¶ The book of Codrus and Mynalcas. ¶ The prologue of the fourth Eglog of Alexander Barcley. COdrus a shepherd/ lusty gay and stout Sat with his wethers/ at pasture round about And poor Mynalcas/ with ewes scarce fourteen Sat sadly musing/ in shadow on the green This lusty Codrus/ was cloaked for the rain And double decked/ with hoods one or twain He had a pautner/ with purses manifold And surely lined/ with silver and with gold Within his wallet/ were meats good and fine Both store and plenty/ had he of ale and wine Such fulsome pasture/ made him a double chin His furred myttans/ were of a cur's skin Nothing he wanted/ longing to cloth and food But by no mean/ would he depart with good Sometime this Codrus/ died under shadow lie Wide opyn piping/ and gaping on the sky Sometime he danced/ and hobbled like a bear Sometime he pried/ how he became his gear He leapt/ he song/ and ran to prove his might When purse is heavy/ offtime the heart is light But though this Codrus/ had store enough of good He wanted wisdom/ for nought he understood Save worldly practice/ his treasure for to store How ever it came/ small force made he therefore On the other side/ the poor Mynalcas lay With empty belly/ and simple poor array yet could he pipe and finger well a drone But sour is m●syke/ when men for hungres groan Codrus had richesses/ Mynalcas had cunning For god not giveth/ to one man every thing At last this Codrus/ espied Mynalcas And soon he knew/ what manner man he was For old aquayntance/ between them erst had been Long time before/ they met upon the green And therefore Codrus/ down boldly by him sat And in this manner/ with him began to chat. ¶ Finis prologue. ¶ Here beginneth the fourth Eglogge/ of the behaviour of rich men anent poets/ interlocutours'/ be Codrus and Mynalcas. ¶ Codrus first speaketh. ALhayle mynalcas/ now be my faith well met Lord Jesus mercy/ what troubles did the let That this long season/ none could the here espy With us was thou wont/ to sing full merely And to lie piping oft time among the flowers What time thy beasts/ were feeding among ours In these cold valleys/ we two were wont to board And in these shadows/ talk many a merry word And oft were we wont/ to wrestle for a fall But now thoudroupest/ and hast for gotten all Here was thou wont/ sweet ballads to sing Of song and ditty/ as it were for a king And of gay matters/ to sing and to indite But now thy courage is gone/ and thy delight Trust me Mynalcas/ now plainly I espy That thou art weary/ of shepherds company And that all pleasure/ thou seemest to despise Loathing our pasture/ and fields in likewise Thou fleest solace and every merry fit losing thy time/ and sore hurting thy wit In sloth thou slombrist/ as buried were thy song Thy pipe is broken/ or some what else is wrong. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ What time the cock crows/ feathers mout & fall from sight she lurketh/ her song is gone withal When back is bare/ and purse of soyne is light The wit is dulled/ and reason hath no might A due enditing/ when gone is liberty Envy to muses/ is wretched poverty What time a knight/ is subget to a knave To just or tourney/ small pleasure shall he have. ¶ Codrus. ¶ What/ no man the keepeth/ here in captivity And busy labour/ subdueth poverty And oft is it better/ and much surer also Assubget to obey/ than at free-will to go As by ensample/ behold a wanton colt In raging youth/ leapeth over hill and holt But while he skippeth/ at pleasure and at will offtime doth he fall/ in danger for to spill Sometime on stubbes/ his hofes sore he tears Or falls in the mud/ both over heed and ears Sometime all the night/ abroad in hail or rain And oft among briars/ tangled by the main And other perils/ he suffereth infinite So mingled with sorrow lies pleasure and delight But if the same colt/ be broken at the last His sytter ruleth/ and him refraineth fast The spur him pricketh/ the bridle doth him hold That he can not prance at pleasure where he would The rider him ruleth/ and saveth from danger By which example/ Mynalcas it is clear That free-will is subject/ to inconvenience Where by subgection/ man voideth great offence For man of himself/ is very frail certain But oft a ruler/ his folly doth refrain But as for thyself/ thou hast no cause pard To walk at pleasure/ is no captivity. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ Seest thou not Codrus/ the fields round about compassed with floods/ that none may in nor out The muddy waters/ near choke me with the styuke At every tempest/ they be as black as ink poverty to me/ should be no disconfort If other spepherde/ were all of the same sort But Codrus/ I claw oft where it doth not itch To see ten beggars/ and half a dozen rich Truly me thinketh/ this wrong partition And namely sith all/ ought to be after one When I first behold/ these fields from a far Me thought them pleasant/ & void of strife or war But with my poor flock/ approaching near and near Always my pleasure/ died less and less apere And truly Codrus/ sith I came on this ground Oft under flowers/ vile snakes have I found Adders and toads/ and many vile serpent Infect old sheep/ with venom violent And oft be the young/ infected of the old That unto these few/ now brought is all my fold ¶ Codrus. ¶ In some place/ is neither venom nor serpent And as for myself/ I feel no grievous sent. ¶ Mynalcas. It were great marvel/ wherso great ground is seen if no small meadow/ were pleasant sweet and clean As for the Codrus/ I may believe right weal That thou no savour/ nor stink of mud dust feel For if a shepherd/ hath still remained long In a foul prison/ or in a stinking gong His poors with ill air/ be stopped ●o eachone That of the air/ he feeleth small sent or none And yet the dwellers/ be badder than the place The rich and sturdy/ doth threaten and menace The poor and simple/ and such as came but late And who most knoweth/ him most of all they hate And all the burden/ is on the asses back But the strong cabal/ standeth at the rack And such be assigned/ sometime the flock to keep Which scant have so moche/ of reason as a sheep And every shepherd/ at other hath envy Scant be a couple/ which loveth perfectly Ilwyll so reigneth/ that brawling be thou sure Constrained me near/ to seek a new pasture Save only after/ I hope of better rest Forsmall occasion/ a bird not changeth nest ¶ Codrus. ¶ We'll ere thou granted/ that in a small ground Some plot of pleasure/ and quiet may be found So where of herds/ assembled is great sort There some must be good/ than to the best resort But leave we all this/ turn to our point again Of thy old ballads/ some would I here full fain For often have I had/ great pleasure and delight To here recounted/ such as thou died indite. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ ye other shepherds/ which have enough at home When ye be merry/ and stuffed is your womb Which have great store/ of butter/ cheese/ and will your cows vthers/ of milk replete and full pails of sweet milk/ as full as they be able When your fat dishes/ smoke hot upon your table Than laud ye songs/ and ballads magnify If they be merry/ or written craftily ye clap your hands/ and to the making hark And one say to other/ lo here a proper work But when ye have said/ nought give ye for o pain Save only laudes/ and pleasant words vain All if these laudes/ may we'll be counted good yet the poor shepherd/ must have some other food. ¶ Codrus. ¶ Mayst thou not sometime/ thy fold & sheep apply And after at leisure/ to live more quietly Dispose thy wits/ to make or to indite Renounsing cures/ for time while thou dost write ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ Needs must a shepherd bestow his hole labour Intending his flocks scant may he spare one hour In going/ coming/ and often them to tend Full lightly the day/ is brought unto an end Sometime the wolves/ with dogs must he chase Sometime his folds/ must he new compass And offtime them change/ and if he storms doubt Of his sheep cote/ daub the walls round about When they be broken/ oft-times them renew And hurtful pastures/ note we'll and then eschew Buy straw and litter/ and hay for winter cold Oft greas the scabs/ as well of young as old For dread of thieves/ oft watch up all the night Beside this labour/ with all his mind & might For his poor house hold for to provide victual If by adventure/ his wool or lambs fail In doing all these/ no respite doth remain But well to indite/ requireth all the brain I tell the Codrus/ a style of exellence Must have all labour/ and all the diligence Both these two work/ be great near importable To my small power/ my strength is much unable The one to intend/ scant may I bide the pain Than is it harder/ for me to do both twain What time my wits/ be clear for to indite My daily charges/ will grant me no respite But if I follow/ endyting at my will Echone disdaineth/ my charges to fulfil Though in these fields/ each other ought sustain Clean lost is that law/ one may require in vain if coin command/ than men count them as bound Else i'll they labour/ than is my charge on ground. ¶ Codrus. ¶ Cornix oft counted/ that man should i'll no pain His friends burden/ to support and sustain Feed they thy flock/ while thou dost write and sing Each horse agreeth/ not well for every thing Some for the chariot/ some for the cart or plough And some for hackeneys/ if they belyght & tough Each field agreeth not weal for every seed Who hath most labour/ is worthy of best meed. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ After enditing/ than gladly would I drink To reach me the cup/ no man doth care ne thick And oft some fools/ void of discretion Me and my matters/ hath in derision And marvel is none/ for who would sow that field With costly sedes/ which shall no fruits yield Some wanton body/ oft laugheth me to scorn And saith Mynalcas/ se how thy pyltche is torn Thy hose and cokers/ be broken at the knee Thou canst not stumble/ for both thy shone may see Thy beard like bristles/ or like a porpos skin Thy clothing showeth/ thy winning is but thine Such mocking taunts/ reneweth oft my care And now be woods/ of fruit and leaves bare And frosty winter/ hath made the fields white For wrath and anger/ my lip and tongue I bite For dolour I droop/ sore vexed with disdain My womb all wasteth wherefore I bide this pain My will and wethers/ may scarcely feed my womb And other household/ which I retain at home Lean be my lambs/ that no man will them buy And yet their dams/ they daily suck so dry That from their other's/ no liquor can we wring Than without repast/ who can indite or sing It me repenteth/ if I have any wit As for my science I weary am of it And of my poor life/ I weary am Codrus scythe my hard fortune/ for me disposeth thus That of the stars/ and plannettes eachone To poor Mynalcas/ we'll fortunate is none Known is the truth/ if it were clearly sought That now to this time/ I still have song for nought For youth is lusty/ & of small thing hath need That time to age/ men give no force nor heed Ages condition/ is greatly contrary Which no we approacheth/ right still and craftily But what time age/ doth any man oppress if he in youth/ have gathered no richesse Than passeth age/ in care and poverty For need is grievous/ with old infirmity And age is fettered/ offtime with care and need When strength is faded & man hath nought to feed When strength is faded/ than hope of gain is gone In youths season/ to make provision The little emet/ is wise and provident In summer working/ with labour diligent In her small cave/ conveying corn and grain Her life in winter/ to nourish and sustain And with her small mouth/ is busy it cutting Lest in her cave/ the same might grow or spring So man of reason/ himself reputing sage In youth should purvey/ to live thereon in age. ¶ Codrus. ¶ Men say that clerks/ which know astronomy Know certain stars/ which long to destiny But all their saying/ is nothing veritable yet here the matter/ thought it be but a fable They say that Mercury/ doth poets favour Under Jupiter/ be princes of honour And men of richesses/ of wealth or dignity And all such other/ as have authority Mercury giveth/ to poets laureate Goodly conveyance/ speech pleasant and ornate Inuentyfe reason/ to sing or play on harp In goodly ditty/ or ballad for to carp This is thy lot/ what seekest thou richesse No man hath all/ this thing is true doubtless God all disposeth/ as he perceiveth best Take thou thy fortune/ and hold the still in rest Take thou thy fortune/ and hold thyself content Let us have richesses/ and rooms excellent. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ Thou hast of richesses/ and goods abundance And I have dyties/ and songs of pleasance To ask my cunning/ to covetous thou art Why is not thyself/ contented with thy part Why dost thou invade/ my part and portion Thou wantest Codrus/ wit and discretion. ¶ Codrus. ¶ Natso Mynalcas/ forsooth thou art to blame Of wrong enuasyon/ to give to me the name I would no ditty/ nor ballad take the fro No harp nor arms/ which long to Apollo But only Mynalcas/ I sore desire and long To give mine ears/ to thy sweet sounding song It feedeth hearing and is to one pleasant To here good reason/ and ballad consonant. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ if thou have pleasure/ to here my melody I grant the Codrus/ to toy my armony So I have pleasure/ and toy of thy richesses So gifts doubled/ increaseth love doubtless. ¶ Codrus. ¶ He of my richesses/ hath joy which loveth me And who me hateth/ nothing content is he Envious wretches/ by malice commonly Take others fortune/ and pleasure heavily. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ In like wise mayest thou/ enjoy of our science And of our muses/ though thou be fro presence And of our cunning/ thou toyest semblably if ought provoke thee/ by malice and envy if I feed thy ears/ fede thou my mouth again I loath were to spend/ my gifts all in vain Meat unto the mouth/ is food and susteynance And songs feedeth/ the ears with pleasance I have the muses/ if thou wilt have of mine Than right requireth/ that I have part of thine This longeth to love/ to nourish charity This feedeth pity/ this doth to right agree This is the pleasure/ and will of god above Of him disposed/ for to engender love All pleasant gifts/ one man hath not pard That one of other/ should have necessity No man of himself/ is sure sufficient This is provision/ of god omnipotent That one man should need/ another's assistance Whereby is joined/ love and benevolence. England hath cloth/ Butdeux hath store of wine Cornwayle hath tin/ and Lymster wols fine. London hath scarlot/ and Bristo we pleasant reed Fen land hath fyss hes/ in other place is lead. This is of our lord/ disposed so my brother Because all costs/ should one have need of other. So every tree/ hath fruit after his kind And divers nature's/ in beasts may we find. Always when nature/ of thing is most laudable That thing men counteth/ most good & profitable And every person/ in his own gift hath toy The fool in his babble/ hath pleasure for to toy. The clerk in his book/ the merchant in richesse The knight in his horse/ harness and hardiness. But every person/ of his gifts and art When need requireth should gladly give someꝑte Such mean contoyneth/ in bond of love certain England & France/ scotland Grece & Spain. So hast thou Codrus/ of gold enough in store And I some cunning/ though few men care therefore Thou art beholden/ to Jupiter truly And I beholden to pleasant Mercury. Join we our stars/ let me have part of thine Concord to cheryss he/ thou shalt have part of mine Make thou Jupiter/ be friendly unto me And our Mercury/ shallbe as good to the. If thy Jupiter/ give me but only gold Mercury shall give thee/ gifts manifold His pylsion sceptre/ his wings/ and his harp If thou have all these/ thou mayst grathly carp And over all these/ give the shall Mercury The knot of Hercules enlaced craftily. ¶ Codrus. ¶ Lord god Mynalcas/ why hast thou all this pain This wise to forge/ so many words in vain. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ That vain thou countest/ which may hurt or enlesse Thy loved treasure/ or minish thy richesses If thou wilt hearken/ or here my musessing Refress he my mind with comfort and liking rid me fro troubles and care of business comfort my courage/ which now is comfortless A clerk a poet/ combined with a boy To haunt the muses/ hath but little joy The wit and reason/ is dull or of valour Like as the body/ is called to honour Whau busy charges/ causeth a man to groan The wit than slombreth/ and muses all be gone A ditty will have/ mind quiet and respite And case of stomach/ else can none weal indite I sigh/ I slumber: care troubleth oft my thought When some by malice/ mine art setteth at nought I heule as a kite/ for hunger and for cold For thought and study/ my youth apaereth old My skin hath wrinkles and pomples all about For cold and study/ I dread me of the gout When sickness cometh/ than life hath brevity By false unkindness/ and wretched poverty If men were loving/ benign/ and chartable Than were poverty/ both good and tolerable But sith charity and pity both be gone What should poverty remain behind alone No man hath pity/ each deigneth me to feed I lost have comfort/ but still remaineth need I have no wethers nor ewes in my fold No silver in purse/ I know not what is gold Nor corn on the ground/ have I whereon to far Than would thou have me to live void of care Nay nay friend Codrus/ trust me I the assure Such manner salves/ can not my dolour cure Make thou me jocund/ help me with cloth & food Cloth me for winter/ with pylt●he/ felt/ & hood Avoid all charges/ let me sit in my cell Let worldly wretches/ with worldly matters mell succour my age/ regard my hairs grey Than shake thou prove/ & see what thing I may Than shalt thou find me/ both apt to write & sing Good will shall fulfil/ my scarceness of cunning A plentiful house out chaseth thought and care Sojourn doth succour there/ where allthing is bare The cellar couched with bear/ ale/ or wine And meats ready when man hath lust to dine Great barns full/ fat wethers in the fold The purse well stuffed/ both with silver & gold Favour of friends/ and such as loveth right All these and other do make the full light Than is it pleasure the young maidens among To watch by the fire/ the winter nights long At their fond tales/ to laugh or when they brawl Great fire and candle/ spending for labour small And in the ashes/ some plays for to make To cover wardens/ for fault of other work To tossed white shivers/ and to make prophytrolles And after talking/ oft-times to fill the bowls Where wealth aboundeth/ without rebuke or crime Thus do some herds/ for pleasure and pastime As fame reporteth/ such a shepherd there was Which that time lived under Maecenas And Tityrus I trow/ was this shepherds name I weal remember/ a live yet is his fame He sung of fields/ and tilling of the ground Of sheep/ of oren/ and battle died he sound So shirle he sounded/ in terms eloquent I trow his tunes/ went to the firmament The same Maecenas/ to him was free and kind Whose large gifts/ gave comfort to his mind Also this Shepherd by heavenly influence I trow obtained his peerless eloquence We other shepherds/ be greatly different Of comen sorts/ lean/ ragged and rend Fed with rude frowyse/ with quacham or with crud Or slimy kempes/ ill smelling of the mud Such rusty meats enblyndeth so our brain That of our favour/ the Muses have disdain And great Apollo/ despiseth that we writ For why? rude wits/ but rudely doth indite. ¶ Codrus. ¶ I trust on fortune/ if it be favourable My trust fulfilling/ than shall I weal be able Thy need to succour/ I hope after a thing And if fortune fall weal after my liking Trust me Mynalcas/ I shall deliver the Out of this trouble/ care/ and calamity. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ A Codrus Codrus/ I would to god thy will Were this time ready/ thy promise to fulfil After the power/ and might that thou hast now Thou hast enough for both man/ god avow If thy good mind/ according with thy might At this time present/ thou should my heart we'll light I ask not the store/ of Cosmus or capel With silken robes/ I covet not to mell No kings dishes/ I covet nor desire Nor rich mantles/ or palles wrought in tire No cloth of gold/ of tissue nor velvet Damask nor saten/ nor orient Scarlet I ask no value of Peter's costly cope Shield of Mynerua/ nor patyn of Esope I ask no palace/ nor lodging curious No bed of state/ of raiment sumptuous For this I learned of the dean of Paul's I tell the Codrus this man hath won some souls I ask no treasure/ nor store of worldly good But a quiet life/ and only cloth and food With homely lodging/ to keep me warm and dry enduring my life/ for forth no more ask I If I were certain this living still to have Avoid of trouble/ no more of god I crave. ¶ Codrus. ¶ This living hast thou/ what needs the complain? Nothing thou wantest/ which may thy life sustain What feel man pard/ thy cheeks be not thin No lack of victual/ causeth a double chin ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ Some be'st is lusty/ and fat of his nature Though he sore labour/ and go in bad pasture And some be'st again/ still lean and poor is seen Though it fatly far/ within a meadow green Though thou Codrus/ still argue till to morrow I lick no dishes/ which sauced is with sorrow Better one small dish/ with joy and heart liking Than divers denties with murmur & grudging And men unlearned/ can never be content When scholars common/ and clerks be present As soon as clerks/ begin to talk and chat Some other gloumes/ and hath envy thereat It is a torment a clerk to sit at board Of his learning/ not for to talk one word Better were to be with clerks with a crust Than at such tables/ to fare at will and lust Let me have the board of old Pythagoras Which of temperance a very father was Of philosophers the moderate richesse In youth or age/ I loved never excess Some boast and promise/ and put men in comfort Of large gifts/ most men be of this sort With mouth and promise for to be liberal When need requireth/ than give they nought at all All only in the is fired all my trust If thou fail promise/ than roll I in the dust My hope is faded/ than shall my song be dom Like a nightingale at the solsticium If thou fail promise my comfort clean is lost Than may I hang my pipe upon the post Shytte thy shop windows for lack of ambergris Or else for because/ that easy is the price ¶ Codrus. ¶ Mynalcas/ if thou the court of Rome hast seen With forked caps/ or else if thou hast been Or noble prelate's by richesses excellent Thou weal parceyvest/ they be magnifycent With them be clerks/ and pleasant orators And many poets promoted to honours There is abundance of all that men desire There men have honour/ before they it require In such fair fields/ without labour or pain Both wealth and richesses/ thou mayst lightly obtain ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ Thou art abused and thinkest wrong doubtless To think that I am desirous of richesse To feed on raw flesh/ it is a wolves guise Wherefore he weeneth all beasts do like wise Because the blind man/ halteth and is lame In mind he thinketh/ that all men do the same So for that thyself/ desirest good in store All men thou iugest/ infected with like sore Codrus/ I covet not to have abundance Small thing me pleaseth I ask but suffisance Grant me a living sufficient and small And void of troubles/ I ask no more at all But with that little/ I hold myself content If sauce of sorrow my mind not torment Of the court of Rome/ for sooth I have herd tell With forked caps/ it folly is to mell Mycenae and Morton/ be deed and gone certain They nor their like shall never return again O Codrus Codrus/ Augustus and Edward Be gone for ever/ our fortune is more hard The scarlet robes/ in song hath small delight What should I travail/ in Rome is no profit It giveth mocks and scorns many fold Still cratching coin/ and gaping after gold Fraunde and deceit/ doth all the world fill And money reigneth/ and doth allthing at will And for that people/ would more intend to guile Virtue and truth/ be driven into exile We are commanded to trust for time to come Till care and sorrow/ hath wasted our wisdom Hope of reward/ hath poets them to feed Now in the world/ fair words be their meed. ¶ Codrus. ¶ Than write of battles/ or acts of men bold Or mighty princes/ they may the weal uphold These worthy rulers of fame and name royal Of very reason ought to be liberal Some shalt thou find between this place and Kent Which for thy labour/ shall the ●yghtwell content. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ ye/ some shall I find: which be so prodigal That in vain things spend/ & clean wasteth all But how should that man/ my poverty sustain Which nought reserveth his honour to maintain. For ancient blood/ nor ancient honour In these our days/ be nought without treasure The coin advanceth/ need doth the name deject And where is treasure/ old honour hath effect But such as be rich and in promotion Shall have my writing but in derision For in this season great men of exellence Hath to poemies no greater reverence Than to a brothel or else a brothelshous Mad ignorance is so courageous. ¶ Codrus. ¶ It is not seeming/ a poet thus to jest In wrathful speech/ nor words dishonest. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ It is no jesting be thou never so wroth In open language to say nothing but truth If peraventure/ thou would have truth kept still Provoke thou not me/ to anger at thy will When wrath is moved/ than reason hath no might The tongue forgetteth discretion and right ¶ Codrus. ¶ To move thy minds/ I truly were full loath To give good counsel is far from being wroth. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ As touching counsel my mind is plentiful But need and troubles/ make all my reason dull If I had counsel and gold in like plenty I tell the Codrus/ I had no need of the How should a poet/ poor/ bare/ and indigent endite the acts/ of prince's excellent While scant is worth/ a knife his pipe to mend To round the holles/ to cleanse or pike the end Behold my whittell/ almost hath lost the blade So long time past/ is sith the same was made The haft is bruised/ the blade not worth a straw Rusty and tothed/ not moche unlike a saw But touching this hurt/ it is but light and small But care and trouble/ is grievous pain withal Good counsel helpeth/ making the wits stable Ill counsel maketh/ the minds variable And breaketh the brain/ deminysshing the strength And all the reason/ confoundeth at the length Great men are shamed/ to give thing poor or small And great they deny/ thus give they nought at all Beside this Codrus/ princes and men royal In our enditynge/ hath pleasure faint and small So moche power have they/ with men of might As simple doves/ when eagles take their flight Or as great winds/ careth for leaves dry They live in pleasure/ and wealth continually In lust their liking is/ and in idleness Few have their minds/ from all vicyousnesse Pleasure is thing/ whereto they must intend That they most cheriss he/ they would have men concende If poets should/ their manners magnify They were supporters of blame and lechery Than should their writing/ be nothing commendable Containing jests/ and deeds detestable Of stinking Venus'/ or love inordynate Of rybaude words/ which fall not for a state Of right oppressed/ and beestly gluttony Of vice advanced/ of sloth and injury And other deeds/ in fame and worthy blame Which were over long/ hear to recount or name These to commend/ Codrus do not agree To any poet/ which loveth chastity. ¶ Codrus. What/ yes Mynalcas/ some have been strong & bold Which have in battle/ done acts manifold With mighty courage/ having them in fight And boldly biding/ for to maintain the right To the could I now/ rehearse well near ascore Of lust nor richesse/ setting no force ne store Despising soft gold/ sweet far/ and beds soft Which in cold harness/ lie on the ground full oft Closed in iron/ which when their wounds bleed Want breed and drink/ them to restore and feed While some hath pleasure/ in soft gold orient With cold hard iron/ their mind is well content such were the sons/ of noble lord Hawarde Whose famous acts/ may shame a faint coward What could they more/ but their sweet lives spend Their princes quarrel/ and right for to defend Alas that battle/ should be of that rigour When fame and honour/ riseth and is in flower With sudden furor/ than all to quence again But boldest hearts/ be nearest death certain. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ For certain Codrus/ I can not that deny But some in battle/ behave them manfully Such as in battle/ do acts martial Laud worthy poets/ and style heroical The pleasant muses/ which soundeth gravity Had help and favour/ while these were in degree But sith strong knights/ have left their exercise And manly virtue/ corrupted is with vice The famous poets/ which ornatly indite Have found no matter/ whereof to sing or write The wit thus dieth/ of poets ancient So doth their writing/ and deties eloquent For lack of custom/ thought/ care/ and penury These be confounders/ of pleasant poesy But if some prince/ some king/ or conqueror Hath won in arms/ or battle great honour Full little they force/ for to delate their fame That other realms/ may laud or praise their name Of time for to come/ they force nothing at all By fame and honour/ to live as immortal It them sufficeth/ they count enough truly That their own realms/ their names magnify And that for their life/ they may have laud & fame After their death/ than seek they for no name And some be untaught and learned no science Or else they disdain/ high style of eloquence Than standeth the poet/ and his poem arere When princes disdain for to read or here Or else some other/ is drowned all in gold By covetise kept/ in cures many fold By flagrant ardour/ inflamed in such cas As in time past the old king Midas was Than of poems/ full small pleasure hath he covetise and clergy/ full lewdly doth agree Beside this Codrus/ with princes commonly Be untaught courters/ fulfilled with envy Jugglers and pykers/ bourders/ and flatrers' Bawds and janglers/ and cursed adulterers And more such other/ of living vicious To whom is virtue/ adverse and odious These do good poets/ forth of all courts chase By thousand manners/ of threatening and menace Sometime by frauds/ sometime by ill report And them assysteh/ all other of their sort Like as when curs/ light on a carrion Or stinking ravyns/ fed with corruption These two all other/ away doth beat and chase Because they alone/ would occupy the place For unto curs/ is carrion most meet And also ravyns/ think stinking things sweet Another thing yet/ is greatly more damnable Of rascolde poets/ yet is a shameful rabble Which void of wisdom/ presumeth to indite Though they have scantly/ the cunning of a snyte And to what vices/ that princes most intend Those dare these fools/ solemnyse and commend Than is he decked/ as poet laureate When stinking Thays/ made him her graduate When muses rested/ she died her season note And she with Bacchis/ her camous died promote Such rascolde drams/ promoted by Thays Bacchis Lycoris/ or yet by Testilies Or by such other/ new forged muses nine Think in their minds/ for to have wit divine They laud their verses/ they boast/ they vaunt & get Though all their cunning/ be scantly worth a pet If they have smelled/ the art's trinycall They count them poets/ high and heroical such is their folly/ so foolishly they dote Thinking that none/ can their plain error note yet be they foolish/ avoid of honest Nothing seasoned/ with spice of gravity Avoid of pleasure/ avoid of eloquence With many words/ and fruitless of sentence Unapt to learn/ disdaining to be taught Their private pleasure/ in snare so have them caught And worst yet of all/ they count them excellent Though they be fruitless/ rash & improvident To such ambages/ who doth their mind incline They count all other/ as private of doctrine And that the faults/ which be in them alone Also be comen/ in other men eachone Thus bide good poets/ offtime rebuke and blame Because of other/ which have despised name And thus for the bad/ the good be clean abject Their art and poem/ counted of none effect Who wanteth reason/ good to describe from ill Doth worthy writers/ interpret at his will So both the laudes/ of good and not laudable For lack of knowledge/ become vituperable. ¶ Codrus. ¶ In faith Mynalcas/ I we'll allow thy wit yet would I gladly/ hear now some merry fit Of maid Maryon/ or else of Roby hood Or bentleys Ale which chaseth weal the blood Of Pert of Norwyche/ or sauce of Wylberton Or buckysshe jolly/ we'll stuffed as a ton Talk of the bottle/ let go the book for now Cumbrous is cunning/ I make to god avow Speke of some mat/ which may refresh my brain Trust me Mynalcas/ I shall reward thy pain Else talk of stoutney/ where is more brain than wit Place most abused/ that we have spoke of yet. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ Of all these things/ language to multiply Except I lied/ should be but villainy It is not seeming/ a poet one to blame All if his honour/ have won defamed name And though such beasts/ pursue me with envy Malgre for malice/ that payment I defy My master teacheth/ so doth reason and skill That man should restore/ and render good for ill ¶ Codrus. ¶ Than talk of somewhat/ lo it is long to night yet hath the son/ more than one hour of light ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ if I nought common/ sounding to gravity I fear to obtain/ but small reward of the But if I common of vice or wantonness Than of our lord/ shall my reward be less Wherefore my hand/ shall have conclusion Of fruitful clauses/ of noble Solomon. ¶ Codrus. ¶ Sing on Mynalcas/ he may do little thing Which to a ballad/ disdaineth the hearing But if thy ditty/ accord not to my mind Than my reward/ and promise is behind By man's manners/ it lightly doth appear What men desireth/ that love they for to hear ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ Though in thy promise/ I find no certente yet of my cunning/ shalt thou have part of me I call no muses/ to give to me doctrine But aid & comfort/ of strength & might divine To clear my reason/ with wisdom and prudence To sing one ballad/ extract of sapience. AS meadows painted/ with flowers redolent The sight rejoiceth/ of such as then behold So man endued/ with virtue excellent Fragrantly shineth/ with beams many fold Virtue with wisdom/ exceedeth store of gold If richesses abound/ set not on them thy trust When strength is sturdy/ than man is part & bold But wit & wisdom soon layeth him in the dust. Than man is beestly/ which seweth carnal lust Spend not on women/ thy richesses or substance For lack of using/ as steel or iron rust So rusteth reason/ by wilful ignorance In fraudefull beauty/ set thou but small pleasance A pleasant apple/ is oft corrupt within Ground the in youth/ on goodly governance It is good token/ when man doth we'll begin. joy not in malice/ that is a mortal sin Man is perceived/ by language and doctrine Better is to lose/ than wrongfully to win He loveth wisdom/ which loveth discipline Rass he enterprises/ oft bringeth to ruin A man may contend/ god giveth victory Set never thy mind/ on thing which is not thine Trust not in honour all wealth is transitory. Combyne thou thy tongue/ with reason and memory Speke not to hasty/ without advisement So live in this life/ that thou mayst trust on glory Which is not caduke/ but lasting parmanent There is no secret/ with people vyvolent By beestly surfeit/ the life is brevyate Though some have pleasure/ in sumptuous garment yet goodly manners/ him maketh more ornate. ¶ Codrus. ¶ Ho there Myaclas/ of this have we enough What should a plouman/ go farther than his plough What should a shepherd/ in wisdom wade so far Talk of his tankard/ or of his box of tar Tell somewhat else/ wherein is more comfort So shall the season/ and time seem light & short ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ For thou of hayward/ now lately died recite I have a ditty/ which Cornir died indite His death complaining/ but it is lamentable To here a captain/ so good and honourable So soon withdrawn by deaths cruelty Before his virtue/ was at most high degree If death for reason/ had showed him favour To all his nation/ he should have been honour Alas/ bold hearts/ be nearest death in war When out of danger/ cowards stand a far. ¶ Codrus. ¶ All if that ditye/ be never so lamentable Refrain my tears/ I shall as I am able Begin Mynalcas/ tell of the bold hayward If fortune favour/ hope after some reward. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ I pray the Codrus/ my whey is week and thine Len me thy bottle/ to drink or I begin. ¶ Codrus. ¶ If ought be tasted/ the remnant shall pall I may not afore thee/ now for to spend out all We sit in shadow/ the son is not fervent Call for it after/ than I shall be content. ¶ Mynalcas. ¶ Still thou desirest/ the pleasure of my art But of thy bottle/ nought wilt thou yet depart Though thou be negarde/ & nought wilt give of thine yet this one time/ thou shalt have part of mine Now hearken Codrus/ I tell mine elegy But small is the pleasure/ of doleful armony. ¶ The description of the tower of Virtue and Honour/ in to which the noble hayward contended to enter/ by worthy acts of chivalry. ¶ Mynalcas speaketh. High on a mountain/ of highness marvelous With pendant cliffs/ of stones hard as flent Is made a castle/ or tour most curious dreadful unto sight/ but inward excellent such as would enter/ find paynes-tourment So hard is the way/ unto the same mountain Straight/ high/ and thorny/ turning and different That many labour/ for to ascend in vain. Who doth persever/ and to this tour attain Shall have great pleasure/ to see the building old Joined and graved/ surmounting man's brain And all the walls within of finest gold With old histories/ and pictures manifold Glistering as bright/ as Phoebus' orient With marble pillars/ the building to uphold About the turrettes/ of shape most excellent. This tour is gotten/ by labour diligent In it remaineth/ such as have won honour By holy living/ by strength or tournament And most by wisdom/ attain unto this tour briefly all people/ of godly behaviour By rightwise battle/ justice and equity Or that in mercy/ have had a chief pleasure In it have rooms/ each after his degree This goodly castle/ thus shining in beauty Is named castle/ of virtue and honour In it eight Henry/ is in his majesty most high enhanced/ as aught a conqueror In it remaineth the worthy governor A stock and fountain/ of noble progeny most noble haward/ the duke and protector Named of Norfolk/ the flower of chivalry. Here is the Talbot/ manful and hardy With other princes/ and men of dignity Which to win honour doth all their might apply Supporting justice/ concord/ and equity The manly Corson/ within this tour I see These have we seen/ eachone in his estate With many other/ of high and mean degree For mercy all acts/ with crowns laureate. Of this strong castle/ is porter at the gate Strong sturdy labour/ moche like a champion But goodly virtue/ a lady most ornate Within governeth/ with great provision But of this castle/ in the most highest throne Is honour shining/ in room imperial Which unrewarded/ of them leaveth not one That come by labour/ and virtue principal. fearful is labour/ without favour at all dreadful of visage/ a monster untretable Like Cerberus' lying/ at gates infernal To some men his look/ is half intolerable His shoulders large/ for burden strong and able His body bristled/ his neck mighty and stiff By sturdy sinews/ his joints strong and stable Like marble stones/ his hands be as stiff. Here must man vanquish/ the dragon of Cadmus Again the Chymer/ here stoutly must he ●ight Here must he vanquish/ the fearful Pegasus For the golden fleece/ here must he show his might If labour gainsay/ he can nothing be right This monster labour/ oft changeth his figure Sometime an o'er/ abore/ or lion wight Plainly he seemeth/ thus changing his nature. Like as Protheus/ oft changed his stature Mutable of figure/ oft-times in one hour When Aristeus/ in bonds had hymsure To divers figures like wise changeth labour Under his brows he dreadfully do the lour With glistering eyen/ and side dependent beard For thirst and hunger/ always his cheer is sour His horned forehead/ doth make faint hertis feared. Always he drinketh/ and yet always is dry The sweat distilling/ worth drops abundant His breast and forheed/ doth humour multiply By sweating showers/ yet is this pain pleasant Of day and of night/ his resting time is scant No day overpasseth/ erempt of busyncsse His sight informeth/ the rude and ignorant Who dare persever/ he giveth them richesse. None he advanceth/ but after steadfastness Of little burden/ his belly is and small His mighty thighs/ his vigour doth express His shanks sturdy/ and large feet withal By wrath he rageth/ and still doth chide & brawl Such as would enter/ repelling with his cry As well estates/ as homely men rural At the first enter/ he threateneth yrefully. I trow old father's/ whom men now magnify Called this monster/ Mynerua stout and sour For strength and sinews/ of man most commonly Are tame and feebled/ by cures and labour Like as becometh/ a knight to fortify His prince's quarrel/ with right and equity So died this hayward/ with courage valtantly Tylldethe abated/ his bold audacity. O happy Samson/ more fortunate than he Only in strength/ but not in high courage O cruel fortune/ why durst thy cruelty This flower of knighthood/ to slay in lusty age Thou hast debated/ the flower of his lineage If thou had mercy/ be wail his death thou might For cruel loins/ and more beasts savage Long time not cess/ sore to be wail this knight O death thou hast done/ against both law & right To spare a coward/ without danger or wound And thus soon to quench/ of chivalry the light O death envious/ most enemy to our ground What most availeth/ thou soonest dost confound Why died not virtue/ assist her champion Thou might have aided/ for soothly thou was bound For during his life/ he loved the alone. O god almighty/ in thy eternal throne To whom all virtue/ is dear and acceptable If reason suffered/ to the our cry and moon This deed might impute/ and fortune lamentable Thou might have left us/ this knight most honourable Our wealth & honour/ to have kept in degree Alas why hath death/ so false and deceivable Mankind to torment/ this will and liberty. It quencheth virtue/ sparing iniquity The best it striketh/ of bad having disdain No help nor comfort/ hath our adversity death daily striketh/ though we daily complain To treat a tyrant/ it is but thing in vain meekness provoketh/ his wrath & tyranny So at our prayer/ death hath the more disdain We do by meekness/ his furor multiply. If some fell tyrant/ replete with villainy Should thus have ending/ the deed were commendable But a stout captain/ disposed to mercy So soon thus faded/ the case lamentable Was he not humble/ jocund and companable No man despising/ and first in all labour rightwise with mercy/ debollaire and treatable Mate and companion/ with every soldier. Vice he subdued/ by goodly behaviour Like as a rider/ doth a wild stead subdue His body subject/ his soul was governor From vice withdrawn/ to goodness and virtue When pride rebelled/ meekness died eschew Fre mind and alms/ subdued avarice Always he noted/ this saying just and true That noble minds/ despiseth covetise. His death declareth/ that sloth he died espyse By hardy courage/ as first in jeopardy All way he used/ some noble exercise such as belongeth/ to noble chivalry In him was there found/ no sparkle of envy Always he lauded/ and praised worthiness Such as were doughty/ rewarding largely Wrath save in season/ he wisely could repress. Of wine or Bacchus/ despised he excess For minds kindled to acts mercial Seeking for honour/ and name of doughtiness despiseth surfeit/ and living beestyall In him no power/ had lust veneryall For busy labour/ and pleasant abstinence All corporal lust/ soon causeth for to fall No lust subdueth/ where reigneth diligence He was a pillar/ of sober continence His only treasure/ and iowell was good name But O cursed death/ thy wrathful vyolnece By stroke unwarned/ half blinded of his fame Who may I accuse? who may I put in blame? God for death/ or fortune/ or impotent nature God doth his pleasure/ & death will have the same Nature was mighty/ long able to endure. In fortune the fault is/ hold now am I sure I would if I durst/ his tyranny accuse O cursed fortune/ if thou be creature Who gave the power/ thus people to abuse Thy mutable might/ me causeth oft to muse When man is plunged/ in dolour and distress Thy face thou changest/ which died erst refuse By sudden chances/ him lifting to richesse. And such as long time/ have lived in nobles Anon thou plungest/ in pain and poverty wealth/ honour/ strength/ right/ justice/ & goodness Misery/ dolour/ low room/ and iniquity These thou rewardest/ like as it pleaseth the To man's merit/ without respect at all One this day being/ in great authority Again to morrow/ thou causest for to fall. When man is worthy/ a room imperial On him thou gloumest/ with froward countenance Weyke is thy promise/ revolving as a ball Thou hast no favour/ to godly governance No man by merit/ thou usest to advance O blinded fortune/ offtime infortunate When man the trusteth/ than falleth some mischance Unwarely changing/ his fortune and estate. Tell me frail fortune/ why died thou brevyate The living season/ of such a captain That when his acts ought to be laureate Thy favour turned/ him suffering to be slain I blame the fortune/ and the excuse again For though thy favour/ to him was rigorous such is thy custom/ for to be uncertain And namely when man/ is high and glorious. But most worthy duke/ high and victorious Respyre to comfort/ se the uncertainty Of other princes/ whose fortune prosperous Of time hath ended/ in hard adversity Reed of Pompeius/ whose peerless dignity Again great Cesar/ died wealth of Rome defend Whom after fortune/ brought in captivity That he in Egypt/ was heeded at the end. In likewise caesar/ which died with him contend When all the world/ to him was subyngate From his high honour/ died suddenly descend Murdered in Rome/ by chance infortunate Cato an Seneke/ with Tully Rewreate These and more like/ for all their sapience Hath proved fortune/ sore blinding their estate By wrongful slanders/ and deadly violence. To poor and rich/ it hath no difference Old Polycraces/ supposing peril passed With death dishonest/ ended his exellence Great Alexander by fortune/ was down cast One draft of poison him filled at the last Whom all the world/ erst could not sacyate What is all honour/ and power but a blast? When fortune threateneth/ the life to brevyate Behold on Pyrrus/ the king infortunate With a small stone/ deed prostrate on the ground See ualerian brought down from his estate From his empire/ in Percy thrall and bound Of old Priamus'/ it is in writing found How he by▪ Pyrrus/ was in his paleis slain Paris and Hector/ received mortal wound To trust in fortune/ it is a thing in vain. The mighty Cyrus/ a king of realms twain Was slain & his host/ of Thomyrus the queen Thus is no matter/ of fortune to complain All that new falleth/ of old time hath been seen This shallbe/ this is/ and this hath ever been That bold hearts/ be nearest jeopardy To die in battle/ is honour as men ween To such as have joy/ in haunting chivalry. Such famous ending/ the name doth magnify Note worthy duke/ no cause is to complain His life not ended/ foul nor dishonestly In bed nor tavern/ his lusts to meyntayne But like as beseemed/ a noble captain In sturdy harness/ he died for the right From deaths danger/ no man may fly certain But such death is meetest/ unto a noble knight. But death it to call/ me think it is unright scythe his worthy name/ shall last perpetual To all his nation/ example and clear light But to his progeny/ most specially of all His soul is in pleasure/ of glory eternal So duke most doughty/ joy may that noble tree Whose branches honour/ shall never fade ne fall While be'st is in earth/ or fishes in the see. Lo Codrus/ I here have told the by and by Of shepherd Cornir/ the woeful elegy Wherein he mourned/ the grievous pain and hard And last departing/ of noble lord Hawarde