therefore still I saye,
No haste but good, where wisdome makes the waye.
Sic tuli.

Richarde Courtop (the last of the fiue) gaue him this theame, Durum æneum & miserabile œuum, and therevpon hee wrote in this wise.

WHEN peerelesse Princes courtes were free from flatterie, [periurie. The Justice from vnequal doome, the quest from The pillers of the state, from proude presumption, The clearkes from heresie, the commones from rebellion: [desarte, Then right rewardes were giuen, by swaye of dewe Then vertues derlinges might be plaste aloft to play their part: [of olde,

Then might they coumpt it true, that hath beene sayde The children of those happie dayes, were borne in [sucke,

the Townes,

beds of golde. And swadled in the same: the Nurse that gaue them Was wife to liberallitie, and lemman to good lucke. When Cæsar woon the fielde, his captaines caught [ful of crownes. And euery painful souldiours purse was crammed Licurgus for good Lawes, lost his owne libertie, And thought it better to preferre common commoditie. But nowe the times are turnde, it is not as it was, The golde is gone, the siluer sunke, and nothing left but brasse. [seeme, To see a King encroache, what wonder should it When commons cannot be content, with countrie

Thus is the stage stakt out, where all these partes be plaide,

And I the prologue should pronounce, but that I am afraide. [king, First Cayphas playes the Priest, and Herode sits as Pylate the Judge, Iudas the Jurour verdict in doth bring, [aray, Vaine tatling plaies the vice, well cladde in ritche And poore Tom Trooth is laught to skorn, with garments nothing gay. [traine, The woman wantonnesse, she commes with ticing Pride in hir pocket plaies bo peepe, and bawdry in hir braine.

they keepe.

Hir handmaides be deceipte, daunger, and dalliaunce, Riot and Reuell follow hir, they be of hir alliaunce: Next these commes in Sim Swashe, to see what sturre [him to creepe: Clim of the Clough then takes his heeles, tis time for Topacke the pageaunt vp, commes Sorrow with a song, He say these iestes can get no grotes, and al this geare goth wrong: [parte, Fyrst pride without cause why, he singes the treble The meane hee mumbles out of tune, for lacke of life and hart:

Cost lost, the counter Tenor chanteth on apace, Thus all in discords stands the cliffe, and beggrie singes the base. [are sturring, The players loose their paines, where so fewe pence Their garmēts weare for lacke of gains, and fret for lack of furring.

When all is done and past, was no part plaide but one For euerye player plaide the foole, tyll all be spent, and gone.

And thus this foolishe iest, I put in dogrell rime, Because a crosier staffe is best, for such a crooked time.

Sic tuli.

And thus an ende of these fiue Theames, admounting to the number of CCLVIII. verses, deuised ryding by the way, writing none of them vntill he came at the ende of his Journey, the which was no longer than one day in ryding, one daye in tarying with his friend, and the thirde in returning to Greyes Inne: and therefore called Gascoignes memories.

AN EPITAPH VPON CAPTAINE BOURCHER

He might for byrth haue boasted noble race, Yet were his manners meeke and alwayes milde, Who gaue a gesse by gazing on his face, And iudge thereby, might quickly be beguilde, In fielde a Lion, and in Towne a Childe, Fierce to his foe, but courteouse to his friende, Alas the while, his life so soone should ende?

To serue his Prince his life was euer prest, To serue his God, his death he thought but dew, In all attempts as foreward as the best, And all to forewardes, which we all may rew, His life so shewed, his death eke tried it true: For where his foes in thickest prease dyd stande, Bourcher caught bane with bloodie sworde in hande.

And marke the courage of a noble heart, When he in bed laye wounded wondrous sore, And heard allarme, he soone forgot his smart And calde for armes to shewe his seruice more: I wyll to fielde (quod he) and God before ; Which sayde, he sailde into more quiet coast, Styll praysing God, and so gaue vp the ghost.

Nowe muze not reader though we stones can speake, Or write sometimes the deedes of worthy ones, I could not holde although my heart should breake, (Because here by me buryed are his bones,) But I must tell this tale thus for the nones When men crye mumme and keepe such silence long, Then stones must speake, else dead men shall haue wrong.

Finis quod Marmaduke Marblestone.

THE FRUITES OF WARRE, Written vpon this theame, Dulce Bellum inexpertis, and it was written by peecemeale at sundrye tymes, as the Aucthour had vacaunt leysures from seruice, being begon at Delfe in Hollande, and dyrected to the ryght honourable the Lord Greye of Wylton as appeareth by the Epistle Dedicatory next following.

To the Right honorable and mine especiall good Lorde, the Lorde Greye of Wylton.

My Singular good Lorde: I am of opinion that long before this time your honour bath throughly

HATH BENE TERMED THE TALE OF A STONE AS FOLOWETH.

FYE captaines fie, your tongues are tyed to close,
Your souldiours eke by silence purchase shame :
Can no man penne in meetre nor in prose,
The lyfe, the death, the valliaunt actes, the fame,
The birth, behauiour, nor the noble name,
Of such a feere as you in fight haue lost :
Alas such paines would quickly quite the cost.

Bourcher is dead, whom eche of you dyd knowe, Yet no man writes one worde to paint his praise, His sprite on highe, his carkasse here belowe, Doth both condemne your doting ydle dayes: Yet ceasse they not to sounde his worthy wayes, Who liued to dye, and dyed againe to liue, With death deere bought, he dyd his death forgiue.

vnto you somewhat before my commyng hyther, and therewithall I doe lykewise coniectour that you haue founde therein iust cause to laugh at my follies forepassed. So that am partly in doubte whether I were more ouerseene in my first deuising, or in my last dyrecting of the same? But as fantasticall humours are common imperfections in greene vnmellowed braines: So hope I yet that your good Lordshippe wyll rather winke at my weakenesse in generallitie, than reproue my rashnesse in perticularitie. And because I would bee glad, to drawe your Lordshippe into forgetfulnesse thereof, by freshe recorde of some more martiall matter, as also for that I would haue your Honour perceaue that in these lyngering broyles, I doe not altogeather passe ouer my time in ydlenesse : I haue therefore thought meete nowe to present you with this Pamphlete written by stelth at

7. On high the Helme, I beare it well in minde, The Wreath was Siluer poudred all with shot, About the which (goutté du sang) did twinde A roll of Sable, blacke and foule beblot, The Creast two handes, which may not be forgot, For in the Right a trenchand blade did stande, And in the Left a firie burning brande.

Your Lordships

most bounden and assured. GEORGE GASCOIGNE.

DULCE BELLUM INEXPERTIS.

To write of Warre and wote not what it is,
Nor euer yet could march where War was made,
May well be thought a worke begonne amis,
A rash attempt, in woorthlesse verse to wade,
To tell the triall, knowing not the trade:

Yet such a vaine euen nowe doth feede my Muse,
That in this theame I must some labor vse.

2. And herewithal I cannot but confesse,
Howe vnexpert I am in feates of warre :
For more than wryting doth the same expresse,
I may not boast of any cruell iarre,

Nor vaunt to see full valiant facts from farre :
I haue nor bene in Turkie, Denmarke, Greece,
Ne yet in Colch, to winne a Golden fleece.

3. But nathelesse I some what reade in writte, Of high exploits by Martiall men ydone, And therevpon I haue presumed yet,

To take in hande this Poeme now begonne :
Wherin I meane to tell what race they ronne,
Who followe Drummes before they knowe the dubbe,
And bragge of Mars before they feele his clubbe.

4. Which talk to tell, let first with penne declare 2
What thing warre is, and whereof it proceeds,
What be the fruites that fall vnto their share
That gape for honor by those haughtie deeds,
What bloudie broyles in euery state it breeds:
A weary worke vneths I shall it write,
Yet (as I may) I must the same endite.

5. The Poets olde in their fonde fables faine, That mightie Mars is god of Warre and Strife, These astronomers thinke, where Mars doth raigne,

That all debate and discorde must be rife,
Some thinke Bellona goddesse of that life :
So that some one, and some another iudge,
To be the cause of euery greeuous grudge.

6. Among the rest that Painter+ had some skill,
Which thus in armes did once set out the same,
A fielde of Geules, and on a Golden hill
A stately towne consumed all with flame,
On cheafe of Sable (taken from the dame)

1 This dedication is omitted in the edition of 1587. C. 2 à definito. a Poet's and Astronomer's definition.

4 Painter's description.

8. Thus Poets, Painters, and Astronomers, Haue giuen their gesse this subiect to define, Yet are those three, and with them trauellers, Not best betrust among the Worthies nine, Their woordes and workes are deemed not diuine: But why? God knowes (my matter not so marre,) Unlesse it be bicause they faine to farre.

9. Well then, let see what sayth the common voice, 5 [say? These olde sayde sawes, of warre what can they Who list to harken to their whispring noise, May heare them talke and tattle day by day, That Princes pryde is cause of warre alway: Plentie brings pryde, pryde plea, plea pine, pine peace,

Peace plentie, and so (say they) they neuer cease.

10. And though it haue bene thought as true as steele,

Which people prate, and preach aboue the rest,
Yet could I neuer any reason feele,

To thinke Vox populi vox Dei est,

As for my skill, I compt him but a beast,
Which trusteth truth to dwell in common speeche,
Where euery lourden will become a leech.

11. Then what is warre? define it right at last,
And let vs set all olde sayde sawes aside,
Let Poets lie, let Painters faigne as fast,
Astronomers let marke how starres do glide,
And let these Trauellers tell wonders wide:
But let vs tell by trustie proufe of truth,
What thing is warre which raiseth all this ruth.

12. And for my parte my fansie for to wright,6 I say that warre is euen the scourge of God, Tormenting such as dwell in princelie plight, Yet not regarde the reaching of his rodde, Whose deedes and dueties often times are odde, Who raunge at random iesting at the iust, As though they raignde to do euen what they lust.

13. Whome neyther plague can pull into remorse, Nor dearth can drawe to mende that is amisse, Nor right can rule to iudge what reason is. Within whose hearts no pitie findeth force, Whome sicknesse salueth not, nor bale brings blisse: Yet can high loue by waste of bloudie warre, Sende scholemaisters to teach them what they are.

14. Then since the case so plaine by proufe doth stande,

That warre is such, and such alwayes it was,
Howe chaunceth then that many take in hande
To ioy in warre, whiles greater pleasures passe?
Who compt the quiet Burgher but an Asse,

5 Common people's opinion. 6 The Author's definition.

That liues at ease contented with his owne, Whiles they seeke more and yet are ouerthrowne.

And in your rules vplandish loutes can racke,
Till you haue brought their wealth vnto the wracke:
This is plaine warre, although you terme it strife,

Or if Bellona cause mennes heartes to swell
By deadly grudge, by rancor or dysdaine,
Then what delight may in that life remaine?
Where anger, wrath, teene, mischiefe and debate,
Do still vpholde the pillars of the State?

16. If Painters craft haue truly warre dysplayde, Then is it woorsse (and badde it is at best) Where townes destroyde, and fields with bloud berayde,

Yong children slaine, olde widdowes foule opprest, Maydes rauished, both men and wiues distrest: Short tale to make, where sworde and cindring flame Consume as much as earth and ayre may frame.

17. If pryde make warre 'as common people prate) Then is it good (no doubt) as good may bee, For pryde is roote of euill in euerie state, The sowrse of sinne, the very feend his fee, The head of Hell, the bough, the braunch, the tree, From which do spring and sproute such fleshlie seedes, As nothing else but moane and myschiefe breedes.

18. But if warre be (as I haue sayde before) Gods scourge, which doth both Prince and people tame, Then warne the wiser sorte by learned lore, To flee from that which bringeth naught but blame, And let men compt it griefe and not a game, To feele the burden of Gods mightie hande, When he concludes in iudgement for to stande.

19. Oh Prince 7 be pleasde with thine owne diademe,

Confine thy countries with their common boundes,
Enlarge no lande, ne stretch thou not thy streame,
Penne vp thy pleasure in Repentance poundes,
Least thine owne swordes be cause of all thy woundes:
Claime nought by warre where title is not good,
It is Gods scourge, then Prince beware thy bloud.

20. Oh Dukes, oh Earls, oh Barons, Knights and squiers, 8

Kepe you content with that which is your owne,
Let brauerie neuer bring you in his briers,
Seeke not to mowe where you no seede haue sowne,
Let not your neighbors house be ouerthrowne,
To make your garden straight, round, euen, and
square,

For that is warre, (Gods scourge) then Lordes be

life.

25. Oh common people 1s clayme nothing but right,

And ceasse to seeke that you haue neuer lost,
Striue not for trifles: make not all your might
To put your neighbours purse to needelesse cost,
When your owne gilte is spent, then farewell frost:
The Lawyer gaynes, and leades a Lordly lyfe,
Whiles you leese all and begge to stinte you stryfe.

26. Knew Kings and Princes what a payne it were,
To winne mo realmes than any witte can weelde,
To pine in hope, to fret as fast for feare,
To see their subiects murdred in the field,
To loose at last, and then themselues to yeeld,
To breake sounde sleepe with carke and inwarde care,
They would loue peace, and bidde warre well to
fare.

27. If noble men and gentle bloodes yborne, Wist what it were to haue a widdowes curse, Knew they the skourge of God (which wrōgs doth

skorne)

Who sees the poore still wronged to the worse,
Yet stayes reuenge till he it list disburse :
Wist they what were to catche Gods after clappes,
Then would they not oppresse so much perhappes.

28. These spirituall Pastors, nay these spitefull Popes,

Which ought to tende a lanterne to the rest,
Had they themselues but light to see the ropes,
And snares of Hell which for their feete are drest,
Bicause they pill and pole, bycause they wrest.
Bycause they couet more than borrell men,
(Harde be their hartes) yet would they tremble then.

Could they foresee how fast theyr heyres lashe out,
29. Lawyers and Marchants put them both yfeare,
If they in minde this old Prouerbe could beare,
De bonis malepartis vir (through out)
Gaudebit tertius hæres out of doubt,

9 Prelacie.