A pleasant Discourse of Court and Wars: with a replication to them both, and a commendation of all those that truly serve Prince and country. Written by Thomas Churchyard, and called his Cherrishing.  
Imprinted at London, by Ar. Hatfield, for William Holme. 1596.   

To the Honourable sir George Cary Knight, son and heir to my Lord Chamberlain, governor of the isle of Wight, and Knight Martial of England, Tho. Churchyard wisheth great worldly hap, increase of honour, and heavenly blessedness.  
IN remembering many courtesies, good turns, rare favour, and friendship flowing from your Honourable disposition in this ebbing age, I vowed being found in serviceable manner to requite: but sick, am forced to write the opinions of many Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen (captains and chieftains of great charge) touching the court and the wars. And for that I served under them, I set down the words I heard many of them speak of those two honourable points, and discourses. First at Lawndersey sir Thomas Wyet, Wallop, Bellingam, & many more knights there. Then at Bollain the Lord Poynings, sir Ralph Elderkar, sir james Crofts, and other knights there. The Lord Grace at Giens, sir Harry Palmer, sir Lewis Dyue, sir Richard Bray, & many more there. At Hams the Lord Dudley, and many gentlemen there. At Calais the Lord Haward, sir William Drury, sir Anthony Ager, sir Thomas Cornwallys, and a number of knights and gentlemen there. In Flaunders sir Anthony Sturley, captain Matson, Sybyll, Horssey, jeynks, Plonket, Hind, and many more captains there. At Metts in Lorraine captain Farnam, and in that town the Lord Admiral that now is, I being without with sundry English Gentlemen there. In France captain Krayar, Sutton, Twytty, Blunt, Dryvar, and numbers of captains there. In Scotland where I was taken prisoner, sir William Winter, sir William Woodhouse, and many knights and captains there: the Lord Clinton our Admiral then. At Burty Crag sir john Luttrell. At Dondee captain Marry Church, and sundry gentlemen there. In Haddington sir james Wilford, sir Arthur Manering, and many other knights and captains there. In Lawtherfort, sir Hue Wyllowby, captain Colby, captain Hales, and many more there. In Ireland sir William Bellingam, sir Anthony Sellinger, sir Henry Sidney, sir james Crofts: all these then deputies, and many knights and captains there, at their commandment. In Antwerp after these things myself the chief captain there then. In Brabant, Zealand, and Holland under sir Thomas Morgan, sir Humphrey Gylbart, and sundry knights, there serving a great season. In Scotland before under the Lord Grace at the siege of Leeth, where sir William Pellam, sir George Haward, sir Andrew Corbet, and a number of knights were, besides many captains and gentlemen of good worth. In Gyens when it was lost, a captain myself, and taken prisoner under the old Lord Grace, sir Harry Palmar, master Cripps, and other captains there. In Ireland again under sir Harry Sidney, where sir Harry Harrington, sir Edward Moor, sir Nicholas Bagnall, and a great company of knights and captains were, from whom I went to the noble Earl of Ormond. In Garnzey, with sir Thomas Leighton in good credit and charge a good while. In Anwarpe again, when sir john Norrice, sir Thomas Morgan, sir Edward Hobby, and a number of honourable personages brought over Mounsior thither. Thus making those services and many more a benefit to my knowledge, & gathering some odd notes and sentences among those Honourable and marshal people, I bethought me thereof now in my last sickness peradventure, and willing not to smother them up in silence, have published as follows in verse, what the opinion of many dead and alive hath been both of honourable Court and Wars: dedicating the whole judgement thereof to your good consideration, because you are Knight Martial of England, and knows much of marshal causes. After whose good liking I do commend the work to the whole world, humbly desiring you to read with good will, judge with mild discretion, and rather commend than condemn: not thereby craving better credit than it may merit, nor less thanks than an honest writer looketh for: though not finely written yet faithfully meant in plainest terms, because cunning phrases savour of the school, where seldom I have stolen any great learning, nor rob good scholars of their books. If God freely gave, I have frankly bestowed it, neither a niggard of my verses, nor sparing of my words, but spending my muse and matter as plentifully as though I had good store thereof: take it in good part so the writer stands pleased, God so knoweth, who increase you in honour and durable credit.  
From my chamber in Richmond, this new years day. 1596. Yours in all at commandment, THOMAS CHURCHYARD.   



TEn thousand spend their time in vain,  
That haunteth either court or wars,  
In both of them some hopes to gain,  
When both God wots full few prefars:  
Then bluntly said, and truly told,  
Long courting maketh young men old.   

Not rich, nor wise, till wit be bought,  
Wealth follows few that thither run,  
Some trudge to court to bring home thought,  
Or see abroad how shines the sun:  
But leaves God's blessing far behind,  
And lives upon an aspiring mind.   

The court is but a pleasant cage  
For birds to prune their feathers in,  
A joy to youth, a pain to age,  
Where many lose, and few do win:  
A step of state, where honour stands  
To bring free hearts in bondage bands.   

A gladsome house of goodly gests,  
That pay small service for their food,  
A body full of hollow breasts,  
Where hatreds eggs brings forth their brood,  
A place of pomp, and peril both,  
Where fineness joins, with little troth.   

A heaunly image here on earth  
That looks like saint without a shrine,  
An outward sign, and show of mirth,  
Where many smarts are cloaked fine,  
A glass of steel in some odd case,  
Where each man may see his own face.   

A rendezvous, where millions meet  
In one kings reign or other sure,  
A whetstone to a dulled spirit,  
That many sweet conceits procure,  
A palace fraught with fair delight,  
That proves but black, when it seems white.   

A drawing hope, that hath no end,  
In hearts that labour still for fame,  
A strong crossbow that will not bend,  
Till courtly archers wins the game,  
A plot where cunning digs up pence,  
And yet a place of great expense.   

Court is a maze of turnings strange,  
A labyrinth, of working wits,  
A princely seat, subject to change,  
Where Goddess like, dame Pallas sits,  
A fountain frozen hard as ice,  
Where cloaked craft turns oft the vice.   

The well and spring that cools the thirst,  
And quencheth each consuming heat,  
The cooling card that hearts doth birst,  
The worm that life and limb doth eat,  
The gladsome gazing mirror bright,  
That shows broad day, but brings dark night.   

The field where fortune runs at base,  
And shows foul play where she doth please,  
The park, the forest, and the chase,  
Where Diane's Dear lodge safe at ease,  
The feasting house, where surfeits breed,  
By tasting some things more than need.   

The soil where Venus built her bower,  
And Cupid shoots his shafts too fast,  
The only grace of earthly power,  
That was or is, and so shall last:  
The mean to make mean men to mount,  
Yet court of no man makes account.   

The path to hit prefarments right,  
But when or how, good hap must show.  
The torch that gives a flattering light,  
A blaze that quickly out will go:  
The candle clear of comforts all,  
Yet down untouched, the snuff will fall.   

The feeding hope of all good hap,  
Till want comes home with weeping eye,  
The smiling cloud where thunder clap  
Falso rattling from a pleasant sky,  
The calmy air, that storms doth hide,  
Till wind bewrays a blustering tide.   

The platform where all Poets thrive,  
Save one whose voice is hoarse they say,  
The stage where time away we drive,  
As children in a pageant play,  
To please the lookers on sometime,  
With words, with books, in prose or rhyme.   

The mount where might and mercy dwells,  
The one may kill, the other save,  
The spring that maintains many wells,  
Where thirsty throats do water crave,  
The nurse that milk and pap may give,  
To those that in great lack doth live.   

The civil sword of worldly sway,  
That cuts off many a canker clean,  
The head that secrets can bewray,  
And teach rash wits to keep a mean  
The eye that sees both high and lo,  
Much further than our feet can go.   

The ground where plenty planted was,  
When bounties blossoms brought forth fruit,  
Then gold was but esteemed as glass  
The prince so freely gave a suit:  
The only spring and flowing spout,  
Where all good turns came flowing out.   

The royal house of all repair,  
Where subjects swarm, and still do run  
As thick as flies flocks to the air,  
In summers day when shines the sun,  
The paradise of earthly show,  
Where many goodly fruits do grow.   

The way to toull men on to spend,  
As profit strait should rise thereon,  
The ready rule to give or lend,  
Play best be trust till all be gone:  
The place where promise is forgot,  
Or where fair words make fools to dote.   

The anchor hold we trust unto,  
If cord and cable do not break,  
The gallant ship that may undo  
With charge: most men whose purse is weak:  
The quiet port when tide comes in,  
For all bare barks that harbour win.   

The swelling sea where some do sink,  
(That waves and surges swallow up)  
The doubtful banquet where some drink  
Their bane out of a spiced cup:  
The stage where many a part is played,  
That makes some lookers on afraid.   

The costly, sumptuous golden hall,  
That eats up many a thatched hive,  
The bulwark and the brazen wall,  
Against whose state no force dare strive:  
The stay and prop to weakest things,  
And unto man most comfort brings.   

The flower and blossom of each land,  
That yields sweet sent like myrrh or balm,  
Which doth not on base fortune stand,  
But safe in either storm or calm.  
O God that guides each fortune now,  
Preserve our court and kingdom throw.   
FINIS.   


COurt cannot pleas, each one that still doth crave  
No more than seas, can make all sailors rich,  
Though few thereby, do gain yet some may save,  
And keep a mean, if folly be not mitch,  
There food is free, and all belongs to health,  
Fire, rest, and ease, and pleasures of the eye,  
Then for those joys, who bids them spend their wealth?  
Or follow gain, or waste their goods thereby?  
If in one cloak, or suit a Lordship stands,  
Blame not the court, but blame unthrifty hands.   

Though shining robes, becomes a Courtier well,  
Mean men may wear, good garments of small price.  
If waste will needs, his patrimony sell,  
Or play away, his lands at cards and dice,  
Court is not cause, of that expense and charge,  
No more than plough, and carts makes Farmers poor.  
If gallants gay, cuts their own cloaks too large,  
That they like brooms, sweep rushes from the door,  
Short capes in Court, were fit for a shoe,  
In such light weeds, of yore did Courtiers go.   

If men could sort, themselves in Court aright,  
The good may meet, as good as he therein,  
And stately Court, hates all lewd manners light,  
No cozening knack, can there no favour win.  
Fineness and fraud, are often frowned at there:  
Dissemblance shames, to show a double face,  
And though good wits, in Court can speak full fear,  
Rip judgement soon, finds out a courtly grace,  
And will not be, over reached with shoe or sign  
Of wily heads, though they be ner so fine.   

Court is a well, and fountain full of springs  
That runs to those, that watch their seasons due,  
Who to the cock, their empty bucket brings,  
When bounties streams, spouts water fresh and new.  
All cannot thrive, that daily sell and by,  
Some merchant proves, bankrupt ere he be ware:  
All shafts will not, against ill weather fly:  
They hit the mark, that cunning archers are:  
Court is not bound, to pleasure every one:  
Court is a king, and subject unto none.   

If favourits rise, dame Fortune's babes they be  
Begot and bred, by sudden destiny's lot,  
Lads that good hap, hath dandled on her knee,  
took all their pap, out of the sweet cream pot:  
The rest are fair, young children borne to soon,  
Or out of time, as many younglings be  
No Planets birds, nor darlings of the Moon,  
Nor fixed stars, that stands in highest degree,  
But retrograde, in some aspects but base  
Fallen fro the clouds, from jupiters' good grace.   

Though many names, to court these Poets gives,  
Whose feigned Art, are full of fables vain,  
When they themselves, by gifts of Prince's lives  
And by the Court, their betters far do gain,  
Court cares not for, their stretched terms nor muse,  
That in a mood, finds fault with this or that,  
Whose high conceits, doth out their pen abuse,  
Which on the spleen, may write they know not what:  
Court thinks great scorn, to stoop or seem so weak,  
As answer make, to any word they speak.   
FINIS.    



THe wars that marshal men do like,  
For country's cause was first begun,  
To shield and sword, to lance and pike,  
The lusty soldiers than would run,  
And glad was he in town or field,  
Can force a foreign foe to yield.   

No walls nor rampire could hold out  
A lion's heart in manly mind,  
Men did in courage grow so stout,  
They traveled far hot wars to find,  
And when these men abroad did room,  
They brought great skill and knowledge home.   

Kings gave them grace, and honour great,  
Fame sounded trumpet in their praise,  
World placed them in the highest seat,  
So that like gods they reigned those daise:  
Yea honoured, made of, and extolled  
Above the worth of pearl or gold.   

By them great empires did increase,  
Kingdoms were won, and conquered all,  
They held up wars, they made the peace,  
They had the world at beck and call:  
The sword subdues, and makes them slaves,  
That stands upon their greatest braves.   

Long in this course did soldiers live,  
Beloved and feared as victors are,  
They felt no want, but had to give,  
The people took of them such care.  
Kings and their treasure every way  
Kept noble soldiers from decay.   

But when that kings from bounty fell,  
And made but wars for their own gain,  
The wars were then, a second hell,  
Pleasure therein, was turned to pain:  
Profit was gone, honour lay lame;  
And soldiers sought no more for fame.   

Yet countries cause moved men to fight,  
As hirelings work for wages still,  
But take esteem, once from a knight,  
You lose his heart, and warm good will,  
Then after money doth he look,  
And licks his fingers like a cook.   

When kings forget to give good turns  
For good deserts: then soldier shrinks,  
The lamp of love, but dimly burns,  
And God doth know, what soldier thinks:  
All one we live (both days and weeks)  
By love as larks do live by leeks.   

Wars now is worse, than walking horse,  
For like a hackney tied at rack,  
Old soldier so (who wanteth force)  
Must learn to bear a peddlers pack,  
And trudge to some good market town,  
So from a knight become a clown.   

As good serve souter in his shop,  
As follow wars, that beggary brings,  
Nay play the child, and drive the top  
Or favour many fonder things,  
And thrive there by, seems better far,  
That run a gadding to the war.   

Wars wins the workman scarce his bread,  
A fig for fame, if that be all,  
Wars quickly gets a broken head,  
And gains no better fruit at all,  
But when good blood is wasted out,  
Into the joints, wars thrusts the gout.   

Lame limbs and legs, and mangled bones,  
Wars brings a man unwares God wots,  
With privy pangs, sad sighs and groans,  
Then come to court where nought is got,  
Save s●auls and shells when kernel sweet  
The hogs have, trampling under feet.   

If five and forty sons I had,  
Not one to court nor wars should go,  
Except that some of them were mad,  
So proved both where I would or no:  
But wars of all the arts that is,  
Stands most from hap or heavens bliss.   

Wars is a worm in conscience still,  
That gnaws the guts and heart in twain,  
Who goes to wars must make his will,  
For fear he comes not home again:  
But at his welcome home in deed,  
He gets but words, so starves at need.   

Or at court gate must sit and watch,  
Like goodman Cockscom keeping crows,  
Go supperless to bed like Patch,  
Or for his lodging gauge his cloes:  
A warm reward, a whip, a hood  
Would do a silly fool more good.   

Sell house and land, to follow drum,  
And so bring home an empty bag,  
Then like bare Tom of Bedlam come,  
With broken breech and many a rag:  
And see what pity world will take  
On thee for thy great service sake.   

Keep that thou hast is counsel good,  
What wars may win think that is lost,  
For prince do hazard life and blood,  
If enemies breath but on this cost:  
Eat other wars as from a snake,  
Whose sting a mortal wound will make.   

Wars is but called the scourge of God,  
A plague for man, and each things foe,  
A whisking wand, a cruel rod,  
That draws out blood at every blow:  
A fearful bug, a cursed fiend,  
That drives good days and years to end.   

If devils dance when drum doth sound,  
And saints do weep, where blood is shed,  
If wars doth shake the heavy ground,  
Whereon fish, fowl, and beasts are bred:  
O wars pack hence, and run away,  
From me and all my friends this day.   

For where thou goest all plagues repair,  
All mischiefs march, all sorrows swim,  
All filthy facts, infects the air,  
All sin and vice is at the brim:  
All dearth and famine are afloat,  
And all or most, have God forgot.   

Fie, fly from wars, as from a fire  
That all burns up, or kills in haste,  
Spoils and robs all, leaves all in mire,  
Consumeth all, brings all to waste:  
Yet when the wars rules all like king,  
Wars is himself, a beggary thing.   

But if proud wars, begin to brawl,  
And quarrels picks, to wrong our right,  
Then clap on arms, corselets and all,  
To put a wrangling foe to flight:  
And make them run like rats away,  
That robs our cheese house every day.   

Lo knights, how plain poor poets shifts,  
In scambling world to scour the coast,  
With rhymes, and sends such new years gifts,  
From sick man's couch to court in post:  
Where this may make a merry head,  
To smile before he goes to bed.   
FINIS.   


Wealth, pomp and pride, with malice of the mind  
Bred wars & broils, between two brethren furst,  
The one feared God, the other most unkind,  
For his foul fact, in world was held accursed.  
Though wars began, throw pride and great offence,  
As rods are made, to scourge lewd vicious life,  
Yet fearful wars, hath wrought great goodness sense,  
And planted peace, where was but bloody strife:  
Wars makes men look, to soul and body too,  
Which in no sort, proud peace can never do.   

Who sees but death, and danger feareth God,  
A greater fear, no man alive may have,  
As horse fears whip, and scholar fears the rod,  
So sword is feared, that quickly brings a grave.  
Wars makes men meek, virtuous, valiant and wise,  
Hardy and bold, forward, faithful and true,  
Goodness embrace, and villainy despise,  
Killeth old vice, and forms a man anew:  
Quickeneth the spirits, and kindleth courage still,  
That else grows cold, weak, resty, dull and ill.   

Wars is no trade, for milksops, daws and dolts,  
Meacocks of kind, and cowards from their birth,  
A spur for old jades, a snaffle for young colts,  
For lusty lads, the greatest joy on earth,  
Breeds gallants up, puts lions hearts in men,  
Breathes blood and life, into a trembling breast,  
Makes hand draw sword, and fling away the pen,  
Mount a great horse, and clap the lance in rest,  
And wonders do, as Samson did in field,  
Whose stoutness made, the proud Philistines yield.   

Wars wisely made, Brings triumph to the town,  
Sends victors out, to fetch great wealth from far,  
Keeps kings in seat, gives honour to the crown,  
And no great fame is found where is no war.  
Set wars aside, bid men go spin and carded,  
Distaffs are fine, when lance is fling away,  
Make no more knights, let cowards be preferred,  
Set lowts awork, bid soldiers then go play:  
So pluck down wars, and set up Robin Hood,  
Or john a Style, that near did country good.   

Wars was a wand, for wantoness that were wild,  
It made them tame, and greater marvels wrought,  
But where you see, that wars are clean exiled,  
Stout people faint, and kingdom comes to nought:  
Venus and lust, are great together still,  
Right taketh wrong, and reason rules no whit,  
Weak knees must bow, strong head will have his will,  
And bayard blind, in teeth doth take the bit:  
Thus want of wars, confounds a worthy state,  
And breeds at home, both quarrels and debate.   

Wars was and is, and shall be till world's end,  
Till judgement day, you shall have little peace,  
You say it is, a scourge that God doth send,  
A common plague for sin that shall not seance,  
Think so and make of wars your profit then,  
For soul at least. thus wars ve ought to love,  
Because wars doth reform the faults of men,  
And by sharp means, it doth his pashence prove:  
If such effects, a bloody wars brings forth,  
When wars doth come, do take it well in worth.   
FINIS.    

A COMMENDATION TO ALL THOSE, THAT EITHER BY INVENTION OF WIT, STUDY OF MIND, TRAVEL of body, expenses of purse, or hazard of life, seeks the advancement of their Prince and country.  

THe world throwout, breeds men of sundry kinds,  
Some of great spirit, great skill and deep engine,  
Some mean and base, and some of noble minds,  
Some gross of wit, and some most rare and fine,  
As gifts of grace, and nature shapes them forth,  
To show themselves, in actions men of worth.  
Some plant and graff, and still manures the ground,  
Gains much thereby, as labrer lives by toil,  
Some loves to sail, about the world so round,  
To search what may, be seen in every soil:  
Some trudge to wars, and far abroad they room,  
For knowledge sake, to serve their prince at home.  
Some have delight, to build and purchase still,  
Thus all have not, one motion, mind nor will.  
But such that seeks, for fame in foreign place,  
Forsakes great ease, & wealth where they were bred,  
Are speshall men, and do deserve more grace,  
Than all the rest, what ever may be said.  
Leaves wife and friends, to try the tumbling seas,  
Makes open sale, of life and all they have,  
Are men that may, both prince and country pleas,  
Who shall of right, be honoured to their grave.  
Then step in place, sir WALTER RAWLEGH now,  
Show forth thy face, among the worthiest sort,  
Thy travel long, thy charge and labour throw,  
Crowns thy great pains, with prais and good report.  
Bid envy blush, for virtue hits the white,  
Malice may bark, but hath no power to bite.  
World babbles much, but wit doth all behold,  
The touchstone must, at length try out the gold.  
Who reads his book, and ways what he hath done,  
Shall sound his fame, as far as shines the sun.   
FINIS.