Barleybreak, OR, A Warning for Wantoness, Written by W. N. Gent.  AUT NUNC AUT N●●●●AM.  printer's device of Simon Stafford 
Printed at London by Simon Stafford, dwelling in the Cloth-fayre, near the red Lion, 1607.   

TO THE VIRTUOUS AND chaste Maiden, Mistress Eliz. G. daughter to the Worshipful Rob. C. Esquire, yours in service W.N. wisheth all fortune's smiles, with the dew of immortal felicity.  
IT is not unknown (right virtuous) amongst the wise, the silly Oaten pipe, wound by a rural Shepherd, under a shadowing Hawthorne, sprouting on a champion mountain, hath been as highly esteemed, as the curious strained Lute, sounded by the cunning Musician in the richest chamber of the Court of the most potentate Princes, and that a silly branch reft from an Olive tree, hath been as acceptable, as the most precious pearl dragged from the sands of the Ocean. Then, seeing the zeal lieth not in the gift, but in the giver: I shall entreat you as gratefully to accept this my Treatise, as I deliver it, not for the worth, but as a testimony of the zeal and duty from me belonging, which so long time I have studied how to manifest. And thus hoping there shall be nothing herein construed contrary to my simple meaning, neither my presumption held in disdain, I end, though not forgetting my bounden duty to your Worshipful Parent and my very good friend, to whom if this my Pamphlet may cause mirth, as an Arbour test, it hath his desire, and my hopes accomplished.   



Then one in others rights would not intrude,  
But each lamented at his neighbour's pain:  
None gave a cause to sue or to besu'de,  
The weight of conscience wanted not a grain.   

By pleasant springs the young and youthful sort  
Would sit and talk of their unfeigned love,  
Whose simple truth would in a word report  
More faith and zeal, then in an age we prove.   

Why, Parents than would let their children go  
To plays and revels both by night and day;  
Where now they dread & fear their overthrow:  
For rape and murder lurk in every way.   

A Shepherd then secure might lie and sleep,  
Having a care his victual were not stole  
By Wolves and Curs that in the hillocks keep,  
And range abroad, while Somnus gains the goal.   

Thus would he fill his daughter with a sound,  
Whilst she poor girl did see her mates at play:  
His words again might very well rebound:  
For why, her mind was fixed another way.   

But on a time the Lads and Lasses came,  
Entreating Elpin that she might go play.  
He said she should (Euphema was her name)  
And then denies: yet needs she must away.   

To Barleybreak they roundly then began fall:  
Raimon, Euphema had unto his mate:  
For by a lot he won her from them all:  
Wherefore young Streton doth his fortune hate.   

But yet ere long he ran and caught her out,  
And on the back a gentle fall he gave her.  
It is a fault which jealous eyes spy out,  
A maid to kiss before her jealous father.   

Old Elpin smiles, but yet he frets within.  
Euphema faith, she was unjustly cast.  
She strives, he holds, his hand goes out, and in:  
She cries, Away, and yet she holds him fast,   

Till sentence given by an other maid,  
That she was caught according to the law:  
The voice whereof this civil quarrel stayed,  
And to his make each lusty lad began draw.   

Euphema now with Streton is in hell:  
(For so the middle room is always called)  
He would for ever, if he might, there dwell;  
He holds it bliss with her to be enthralled.   

The other run, and in their running change:  
Streton began catch, and then let go his hold,  
Euphema, like a do, doth swiftly range,  
Yet taketh none, although full well she could,   

And winks on Streton, he on her began smile,  
And feign would whisper something in her ear.  
She knew his mind, and bid him use a wile,  
As she ran by him, so that none did hear.   

Some other pastimes than they would begin;  
And to look hands one doth them all assummon.  
Variety is good in every thing,  
Excepting only Gods and earthly women.   

Then hand in hand they make a circle round,  
And with a napkin one must go about,  
And look behind what lad, this same is found,  
Mu●● 〈◊〉 to 〈◊〉 her that so marked him out.   

Where we will leave them to their feast, and bed,  
Whichatter supper they intend to see,  
And treat of Crotchets now in Stretons' head,  
Upon the mountains restless wanders he.   

His sheep, for him, might all at riot run,  
And told themselves, or else do what they would:  
He tears no woe, he dreads no loss to come,  
The Shepherdess hath all his thoughts in hold:   

His study is, which way he might contrive  
A place and time, where they might fit confer,  
And how he might a cause sufficient give,  
To make his love and passion known to her.   

One while he thinks to send his grief in time,  
And therein praise her cruel conquering eyes:  
But then he fears she will some error find:  
For she was fair, and therewith passing wise.   

Then thinks he on what words he should depend,  
If he should hap to find a time and place:  
One was too mean, another to no end;  
This word obscure, and that was too too base.   

In the conclusion, he doth beat his brain,  
When through the matter he hath swiftly run:  
Then all atresh begin doth he again,  
As far to seek as when he first begun.   

Much like unto a Player on a stage,  
When he forgets the thing that he should do,  
As one distracted doth exit in a rage,  
That feign would act, but yet he knows not how.   

Perplexed thus, he spends the silent night,  
Until Aurora with a blushing red,  
Comes as a Herald to proclaim the light  
Of heavens bright taper rising from his bed.   

And then e'er long, he might afar perceive  
Old elpin's dog come driving of the flock;  
Whereat the champion mountains he began leave,  
And by the way he shrouds behind a rock,   

Where he might see, and yet might not be seen,  
Old Elpin and his pretty snowy maid,  
Lovingly paceing up alongst the green,  
Unto the mountain, where Bawl for them stayed:   

And to a shade, where they did use to sit,  
(For by this time the Sun was got on high)  
Prepare they did to shun the scorching heat:  
The Ewes began feed, the lambs are frisking by.   

And Elpin now some story will revive,  
To feast the time as it did pass along;  
And from Calisto he doth it derive,  
And jupiter, and of Calistos wrong.   

One tale (quoth he) will steal the day away,  
Whilst that our flock in shadow chew the cud:  
Then of a Nymph my purpose is to say;  
But not of her whom jove bore on the flood,   

Nor yet of her that caught was fetching water,  
Nor yet o● her whom Nessus erst did wrong,  
Nor yet of her whom jason so did flatter,  
Nor of the three that Cacus kept so long:   

Nor of the Queen that Carthage did enclose;  
Nor will I speak of fair Lucrecias rape,  
Ne tell a story of the Albion Rose,  
Nor 10 yet, of Cow that had the shape.   

Whose chaste desires had made her been forlorn  
Of kin and country; and with that doth bring   

Learned examples for the virgin life,  
Whose contemplation highly past all other:  
Not tedious chat, but all in comely brief,  
She craves the goddess leave to live together.   

Who gladly grants, and by the hand her takes,  
And next Calisto kindly doth embrace her.  
For joy whereof Ioues subtle inwards quakes,  
Whose hopes depended wholly to deface her.   

Unto the Cloister, all in seemly ray,  
For to install this new-elected Nun,  
This sacred train with Music take the way,  
Where, with importance every rite is done.   

Look how a Fox, when he intends to take  
A silly lamb, his purpose to obtain,  
Staukes far at first, for fear some dogs awake,  
Then near and near, till he the lamb hath stain.   

So walks fly jove with his Calisto forth,  
A furlong first, the next day three or four,  
Then back again, with tales of note and worth,  
Some fetched from heaven, and some from earth far lower.   

So long at last unto a shadow grove  
They strayed, so far quite out of sound or cry.  
Which thing well noted of dissembling jove,  
Soon sat him down the fair Calisto by;   

As who would say, Let's rest: for walks are weary.  
Where laughing, they clasp either's ivory hands,  
Prove strength of arms, as maids will being merry,  
Clip wrists, draw lots, meat wastes with silken bands.   

And now although the game began in sport,  
The  Nymph rude earnest doth sustain:  
It's vain to strive, or use the woman's art,  
Screek out, or struggle, prayers are but vain.   

jove shows himself, but to Calistos grief,  
He her deflowered, and strait to heaven flies,  
Where he doth kiss Queen juno his jealous wife,  
To blind the escape from her all-watchfull eyes.   

Calisto maid, a maid? nay, there hide,  
The snowy one, who was a maid ere while,  
'tis she (I mean) whose fortunes are descried,  
Lamenting sits, that even now did smile.   

The day was gone, and Phoebus masked his face,  
The antic world is shut in robes of night:  
Yet she poor soul, bewailing still her case,  
Ashamed henceforth to gaze upon the light.   

Yet in the end she doth recall to mind,  
That what was past, no wight the act did know,  
And that close action much the world doth blind.  
All are not maids that virgins are in show.   

Considering this, she wipes her blubbered eyes,  
And charged with fear, she mends her ruffled clothes,  
And for excuse, her wits she doth surprise  
For her delay; so to the Cloister goes,   

As light as ever Nymph or damsel trod:  
No change of fortune may Diana spy;  
No mark is seen of any foil she had;  
Front bolt-upright, she never stepped awry:   

And making there (as wily women can)  
Excuse worth credit for her long delay,   

But wherefore beat I thus the senseless air?  
Why warble I these vain and fruitless words,  
Whilst he relentless Lecher keeps him there,  
Where he's supreme, and pity none affords?   

Why do I not complain unto the gods?  
Calisto, do; let him bear shame with thee:  
Show how he did betray thee to the woods;  
Let juno know how he hath dealt with me.   

Yet, foolish wench, 'tis vain, if so thou think,  
That to thy plaints the gods will credit give:  
No, they will rather at his falsehood wink:  
Thy information they will not believe.   

Like storms on plains, with threats he'll bear thee down.  
A silly lamb a Lion can't defame?  
he'll unto tortures have thee dragged and bound,  
If thou his 'scapes shouldst once detect or name.   

And thus (God wots) do mountains take their freaks,  
But evermore poor molehills bear the blame.  
The Owl may see the haughty Eagle escapes:  
But none durst once accuse him for the same.    


THis said, she spies Diana with her train,  
With course directed to a fountain, where  
The lofty trees cool shadow doth contain,  
Where she did use to wash her body bare.   

Feign would she hide: but Diana she espies,  
And called her, whose hest she doth obey;  
And standing up, she wipes her watery eyes,  
And to the fountain with them takes the way.   

Good God, what 'tis for silly maids to shift,  
When conscience writes some action in the cheek!  
She hangs the head, her eyes she durst not lift  
Up from the ground, the air she did not like.   

The Nymph, that ever by Diana's side  
Went cheek by jowl, bearing a stately port,  
Now lurks behind, not willing to be eyed,  
Biting her lips, as one ashamed in heart.   

Which caused a muttering 'mongst the virgin rout,  
And some supposed she had stepped amiss:  
Her very countenance may dissolve the doubt,  
Her cheek bewrays, that it had caught a kiss.   

But being come unto the silver stream,  
Where naked all attend to wash the Queen,  
Calistos robes no more may hide her shame:  
Ioues subtle freak's apparent to be seen.   

Calistos grief is public to their eyes;  
Her slender hands may not her belly hide.  
The goddess spies, and therewith out she cries,  
Strumpet, avaunt, thy whoredom is descried.   

The Nymphs all shouted: but the sorry one  
On bended knees desires to be heard:  
But hopeless soul, attention had she none.  
For her exile their voices all accord.   

Away she goes, as one expelled from Court,  
And lives in deserts, as a wight forlorn,  
Where, to the world (as ancient fame reports)  
And to her woe, was hairy Arcas borne.   

From whom Arcadia took at first the name,  
The Son of jove, a Satire first became:  
The angry juno, to augment her fame,  
Upon the Nymph a Bearish shape doth frame.   

When Pinks and Cowslips, shall be made a bed,  
Upon whose gentle leaves secure we'll sleep,  
Locked one to other, whilst red lips do wed,  
Environed with arms, breasts sweet kissing meet,   

Cast over with a vale of beautyous lilies,  
Upon which mantle shall curiously be drawn  
A thousand stories by renowned Apelles,  
Where we will see how loving souls do fawn.   

If these delights, with many thousand more,  
May in thy breast move matter of regard,  
Let me no longer thus distressed implore:  
But with a smile my loyal love reward.    


WIth that, he takes her by the ivory hand,  
And silent stands to hear her make reply;  
When that her looks give him to understand,  
That women's thoughts do on such subjects lie.   

And she with silent motion gives consent,  
Not noting once the fraud of golden showers,  
Nor how too late, betrayed maids repent  
Themselves, in suffering men to pluck their flowers,   

But suffers Streton to do what he would:  
Her mind is dancing on this promised pleasure.  
Away will I, (lest Pander prove I should)  
Leaving Euphema to repent by leisure.    


ANd now of Elpin, whom we touched before,  
That home was run, deluded with a wile,  
And viewed his house, his windows and his door,  
Whilst crafty Streton stole his bliss the while.   

And when his eyes, the messengers of joy,  
Had back returned the tidings of no wrong,  
With hems, and sighs, he shakes away annoy,  
And to the deserts began he pace along;   

Where all that day he spends in whoops and calls:  
But from his child the air doth nothing lend,  
When greater dread his trembling heart inthrals,  
Supposing that she had Adonis' end.   

And when the clouds had masked the face of heaven,  
And coal-black shade, the subject of all illness,  
Had full possessed the seat that time had given,  
And in her mantle wrapped up all in stillness,   

He sat him down, girt with extremest woe.  
O, why did Nature such affection breed,  
That parents' eyes with tears should overflow,  
And dim their glasses for their graceless seed?   

For after he with sighs had tolled her knell,  
And cleansed the brook of groans that stayed the flood,  
With wringed hands, Adieu (quoth) he) farewell,  
The only comfort of my withered blood:   

Farewell the face, that dulled the fatal knife,  
Farewell the breast, that heaved out such lays,  
Farewell the shield and target of my life,  
Farewell the whole supporter of my days:   

And welcome thou black mistress of the night,  
In thy sad arms let me always sleep:  
O let me not revive to see the light,  
O let the Sun beneath for ever keep:   

And from the dark and hideous scowling clouds,  
power storms of vengeance on this cursed place;  
Blow Northern blasts, and scatter down these shrouds,  
Ear up the roots from Terras pampered face:   

And therefore show the role of this thy care,  
Show out the burden of thy warbling heart,  
And unto thee I likewise will declare  
As sad a tale in every point and part.   

So may one help another in a strain:  
I'll sigh, whilst thou deliverst out thy grief;  
And thou shalt pity, whilst my part doth rain,  
And meet at last both with a weary life.    


HEreat the other pleased seemed to be,  
And by the hand he Elpin doth invite  
To sit by him, beside an Oaken tree,  
Whose burly branches kept the Cave from light.   

And after they upon a brace of pipes,  
Had many sollum mournful tunes o'errun,  
The scarlet eyes of one the other wipes,  
When elpin's mate his tale he thus begun:    

Stretons' Fathers tale.  

THe cause I moan, is not for any loss,  
If reason might dame Nature's error master:  
But follies bred within the bones of us,  
Stand far without the cure of wisdoms plaster.   

And where affection builds her habitation,  
Admit it be in ne'er so base a soil,  
What counsel can with strongest protestation,  
Withdraw it forth, or ease us of that toil?   

Myself, whom age should bind in Wisdoms lore,  
And through experience tread the path that's best,  
May not refrain from that which makes me sore,  
But love the vulture that doth gnaw my breast.   

A graceless son, an offspring of my blood,  
In whom my youth had stored up his joy,  
To be a comfort when I nothing could,  
Hath stolen my Goats, and packed himself away,   

And ta'en with him a wily wanton maid,  
Euphema hight, whom I this present morn  
Found in his lap, as she asleep was laid,  
Whilst he with flowers did her head adorn,   

And at my showing suddenly arose,  
And in a moment fling out of my sight,  
And hither came (at least I so suppose)  
And in this cave I hoped on them to light.    

elpin's answer to Stretons' Father.  

ENough, enough, toe much: oh, say no more,  
(Quoth weary Elpin) thou hast poisoned me:  
Forbear, forbear to rub me on that sore,  
That inward bleeds, and may not cured be.   

Thy Goats? my girl, hath one fellow stolen;  
Accursed for one, and damned for the other:  
Woe to the day and place where he was borne;  
Shame to his father, and horror to his mother.    

Stretons' Fathers reply.  

CEase, bawling caitiff, I thy words disdain,  
Quoth Stretons' Father, shame be to thyself:  
If she be thine, she is as lewd as mine:  
Then cease to dote so on a wanton elf.  
The father's love the child to ill doth harden,  
When that it stands so public she may view it,  
Whereby presuming on her Father's pardon,  
She jumps so far, till she with shame doth rue it.   

They both are nought, so nought ●et both them run:  
One day they'll wish they had kept parents rules:  
An aged eye can oft see things to come,  
When greener heads account us doting fools.   

Put up thy Pipe; let's get us to our flocks:  
And let them gad, till they repentance catch:  
When Hiems shall upon them shake his locks,  
Their grazing feast will have a wearish tarch.   

When silver showers congeal to hardened hail,  
When pleasant meads convert to marish ground,  
When stately trees of sap their leaves shall fail,  
Or when the wind shall tumble Progne down;   

Then shall we see our Grasshoppers to come,  
And with the words of mercy cloy our ears,  
When foolish we with pity overcome,  
Shall fond shed a thousand pardoning tears.   

Whereat they rose, and sighing took their way  
Unto the mountain where the Shepherds played,  
Where woeful Elpin passed many a day,  
In deep laments for his too careless maid.   

And on a time, as he alone was sat,  
near to a fountain or a lively spring,  
Unto a Pipe made of a ramping Oat,  
With strained voice he loudly thus began sing.    

elpin's Song.  

THe harshie rocks are all to totters rend,  
The frisking lambs have left their wont plays,  
Fair Philomele is dumb and discontent,  
The scowling clouds abridge our sunshine days.   

The seemly Lily hangs her lovely head,  
The Violet dies, with the Carnation white;  
Fair Marigold enfolds no more her seed,  
The frugrant Rose is withered with despite:   

The earth is barren, civility is dumb,  
Our brightest days are foggy, soul, and black:  
O time it is, O time, when wilt thou come,  
And show the Lamb, whose coming many lack?    


ANd ending this, though more he would have sung,  
Had not Euphema to his sight appeared,  
Who at his feet with hands together wrung,  
And womb bewraying what within it beard,   

Lies pleading for remission of her fact,  
With vowed promise to transgress no more,  
Whose sudden fight her Father's life-strings cracked,  
And falling down, he ended his implore.   

Well might she wail: but death his own will keep,  
Well might she rock and shock her Father's corpse:  
Well might she fit her down by him and weep,  
That 'twixt them twain pale death had made divorce.   

Now stands she speechless, choked with inward woe,  
And with her hands her ivory breast doth beat,  
Cursing in heart what brought her hereunto.  
Thus women will, but when it is too late.   

And then on Streton she began loud exclaim,  
Who had forsaken her in this her need,  
Leaning a mark for shame to take her aim.  
The vulgar fruit that springs from wanton seed.    

Euphemas Lamentation.  

WAS I (quoth she) the chief Arcadian maid?  
Was I the wardrobe of my Father's treasure?  
I was, I was: but all's at riot laid.  
My jewel's changed for a fruitless pleasure.   

O, hear I not the birds bewray my fact?  
O, see I not the flocks abhor my sight?  
Behold, behold, the world loathing thy act:  
See how they scorn, who in thee took delight.   

Then look on, you, whom jasons would allure,  
See here the Music of a yielding song:  
Read what it is to build on vows impute.  
The sweetest words contain oft greatest wrong.   

Beauty, without the ornament of honour;  
Is like a Rose whom Spiders have bereft,  
The pure sweet odour time bestowed upon her,  
Loathed of the Bees when honey none is left,   

And pitied as a Dear amongst an herd,  
When he with soil hath all him over-dight,  
Whose company they will not once afford,  
But beat him hence, as loathing such a sight.   

But whereunto do I this breath apply?  
Why draw I thus the pourtract of my fate?  
Why rather do I not despair and die,  
And cancel up my life with honour's date?   

Now that base lust lies public, void of harbour,  
Spreading abroad the ensign of transgression,  
Now virtuous triumphs have forsook the arbour,  
Leaving the seat where shame hath ta'en possession;   

Prepare, vain flesh, you that conspired with shame,  
Open wide your veins to let out wanton streams,  
Resolve, resolve to die. And with the same,  
An armed blade even at her breast she aims.   

Look, how a villain touched with consciences dart,  
When at his feet he lies, whom he would slay,  
Pots forth his hand, and then reputes in heart,  
Now vows to strike, but horror bids him stoy:   

Even so her hand the knife plucks to and fro,  
Fearing to hurt the bosom which it loves,  
Whilst fear and scorn threats each others woe,  
One crying, Stab; the other still reproves.   

Thus standing in suspense 'twixt life and death;  
Death arguing fear, life crying out dishonour:  
When resolution hating loathed breath,  
Confutes pale fear to let in death upon her,   

Then Dido like she pierced the frame of Nature;  
When through the bulwark of her crimson blood,  
Death's roaring cannon spoils the work and feature,  
Breaking the stage whereon lives action stood.   

But what is fate, if we conceive with measure?  
Who bears the badge of fortune, rules not her.  
The deeds of men are void at heavens pleasure:  
Our doom decreed, we cannot mead, nor mar.   

Whilst this her blood the scornful earth embraced,  
Before the set of lives declining sun,  
The caitiff Streton being thither chased  
By Wolves, and Bears, whose force he sought to shun,   

And looking round which way he best might take,  
His eyes did spy this dismal spectacle,  
The sight whereof made joints and sinews shake.  
And as he gazed, behold, a miracle.   

Those savage beasts, whose jaws he sought to fly,  
Had in a moment compassed him about,  
As who would say, Villain, behold her die.  
And therewithal the air and wood throughout   

Did ring and sound with noise of beasts and birds,  
Who at him bayed and stared as at an Owl:  
Kites, Crows, and Buzzards, jays, with wolvish herds,  
Rooks; Pies, and Oopes, and each devouring soul.   

Amongst the rest, a black and filthy bird  
Sat on a skrange, and cries, A rope, a rope.  
Whose ugly voice to Streton plain was heard;  
And seeing hope of life stood past all hope,   

Aloud replies, A rope? why, I have none:  
If die I must, come sunder these my quarters.  
A prating Parrot sitting all alone,  
Him answer makes, Go hang thee in thy garters.   

With that, in haste his garters he puts off.  
A nimble Ape his topman straight will be,  
And hangs up Streton, whilst a Monkey did scoff.  
Crying, Good fruit, good fruit doth bear the tree.   

The Owl forthwith a solemn dirge doth sing:  
With that, the Raven seized upon his eyes.  
His funeral condold, and every thing,  
They left his bones a banquet for the flies.    
FINIS.