MAR-MARTINE,  

I know not why a truth in rhyme set out  
May not as well mar Martin and his mates,  
As shameless lies in prose-books cast about  
Marpriests, & prelate's, and subvert whole states.  
For where truth builds, and lying overthroes,  
One truth in rhyme, is worth ten lies in prose.   

LORDS of our land, and makers of our Laws,  
Long may ye line, Laws many may you make,  
This careful, kind, and country-loving clause,  
As from a faithful friend, vouchsafe to take:  
Martin the merry, who now is Marprelate,  
Will prove mad Martin, and Martin mar-the-state.   

The wind doth first send forth a whistling sound,  
Then ficrce, and fearful, hollow, thundering threats,  
At length it rives the earth, and rends the ground  
And tumbles towns and cities from their seats,  
So he who first did laughing libels send,  
Will at the last procure a wreakefullend.   

Women are wooed to follow men precise  
Young boys without experience hold them Gods,  
Yea some for gain, who are both old and wise:  
Thus merry Martin sets the world at odds.  
The frozen snake for cold that cannot creep  
Restored to strength a stinging stur will keep.   

Let neighbour-nations learn us to beware,  
Let harms at home teach us for to take heed;  
When Brown and barrow have done what they dare  
Their hellish Hidra's heads will spring with speed:  
Such men as Martin caused all these woes:  
This poison still increaseth as it goes.   

Somewhat I heard, and much have I seen  
It were too long to tell your Lordships what:  
Somewhat I know, and somewhat have I been,  
Yet this I say, and this is also flat.  
Bridle the coltish mouth of Malapert  
Or else his hoof will hurt both head and heart.  
Anglia Martinis parce favere malis.   

England was wont by ancient rites,  
To stand and so endure:  
But now new faulkeners make men birds,  
And call us to the lure,  
The painted lure the hawk deceives  
Men find no grapes on painted leans.   

This catching sport will scratching make,  
The quarrel here will grow,  
Twixt hawk and falconer at the last  
Each one will make a show,  
I flew, I caught, the hawk may say,  
The falconer what? I'll have the pray.   

The cleargieman like silly hawk  
Hath flown at Lai-mans' lore  
And now perceives that flying still  
Yet fly he may the more.  
If ought be caught by flight of thine,  
The Laiman saith all must be mine.   

I swooped at fairest both Church and lands  
To lay to Clergy use,  
But Laiman lays, Laiman so called,  
And vows to lay abuse.  
O greedy dirt thy craft I see:  
Be hawk and falconer both for me.   

Is this thy sigh, thy hand devout,  
Turned up with white of eye?  
Thy gape, thy groan? to cousin him  
That sits in heaven so high?  
O greedy dirt, o hellish heart  
Thy cunning coven will make thee smart.   

Poor john and joane are eaten up,  
The country clean forlorn,  
Men turned to sheep, let pecus fight,  
Men cannot long be borne.  
O blessed Prince look well to this,  
'twil shorten soon our country's bliss.   

Abbots were fat & friars frimme,  
The whoresons loved their case,  
Yet standing house by them was kept,  
Which did the poor man please.  
Now much of theirs to them is gone,  
Who having much yet spend they none.   

Thy fly to wood like breeding hawk,  
And leave old neighbours love,  
They perch themselves in sylvan lodge,  
And soar in th'air above.  
There: magpie teacheth them to chat,  
And cuckoo soon doth hit them pat.   

When winter comes our eves lack heat,  
And cast off Adam old,  
And then hot spirits must needs be had,  
To put in heat to cold.  
To towns they go, within a while,  
Look home old Adam. Mark this wile,   

The holy whore no fellow hath,  
The Pruritane is she,  
That midst her prayers sends her eye,  
The purest man to see.  
The purer man, the better grace,  
The clearest hue the cherefulst face.   

Spirit moves her first to wish him well.  
And discipline decayed  
Doth make her seek so far from wood  
To have God's word obeyed.  
I'll tell you plain, the matter is fresh,  
They give in spirit, but end in flesh.   

A displing rod must needs be had.  
Good Martin's say not so:  
This displing rod, will make you nod,  
And cause your heads to grow.  
Get home, keep house, aware towns so pure:  
Their zeal is hot, they'll play you sure.   

When home you come, join faith & love,  
Let priest his portion have,  
Let neighbour's field be as it was,  
Cast off your garments brave.  
Love God and gospel as you ought,  
And let that go, that was il sought.   

Must churches down to maintain pride  
And make your sails to swell?  
Few mighty subjects fit a state:  
A few do very well.  
Crack me this nut, thou gentle blood,  
Whose father was but Robin-hood.   

Shall Prince say no, and peerless men,  
Detest this wrangling brood,  
Who neither Prince, nor peer will know,  
In this their traitorous mood?  
And do they live, and live they still  
Their poisoned cup of gall to fill?   

Martin's farewell, and let's be friends,  
And thank God for his word,  
And Prince and peers, and peace and all  
And skaping foreign sword.  
Yet no man's sword could strike so sore  
As martin's would I'll say no more.   

Thou caitiff kern, uncouth thou art, unkissed thou eke shall be.  
For aiming thus in coverture at Prelatis his in gree.  
Thy spell is borrell, spokis been blunt, thy sconce rude, rustical,  
But to the hecfor fell and fierce, short hornis done eft befall.  
The Sainctis in heavin & earth thou scorn'st, & self thou dost nikname.  
It semis thou wert in bastardy a swad begat with shame.  
In England Sir, tomteltroth is loud plea at every bar  
Why dare thou not then show thy scalp 'gainst clarkis proclaiming war.  
For thy, thou seemis nought else bot lies, & leasings are thy leer,  
No pity 'twere to cut the comb of sick a chanticleer.   

Yclept thou art, as people say, Martin the Marprelat,  
Better the mought thy self benempt, Mar-Queene, Mar-potentat.  
The Kirke of God may call that stour, & eke, that time unblist,  
Sith swains forswonke, & so forswat, moght, say what them list.  
Siker, thou bot a pruid princock thus reeking of thy swink,  
That with thilk ireful taunts & lies to blear men's eyen dost think.  
Now God shield man that wizards all, should dance after thy pipe,  
wha's words been witless, termis been fond, & tongue is hanging ripe.  
Thilk way & trood whilk thou dost suade, is sleep & also tickle,  
To Kesar, King, and people too, the fall war vary much.   

This old said saw, this reed is rife, quha kenneth not this lore,  
Whilk has been taken as a creed of sires that were of yore?  
Seemed sanctity is treachery, and new-fangled religioun,  
Noucht is bot gross knavery, and masters of confusion.  
Quhat zeal were thilk that kings gwerdons, whaes are yclad in clay  
Quhilk they bequeathit to the kirk as monuments for aye,  
Should be so robbed and ransackit, consound to their behests,  
To make new upstart jacks Lordanes, with coin to cram their chests?  
That they whaes fathers were bot kernis, knavis, peasants, clownis, & booris,  
Moght perk as paddocks, lig in soft, & swath their paramoris?   

For thy grand zeal is nought bot that, thou soarest at thilk same:  
Thus han purloining slaves thee made an instrument of shame.  
Like as a gleed is hover to catch her younglings pray,  
To gormandize the chick, or bring the duckling to her bay:  
So sootly thou can pipe to them, they deftly dance to thee  
In roundelay, with stolen pelf to maken mirth and glee.  
while sausily quhaire no escape was thou wouldst all amendit:  
Tholy anointed one herself thy spokis they han offendit.  
Thy zeale's petit (Mass Mar-prelat) God knows, thy purpose evil,  
Thy rowtis been miscreants, & thou a chaplain for the devil.   

Thilk men of eld that han from God the spirit of prophecy,  
Quhilk thou dost reek, did not as thou, speak scoffs and ribaldry.  
Weil lettered clarkis indite their work (quoth Horace) slow & geasoun,  
Bot thou can wise forth buike by buike at every spurt & seasoun.  
For men of literature t'endite so fast, them doth not sit,  
Enaunter in them, as in thee, their pen outrun their wit.  
The shaftiss of fools are soon shot out, bot fro the mark they stray:  
So art thou glib to guibe and taunt, bot rovest all the way.  
Quhen thou hast parbrackt out thy gorge, & shot out all thy arrows,  
See that thou hold thy clack, & hang thy quiver on the gallows.   

For Sovereign Dame Elizabeth, that Lord it long she may,  
(O England) now full eften must thou Pater Noster say.  
And for those mighty Potentatis, thou kenst what they been height,  
The tout-puissant Chevaliers that fend S. Nichols right,  
Else clarkis will soonall be Sir john's, the preistis craft will impair.  
And Dickin, jackin, Tom & Hob, mon sit in Rabbis chair.  
Let Georg & Nicklas check by iol bathe still on cockhorse yode,  
That dignity of priests with thee may han a long abode.  
Else literature money spread her wings, & piercing welkin bright:  
To heaven from whence she did first wend, retire & take her flight.   

O England gem of Europe, angels land,  
Blest for thy gospel, people, prince, and all,   Anglia. 
And all through peace, let martin's understand  
The honey of thy peace, abhor their gall.  
Martin's? what kind of creatures mought those be?  Martinis. 
Birds, beasts, men, Angels, Fiends? Nay worse say we.  
The fiends spoke fair sometimes and honour gave,  
Curse and contempt in all that Martin's have.  Disce. 
England if yet thou art to learn thy spell,  
Learn other things, such doctrine it for bell.  
What favour would these Martin's? Shall I say  Favere. 
As other birds wherewith young children play.  
Let them be cagd, and hempseed be their food  
Hempseed the only meat to feed this brood.  Tuis. 
Disclaim these monsters, take them not for thine  
Hell was their womb, and hell must be their shrine.  

Many would know the holy Ass,  
And who mought Martin been,  
Pluck but the foot-cloth from his back,  
The Ass will soon be seen.   

My Lords, wise wittal Martin's think.  
Your Lordships fly to high:  
Keep on your flight aloft as yet,  
Lest martin's come too nigh.  
For were your wings a little clipped,  
They soon would pluck the rest:  
And then the place too high for you.  
Would be pure Martin's nest.   

What is the grief that most afflicts all Martin's brood?  
Even self-conceit supported with a melancholy mood.  
What are the chiefest points whereon they raise debate?  
No less than changing Princes laws, and altering present state.  
And of what sort are those that to this point are come?  
Of rascals more than others, but of every sort are some.  
What age or learning hath the number of their train?  
Children for age, for learning fools: but fools & boys would reign.  
What pains doth law appoint to put the rest in fear?  
For treason death, but that her grace is loath to be severe.  
Long may she live, and those long may her grace defend:  
That they and other like had thought, ere this t'have brought to end.   

Men ask why Martin's do almsdeeds, and housekeeping defy:  
Their answer is, that housekeeping and alms are popery.   

If any wonder that not only men are pure,  
But women like hypocrisy do also put in ure,  
They use the help of some, that never did them wed:  
And learn to prove such holy dames of martin's in their bed.   

newfangled boys I thought to term the birds of Martin's nest,  
But that I see in getting boys, like men they do their best.   

Well mayst thou mark but never canst thou mar,  
This present state whereat thou so dost storm:  
Nor they that thee uphold to make this jar,  
And would forsooth our English laws deform.  
Then be thou but Marke-prelate as thou art:  
Thou canst not mar though thou wouldst swelled thy heart.   

In Ammon's land pretended Rephaims dwelled,  
That termed themselves Reformers of the state,  
These like Zanzummins, and Deformers dealt,  
Among the people stirring up debate.  
But when their vileness, was espied and known:  
From Ammon's land this giants brood, was thrown.  
Our England, that for unity hath been,  
A glass for Europe, hath such monster's bread,  
That rail at Prelates, and oppugn their Queen,  
Whole common wealths, each beareth in his head.  
These Rephaims, for so the would be deemed:  
Are nothing less, then that they most have seemed,  
Then if we love the government of peace,  
Which true Reformers from above maintain,  
And foreign force could never make it cease,  
Nor these Deformers, can with vices stain:  
First let us find pretended Rephaims rout,  
And like Zanzummins, let us cast them out.   

Martin had much a farther reach, than every man can guess,  
He might have called himself Mar-preest, that hath been somewhat less,  
But seeking all to overthrow, what ever high might be:  
Marprelate he did call himself, a foe to high degree.   

The veriest knaves chief Pruritans, and Martinists are found:  
And why? they say where sin was great, there grace will most abound.   

Now where the father loves the Pope, for private wealth, or gain:  
The son is of an other mind, and follows Martin's train.  
So that in change of churches rites, what ever may be done:  
They will be sure it shall advance, the father, or the son.   

If any marvel at the man, and do desire to see  
The style and phrase of Martin's book: come learn it here of me.   

Hold my cloak boy, I'll have a uling at Martin, O the boor;  
And if his horseplay like him well, of such he shall have store.  
He thus bumfeges his bousing mates, and who is Martin's mate?.  
O that the steale-counters were knoune, chood catch them by the pate:  
Th'unsavoury snuffs first jesting book, though clownish, knavish was:  
But keeping still one style, he proves a sodden headed ass.  
Bear with his ingramnesse a while, his seasoned wainscot face:  
That brought that godly Cobbler cliff, for to disprove his grace.   

But (O) that Godly cobbler cliff, as honest an old lad,  
As Martin (O the libeler) of hangs-by ever had.  
If I berhyme thy worshipnes, as thou beliest thy betters:  
For railing, see which of us two shall be the greatest getters.  
But if in flinging at such states, thy noddle be no slower:  
Thy brother hangman will thee make, be pulled three asses lower.  
Then mend these manners Martin, or in spite of Martin's nose:  
My rhythm shall be as doggerel, as unlearned is thy prose.   

These tinker's terms, and barbers jests first Tarleton on the stage,  
Then Martin in his books of lies, hath put in every page:  
The common sort of simple swads, I can there state but pity:  
That will vouchsafe, ordain to laugh, at libels so unwitty.  
Let Martin think some pen as bad, some head to be as knavish:  
some tongue to be as glib as his, some railing all as lavish,  
And be content: if not, because we know not where to find thee:  
We hope to see thee where deserts of treason have assigned thee.   

Cast of thy cloak and shrine thyself, in cloak-bag, as is meet:  
And leave thy flinging at the priest, as jades do with their feet.  
The Priest must live, the Bishop guide:  
To teach thee how to leave thy pride.   


If Martin die by hangman's hands, as he deserves no less,  
This Epitah must be engraude, his manners to express.   

HERE hangs knave Martin a traitorous Libeler he was  
Enemy pretended but in heart a friend to the 
* This bodg is known to be his own.  Papa,  
Now made meat to the birds that about his carcase are hagling.  
Learn by his example ye rout of Pruritan Asses,  
Not to resist the doings of our most gracious Hester,  
Martin is hanged, o the Master of all Hypocritical hangbies.