¶ A plain and final confutation: Of camels corlyke oblatration.  
YE upright men which loves the light, whose hearts be void of guile:  
condemn no cause till truth be tried, give ear and list a while.  
And mark my tale from point to point, let no word skip unskande:  
And hear them with indifferent ears, and way them as they stand.  
first lay aside affection blind, for truth my cause must plead,  
let neither foe nor feigned friend, this matter judge nor read.  
And then I trust to clear myself, and Camel clean confound:  
that blows the trumpet of defame, which gives unsertayn sound.  
The tune whereof seems yet full strange, so boistous is the blast:  
but quiet calms sets forth still winds, when storms be gone and passed▪  
Which quiet time I wish to have, that I may be well hard:  
and then I hope this vypars bird, shall have his just reward.  
That forgeth faults and seeketh holes, to creep and steal therein:  
and flattereth for no other cause, but fame or gain to win.  
What thinks this man he hath more wit, and learning in his head:  
than hath five thousand other men, that (Dycarres dream hath read.  
Or thinks he that I am so rash, to run so far from square:  
or that I make such obscure things, that I dare not declare.  
Than is he blind and very fond, and scarce himself doth know:  
let him look on his book again, his rule is nothing so.  
To you I speak friend Camel now, which wresteth right to wrong:  
you say you have been kept at school, in sooth I think not long.  
Your master did but struck your head, he did forbear the rod:  
I doubt he did not teach you well, how you should fear your God.  
For if he had you would have stayed, to write against this dream:  
to spy a mote within my eye, since in yours is a beam.  
If you might sit and judge my cause, I should soon feel your worst:  
but God forbid there were long horns, on beasts that would be corst.  
I call you beast because you said, here goeth the beast abroad:  
the beast will turn you gauge a groat, if he be pricked with goad.  
Now turn sir beast and come aloft, fling not for fear of whip:  
in deed it is a monstruse thing, to see a camel skip.  
You say you shaken me by the sleeve, than rubd I your gall back:  
if I know how to do you good, my help you should not lack.  
We jompe in lease, ye gab sir beast, I am but one alone:  
but I can prove (O beaw Camew) that you are more than one.  
My surrejoinder doth declare, this dream was for the best:  
and yet you cry, a bandy ho at tenues thus ye jest.  
What can you lay unto my charge, of malice or of hate:  
since I do wish that every wight, should walk in his estate.  
This verse you hip, and yet it stands, next that when rex doth raing:  
both these be good and godly to, here shall I show you plain.  
But as I said, out of fair flowers, the spider poison takes:  
and yet the Bee doth feed thereon, and therewith honey makes.  
I do compare this spider now, to you which so appears:  
for that you run a patheles way, to lead me in the breerres.  
Where find you this that dreams can have, any effect at all,  
be not they fancies of the head, and so wise men them call,  
Why do you write against a dream, which hath a small effect,  
why turn you it to meaning lewd, to bring it in suspect,  
You meant no more but me to learn, so ●ou would you excuse:  
Sir if you mind to keep a friend, 〈◊〉 ●ot your friend so use.  
You brag you of your master much when you to school did go:  
You said ye learned your duty well, good sir it seems not so.  
To serve the king and pray for him, I learned as well as you:  
to love him leall for concyens sake this lesson well I knew.  
His council eke for to obey, my duty learns me too:  
and with their matters not to mell, nor therein have to do.  
This lesson hitherto I kept, and shall here after keep:  
till I to earth return again, where flesh and fell must sleep.  
What is the cause you answered not, to that which I wrote last:  
You do conclude much like a thief, which is condemned and cast.  
For at the bar he prateth long, and can no reason show:  
to clear himself and save his life when truth doth him o'erthrow.  
So you although with matter now, I do you still assault:  
yet with great shame you are content, to yield unto your fault.  
I wrote more things than one or two, yet read them once again:  
I do perceive a little thing, will soon o'ercome your brain.  
You have sought council fourteen days, it seems that you did dream:  
or else ye thought to run away, into some other realm.  
But now I hear a sudden sound, the beast begins to bray:  
it is much like a camels voice, that dwells in syn they say.  
Be as be may you say your self, ye bid me foet it well,  
why will the beast now lead the dance, with beasts I will not mell.  
But where you say, I when out whence, above eala a note,  
you gront and groen from gammuth far, I dare you gauge my cote.  
Sins you will put me to my trump, with a false card of ten,  
mark how justice shall join to truth, I will make large this when.  
Note. Though justice doth belong to Rex, whose sword puts that in ure,  
yet every justice under him, is not so just and pure.  
Because there be knights of the post, which will themselves forswear,  
and feigned troth will forge a tale, sometimes in justice ear.  
And work such wiles, justice to blind, and make him credit lies  
such crafty mists these men can cast, before true justice eyes.  
Though justice of himself is pure, and clean devoid of crime,  
yet false witness may alter him, and change his mind sometime.  
The fault thereof is not in him, he would fain join to truth:  
But flattering faith, may him corrupt, alas the more is ruth.  
When truth is foreman of the quest, and right shall vardyt give,  
Than justice shall join still to truth, and so together live.  
Thus is this when made manifest, truly as I it meant,  
and yet it was full plain before, to every true intent.  
Here have I weighed what justice is, to whom it doth pertain,  
who sways the sword, who doth decree, here have I set out plain.  
Now stay a while, and mark this when, which you call principal,  
and is the beast among the rest, and standeth last of all.  
Note. When Rex doth reign (And) rule the roast, a conjunction copulative,  
your master taught you not to know, could he such things descrive?  
Now Rex doth rain whom god preserve, in long life on us here,  
and send him rule the roast himself, as prince withouten peer.  
That he may find those secret slighes, which now in cornets lie:  
And such as do abuse his laws and live so wickedly.  
It seems they live as they delight, and lean not to his lore:  
Because he doth commend them laws and they pass not therefore.  
How doth the master of the school, his scholars rule and tame:  
when he doth give preseptes and rules, and none doth keep the same.  
How doth the king his people rule, let this be better weighed:  
when he doth give them laws and acts and none of them obeyed.  
For though that Rex do ta'en and rule, as I believe in deed:  
yet doth not he for mercy great, the wicked all ●ute weed.  
And like as God is merciful, so doth our king in deed:  
●n●we and follow in his steps (whom God defend and speed.)  
His justice is to punish sin, with death and pain extreme:  
which is most godly exercised and so doth show and seem.  
Yet if all those that do offend, should have such punishment:  
what man is living now a days, that should escape unshente?  
But following the exaumple o●, the Lord and king of kings:  
doth often su●●er us unkind, in vile and grievous things.  
Because he would (as it doth seem, so merciful and dear:)  
be rather loved then obeyed, for only dread and fear.  
And this his mercy godly mente, doth make us worse in deed:  
as scholars when they lack the rod, do live withouten dread.  
But when he sha●l begin again, to punish wickedness:  
which is his justice (or more plain,) to us but righteousness.  
Then folk ●or fear (but not for love,) shall better end their life:  
as horses whipped ye then for fear shall stint and cease our strife.  
Wherefore if every king th●s day which ought in deed to reign:  
do reign and rule the roast and weed, the wicked out full plain.  
Then have they wealth withouten strife, which God give us right soon:  
that all out wickedness were paste, and dreadful days were done.  
If Dy●ar said, when Rex doth reign, and all men do obey:  
how could you Camel, thus conclude? he reigneth not to day.  
Note. Or if he said, when Christ is God, and you a faithful man:  
would ye conclude ●rgo, (to him,) he is not God now than.  
Wherefore in Rex do reign and rule, as I believe he doth:  
and I beseech almighty God, he may do long in sooth.  
Yet 〈◊〉 you take another point, contained in this when:  
when Rex ●oeth reign and rule the roast, and weeds out wicked men.  
You must not hearken half the tale, and leave the rest behind:  
for than in deed you do amiss, and fain would quareles find.  
You Red in faith much like the nun omnia probate:  
and 〈◊〉 not the other side quod bonum est tenete.  
Red you no more but Rex doth reign, and left the rest unspyed:  
is there not (●oo) and rule the roast, the sentence is so tied.  
And weed out wicked worldly men, the spotted from the clean:  
whose vice infects the chosen lambs, lo thus did Dicar mean.  
He doubted not but Rex doth reign the truth itself doth show:  
but yet he thought it good to weed, out wicked men I trow.  
And thus I say did Dycar dream, the sense doth plainly tell:  
if upright eyes and righteous minds, do look and skan him well.  
If you should ben●y judge I see, and dame my dreaming thus  
I should have but short courtesy, and you my cause discus.  
But god hath sawed your horns so short, no great hurt do you can,  
he made you neither lord nor judge, nor scarce an honest man.  
When Rex doth reign and rule the roast, and out the wicked weed,  
than you and many other like, would first of all precede.  
But where you set a snare and net, for these that well intend:  
to show what is the very cause, of evil and the end.  
There you yourself▪ and if it were, applied well in frame,  
as he hath meant) should certainly be catched in the same.  
What if I should cast forth the bone, you thought to choke me with:  
perhaps you may repent to late, you went so nigh the pith.  
Where is your lesson now become, you learned so long ago,  
that spied such fault in dicar's dream, and yet conceylde it so.  
Note. If it had reached to jupiters' seat, as you affirm in deed,  
you ought not it have kept so long, but strait it told with speed.  
Or if you thought you saw the mist, that no man else could scry,  
there should no cause have stopped you so, to tell it by and by.  
If dicars when, as true it is, be clear from blame and blot,  
yet your offente is no whit less, by cause you thought it not.  
If ignorance had said a miss, the same be my defence,  
yet wilful ignorance in you, doth plead your great offence.  
Behold of god the righteous scourdge, that now a mid the grin:  
you laid to trap the innocent yourself is fallen therein.  
What say you now wise camels calf, if rex wede wicked men,  
you should of right be tied to short, to pervert dicars when.  
But till such spiders be weed out, and all their cobwebes to,  
that seeks to trap the sellye flies, as you begin to do.  
The barns I say that here do won, with in this bryttaine land,  
shall bide alas those dreadful days, and dicar's dream may stand.  
O Sir you took my then in hand, wherewith my when I knit,  
where I perceive your frantic head, gins an other fit.  
Note Can you deny the plagues of god, which he to us hath sent?  
and scourgeth us for our great sins, from which we not repent.  
Doth not the plough man plough his ground, and laborith very sore,  
the earth brings forth his fruit likewise, increasing more and more  
Doth not the heavens give us rain, the waters gives us fish?  
doth not the counsel seek our wealth, as well as we can wish?  
Do not they take great care and pain, all evelles to redress,  
yes all these things do work as well, as man's tongue can express.  
Yet though our king do make good laws, the earth brings forth much seed:  
till God will take his plague away, our plenty shallbe need.  
Thus baleful barns we be unblyethe, and dreadful days do see:  
till gracious God of his goodness, will help our misery.  
Within the town where you do dwell, you know no dread nor strife:  
than is it sure a paradise, I lay thereon my life.  
For I have traveled here and there, and sought this world full wide:  
to find a resting quiet place, where I would fain abide.  
But in this weary pilgrimage, I never found such stay:  
nor such a virtuous town as Lyn, if it be as you say.  
If you have done as much in Lynne, as you in London have:  
I think that all your neighbours would, soon wish you in your grave.  
For we were here in quiet all, until you came to town:  
sense that we could not live in rest, for such a country clown.  
And Davie Dicars dream for sooth, was lowed of every man:  
till you began your wrangling riemes, to brawl upon his when.  
Wherein you lost your honest name, you could not lose much more:  
thus are you put to open shame, and have no thank therefore.  
Go show your council one by one, what gain you here have got:  

* Ad b●● to wall.  Herman will help to row you hom, good sir now take your boat.  
Now trudge a way fear gentle beast, and kick no more at me:  
and let them live in peace and rest, that thinks no harm to the.  
Thus here I take my leave from you, wishing for grace and health:  
to keep my prince from all his foes, and eke the common wealth.  
Finis.  
(ꝙ) Thomas Churchyard.   

Imprinted in Flet strit by William Gryffyth, a little above the conduit at the sign of the Gryffyn.   

¶ A Replication to Camel's Objection,  
If right or reason▪ might move you to speak,  
I would not you blame, your malice to wreak:  
Or if your judgement, were upright and clean,  
You would not so rudely construe what I mean.  
How should your folly, so plainly be known,  
If that your wisdom, abroad were not blown.  
You bid me amend. whose life you know not,  
As though that in you, there were not a spot.  
A tale of a tub, you brag and you brawl.  
wherein you do rub yourself on the gall.  
You touch not one point, whereof that I wrote.  
You leap over the hedge, and seeth not the gate,  
I muse what you mean to discant and preach,  
Upon a plain song, so far past your reach.  
why Camel I say, will you needs be fine,  
what will ye be known for a dirty divine.  
It seems you are learned, past reason or wit,  
Or else you could not, the mark so well it.  
You have so good latin, you can want no pewter,  
Though ye are no fool, yet you are a neuter.  
You writ like a clerk, over seen well in Cato.  
Forgetting your name, which Therens' calls Gnato.  
I can do no less, but show what you are,  
Since you are a Daniel, dark dreams to declare  
Your knowledge is great, your judgement is good,  
The most of your study▪ hath been of Robin hood  
And Be●ys of Hampton, and sir Launcelet de lake,  
Hath taught you full oft, your verses to make:  
By sweet saint Benet, I swear by no fool.  
You are not to learn, you plied well your school.  
Your wits are not breched, who list you to preeve,  
You flock and you flout, and smils in your sleeve,  
I praise you no more, lest you think I flatter,  
I must now return, to the pith of my matter,  
How can you well prove, that I do envy,  
At any estate, be they low or high▪  
Or that I spy fauts, in Jupiter's seat,  
why are you so mad, on me thus to bleat.  
It grease not, it cords not, it fits not you say,  
That men should find fault, with gods that bear sway  
If plain Davy Dicar, with wise man be skande,  
He speaketh uprightly, I dare take in hand.  
I writ not so rashly, but I rule my pen.  
In faith you mistake. Davy Dicars, when,  
You take chauke for cheese▪ and day for dark night,  
Of like you are spurblind, or ye look not a right:  
Your purpose I know, you were in such care,  
Against this good time, your purse was fulbare.  
You thought to obtain, some garment or gift▪  
Then did you invent, to make a foul shift.  
To flatter the Gods, & get a new cote,  
That made you to sing. so merry a note.  
You feign me like judas, you think me not so  
For if I were he, than you would me know  
I bear not the bag, that may you reward  
But yet my good will, I pray you regard  
You say that order, would have each degree,  
To walk in his calling: then how may this do.  
That you out of fraine, do blother and bark,  
So like a cur dog, at every good work,  
Is this the order, that Camels do use?  
Because you are a beast, I must you excuse:  
A Camel, a Capon, a Cur sure by kind.  
I may you well call, since so I you find:  
Because you have rattled and railed to mytche.  
Now give me good leave, to claw you where ye itch  
And if that you think. I cubbe you to sore,  
Then give me no cause, to scratch you no more.  
Hold this for certain, and for a sure thing,  
The ofter you stir me, the more I will sting.  
sins that you will needs awaken my wits.  
I will seek for you, both snaffuls and bits.  
To hold in your head, and make you to rain.  
And bite on the bridle, for anger and pain.  
Then will I devise for you such a burden,  
As long as you live, you shall bear a lurden:  
A Camel by kind, will bear more at once,  
Then iii great horses, picktout for the nonce.  
More meeter for you, to be in some stable,  
To bear heavy burdens, I think you more able  
Than being as you are, walking abroad,  
Your limbs are well made, to carry a great load:  
All beasts that be made for cart and carriage.  
Should lean to their labour, as man to his marriage  
with horses and Asses, you are well acquainted,  
Their manners in order, right well you have painted  
I doubt of your shape, some monster you are,  
Because such a name, to me you declare.  
Your words and your works, are tokens right sure  
You are some brute beast, in man's form & picture.  
Right happy he were, that had you in charge,  
He should gain much money, to show you at large  
what cause, or what toy, did trouble your mind,  
To make you seek fauts, where non you can find:  
Your instrument jars, your mirth is not sweet,  
You play on false strungs, which thing is unmeet  
Your ear is not good, you know no sweet sound,  
You can not espy, where fault may be found.  
So far out of tune, I never heard none,  
Nor so much past shame, nor yet so far gone,  
As you in this case, God send you to amend,  
which seeks to learnr me, to bow and to bend:  
Direct well your steps, by order and line,  
And slander me not, nor no works of mine.  
In all my writings, right honestly I meant.  
If they be taken, to my true intent:  
They shall breed no strife, nor no error sow.  
when truth shallbe tried, and virtue shall flow.  
Thus yet once to, when, again I return,  
Because that you seem, against it to spurn,  
Until this long, when, do well come to pass,  
This world shallbe nought, & you shallbe an Ass:  
Since you do inveigh, all vice to maintain,  
You show that you have, a foolish light brain:  
God send you more wit, now keep your head warm  
Or else the next winter, may do you some harm.  
Thus here I do end, and rest for this time,  
Except you procure me, to make a new rhyme.  
Finis.  
Quod. Thomas Churchard.   

Imprinted by Richard Lant.   

The Surrejoindre unto Camels rejoinder.  
WHat life may live, long undefamde, what works may be so pure,  
What virtuous thing, may florysh so, that faultless may endure:  
What things be past, or yet to come, that freely may rejoice,  
Or who can say he is so just, he fears not slanderous to is voice.  
This Slanderous peals, doth ●yng so loud, he sounds in every ear,  
Whose craft can fain such pleasant tunes as truth were present there.  
But it is falsehood, fraught with fraud, and sings a no●e to high,  
Though that he bring, some pleasant p●ynts▪ for to maintain a lie.  
The s●mple wy●s, at soon beguiled, through slanders sweet deccay●  
But those that knows, such rishing ho●es, sh●l soon perceive the bait.  
Unto whose ca●es, and judgements ●●e, I ●oo commend my works.  
To save me from, the Serpents sting 〈…〉 corks.  
With help of truth, I hope to ●ee the v●n●m● o● this 〈◊〉.  
or else I trust, in his own turn, to cast him ●t the ●cast.  
Although he where, his teeth at me, and strugs me ●●th his tong●,  
Yet with the just, I am content, to learn to ●●ff●e wrong.  
Since Prince's pears, & kings themselves, their Acts & godly lays,  
Are sclan●dred oft, through ●uyl tongues, and blamed without cawes.  
Look what is done, and truly meant, to put things in good stay,  
Are wrested, etc. crue●ted oft, by evil tongues I say.  
The Preachers voice▪ which thre●neth wrath, the sinful to reduse▪  
Doth purchase ha●e, for telling truth: lo, this is man's abuse.  
The child doth blame, the birchen rod, whose stripes may not desparde,  
Because his wits▪ unto his wealth, hath very small regard.  
The wicked sort whose vice is known, by these which writes their lives,  
Can not abide, to hear their fauts, but still against them strives.  
The horse, can not abide the whip, because it mends his pace,  
Thus each thing hates, his punishment, we see before our face,  
Therefore I blame, this man the less, which slandereth me so munch,  
And casteth venom▪ like the Toad, because his faults I touch:  
What cause in me. what hate in him, what matter hath he sought,  
Within this Davy Dicars Dream, which for the best ●as wrought.  
Unto the good it is not ill, nor hurtful unto none.  
〈◊〉 unto those, that lo●●es the light, it is no stumbling stone.  
But those that stands, to watch a time, the innocent to spill,  
May wrest the truth, clean out of frame, & turn good things to ill.  
Out or the sweet▪ and fairest flower the spydre poison takes,  
And yet the B●e, doth feed thereon, and therewith honey makes.  
The Caterpillar, sp●ls the fruit▪ which God made for man● food,  
The fly likewise, where he doth blow, doth still more harms than good.  
Thus may you see, as men do take, the things whereon they look,  
There may it turn, to good or bad, as they apply the book.  
But every man, to his own work, an honest meaning hath,  
or else those hasty, slanders tongues, might do good men much s●ath.  
He feels much ease, that suff●● can, all things as they do hap,  
Who makes a pit, for other men, may fall in his own trap  
who flings a stone at every dog, which barketh in the street,  
Shall never have, a just revenge, nor have a patient spirit.  
Therefore I suffer, all your words, which is mine enemy known,  
I could you serve, with ●aunting terms, & feed you with your own  
But I mind not, to chock your tale, before the worst be told,  
Then may I have▪ fre●choyce and leave, to show you where you scold.  
Good sir if I, should you salute, as you saluted me,  
Then should I call you. Davy too, and so perchance you be.  
Ye multiply, five names of one, a progeny you make,  
As your defent, did come from thence, whereof you lately spoke.  
Though such as you, have nicknamed me, in gest and half in scorn,  
Churchyard I am▪ in Shrew●sbury town, they say where I was borne  
You put your name, to others works, the weaklings to beguiled.  
Me think you are, somewhat to young, to father such a child.  
The truth thereof, is ecth to know, a blind man may discus,  
Ye are in number, more than one, ye say, be good to us.  
You say, I did not answer you: I could no matter find,  
Nor yet can see, except I should, at folly waste my wind.  
The greatest shame, and most reproach, that any man may have,  
Is for to write, or scold with fools, whose nature is to rave,  
Since raising ryms, o'ercomes your wits, talk on & babble still,  
I not intend, about such chats, my pen nor speech to spill.  
I neither fume, nor change my mood, at aught that you have said.  
The world may judge, your railing tongue, full like a beast hath brayed.  
jud where you say, you can point out, by line and level both,  
Of all thee, whence, of Dycats dream, you say you know the troth.  
It is a wilful ignorance, to hide, I know full well,  
I fault, against Jupiter's seat, or against his counsel▪  
You show yourself, not Jupiter's friend, it you can truly prove,  
A ●au●e ●n me, and doth it hide, for fear or yet for love.  
As for my work●, and thankless pains, in this and such like case,  
I shall be ●edy to defend, when you shall hide your face.  
Think you I tear, what you can do, my ground is just and true.  
On e●●ry word. which I did speak, I force not what ye brew.  
●yll all your 〈◊〉 is 〈…〉, and dish 〈◊〉 eachone,  
wren they be●ul, and 〈◊〉 over, I will cast you a bone.  
〈…〉, though tha● yo● twits be fine,  
I can 〈◊〉, you out of squar, how your level and line:  
I will not answer word for wor●●, to your reiondre yet,  
Because I find no matter their, ●or yet no point of wit,  
But brabbling blasts, and frantic fyte, and chiding in the air,  
why do you fr●t thus with yourself, fie man do not despair:  
Though that your wits, be troubled sore, if you in Bedlam wear,  
I think you should be right well kept, if you be trended there:  
if you were scourged once a day, and fed with some warm meat,  
You would come to yourself again, after this rage of heat.  
This may be said without offence, it that your wits you had,  
you would not lie nor rail on me, nor fate as you were mad,  
But as it is a true proverb: the threatened man lives long,  
your words can neither hang nor draw, I fear not your ill tongue.  
The world is such it doth contemn, all those that virtue have,  
An evil tongue hath no respect, whose name he doth deprove.  
what is the cause of mortal fo●d, which doth in trends arise,  
But commonly these slander tongues, which still delyts in lies:  
who maketh war, who soweth strife, who bringeth Realms to ruin:  
But plenty, pride and evil tongues, whose voice is near in tune,  
The root and branch and chiefest ground, of mischiefs all and some,  
Is evil tongues, whose sugared words, hath wise men overcome,  
The proof whereof you put in use, your words ye f●ame and set,  
To excepe into some noble hearts, a credit for to get.  
The eating worm within the nut, the sweetest curnell seek,  
so do you draw where gain is got, and there you look full meek.  
But under those fair angels looks, is hid a devilish mind,  
I durst lay odds who trust you long, full false he shall you find.  
Now to return unto the cause, which made you first to write,  
you show yourself to be a fool, to answer me in spite,  
The first and last that I have seen, of all your nipping gear,  
Is not well worth when 〈◊〉 cheap, the paring of a year.  
your sudden storms and thunder claps, your boasts and brags so loud.  
Hath done no harm though Robin Hoo●, spoke with you in a cloud  
Go learn again of little John, to shoot in Robin Hoods bow●,  
Or dicar's dream shallbe ●hit, and all his, whence, I trow,  
This hear I leave, I list not wr●●, to answer where you ●ayle:  
He is unwise that stri●es with fools, where words can not prevail,  
Finis.  
Domine, saluum fat Regem: & da pacem in diebus nostris. Thomas churchyard.   

Imprinted at London in Aldersgate street by richard Lant.