THE School of Slovenrie: Or, Cato turned wrong side outward.  
Translated out of Latin into English verse, to the use of all English Christendom, except Court and City.  
By R. F. Gent.  
LONDON Printed by Valentine Simmes dwelling on Adling hill near Bainard's castle at the sign of the white Swan. 1605.   

¶ To all that can write and read and cast account, the Translator.  
MAY it please you: To be a fool in Print, is as ordinary, as a fool at an Ordinary; and therefore 'twere no good fellowship to break company. 'tis a Proverb, The child that's borne must be kept, though't be a bastard, seeing 'tis murder by the law to make away even the unlawfully begotten. If the rugged cadence of this Verse, and scurrile harshness of this subject, do chance to escape a murdering censure (Quod Dij prius omen in ipsum) If: than the Translator vows to conclude, that either signor Malevole his sure of Gum is fretted out at elbows, and he put to the naked shift of keeping his chamber ('tis well he hath a chamber;) or at least the subject of this Book is entertained with such abjection, that detraction like your breath-broaker in a Midsummer vacation can find no subject to work upon. Many a man may Petere sibi simile, that intends not Procreare sibi simile, may take a snatch and away, that would be loath to be tied to rack and manger, or pass bills of soap and candle. 'tis my case: Who, though in the minority of my grammar-schollership, I was induced by those, whom duty might not withstand, to unmask these Roman manners, and put them on an English face; notwithstanding, witness my native bashful ignorance, how distant it ever was from my desires; nay, how I ever feared to be pressed to death, by the public censure of those, who (as I have heard) have it by Patent to scandalise whatsoever undergoes the public Press. The truth is, this translation was half Printed ere I knew who had it: So that Quo fata trahunt, without prevention or correction the fools bolt must needs be shot. And this is it. Those which mislike the verse in English, let them read it in Latin (for I allow no mislikers, unless at least they can read Latin) & then perhaps they'll wonder that a man of such wisdom as my Author, being neither borne a Roman, nor a Naso, should with such confidence of a general applause publish so elaborate a trifle: from which admiration of yours, I hope your courtesy will derive a miracle viz. my pardon, especially considering that both Ovid and Virgil (both Poets Laureate) have been metamorphosed into as indigest and breathless a kind of verse as this. All that I can say for my Author, is, he speaks broad English, but by contraries: all for myself, is, 'tis a Punies translation only, an orphan, howsoever (fathered upon me, because I taught him English, yet begotten without my presence, borne before my wit, and published against my will, unless we may be said to will what we can not prevent. So far ye well, and I pray pick as much matter out of this Epistle, as may be,  
Yours in print against his will, R.F. Gent. and no more.   

¶ The Preface of Fredrick Dedekind to master Simon Bing Secretary of Hassia.  
Such happiness on you (dear friend)  
the heavens I pray bestow,  
As you for your so virtuous mind  
most requisite do know.  
If that your matters of more weight  
did not your presence crave,  
Your counsel and your aid, concerning  
this my book I'd have.  
My Muse, which whilom in two books  
did rustic faults deride,  
I have recalled, and into three,  
forthwith will it divide.  
And now again, through all the world  
I purpose it to send,  
If fortune, friends, and you do favour  
that which I intent,  
Then mark I pray, for unto you  
I'll open all the truth,  
My mind, my meaning, and intent,  
unto well nurtured youth.  
Those manners which unseemly are  
in these decaying times:  
And ancient rude simplicity  
I check in jesting rhymes:  
If this my Book will profit yield  
to men of any kind,  
And make them weed homebred behaviour,  
quite out of their mind:  
That's all I want, that's all I crave,  
that is the furthest scope  
Of all my pains, of all my cares,  
of all my furthest hope.  
But out alas, how dares my Muse  
such good success expect?  
Since bad men's ill conditions  
do so the times infect.  
I hope, but other men's examples  
do me much dismay,  
Which have in vain whole ages spent  
in counseling that way.  
What skill'st too late for to relate  
renowned Plato's Books?  
And all those lights, and guides, whose loss  
poor Greece but hardly brooks,  
Which tried indeed, but all in vain,  
those vices to amend,  
Which did men's minds, by follies means,  
in beastly sort offend.  
And for our later Latin writers,  
did they aught prevail?  
Which did so long, with such great pains,  
'gainst rustic vices rail.  
Did not sage Tully in his books,  
men's duties plainly tell?  
And teach both young and old, the means,  
to live and die right well?  
Yet for all this, what good? what gains?  
procured that learned work,  
Since untamde actions well do show,  
what in men's minds doth lurk:  
So did old learned Roterodam  
set forth a book of price,  
From which, for manners straightest rule,  
all youth might take advise,  
And yet what profit did he get  
by that most worthy book?  
Or who did on it, as he ought,  
for better counsel look?  
Too few do now (God wots) regard  
that jewel of such price,  
Whenas whole multitudes of men  
run headlong unto vice.  
I touch not here small common faults,  
of a disordered life,  
(Although of these in every place  
the world is too too rife)  
But let them pass as trifling faults,  
and virtues, in respect  
Of those great crimes and beastly deeds,  
which I will here detect.  
For you shall find, if you uncloake  
men's manners base and rude,  
Many which in Rusticity,  
far pass the multitude.  
Put case you find them eating meat,  
to stuff them till they burst,  
Or quaffing liquor pot by pot,  
to quench their drunken thirst.  
You'll swear they do no whit respect  
the end of their creation,  
Nay, (which is more,) you'll almost swear  
they care for no salvation.  
What though their souls were sent from heaven?  
as things of peerless price,  
Yet they'll love Reason worse than Follie.  
Virtue worse than Vice.  
They square their actions by the rule  
of beasts of brutish kind,  
And to their bellies blind desires,  
they captivate their mind.  
Their wide stretched guts, beyond the use  
of Nature or of need,  
In every place, at every time,  
unsatiately they feed.  
Pots by the dozen filled toth' brims,  
into their guts they press,  
Whenas (God knows,) their greatest thirst  
might well be quenched with less.  
If after God's gifts thus abused,  
they here at length would end,  
'Twere well, but they expect for faults,  
that men should them commend.  
And yet this fault, this great offence,  
which daily men live in,  
By custom and continuance,  
goes currant for no sin.  
But what's the cause I pray, that men  
neglecting counsels guide,  
Leave Virtues strait and narrow path,  
and hold on Vice's side?  
Why this, bid him that doth offend,  
in sober quiet talk,  
To mend his faults, and in the steps  
of virtuous men to walk.  
he'll either laugh in pleasant sort,  
as if you told a jest,  
Or else with scorning stalling looks,  
your absence he'll request.  
But if against his greater faults,  
with bitter words you scold,  
he'll tell you that in others faults,  
your judgement is too bold.  
So that, he which doth nowadays,  
precepts of manners give,  
May preach, and teach, but all in vain,  
men as they list will live.  
And so, good men which in this subject  
have great study spent,  
Have lost their labour, for to follow them,  
no man is bend.  
And yet example of their fortune,  
troubleth me no whit,  
But that same mark which all they missed,  
I'll venture for to hit.  
And though to dance after their pipe,  
the vulgar sort refuse,  
Yet I'll presume to teach them manners,  
which they ought to use.  
Perhaps I shall be counted rash,  
and all my hopes but vain:  
And yet I'll hope, perhaps my means  
more auditors will gain.  
Dame Fortune is unconstant, changing  
course each other while:  
Then, though on some she frown,  
yet she on me may glance a smile.  
Tush, no man knows the wages, which  
I look for at her hand,  
I doubt not but the vulgar sort  
my method will command.  
Fortune, I'll try thee, for I think  
in trial there's no harm;  
And god Apollo from ill luck,  
my enterprises charm.  
What though perhaps I not prevail?  
'tis but my labour lost,  
A few ill verses spent in vain,  
and this is all my cost.  
But for because austere commands,  
and precepts cannot win,  
Which say, that all but honesty,  
to do, or think, is sin.  
I'll try by other means new found,  
the self-same mark to hit,  
Refusing all those other ways,  
wherein forefathers writ.  
Free leave to live disorderedly,  
unto all sorts I give,  
And I command, that in good order,  
none presume to live.  
Each clown shall see what fits him best,  
and what his manners be,  
And I affirm, that crafty deeds  
with crafty knaves agree.  
Perhaps when many see these faults  
so fitting their own name,  
Such clownish manners from their minds,  
they'll banish quite for shame.  
No other means is left behind,  
to cure this eating sore,  
For being senseless of their faults,  
they love them more and more.  
Within the mind of sinful man,  
vice now hath got such root,  
As by slight means to weed it out,  
it would be little boot.  
Yet let us not despair for help,  
since this one means is left,  
Whereby our minds of vices buds,  
may quickly be bereft.  
Since to forbid vice will not help,  
we will allow vice too;  
The common people, that which you  
forbidden them, often do.  
Health most despaired, health's greatest causer,  
sometimes proved is,  
And that from which men look for bale,  
doth often bring forth bliss.  
You see the good Physician,  
whenas he cannot cure  
By medicines might, a sickness great, sprung  
from a bod● impure.  
How many ways he seeks, to ease  
his patients grievous smart,  
By seeking learned physics aid,  
by labour or by Art.  
One while with Pothecary drugs,  
he mitigates his pain:  
Now he with dust opens his wounds,  
now shuts them up again.  
One while with mangling salve, he cuts  
a member almost dead,  
Another while he sears the same,  
with iron burning red.  
At length when all Machaon's art  
and physics force hath done,  
(And yet the patiented is as sick,  
as when he first begun.  
He gives him hot preservatives,  
to comfort up his heart,  
But all in vain, he still is sick,  
(diseases master Art.)  
At length he comes to contraries,  
and altars quite the case,  
From hot, to cold, he gives him Antidotes  
in Cordials place.  
And thus to him he doth restore  
his unexpected health,  
Which he before could not procure,  
by physic, friends, nor wealth.  
So I perceiving wholesome precepts,  
fitting for the mind,  
Neglected, and faultfinders works,  
to purchase nought but wind.  
All that which good men ought to practise,  
I forbidden them flat,  
And all which country clownage  
counteth currant, I bid that.  
That so, whereas throughout my book.  
I still forbidden the good,  
The contrary I mean, the bad  
I would have understood.  
Perhaps while some with greedy mind,  
my jesting rhymes doth view,  
He shall behold of his own life,  
a looking-glass most true.  
And blushing, of his own accord,  
when no man doth him see,  
Will spy his faults, and mend them all,  
and give some thanks to me.  
But by the way, thou which within  
this glass dost thus behold  
Thine own disordered manners, and  
thy life, be not so bold,  
As to find fault with me thy friend,  
or with my little book,  
Which upon thee, as upon all, with  
self-same eyes doth look.  
If any will assume these faults  
as theirs, at the first view,  
Know they that they confess themselves  
some of the rustic crew.  
Wherefore, unless he purpose  
to proclaim himself a clown,  
All anger lately taken up,  
I wish him to lay down.  
Perhaps some severe Catonist  
will this my book accuse,  
Because I good behaviour,  
by contraries abuse.  
And say that I in common sense,  
have made a grievous breach,  
Who those things, which to do 'tis sin,  
have thus presumed to teach.  
And I confess, within my book  
there are bad precepts store,  
And I may seem to spur a horse,  
which ran too fast before.  
But those which look into the world's  
bad nature with good eyes,  
I think concerning this my book,  
will judge far otherwise.  
And find that in this book of mine,  
no hurt at all doth lurk,  
But that a man without much danger,  
may peruse this work.  
For clownish customs long ago,  
have made our minds so bad,  
That to our ill behaviours  
we can no worse add.  
We need not have a master then,  
to make us sin the more,  
For we without a guide, of vice  
can quickly get great store.  
Men sin most willingly, and for their  
heinous faults seek praise,  
And have such persons as will still,  
to skies their vices raise.  
whatsoever I writ, in other men  
I often have it seen,  
From things oft done, the subject of  
my book derived hath been.  
Those faults, which ere I thought to write,  
in other men were known:  
How can you justly say, that I  
devisde them of mine own?  
Or by what means should this my book,  
make any to be bad,  
Unless before from virtues paths,  
their minds declined had?  
Wherefore I guiltless am of this,  
that I should now devise,  
Or set new found rusticity,  
before the reader's eyes.  
If none I profit, (as God knows,)  
I mean to profit many,  
Yet sure I know that this my book  
can bring no hurt to any.  
And now at length (my good friend Bing,)  
whose favour I esteem,  
Thou which the chief of all my friends,  
at all my need hast been;  
Respect these youthful verses, fruits  
of an untamed brain,  
And let your favour these my lines,  
with wont love maintain.  
Be ready now to take tuition  
of my book and me,  
And let my verse be patronized,  
under the name of thee.  
'Gainst all the poisoned tongues of those,  
that would my book defame,  
Defend these trifling toys of mine,  
under thy worthy name.  
In brief, this book with all his faults,  
I dedicate to thee,  
That by thy hand from afterclaps,  
it may defended be.  
If aught I have, (as sure I have)  
let pass in this my book,  
Supply the wants I you desire,  
as over it you look.  
If any thing in this my work,  
be added more than should,  
Correct it for its master's sake,  
for so full feign I would.  
And so I being well persuaded,  
of your strength and might,  
Commit this sceptre to your hand,  
which is your own by right.  
And furthermore, unto your laws,  
all such I do subject,  
Which this my perfect work, of old  
Simplicity respect.  
Behold your mighty empire stretcheth  
over sea and land,  
And in all kingdoms of the earth,  
your kingdom hath command.  
For this great gift, what benefit  
can you repay to me?  
Let me be thine, and thou be mine,  
that's all I ask of thee.  
Keep me thy friend, and with the favour  
which thou hast begun,  
Pursue me, and my heart to thee  
for ever thou hast won.  
Behold thy friend, whom if thou lov'st,  
as of him loved thou art,  
Thou mayst command to do thee good,  
himself, his goods, his heart.  
And if the gods respect my thoughts,  
I hope ere long, to send  
A greater matter than this trifle,  
for thee to defend.  
Mean time, because thou of thyself,  
deservest to live ever,  
The gods preserve thee from all harm, and  
grant thee to die never.   

❧ A Table of the contents of every Chapter in this Book.  

OF modesty to be observed in the morning, in the apparel, the hair, and making clean of the face and teeth. folio 2  
The breakfast, and ordering the body and looks 4  
Of waiting at the table. 9  
Behaviour at the table before meat. 13  
Of manners in eating. 16  
Concerning manners after dinner. 21  
The adorning of the table before supper, and other duties. 26  
Of waiting at the table in supper time. 30  
Of the usage of the guests after supper. 35  
Concerning the talking, debating, and wrangling of the guests. 38  
Of sending away the guests, and what is requisite to be done before you go to bed. 42   

The second Book.  

HOW to prepare himself being invited of an other. 47  
Of behaviour in eating. 52  
Behaviour at the table after the first course. 55  
As concerning other precepts of modesty in eating and drinking. 50  
Of devouring, laughing, vomiting at the table, and other such like civilities to be observed. 63  
Of washing the hands after supper, second courses, and how to behave yourself in the company of maids. 67  
Concerning exclaiming after supper, going out, and bargaining for the next night's supper. 71  
How going drunk home you should behave yourself in the way homeward, after sleep, and the day after. 76  
How to entertain, use, and send away your guests. 89    

The third Book.  

BEhaviour at an honest feast in eating brewis and crab-fish. 87  
Of daintiness of drink, and behaviour when you depart. 91  
Of scoffs, farting, hawking, answering to a demand, and looking into other men's letters. 95  
Of behaviour in other men's houses, diverse-colored parted coats, the adorning of the beard, the use of papers and books, entertaining friends, and other such like civilities. 99  
Examples of civility at the table. 105  
Of emptying the bladder, vomiting, and other such like elegancies of behaviour. 112  
Of belching, holding his urine, and such like rudeness. 121  
Grobiana, concerning the behaviour of maids. 126     

¶ The Author to such as love Civility, health:  
Give place time-scourging Aristotle, vice-controuling Plato,  
Yield learned Tully, deep Erasmus, and faultfinding Cato:  
And you which by your tedious works, though to your much pain,  
Did teach behaviours perfect means, and manners to attain.  
This Book, which from a new found School of late time did arise,  
Behaviours pure simplicity within it doth comprise:  
Then young and old that do desire nurture and education,  
Peruse this Book each day and hour, with great deliberation.   

THE FIRST BOOK OF ancient Simplicity of Behaviour. Written by M. Frederick Dedekinde.  
IF thou desire an ancient, harmless, simple life to lead,  
And in old, homely, clownish ploughmen's perfect steps to tread:  
Come hither, and unto my verse lend thine attentive ear,  
It may be for thy private use, some profit thou mayst hear.  
Peruse it through, and it no doubt, a way to thee will tell,  
How to conform thy manners so, as thou mayst live right well:  
Doubt not a single simple man, thou certainly shalt be,  
If thou with good advice dost mark, the things thou learnest of me.  
Too hard and intricate a thing it is, and far from ease,  
So strictly to behave thyself, as all men thou mayst please:  
Those I commend, which scorn to suffer every paltry fool  
To weigh their words, and judge their deeds, as Master of a School.  
And those which scorn a master's check, and think their own deeds good,  
Are right true Trojans, gallant soldiers, brave men by the Rood:  
Pine-girted Silvane, country god, thou art most welcome hither,  
Concerning country customs, let us two confer together.  
The praise of rude simplicity, in country swains we'll sing,  
Of all my thoughts, of all my words, O Silvane thou art king:  
You mountaine-treading gods in woods and fields, I you request,  
Declare to me, for countrymen, the life that you think best.  
Old Bacchus' father, god of wine, best known to drunken crew,  
The perfect way of quaffing right, set down before my view:  
And thou which of the gut wert wont jolly governor to be,  
Further me, if I chance to handle all thy rights and thee.  
And thou neat god Rusticity, the greatest of our time,  
Be present here, and set thy hands to this my Rustic rhyme:  
'tis no small thing in perfect sort, good manners thus to frame,  
Great men, good scholars, have been oft times troubled with the same.  
Yet by the help of all those gods and goddesses I'll try,  
To pass the tedious labyrinth, of this simplicity:  
O help (friend Bing.) judge of this cause, your aid herein I ask,  
For trusting to your help and aid, I undergo this task.  
If then my Muse with cheerful looks, you kindly do revive,  
My vain will be more plentiful, my verse will better thrive.  

What modesty is to be observed each morning in the apparel, and making the hair, the face, and the teeth clean. Chapter. I.  

WHose're thou art that hat'st at heart a Master's crabbed charge,  
Which reads a Lecture every day of gravity at large:  
Hark hither, come and hear this man, a man of quiet speech,  
No thunder-thumping Catonist, you need him not beseech.  
My speech is broad, be ruled, and then I'll do the best I can,  
Be rudible, and sure I think you'll prove a learned man:  
Be but a careful and: for and scholar unto me,  
And then you'll soon excel your Master in simplicity.  
What though some crabbed wittal do not like my precepts well,  
Yet they can never hurt you, if you mark all that I tell.   

When Morpheus drowsy god of sleep, from bed doth thee dismiss,  
(Which must be just at dinner time, for so my counsel is:)  
Thy parent's blessing never ask, learn that good point of me,  
This is a rule and perfect note, of great civility.  
Good morrow nor good even to friend nor foe impart too fast:  
If they begin, repay no thanks, walk on, you are in haste:  
What though you both should use, to both you know 'twould be but vain,  
Then lose no words, for good words passed, cannot be called again.  
Let fond Hebritians which account, their superstition wealth,  
Salute their friends, pray for their foes, and ask them of their health:  
'tis vain to have so great a care, of such superfluous things,  
This too much care to jocund youth, white hairs and sorrow brings.   

When you are up, to stretch yourself, deserveth much praise;  
This is prescribed by all that practise physic in our days:  
For when your sinews numbed with sleep, cannot perform their work,  
This stretching drives away all numbness, which in them did lurk.   

Being out of bed, let it suffice, to cloth thee in thy shirt,  
To stay to put on all thy clothes, with cold thou mightst thee hurt:  
All thy apparel else get up forthwith under thine arm,  
Then to the chimney corner run, for there thou mayst it warm.  
What though a maid or married wife, be there before thou come,  
Go forward with thy purpose though, as thou wouldst erst have done.  
If any man object to thee, that manners thou dost lack,  
Bid him if he mislike that sight, be gone and show his back.  
Let every man give place to thee, thyself give place to none,  
What man? why Nature made thee free, then boldly hold thine own.   

At length, when thou art well arrayed, let both thy hose hang down  
About thy heels, this only thing will get thee great renown:  
For by this secret means, the maids will seek thy love to have,  
And every wench thee for her husband, of her friends will crave.  
Your reason sir. O sir, there is a special reason why,  
I cannot stay to tell it now, I'll tell it by and by.   

Simplicity commands, that you forget to truss your points,  
Hard tying is an enemy to belly and to joints.   

Lest some men say, you are too handsome, ne'er comb your hair,  
As Nature sets it, and bed leaves it, use it so to wear:  
Leave plaited hairs, and curled locks, unto the female sex,  
And let them use to comb their hair, whom cruel love doth vex.  
Believe me, not a wench unto thee will affection bear,  
If she perceive that thou observest such niceness in thy hair:  
Who can abide young men that dress themselves as female crew,  
A Creetish dame writ to an Amazonian lover true:  
'tis praise and credit to have feathers store upon your head,  
For thereby men may well perceive, you scorn straw in your bed.   

In any case cut not your hair, but let it hang at length,  
For 'twill both keep away the cold, and argue sampson's strength.  
When father Saturn ruled the world, all men did use long hair,  
And gloried in it, though now wenches use it most to wear:  
Forefathers plain simplicity, is praised in every place,  
Then let not us disdain to use it, it is no disgrace.   

Thy face and hands too oft to wash, is cause of much hurt,  
Therefore (a God's name) let them both, have ever store of dirt:  
Let other men, that with hands, have care to wash them clean;  
But as for washing of my hands, to take no care I mean.   

Some nice-controuling mate, will counsel thee to wash thy teeth;  
But I say water in the mouth, not with the health agreeth:  
What though your teeth through o're-much rust, are died to a red hue?  
That is a perfect saffron colour, 'twill much credit you.  
What other colour then this red, hath the bright glittering gold,  
For which prossessions, tenements, lands, lives, and all are sold?  
Then think not, that golds perfect colour, doth your teeth disgrace,  
That colour which in few men's purses, in your teeth hath place.    

The breakfast, the modesty of the eyes, the forehead and the nostrils: also of prattling, sneezing, bawdinesse, belching and going, and behaviour in the streets. Chapter II.  

WHen your are up, before that sleep hath fully left your eyes,  
Call for you breakfast presently, mark that in any wise.  
Which being got, incontinent, with both hands gripe it round,  
Lest if you take not sure fast hold, it slip upon the ground,  
At breakfast never use a trencher, wherefore serves your hand?  
At dinner time 'tis far more meet upon such points to stand.  
In any case see that the fat run down thy fingers thick,  
Which with your tongue as downe it runs, you always aught to lick.  
As for a ready way at meat, your dinner to devour,  
I cannot tell you yet, but you shall hear within this hour.  
For first I must instruct you how, your body for to frame,  
And all your looks in fittest sort, then briefly of the same.   

And first in any case take heed, of too much modesty,  
For that doth very much abhor; from true simplicity.  
be't not a foolish thing, that young hot bloods should be so nice,  
You will be called a leaden slothful fellow of the wise.   

I will that all men with turned looks, you use for to behold,  
For if you look men in the face, they'll say you are too bold.  
'tis not allowed that tender youth, such gravity should use,  
Wherefore with distort eyes and forehead, every man abuse.   

Let such as learn at virtues school, and purpose to be wise,  
And seek to live by others praises, care for bashful eyes.  
But as for you, we give you leave, each way to roll your eye,  
Then use it, for it is a mark of great simplicity.   

'tis not amiss though store of wrinkles, do thy forehead plough,  
And though your face be full of furrows, we will it allow.  
'tis like a ploughing heifers face, that many a blow of might  
Hath borne; or like a savage beast, which 'gainst a man doth fight:  
Even so a valiant gentleman, his countenance should frame,  
Which hopes by stratagems in fight, to get renown and fame.  
For all those hidden virtues, which man's mind do deck and grace.  
Are with a lively portraiture, prefigurd in the face.   

To no man speak, but with such words, as may him half affright,  
For if thou dost, as by a fool, by thee they'll set but light.  
Wherefore with might and main, prevent such ill report always,  
(And yet I'd with you never try, the means to get true praise.)   

The proper use of every tongue, is for to talk apace,  
Then let your tongue like a mill-clacke go fast in every place.   

It is a custom in some countries, at each nostrils ends,  
To hang great gems and precious stones, such as rich India sends.  
Hath Fortune in these precious gems, denied to thee a part?  
Take courage though, and hear a friend, that loves thee at his heart,  
As ice sikles in winter time, which hang on houses high  
Do grace the roofs, and show full fair to him that passeth by;  
So snot, which from the nostrils both, like bell-ropes hangeth down,  
Doth grace a youth, which doth profess himself a simple clown.  
Nature the maker of all things, to deck thy life the more,  
Hath lent thee, of such ornaments, a most abundant store:  
Wherefore, as in all things besides, so in this, keep this mean,  
When store of snot is in thy mouth, thy nose then make thou clean:  
Do this, but closely now and then, and sure I think, than thee  
No man deserveth greater praise, for his civility.  
If when thou lackest an handkerchief, thou use thy cloak or hat  
To blow thy nose, thou wilt be known a perfect clown by that:  
Or fill thy hand top full with snot, and cast it on the ground.  
It is a very seemly thing to hear the same resound,  
And let it lie: What need you care? I charge you stir it not,  
And let them tread it out, that say you have not store of snot.  
I saw a custom in a country where I lately was,  
Where hung with cords upon their sleeves a little pretty glass:  
You may (if so it please you) take example from that town,  
And see your picture in your snot, as it hangs dangling down.   

And lest you should lack change of manners, fetch sighs now & then,  
And rattle in the nose, this gesture pleaseth many men:  
To fetch great blasts of breath together, argues that you can  
Blow down whole towns, and all will say, Oh, he's a valiant man.   

When you would sneeze, straight turn yourself unto your neighbour's face:  
As for my part, wherein to sneeze, I know no fit place;  
It is an order, when you sneeze, good men will pray for you:  
Mark him that doth so, for I think he is your friend most true.  
And that your friend may know who sneezes, and may for you pray,  
Be sure you not forget to sneeze full in his face alway.  
But when thou hearst another sneeze, although he be thy father,  
Say not, God bless him, but, Choke up, or some such matter, rather.   

Never be shamefast, never blush for any fault that's past,  
Let them do so which, sorry, say, This fault shall be the last.  
What though thou speak unseemly words, yet know it is not good  
To have thy face and cheeks look red, as they were died with blood.  
What though of bawdy beastly words, thou learnest to speak great store,  
Why 'tis a shame that from a child, thou didst not so before.  
To give each thing that proper name, which it of Nature had,  
Is neither in the law of God, nor man, accounted bad.  
The reason-wanting multitude, do think those things are base,  
Which nature in her secret wisdom, made mankind to grace.  
I would not have you from the common speech departed so far,  
As against Nature our best guide, unwisely to wage war.  
All that which in thy bladder and thy belly lieth hid,  
To empty whenas thou hast need, what man will thee forbid?  
Crabbed precise faultfinders, only will not speak each word,  
Thinking it is by proper names, to call each thing absurd.  
What kind of men are these? true reason soon will prove them mad,  
Which will not speak the words, but do the deeds, which is as bad.   

If any man do tell you news, which ne'er before you heard,  
And presently with ready words, you can him not reward,  
Then 'tis a great decorum, your wide mouth forthwith to stretch,  
And so stand still, as though some harmless flies you meant to catch.  
If that he tell a jest, which worth your laughter you suppose,  
(But laugh not at each trifling thing,) then laugh so loud that those  
Which do about their own affairs, walk overthwart the street,  
May tell you that you laugh full loud, when next they do you meet.  
And if by laughing your red teeth, some pretty wench espy,  
Because that colour is the best, she'll love you presently.  
And if you see she likes you well, then laugh afresh again,  
This is of rude simplicity, an argument most plain.  
It is a very pretty thing, when you by laughing much,  
Do make your mouth by distorture, your very ears to touch.  
Sometimes though no man give you cause, laugh as loud as you can,  
For this is a most special sign, of a praiseworthy man.  
Oft times you shall espy some sober man with looks most grim,  
Which will be angry, thinking that you laugh at none but him.  
And this will be exceeding good, and make you laugh the more,  
To see a fellow choleric, knowing no cause wherefore.   

If now and then you mean to lie, (as who would tell the truth?)  
Between each word cough once or twice, this is a trick of youth.  
Are not your words in readiness, according to your mind?  
Then cough a while, and by this means, perhaps you them may find.  
Tut, doubt not man none can perceive whether you cough or no,  
It is great cunning, what is true, and what is false to know.   

When you have need to cough indeed, you know this trick of old,  
To cough into your neighbour's face, you well may be so bold.  
Let him take half the breath, which from thy windpipe thou hast got,  
'Twill serve him for a cooler well, if that he be too hot.  
If he take that in ill part, which thou gav'st to him in good,  
What need you care? his force is weak, it well may be withstood.  
whatsoe'er thou didst, thou'lt answer it, where, when and how he can;  
Thus thou by great out-braving words, must prove thyself a man.  
Tell him, within his currish heart, anger hath set her rest,  
If that he cannot take that well, which thou didst mean in jest;  
What would he do (trow,) if he were not, as thou art, a man?  
Which no such little trifling jest, with patience suffer can.  
Or bid him, if he think thy breath could do him any ill,  
That presently for full revenge, he would thy heart blood spill.   

When thou hast need to belch, ne'er hold it, freely let it out,  
Dissemble not, it will not stay, help it away you lout.  
'tis hard to hold it without hurt, if that it seek a vent,  
Then let those blasts from forth thy stomach sail, be freely sent.  
They le breed diseases infinite, in head, and every part,  
As stinking breath which doth infect, and the unsavoury fart.  
Therefore, to shun all hurts and harms, which thereof soon would breed,  
Be not too coy, but belch thy fill, whensoe'er thou hast need,   

If thou desire at any time to walk into the street,  
That all thy hat with dirt and dust besprinkled it is meet.  
He that regardeth cleanliness, which only women use,  
At him let all men mock and scoff, let all men him abuse.   

What though thy shoes be doubde with dirt: to make them clean 'tis vain,  
For why you know, do what you can, they must be fowlde again.   

A long gown wear, which all the ground may sweep as thou dost go,  
For so no man the place whereon thou troddest well can know.  
The dirt which on thy hem thou getst, as thou dost walk along,  
Will make the low welt of thy Gown seem to be very strong:  
And if a man espy the dirt, when he is far remote,  
he'll think you wear a very rich embroidered guarded cote;  
Cloth made by silkworms painful Art, from Scythia land doth come:  
Some strangers give to dearest friends, to others they sell some;  
A man would think, that with this cloth, your gown were guarded thick,  
If on the hem, a great way off, he should see dry dirt stick;  
Or if you like not these long gowns (as oftentimes we see  
As many men, so many minds and manners there will be)  
Wear a short coat, which scarce will keep your buttocks out of sight,  
Like Noble men, and those which do rejoice in martial fight;  
Old sage Erasmus counsel 'tis, Regard not thine attire.  
(The precept of so grave a man, who will not much admire?)  
Do as he bids thee then, regard not how thy garments sit,  
Whether they be too little, or too big, or very fit.  
Let both thy hands behind thy back together always meet;  
Whether thou sit, or stand, or walk, in city, or in street.  
But lest my Lecture seem too tedious for the multitude,  
This Exercise in three short words I purpose to conclude:  
Thus I would have thee frame thy life and deeds in any case:  
Let this thy manners and behaviour be in every place,  
That he which sees the good behaviour, which thou learnest of me,  
May know thou art an expert Scholar, in Simplicity.    

The setting on, and taking off the meat, and waiting at the Table. Chap. III.  

BEhold; the boy hath laid the cloth, and on the Table put  
Those cates, which Cookery provides, to fill man's hungry gut:  
You're glad of that, that you such dainty dishes shall oresee,  
As with your ravenous empty stomach very well agree.  
But soft sir, first upon your masters trencher you must wait;  
And afterward, when he hath dined, you shall be served straight:  
And yet too ready never be unto your masters hand,  
Unless your help, by word of mouth, he twice or thrice command.  
And now sit, your behaviour fit I will lay forth at large;  
Your only duty is (as you were wont) to mark my charge,  
You cannot say my precepts are too subtle for your reach,  
And therefore doubt, I shall not learn, the things which I shall teach  
My muse is rustic, and my Muse is easy, homely, plain,  
Which being perfectly attained, can ne'er be lost again.  
Whether your service be at home, or out of doors extend:  
Whether you serve your master only, or your masters friend,  
Your method and your manners eke, must be the self same ever.  
And all which you have done before, must be forgotten never.   

At dinner when you mean to wait, lay by your clothes all,  
So shall you be the lighter for to come at every call.  
Have on your hose whenas you wait on them that are at meat;  
But let your breast be naked, to be seen of them that eat,  
That so your body's slenderness the strangers may perceive,  
And give you praise, which none but fools & mad men ought to leave.   

But if, the weather being cold, apparel you do wear,  
The same to button, tie, or truss, be sure that you forbear.  
As for those parts which we are bound to hide by nature's bands.  
My counsel is, that all them parts thou cover with thy hands;  
So modest Matrons and wild wenches thou shalt please I know,  
And shalt thyself a pretty stripling unto all men show.   

I like not those, which when they wait, must stand on both their feet,  
And careful be, that as they stand, their legs may always meet.  
To use the right foot and the left by turns I hold it best:  
For so, while that you use the one, the other leg may rest.  
But if my counsel you will take, ne'er stand on both together;  
For that which wanteth rest and ease, must needs wax weak and lither.   

A nimble, stirring, hobbling pace in young men I like best:  
The scabs, the gout, and such diseases breed, by too much rest.  
Good Smiths do hobble with their feet, as they their bellows blow.  
Then since good trades do it allow, why shouldst not thou do so?  
Mark that which most men use to do, and scorn to learn of none;  
But good behaviour, and perfection get of every one.   

Be sure, that wheresoe'er you wait, your fingers never stand,  
But still be fumbling, 'tis a credit, not to hold your hand.  
Praise comes to them by due desert, which something do always:  
But slothfulness is a great let to him that seeketh praise:  
Wherefore be sure in both thy hands, thou always something have,  
Lest such as find thee doing nothing, call thee idle knave.  
In right hand hold thy trencher still, and let thy left hand hold  
Thy breeches, lest they slipping down, thou chance to catch some cold;  
Though thou dost nothing else, yet let thy finger scratch thine ear,  
Or with thy left hand lay at length, thy knotty tangled hair:  
Or turn thy hat upon thy finger, or, among the rest,  
Find out some pretty pleasing sport, that fits thy humour best.  
Or if you would be thought a learned Poet of your friends,  
Then lick and gnaw with tongue and teeth, your nails and fingers ends;  
They use this action, whom, for thoughts aspiring men admire:  
And so do they which Hymns do say, in god Apollo's choir.   

Or set your arms up by your side, like to a man of might,  
And frown, and by your very looks, they'll think you mean to fight.   

Do nothing that is fit or meet, unless they you constrain:  
For if you do, nor praise, nor price, you'll get, you work in vain.   

If you perceive a man ill nurtured, mark him presently;  
His going, sitting, standing, deeds, mark with a careful eye.  
Mark how he eats and drinks, and how his hands he placeth best;  
And if out of his life and manners, you can pick some jest  
That's worth the laughing, that's enough, deride him presently.  
Be not ashamed, but laugh so long, till that you seem to cry:  
And from thy wit, of his behaviour, let some quips arise:  
It may be, when he sees his faults, he'll learn to be more wise  
And when thy master shall have greatest store of merry guests;  
Then from thy biting budget bring most store of pleasant jests:  
And this will be an argument of thine exceeding wit.  
If each man's sundry humour, thou with biting jests canst fit.   

Perchance at length for second course, some room must needs be made;  
Then learn this trick, a point most fit, for this thy serving trade:  
Art thou an hungry? on a trencher some good bit, lay by,  
That is a waiters proper fee, no man will it deny:  
Thou hast a leather satchel, to what purpose boughtest thou it?  
But now and then, for thine own use, to keep a friendly bit.  
What though perchance some man espy thy satchel in thy sleeve;  
Take a good courage though, and let not that thy conscience grieve.  
But if perchance for this thy trick, he give thee some reproof,  
Have something still which thou mayst freely say for thy behoof.  
What sir, when other strangers have their bellies full, at least  
be't any reason that I should go empty from the feast?  
What can he say when this he hears? perforce he'll surely yield.  
Then courage man, for sure from him thou'lt quickly win the field.   

If thou setst on a dainty dish of cream filled to the brim,  
Make bread, and meat, and salt, and all, in curds and cream to swim.   

When all is gone, and for a voider they do call to thee,  
Learn this good point of manners and behaviour of me;  
Get from thy masters sight; and lest with work thy bones should ache,  
Thou setst all on for his, let him remove all for thy sake:  
Say you have waited long enough, and are even starved for meat.  
And it's a hard case, if that now you may not freely eat.  
But if at length with thundering words, your master call his man;  
Return, but with as slow a pace, as possible you can:  
Haste maketh waste, and he which runneth, oft doth catch a fall,  
When he which goes a sober pace, doth surely best of all.   

And when you come, out of its order every dish remove,  
When all the sweetest bits are gone, what man would order love?   

Take all at once, a weary man ought not to stand all day.  
What fool will go about, when he can go a nearer way?  
What though perhaps out of your hands, the meat do chance to fall?  
Tush, a small matter, care not for it, 'tis no fault at all.  
In truth, the platters were so heavy, they weighed down mine arm,  
If that I had not let them fall, I should have caught some harm:  
If that a stronger man than I, had felt the weight of all,  
I do not think but that he also, would have let them fall:  
And if your master greet you not, with, Take them up I pray:  
First look upon them a good while, and then departed away.  
And laugh, as though you did rejoice in doing of the same.  
And for that fault, it's ten to one, that no man will you blame.  
But if your master, with a frown, bid you remove them thence;  
Look sadly, and he'll think that you are sorry for th'offence:  
If all at once you cannot take, 'tis good to let some lie,  
And after you have placed the other, fetch them presently:  
I think not one of all the guests will judge your fault so great,  
As for the spilling a few scraps, your master should you beat.  
Nay rather, in a merry vain, they'll laugh and jest at thee,  
Which provest thyself a perfect Scholar in Simplicity.    

Concerning the behaviour at the Table, before meat be set on. Chap. four  

Hark how thy hunger-pining paunch for meat doth cry and roar,  
And yet to comfort it with food, why hastest thou no more?  
Make haste, make haste, and now at length, after thy fast so great,  
Prepare thyself most speedily to give thy belly meat.   

If any great impediment forbids thee to proceed,  
As points, or girdle, thou wert best to lose them all with speed:  
Although if thou remove all lets, thou wilt be thought unkind,  
Thy doublet thou mayst well unbutton, when thou hast half dined.   

'tis vain with water (which cannot be clean) to wash thy hands:  
How often into clearest ponds are clods thrown from the lands?  
If water which should cleanse our hands, have lumps of dirt in it:  
Then surely from our hands it cannot wash the dirt a whit.   

Thy nails ne'er cut, but let them grow, it is a comely sight:  
Hawks with long nails do catch their meat; yet Lords in them delight:  
Or if thou needs wilt cut thy nails, cut them as thou dost dine,  
Between the first and second course, for than thou hast good time.   

If any gentleman, at dinner with thee chance to sit,  
Be sure to get the highest room, that's for thy credit fit.  
If any man chance to presume, to bid thee leave that place,  
Yet sit thou still, for if thou rise, 'twill be a great disgrace.  
For when a man is placed aloft, according to his use,  
Unto a worse place to be thrust, it is a great abuse.  
What reason hast thou for to show, thou hast so base a mind,  
As when thou hast a place before, thou wilt be thrust behind?  
Had we not all one father Adam, and one mother Eve?  
Shall earth and ashes thrust thee down? at that who would not grieve?   

Whenas our Grandsire Adam digged, and Grandam Eve span,  
Who then I pray amongst us all, was the best gentleman?  
Whenas you come too late to dinner, and a stool you lack,  
(Stand not in any case, for too much standing hurts your back.)  
By head and shoulders, from his place, thrust out some simple fool,  
If to his elder, and his better, he'll not yield his stool.   

Perchance your knife is fowl, with bread which yesterday it cut,  
Or in some other dirty place, perhaps it hath been put.  
This fault your  will quickly mend, if you no whetstone have,  
For whet it on your shoe-sole well, and it will shine most brave.  
If any man do marvel, that you use so plain a way,  
Tell him, that you have used that custom many a summer's day.   

If when you are sharp set to dine, you nothing have to eat,  
And for your hungry belly, you can get no store of meat;  
Because the Cook is somewhat long, before he will you serve,  
If that you think, unless you eat forthwith, you straight shall starve:  
Be angry strait, for why you have good cause, stamp, stare, and fume,  
How dare they on thy patience, base peasants, thus presume?  
Ask thou thy meat with angry looks, with choler, and with heat,  
And if they will not bring it thee, cry still out, meat, meat, meat.  
But if they still deny to come, with angry forehead say,  
That thou wilt beat them every one, if that they thus delay.   

Perhaps at length the meat is ready, and they only tarry  
For one, which should the meat from thence, unto the table carry.  
Then sit thou still, stir not a foot, 'tis better far to starve,  
Then like a paltry blew-cote knave (that's base) thyself to serve.  
Let no man, had he Tully's wit, make thee such folly use,  
What? serve thyself? thou never canst thine honour more abuse.  
Mean time be casting with thyself, which way the time to spend,  
Beware on idleness, on which all vices do attend.  
Hath the scabd-dogge, with tickling itching all thy body bit?  
Thou mayst have means to spend thy time, by overlooking it.   

Scratch off the scabs with busy fingers, that is very good,  
For so of putrefaction, thou mayst let out a flood:  
Or as our Mettall-mongers do, with their industrious pains,  
By digging mountains, rob the earth, of her rich metal veins.  
So with thy knife, from out thy body scabs thou mayst dig store,  
And seek diseases which do lack, in every hidden poor.  
Then with your unwashed knife to cut your meat, can breed no hurt,  
Nor wash your hands, you know that water cannot scour off dirt.   

'tis common for young men, to have great store of lusty louse.  
Their names declare their form, they have six feet, be not so nice.  
If that your flesh doth suffer any hurt by their sharp teeth,  
Defer no whit their punishment, that with your health agreeth.  
But with a courage from your head, straight pull them by the tail,  
And for their treason, straight behead them, with your thumbs sharp nail  
From forth your bosom take them quick, unto their great disgrace,  
And on the table valiantly, their captive body's place.  
'Twill be a pretty sight to see, how fast they'll run away,  
To save themselves, and all their kin, from that most bloody day.   

Though all things fail thee else, yet sure thou shalt find trenchers strong,  
To help to drive away the time, which thou dost think so long.  
O'relooke them well on every side, each corner, and each end,  
And if they are not, as they should be, help their faults to mend.  
The Trencher-maker in his work, doth often make great waste,  
Whenas he cannot stay, to finifie each part for haste.  
Thou which hast time enough, correct those faults in any wise,  
With thy sharp knife, which seem not handsome in thy curious eyes.  
And when thou hast corrected, of each trencher every whit,  
Thy Master cannot choose, but praise thy labour and thy wit.   

The tablecloth, with pin or knife, to prick, or cut, begin,  
No reasonable man I trow, will say this is a sin.  
For let the fool your Master know, that he did cause this deed,  
In keeping such bad Cooks, as would not give you meat with speed.  
'Twill make him charge his Cooks, that at the first call they you serve,  
And not to let his servants, to sit without meat and starve.   

Perhaps a salt-seller stands by, 'tis good with that to play,  
And strike it with your knife, 'twill serve to drive the time away.  
This by two sundry profits, sure will stand thee in great steed,  
For first the noise will make the Cooks, remember thee to feed.  
And secondly, unto thine ears, a pretty sound 'twill send,  
Wherefore, above all other tricks, this one I do commend.   

If that your master, or your father, leave his knife behind,  
For their sakes use it favourably, never be unkind.  
With stones, or wood, or keys, be sure you make it blunt and dull,  
Lest that it cut too fast as from their sheaths they do it pull.  
So when their knife doth cut their hands, in carving out a mess,  
By that good means which you foresaw, their wound will be the less.   

In brief, if that you had almost forgot your points to lose,  
And now you have such sudden haste, you cannot will, nor choose,  
And that you fear your breeches shall partake your heavy weight,  
And all the house you shall perfume, if you depart not strait.  
Then rise, and if your fellow needs will know whither you went,  
Tell him, to thrust away a knave, that would not pay his rent.  
So come again, and without washing either hands or face,  
As soon as may be, (as I told you,) get the upper place.  
Perchance if you in washing of your hands, had stayed long,  
The knaves would soon have parted all your part themselves among.    

Your behaviour all the while you eat. Chapter V.  

WHen you are set with pottage, first your stomach is unlocked,  
Because, before all other meats, you may that best concoct.  
And now forsooth you lack a spoon, yet hardly can abstain,  
Why then to sup it up with mouth and lips, you must be feign:  
Ask but of Nature, our dear mother, and she'll lend thee soon,  
A pair of lips, which thou mayst use, better than scope or spoon.  
Diogenes did scorn a spoon, but from a fountain clear.  
Did drink as well out of his hand, as we from pots of beer.  
And sure he had no other cause, the spoon for to despise,  
But that he saw his ancestors, do so before his eyes.   

When as the meat is all set down, according to thy wish,  
See that thy right hand wrest and all, be first in every dish.  
And if there be a dainty bit, 'tis good to snatch it straight,  
Lest that another for the same, do craftily lay wait.  
If thou be wise, observe this course and custom evermore,  
So for thy belly, dainty bits, thou ever shalt have store.  
If that some envious man, do seem for to repine at this,  
Love others well, but thyself better, say the proverb is,   

Perchance upon the platters furthest side, there lies a bit,  
Which thou dost very much desire, but canst not reach to it.  
And if thou sit by no such friend, as straight will help thee to it,  
By stretching out thy limbs upon the table, thou mayst do it,  
If any seem offended with thee, tell them 'tis the fashion,  
To set the best meat, to the best men of the congregation.  
Now sir, 'tis a more seemly trick, to turn the platter round,  
That by that means, the dainty bits may on your side be found.  
The turning of the platter round, in this sort it is best  
To hide, and cloak, and in my mind it is a pretty jest.  
After this sort, all stars, and the celestial bodies move,  
Which daily motion, and perpetual stirring ever love.  
Then bid your neighbour speak of plants, so your talk to quite,  
He smiling hits you on the ear, youare planet-strucken right.   

Whenas your friend doth on your trencher, dainty wildfowl lay,  
Straight cover it with both your hands, for fear it fly away.  
And though your neighbour ne'er so much, upon you do bestow,  
Yet keep it all within your clutches, let not one bit go.  
It is no profit for to give thy neighbour any part,  
Of those good bits, which thou thyself dost love with all thy heart.  
And as for him which gave it you, his kindness ne'recommend,  
Although he be a man of worship, and your very friend;  
Tell him, you were of age enough, yourself with cares to fit,  
Although from off his trencher he had reachd you ne'er a bit.  
After that you have twice or thrice thus answered every friend,  
No man from off his trencher dainties unto you will send;  
And so hereafter for yourself, you where you will may out,  
And out of every dainty dish, choose bits for your own gut.   

On every side of every dish, be sure you taste and try,  
And that which pleaseth not your mind, for others let it lie:  
False objects oftentimes deceive this mortal sight of our,  
And that which bears the sweetest show, in taste is often sour:  
Wherefore my counsel is, that in thy mouth thou taste aright,  
That which doth make so fair a show, unto the outward sight.  
If that it hath a pleasant taste, and like your palate well,  
What then you ought to do therewith, I hope I need not tell.  
But if the taste which you expected, fit not to your mind;  
Then take my counsel, for in it great profit thou shalt find:  
Into the platter with an angry look you may it cast,  
There is no sense that you should eat that meat you cannot taste:  
Or keep it, and the best thereof in cleanly sort gnaw round;  
For doing this, as I suppose, no fault can well be found.   

For why, with tooth and nail, to bite, and scratch, and gnaw your meat,  
Is both a seemly thing, and also bringeth profit great:  
For by this means, you spare your knife, which else might lose his edge,  
If in your meat there should be bones. O Wisdoms privilege?  
That which thou leav'st, into the platter wilt thou throw? O wit!  
Perchance some other will it take, for a most pleasing bit.  
Ill men (as thou art) ever bare such malice in their heart,  
That if they have a good thing, they'll not give their neighbour part.  
That which you cannot eat, some greedy got will snatch up straight,  
And give you thanks, as if for him you had reserved that bait:  
And that his hungry paunch at length may well be crammed with meat,  
That which upon your trencher lies, most ravenouslie he'll eat.   

But yet I think it is a trick more civil, and more fine,  
To load thy neighbour's trencher with those scraps that lie on thine.  
he'll thank you with a joyful heart, for that so royal fare,  
And say, he sees (he thanks you) that you mindful of him are;  
'Twill move you for to be his friend most faithful and most kind,  
And yet a faithful friend, in these bad days is hard to find:  
Such meat as thou gav'st to thy friend, when he did none desire,  
I think a ful-filld dog, would scorn to give his hungry fire.   

When biscuit bread, cimnells, and wine upon the Table stand,  
If that thou seest the Butler fills it, with a sparing hand,  
Hide thou the pot behind thy back, and unto others fill:  
And unto no man present give a drop against thy will.  
If any one of them be grieved which at the Table are,  
Tell him, 'tis good that every man should for himself have care.  
And sir, my counsel is, that you the pot do next time get,  
If when you dine abroad, you mean your lips with wine to wet.   

Thus, having filled your stomach with the first course at the board,  
If that you think the second will some dainty cates afford,  
And that you feel your girdle doth your swelling belly pinch,  
'tis better straight to take it off, than from good meat to flinch:  
Think it no shame, or if thou darest not do so, 'tis thy best,  
To pull it off though, for thou well mayst cloak it with this jest:  
Neighbour, you have a pretty gerdle, it shows very fine;  
What boot i'faith? let me see yours, and you shall straight see mine.  
And by this means you may have cause, your gerdle to put off.  
Whereas if you had not done so, you might have had a scoff.  
And if some bits of new gnawn meat, within your mouth do stick,  
Out of the same with hands and nails, 'tis manners it to pick;  
Within the Crocodiles wide jaws, when jags of flesh do lie,  
Some little bird to pull them out, doth help her presently.  
For while that she her tongueless mouth, in widest sort doth stretch,  
Some sharp billd bird from forth her jaws, the meat for food doth fetch:  
The seely bird within the beasts wide jaws doth walk, and feed,  
And hath no hurt, because her belly doth help the beast at need.  
But as for thee, thou needst not this, Nature our mother free,  
Foreseeing this, hath lent both hands and fingers ends to thee,  
Then with thy fingers search thy mouth, or with a knife, or pin:  
Since thou hast such means of thine own, a birds help scorn herein.   

And if from forth thy teeth thou bring a bloody piece of meat,  
Lest that it should be lost, 'tis good forthwith thou shouldst it eat:  
Or with your unwipte knife, from forth the platter take some bit,  
Which for your almost halfe-filld stomach you do think most fit.  
Your gnawn meat on your neighbour's trencher smiling you may lay,  
Using these flattering glozing terms, refuse it not I pray.  
And if that he accept the meat, which from your teeth you drew,  
'Twill stir up store of laughter, unto all that merry crew:  
And by this means all men will say, your wit is very quick,  
And count you for a merry fellow for this cleanly trick.  
Some fools (to what intent, who knows?) their knife must needs make clean,  
When as to cut a cleanly piece of common bread they mean.  
Thou fool, why dost thou wipe the fat upon the table cloth?  
Who ever knew a senseless fool, to learn good manners loath?  
Wert not a thing more pleasing, and more welcome to thy tongue,  
To wipe it on the common loaf, when thou dost cut along?  
Perhaps many a hungry man would give thee thanks for that,  
Which bread and butter loves at heart, and such things as are fat.   

This trick, although there be some show of beastliness in it:  
Yet sure of many a dainty dish, 'twill get thee many a bit,  
Whenas your host some dainty cates unto the Table sends,  
Which unto you your meat and drinke-consuming gut commends,  
Take thou those jewels from thy nose whereof before I told,  
I mean thy snot, and in thy hollow palm do thou it hold,  
And craftily into the platter, either cast it all,  
Or hold it dangling over, so that it may almost fall:  
And by this means the company will straightway loath their meat,  
And all the delicates remaining, thou thyself mayst eat.  
A man well known in every place, did often do the same,  
Who from an Owl joined to a Glass did first derive his name.  
This Owglasse all in every place, praised, honoured and admired;  
And to relate his pretty pranks, each merry man desired:  
Wherefore his life, and his behaviour do not thou refuse,  
And then no doubt but times to come, thy merry tricks will use.   

Dost thou a mean and end of eating now at length require?  
And when to know a ready time to leave dost thou desire?  
Leave eating when thy swelling belly will not let thee speak,  
And when thou thinkest with one bit more, thy very guts would break.  
I should proceed, and yet more precepts for thy dinner tell,  
But 'tis too late, and I at supper time may do't as well.    

Behaviour fit to be observed after dinner, and when you are walking. Chapter VI.  

NOw having filled your belly full, with dainty pleasing fare,  
Be sure that for your own affairs, you take but little care.  
The belly filled with dainty meats, can hardly cares endure,  
For careful thoughts, are deadly foes, unto concoction sure.  
And care doth with diseases, the best bodies oft infect;  
Wherefore out of thy mind, all care in any case reject.   

If that in summer, you your dinners in the fields do keep,  
Be sure that forthwith in a balk, you frame yourself to sleep.  
There you may lie, until you think, 'tis almost time to sup,  
And then 'tis time from drowsy sleep, to rouse your spirits up.   

And as you lie, to fart and fist at pleasure, you have leave,  
For why you know there's no man by, such tricks for to perceive.  
If that you find by trial, that no man a fart can hold,  
By good experience so to swear, I think you may be bold.   

If that to lie and sleep all day, doth not your fancy please,  
Because your nimble body, always scorned slothful ease,  
Then rise at leisure, and through every street walk up and down,  
The doing so, will sure procure both profit, and renown:  
For by this walking, thou thy meat, the better mayst digest;  
Among all other rules, Physicians hold this for the best.   

As thou didst come to dinner with unwashed hands, even so  
My counsel is, that from the same with unwashed hands thou go.  
'tis better that of dainty meats, thy dirty hands should smell,  
Then of that water, which is drawn, from every dirty well.   

What though your shoes be thick with diet? to purge them it is vain,  
For why you know in dirt and dung, they must be fowlde again.   

If thou hast cause to vomit, as the street thou walkest about,  
All which thou canst not keep, with wide mouth freely let it out.  
Nor care thou though great store of people stand about thee round,  
But all that goes against thy stomach, cast it on the ground.  
Grave Anthony the same did do, when many did him see,  
Yet he was chose in famous Rome, a Consul for to be.  
And look how much world's mirror Rome, our small towns doth surpas,  
So much to be preferred before thee, good Antonius was.  
That which so great a man as he, durst do in such a place,  
For thee to do in this small town, can be no great disgrace.  
But if this man's example, cannot move thy mind one whit,  
Yet if I urge thine own good health, I know thou'lt yield to it.  
The learned wise Physicians, their patients hurt to cure,  
Prescribe them certain bitter vomits, which they must endure.  
Each month one vomit at the least, or more, they ought to use,  
A vomit doth men's lives preserve, you can it not refuse.  
If in a month, one vomits use, can drive all hurts away,  
How long shalt thou live, if thou vomit twice or thrice a day?   

If thou hast need to piss, as thou dost walk thy friends among,  
Unload thy bladder presently, 'tis ill to keep it long.  
What though some honest Matron, or some chaste maid thee perceive,  
Yet do not thou in any case, thy former purpose leave.  
Respect good manners, but respect thy health a great deal more,  
Care while thou mayst, for health once lost, is hard for to restore.  
Men that are careless of themselves, do lose that in one night,  
For which they'd give, what not? poor fools, if so they get it might.   

If any cloak, or such like garment on thy shoulders be,  
What needst thou care which way it hangs, such vain care cast from thee.  
Or if you wear a gown, take heed that not your legs it hides,  
Lest that it hinder all your pace, your steps, and eke your shides.  
Cast it behind with both your hands, that all men so may see,  
Your perfect body, and your limbs, and fore parts what they be.  
And that which else your gown would cover, 'tis enough to hide  
It with your doublet, and your breeches, laced on every side.  
Such sights do please old Matrons very well, I tell the true,  
And these are very welcome sights, unto the virgin's crew.  
For than they le mark your slenderness, and all your nimble joints,  
And eke how well your belly is tied, with girdle and with points.  
And then forthwith with love of thee, they'll quite be set on fire,  
Which done, each act will more and more inflame their hot desire.   

If as you go, some friend or foe, do bid you, sir God speed,  
I think to give him a good answer, there is little need.  
First look him in the face, and mark with what good mind 'twas said,  
And as you like his, sir God speed, so let it be repaid.  
Thou oughtest to bid no man God speed, until that thou hast seen,  
What his behaviour, and his manners, unto thee have been.   

For why the wandering multitudes good will, thou needs must lack,  
If they perceive thou speak'st so friendly unto every jack.  
And by this means, the name of a light fellow thou wilt have,  
Which even now wert thought to be a man both wise and grave.  
And thus thine honour and thy majesty, will have a fall,  
If thou by such familiar terms, dost every fellow call.   

But if perchance some pretty wench, do stand at any door,  
Than which, a fairer in thy life, thou never saw'st before.  
Cast thou upon her all the cheerful looks thou canst devise,  
Though she be one, whom ne'er before, thou didst behold with eyes.  
Then go straight to her, and in this case lay aside all shame,  
And with a pleasant smiling look, demand the virgin's name.  
All that thou thinkest can laughter move, lay down before her face,  
Let nothing seem uncivil, or unseemly in this case.  
'mongst all the things which Nature made in wisdom, for man's use,  
Nothing is simply bad, but it from man receives abuse.  
If nothing but the crabbed minds of Stoics, you do tell,  
She ne'er will laugh, such sadness will not please her fancy well.  
Despise the sharp decrees of Catonists, that are severe,  
And lest you tell her zeno's statutes, you must have a care.  
The flattering sect of shameless men, fulfils her fancy fit,  
And that which currish Cinickes teach, 'tis good to tell her it.  
When thou hast told her all thy mind, and ripped up all thy heart,  
And that thou thinkest 'tis time for thee, now homeward to departed;  
Then round about her neck, be sure that thou thine arms do cast,  
And till that thou hast kissed thy fill, be sure thou hold her fast,  
If she reject thy gentle offers, and away would go,  
Then kiss her and embrace her both, whether she will or no.  
If that she fly, then follow her, and once caught, hold her fast,  
Though she dissemble for a while, yet sure she'll yield at last.  
And call her mistress sweet heart, love, and speak her very fair,  
Lest she should think, thy protestations are but wind and air.  
Let all the young men of the town, behold your sport and jest,  
That all may say, he is a comely fellow I protest.  
What other wench so  you meet, while you do use this sport,  
Be sure she taste of the same cup, and use her in this sort.  
You can no whit impeach by this, your gravity and fame;  
Nor is there any man, that aught to blame you for the same.  
If any wench speak to thee first, thank her not for that deed,  
But count her light in speaking first, let that be all her meed.   

What though you count yourself a praiser of Simplicity,  
And by your clownish manners, look to get some high degree.  
Yet bear so brave a lofty mind, as all men to despise,  
And with a frowning scowling look, on all men cast your eyes.  
He which doth bear a base mind, and thoughts which are so low,  
Doth seem his own perfections, not perfectly to know.  
And by this means, he soon may take unworthily disgrace,  
Whereas if he would brave it out, all men would give him place.  
What every man thinks of himself, that others think its meet,  
And he that will not raise himself, may long he under feet.  
Then yield to none, but scorn thou all, of none respectful be,  
And think all places, all degrees, are far too low for thee.   

If that you meet a man of worth, whom all the people grace,  
Whether he be a Magistrate, or Ruler in that place;  
Or teach the ruder multitude, to heaven to lift their eyes,  
Or for some other honest life, he be accounted wise:  
In any case scorn to look on him, when your head is bare,  
But let your cap for fear of cold, cover your head and hair.  
We all are dust, we all one form, we all one matter have  
Both rich and poor shall have alike, whenas they go to grave.  
The fatal sister Clotho, neither spareth rich nor poor,  
Since than we all are like, why should some men be honoured more?  
Wherefore, wheresoe'er thou art, give none the way, whosoe'er he be,  
Nay, if he stand upon such points, then make him yield to thee.   

When in a common way, thou with thy friend dost walk the street,  
Take thou the right hand both of him, and all that thou dost meet:  
But if the way be fowl, then mark this order not a whit,  
Take thou the clean as for the dirty, let him go in it.   

Perchance you have a fart, to send into the world so wide,  
Which rumbling in your belly, troubled you on every side;  
Then let it forth in every place, and wheresoe'er you will;  
That which our mother Nature made, I think cannot be ill.  
If any man for doing so, you are a sloven say,  
In this good sort, his vain objections, you well answer may.  
Four great diseases will arise, by keeping in your wind,  
A giddy head, the colic, dropsy, and the cramp unkind.  
Physicians do prescribe this rule, amongst their counsels deep,  
A rule, which every man that loves his health, should always keep.  
Claudius bids that farts and belches, we should never hold,  
Lest in presuming on our health, we make ourselves too bold.  
All that which in this point is said, it tendeth to this end,  
Thy good behaviour for to praise thy bad for to defend.   

In summer time, whenas the herbs grow greener every day,  
With some good talk, the tedious time, 'tis good to drive away.  
When some in sober sort, of weighty matters do entreat,  
And prove the land that lives in peace, hath sure a blessing great,  
Or some one read in history, doth orderly declare,  
The manners of our ancestors, and customs what they were.  
Be sure with trifling matters, that thou cross their purpose quite,  
Let others talk of former times, in ours take thou delight.  
Old wine, old friends, and eke old faith, may be allowed well,  
And yet 'tis folly to allow, all old things that you tell.  
'tis fit for us younger men, to speak of younger days,  
And see if for their good deserts, they may have any praise.  
And then begin unto them all, to tell some pretty jest,  
Which may enforce great store of laughter unto all the rest.  
Tell them what kindness you of late, did of your love receive;  
And thus with stories of her flattering words, the time deceive.  
Since none in crabbed words delight, use jests in every place,  
And bawdy terms, for these oft times, procure a special grace.  
O young man, while thy time is fit, in pleasure take thine ease,  
If thou thy good companions minds, dost purpose for to please;  
Rejecting shame, speak any filthy words that may be named,  
No valiant man, but only fainting cowards are ashamed.  
This all your younkers use to do, whenas abroad they walk,  
And scorning honest sober words, they fall to shameless talk.  
That which all young men use to do, the life that all men lead,  
(Since it is sure, the safest course in best known paths to tread.)  
The same in every point to imitate I counsel thee,  
And say, and do, that which thou thinkest to most will pleasing be.  
As long as you of nothing else, but toys and trifles talk,  
So long you may have work enough, how far soe'er you walk.   

But if at length, when you have uttered all that e'er you meant,  
(Although I think your store of words, can hardly soon be spent;)  
Then whatsoe'er another saith, be sure you mock and flout,  
As scorning to be over-talkt, by such a clownish lout.    

The adorning the Table before supper, and other such like duties. Chap. VII.  

But now sir Phoebus prancing horses to the sea do haste,  
There to refresh that strength again, which burning Sol did waste.  
And now I think the time draws near, thy supper for to take,  
Wherefore go home, that thou in readiness each thing mayst make.   

Bid talk farewell, which stays the belly from his wish for food,  
The finest speech unto a gut half ster'vd, can do no good.  
Yet will I not in any case, that too much haste thou make,  
But with a good advice and counsel, all things undertake.  
Sometimes 'tis good thou shouldst stay out, beyond the pointed time,  
For then some other will perform that duty which was thine.  
Some other than will lay the cloth, and on thy master tend,  
And e'er thou comest, of all thy business he will make an end.  
If that thy father or thine host, do for thy coming stay,  
Thou sure shalt get great profit and great credit by that way.  
Profit, for why thou both their loves shalt try, how great they be;  
And be't not credit when thine host or father stays for thee?  
And sure I think, for shame their hunger cannot be so great,  
As whenas thou art in the fields, they should devour the meat.   

When home you come, if that you see that neither man nor maid  
Did lay the cloth, and yet 'tis more than time that it were laid;  
Unless thy master thee command, lay thou no cloth at all,  
For if thou too officious art, who can thee simple call?   

ne'er labour for great store of wisdom and agility,  
For neither wit nor virtues deeds can one whit profit thee.  
Simplicity great profit brings, this will defend thee still,  
At every time, in every place where thou committest ill.  
And if in every duty thou dost show thyself unfit,  
Thy master in his great affairs, will never trust thy wit.  
The man that strives to shun the harms, he sees before his eyes,  
And he which knows what's fittest for himself, is surely wise.  
The man which boasteth of his wealth, is often robbed we see,  
When those which hide their goods up close, in pleasure still may be.  
Such as do of their virtues brag, are oft undone thereby,  
When those that look like lazy knaves, in quiet still may lie.  
That Chicons darling, brave Ulysses, might escape unspied,  
All his exploits under a distaff he was glad to hide.  
And had not wise Ulysses feigned himself to have been mad,  
In those hot broils of Trojan wars, he surely perished had.  
In like sort thou, if any act or virtue in thee lie,  
Be sure thou keep it all so close, that no man may it spy.  
Thy master and thy father both, will set great tasks to thee,  
If they descry those virtuous parts, which by thee cloaked should be.   

The trenchers and the bread to place, before the guests do sit,  
Unless thy master thee command, thou needst not count it fit.  
You need not have a care, in what good sort the stools do stand,  
Nor need you care to order every thing, with your own hand.   

It is not meet that from the loaf, you chip the upper crust,  
Which on your master's trencher, for his own mouth place you must.  
Your master oft forbids, that any good thing should be lost,  
Then if his chip he should lose, 'twould put him to great cost.   

Do only that which thou art bid, but do thou that with speed,  
It is not good at any time, to take more pains than need.  
Most wretched is that servants case, whose luck it is to have,  
A master at whose beck, he must do all that he shall crave.  
If he do that which no man bade him, 'tis a fault most great,  
And for it he forthwith is sure, most sound to be beat.  
Which to prevent, a witty youth that well did love his ease,  
Did take this order, lest he else his master should displease.  
Of all the things he had to do, he forthwith made a bill,  
That by this means, his master's mind he better might fulfil.  
And having made it by oft reading got it all by heart,  
Thinking that he by no means then, could from his duty part.  
And as for doing other things, he durst not be so bold,  
Unless he them within his paper, written did behold.  
By chance his master on a time, bade him put out a flame,  
Which kindling in a corner of the house, had burnt the same.  
He fearing lest he should do more, then in his bill he found,  
Stood seeking, till the house was almost burnt unto the ground.  
Get such a b●ll as this, and then you evermore shall find,  
If any business chance to fall out of your slippery mind.  
I told thee many duties fit for dinner time before,  
Which lest I spend my time in vain, I will recite no more.  
Unto each willing person, all my precepts are but plain,  
If by my doctrine they their lives to guide, will take the pain.  
For many have so quick a wit, that they my precepts know,  
Although my method and my doctrine, no man to them show.   

Whenas your master hath to supper, neither guest nor friend,  
And doth for all his household servants, very kindly send;  
Forthwith to get the upper place, have always in your mind,  
Lest others getting it before, they thrust you down behind.  
It's always seen, that he most labour still doth undergo,  
Which coming after all his fellows, hath his place below.  
Ho, sirrah, boy, unlock the door for them that knock so fast,  
If they be strangers, ask their errands, why they make such haste.  
Go fetch some bread, and bring the venison pasty in your hands,  
And draw some wine out of the tun, which in the corner stands.  
Perchance the dog hath let a escape, for which he must be gone,  
Then lead him out, and when he's sweeter, bring him in anon.  
These things must sometimes all be done, by him that sits below,  
Wherefore for any other seat, the lowest place for go.   

But if perchance, your master makes you only stand and wait,  
While all your fellows take their choice, of every pleasing bait.  
Then show some token, that this place is yours against your will,  
And with such angry words as these, your hungry stomach fill.  
be't any reason that I only, in such servile sort  
Should stand and wait, while others eat their meat with pleasant sport?  
I see no sense, why only I should stand and wait on thee,  
Whenas my fellows are at supper, from such bondage free.  
But as the hedge is most gone over, where it lieth low,  
Because it in that lowness, most humility doth show.  
So I because I less resist, than others that stand by,  
Am quite cast down, and at my master's feet most basely lie,  
And thus the more I do obey, the more I still must toil,  
I see 'tis hard for him to rise, that once hath took the foil.  
It may be, these thy words to move thy master's heart may seem,  
And he'll both give thee less to do, and better thee esteem.  
And if he sees, in joyful manner that thou part away,  
he'll love thee better, and appoint thee lesser tasks each day.   

But if he be obdurate still, refuse not then to wait,  
Lest he a crooked stick, upon thy shoulders broad make strait.  
Simplicity that is too foolish, she in any case,  
Lest it procure thee store of stripes, on shoulders, back, and face.   

As erst I told thee, so be sure thou never tie thy points,  
So mayst thou as thou servest at board, be nimbler in thy joints.  
Whether your master and his household, only dine together,  
Or else your master store of strangers, hath invited thither;  
Let all things after one set order, still be done of thee,  
And still observe one only kind, of rude Simplicity.  
Why shouldst thou strive at any time, more manners for to reach,  
Then this my homebred country muse, in simple verse can teach?  
Whether you sup at home, or all your curious friends among,  
The self-same manners in both places, unto you belong.  
To differ in your actions, cannot choose but breed disgrace,  
That which is seemly here, is not amiss in any place.    

Waiting at the Table all supper time. Chapter VIII.  

WHen all the guests thou hast invited for thy master's sake,  
Whom he with store of Bacchus' liquors, merry means to make.  
As thou wert wont, so have a care, a trencher to provide,  
And let Simplicity in all thy actions be thy guide.   

Then be thou careful to observe, all that I said before,  
And unto that 'tis requisite, I add a little more.   

Carry your dish so steadfastly, that being filled toth' brim,  
The bread, the salt, the cloth and all, may in the potrage swim.  
What though the pottage spilled, do all the stranger's clothes stain,  
Yet those that know the profit, could endure it so again.  
For why the spice wherewith the Cook did store the pottage well,  
Besides the dainty taste, will also yield a fragrant smell.  
And by this means, their garments afterward will smell more sweet,  
Then e'er they could, before they with this hot perfume did meet.  
They cannot well forget this kindness, if you have your due,  
For always when they smell that spice, they needs must think of you.  
If that this deed do seem to make them joyful at the heart,  
Then forthwith for to laugh aloud, you know it is your part.  
And by this means, the company will surely laugh at thee,  
And praise thee for thy good intent, and plain Simplicity.  
But if some testy crabbed fellow, liking not this use,  
With angry looks do tell thee plain, thou offerst him abuse.  
It shall suffice, if with good words, thou lessen his disgrace,  
Since hottest anger unto gentle words, oft giveth place.  
Sir, so it is, each mortal man doth often times offend  
Against his will, and cannot presently his fault amend.  
But seeing that his fault is great, he forthwith doth repent,  
And then lest he should thus despair, he hath a pardon sent.  
And by this means, I doubt not but his anger you'll appease,  
What though he were so hot of late? yet thus you may him please.  
Or if the fool will needs be angry, rail as fast as he,  
I hope the fool was old enough, unto his clothes to see.   

Then as you stand, with careful looks mark all that sit at meat,  
And mark the quantity, that every man doth drink and eat.  
Hide not your looks, but unto every man unfold your mind,  
For why your master by this means, great profit sure shall find.  
For then for shame, each man less bits into his mouth will put,  
And leave half that, which else he would have thrust into his gut.   

Have neither care nor reverence, of master, man, nor maid,  
But all that fits thy fancy best, let that be done and said.  
Though all men blame thee, yet if thou dost like thy deeds always,  
Thou know'st a man's own guiltless mind, deserves the greatest praise.   

If any man that's not thy master, do thy service crave.  
Straight bid him do't himself, for why thy help he shall not have.  
But if thy father or thy master, bid thee do the same,  
If then thou giv'st them such an answer, thou art much too blame.  
Do that which they command at leisure, always be thou slow,  
Lest something thou shouldst hurt or lose, if thou too fast shouldst go.  
Be sure to frown, and make such store of faces in that kind,  
That all may know, thou goest about it with no willing mind.   

Perhaps thou seest the candle lack a snuffer, that it might  
Unto the strangers at the table, cast a better light.  
Thou fool, why dost thou make such haste to snuff it with thy hand,  
Unless thy master twice or thrice at least, do thee command  
If thou dost put it out, while thou to snuff it dost intend,  
All that are by, will presently, this cleanly trick commend.   

It is a very civil trick, whenas the candle's out,  
To let the stinking smoke, ascend their nostrils round about.  
If that you dare not put it out quite, lest your master chide,  
Yet that the stink may trouble them, you thus may well provide.  
The snuff cut off you on the ground may cast without offence,  
A smoky vapour, will disturb their noses all from thence.  
Why should you tread it out? unless they earnestly you pray,  
Although they you command, yet scorn their pleasures to obey.  
Nay, rather you to leave the snuffers open should presume,  
From whence will come a smell, which will again the house perfume.  
I think this smell to wives with child, but little good will do,  
Though sure 'twill profit in some sort, both men and women too.  
If some one man among the rest do firmly that deny,  
And say he'll prove the contrary by reasons presently:  
And that he may the better prove, that which he doth defend,  
Doth urge the words of men, whose writings all times did commend.  
(For Pliny saith, the babe which in the mother's womb doth lie,  
If that the mother feel this smell, immediately doth die.)  
Then cry aloud, that he against the truth doth plainly speak,  
And that thou presently, wilt prove his argument but weak.  
Nor be ashamed to trouble and disturb the standers by,  
But with these words in lofty sort, be sure thou him defy,  
I hope good fellow, thou wilt freely give me leave to speak,  
Since thou the laws of modesty, long since thyself didst break.  
He surely is a wicked man, which seeks by vaunting lies,  
To get him credit and renown, before us that are wise.  
As I remember, I no place of Pliny's can recall,  
Wherein he any whit makes mention of these words at all.  
For how could he know this? or else put case he did say so,  
'tis vain for to believe each word, of every man you know.  
For many things unto this day, are extant in his books,  
Which he may find to be most false, that wisely in them looks.  
If thus you answer his objection, every man will swear,  
That surely you a skilful man, and well read scholar are.   

The cups being empty, catch them in your hand with wine to fill,  
And then in haste fill them so full, that they may almost spill.  
'tis good to fill them full at first, lest you more pains should take,  
What though your trembling hand spill some? you soon amends may make.   

What though the cup being too full, you power some on the ground?  
I think if you should use this trick, great fault could not be found.  
Or if you dare not give it full, for fear your master brawl,  
Then kindly sup off some, as if you drank unto them all.  
Or (which is much more civil,) if too much you chance to fill,  
Into the flagon empty some, for fear you should it spill.  
For if perchance some dirty drugs, within the cup do lie,  
By mingling it with all the wine, 'twill forthwith clarify.   

Perhaps your master on his guests, bestows such store of wine,  
That no two cup fulls, grew upon the self-same kind of vine.  
You need not take great care, to know each sundry sort and kind,  
But always fill of that, which next unto your hand you find.  
What though a man should always mix, all kinds of wine together?   

The self-same earth did bear all wine, which Merchants can bring hither.  
The virtues of all sorts of wine, in one cup one might hold,  
If all men in this sort, would use to mingle new with old.  
As many virtues joined in one, do make that one excel,  
So divers wines are of most force, when they be mingled well.  
If any man this custom, with some upstart name abuse,  
Tell him, he knows no orders, which the wise Physicians use:  
Which would not use to give their patients compound potions still,  
Unless they found such mixture good, by Physics sacred skill.  
The self-same order must be kept, which I prescribed before,  
In that good ale which unto us is brought from Saxon shore.  
From Hamburg city on our shore, great store thereof is cast,  
Which doth both nourish very well, and hath a pleasant taste,  
Next unto that, Bracket, a kind of happy pleasant beer,  
A kind of drink that's made of hannovera's water clear.  
And Cydar which was brought from thence, where Brunon old was king,  
And that good kind of drink which men from Embecke city bring.  
Let all these sundry sorts of drink, be mingled well together,  
Since only for the dry throats use, they were conveyed hither.   

If any man entreateth you, to fill his empty cup,  
All that which in the bottom lies, be sure you straight drink up.  
If thou perhaps art drunk to, by some ancient friend of thine,  
Which presently, will have thee pledge him in a cup of wine,  
At first refuse his gentle offer, after take the cup,  
And all the wine that is therein, most boldly drink it up,  
As for the cup, in any case let it not empty stand,  
And having silld it fresh, restore it to your master's hand,   

I do not bid you stir your hat, whenas you pledge your friends;  
Or if you will, then only touch it with your finger's ends.  
Or if for manners sake, at length to take it off you choose,  
Then cast it straight behind your back, as meaning it to lose.   

And as you stand expecting carefully your masters will,  
As fast as they can drink them off, the empty cups to fill.  
If as you fill, from forth your hands, the bottle you let fall,  
You shall be thought to be a handsome fellow of them all.  
What though your master hereupon, begin to fume and rage?  
Yet with this gentle answer, you his answer may assuage.  
Forsooth you ought for this, to blame my drunkenness, not me,  
And hereupon he cannot choose, but pardon give to thee.   

If thou perchance espi'st a cup, which void of liquor is,  
Which every man doth constantly, deny to have been his  
Because perhaps some sober man, to scape it so, did think,  
And set it by, lest else he should be overcome with drink.  
It is great shame, that empty cups should on the table stand,  
And 'tis your fault, if any guest want liquor in his hand.  
Then take it straight and drink to him, which for your friend you feign,  
And by this means, the use of drinking you'll renew again.  
Yet do not this, without some cunning trick of craft or other,  
For 'tis a credit nowadays, to coofin your own brother.  
Wherefore be sure to fill the cup whereon you drink, with beer,  
The common kind of Saxon drink, which daily we use here.  
But for your friend mingle good wine, your strongest beer among,  
For why the mixture of these liquors, makes them both more strong.  
And by this means, if of this drink you give them but your fill,  
The company will all be drunk, when you are sober still.   

Or if your master's friends you love not thus for to deceive,  
Then of each cup of perfect wine, be sure no drop to leave.  
And thus to drunkard's haven thou thy shipping first shalt take,  
And all that halfe-drunke company, most merry thou shalt make.  
And thus by thy example, thou wilt make them drink the more,  
Because they see such good effects of wine in thee before.  
For since that wine stirs up such gallant sporting tricks in thee,  
they'll all be drunk, that in like sort they all may pleasant be.    

The manner how to serve the guests with drink after supper, and how to prevent them with crafty tricks. Chapter IX.  

THat you have done your business well, 'twill make your master think,  
If by your means your master's friends, have took good store of drink.  
Wherefore let no man of your master offer leave to take,  
Before he with his feet do seem, indentures for to make.  
And though your master give him leave, at length to go his way,  
Yet 'tis your duty nevertheless, perforce to make him stay.   

Nor would I have you fill the cup, at any man's request,  
Before he doth each drop which in the bottom lies, digest.  
Sir, you must drink off every whit, else not a drop I'll fill,  
My office binds me thus to do, and that observe I will.  
Plain deal's best, such drops of wine to what end should you spare?  
Think you that I of right and justice, have no better care?  
Drunkards, have always been the justest men in every place,  
Wherefore I scorn that our old custom, you should now deface.  
My master always gives me charge, to give his guests their due,  
Which charge I could not choose but break, if I should favour you.  
Thus say, and though a thousand times he bid you fill it up,  
Fill not a whit, until each drop he drink out of the cup.  
This profit thou shalt get, if thou dost that which I have said,  
Thy guest, will sooner all be drunk, and sooner gone to bed.  
And thou mayst sooner take thy rest, and get again that sleep,  
From which thy early rising, doth thine eyes so often keep.  
Naso, which in such learned sort of flattering love doth speak,  
Doth say that want of sleep doth make men's bodies very weak.  
Then since sleep doth the contrary, be sure thou have a care,  
That all thy master's guests betimes, with wine well drunken are.  
And by the way heese is a trick, which I must teach to thee,  
Which surely is a perfect point, of pure Simplicity.   

Have you two sundry sorts of guests, at supper in your house,  
As here a sort of belly gods, that love the grand carouse.  
And here a sort of honest quiet men, that use to play  
At Ruff, at Noddy, and at Pink, to drive the time away:  
And hath thy master made thee supravisor over all his wine?  
Is both his key, his wine, his seller, and his sugar thine?  
The strong wine to the clowns, the worse unto the good men give,  
And there's good reason, why good men without good wine should live.  
Such men as rule the multitude, and weighty causes hear,  
Lest they should err by drunkenness, should hate strong wine and beer.  
For drunkenness o'ercomes our sense, and captivates the mind,  
And is the greatest fault, when it in greatest men we find.  
Wherefore, lest thou shouldst seem the cause and author of this ill,  
Be sure th●t thou the worst wine, for the best men always fill.  
Thou seest they love to sit and talk, and pass away the time,  
Which proves that they love honest talk, better than strongest wine.  
Thus will they sit and talk all night, forgetting to departed,  
Unless thou carefully prevent them with this cunning art,  
Give them such tasteless wine, as thou dost use with drugs to mix,  
And then they'll surely straight departed, not liking these thy tricks.  
For they will neither for such tappings any money spend,  
Now will such tasteless drugs as those, their stomachs so offend.  
But every man to leave that house, will forthwith think it best,  
And to his own house, every man will go to take his rest.  
Xantip, wife to Socrates, in fame shall ever live,  
Who when to certain worthy men, a banquet she did give.  
They talked long and learnedly, of things that liked them best,  
Including many a weighty matter in a pleasant jest.  
When half the night they thus had spent, Xantip malcontent,  
Devisde some means, whereby at length their prattling to prevent.  
She being well tongued, both her husband and her guests did chide,  
But seeing that they scorned her words, this other means she tried.  
She threw the table under feet, and forced them all to go  
Incontinent out of her house, whether they would or no.  
This I could wish thee eke to do, if they should sit too long,  
But this I doubt thou scarce wouldst do, such sober men among.  
Wherefore I think with naughty wine, they sooner will leave talk,  
And every man will care, unto his proper house to walk.   

Perchance 'twill make them leave their chat, to tell them suddenly,  
Where Charles wain is, and other well known candles of the sky.   

What though you tell a lie? tush, that's a trifle very light;  
Or, that they may be gone to bed, tell them what time of night,  
Suppose the Cock hath scarce crowed once, nights coming to declare,  
Yet say the stars unto the waters, now descending are.   

Or say (what though thou liest?) that each man may his own house see,  
Why should their trifling jests, disturb thy master thus and thee?   

Or if thou wilt not drive away such grave men in this wise,  
Then let them talk, and do what soe'er is seemly in their eyes.  
But leave those wise men all alone, unto the clowns go thou,  
Who pleasant jests, and store of wine; unto thee will allow.  
Mean while, leave those grave Catonists, as men that are forlorn,  
And let them sit, (but without wine,) until the next day morn.  
when they perceive you scorn them thus, and leave them all alone,  
Then sure (if ever,) every man will to his house be gone.   

But for the drunkards, men well minded, give them better drink,  
Because on nothing but the throat well drenched, they use to think.  
As little wisdom as you can, will fit their humours best,  
And as for knowledge and good conscience, they do both detest.  
Their heads with matters of importance, seldom troubled are,  
And from their minds, I think they always banished cark and care.  
They neither care for wife, nor children, nor excess of wealth,  
Their only care, is now and then in mirth to drink a health.  
God Bacchus frolic feasts, and pleasant wine they still commend,  
And all their life in sportive plays and tricks, they use to spend.  
For those good fellows at the first, bring forth immediately,  
The strongest wine, though under twenty locks and keys it lie.  
Such men as these each day and hour, make drunkenness a jest,  
And if you bring your strongest wine, the strongest they love best.  
Use all thy wit, to make these wel-nie drunken fellows mad,  
And though they come too fast before, yet use a spur to add;  
And force them thus to run that way, which they before did go,  
By giving the stalest wine, which strongest thou dost know.  
For why, the sooner they be drunk, the sooner they'll forsake  
The house; the sooner they'll departed, the sooner sleep they'll take.    

The talk, debating, and wrangling of the guests after supper. Chapter X.  

WHenas with Bacchus pleasant juice, they have been liquored well,  
they'll fall to talk, and every man his sundry tale must tell:  
Then all the news that flies abroad, you shall be sure to hear,  
And all the miracles that have been done, both far and near.   

One tells how gallantly he spent his sportive youthful days,  
How ready and how apt he was to sundry kind of plays;  
How cunningly his hobby-horse, in those days he could drive,  
And in the Trojan horse how they their battle did contrive.   

Another shows some lines, received from his whilom love,  
And tells how happy and effectual, all his suits did prove:  
And oftentimes, a cause of fetching bitter sighs he'll find,  
When his prosperity that's past, he calls into his mind.  
When he his sweetest days and pleasures past, doth thus recall,  
He cannot choose, but into store of sighs he needs must fall.   

A third will on the other side, his ill success recite,  
While he, (unhappy he) did under Cupid's colours fight,  
How he was cold and numb, even in the midst of all his fire:  
And how he went through frost and snow, to compass his desire.  
And yet for all this, he his purpose never could attain,  
But for his prayers and his pains, bad words were all his gain.   

Another younker to the heavens, his sweet heart's praise will tell,  
And swear her hair strives with the gold, the saffron doth excel.  
Her glittering eyes do shine like stars, to them that pass them by,  
Venus I think idalia's Queen, had not a purer eye.  
Her mouth well framed, her face and cheeks in form are very round,  
Life-breathing kisses, in her rose-excelling lips are found,  
Her white with red, and red with white, so well is inter-linde,  
As if the blushing Rose, were to the pale-faced Lily joined:  
Her fingers long and slender are, her teats are even so,  
Her thighs (sweet thighs,) excel in whiteness the Sithonian snow.   

Others perchance in other matters place their chief delight,  
And every man will speak of that, which fits his state most right,  
The soldier speaks of cruel battles, Mars, and bloody wounds,  
The huntsman which delights in dogs, commends the swiftest hounds.  
He that delights in store of fruits, commends most fertile fields,  
The shepherd he commends the flock, which most wool to him yields.  
The mariner sets forth the winds, and quicksands where they be,  
And talks to them of raging seas, which never sea did see.  
Each man according to his life, doth speak of every thing,  
The hearing of such news as these, great profit may thee bring.   

Some will repeat those tricks, which they have done in all their days,  
And for these tricks (though they be faults,) will look to have some praise.  
Oft have I heard old chancelesse men, with one foot in the grave,  
Brag of those vices, which they in their youth committed have.   

Those good examples of old men will teach thee, in like sort,  
Young heads unto decrepit sires, for counsel should resort.  
Be sure thou listen with both ears, unto each word they say,  
And in thy careful mind, each matter firmly bear away.  
If in the mean time any guest, desire thy helping hand,  
And either bid thee fill some wine, or something else command.  
Look thou another way, as if his voice thou didst not hear,  
And with each hand from that ill sound, be sure thou stop each ear.  
Ulysses, lest the Sirens songs to death should him entice,  
Stopped all his fellows ears with wax, and scaped by that devise.  
So lest thou shouldst be forced to go, whither thou hast no mind,  
Be deaf, and then to hear their talk, thou still mayst stay behind.  
But if without your credits crack, you can no longer stay,  
Because he still with loudest voice prays you to come away,  
And yet to hear their trifling talk, you have a great desire,  
This favour at his hands, by this means you may well require.  
Pray him to stay, but till you hear the end of that one jest,  
And then you'll come, he cannot choose but grant that small request.   

When store of Bacchus' drunken juice, into their brain is sent,  
And drunkenness in every part, hath firmly pitched his tent;  
Triumphing, that poor reason from his native seat is gone:  
And when the soul is headlong thrust, by force from off her throne,  
Great strife, concerning sundry weighty matters will arise,  
And every tongue made glib with drink, will talk in divers wise.  
One saith, that after death, our souls do live eternally,  
And that it is not like, that with our bodies they should die.  
They change their place indeed, but enter other subjects tho,  
As that soul which was once a man's, into a beast doth go.  
But this absurd opinion, will of some rejected be,  
Which in like judgement, with Pythagoras do not agree.  
Others will think, the soul and body both together die,  
Even as the hear together with the fire, ends presently.  
And that this is impossible, another forthwith saith,  
Most constantly dispraising those that dare defend this faith.   

Another will declare great wonders of another land,  
Which in a place, that's far beyond heaven's axle-tree, doth stand.  
There ●●en have mouths & teeth like dogs, and do on man's flesh feed;  
That's false another cries, with monster's Nature never agreed.  
Each man brings store of arguments, that he may get the field,  
And every man will rather die than to another yield.   

Others would 'gainst such kings as they, mislike, exception take,  
And oftentimes great jars and wars, by their great words they make,  
Some Captains they'll extol beyond the heavens, and stars with praise,  
Others they'll wish at Stygian lakes, in hell to end their days.  
Others will speak quite contrary to these, to move debate,  
And those which they so hate, they'll praise, which they so praise, they'll hate.   

Others make difference in the days, one black, another white;  
Others by making all alike, dash this distinction quite.   

Each man will only like of that, which he himself doth know,  
judging, that as he thinks, 'tis meet that every man think so.  
Another cannot suffer that, but thus it needs must be,  
That he knows what belongs to things, as well as any he.  
And then they'll prove and disproove, all the causes they can get,  
And thus their wrangling, wrestling strife, and swaggering will be great.   

It may be then from words to bloody blows this strife will lead,  
And then instead of arguments, a naked sword must plead.  
As for old Logic, that in this case can no whit suffice,  
Which never taught to prove your words, in this so boisterous wise.  
Some Aristotle must be found, to print this art anew,  
By showing from what secret place, his shining sword he drew.  
Be sure that with a lusty courage, thou on one side take,  
And by thy counsel and advise, the battle greater make.  
Thrust thou thyself into the midst, and all fear cast behind,  
Concerning all the matter, freely utter thou thy mind.  
In store of stir, and whooping loud, be sure thou pass them all,  
And speak so loud, that thou mayst almost shake thy master's hall.   

Boldly give thou the lie, to him which contradicteth thee,  
Then at thy thunder-thumping words, they'll all amazed be.  
And thus to honour and renown, thou presently shalt rise,  
And for this wit, the multitude will praise thee to the skies.  
But from his hands to whom thou gav'st the lie, be sure thou live,  
Lest for that salutation, some wound to thee he give.    

The manner how to send away the guests after supper, and what is to be done before you go to bed, and the conclusion of this first book. Chapter XI.  

IF half the night be spent in waging war the guests among,  
This injury in any case, must not be took too long.  
He which with careful diligence, unto his things will look,  
Must have a care, that all his guests with craft be overtook.  
That banquet, last it ne'er so long can bring to thee no gain,  
Although by keeping thee from sleep, it put thee to great pain.  
Wherefore to make them all depart, thy wit must find some feat,  
Some tricks I have already taught, which here I will repeat.   

Perchance some one among the rest, demands what time of night,  
Then be thou sure in any case, thou never tell him right.  
Perhaps the Cock doth tell you plain, 'twas ten the clock struck last,  
Yet be not thou ashamed, to say that it is twelve and past.  
Though no man ask, yet tell them this each hour, on thine own head,  
That they may know the better, that its time to go to bed.   

If neither they respect thy words, nor yet the time that's past.  
Then warn them flatly, that each person to his house make haste.  
And though your master did not bid you, thus his guests to use,  
Yet if you do so, this his credit cannot much abuse.  
I doubt not, but your master would himself have said the same,  
If that it would not have been prejudicial to his fame.   

As soon as they halfe-drunken, do begin to part away,  
Set open the door, lest thou shouldst give them any cause of stay.  
Set open the doors I say, and freely lend them store of light,  
And tell each man which is the way, unto his own house right.  
And when each one hath took his leave, as fits his humour best,  
Be take thee to thy chamber, there at length to take thy rest.   

As for the shutting of the doors, it is thy masters right  
To shut them all, if that he means they shall be shut that night.  
Let him put out the candles all, and eke rake up the fire,  
Thy master must go last to bed, that Cato doth require.   

Or else take thou the candle, for I think that's far more fit,  
Whenas thou go'st to bed, and for thine own use keep thou it;  
Lest in the dark, thy legs or feet be hurt by any thing,  
The night, before all other times most hurt doth soon bring.  
As for your master, he may in the dark more safely go,  
Because each corner in the house, he perfectly doth know.  
Let him a God's name in the dark, put off his clothes alone,  
he's old enough, as for thy help, be sure thou give him none.   

The night is shorter than the day, then sure I think it best,  
To have a care, that nothing hinder thine expected rest.  
Wherefore prevent the hasting time, by all means that thou can,  
Care for thyself, but have no care for any other man.   

As for the pots and cups, which still are left upon the table,  
To stir them ere tomorrow morn, I think thou art not able.  
If all the pots should be removed that night, and purged by you,  
After such pains and loss of sleep, what profit would ensue?  
Then let them stand, that every man may tell his fellow, here  
Was yester night a royal banquet, stuffde with dainty cheer.  
For by this means, of those great pleasures they may have a taste,  
'tis comfortable to remember pleasures that are past.  
Nay which is more, this business thou ever shouldst neglect,  
Because no wise man, will such labour and such pains respect.   

Next morning, 'tis my counsel, that thou sleep till just mid-noon,  
Left thou shouldst hurt thy brain and wit, if thou shouldst rise too soon.  
Nay then, to leave thy sleepy bed, take thou no care at all,  
Unless thy father or thy master, twice or thrice thee call.  
Mean time, the servants all the pots will place in comely wise,  
And quite dispatch thy business, before that thou canst rise.   

When thou hast slept so well, that all thy wine is washed away,  
Then rise, whenas the sun hath shined brightly half the day.  
Such precepts as are fittest for thee, whenas thou dost rise,  
And all fit manners, we have told before in ample wise.  
Be sure that thou in every place, dost all of them maintain,  
Lest thy forgetfulness, make me repeat them all again.   

Many there are, which next their heart do burnt wine wholesome think,  
For why (say they,) our senses are restored by that warm drink.  
Do thou the same if for such kind of drink thy purse do care;  
For ill with ill, and wine with wine, oft times expelled are.  
To teach thee more, concerning this thy simple life I meant,  
But I must haste, for why mine own affairs do me prevent.  
Use thine own wit as much as may be, for thou so mayst well  
By thine own practice, all my words and counsel far excel.  
I only slightly touch those precepts, which I give to thee,  
Which if I should at large define, too tedious I should be.  
Few words will serve, since from thy use great learning thou hast had.  
Unto my precepts by thy practice, thou mayst daily add.  
For me to put all things in one book, it would be but vain,  
Because the greatest place that is, could not that book contain.  
How I (poor wretch,) such labour should sustain, I do not know,  
It is a burden, greater than my wit can undergo.  
For why, no place (though ne'er so wide,) all fools can comprehend.  
Because their court is infinite, their number without end.  
Cast but your eyes in careful sort, through all the world's wide round,  
And mark each sundry sort of men, that therein can be found.  
You still most shameless filthy faults, in every place shall find,  
For why alas to rudeness, now no mean can be assigned.  
Old age to live by virtues line, have nowadays no care,  
Not shaming by wild vices, to disgrace their silver hair.  
And which is worse, they unto youth such bad examples give,  
That they in imitating them, most wickedly do live.  
And youth, (such is the wickedness of these inclining days,)  
Doth think, that living out of order, merits much praise.  
Who teacheth youth to mend their lives, or bids them to forsake  
Their former most disordered life, and better courses take?  
Nor man nor woman nowadays, their credit do respect,  
But loving vice most shamelessly, all virtue they neglect.  
In times of old, when men by virtue did to honour rise,  
Young maids were much commended, for their chaste & shamefast eyes.  
They seldom spoke, and when they spoke, their speech was chaste & pure,  
Which of a chaste and pure mind, was an argument most sure.  
Now 'tis a credit for a wench, to have a gadding eye,  
And if she cannot keep her way, she's praised immediately.  
Now, 'tis a credit for a wench, to have her tongue to walk;  
And she is thought a clownish wench which cannot boldly talk.  
'tis vain to talk of those great men, which are in great account,  
And, which in rule and dignity all others do surmount.  
Forgetful of all comeliness, those things they speak and do,  
Which all their minds regardless lust most headlong leads them to:  
And those which in a kingdom over others rulers are,  
Do that themselves, from which they should keep others with great care.  
Enter the halls of noble men, puffed up with pomp and pride;  
The high built houses of great men, their porches large and wide:  
And at your very entering in, such objects you shall see,  
I mean such men as you, of souls would judge them void to be:  
There drunkenness, and lives beseeming beasts, do rule and reign:  
here gluttony the chiefest rule and empire doth obtain:  
And in another corner pride doth bear the greatest sway,  
Which doth men's minds from good behaviour headlong lead away.  
In these and such like steps, the subject multitude doth tread,  
Which from all virtue to all vice, our minds do captive lead.  
I would proceed by these complaints these vices to amend,  
But that I am enforced at this time here to make an end:  
For why, the rustic rout with piercing cries do me command,  
To finish that my task, which lately I have took in hand.    
The end of the first Book.   

THE SECOND BOOK of ancient Simplicity of Behaviour.  

How to behave yourself, being invited by another, with what behaviour to come to supper, and how to sit down at the Table. Chap. I.  

THus far I have set down, according to my shallow vain,  
The means whereby your master's gests with mirth to entertain  
But as a servant which as yet, can have no full command,  
But is perforce enforced to live, under his masters hand.  
But now the means to use your own invited guests and friends,  
This second Book in ample sort and manner comprehends.  
If then you of your neighbour as a guest invited are,  
Learn here, of what good manners you must have a special care.   

First, of the boy that comes to bid you, many questions ask,  
As, whom he bids, and why his master pointed him that task,  
He rather for that purpose should some serving man have got,  
Whereby more grace and credit might have fell unto your lot:  
What fish, what flesh, his master for that dinner doth provide;  
And, how much silver, he amongst the Butchers did divide:  
What curious cates, and store of sauce, the Cook provides for thee;  
What sorts of bread, wherewith thy whining paunch may glutted be:  
What kinds of wine the Butler hath provided for your taste;  
What junkets you shall carry with you, when you part at last:  
And whether after meat, there must be dancing in the hall,  
Whether his master to that feast did any virgins call.   

And ask him, if the guests, the cooks, and cates which thou shalt find,  
May be supposed, agreeing to your worship's stately mind.  
Thus having notice of each thing, which that day shallbe done,  
Entreat the lad, with thanks, to tell his master that you'll come.   

But if among the number of the guests, you chance to find  
Some hateful fellows name, whose actions fit not to your mind;  
Then never give your word, that you (God willing) there will be,  
Let not all sorts of knaves be mates and fellows fit for thee.  
Amongst a crew of crabbed Catonists scorn thou to dine,  
Which unto grave severity do all their words incline:  
Wherefore command the boy, to charge his master to prepare  
A sort of pleasant sportive youths, which of thy nature are.  
And if the cates, which he repeats do not thy stomach please,  
Bid him provide thee better meat, thou canst not dine with these.   

But that thou in particular more perfectly mayst know,  
All which the Cook provides for dinner, ere thou thither go,  
Demand thou of the boy, a bill containing all the meat,  
Whereof thou at thy neighbour's house dost mean thy part to eat.  
Thus mayst thou know both what to eat, and what to set aside:  
And, for what wines and dainty cates a room you should provide.   

Take out your bill from out your bag, that hangeth at your back,  
And mark as well each dish received, as each dish which you lack:  
If in your bill you find some boiled dish fitting to your mind,  
Which was not brought unto your table, but was kept behind,  
Because your neighbour bade his Cook reserve it for a friend,  
Whose presence doubtless he expected ere that dinners end.  
Straight stamp and stare, fret, rage, and fume, as if that you were mad;  
To cloak your anger in this case, I hold it very bad.  
There is no sense, your host should offer you such mighty wrong,  
In scoffing sort, to make you sit, with empty mouth so long.  
When still you thought (well meaning man) they did provide for you  
More dainty dishes as you bade them, but it proves untrue,  
Why ceasest thou with piercing voice, to bid them bring away  
Those dishes, which thou foundst contained in thy bill to day:  
Thou hast not this abuse alone, but every stranger there  
As well as thou, in this indignity doth bear his share.  
Though no man bid you speak a word, yet say you speak for all,  
If only you had been abused, th'had had no cause to brawl.   

Thus having well prepared yourself, to supper see you hie,  
Whenas you see the time so long expected, draweth nigh.  
As for your neighbour which must go to supper that same way,  
Since you can find the way yourself, 'tis vain for him to stay.  
Neglect thy business all at home, to supper make thou haste,  
'tis better to be there too soon, then for to be the last.   

When you into your neighbour's house, most boldly entered are,  
Lest that you bid, God speed too oft, you needs must have a care.  
But straight from thence, unto the smoking kitchen go with speed,  
To see what dainty dishes they provide, thy paunch to feed.  
Nor stay thou longer, but demand some provender to eat,  
Resistless hunger can be tamed by nothing but by meat.  
And after that, require a cup of foaming wine to drink,  
And by this means, thou shalt deceive the lingering time I think.  
That when the rest to supper come, thou mayst be liquored well,  
The more thou drinkst, the greater store of pleasant jests thou'lt tell.  
And all will take thee for a jesting fellow in these days,  
A drunkard and a jester, cannot live without his praise.   

If thou dost stay alone, because the rest no haste do make,  
How thou the time mayst pass away, my counsel thou mayst take.  
With loudest voice, be sure that thou begin to sing some rhyme,  
And let the subject of it be, the praise of pleasant wine.  
The sound whereof will spread itself, quite over all the street,  
And thou by this means, with great store of company mayst meet.  
For when thy fellows perfectly, do this thy music hear,  
They surely will persuade themselves, that supper time draws near.  
And every man will haste to hear, thy sweet enchanting voice,  
And leaving all their things undone, with thee they'll eke rejoice.   

Or if thou take no great delight, in making such great haste,  
When all the rest are set and served, then come thou in at last.  
Stay thou at home so long, until they send in post some man,  
To pray you for to make all haste, which possibly you can.  
Say that you'll follow presently, but stir not from that place,  
Until they send another man, your company to grace.  
Let all the guests for thy sake, from their suppers hindered be,  
This is a credit, which should never be refused of thee.  
they'll surely think some great affairs, your counsel do require,  
And that some man of worship, doth your present aid desire.   

If having stayed a while, they see you come not yet away,  
And therefore think you purpose not, to dine with them that day:  
And at the last, the Cook unto the table sends the meat,  
And every guest, as he likes best, begins thereof to eat.  
Then enter thou, when every man is at his supper quick,  
And all the places are possessed, because they sit so thick.  
With frowning face and lowering looks, be sure to check thine host,  
For making such a man as you, so basely kiss the post.  
Tell him of this his boldness, all his chiefest guests among,  
'tis hurtful to forget to punish this reproach too long.  
Are these the cates wherewith you said, I entertained should be?  
Is this your love? is this the care you ought to have of me?  
But far you well sir, for a meal the matter is not great,  
I hope I still shall live, without your friendship, or your meat.  
And having boldly spoke these words, with a resolved heart,  
Go forth, as if you to your house would presently departed.  
Then straight with cap in hand, your host will to you humbly come,  
Desiring you to pardon that, which rashly hath been done.   

And after he with flattering words, hath wooed you half an hour,  
Return to meat with smiling looks, ceasing to frown and lower.  
And then perchance each man, will freely rise from off his place,  
That they thy kind return, may with the greater credit grace.  
Take thou the best place, which for thee thou fittest thinkest to be,  
That is thy due, else why did all those strangers rise to thee?   

But if when thou returnest, no man will offer thee his place,  
And yet thou spi'st a room reserved, some worthy man to grace.  
Lest thou be forced to sit behind, take up this room for thee,  
It is a rule in every place, first come, first served must be.  
It is a proverb which will last, until the day of doom,  
He that comes late, must either lose his supper, or his room.  
If by the bench thou canst not come, then think it is no hurt,  
To stain the cloth, the table, or the trenchers, all with dirt.  
Climb o'er the table, break the pots and glasses, spill the wine,  
Throw down the platters, if they hinder this intent of thine.  
Or with thy feet bemire their clothes, which on the bench do sit,  
I think to use them in this sort, cannot be much unfit.  
What sense had they to keep that seat from thee, when it was void?  
Since for a better man than thee, it could not be employed.  
If any man find fault, because the cloth is spoiled with dirt,  
Blame only them, because that they were authors of that hurt.   

Though many ere they take their meat, to wash their hands do love,  
Yet, that cold fountain water hurts a man, I thus could prove;  
Great store of cold, unto the heart that's hot doth breed offence;  
(Man's heart is therefore hot, because all heat proceeds from thence,)  
Into thy hands and fingers, as into each other part,  
Come certain spreading hidden veins, which rise from forth the heart.  
If thou to put thy fingers in the water, art so bold,  
Thy fingers by the water's chillness, are made numb and cold.  
Which chillness by these spreading veins into the heart is sent;  
Alas, such nipping cold as this, doth much thy heart torment.  
Great colds expel that heat, which we of Nature do receive,  
Which once exhausted, we are straight enforced our life to leave.  
Wherefore, unless you love in danger of your life to stand,  
Abstain to pierce your heart with cold, by washing of your hand.  
For if you long to wash your hands, have such exceeding care,  
Old age will seize upon your limbs, before you are aware.  
And whenas unexpected age, hath of you got the field,  
Then to his mercy, you your breath, your life, and all must yield.  
If any wonder why such niceness you in washing use,  
Tell him, this is the cause why you so oft to wash refuse.   

But if you come before the meat be took from off the fire,  
And all the guests before they sup, to wash their hands require:  
And every man stands striving, who shall first of all begin,  
If thine be fouler than the rest, be sure thou thrust them in.  
The best man there can take no hurt, by washing after thee,  
Thou art a guest as welcome to thy neighbour's house as he.  
Thy fingers thou must also wash, thy mouth and eke thy face,  
What though thou make the strangers stay? it can breed no disgrace.  
When thou hast washed enough, and fowlde the water with thy fists,  
Then let them with thy dirty leave, wash their hands and wrists.  
Mean time have thou a care, the chiefest room for to provide,  
From whence I think, no sober man will bid thee stand aside.   

Or mark what sorts of bread, the boy doth on the table put,  
Some sorts are better than some other, for thy hungry gut.  
One sort is like the suns eclipse, as black as is the ground,  
Another sort, as white as the Sythonian snow is found.  
Then lest thou dine with brown bread, have a care for to provide  
Good store of white, which in thy bosom thou mayst safely hide.  
After, when some few men have snatched the white bread for their need,  
The rest must be constrained that meal, on household bread to feed,  
When all are served, then at the length bring forth thy bread to light,  
All that behold this crafty trick of thee, will judge aright.  
Thy witty foresight they'll admire, and like this pretty part,  
And every man will say, that sure a witty man thou art.  
And many a man that sees it, will therein thy scholar be,  
When he perceives the practice takes such good effect in thee.    

What manners and gestures the guest ought to observe in eating. Chapter II.  

AS soon as ere thou spi'st some dishes on the table stand,  
Be sure that thou before the rest, thrust in thy greedy hand.  
Snatch that you like, I told you so before, you know it well,  
It is but labour lost, that I again the same should tell.  
That which I once have told to you, you never should refuse,  
But in each place and company, you boldly must it use.   

And whatsoever meat your host unto the board doth send,  
Although you cannot choose, but very much the taste commend;  
Yet find therein something or other that mislikes your mind,  
And though it can deserve no blame, be sure some fault to find:  
This is too salt, and this too fresh, and this is too much roast,  
This is too sour, and this too sweet, your cooke's too blame mine host,  
And speak so loud, that all may hear thee, which are then in place:  
For by this means thou mayst in jest, the careful cook disgrace.  
And by this trick thou wilt deserve, a civil younker's name,  
And happy is he nowadays, which can attain such fame.   

When every man is at his meat, and no man's tongue doth walk,  
Be sure that thou with pleasant jests dost hold them all in talk.  
It is not good for him which would be praised of all men, long  
To sit amongst his friends at meat, not using of his tongue.   

When thou art set, devour as much as thou with health canst eat,  
Thou therefore wert to dinner bid, to help away his meat.  
Thrust in as much into thy throat, as thou canst snatch or catch,  
And with the gobbets which thou eatest, thy jaws and belly stretch.   

If with thy meat thou burn thy mouth, than cloak it craftily,  
That others may as well as thou, partake that misery.   

To throw thy meat from out thy mouth into the dish again  
I dare not bid thee, for it is too clownish, and too plain.   

But lest thou shouldst be burnt again, thou shalt a medicine know,  
Thy burning meat with cooling breath, thou stoutly oughtest to blow:  
In little blasts against this heat, no comfort can be found:  
Then puff thy cheeks with wind, as if a trumpet thou wouldst sound:  
From whence, as if the boisterous winds were from their prison freed,  
Let forth great blasts against thy meat to help thee at thy need,  
With rumbling noise let store of cooling blasts, break forth their fill:  
In like sort as do flames of fire, from Aetna's burning hill.   

If to thy neighbour's face thou turn, I will thee much commend,  
And store of breath and pottage, to his cheeks be sure to send.  
If thus thou dost, all will applaud thee, and thy tricks allow,  
And often will desire to learn this pretty jest of you.   

It is a praise, to have a loving dog on you to wait;  
Wherefore, if you are bid to supper, get a puppy straight:  
Let him in any case hard by thee, on a cushon sit,  
And give him out of every dish, such meat as thou thinkest fit;  
To thrust him down from off his seat what guest dares be so bold?  
This dog (sir) hath a master here that will his deeds uphold.   

When you are almost weary, and desire your teeth to rest,  
Then, that your puppy make you merry, it is surely best.  
And let your dog lick o'er your lips, with fawning tongue put out,  
And eke your hands, with which more meat to reach you are about.   

Or catch the fleas which hurt your dog, by all the tricks you can,  
And killing them upon your trencher, prove yourself a man.   

Whenas you eat, stretch wide your jaws, & thrust great gobets down:  
Even as the cheeks are stretched with wind, of some song-tuning clown.   

It is not meet, that in the dish, you should leave any meat;  
That which your host doth set upon the board, he would have eat:  
'tis better far, to stand in fear of breaking of a gut,  
Than leave one bit of that, which is upon the Table put.  
If thou some little bit that's somewhat tougher than the rest,  
Because thy throat wants liquor, canst not very well digest,  
Then take some drink, and keep it in your mouths most hollow part,  
'Twill make your meat from out your mouth into your gut departed.   

Out of your mouth, into the cup, some little crumbs to send,  
Though some will say 'tis clownish, yet it cannot much offend.  
I pray, why is it hurtful, thus to mingle meat with drink?  
If they be mingled thoroughly, they nourish more I think.  
That meat and drink should thus be joined, Nature herself hath said,  
For in this world, one thing doth still desire another's aid.   

The bones and scraps, and such things as thou scorn'st thyself to eat,  
Throw down amongst the dogs, how can they live without some meat?  
Each dog regarding his own dinner, none will quiet be.  
For want of victuals you a pleasant battle there shall see.  
Perchance, instead of dogs, they'll snap the strangers as they sit,  
In such an hurly-burly this cannot be much unfit.  
Then laugh aloud, whenas thou dost under the Table see  
Such wars and jars, which had their first original from thee.    

What behaviour is to be observed at the Table, after the first course. Chap. III.  

WHen with the first course you have filled your hungry belly well,  
Your gerdle must be loosed, as I before to you did tell;  
For thus your meat will of your mouth, his leave the sooner take,  
And your concoction yet to come, you may the better make.  
Your belly will the sooner room for other cates provide,  
Which with your unkind gerdle, was before too hardly tide.   

And now the boy to take away the trenchers hath a care,  
To make them clean against the second course he doth prepare.  
When all the rest defer the time, be sure that in great haste  
Thy trencher thou before the rest into the Voider cast.  
But now, lest this might senseless seem, i'll give my reason why  
It is not seemly, that your trencher uppermost should lie.  
If when some great man casts his trencher in the lowest place,  
Thou cast thine over it, and hurt his trencher; O disgrace!  
knowst thou not, that the vulgars' should lie trodden under feet?  
Then, lest thou should seem proud, to lay thy trencher low, 'tis meet.   

Another's trencher, though he be a man of high degree,  
Stir not, but let him cast it in, else let it lie for thee.  
But when clean trenchers come, in snatching be not thou the last,  
If at the first the boy unto thee do no trencher cast.   

To maids and wives some will for credit the first trencher give;  
But do not thou so, if in perfect health thou mean to live.  
Thou knowst men's manners nowadays sell at the markets rate,  
For that which thou didst do in kindness, men will give thee hate.  
If thou in friendly sort dost maids or matrons kindly grace,  
'Twill be misliked of some, then trust not every smiling face,  
Their husbands will not like of this, but note thee with their eyes,  
And think that all this duty from some kindled love doth rise.  
The choler of a jealous husband which doth thee suspect,  
Eschew: suspicion, hurt, deceit, and death doth oft effect:  
Then save thy life, and keep thyself from each ensuing wrong,  
Lest being once suspected, thou do so remain too long.   

If thus the trenchers being laid, the meat comes not away,  
Let not your teeth and belly rest, if more meat get you may:  
But nimbly fall afresh unto the meat you eat before;  
Fowl thou new trenchers, though thy fellows cannot eat no more.  
When you are at your dinner, cast all shame behind your back;  
He that denies this principle, doth sure his senses lack.   

At length, when all the second course is on the table placed,  
Into the best thrust thou thy hand, before the rest in haste:  
But wipe thy trencher on the cloth first, be it ne'er so dear,  
Unless it were for this intent, why did they place it there?  
Namely, to wipe from off each trencher, all the fat away;  
And that with it, your hands your mouth and fingers cleanse you may.  
This which I once have said unto you, use for to repeat,  
Whens'ere that hunger is not banished from your paunch, with meat.   

Or if thou be the chief man that doth at the Table sit,  
And therefore till thou hast begun, no man will cut a bit;  
Sat still a great while ere thou cut, 'twill argue majesty,  
Whenas thou mayst be counted light, to fall to presently.  
Indeed, if thou no great man wert, thy hand might first be in:  
But since thou art, until thou art entreated, ne'er begin.   

Defer the time, in talking, laughing, or some such like art,  
Play with thy trencher, or thy knife, to make thy time depart;  
Which while thou dost, the company must on thee gazing sit,  
Because, until thou hast begun, they dare not eat one bit.   

Nor let it shame thee, when thy fainting chin doth drop,  
Like two strong posts, with both thy hands, the same to underprop,  
Lean lazily with one or both thine elbows on the board,  
This trick of manners can no cause of shamefastness afford.  
But if this deed unto thy nature doth not much arride,  
Then have a care, that both thy hands thou in thy codpiece hide,  
Thou then mayst pull them out, whenas the time is near at hand,  
Against thy meats invasion of thee, on thy ward to stand.   

At length, when as thou seest the time, to fall unto thy meat,  
Be sure to snatch the dainty bits, 'tis meet thou shouldst them eat.  
Of veal, 'tis best to snatch the reins, that is the sweetest bit,  
Wherefore, I think unto thy stomach, that agrees most fit.  
As for the Wolfe-fish, gluttons hold the tail to be the best;  
But of the bubble fish, the head is sweeter than the rest.  
Thou art the chief man, then with these be sure thyself to grace,  
To snatch them have a care, and on thy trencher them to place.  
Take them alone, keep them alone, devour them all alone,  
As for thy neighbour, though he longs for some, yet give him none.   

If that thy knife be blunt, thou dost expect some loss to bear,  
Because it will not serve thy turn, as if it sharper were.  
But some there are, which use their knives sharp edge with stones to waste,  
Lest it it be too sharp, it chance to cut the meat too fast.  
What though your knife in teeth and edge, like to a saw should be?  
Yet sure I doubt not but this trick, with reason would agree.  
For if when you at dinner are your neighbour sendeth in  
A roasted goose, which hath a very fat and tender skin.  
Good store thereof thy mangling knife, will to thy trencher bring,  
Which of the vulgar sort, is thought a very dainty thing.  
This duty can your knife perform, having a mangling edge,  
And eke excuse all faults, which they against you can allege.   

That you the better may the store of meat received digest,  
To keep good store of liquor still, I count it always best.  
And when another in his hand, doth hold the pot to drink,  
Demand it from him, and he cannot say thee nay, I think.  
If he deny to give it, till his thirst be quenched at full,  
Then from thy neighbour's mouth in haste, presume the pot to pull.   

And having catched it once again, be sure to hold it fast,  
If it depart, it will not unto thee return in haste.  
Then though the rest desire to drink, and humbly thee request  
To drink thyself, and then restore the pot unto the rest.  
Regard them not, but though they should be raving mad for drink,  
Yet keep the pot, and use it when thyself most fit dost think.  
With sounding cries, be sure thyself alone to fill the house,  
Men are most eloquent, when they have drunk a full carouse.  
Let none but thee disturb the guests, which at the table sit,  
To suffer others voices to be heard I count unfit.   

That others should, or drink, or cry, thou wouldst be very loath,  
But as for thee, be sure that thou be cunning found in both.  
And when you drink, to wipe your lips, and cleanse your snotty nose,  
Are trifling things, it is not meet that you take care for those.   

Why shouldst thou of such light affairs as these, take any care?  
They must be greater matters, which of thee regarded are.  
All which you know, unto the self-same belly to pertain,  
Why should you wipe away, as if their league you did disdain?   

Whether it be flesh, drink, bread, fat, or whatsoe'er beside,  
Let it into thy stomach pass, through thy throat so wide.  
Or if you love sometimes to wipe your dirty mouth a whit,  
The cleanest table cloth, is for that purpose sure most fit.  
Let that thy brains ill excrements in friendly sort receive,  
And all the fat that's on thy lips, be sure on it to leave.   

Others delight to take the sleeve of their new shifted shirt,  
And on that blow their nose, and from their mouths wipe off the dirt.  
If that you think it is a cleanly trick, the same to use,  
For my part, I for cleanliness, the same will not refuse.   

When thou hast drunk thy fill, although he do it not demand,  
Yet let the pot before thy neighbour's trencher always stand.  
Lest that it hinder thee, when thou some dainty bit shouldst eat,  
And make thy right hand lack the room, wherein to cut thy meat.  
Reach it again for thine own use, when thou seest fittest time,  
And water all thy jaws and throat, with pleasant tasting wine.   

But if thy neighbour knows as well as thou, that trick to use,  
And setting it before thy trencher, doth it oft refuse.  
Then either with a cheerful voice, tell him you are not dry,  
And so return it kindly, to his own hands presently.  
Or rather, into fretting rage and anger forthwith break,  
And all the thundering words thou canst devise, be sure to speak.  
Why should you offer me your drink, when as I do not thirst?  
You rather should have let it stood, whereas I placed it first.  
Or think you for this, any favour at my hand to get;  
Whenas your pot from cutting of my meat, my hand doth let?  
And if to add some railing speeches unto this you use,  
'tis ten to one, he in this sort will not you oft abuse.  
Yet notwithstanding, 'tis a comely thing forthwith to drink,  
For store of liquor tempers well the meat received, I think.   

When all the rest leave drinking, urge them in such valiant wise,  
That none presume (for shame,) in sober sort from thence to rise.  
Go thou before, and let them follow thee that drinkest best,  
It is a credit for thee, to be drunk before the rest.  
Then if thou by thy drunkenness, dost any fault commit,  
They may the sooner and the fit, freely pardon it.    

Modesty in eating and drinking. Chapter four  

I Oft have seen (the reason of that use, I do not know,)  
Divers which to their neighbour's house, will never scotfree go.  
Wherefore each man will carry wine at dinner for to drink,  
That sort of wine which in his judgement, he the best doth think.  
One carries wine, brought from the shore of Rhine, that runs so swift,  
Another thinketh French wine fit for a friendly gift.  
A third will carry wine, that grew on the Pannonian hills;  
And all will carry sundry sorts, agreeing to their wills.   

If touching this, thou dost demand my counsel as a friend,  
I will not be the man, that shall this custom much commend.  
Faith carry none, but spare cost, if my counsel thou wilt hear,  
Thine host provideth wine I hope, if not, thou mayst drink beer.  
But if without some, thou canst not with credit thither go,  
Take heed, lest on thy wine thou too much money dost bestow.  
That wine which thou dost know, the worst in all the town to be,  
Be sure to carry that, to drink among thy friends and thee.  
But when the wine which each man brought, is set upon the board,  
Search out forthwith, the best wine which the table can afford.  
And get a pot thereof, and set it full behind your back,  
And drink thereof alone, whenas you any wine do lack.  
It may be feared the dainty wine will hardly come to thee,  
By this means, this ensuing hurt may well prevented be.   

Then, that thou mayst be thought a man more pleasant than the rest,  
To make them laugh, be sure to tell them many a pretty jest.  
With loudest voice, begin to sing some pleasant tuned song,  
And of thy love repeat a ditty that's an hour long.  
Four sundry humours, unto human bodies do resort.  
Which move the heart in sundry sort, as learned men report.  
For earthly choler doth men sad, austere and slothful make,  
But anger, rage, and fury, men from fiery choler take.  
Of phlegm to thee (light fool,) I need not speak as of the rest,  
The sanguine which doth cause mirth, is of all complexions best.  
Wherefore, that thou unto a sanguine mayst be thought most nigh,  
With cheerful singing, lift thy chanting voice beyond the sky.  
Tell tales of dances, of young wenches, and of pleasant wine,  
And with such flattering pleasant trifles, drive away the time.   

If any friend doth drink to thee, out of a full filled cup,  
Ere he hath ended scarce his draft, be sure to snatch it up.  
Care not, though he perhaps at last, to reach it you did think,  
But snatch it, though perhaps a better draft he meant to drink.  
Tell him, that man gives twice which gives his gift without delay,  
Lest he unto another man, should give the cup away.   

When thou at length with much ado, hast got both pot and drink,  
These three good rules, will teach thee when to leave, thou oughtest to think.  
When want of breath, doth of thy vital forces thee bereave,  
Then in my judgement is it time thy foremost draft to leave.  
Unless perhaps (which I commend,) thou dost it better love,  
To take thy wind, and yet not from thy mouth the pot to move.  
Then when a certain watery humour, filleth up thine eyes,  
And out of them as from a spring, great store of drops do rise.  
This is a sign or token, when to leave the second time,  
He is too blame that leaves to drink, before he see this sign.  
The third, and last, most certain token when thou oughtest to leave,  
Which is a sign infallible, it cannot thee deceive;  
Is, when the wine is all drunk out, and now the pot is dry;  
Then is it time to pull it from thy mouth immediately.  
It is mere folly, at thy mouth the empty cup to hold,  
Although the cup itself were made of pure Pannonian gold.   

When thou from out the cup hast sucked each drop of wine at last,  
Upon the middle of the board, its good the cup to cast,  
That both thy neighbour may perceive it void of wine to be,  
And also know, that he therein should forthwith follow thee.  
Unless thou dost thus, there will straight arise some wrangling brawl;  
But with thy most courageous hand thou oughtest to quiet all.  
They will not think that thou alone couldst empty such a cup,  
Unless before their face they forthwith see thee drink it up.   

Then to the victuals yet remaining fall with might and main,  
And out of every dish, begin to snatch the best again:  
For why, sweet meat doth nourish us, and store of Bacchus' wine,  
If that we use to take them oft, a little at a time.   

And as thou eatest 'tis very good great bits of bread to cut,  
Which thou mayst plainly feel, as they into thy mouth are put.  
For little birds indeed, the meat must needs be minced small,  
Lest eating great bits, they offend their tender throat withal.  
But valiant men in this case, from all fear should stand aloof,  
Which have a throat that's thick and hard, and a well tempered roof.   

When with thy knife a piece of household bread thou meanest to cut,  
Be sure thou cut not there, where other men their knives have put,  
But cut thou on the other side, perchance thou there mayst meet  
With such a crust, as to thy dainty taste will prove more sweet.   

From whence to have a care to cut some sops thou mayst be bold,  
Which having cut, within thy hand be sure them fast to hold,  
To dip them in the fat of well spicde pottage every whit:  
Or at the least one end of them, I count it very fit.  
Which being done, 'tis meet thou shouldst devour them all in haste,  
Unto thy throat this cannot choose but be a pleasant taste.  
And having gnawed them, now and then to sop them there again,  
Will surely bring great store of praise, of profit, and of gain.   

To speak full mouthed, if for thine use it necessary be,  
Rather than I'll forbid it, I'll persuade and counsel thee.  
For why, if often thou it use, it bringeth much gain,  
Which unto thee by this example I will prove most plain.  
Demosthenes' his eloquence o'er all the world is known,  
Who of that famous city Athens was the flower alone;  
A great impediment from perfect speech his tongue did hold,  
So that in pleas he could not as he would his mind unfold.  
Wherefore he divers sundry means devised in his mind,  
Whereby for his imperfect speech a remedy to find.  
Within his lisping mouth he store of little stones did set,  
Which, as he walked by the sea side he did daily get.  
He had a double fight; the first to tame his lisping tongue,  
Which war, unto those little stones he suffered to belong.  
For letting always store of stones within his mouth to be,  
He thought at length, when they were gone, his speech would be more free:  
The second was, he striude to make his voice be heard the more,  
By speaking then whenas the sea most boisterously did roar,  
That so he might endure the people's tumults and their cries,  
If any such amongst them while he pleaded should arise.  
Without such foolish tricks as these, thou soon shalt do as well,  
If thou wilt carefully give ear, to that which I shall tell.  
In steed of hard stones, thou thy mouth with bread and meat shalt fill,  
And rolling that within thy mouth, shalt full mouthed speak thy will.  
And with thy shrieking cries excel the drunkards lofty voice,  
As did Demosthenes excel the Ocean's roaring noise.   

When thou art almost full, the stranger's deeds begin to mark,  
Thou hadst no leisure to such trifling toys before to hark.  
And all those deeds, which from thy manners seem to go aside;  
My counsel is, that thou in scornful sort do them deride.  
Be sure to carp at all thou canst, and scoff at all thou may;  
And store of faults (though sometimes false) on others necks to lay.   

If thou espy another's knife, which on the back doth lie,  
As if the edge looked to the heavens, or to the starry sky,  
Against it presently be sure the back of thine to strike,  
All that behold it will this pretty jest applaud and like.  
Some men will tell you presently, from hence how many mile  
It is to Rome, by counting on your knife's edge all the while,  
I do not much mislike this custom, follow it always,  
And sure I think you cannot choose, but merit store of praise.  
And yet although I give you leave to others it to use,  
I would not wish, that in this sort my knife you should abuse.  
For if you do, at sometime I your kindness shall repay,  
And punish you as you deserve, for this your crafty play.    

Of devouring, laughing, vomiting, and others civilities at the Table. Chap V.  

There are more precepts that might prove thee clownish tricks to have  
At supper; and that thou ne'er knewst, such manners as are grave:  
But by that means, my labour and my care would be too great,  
If in this place I all thy sundry duties should repeat.  
Although I had the skill which Ovid had in making verse,  
Yet could I not, as it deserves, each sundry thing rehearse.  
But yet, (although thou of thyself, art better learned than I,  
To teach thee some few needful things, I will presume to try.  
That small time which thou spendst with me, think it not spent in vain;  
For in that little time perhaps thou mayst great profit gain.  
Both young and old, both men and boys, behaviour learn of me,  
Since that the sliding time for no man's cause prolonged will be.   

To throw down pots upon the table, filled unto the brim,  
So that each thing upon the same in Bacchus' juice may swim.  
Long custom an continuance, at length, to pass hath brought,  
That in these days of ours, it must no fault all be thought.   

Oft times, when young men would be counted pleasant, I have seen  
At that same instant, when their hearts full light with wine have been,  
That they with good bread would their unprovided fellows hit,  
And eke with meat, which they into their hands could closely get.  
They do rejoice their youthful hearts with such bad kinds of play,  
Whereby they may the lingering times the sooner drive away.  
I oft have seen such men as were in years, and counsel old,  
Which thought no shame to patronize such faults, to be so bold:  
What shall the younger men commit, whenas they daily see  
Such filthy faults, by old men in their feasts maintained to be.  
I dare not be so bold as unto old men rules to give,  
Because their age doth privilege them, as they list to live.  
But young men, if they will attend, may quickly learn of me,  
What manners seemly at their feasts, and what unseemly be.   

The bread (as each man knows) doth use to have a double crust,  
The one whereof, in pureness needs excel the t'other must.  
The bottom crust is burnt, and full of ashes and of dirt,  
There can no good be found, in such vnsav'rie crust, but hurt.  
Wherefore, observe the counsel which thou shalt receive of me,  
With good advice, and men will think thee wondrous wise to be.  
From off the whole loaf for thy use, that crust be sure to cut,  
On which there are no  spots, by the scorching oven put.  
For by this crust, your body from much looseness keep you may;  
And, if the lask do trouble you, this will it quickly stay.  
But if the crust without the crumb you dare not cut for shame,  
Although I think your shamefastness will never get you fame:  
And you had rather in that place more mannerly to be,  
Then have a care that crust and crumb be took alike of thee.  
Although if in my perfect paths thou take delight to tread,  
And hearken to my verse, which thee to honesty shall lead,  
Not cutting any off, without respect, thou all shalt eat,  
Both good & bad, both foul and clean, both crumb and crust is meat:  
The greedy paunch is also filled with ashes, coals, or dirt,  
Wherefore to cut these from thy bread, it is both loss and hurt.  
It is a wondrous gift of God to men that mortal are,  
If that which they with pains have got, with pains they eke can spare:  
Or if thou lik'st not this, because thou know'st that at this time,  
Thou at another's table and another's cost dost dine:  
Then care not, for 'tis easy at another's board to live,  
In this case thou most freely without any loss mayst give.  
If any dirt stick on the bread, which may offend thy teeth;  
Of any tasteless bit, which not unto thy tongue agreeth:  
Cut off a thick piece, crust and crumb, which thou away mayst throw:  
Or on the barking hungry dogs, in friendly sort bestow,  
Or chop away that dirty crust which on the loaf did lie,  
It's pretty sport to see the chip what a way they'll fly.  
Perchance they'll fall into their eyes which at the table sit;  
This cunning trick agrees unto their humours very fit.   

In divers places, divers meats with Almond syrup swim,  
Others are filled with taste-delighting sugar to the brim.  
Next, melted butter is a sauce fitting a dainty mess:  
And also grapes, which have great weight endured in the press.  
Or, some such sauce to grace the cates, as fine as heart can wish,  
Do commonly, wherese're you dine, swim round about the dish.  
I spying these, upon my trencher, forthwith did them sweep,  
This was an order which my mother always bade me keep.  
And having got them, straight into my belly did them send;  
Yet (as I can remember) they did never me offend.  
If that you think these manners will not to you hurtful be,  
My counsel is, that you in this, example take by me.   

It sometimes falls out unawares, as you your victuals eat,  
Into your throat, there slips a bone together with your meat:  
Which either makes your loosened teeth to smite against your gum,  
Or stops the way by which your meat into your throat should come.  
What meanest thou man? why dost not thou prevent this hurt no more?  
Why seekest thou no means, thy half lost life for to restore?  
Take counsel of thy hands, and holding  thy mouth with one,  
With other, pull from out thy jaws that hurtful sticking bone.  
Or having pulled thy teeth out, lay them on a trencher by,  
And then the bone will fall from forth thy jaws immediately:  
Though others like it not, in no case thou must it refuse,  
Such modesty as hurtful is, no wise man ought to use.   

And when with store of meat your stomach is refreshed at last,  
Straight catch the full filled pots within thy greedy hands with haste.  
Then having set the pot before you, open it presently.  
And lest my counsel should be vain, I'll give my reason why;  
Those vapours which are in the cup may thus exhaled be,  
Which else perhaps might have been hurtful to thy brain and thee.  
Then with the cup in this sort open thou a while mayst sit,  
And talk an hour or two, this practice cannot be unfit.  
Thus listening to thy talk, of liquor none perhaps will think,  
And then as much as thou thinkest good thou all alone mayst drink.   

At length begin with pleasant looks thy pleasant looks to tell,  
And brag that thou in hearts-ease dost all men alive excel.  
The merry mind, by store of laughter, will itself bewray;  
The world affords no better thing, then merry life this day.  
Wherefore be sure that thou of laughter dost at all times think,  
Whatse'er you do, whether you work, play, sit, stand, eat, or drink.  
You so should sometimes laugh, that meat, which in your mouth doth lie,  
Might suddenly from out the same into the platter fly.  
And let it fly, I count better that it should do so  
Then that it stop that air which should into the windr-pipe go.  
There can be found no perfecter and straighter way to death,  
Then for to stop your throat with meat, which straight will stop your breath   

But now the time draws nigh, wherein the servant haste must make,  
That he the cloth and all things else may from the table take.  
If then all hunger is not from thy stomach put away;  
Make speedy haste, it is not good to make the least delay.  
Into thy stomach while thou mayst, thrust store of meat and drink.  
Time stays for no man, then of Time 'tis good in time to think.  
Both eat and drink so much, that thou both drunk and filled mayst be,  
Till when, nor rest, nor quiet must be looked for of thee.   

And if of hickets, or of sobs thou use to utter store,  
They both are signs which future vomits use to go before.  
Let not the newness of the thing seem beastly in thine eyes,  
But boldly make all those which hinder thy proceed, rise.  
And casting that which with thy queasy stomach not agreeth,  
Return unto the table, having slightly washed thy teeth.   

And being set, take care again to fill thy belly strait,  
And in the room of all that's gone, thrust in another bait.  
Nature herself which made all things, cannot endure that wrong,  
That any thing that's under heaven should thus be empty long.  
But, if thou hast not time to rise thou hast such wondrous haste,  
Under the table thrust thy head, and there begin to cast.  
here let thy stomach cast up all which in the same doth stick,  
Which will be welcome to the dogs, they will it kindly lick.  
In brief, upon the table thou mayst boldly cast thy fill,  
If any thing is in thy stomach, that doth make thee ill.  
Nay, if into the very dish, thou shouldst thy vomit cast,  
There's none so hard, but yet I think he'd pardon thee at last.  
Nor is it like that vomits should unto them filthy seem,  
Which do all drunken gluttony as virtuous deeds esteem.  
Yea, some there are (I know them well) which will no stranger love,  
Unless that he be drunk indeed, by certain signs he prove.  
Wherefore all drunkards will commend thee, if as thou dost sup,  
To prove thee drunken, all thy supper thou wilt vomit up;  
Thou shalt both please the guests, and him, which hath invited thee,  
And thou the only credit of that pleasant feast wilt be.  
For, by thy vomiting thou shalt perceive it was good wine,  
Which by thine host was given to thee, and to those friends of thine.  
The guests next morning shall have something to their friends to tell,  
And thou from all that drunken crew shalt bear away the bell.    

Of the washing of the hands after supper, the second tables, and what is fittest to be done among the maids. Chap. VI  

Whenas' the cloth is took away, and every pleasing bait,  
Clean water for to wash is set upon the table straight.  
Sloth is a vice; then, lest thou shouldst be slothful, it is best  
To thrust thy hands into the bosom first before the rest:  
Then wash thy face and mouth whenas thou thinkest the time most fit,  
And water all thy nostrils with the pleasing dew of it.  
When thou hast washed, then let the water for thy fellows stand,  
Which is made fowl enough already by thy dirty hand.  
Let married wives wash after thee, though beautiful they be,  
And though the virgin be so fine, yet let her wait on thee.  
Clean water from thy filthy hands, will wash the dirt the more,  
Than that which hath with dirty hands, been dirty made before.   

Yet oftentimes, you many men shall find to be so neat,  
That they'll not touch the water first, unless you them entreat.  
They look that others should begin, and when the rest have done,  
Then they'll begin to wash their hands, and to the basin come.  
As thus they stand, (well meaning men) desiring to be last,  
Be sure that thou good store of water, dost upon them cast.  
Take water in thy hand, and cast it boldly in their face,  
Sprinkle it in their eyes, their head, or any other place.  
That's all the good, which by their manners they shall get of thee,  
'Twill make them that another time, they wiser men will be.  
Amongst a sort of honest folks, one tried this trick of late,  
But sped not well, for all the harm returned on his pate.  
For thinking certain wives, with water thus to circumvent,  
They by their crafty foresight, did his policy prevent.  
He scarce could open his eyes to see, the water stopped them so,  
And all his brisly beard, with store of water streams did flow.  
He being thus disgraced, and loath thus basely there to yield,  
Presumed rather to proceed, than thus to lose the field.  
He took the basin in his hands, and from him stoutly threw,  
As well the basin as the water, 'mongst the female crew.  
The strangers all laughed merrily, at this so sudden hap,  
And every man and woman there began his hands to clap.   

Or whenas none to put his hands in first, dares be so rash,  
But every man looks when his neighbour doth begin to wash,  
Because such gravity, doth to the guests great credit get,  
And each man thinks such pomp as this, is for his credit fit.  
If these their manners do from washing them, too long detain,  
Thou mayst before the rest, great store of praise and credit gain.  
If seeing no man all this while, begins to wash his hand,  
Thou suffer not the water, longer in that place to stand.  
Why should the river water, basely thus usurp that place,  
Which was prepared, a better liquor far, the wine to grace?   

At length, perchance a banquet to the second board is brought,  
The best place here, lest some prevent thee, must of thee be caught.  
Those iunckets which are best of all, thou oughtest to snatch up first,  
He that comes last into the dish, may chance to find the worst.   

Turn round the dish on every side, till thou hast found the best,  
And having found them, snatch them without shame before the rest.  
If that you think that Nature serves all creatures from one well,  
You are deceived, for things in goodness other things excel.  
The divers differences made among men's minds that live,  
Is not in vain, since careful nature divers gifts doth give.  
But God himself of masters use having a special care,  
Provideth greater gifts to give, to them that masters are.  
That thus each man in his degree, might thus distinguish these,  
And every man might choose those things, which best their humours please.  
Use judgement then, and let no rashness in thy deeds be spied,  
And for thyself from out each dish, the sweetest bits provide.   

It is not needful that from apples, thou shouldst pair the skin,  
To do that which may needless seem, thou never shouldst begin.  
That so thy meat received, the better may concocted be,  
The paring of the greenest apple, must be eat of thee.  
For if too long in paring of thine apple, thou shouldst stay,  
The rest which in the platter lies, will soon be snatched away.  
And when from forth the dish, to take another 'tis thy mind,  
Thou art prevented of thy purpose, thou not one canst find.  
Therefore, as long as any bit is left, cease not to eat,  
Thou shalt not every day perchance, meet with such dainty meat.  
Have still a care to leave no bit behind you when you rise,  
For if you do, your host will think that you his fruit despise.  
He did not therefore set them on, that you should them refuse,  
Then if you leave them thus, your careful host you shall abuse.   

If when thyself art filled, there still some junkets do remain,  
To bear them in thy sleeve, unto thy house thou shalt be feign.  
If thou hast any children there, they'll be a welcome thing,  
they'll call thee loving father, if such knacks to them thou bring.  
Though thou no children have, no damage can sustained be,  
That which they should have had, till thou art hungry keep for thee.   

To crack thy nuts, thy teeth may serve, unless thou rather love  
To break thy knife, than such a luckless hard attempt to prove.  
I oft have seen strong sturdy clowns, which with their bended fist,  
With one good blow, would cleave a nut as quickly as they list.  
The shells would fly against the pots, and into stranger's eyen,  
And often times would make the pot half cracked, to leak the wine.  
Mean time, while this their strength was very much admired of me,  
Because I thought them surely full of fortitude to be.  
I in another place, a sort of lusty fellows found,  
Stamping upon their nuts, and picking them from off the ground.  
Thou mayst of both these follow either, only spare thy knife,  
Lest being conquered by a nut, it chance to lose its life.   

The shell upon thy neighbour's trencher, thou mayst kindly set.  
And by that deed of charity great credit thou mayst get.  
Thy credit thou mayst save, and prove thou hast a loving heart.  
And giving so much to thy friend, that thou no glutton art.  
The company thereby may know thou art no greedy guest,  
But thou canst bar thy throat from meat, whense're thou thinkest best.  
Perchance while thou art eating, thou amongst thy meat mayst find  
Some bit, or rather that agrees not to thy dainty mind.  
Whether thine apple, rottenness within it doth contain,  
Or little creeping worms, within thy pears or nuts remain:  
Of such like pears and nuts as these, give to thy neighbour store,  
Am I deceived? or did I teach this pretty trick before?   

When being full, at last thy stomach doth these cates forsake,  
Then find out something else, wherein thou more delight mayst take.  
If that a maid a pretty cheerful maid do sit thee by,  
A maid which hath a bashful look, but yet a rolling eye.  
Use many saucy gestures to her, many saucy words,  
Such pleasant youthful age as thine, such youthful sport affords.  
Nor can there any thing, make women like thy talk so well,  
As if thou unto them, dost store of jests and trifles tell.   

And touch those parts, wherein their greatest joy doth use to stand,  
Into the virgin's bosom eke, be sure to thrust your hand.  
And with thy fingers touch the paps, of the delightful maid,  
And let thy tributary kisses, to her lips be paid.   

Or if some ring or jewel, thou upon thy finger bear,  
Or else some golden copper chain, about thy neck dost wear.  
Or hast a silk sowed garment on, in show and colour light,  
Or any other thing, wherein thou seemest to take delight.  
By all the drifts and means thou canst, be sure to show her these,  
Commend thyself, and thou thyself begin thyself to please.  
She cannot choose, but straight be ravished with the love of thee,  
And casting all things else away, or ever thine she'll be.  
Young maids before all other things, do shining clothes approve,  
And glistering gold, will presently procure a virgin's love.   

Oft times with sighs, tell her that thou till death her servant art,  
And privately before her view, lay  thy fainting heart.  
And that she may perceive, that you for her do daily pine,  
As privately as may be, touch her tender foot with thine.  
What though she frown? yet drink unto her oft at supper tho,  
For by this means you shall perceive, whether she'll yield or no.   

If at the last she pledge thee kindly, than the truth is known,  
Fellow thy suit, ne'er give her over, for she is thine own.   

In brief, of modesty thou needst not have too great a care,  
But do those things, which to thy nature best beseeming are.  
All faults committed, cloaked and hid by drunkenness may be,  
If thou be drunk, the greatest faults are not unfit for thee.    

Cries and tumults after supper, going out, and bargaining for next nights supper. Chap. VII.  

But when at last (which cannot choose but grieve thee at the heart,)  
The tender damsel with her mother, homeward doth departed.  
What business wilt thou then devise, the lingering time to spend?  
Lest this so long prolonged banquet, should thee much offend.   

Why this: to those that talk, be sure thy listening ear to lay,  
That thou the better mayst observe, each private word they say.  
What though they whisper secretly, their private selves among?  
Yet mayst thou listen, to thy profit it doth much belong.  
For why, perchance thy neighbour had some hurt of thee to speak,  
Then by this sudden coming, this his purpose thou mayst break.  
Concerning whatsoe'er they talk, be sure thou them molest,  
Thus privately to talk at dinner, fits not any guest.   

In brief, whatsoever is said or done, while they at dinner are,  
To make thyself a party in it, thou must have a care.  
In every place, such store of worthy talk be sure to find,  
As may be most agreeing to thy praise-deserving mind.   

Or, if which loves to talk aloud, among the rout there's none,  
Then 'tis thy duty nevertheless, to talk aloud alone.  
In loudest sort with shrieking cries, a noise thou oughtest to make,  
That all which do behold thee, may by the example take.  
Of sundry kinds of words, thou needs must have exceeding choice,  
If (as thou dost profess,) thou hast a Rhetoricians voice.   

The time will pass, while thou art ripping up another's fault,  
This is no vice 'mongst them whose wits are overcome with malt.  
But if thou shouldst approve of such a filthy fault as it,  
That thou shouldst be my scholar, I could hardly thee permit.  
For why amongst the wicked sort, thou wouldst accounted be,  
All which, for ever must be banished from my book and me.   

Mary to count your own ill deeds, I like it very well,  
And give you leave with cheerful voice, your former faults to tell.  
By this you divers men shall find, which get immortal praise,  
By setting to the public view, their own disordered ways.   

Or if thou art ashamed of this, (though I no shame commend,)  
Then learn at last this means, whereby the lingering time to spend.  
Raise store of strife and wrangling words, concerning trifles small,  
If any thou canst find, which will vouchsafe with thee to brawl.  
With loudest voice, hold some opinion which thou thinkest best,  
What though thy cause be bad▪ yet let thy voice exceed the rest.  
Use thou the loudest voice thou canst, lest if thou shouldst be still,  
Thy neighbour should have audience, to do and speak his fill.   

If any man entreat thee in more quiet sort to talk,  
And not to let thy tameless tongue, so freely there to walk;  
Then boldly with a wide mouth, into louder speeches break,  
Thy tongue is free, no reason then but freely thou shouldst speak.   

And alwaeis (though whatsoever thou say be very false and vain,)  
Yet have a care, that thou thy purpose constantly maintain.  
Yield thou thy captive hands to none, to none be counted weak,  
Affirm that no man but thyself, one word of truth doth speak.  
But if some stowter adversary, scorns to leave the field,  
Or for thy thundering great bravadoes, scorns an inch to yield:  
This great reproach in any case, thou mayst no longer bear,  
But if thou art a man, thy vaunting threatenings let him hear.  
In rage and choler leave the table, furiously departed,  
Bid none farewell, tell no man to what place thou going art.  
For by this means, the company will stand in fear of thee,  
And every man will say, that thou the Conqueror shalt be.   

Or if thou canst not thus defend thyself, by force of word,  
Then look that at this pintch, thine hand some help to thee afford.  
With naked sword, confirm both true and false, both more and less,  
Without all fail, this cannot choose but aid thee in distress.  
Those arguments, wherein thy crafty foe would thee involve,  
Thy naked sword and broken pots, may serve for to dissolve,   

If this thou scorn, and idleness doth not thy fancy please,  
Because a banquet ought not to be posted off with ease;  
Upon the table cut a mark, that it may tell thy fame,  
And let engraved letters plainly show the maker's name.  
So future ages by oblivion cannot thee disgrace,  
For every man may know, that thou didst banquet in that place.  
Or on the chimney with a coal, draw forth thy picture well,  
Which picture unto future ages, will thy wisdom tell.   

But all this while, I would not have thee to forget thy drink,  
But making greater haste thereof, with careful mind to think.  
When having drunk each drop of drink, thou leav'st the tankard dry,  
And thou perceavest that thy friend must have it presently:  
Before thou give it him, thou oughtest to have a special care,  
To see, that with thy hand thou wipe the brims, which moistest are.  
For why, your hand is always cleaner than your dirty lip,  
Because in purer water oft, you use the same to dip.   

Sometimes great store of foaming froth, upon the cup doth stand,  
Which 'tis thy part to wipe away, most boldly with thy hand.  
Then presently, thou oughtest as much as ere thou canst to drink,  
Or else to give it to some friend, whom thou most fit dost think.  
And if upon thy neighbour's head and face, the froth thou spill,  
For my part, I will not be he that shall account it ill.  
Some laughter thou shalt move thereby, some profit thou shalt take,  
Or (which thou canst not miss,) thou shalt some neighbour angry make.  
Some men with swelling cheeks, within the pot do use to blow,  
It is not hurtful though thou learn, this pretty trick to know.  
For when the winds have leave, to wander from their strongest cage,  
The air is oft infected, by their boisterous rumbling rage.  
If any such infectious things, within the pot do lie,  
Thy searching breath, will bring it into light immediately.  
As thou art breathing, if thou chance to spit into the same,  
I know no nearer way, whereby to get renown and fame.   

When every man is hard at drink, I count it very nought,  
To leave one drop of that, which may be drunk at one good draft.  
Philosophers in all their actions, count it very vain,  
For that which may be done at once, to take a double pain.  
Wherefore drink off the glass, and fill it fresh unto thy hand,  
And for thy private use, upon thy trencher let it stand.  
And pledge thy friend, once, twice, and thrice, and when he dares again,  
Yet never doubt that any loss, thou shalt thereby sustain.  
The sooner thou art drunk, by taking of the grand carouse,  
The sooner thou in reeling sort, mayst walk unto thy house.   

To leave that crew, and go to bed, near make thou any haste,  
Until the clock doth prove, that midnight long ago was past.  
And though you see that this your stay, from rest your host doth keep,  
Yet stay the longer, that you may detain him still from sleep.  
Yea, though for God's sake he entreat you from his very heart,  
Yet tell him flatly, that you scorn so quickly to departed.   

And if you hear that any man is gone unto his bed,  
Because that wine had long before (poor man) possessed his head.  
Then have a care, that from his bed you straightway call him back,  
And make him come perforce, although his garments he do lack.  
And then begin afresh, great store of strongest wine to take,  
And drink it off, therewith thyself more pleasant for to make.   

Then break the pots and windows all, this cannot much offend,  
For this next day, the glazier shall have something for to mend.  
And make him in that glasses room, thy picture for to place,  
Most noble men esteem of this, as of a special grace.  
Each man will look upon thine arms, which to thy house doth flock,  
And think that thou art offspring of some very worthy stock.   

Upon the benches and the tables, boldly thou mayst go:  
Nay, which is more, I give thee leave all these to overthrow.  
In brief, with forms thrown up and down, thou oughtest the hearth to break.  
Before one word of thy departure, thou beginst to speak.   

But yet be sure in any case, to keep this in thine head,  
And have a care to think thereof, before thou go'st to bed.  
To make a league with all thy friends, it is gainful thing,  
And such a league, as may unto thy belly profit bring.  
Chief, be friends with those which did against to morrow night,  
Unto a dainty supper, thee in friendly sort invite.  
This pretty trick, with some hath often took so good effect,  
That I have dined with those, whose kindness I did near expect.  
Faith, when infriendly sort at your house shall we merry be?  
Or when will you invite to supper, these my friends and me?  
Thus I assail him, he replies, come all whense're you dare,  
Yet shall be welcome to such cates, as at my cottage are.  
To morrow night, if you will come to supper to my house,  
You shall be sure of meat enough, and eke a good carouse.  
Forthwith I take him at his word, and give him faith and troth,  
That I will come, but yet to trouble him, I would be loath,  
Observe these manners, and herein example take by me,  
And doubtless thou to many banquets, shalt invited be.   

But if another in this sort, do likewise thee assail,  
Be sure to promise nothing, and he cannot thus prevail.  
Tell him when thou wouldst have him come, he shall be called of thee,  
But now because of other things it cannot fitly be.  
At this time (sir,) of certain business I have mighty haste,  
And yet I know not certainly, how long the same will last.  
Of say your wife at this time cannot all things fit provide,  
Because a kind of sickness, makes her in her bed to bide.  
Say that she now as patiented, in physicians hands doth live,  
That they to her a strong purgation, other day did give.  
Tell him, that now a certain lask her belly doth offend,  
But that you hope ere long, her physic will her body mend,  
And then both he and other friends, shall all be welcome thither,  
You'll find a day (no doubt) ere long, to laugh and quaff together.    

How to go home after supper being drunk, what tumults to raise in the way, and at home before you go to bed, and how to behave yourself the next day. Chapter VIII.  

WHen every thing hath happened thus, according to thine heart,  
Begin with doubled shouts and shriekings, homeward to departed.  
You need not stay so long, as of your friends your leave to take,  
Nor need you thank your host for that good cheer which he did make.  
For why your host, whenas he very drunk doth you behold,  
To keep you thus against your will, dares hardly be so bold.   

You need not stay to know your shot, or what your victuals cost,  
To morrow morning you may know such trifles of your host.  
It is his duty for to tell you, what you have to pay,  
If you perceive that he defers it, quickly slink away.   

And walking home, be sure to make great clamours in the street,  
That every man may know where you have been, that doth you meet.  
Be sure that not a neighbour near thee, thou permit to sleep,  
But with thy stir, thy neighbours from their rest have care to keep.  
Miscall one neighbour, and provoke another unto fight,  
If that thou hast within thee, either courage, heart, or might.  
Those quarrels which amongst you have a long time been forgot  
Recall afresh again, when you have took the other pot.   

And when he comes to tame thy tongue, or else to try thy might,  
It is thy fairest, presently to take thyself to flight;  
Lest in his mad-braind fury, he should split some tender vein,  
And thou thereby great loss of blood and danger shouldst sustain.  
It oft falls out, when by a vein the blood thus fast doth run,  
The man is forced to droop and faint, and life is almost done.   

The man that would with clubs & stones his neighbour's window strike  
At midnight when the doors are fast, I would not much mislike.  
This also would I have thee do, for those that drunken are,  
Concerning sober life and manners need not have a care.  
But if whenas thou sober wert, this fault thou should commit,  
To be mine Auditor, I should not think thee very fit.  
Committing this, if thou the city watch encounter can,  
And they commit thee to the Counter, thou'rt an happy man.  
Thou shalt be safe from all thy foes, thus lying in the jail,  
Their greatest malice cannot in that place 'gainst thee prevail.  
What though the Sun be ne'er so hot? it cannot burn thee tho,  
Thou shalt be safe enough from rain from hail, and eke from snow.   

But if thou be so lucky that thou chance to scape the watch,  
And no man for these knavish pranks dares venture thee to catch.  
At length, when thou with knavish tricks hast filled thy longing heart,  
By waking of thy neighbours all, then to thy house departed.   

And learn what store of bouncing clamours at thy gate to make,  
And in what gentle sort thy careful wife thou oughtest to wake.  
First have a care, that with so great a noise thou use to rap,  
That all which hear thee, may suppose it is some thunderclap.  
Nor take thou rest, until the gate be broke in pieces small,  
Because it was not opened to thee, when thou first didst call.   

Then if at length thy wife be forced to come down in her smock,  
Thinking (well-meaning soul) with speed the doors for to unlock.  
And with a, welcome home good husband, doth thee entertain,  
Because she plainly sees, that thou art in thy drunken vain.  
To quite her kindness, with thy fingers give her boxes store,  
And as her careful haste deserves, be sure to beat her sore.  
And store of thundering word to word, and weighty blow to blow,  
Is this the care she hath of thee, to entertain thee so?  
Three things, a nut, an ass, a woman without store of blows,  
Will near be fit for any use, for so the proverb goes.  
Wherefore, that she the better may thy future charge respect,  
Severely for this negligence, thou oughtest her to correct.  
And yet this use is fit far for men of Cyclops race,  
Which in Sicilia uncouth harbours have their biding place.  
He which in beating of his wife, without desert doth boast,  
Because he would be thought a valiant man, and rule the roast;  
Those marks and limits which I did appoint him, doth surmount,  
And sure I think, a wicked man I may him well account.   

Before thou go'st to bed, be sure so great a stir to keep,  
That all thy servants be constrained, to rise from out their sleep,  
One servant thou with thundering threats, and wrangling words must chide,  
Another must both brawling words, and weighty blows abide.  
All that which every man hath done, while he hath dwelled with you,  
Now being overcome with drink, you must again renew.  
That thee, they as a master may, both honour, love, and fear,  
And tremble at each word, which from thee to proceed they hear.   

Then at the last, give leave unto thy drowsy pate to sleep,  
When all is still, and thou canst find no greater stir to keep;  
And being laid, there take thine ease as long as ere thou will,  
But in such sort, as thou be sure the bed with () to fill.  
Thus may thy maids have sheets to wash, to hold them work next day,  
Lest thou for nothing to such idle maids shouldst wages pay.   

And when next day you from your bed begin to rise at last,  
Which must not be until that noon, and dinner time be passed.  
When by your sleep your store of meat is all digested quite,  
And all that store of liquor, which you drunk but yesternight:  
Then being ready, to some neighbour's house you ought to walk  
With him, until your wife provide your dinner, there to talk.  
There drive away the lingering time, in eare-delighting chat,  
Long talk procures an appetite, then have a care of that,  
And that his favour thou mayst get, and be a welcome guest,  
With ready wit, thou oughtest to utter many a pleasant jest.  
Recall to mind all that, which by you yesterday was done,  
Whenas your senses all, with beer and wine were overrun.  
If any man last night, was too much overcome with drink,  
And in the morning of the same, he not one whit doth think.  
It is thy duty, which didst note his manners yesternight,  
To publish it before his friends ●nd bring it all to light.  
Which thou repeating, some will laugh, others be moved to wrath,  
Each man will take it sundry ways, as he his nature hath.   

Nor whem thou art amongst thy friends, thou shouldst it faulty think.  
To brag, that after supper thou took'st greatest store of drink.  
It is a credit thus to brag, my head was then so light,  
That it could hardly guide my feet, to find mine own house right.  
Although they all were pretty well, yet no man found could be,  
Which did not in that drunken art, yield cup and kanne to me.  
It can be no discredit, but a praise and same, to say,  
That thou in drinking from the rest, didst bear the bell away.   

Or waking just at noon, in haste unto thy wife departed,  
Demanding of her meat and drink, to comfort up thine heart.  
But first of all, a draft of  wine, would do very well,  
All giddiness and aches this will from thine head expel.  
Which having drunk and eat a bit, unto thy bed repair,  
And take thy rest until thy wife, thy dinner do prepare.  
When all is ready, than I think to rise it will be time,  
To recreate thy fainting corpses, with meat and pleasant wine.  
And when each dish and pot, is sorted to his pointed place,  
Then (as it is a woman's duty,) let thy wife say grace.  
To tell those tricks, which were by thee committed yesternight,  
How far thy tongue and mind did stray, from reason and from right.  
What railing words and weighty blows, of thee she did sustain,  
I think a reasonable volume hardly would contain.  
she'll tell you what by you was broke to whom you offered wrong,  
And of your tricks, will make a story of an hour long.   

If this her talk delights thee not, but doth thy wrath increase,  
Charge her, on pain of thy displeasure, straight to hold her peace.  
If then she leave, be thou content, if she proceed to say  
Her pleasure, scorning this thy friendly warning to obey:  
Then catch whatsoever thou findest near thy hand, in rage and haste,  
And at the varlet's head be sure with might the same to cast.  
'twill teach her in thy presence that her prating tongue to hold,  
And as to speak before her husband, not to be so bold.  
More counsel, but for tediousness, I unto thee might give,  
Although I know, that of thyself in order thou canst live.  
If I most common things can tell, I therewith am content,  
All sorts and kinds of manners to declare I never meant.  
Thou for thyself mayst diverse good examples soon devise,  
Which cannot be misliked much in country farmer's eyes.    

How to entertain, use, and send away those guests which you have invited. Chapter IX.  

IT is thy part sometimes some guests unto thy house to call,  
Lest men should think thy house is nought, or thou hast none at all.  
Or lest some pickthank which doth greatly at thy good repine,  
Say thou thy neighbour's drink dost love, but no man tastes of thine.   

And when to come to dinner, you your neighbour do entreat,  
Take heed lest this (you shall be welcome) you too oft repeat.  
And so departing from them, for their victuals take no care,  
Because you hope that none will come, you nothing need prepare.   

If any come, whose pains and company you do not lack,  
This policy may serve to bid him from your house to pack.  
It may be as a friend to supper I did you invite,  
I scarce can think myself so fond, but I was drunk that night.  
If any words which then I spoke in drink, were overheard,  
Since they were only words and wind, you must not them regard.  
The pot-mate doth offend, which much regard of words doth make,  
That which I spoke in jest, you should not thus in earnest take.   

Or that thou mayst excuse thyself, into this humour break,  
That then thou being drunk, in bragging sort those words didst speak;  
For credit sake, a man may oft in public say that thing,  
Which after no man can enforce him to effect to bring.   

Or say, if now you here should dine, you could not merry be,  
For I am sick, you cannot have the company of me:  
The beer I drank hath raised such store of vapours in my brain,  
That I persuade myself that I shall never drink again.   

Or you may lay the fault upon your cursed and crabbed wife,  
Which overrules you so, that you are weary of your life.  
Wherefore, entreat them hearty at this time to departed,  
When you are well, they shall be welcome all, with all your heart.  
But sometimes to your kinder friends, more love you must afford,  
And for their welcome, set a few small dishes on the board.   

But always you must have a care, as long as ere you live,  
To spend but little coin, on those things which you mean to give,  
Why shouldst thou for an other man, such costly dinners make?  
There are but few which will to their house, thou to dinner take.   

If just at supper time they there upon thee will attend,  
Then bid them welcome, if they came not, for them never send.  
I see no reason, that to any thou shouldst send a man,  
To pray him for to make all haste, which possibly he can.  
There is no reason on they guests such service to bestow:  
A cause why I this counsel give, I presently will show.  
If thus for him you send a man, his coming for to grace,  
he'll think he credits you, to come to such a clownish place.  
Nay which is more, he'll think that you to him beholding are,  
And for your cost, to give you thanks, will have but little care.   

Defer the time for no man's sake, but if a while he stay,  
Regard him not, fall to your meat, and let him keep away.  
As soon as ere the meat is ready, down to supper sit,  
And fall to such things, as thy wife thinks for thy supper fit.  
Let those which linger, either lose their supper, or their place;  
And yet they are not offered, either wrong or much disgrace.  
What reason had the fool (I pray,) no greater haste to make?  
It was his own fault; for thee, as he brewed, so let him bake.   

Or when the pointed time is come, give charge to lock the door:  
Let no man enter that comes late, he should have come before.  
Be sure that thou to no man dost, the door once shut, unlock,  
But either let them go their ways, or still stand there and knock.   

If thou perchance dost let them in, then give them neither meat,  
Nor water for to wash their hands, nor scarce a cleanly seat,  
'tis likely they at home had water, ere they came to thee,  
And took their ease before, lest coming they should weary be.  
Command thy maid to sweep the house, when every man is come,  
Lest they should think it was not swept, they ought to see it done.   

When every man is come, and doth his supper long expect,  
Begin to make it ready then, and till than it neglect.  
Take thou no care at all, to place or order any guest,  
But give free leave to every man, to fit where he thinks best.  
And then thou shalt be sure, that none can well of thee complain,  
Though by the lowest room, some wrong he chance for to sustain.   

For fear the cates which thou hast bought, should any man offend,  
It is thy duty, every dish most highly to commend.  
Tell them from whence they came, and what a mighty price they cost,  
What pains you took to get them first, and after, them to roast.  
And tell them how they boiled were, how many sundry ways  
You used therein; in brief, neglect not any kind of praise.  
And that they may the dearer seem, bid them themselves to prove,  
And they shall hardly get such meat, for money or for love.  
Then will they like the dishes highly, and commend the taste,  
perceiving that so cunningly, thou them commended haste.   

And yet I would not have thee counsel any man, to feed  
Those which are hungry, of a prompter have but little need.  
But being full, they cannot fall afresh to meat again:  
For being full, to counsel him to feed afresh, is vain.  
To eat thy meat against his will, thou no man oughtest to make,  
It is sufficient, if he but by thee example take.  
As for thyself, be sure thy teeth be wagging still apace,  
This is the only cure whereby thine hunger to deface.  
They which to meat, by thine example are not moved at last,  
Let them departed with empty guts, a God's name let them fast.   

If thou upon thy neighbour's trencher, needs some bit wilt place,  
Thou oughtest to do it warily, lest thou thyself disgrace;  
That which thou meanest to give, thou oughtest thereof to taste a bit,  
Thereby to know the better, if it for thy friend be fit.  
By this means, thou the perfect taste thereof thyself mayst know,  
And judge thereby, if thou on such a friend mayst it bestow.   

To give clean trenchers to the strangers is a needless thing,  
Whenas thy servant to the board, the second course doth bring.  
They ought to turn their dirty trenchers, on the other side,  
And wipe them on the cloth, which for that use thou didst provide.  
Why should you let your servant such great pains in vain to take?  
He may do other things, while he the trenchers clean should make.   

When all is done, and they have eat as much as ere they will,  
Be sure as fast as they can drink it, store of wine to fill.  
If any man in drinking, seems to take too long an ease,  
Then for his lingering, punish him according as you please.  
Make him perforce, to take whatsoever thou requisite dost think,  
In quaffing make him follow thee, and after thee to drink.  
And being drunk, refuse not to fall out with any man,  
Use railing words, and speak as loud as possibly thou can,  
If any one that's drunk, of naughty words doth give thee store,  
First beat him well and thriftily, than thrust him out of door.  
There is no sense, that in thine own house he should thee abuse,  
Especially since all therein thou as thou list mayst use.  
I think to come again in haste, he will have little list,  
If once or twice in this sort, he hath felt thy weighty fist.  
But if thou dare not strike him, having of thyself a care,  
Because the strangers than thy folks, a greater number are.  
Yet break such store of jests against him, as thou best dost like,  
Whenas thou mayst not with thy fist, be sure with tongue to strike.   

If any man offended be, that thou so pleasant art,  
Command him straight in angy sort, thine house for to departed.  
Why should such frowning angry fellows, thus disturb the rest?  
Because forsooth that only he mislikes such pleasant jest.   

Thou mayst be merry with the rest, when he hath left thy house,  
Only regard that every person take the grand carouse.  
With iron bolts and bars make fast the doors with thine own hand,  
And have a man which at each door undauntedly shall stand.  
Let no man pass, unless their finger's force he love to taste,  
Although he give to thee a reason why he hath such haste.  
This is a policy, by making them endure this pain,  
There will be few that wiil be brought to sup with thee again.   

And let an empty chamber pot under the board be put,  
That every man may there unload his bladder, or his gut:  
What though they chance to do the last? it is not much amiss,  
This vapour a most pleasing smell unto your nostrils is,  
According as your need requireth, cast out presently  
From forth a casement, all which in the chamber pot did lie.  
If thy companions out of it some wine should forthwith drink,  
A man might say and swear, that they were merry men I think.   

As long as thus their greedy paunch with meat and drink is fed,  
Were it all night, I think not one would think upon his bed:  
Whenas the day star gins to leave the Ocean, not before,  
Command thy Porters at the last to open every door,  
When thus the day is victor of the darksome parting night,  
Then every man may find his house, not needing any light.   

Sleep all the day, though all the rest from rest by work are kept,  
Thy wine will all be gone by night, if thou all day hast slept.  
Use this a while, and when in riches other men do flow  
Thou ('tis the sweetest life that is) a begging still shalt go:  
Though many men a careful and a painful life doth please,  
Yet, if my counsel thou wilt follow, live thou still at ease.  
This store of pinching labour, often makes our joints the less,  
And too much care, with great affliction doth our hearts oppress.  
Yet oftentimes when many men have took this pains and toil,  
Before they can obtain their wish, they oft receive the foil.  
God grant me only that which for my need I shall desire,  
And I will take no care at all, nor further wealth require.  
Honours and goods, two things whereat the multitude hath caught,  
Have oftentimes the keepers of them, to destruction brought:  
Wherefore, if you be wise, employ your good whenas you may,  
Lest having store, you cannot use it, if you make delay.    
The end of the second Book.   

THE THIRD BOOK of ancient Simplicity of Behaviour.  

The order of this Book, and behaviour at an honest feast, in eating brewis and crab-fish. Chap. I.  

THose precepts which within my former books I did include,  
Which cannot hurt thee much, although they make thee somewhat rude.  
Have certain bonds in every place, thou mayst them not commit,  
But with some caveats, for certain times are only fit.   

But now into the surging seas, my sailing ship is borne,  
It now will take a larger course, if it may scape untorne.  
Help, help, (friend Bing,) which in Apollo's eyes dost gracious live,  
That by thine aid, I to the vulgars' these my lines may give.  
Draw near I say, and help my ship these surging silks to pass,  
And make my course as swift, as if a Pegasus I was.  
You can conduct me with a calm, and very quiet wind,  
To aid at least my fainting wit, let me that favour find.  
A few more precepts to the former, in this place I'll add,  
Which unto those that love Simplicity, cannot be bad.  
Myself in reasons paths I cannot very well contain,  
For Modesty and Reason, they no whit to me pertain.  
Those things to which blind Appetite doth lead us, I must tell,  
Which without tediousness, before I could not have done well.  
Once more unto my Cuckoo notes, lend thine attentive ear,  
Whose're thou art, which simple manners dost desire to hear;  
Expect to heat that kind of life, which fittest is for thee,  
You cannot in that art which you profess, too cunning be.  
I doubt not but that store of manners fitting to thy mind,  
If carefully thou read this book, thou in the same shalt find,  
I know, the practice of my precepts will thee homely make,  
If in the daily use thereof, thou any pains wilt take.   

All kind of manners for all ages will not fitting be,  
Then have a care, that divers sorts be mingled well by thee.  
From hence, and thence, and every place, good manners thou must get,  
And mix them with thine own, and make them for thy purpose fit.  
I do not think it is your duty for to have a care  
In what place, or amongst what men, your manners used are.  
whatsoever it is which can thy life and manners much commend,  
To get the same, it is thy duty all thy force to bend.   

Thou needst not have another master, learn of me a while,  
I'll teach thee tricks, a thousand crafty merchants to beguile.  
Stand you to no man's judgement but your own, when you offend,  
Simplicity will in thy greatest danger thee defend.  
He which is made at other becks, in other steps to tread,  
Regarding not his future haps, a wretched life doth lead.  
It may be thou unto some place, as guest invited art,  
Where thou amongst a sort of worthy men, must take thy part.  
When every dainty dish, to which an appetite you find,  
Is placed and all things set in order, to your dainty mind,  
Cast shame afide, and into most unseemly speeches break,  
Thy tongue is free, why mayst thou not at all time freely speak?  
All sense and pining care, thou oughtest to banish from thy breast,  
And boldly snatch such meat and drink, as fits thy fancy best,  
With shrieking cries and sundry clamours, pierce the lofty skies,  
Refuse not any thing, that seemeth pleasant in thine eyes.  
For when you in your neighbour's house, at sportive banquets sit,  
To have a care of modest manners, is not very fit.   

If any man in dinner time permits his tongue to walk,  
Presuming with a pleasant speech, of lofty things to talk;  
Begin as gravely as the rest of weighty things to tell,  
And have a care, that all the rest in wrangling thou excel.  
This custom unto great preferment will thee quickly raise,  
For this thy quick and ready wit the strangers will thee praise.  
To be more wise than thousands more, thy neighbours will thee deem,  
No better means there is to prove a man of great esteem.  
There is no fit time to speak; for when the wine is in,  
It adds great eloquence, whereby much credit you may win.   

Perchance the Cook doth to the board a mess of brewis bring.  
Which doubtless to the stomach is a very pleasing thing.  
Then take the broadest smoothest spoon, best fitting to thy mind,  
And to that dish before the rest begin a path to find.  
The nearest way that I can tell thy belly for to fill,  
Is, heap thy spoon so full with sops, that it perforce must spill.  
As much as will suffice thy turn, at one time thou mayst take,  
Concerning toys, it is not good such restless toils to make.  
All that which in thy spoon at once, thou from the dish didst fetch,  
At one time thrust into thy mouth, although thy jaws thou stretch.   

If any sop amongst the rest doth seem to lack some salt,  
Most carefully by this means thou mayst quickly mend that fault.  
First fill thy spoon with store of fat and grease-besmiered crust,  
Which done, into the salt-seller be sure the same to thrust.  
Or (which if thou will boldly do, will for thy credit make,)  
With all thy fingers for thy use, thou salt enough mayst take.  
For sure it is impossible, that meat be tasted well,  
If salt be wanting, which alone all rancour doth excel.   

A Crab-fish is a dish agreeing to your stately mind,  
Which if at any time, upon the table you shall find,  
The smaler and the leaner, unto strangers you must leave,  
Your hungry stomach from the great more comfort shall receive.  
Yet think not that the great, are always best of all to eat,  
This may deceive, for why the small sometimes excel the great.  
Then, that the good ones, from the bad, you may the better know,  
Observe this rule, which always will the finest fishes show.   

Under their tails have care to look, if any eggs you find,  
You need not doubt, they are not hurtful to the nicest mind.  
Eat these thyself: but if no eggs can there be found to be,  
Suspect their goodness presently, they scarce are fit for thee.  
Thus scorning them thyself, unto thy friend thou mayst them give,  
By those things which thou scorn'st to eat, thy poorer friends may live.  
Or having searched them thoroughly, take better up at last,  
And in their rooms, be sure those bad ones in the dish to cast.  
Keep not the finest fish, if of the foretold mark it fail,  
It is not wholesome, if it hath not eggs within the tail.   

My counsel is not, undivided fishes to devour,  
Because I think, the very foot would hold you tack an hour.  
To suck up all that's in their belly would do pretty well,  
Those parts I think will serve thy turn, which are within the shell.  
As for the tail and foreparts, you some corner must provide,  
It is a most convenient place, to keep them by your side.  
That so, when every bit of fish is from the platter gone;  
Yet thou mayst have those foreparts still, when all the rest have none.  
And by this means, thou all the rest in eating shall excel,  
To take this counsel of a friend, will oft do very well.  
Forefathers, therefore called this fish a kind of waiting meat,  
Because when every man hath dined, you ought the same to eat.  
A certain fellow tried of late to put this trick in ure,  
But sped not, for a stranger present would not it endure.  
This merry stranger, (as he was much given to merriment,)  
Devisde this plot, whereby the tother's craft he did prevent.  
Seeing the fishes foreparts by this crafty knave to stand,  
Before the t'other was aware, he caught them in his hand.  
I pray sir, what the cause (quoth he,) that you these parts refuse?  
To make the most account of these, we country fellows use.  
The fore-pars of this fish were wont in great esteem to be,  
What though they be refused of you? they shall be liked of me.  
Thus having said, he broke the meat and made an end of it,  
And unto him from whom he snatched it, would not give a bit.  
Therefore it is more wisdom, in some secret bag to hide  
Both tail and foreparts, which thou for thy stomach didst provide.  
For than thou shalt be sure, that none can from thee snatch thy meat,  
But at thy house, or where thou please, thyself the same mayst eat.   

Not only this, but any thing that's pleasing to thy gut,  
In secret sort, thou for thy private use therein mayst put.  
If this mislike thine host, which to his house did thee invite,  
Tell him he was to blame, to place these dishes in thy sight.  
He is not wise, that will despise the gift of any friend,  
If thus he do deny thee meat, why did he for thee send?  
I do not love at any feast, to show myself so proud,  
As to refuse that meat, which by my neighbour is aloud.  
Nay, sure it is my custom rather, like a thankful man  
To rid mine host of all the meat, that possible I can.    

Notable ways of drinking, and such behaviour as must be observed at your departure. Chapter II.  

SOmetimes your host upon his guests, such liquor will bestow,  
As in a private vineyard of his own, did lately grow.  
If by the smack, you find the fruit was of a naughty vine,  
And therefore not agreeing to so nice a taste as thine.  
Be sure this naughty wine, forthwith from off the board to fling,  
And bid the Tapster for your drinking better wine to bring.  
If he replies, it is of gift, it nothing shall you cost,  
Tell him for this, small thanks are due to such a pinching host.  
If for the wine already drawn he seem his coin to crave,  
Ask him the reason, why such customers such tappings have?  
Ask him, if coin be nowadays so lightly got, he think?  
Or is it meet, that silver should be paid for naughty drink?   

But if perchance to dine with thee, thou hast invited some,  
Or else like men that lack their suppers, they unbidden come.  
It is thy part to give to them the basest wine thou hast,  
Such wine is for this purpose best, as lacks both strength and taste.  
Perchance some one among the rest will better wine demand,  
But it may breed both hurt and loss, to do as they command.  
Who knows their purpose? if they mean the shot received to pay?  
Or thinking not to pay for this, would scotfree part a way?  
If all the things which they have yet received naughty were,  
Thy loss will be the less, and thou the better mayst it bear.  
If better wine thou give, they'll heap carouse upon carouse:  
But give them weaker wine, and then they'll soon depart your house.   

If unto any friend of yours among the rest you drink,  
Take off as much at once, as well will quench your thirst you think.  
Until the man to whom you drunk have pledged you to the full,  
Permit him not in any case, the pot from mouth to pull:  
Though he protest before them all, that he is scarce so strong,  
As while he drinks a beaker dry to hold his breath so long.  
Yet, will he, nill he, both by words and blows thou shalt be feign  
To make him drink it off, that thou thy purpose mayst attain.  
But if he chance to shriek and cry, as loath to be controlled,  
And force perforce do what you can, his first intent will hold.  
In raging fume put foaming wine into some empty cruse,  
And power it down his neck, because he did your love refuse.  
Use this but now and then, and sure he will not be so nice,  
But that hereafter he will pledge his friend, once, twice, and thrice.  
In self same sort, a certain fellow once did me abuse,  
He would not pledge me, wherefore I this self same trick did use:  
I got a famous laurel bough, for my deserved praise.  
Whense're I use such simple tricks my luck is such always.   

Whenas the store of vapours which the foaming wine did make,  
Are got into thy sacred wit, and there possession take.  
Whenas thy sense-bereaved tongue doth stamring speeches yield,  
And when the mind despoiled of wit, to vice hath lost the field.  
Then is it time from forth your heart to banish cark and care,  
And eke to prove by lofty laughters, that you pleasant are.  
Defer no time, it is not good on trifles long to stand,  
Take pot or glass filled full with wine, which holding in your hand,  
Begin a full carousing draft, unto some friend to drink,  
Who for his skill in drunkard's art, dares pledge you as you think.  
The drink and eke the brickle glass, although it cost a groat,  
Together you for fellowship, may send into your throat.  
Though senseless brutish creatures, void of reason and of wit,  
(For aught I ever heard,) did never such a fault commit.  
Yet some there are, (O times, O manners!) men of wealth and might,  
Which in such filthy crimes as these, do take their chief delight.  
Think nothing wild, think nothing base, or un-beseeming thee,  
Which may by men of wealthy callings, patronized be.  
All that which other men have done, presume to do the same,  
If thou desire by deeds of worth to get immortal fame.   

Though other men perceiving these thy senseless crimes, refuse  
By treading in thy wicked paths, the self-same faults to use:  
Yet must you not in any case, scorn any wicked deed,  
But constantly, you must in vices further still proceed.  
Command a boy to bring a pot which hath a bottom wide,  
Which filled, another neighbour to assail you must provide.  
When you are drunk, it is a credit stoutly to refuse  
Those narrow slender-bellide pots, which sober you did use.  
Command such un-accustomed vessels to be brought to thee,  
That at the first draft with the same, thy thirst may quenched be.  
Ere you proceed, you ought to fill the basin full with wine:  
Which done, you straight must send it down that ravenous throat of thine.  
And after that, with careful eye look over all the house,  
What other vessels you can find, wherein you may carouse.  
Pots, buckets, cauldrons, frying-pans, according to your mind,  
As also kettles, barrels, pitchers, doubtless you shall find:  
Then shall you find cups, khans, and tankards, jacks, and bottles black,  
Such necessary tools as these, your neighbour cannot lack.  
All these, (if for your purpose them you requisite do think,)  
Bring forth of hidden holes, in them your pleasant wine to drink.  
If none of these you there can find, and yet you lack a cup,  
Out of a dirty pisspot, you may drink your liquor up.  
And yet I would be very loath that you should drink to me,  
That beastly vessel is not fit for any man but thee.  
Amongst that rout, can none be found that will you kindly pledge?  
Because they all have drunk too much, do they a excuse allege?  
Then may you freely brag and boast, that you the victor are,  
And from the rest that leave you off, the laurel you shall bear.  
Yet would I not, that you are yet proclaim your victory,  
But counsel you before you do it, only thus to try:  
Provide a funnel, (fie, 'tis shame such trifles for to show,  
Me thinks so wise a man as you this trick before should know,)  
Which you to set within their gaping mouths, must be so bold,  
If you perceive they are so drunk, that they no pots can hold.  
And by the funnells help, have care to liquor every friend,  
Which having finished, of your challenge you may make an end.  
At length, when you with meat have stopped your hungry paunches cries,  
And eke with store of wine, have almost drunk away your eyes;  
You need not stay, to give your neighbour thanks with all your heart,  
But when you please, not taking leave, you homeward may departed.   

When you depart, begin to rail and quarrel with your host,  
Let that be all the thanks that you repay for all his cost.  
First blame himself, and afterward begin to blame his meat,  
It was not fine enough for such brave men as you to eat.  
Rail at the Butler, for his not providing better drink,  
Find fault with any thing whereof you presently can think.  
Each thing was far too base, for those which dined in the place:  
Then let them all perceive the marks of anger in thy face.  
You hoped that with a greater banquet, he would you receive,  
But all your hopes were vain, your purpose he did quite deceive.  
I would have scorned for such a banquet to have left my door,  
But that I thought of dainty meat, we should have lacked no store.  
What though indeed you had no cause, so many faults to find?  
Yet speak as constantly, as if you spoke it from your mind.  
Thus having grieved with angry words, your careful host at heart,  
If you have nothing else to do, you homeward may departed.   

And if the morrow after, this your vexed host you meet,  
That you may both be friends, you ought most kindly him to greet.  
Or if you please, with jests begin the simple man to mock,  
To make m●nds for yesternight, make him your laughing stock.  
Tell him, you never gave him cause of anger, you protest:  
If he perchance mislike your words, you spoke them all in jest,  
What can he do? for shame, he cannot blame the jesting vain,  
Unless he be too currish natured, he'll be friends again.  
That very hour of all his quarrel he will make an end,  
And think you, as he did before, to be his very friend.  
Perchance unto a dainty supper, he will you invite,  
With this your witty jesting humour being conquered quite.    

How to spread and suffer scoffs and jests, farting, spitting, answering to questions, and looking into other men's letters. Chap. III.  

SOme men there are, which in their actions count it always best,  
To spread abroad among their neighbours many a biting jest.  
And therefore use to carp at faults, which other men commit,  
By this means thinking to declare their merry jesting wit.  
But as for you, although your neighbour's nose be near so great,  
Yet ought you not his name with naughty speeches to entreat.   

If any man makes jests of you, to keep his wit in ure,  
I give you leave to speak your worst, you must not this endure.  
Let him by certain signs perceive, that thou canst angry be,  
I think if he perceive thee moved, he'll hardly scoff at thee.   

If he proceed, and into greater flouting speeches break,  
Rather than you will still be wronged, thus boldly to him speak:  
Whenas my father lacked a fool wherewith to sport and play,  
That so, the better he might drive the lingering time away;  
After he many means had tried, at last he found out me,  
That I to banish all his careful thoughts, a fool might be.  
So sir, if you would have a fool which would your jests abide,  
My counsel, is that you some fool on purpose do provide.   

If thus you take up every flowter in his jesting vain,  
It's very likely, few or none will jest at you again.   

If any man with gifts of money, thinks thee to abuse,  
Accept such jesting, so that he this custom do not use,  
Refuse no kind of jests, which may commodity procure,  
Such flouts as bring, or gain, or profit, you may well endure.  
And yet, although some profit by their jests you bear away,  
It is your duty word for word, unto them to repay.  
Those men which you in loving league, have tide unto your heart,  
From love of you till you have vexed them, let them not departed.  
With store of sugared promises, their humours you must feed,  
And tell them you will secure them, if ere they stand in need.  
But yet I would not have thee such a simple fool to be,  
As to perform all that which hath been promised by thee.  
To every man you ought most kingly promises to give,  
But never to perform the same, if you in peace would live.  
And yet, if you in weighty causes do your friend deceive,  
It is a precept which of me you never did receive.   

When you at dinner 'mongst a sort of honest men do sit,  
Or wives and maids, the last whereof is for your purpose fit.  
If you have need, from forth your griping belly let you wind,  
The scent whereof, the guests will quickly in their nostrils find.  
And lest the strangers should perceive that you have done amiss,  
Be sure to cry before the rest, fie, what a stink is this?  
Affirm, that in the tender virgins all the fault doth lie  
And straight a red and blushing colour will their faces die.  
Those which offend, have commonly this colour in their face,  
When guilty men begin to blush, it is a sign of grace.  
Or if a little dog be me, be sure the same to kick,  
As if that his perfumed tail, had caused this beastly trick.  
By this means your decreasing credit you may finely save.  
And others shall have that reward, which you deserve to have.  
That noisome smell without offence the guests must undergo,  
Because that none but you do certainly the father know.   

Sometimes there from the liver comes an humour like to snot,  
Which either riseth from some cold or surfeit lately got.  
This divers men with hawks and hems, will from their stomach bring,  
And keep it on their tongue, as if it were a precious thing.  
And in their mouth this phlegmy stuff, they love to roll about,  
A pretty while before they will begin to spit it out.  
What profit by this beastly trick they get, I do not know,  
But in my judgement it doth make a very seemly show.  
Although if some should see this trick, their meat they would refuse,  
Yet this I think a reason is, for which they should it use.  
Though ne'er so often in my sight this trick should used be,  
Yet sure it should be counted for a welcome sight to me.  
And as for my part, I could wish, if I might have my mind,  
That I at dinner, store of snot within your mouth might find.   

Suppose your father or your master doth some question ask,  
Or else some stranger calls you, which would set you any task:  
Be sure that you unto their questions answer not at all,  
Unless your father or your master, twice or thrice do call.  
Make answer then, as if from sleep they then had wakened thee,  
But such a one, as to their question may no whit agree.  
If they demand your answer when you scarcely are awake,  
You needs must answer foolishly, because you did mistake.   

When you of certain weighty matters purpose for to tell,  
Observe this method, which will serve your purpose very well.  
You must not talk in foolish wise, nor must your speeh be short,  
The longest tedious tattling tales, will make the finest sport.  
That you may seem in Rhetoric all others to excel,  
Of sundry trifling toys you ought a tedious tale to tell.  
In any case your poem must an hour or two endure,  
In which, your auditors good wills you only must procure.  
If you no subject have, whereof your future speech to make,  
It is no matter, you of me may store of subjects take.  
The Roman battles and the credit which they got in fight,  
And all the worthy soldiers names and noble deeds recite.  
The great exploits of Hannibal and Carthaginian wars  
You may repeat, and eke the cause of Troy's unhappy jars.  
Or of the stars and heavenly bodies you a speech may make,  
And show from whence the world its first original did take.  
Thus having opened all their ears, of trifles make an end,  
Beginning at the last unto the purpose to descend.  
If any man among the rest doth interrupt thy talk,  
Against him in this railing sort, permit your tongue to walk.  
And art thou not ashamed, thou fool of manners most corrupt,  
So great a man as I, so boldly thus to interrupt?  
Where were you taught into such shameless boldness for to break,  
As not to keep your tongue in awe when wiser persons speak?  
If thus your bold presuming friend you use to entertain,  
You cannot choose but store of praise and credit you shall gain.   

If any man be reading letters which were to him sent,  
Although to tell the secrets unto you he never meant.  
To stand behind the readers back you ought to have a care,  
And read them o'er as well as he before he be aware.  
Unto the King of Macedon, Ephestius called by name,  
A certain friend of his presumed of late to do the same.  
It was his custom always boldly to commit this thing,  
Yet he continued in the love and favour of the king.  
And sure I think that no man can thy saucy boldness blame,  
Although in imitating him you should perform the same.  
Though some men think this use a most unseemly vice to be,  
Yet sure it rather for a virtue shall be thought of me.  
Those learned men's examples which have lived in former time,  
Will plainly prove that this can hardly be so great a crime.  
Did not old Tully all his country most entirely love?  
As when he was in Rome a Consul he did plainly prove.  
To greet his friends with careful letters he did daily use,  
And yet to print them every one he never did refuse.  
Then why should these our letters which are base far than they,  
From all men's sight and public view be closely kept away?    

Behaviour when you enter into other men's houses, going into hothouses, or baths, divers coloured parted coats, the adorning of the beard, the use of papers and books, entertaining your friends, and other such like civilities. Chapter four  

DIvers there are which of their credit such account do make,  
That they without advise and care will nothing undertake.  
If they unto an honest neighbour's house invited are,  
Softly to knock before they enter they will have a care.  
And though the doors stand open, granting entrance unto all,  
Yet is it not their use to enter in before they call.  
That so their neighbour of their coming may forewarned be,  
Lest he should have some secret which he would have no man see.  
Thinking to seem well nurtured men by often using it,  
And I confess, for honest men it is a custom fit.  
But if unto a neighbour's house you purpose for to go,  
You need not take, or care, or pains, to frame your manners so.  
If any gate stand , rush boldly in upon your friend,  
The very name of friendship may from boldness you defend.  
If thus you should not make a noise but enter suddenly,  
Something perchance which he would have unseen you should espy.  
You may procure great store of mirth by entering boldly in,  
By giving warning of your coming you his love shall win.   

If you into a sweeting bath or hothouse chance to come,  
Whether you only are a stranger there, or known to some.  
If you be i'll, to run unto a furnace be so bold,  
That so you may both from your hands and feet expel the cold.  
Then presently be sure to put your shoes from off your feet,  
In spite of which (unhappy man,) the cold did with them meet.  
Which having done, against the fire prepare your feet to warm,  
That by this means you may eschew the colds outrageous harm.  
To put your hose and breeches off, is sure a pleasant thing,  
I do it not mislike, because it will great profit bring.  
Suppose the air (as oft it hath) hath some infectious smell,  
Which will disturb your tempered brain, though it before was well.  
That pleasant smell which from your hose and breeches doth proceed,  
Will quite expel that other smell to help you at your need.  
Which having done, the tother's place this will possess and use,  
Because the t'other did your sense and smelling much abuse.  
By this means you the airs unwholesome smells may soon prevent,  
This newfound smell will stop the strongnes of the tother's scent.   

Think it a trifling thing to labour all men for to please,  
He which regardeth all to please, can never live at ease.  
Since none is found so good that he can every man content,  
It is thy best to displease all, this labour to prevent.  
Why shouldst thou strive to make thyself to all men's humours fit?  
It is a toil which cannot choose but far exceed thy wit.  
It is in vain against your nature foolishly to strive,  
He which attempts impossibilities will never thrive.   

At length, when you are forced the furnace and the bath to leave,  
Than you of me your trusty friend this counsel shall receive.  
That you from all ensuing harm may keep your tender feet,  
If you hereafter should with frost and pinching coldness meet.  
Thrust store of straw into your shoes to keep your feet from harm,  
The straw which lies within your shoes will make them very warm.  
And yet unless you put it so that it may all be seen,  
T'had been as good, that in your shoes it had not placed been.  
This good example, whosoever feareth future cold  
Will imitate, and for a fruitful precept will it hold.   

If any tell thee that to leave thy clownish life 'tis best,  
And for thy plain rusticity begin at thee to jest.  
Such injuries as these, if patiently thou suffer can,  
For my part, I shall hardly think thou art a valiant man.  
If thou canst hardly mend thyself, for thou no weapons haste,  
(Although 'twere good, if thou at him a dagger straight wouldst cast.)  
Forthwith it is thy duty into raging words to break,  
Although no weapons you may use, yet freely you may speak.  
Those whom you sharply reprehend in such a raging fume,  
Hereafter to abuse you thus they hardly will presume.  
I once before forbade thee any scoffings to endure,  
And will inculcate it to keep thee in the better ure.   

Thy garments having divers colours better please the sight,  
All men in these our days do in variety delight.  
Nature herself in divers things doth sundry colours use,  
To follow such a guide as Nature do not thou refuse.  
The man which follows Nature's rules, lives happily they say,  
If such a perfect guide you follow you can never stray.  
Of such a perfect guide be thou an immitator too,  
For she will teach thee what is fit in every place to do.   

If you with careful mind the heavenly Rainbow do behold,  
You shall perceive how many sundry colours it doth hold.  
Consider well the forms of plants, the wings of birds which fly,  
And all those precious gems which in the Indian lands do lie;  
And you shall find that all of these in colours do abound.  
And all things else which Nature for the use of man hath found.  
Also, your garments into divers pieces for to cut,  
Is nowadays in great account and estimation put.  
This must before all other things be used oft of thee,  
If thou wilt hearken to my verses, or my scholar be.  
Like some unwise and senseless block all men will thee deride,  
Unless thou use thy hose and doublet finely to divide.  
But if in curious manner you your garments use to tear,  
So that upon your body you no perfect piece do wear.  
A man of noble birth and lineage you may quickly seem,  
And all your friends to be a man of credit will you deem.  
Or else you will be thought to be a man of Mars, his rout,  
Such men in such apparel use to march the streets about.   

Unto what place soe'er you come, it is a mighty grace,  
To have a frowning countenance and eke a crabbed face.  
ne'er laugh at all, but then when you some doleful fight have found,  
As some unlucky mastless ship, in danger to be drowned.  
Those men which do your mourning looks and countenance behold,  
Will think that weighty matters do from smiling you withhold.  
So every man that sees you, will unto you honour give,  
Supposing that in honest paths and gravity you live.   

Perchance in public sort some public matters acted are,  
When every man both young and old doth meet together there,  
And then begins some clerk to read the statutes all aloud,  
That every precept may be marked, of all the present crowd.  
At all such public meetings, thou must also present be,  
To hear the news, although perhaps it not concerneth thee.  
If to regard those great affairs you need not have a care,  
It is your duty to disturb all others that are there.  
Devise some boisterous sports and plays which thou approovest best,  
And with thy shrieking cries, be sure to countervail the rest.  
Let thy delight be placed in making others to be stayed,  
Lest they attentively should hearken unto what was said.   

This also cannot choose but purchase most deserved grace,  
To have a beard beset with brissels, hiding half your face.  
Or let upon thine upper lip, a great muschatoe bide,  
Which oft will hinder you from opening of your chaps too wide.  
By which you oftentimes great help and profit may receive,  
You know my careful counsel never yet did you deceive.  
Perchance within the dirty pot some filthy thing doth lie,  
Which by the narrow mouth thereof you hardly can espy.  
Your brisly beard and long moustaches will its passage stay,  
When otherwise the filth would by your chin have scaped away.  
The wines bad hue, those hairs will change which on your lips do grow,  
So that the pure wine only will into your belly flow.  
Besides, those dirty rotten teeth, which in your mouth have place,  
As oft as you with laughter gaped, would breed you great disgrace,  
But that your beard to hinder this, a means will soon provide,  
Which hanging over both your lips, your teeth will quickly hide.   

If ever you have cause to speak of any weighty thing,  
Your beard unto you presently will praise and credit bring.  
Which hanging down upon your breast, you gravely ought to stroke,  
And make a stop at every sundry word, which you have spoke.  
This in such sort will for thine honour and thy credit make,  
That all which see thee, for a grave and wise man will thee take.   

If thou at any time dost write a letter to thy friend,  
Because thy purpose and intent thou unto him must send,  
To keep the same from blots and blurs I hold it very vain,  
It is no hurt, although the same with store of ink you stain.  
The man which in such trifling things such labour will abide,  
Forgets the means whereby his own perfections for to hide,  
Unless your art and cunning always hid and cloaked be,  
What things soe'er you writ, shall hardly be believed of me.  
And that your friend more carefully may keep within his mind,  
Those things which in your loving letter he doth written find,  
So carefully your pen and ink to use you shall be feign,  
That all your paper you be sure with store of blots to stain.  
In self same sort you always aught to use the finest book,  
Although another kindly lent it you thereon to look.   

If any friend that dwells far off, or kinsman of your own,  
Come to your house, which unto him most perfectly is known.  
In any case you ought to have a special care of this,  
To tell him, not too often, that he very welcome is.  
For if he chance to find, that he so welcome is to thee,  
It may be feared his often coming troublesome will be,  
Yet every time he comes, be sure to give him so much wine,  
That being drunk he neither know, what is his name, nor thine,  
In better sort an ancient friend you cannot entertain,  
Then for to give him wine, until he spew it up again.  
When he gins, at last, to be desirous to be gone,  
And therefore both his boots, his cloak, his sword and all is on,  
Permit him not in any case so soon to part away,  
But though he earnestly request you, make him longer stay;  
Whether he will or no, constrain him more and more to drink.  
This is a sure and certain pledge of kindest love I think.   

Concerning such things as are fittest when you go to bed,  
In this my Book in ample sort I should to you have read.  
But if I all occasions offered should presume to take,  
I should such store of matter find that I no end should make,  
Remember like thyself in all thy actions for to be,  
And thou shalt find that only they are rules enough for thee.  
From taking either sleep or rest, be sure the rest to keep,  
When thou perceav'st that thou canst hardly set thyself to sleep:  
If any sport thou canst invent thy fellows to abuse,  
Because it will procure thee praise, thou oughtest the same to use.   

As soon as ere thy shoe is took from off thy stinking feet,  
Thy nostrils with a most unwholesome savour it will greet,  
Which savour, if into the brain it chanceth to ascend,  
It is incredible how much it will the same offend.  
Wherefore, if thou wouldst be supposed a witty man to be,  
Have care to set thy shoes a great way from thy bed and thee.  
Be sure to have this cunning trick within thy crafty head,  
To let thy shoes be always set before another's bed.  
And let the smell which comes from thence, another's nostrils fill,  
Lest such a stinking savour should procure thee any ill.  
More store of rustic practices I unto thee would give,  
Whose're thou art which dost according to my precepts live;  
But that I see that sleep at this time rather is required,  
Because thy members all for want of rest are almost tired.  
Wherefore, I grant unto thee leave to part unto thy bed,  
On it, without, or care, or fear, to rest thy sleepy head.  
Mean time such good examples to set down I will proceed,  
As thou mayst always imitate whens'ever thou hast need,  
From which when you have slept enough, such precepts you may take,  
As in your future words and actions for your purpose make.  
In all my course which is to come, I nothing else will tell,  
But those things which may every day of you be used well.    

Sundry sorts of civilities at the Table. Chapter V.  

NOt long ago there at a wedding was a costly feast,  
To which, a certain stripling was invited as a guest;  
Wherefore his start-ups on were put, besmiered all with dirt,  
What then? you know a little mire can do but little hurt.  
To put a spur upon his heel he also had a care,  
To make his horse go faster that he might be sooner there;  
And yet do what he could, of all the rest he latest came,  
Because his palfrey in the hinder leg was somewhat lame.  
As soon as he was light, upon the board he found the meat,  
And every stranger by the Bride placed in his proper seat:  
For haste he durst not stay, from off his heel his spur to take,  
Nor yet to put his start-ups off, he then such haste did make.  
But running to the board with both, his coming for to grace,  
A certain honest maid vouchsafed to grant to him her place.  
It was his fortune next unto another maid to sit,  
Although of such unlooked for kindness he was far unfit.  
Forthwith a fat and tender hen before his face was set,  
That he although he came too late, his part thereof might get.  
He being scarce a skilful man in carving of his meat,  
Scarce knowing what was best to leave untouched, and what to eat;  
Presumed to take both legs and wings which in the platter lay,  
Lest leaving them behind him, they might chance to fly away.  
The carcase he upon the virgin thinking to bestow,  
By great misfortune chanced on the ground the same to throw.  
For which he forthwith blushed for shame; but thinking mends to make,  
Began to stoop, from off the ground the carcase for to take.  
But out alas he let a fart which made a grievous scent,  
As he by stooping down too low, too much his body bend.  
For which his fault, he being sorely vexed at the heart,  
Leaving his dinner, presently he purposed to departed.  
As he was climbing o'er the board his spur the cloth did tear,  
And hung so fast, that with him he was forced the cloth to bear.  
Those pots and platters which as then upon the table stood,  
And all the candles down he cast in this his hasty mood.  
Besides, (more haste, less speed,) as he departing was away,  
The tablefull of pots and glasses forced him for to stay.  
The which with all the other things which on the same he found,  
Thus being over-rulde by rage, he cast upon the ground.  
As he was going out of doors, he with a servant met,  
Which had another dish of meat upon the board to set.  
Thus running headlong on his way, by chance against his will,  
He made the servant all the meat upon the ground to spill.  
In this sort at his neighbour's wedding having played his part,  
He got upon his halting jade and homeward did departed.  
Although by practising these pranks great profit you may make,  
And for your present purpose out of them example take:  
Yet must he not be numbered 'mongst the vulgar multitude,  
Because that he (good man,) was more unfortunate than rude.   

And at a certain other time it chanced to betide,  
A neighbour for his special friends a banquet did provide.  
When every one had took his place, there was among the rest,  
A gentlewoman, and a man of worship at the feast.  
The stranger as he was a man of manners very grave,  
In friendly sort a Carp head to the gentlewoman gave.  
She thinking well of this his offer, took that dainty meat,  
Beginning of the same according to her mind to eat.  
She scorned to search the head, or every corner to peruse,  
Because she never knew the meat, she did the same refuse.  
Each part for to anatomize she thought it much pain,  
Especially for that, from which she did expect no gain.  
Wherefore she underneath the table cast the dainty head,  
Supposing it was meat wherewith the dogs might all be fed.  
When this the woman's foolish deed the stranger did behold,  
Not able longer to forbear, to chide her he was bold.  
From off the ground the head which she refused he first did take,  
And then in angry sort unto her in this manner spoke.  
And are you not ashamed (you fool,) such folly to commit?  
It grieves me much to see that you should have so little wit.  
This head I as a special favour did on you bestow,  
And not to that intent that on the ground you should it throw.  
Though thus to open it yourself you would not take the pain,  
Yet had it been your part to have restored it me again.  
She being overcome with shame, no words at all replied,  
But lest she should be mocked the more, was forced her face to hide.  
judge whether of the two seem better mannered unto thee,  
Or whether of the two misliked or praised most shall be.   

A Citizen did on a time with feasting entertain  
A mighty Prince and Potentate, with all his pomp and train.  
Who coming, was received with such store of stately cheer,  
As if his palace it had been, nothing was thought too dear.  
Great store of dainty flesh and sundry sorts of costly fish  
Were sent unto the board; there lacked not any princely dish.  
The man suspecting lest his Prince's favour he should lose,  
From forth the dish among the rest the finest fish did choose.  
Which thinking on the Prince's trencher handsomely to lay,  
The fish by great ill luck from forth his fingers slipped away.  
But ere it came to ground, his slipper with the same did meet,  
A slipper black as jeate was on the entertainers feet.  
Whence having took it, it upon the Prince's trencher laid,  
And that his fault might seem the less, these words to him he said:  
Yet take it (gentle Prince I pray,) the fall did it not hurt,  
You know my pantolfe was clean and not besmirde with dirt.  
Believe me sir, my servant lately cleansed it with a cloth,  
I put it on e'en now, to hurt you I'd be very loath.  
These words he said, and earnestly the Prince he did entreat,  
To pardon this his small offence, and fall unto his meat.   

Another time a gentleman of worship and of fame,  
To dinner to a Prince's table by inviting came.  
The Prince because he thought of him a special care to have,  
In friendly sort a piece of dainty meat unto him gave.  
The stranger being finely nurtured wondrous haste did make,  
The Prince's kind and loving proffer speedily to take,  
But by a great misfortune he could hardly hold it well,  
So that into a cup of wine unluckily it fell.  
And as with all the haste he could, he strived to take it thence,  
His trembling hand did add unto the first a great offence.  
For he with shaking, all the cup of wine did overthrow,  
So that both bread and meat upon the board in wine did flow.  
With store of blushing purple colour, both his cheeks were died,  
He was so vexed for his fault, that he his face did hide.  
But sure I think some angry gods did cross his good intent,  
For being far from clownish fashions, mannerly he meant.  
But you by his example store of manners ought to take,  
The use whereof will you a rude and simple fellow make.  
That which by great ill luck against his will he did commit,  
Thou oughtest to study to perform it with a willing wit.  
Those things which you on purpose do, will more your name advance,  
Then that which you against your will committed have by chance.   

I saw another, who because his knife was somewhat ill,  
And would not cut his meat apace according to his will.  
Not willing for to lose his part this trick he did invent,  
Whereby he thought his great ensuing danger to prevent.  
He took from forth the dish the biggest bits that he could find,  
And all such dainty pieces as were fitting to his mind,  
Which having got, to put them underneath his arm was bold,  
Because he thought in such a place more firmly them to hold.  
From whence according to his stomach he could tear his meat,  
Both roast and sod, with tooth and nail, as he desired to eat.  
For finding that his knife in those affairs did often fail,  
He doubted not but with his hand he quickly should prevail.  
But having filled his stomach, he was careful to lay down  
Into the dish, all which he left, lest he should seem a clown.  
And of his leave, to his neighbours he would offer part,  
Requesting that they would accept them e'en with all his heart.  
I would not have you think, that of myself I this do feign,  
To lie when no man doth compel me, were but little gain.  
The rudest things which in my book I can repeat or tell,  
At sundry times in sundry places, often have befell.  
Nay, greedy gutlings have committed many a cleanly feat,  
Which neither I, nor any other Poet can repeat.   

Another time the man and master sat at board together,  
Because there was a feast, and they were both invited thither.  
And divers other men of credit were invited there,  
Which of the City worthy Magistrates and Rulers were.  
While at the table every stranger courtesy did use,  
And every man to carve the rest did earnestly refuse;  
Each man with careful eye, his neighbour's gesture did behold,  
But for to give the foremost onset, none durst be so bold.  
The servant having sat so long his hunger did him teach,  
To stint the quarrel of his guts, some dainty dish to reach.  
By your leave now at length, to stay my stomach I'll be bold,  
For why to tell the troth (quoth he,) I can no longer hold.  
He took a piece of dainty meat, thus having to them said,  
And having took it, boldly on his trencher he it laid.  
Which when his master had espied, to blush he straight began,  
To think that he before the rest should have so bold a man.  
Unto his saucy man he many becks and signs did make,  
And in a soft and whispering manner many words he spoke.  
That he the meat which he had took, into the dish should put,  
And let the strangers which were better men before him cut.  
The servant when his master's nods and becks he did espy,  
Not knowing well the cause thereof or what he meant thereby.  
Having a gobbet in his mouth which round about he rolled,  
It was so big that in his mouth he scarcely could it hold.  
He spewed the meat digested all again into the dish,  
Thinking thereby to satisfy his masters silent wish.  
His master frowning more and more for that he did commit,  
He half beside himself as in an ecstasy did fit.  
Thus having sat a pretty while, he took the meat at last  
From forth the dish, and on the ground he boldly did it cast.  
For seeing that his master thus some future harm did threat,  
And every stranger else abstained from touching of the meat,  
He thought the meat digested did with poison him infect,  
And therefore did some sudden chance of present death expect.  
A country farmer came to dinner to a kinsman dear,  
He was unto him both by kindred and acquaintance near:  
He very glad of his approach great welcome to him gave,  
Assuring him, that all the cheer that might be he should have,  
He calls his neighbours presently that they might with him dine,  
And promiseth that no man there shall lack for dainty wine.  
They come, and every man doth take the place which he thinks fit,  
Except his kinsman which will after all the strangers sit,  
In brief, from forth his country sheath his clownish knife he took,  
Which being stained with household bread, did somewhat bluntly look.  
Which he espying, straight with spittle did his whittle wet,  
Supposing that by this means he the dirt from thence might get.  
Then having wiped it on the cloth it shone as bright as day,  
So that upon his trencher then, he boldly might it lay,  
When unto some the host such bits as he thought best had gave,  
He bade the rest to carve themselves if they good meat would have.  
And straight the country fellow in the platter did espy  
A dainty morsel clad in fat, which by itself did lie.  
He being hungry, snatched it as a dainty piece of meat,  
And setting it before him, straight began thereof to eat.  
His host enforced to blush for shame did into laughter break,  
And in that merry vain, unto him in this sort did speak.  
Good uncle cast into the platter that unwholesome bit,  
I pray restore it, for it is not for your diet fit.  
And which agrees unto your stomach, take this piece of me,  
Which for your dainty diet I suppose more fit to be.  
The countryman replied, good cousin set aside your care,  
Those cates which I have chose, according to my stomach are.  
That meat which next unto me in the platter I do find,  
Although you think it ne'er so bad, it pleaseth well my mind.  
I scarce shall find a sweeter bit in any dainty dish,  
And were it worse I were content, such choice I do not wish.  
Which having said, before them all the meat he did devour,  
Yet had no hurt at all, the man is living at this hour.   

Another host by chance at board 'mongst gentlemen did sit,  
A clownish fool which was for such companions far unfit.  
And yet forsooth for all the rest he would a carver be,  
Although such neatness with such clownish life did not agree.  
He tore the rains from off the meat, a cleanly trick I trow,  
And on a man of worship (as 'twas meet,) did them bestow.  
He thinking them too good a bit refused the same to have,  
And therefore to a man which was his friend, that morsel gave.  
He likewise offered to another friend that dainty meat,  
But none among them all was found that would that morsel eat.  
At length unto the carvers trencher they were turned straight,  
But he suspecting that within them there was some deceit.  
Half angry with them answered thus, what reason do you find,  
That since all others do despise them they should fit my mind?  
Which having said, in rage and fume he cast away the meat,  
That since the men refused it so, the dogs the same might eat.   

But now a beastly tale I tell, your patience I must crave,  
Such things as beastly are, in beastly words you needs must have.  
There was a gentleman of late was known to me full well,  
But for a certain cause, his name I list not here to tell.  
Him many noble men into their company would take,  
Because he was a man which many pretty jests could make.  
With store of bitter biting jests he any man would strike,  
And therefore merry minded men his company did like.  
And when he was amongst a crew whose favour he did love,  
He many jests would offer, store of laughter for to move.  
A sort of youths constrained him on a table for to climb,  
To make their worship's merry with some eare-delighting rhyme.  
About him many flocks of pleasant younkers did resort,  
To hear his jests, and try if he could make them any sport.  
While they were gazing on him thus, he silent still did stand,  
Premeditating of the matter which he had in hand.  
At length rejecting shamefastness, his breeches down he put,  
And in the presence of them all he emptied there his gut.  
Which when it was perceiude of those which on the ground did stand,  
Each man began to laugh aloud and eke to clap his hand.  
The gentlemen great store of money unto him did give,  
This was the loss that he sustained, because he thus did live.  
Let those men now which have refused to be accounted plain,  
Tell me if clownish manners do not store of riches gain.    

Other civilities in emptying the bladder, vomiting, and other eleganties of behaviour. Chap. VI  

THe store of urine oftentimes doth offer strangers wrong,  
Whenas they are constrained to sit at supper over long.  
And therefore some well nurtured fools presume to be so bold,  
As longer then is requisite their water for to hold.  
But they are senseless fools, their healths and lives to venture so,  
And for a little manners sake such loss to undergo.  
Thou which a wise man art, shouldst cast such foolish care aside,  
That for thy future profit by thy care thou mayst provide.  
Rise thou in dinner time if thou perchance hast need to leak,  
A God's name let that passage have which would thy belly break.  
If any one among the rest do stop thine enterprise,  
Although he be thy very friend, yet force him for to rise.   

Or sitting at the table, if you find that you are ill,  
Not fearing any, on the ground your urine you may spill.  
All sharp, severe, and crabbed manners you must now refuse,  
Which of so many faults do plain rusticity accuse.  
Those things which thou by other men's examples used haste,  
Are just, thou hast not been the first, nor shalt thou be the last.   

A gallant youth which of a worthy lineage did descend,  
Unto a banquet was of late invited by a friend.  
Upon the board was set such store of taste delighting meat,  
As when the gods above do Nectar and Ambrosia eat.  
According to his calling every stranger down did sit,  
Each choosing such things as he counted for his stomach fit.  
This younker scarce was suffered his horses back to leave,  
But he was called presently his place for to receive.  
He had no time allowed, his boots from off his legs to take;  
Nor (which was worst of all) his pinching water for to make.  
As good luck was, he by a dainty wench's side did sit,  
And now began his future pain and trouble to forget.  
But hapless he (as nothing which is good can ever last)  
His future pain assailed him, his pleasure soon was passed;  
For being very dry, he store of drink began to gull,  
So that before he was aware, his bladder soon was full.  
And yet (unhappy he) he durst not from the table rise,  
Lest he should seem unmannerly in all the stranger's eyes.  
Wherefore a great while sundry means and helps he did invent,  
Whereby the better this ensuing harm he might prevent.  
But still his pains increasing more, he was in such a case,  
That he was forced to take this counsel of the time and place,  
Into his boot (which was a wide one) such a thing he put,  
That he in little space of all his water freed his gut.  
Under the board to hold his hand a while he was compelled,  
As if some other weighty thing he in the same had held,  
Until his boot was filled up with the urine to the top;  
And yet the water powered from the fountain drop by drop.  
Mean time the maid which at the table sat unto him near,  
Perceiving all, persuaded him to have a valiant cheer,  
And straight she took him by the hand, which he so busied had,  
Desiring him to tell the reason why he was so sad:  
And straight from forth his codpiece he was forced his hand to bring,  
And in the same against his will, his maid-delighting thing.  
Look off, look off some other way, you maids, by nature kind,  
For fear that such an object make you ever after blind.  
This luckless younker being thus surprised in such haste,  
Was forced upon the table store of water for to cast.  
In self same sort as when the neighbour's water use to fling  
Upon an house half burnt with fire, or any other thing.  
He came unto that banquet in a most unhappy morn,  
And sure I think under a luckless planet he was borne.  
Thus being scofft of all, he sat, not daring once to rise,  
But in a sad and mournful sort he hid his bashful eyes.  
At length, by store of pleasant wine these cares his heart forsook,  
And setting shame and fear aside, a courage stout he took.  
In brief, when every man had tippled well, it so did chance,  
That every man must after supper lead a wench a dance.  
This younker then, (although this dancing he did hardly love,)  
Was forced according to the fiddles sound his legs to move.  
Each time that he removed his feet, he shook the massy ground,  
And all the house with store of shouts and Echoes did resound.  
As oft as ere this younker from the ground his legs did pull,  
(Having his boots (too big before,) with store of water full:)  
So oft they forced him to remember that unseemly thing,  
And oft the fault forgot, they did afresh remembrance bring.  
And then afresh each man began at him to laugh and mock,  
He was the cause that made himself so base a laughing stock.  
As soon as dancing time was past that he might private be,  
He found a means whereby from laughter he himself might free.  
In midst of all the maids and men which compassed him apace,  
He put his watery buskins off, the cause of his disgrace.  
And gave them to his man, that to the fire he might them bear,  
Which quickly would exhaust the vapours that within them were.  
His trusty servant by the way espied a bed by chance,  
Provided for to rest their bones which in the hall did dance.  
Hither the careful servant did his master's buskins bear,  
And having made the bed-poste fit, he forthwith hung them there.  
And then began the youth to banish care from forth his breast,  
Beginning once again to be as jocund as the rest.  
But now the time of drowsy midnight had approached nigh,  
And every stranger made him ready to his bed to high.  
When every man in quiet sort was gone unto his bed,  
Therein until the morrow morn to rest his sleepy head.  
Amongst the rest there was a fellow of a foolish mind,  
Which having eat such meat as hurtful to him he did find.  
When all the other strangers did their sleep in quiet take,  
He eating overmuch, was troubled with the belly ache.  
And therefore was he forced to rise, thinking to walk abroad,  
That in the yard, he of his burden might himself unload.  
The doors by chance were locked, and therefore he could find no way,  
And which was worse than all the rest, he could no longer stay.  
In brief, he found the boots upon the bed which there did stand,  
The which as soon as ere he felt, he caught them in his hand.  
Both hard and soft which hurt his belly, into them he sent,  
Which having done, immediately unto his bed he went.  
As soon as ere the shining day-star 'gan for to appear,  
To manifest unto the world that Sols approach was near.  
The younker mindful of the stir which he last night did make,  
Began betimes unto his horse himself for to betake.  
Providing, on his legs in haste his cleanly boots to pull,  
But out alas unhappy man, with dirt the one was full.  
What shall he do? if cry, the company will him deride,  
Wherefore its best to keep it close and every thing abide.  
He must endure it, if hereafter he have any wit,  
Unto so bad a crew in haste himself he'll not commit.   

Suppose thou art a man of credit and of great esteem,  
And one which in a city Ruler once or twice hast been.  
When in a strange and unknown country you arrived are,  
It is your best your offices and titles to declare.  
Such worship as is requisite they will not to you give,  
Unless you brag in what account you in your country live.  
But if a means to blaze abroad your name you cannot tell,  
And neither any man demands nor knows your worship well:  
Then with a most attentive ear, this precept learn of me,  
Which if you practise, you in great account with all shall be.   

Upon a time, a Doctor to a famous Inn did come,  
About the time whenas the world is rob of the Sun.  
And after him there thither came more strangers presently,  
It being late, each man forthwith unto his bed did high.  
This Doctor not unto one stranger that was there was known,  
And therefore he not once saluted, sadly sat alone.  
When all were set to dinner, he was feign to be the last,  
And therefore heavily upon the ground his eyes he cast.  
He took nor pleasure nor delight with eating of his food,  
The store of dainty wines he drunk did him but little good.  
To be in honour and account so greatly he did thirst,  
That he with care to compass it his heart did almost burst.  
Thus having sat awhile, when he with wine was whittled well,  
Be this means he occasion took, his calling for to tell:  
From off his shaved crown, his Doctor's cap he took with speed,  
Hoping by means thereof to get some credit at his need.  
And hanging it upon a nail which there he did espy,  
Such pleasant words as these, began to speak immediately.  
Enough, enough at length of sorrow and of pining care;  
'tis time at length to laugh and quaff with those which merry are.  
There hang the Doctor which the crabbed lessons used to read,  
Mirth more befits this pleasant crew, this is no time to plead.  
Then lest my Doctor's name should hinder all my future sport,  
And tell me, that it fits not me 'mongst roisters to resort:  
The title of a Doctor for a while I'll lay aside,  
And take it up when I into my native country ride.  
When all the strangers in the house the Doctor did behold,  
Each man began to think that with him they had been too bold.  
And rising, asked pardon of him for that great disgrace,  
Intreasing him, as was his due, to choose the highest place.  
And every one began a cup of wine to him to drink,  
And thus the Doctor got his grace and honour due I think.   

When you with any place of public credit graced are,  
Or when the City on your neck hath laid the public care,  
Within thy lofty mind be sure to lodge disdain and scorn,  
Because thou know'st that unto fame and honour thou art borne.  
If to abuse thy calling thou dost any man permit,  
I cannot choose but think, that thou hast almost lost thy wit.  
I will repeat, although I almost am ashamed to tell,  
When great disgrace unto a learned scholar once befell,  
When many tedious toils in divers places he had passed,  
By learning he was made a master of his Art at last:  
And therefore he with speed into his native country rid,  
To see his ancient kinsmen and acquaintance how they did.  
And after in that pleasant journey he a day had spent,  
Being both weary and be-nighted, to an Inn he went,  
Within the self same Inn a maid that night her lodging took,  
A maid which had a shining beauty, yet a bashful look.  
Their supper being ready made, when every thing was fit,  
The scholar by the self-same virgin's side did chance to sit.  
Forthwith a lofty kind of pride the scholars mind possessed,  
And he desired to be bolder far than all the rest.  
He thought it reason that the greatest stranger he should seem,  
And so did, for most of them did highly him esteem.  
One man there was among the rest which greatly disallowd  
In secret sort, that any scholar should be thought so proud.  
For having in another place his fellow lately been,  
He knew the scholar, and his pride he oft before had seen.  
Having a wit which he before in divers jests had tried,  
He practised divers means whereby the scholar to deride;  
Still noting all the foolish tricks which in him he could find,  
His only purpose was to make him leave his naughty mind.  
The scholar not regarding well this crafty fellows drift,  
Because his head did itch, his hand unto the same did lift.  
And with his hand his itching head in tender sort did scratch,  
From which a cause of great abuse the t'other straight did catch.  
And then intending certainly his lofty thoughts to break,  
Unto him presently these unexpected words did speak:  
I pray sir tell me, if as yet those louse about you be,  
Which, as you know, upon your body I did lately see?  
And is it possible that you no remedy should have,  
By that same medicine which to you the Pothecary gave?  
Why sure the man I speak of, makes an ointment very well,  
And hath as many powerful salves as any man can sell.  
These words as if they had been truth he soberly did speak,  
And though they were but feigned, he into laughter did not break.  
The scholar being thus disgraced, was forced to part away,  
And putting up this great abuse had not a word to say.  
Anger and shame did so his lofty swelling heart confound  
His mind which lately pierced the skies, was then upon the ground.  
His learned Logic could not then his fading fame defend,  
Nor could he be revenged for this discredit of his friend.   

By this discredit and ill luck you may example take,  
Lest some man in the self-same sort a fool of you should make.  
And if you see a man which unto credit loves to mount,  
Which of his neighbours and his friends is held in great account.  
'Twill be a means, whereby thou mayst thine own preferment get,  
If thou in lower estimation canst this peacock set.   

At meat 'mongst many gallants once a carter chanced to sit,  
And took from forth each dish, such meat as did his stomach fit.  
One only cup there was, and every man drunk of the same,  
According as in order due, unto his course it came.  
At length it came unto the carters course to take a sip,  
Which doing, in his course he quite forgot to wipe his lip.  
And therefore all the greasy fat which on his lips did cleave,  
Within the pot in comely sort he was constrained to leave.  
Which thing when some espied, they did not like it very well,  
And yet were loath the country fellow of his fault to tell.  
But straight among themselves a statute they did soon invent,  
Whereby the like committing of this fault they might prevent.  
He which hereafter should infect the wine within the pot,  
Should all alone for punishment discharge the future shot.  
The Carter, when he saw they did a law 'gainst him devise.  
Summoned his wits, and crossed their purpose in this crafty wise.  
The next time that to drink a sip unto his course it came,  
Turning the bottom to the skies, he tippled off the same.  
Which having done, unto the younkers in this wise he spoke,  
You cannot say that I (well meaning man,) your law have broke.  
What filth can any of you all find swimming in the pot,  
When there's no wine? if you'll accuse me, I'll discharge the shot.  
Thus did the Carter cozen them without their statutes breach,  
And by his overseeing wit, their craft did overreach.   

A common officer was once on an embassage sent,  
And from a needy country to a wealthy king he went.  
His bisnes was some naughty wine unto the king to give;  
But he which always did before in simple manners live,  
As soon as ere the person of the King he did espy,  
In trembling sort for fear of him began aloud to cry.  
Thus standing, of his embassage had not a word to say,  
But (as the lamb doth from the wolf) would feign have run away.  
The King perceiving him to tremble, thus unto him said,  
Take courage man, I give thee leave to speak, be not afraid.  
At length th'ambassador from off his head his hat did take,  
And simply rolling it upon his thumb, a leg did make;  
And taking courage, soon could speak as fast as ere he list,  
Wherefore he thus began his speech, when all the hall was whist:  
Good morrow worthy Prince, which in this place art held so dear,  
Attentively such words as I shall speak, vouchsafe to hear.  
The Merchants of our country for a truth to us report,  
That you (thrice noble King) have store of wine of every sort,  
And that among good fellows night and day you love to be,  
And eke that you will quaff and drink as long as you can see;  
They therefore hoping thus to make you their unfeigned friend,  
Presumed to your majesty this pleasant wine to send.  
Such naughty wine as this is, since no better we can get,  
We are constrained to quench our thirsts in great esteem to set,  
But seldom thou hast tasted this, thou glutted art with thine;  
Accept it then, not every man hath such a cup of wine.  
Which having said, from forth a bag the wine he quickly took,  
Entreating him most hearty upon the same to look.  
By chance, as thus he reached it forth, he in the same did spy  
Some dust, or little straw which on the top thereof did lie,  
And thinking upon many shifts whereby to take it out,  
His careful eyes in every corner he did cast about;  
By chance as thus he looked about him with a careful mind,  
A pair of cleanly snuffers on a table he did find.  
Which having thus espied, on points he durst no longer stand;  
But thinking they were therefore made, he caught them in his hand;  
And boldly with a nimble hand he put them in the cup,  
Wherewith from the same the dust and straws he fished up.  
Then to the smiling king he drunk a draft with all his heart,  
And without taking leave, into his country did departed.   

More drunken tricks concerning wine I would not here repeat,  
But that a crew of drunkards earnestly do me entreat.  
I long to make an end, and yet so instantly they crave,  
That force perforce two other tricks of drunkards you must have.  
Such store of sundry wines upon a time a drunkard drank,  
That no two kinds amongst them all grew on the self-same bank.  
Each sundry kind within his belly 'gan to pitch its field,  
No wine there was among them all which would allegiance yield.  
These civil wars the drunkards steepy mind did hardly please,  
And therefore thus he 'gan to speak being not well at ease.  
I wonder what should be the cause my gets are at such strife,  
I never felt such civil war before in all my life.  
Tell me, you raging wines, which in me such a tumult keep,  
What is the cause that you disturb your master in his sleep?  
I charge you, either presently yourselves to reconcile,  
And lay aside those arms which you have used so long a while.  
Or else from forth my bellies bounds I will you banish quite,  
I'll spew and belch you up again unless you leave your fight.  
Which having said, they ventured still to trouble him again,  
Then he a man which scorned to seem to threaten them in vain.  
Those wines, in drinking of the which his silver he had spent,  
From forth into the empty air from out his belly sent.  
Whereby his banished rest unto his guts he did restore,  
The battle ceased, and he was troubled with their strife no more.  
If such like fits at any time presume to trouble thee,  
Fellow but this example and thou quickly shalt be free.  
If so it chance to thee as unto one it once befell;  
Thou well mayst brag invomiting thou all men shalt excel.  
Which while as briefly as I can, I do to thee repeat;  
If thou wilt but attentive be, thy profit shall be great.  
A sort of good companions once for store of wine did call,  
And drunk thereof so largely, that they took no rest at all.  
Amongst the rest a beastly knave of belches uttered store,  
A sign which future vomiting doth always go before;  
Another which was by, from off his head did take his hat,  
Promising if he wanted, he should have the use of that.  
If thou perchance hast need to vomit, this I will thee lend,  
And fill it if thou canst (quoth he,) because thou art my friend.  
Which having said, the fellows stomach 'gan to rise in haste,  
So that into the same, great store of wine and meat he cast.  
And straight his hat began with meat and wine to overflow,  
This was a pleasant smell for him that held the hat I trow.  
As soon as ere he saw his hat was spoiled therewith indeed,  
He thought he would not so give o'er, but further did proceed.  
And on his honest neighbour's head presumed the hat to place,  
And straight the vomit ran about his shoulders and his face.  
Each man began to clap his hands which did the fellow see,  
This pleasant trick to all their humours fitly did agree.  
The man which vomited, therewith was pleased at the heart,  
And after they were all made friends, they homeward did departed.    

Farting and belching of Orators, holding your water, and other such like clownishness. Chap. VII.  

THus far concerning duties when at banquets you do sit,  
And now I'll tell those things which are for other places fit.  
An Orator unto a foreign country late did go,  
Which both in eloquence and counsel did abound and flow.  
Before a mighty Princess and a sort of virgin's kind,  
This eare-inchanting Orator must utter all his mind.  
Wherefore obtaining leave to speak, such grace with them he found,  
Before he would begin he gravely looked upon the ground.  
Which having done, as soon as to begin his speech he meant,  
In comely sort for manners sake his knees he gravely bend:  
And being full of courtesy, he chanced to bend too low,  
And unawares into the air he let a fart to go:  
But notwithstanding not a whit ashamed at the deed,  
Unto his purpose which he had in hand he did proceed.  
Each one dissembling made as if the fart they had not heard,  
Except one maid, which all their manners with her laughter marred:  
Who while she striude out of her laughing vain herself to put,  
Unhappy she her tender buttocks close she did not shut.  
And therefore let a fart, whose pleasant sound was somewhat sharp:  
If you had heard it, youlde ha' thought t'had been a tuned harp,  
He being mindful of his own fault, from his speech did break,  
And took occasion in this wise unto the maids to speak;  
Proceed in order every one of you (fair Nymphs) proceed,  
To give your wind free passage, it will help you at your need.  
And when it comes unto my turn to do the same again,  
I'll do my best to let another, though myself I strain.  
Then straight the maid began to blush seeing her fault was spied,  
Her cheeks were died as red as blood, and she her face did hide:  
The other maids with store of laughter did their bodies shake,  
And thus the Rhetorician of his speech an end did make.   

But, for we have begun to speak of learned men indeed,  
We will not leave our first intent, but in the same proceed.  
Another time there to a princes stately palace came,  
An Orator, which by his wit purchased immortal fame,  
With store of costly silks and stately robes he was attired.  
He was a man whom all his country honoured and admired.  
As soon as might be he was sent for to the prince's hall,  
And there had licence to pronounce his speech before them all:  
Straight into many lofty words he boldly 'gan to break,  
And with a stately swelling voice, he thundering words did speak.  
But he was forced by belching every sentence to repeat,  
Which was a sign what kinds of cates he yesterday did eat:  
It was a fault which from his childhood he did always use,  
And though he laboured near so much, he could it not refuse.  
The prince which did attentively behold him, marked the same;  
And angry, marveld that he durst presume so much for shame;  
And yet he cloaked his wrath, and would into railing break:  
But with a pleasant look unto him thus began to speak:  
Most learned man, it grieves me not thine eloquence to hear,  
For unto it with all my heart I lent my listening ear;  
But for because more weighty matters do my presence crave,  
The residue thereof to morrow willingly we'll have.  
Mean time the King devised many policies to use,  
Whereby the Rhetoricians utterance he might abuse.  
As soon as ere the morrow came, the Scholar he did call,  
To make an end of his begun Oration in the hall.  
By chance a base and simple man was thither sent for too,  
Which for a little silver any beastly trick would do:  
He was so well a practised man in farting, that he could  
Let farts at any man's commandment whensoe'er he would.  
As soon as ere he came, the king in friendly manner said,  
There is a certain feat to do, wherein we lack thine aid.  
A Doctor's coat and cap upon him he did quickly place,  
And told him all things which were fit in such a crafty case:  
The Rhetorician spoke as he the day before had done;  
And at the end of every sentence, he to belch begun.  
The Doctor also not forgetting his enjoined art,  
Began at end of every belch most decently to fart.  
What shall the Rhetorician do? he first began to chide,  
The Doctor for his beastliness which quickly was espied,  
Thus thinking to proceed in railing at him for the same,  
He thought upon his own offence, and then he blushed for shame.  
Which when the King espied, he into laughter straight did break,  
And to the blushing Rhetorician thus began to speak:  
This Doctor also unto us from foreign countries came  
To make a speech: he is a man of great renown and fame.  
And as it is your use to belch at every sentence end,  
Which in your country as a credit all perhaps commend.  
To fart in like sort this our Doctor counts a royal thing;  
And as a custom from his country hither doth it bring.  
Which having said, the Rhetorician straight his leave did take,  
Enforced in the middle of his speech an end to make.   

A man began to tell a tale of news and manners past,  
The Preface of the which, was like an hour or two to last.  
To which, one man among the rest gave his attentive ear,  
As being willing that which he recited for to hear.  
Mean time his bladder was so full, no more it could sustain,  
(The keeping of the urine, often breedeth much pain)  
But (foolish man,) the present tale so much he did effect,  
That he durst hardly stir, lest he the story should neglect,  
By chance he had a little purse made of a Squirrels skin,  
Which lately he provided had, to keep his money in.  
He thought it better this his purse with urine for to fill,  
Then losing of that pleasant story, so to want his will.  
He knew that urine held too long, did often danger bring,  
And therefore carefully prevented such a future thing.  
Not long a go, a Doctor which in learning well was taught,  
By this means, most unluckily unto his end was brought.  
Amongst a sort of gallant maids he in a coach did ride,  
Encompassed with store of bashful maids on every side.  
Not many hours amongst the youthful virgins he had sat,  
Talking of chaste virginity, and such like harmless chat.  
But that his bladder being filled with urine to the brim,  
Some speedy passage privately it did demand of him.  
And yet to stir from forth the coach he would not take the pain,  
Thinking it better any pain or peril to sustain,  
He was so chaste, that rather than he'd trouble maid or wife,  
He thought it better far to stand in danger of his life.  
At length, his bladder with such store of urine was o'erlade,  
That all his bowels burst, and so the water passage had.  
And he within a day or two was forced his life to leave,  
This was the profit which by shamefastness he did receive.  
Wherefore, lest thou the like incur, refuse not any thing,  
Rather than thus thyself in danger of thy life to bring.   

I think it good the tale which follows to recite to thee,  
Because it is a tale which argues great Simplicity.  
Of late, a clown which all the tricks of former times did know,  
And lived therein, for these our days can none so simple show,  
Came to an ancient friend of his whom long he had not seen,  
And when that store of friendly talk had passed them between;  
At length they came (as strangers use) to couple hand in hand,  
It is a right on which old friends do often use to stand.  
But first to make his nostrils clean, the clown would be so bold,  
And all the snot which thence he took he in his hand did hold,  
And then his ancient friend he boldly by the hand did take,  
Saying, lo, here's a sign how much of thee (my friend) I make.  
The cause why thus he did, was this, he in great fear did stand,  
Lest that perhaps the tother's fist should hurt his tender hand.  
Wherefore to ease his palm with soft and tender phlegm he meant,  
That he thereby the future blow the better might prevent.  
A thousand such like tricks as these I could to thee repeat,  
The practice of the which would make thy fame and credit great,  
But that I know this little book of mine too long would be,  
If all things which myself have seen I should recite to thee.  
If by thy wit the things which I have told thou practice can,  
I doubt not but thou soon wilt prove a rude and simple man.  
Flaccus himself desires in precepts brevity to find,  
That so they may be kept the better in the scholars mind;  
And yet those precepts which are writ i'th' end of this my book,  
Since they be few, you ought upon them carefully too look:  
The simple life of country farmers which the field do blow,  
And all their rustic tricks must be esteemed dear of you.  
Those things which other curious Critics do exhort thee to,  
Neglect them all, with gravity you nothing have to do:  
If some men you can cross, and stir up laughter unto some,  
You need not care for any more, your duty you have done.  
And now (well nurtured youth) I bid thee kindly to farewell,  
And think on all those wholesome rules which I to thee did tell.    

Grobiana, or concerning fitting virgins, both at home and abroad, in banquets, and divers other places. Chapter VIII.  

ME thinks already I have said enough of manners rude,  
And therefore willingly this present book I would conclude.  
But that the tender virgins do so earnestly entreat,  
That some few precepts for their use, I also would repeat.  
What shall I do? consent or no? whether will prove the best?  
To do as they require, or contradict their just request?  
The last I will not do; attend, attend, you virgins all,  
Behold a man which is prepared and ready at your call.  
Some precepts I will give, whereby your manners for to frame,  
They shall be few, but you shall reap great profit by the same.  
It is not need for your instruction many tricks to tell,  
You are so prone, that all men you in clownish tricks excel.  
Nature herself, which scorns the help of any others trade,  
Unto all kinds of vice your sect most tractable hath made.  
Yet notwithstanding that which unto me Apollo told,  
Since all I speak is true, to tell it you I dare be bold.  
You maids which neither modest, honest, nice, nor bashful are,  
Approach, and for your profits of my precepts have a care.   

When through a public city streets to wander you desire,  
(For my part, I am not enforced to look to your attire.)  
Permit your wandering gadding eyes in every place to be,  
So that before, behind, on every side, you all may see.  
The mind which near committed any trespass may be bold,  
Each man, each thing in every corner, freely to behold.  
And with a brazen forehead, look the proudest in the face,  
Let those look down which for offence have suffered some disgrace.   

With both your hands in comely sort hold up your coats you may,  
If as you walk, you chance to enter any dirty way.  
Let both your knees and eke your milke-excelling thighs be spied,  
But go no further; parts which higher are you ought to hide.  
By this means, many younker's hearts and favours you shall have,  
And some will of your parents for their wedded wife you crave.  
What though perchance your stockings are bespotted all with dirt,  
Yet if I should espy them, I should think it little hurt.  
It argues that about your business diligent you are,  
And of the thing which you have took in hand, you have a care.  
This maid about her business with such care and foresight goes,  
That she can scarce find idle time to rub her dirty hose.   

To show your bosom unto all, and eke your naked breast,  
Because it is a very comely sight, I hold it best.  
Your tender dugs and snow-white neck must be beheld of all,  
Which when some wenching youth espies, in love with you he'll fall,  
I neither will so senseless nor so bashful ever be,  
But that I will desire a maid in such a case to see.  
Those lovely parts which may be seen of all men, all will love,  
But no man chooseth hidden things, before he do them prove.   

As thus you walk to take your pleasure in the dirty street,  
If with a wench which your acquaintance was, you chance to meet.  
You need not with good morrow, nor good den begin to speak,  
But bluntly into talk of divers weighty matters break.  
Maids and great mishaps there are, which many men oppress,  
Which they (poor souls,) are forced to bear with patience nevertheless.  
Their parents hard and crabbed censure oft they must abide,  
With cruel words, and bitter taunts, their daughters oft they chide.  
Their cursed and crabbed mistress, makes them oftentimes to weep,  
When she their tender necks in choler churlishly doth keep.  
And young men also do their trusty lovers oft deceive,  
When promising to marry them, alone they do them leave.  
Of these, and such like things, to her be sure thy plaint to make,  
That use of tongue which Nature gave thee, freely thou mayst take.  
Your sect hath store of eloquence, its weakness to defend,  
That gift to womankind I think great jove himself did send.  
Then since it is your gift to talk, have something still to say,  
With trifling matters it is good to drive the time away.  
For ten hours space at least your talk begun had need to last,  
By no means you must cease till then, although you have great haste.  
Mean time, (although when maids lack words it is a strange event,)  
If you perchance lack words wherewith the time for to prevent.   

The tricks and acts of other men begin for to repeat,  
Of such things you shall matter have, all day for to entreat.  
What rules and precepts to their folks your neighbours use to give.  
As also in what order they themselves do use to live.  
What meat your neighbour's board affords, what drink he most doth drink,  
What store of cattle he doth keeepe, how rich he is you think.  
These things, and such as these, and many an hundred thousand more,  
If you lack things whereof to talk, will yield you matter store.  
Speak boldly any thing of any man that him may vex,  
You have a privilege thereto, by reason of your sex.  
And yet if with your words you any honest man defame,  
I would not have you say that I was author of the same.   

By this time you have ceased from prating with your loving friend,  
Begin at length rejecting trifles homeward for to bend.  
As home you go, with pears, with nuts, with apples you shall meet,  
Which men and women use to sell to those that walk the street.  
You for a penny or three halfpences may as many buy,  
As will your dainty costardmonging stomach satisfy.  
As you go homeward in the street you may them boldly eat,  
No man I think will blame a maid for eating of her meat.  
If any chance to mock thee, tell them they are all thine own.  
Thou paidst for them, not one by him upon thee was bestown.   

Mean time perchance unto the city Players there are come,  
Which round about the town proclaim their Play by sound of drum.  
Unto the vulgars' store of feats and active tricks they'll show,  
That they upon them to maintain them, something may bestow.  
Many profane and base, both words and actions they will have,  
Which are misliked of such as are of life and manners grave.  
And yet it is thy duty unto every word to hark,  
And all their gestures and their actions carefully to mark.  
To all their wanton words, you your attentive ear must give,  
According unto that you hear, hereafter you must live,  
Whether you naughty words do hear, or beastly sights do see,  
To blush at either of them both is not beseeming thee.  
For one which for some great offence hath suffered some disgrace,  
You will be thought, if blushing colours are within your face.  
Let nothing in your cheeks a red unseemly colour raise,  
Keep still this rule, there can be found no nearer way to praise.  
All men will think that you the way to vice did never know,  
If in your gestures you no sign of blushing use to show.  
But if you use to laugh aloud as if that you were mad,  
All men will think that of my Book the practice you have had.   

Think it not any great disgrace to make thyself a mate,  
At such like feasts as old and young do use to celebrate.  
But if thou wilt give ear unto my precepts, and to me,  
At such like banquetings as these thou present oft shalt be.  
For 'mongst a sort of youths whose wits are sharp with store of beer,  
Great store of things convenient for thy purpose thou mayst hear;  
Which to thy simple life thou mayst apply I tell thee plain,  
Amongst such men in such like places, clownishness doth reign.  
I tell you maid, it is no trifle closely for to spy  
Those vices which in young men's manners closely use to lie.  
When wine doth rule them, all their secret counsels you may find,  
Wine is a great betrayer and bewrayer of the mind.   

Perchance there at the present feast will also drunken be,  
Thy love, thou then mayst know th'affection which he bears to thee:  
And that his meaning and intent thou mayst the better prove,  
Thou oughtest to have a care to sit the next unto thy love.  
When he is drunk, to all his deeds and words thou oughtest to hark,  
And with a careful eye how many pots he drinks, to mark.  
Perchance the wine and you may urge him promise for to make,  
That very shortly for his loving wife he will you take.   

If he consent, love domineering o'er the captive boy,  
You must not hide your love too long, nor must you be too coy.  
Begin to drink a cup of wine unto him for his sake,  
Thy good example will enforce the youth more wine to take.  
And having took the cup, be sure to drink off every drop,  
Although the wine be strong and old, and filled unto the top.  
Entreat thy love to pledge thee; then begin thy cup to fill,  
And tell him that you drank it off, to purchase his good will:  
If then for manners sake thy love begin to thee again,  
You cannot shun it, kindly it to take you shallbe feign.  
And at one draft, because your lover doth the same desire,  
You ought to drink it off, for so your youthful years require.  
Enchanted with thy kindness then his love he will impart,  
Which he so long in secret sort, had nourished in his heart.  
And then by many public signs his love he will betray,  
Which from you he so long before in jest had kept away.   

Then he'll begin to hold your tender dugs within his hand,  
And range in all those snowy vales which round about them stand.  
Which while he doth, in loving sort you ought to sit at ease,  
I know this likes you well, and therefore cannot me displease.  
It is no hurt to me; and yet thus much you ought to know,  
If this you suffer, you your credits crack must undergo:  
Your credit and your honest name may quickly both be lost:  
But to repair them both again, a greater price 'twill cost.   

When thus your love is surely drunk, you ought of him to know,  
With fawning words what gifts he means upon you to bestow.  
He needs must yield, for with a double wound he 'gins to pine,  
The one with love of thee, the other store of strongest wine,  
Though many gifts he give, and also promise greater store,  
Yet be not thou ashamed still to ask him more and more.  
Though many great rewards he give thee, never be content;  
Tell him he spares, and all his goods on other maids are spent,  
And yet sometimes that greater gifts of him you may procure,  
To send some little gift or token unto him be sure.  
I purpose not in this my Book to teach you Ovid's art,  
My scope is nothing like, my precepts do from him departed.  
If you to scoff or mock your faithful lover have a mind.  
I tell you plain in my book no such counsel you shall find.  
But if you with a careful mind Pelignus verses read,  
he'll teach you perfectly in these my rustic lines to tread.   

In former times it was accounted as a special grace,  
A garland made of sweetest flowers in your head to place:  
But since that this no other maids but country vulgars' did,  
To set such garlands on your head I flatly you forbidden.  
Indeed the former simple ages did the same approve;  
But these our latter times do other finer garments love.  
Such things as are too vulgar, are of us dispraised quite,  
The world doth nowadays in newer fashions more delight.  
Wherefore, hang you a garland on your nose in pleasant wise,  
That it may cover almost half your forehead and your eyes.  
But lest you should suppose my counsel foolish for to be;  
Attend, and you a reason of my counsel straight shall see.  
Thus much you know, the garland that you wear must needs be made,  
Of finest herbs and flowers sweet, which will not quickly fade.  
You may delight your tender nostrils with the pleasant smell;  
And of your brain 'twill also be accepted very well,  
That smell into the empty air with currant passage goes,  
Unless your garland made of flowers, hang upon your nose.   

Be not ashamed always in your arms a whelp to bear,  
Wherewith you may both sport and play, whense're you idle are.  
When in your belly you have any painful rumbling fart,  
Which doth begin (unhappy wench) to grieve thee at the heart.  
The same you boldly ought into the empty air to send,  
Which with its gripes and pinch did your bowels much offend.  
Perchance the smell thereof offends some person in that place,  
Beginning shamelessly the maker of it to disgrace.  
Your little dog to save your credit then is very fit,  
Blame only him, as if that he your trespass did commit.  
Say that 'twas he, and none but he, that did the air perfume;  
To contradict you in this case, there's no man dares presume.   

Twixt fleas and women there was strife ere since the world begun  
Ane will (I think) continue also, till the same be done:  
The crafty flea in little holes and corners still doth he;  
And in the night (which is her day) she pricks your tender thigh.  
And into women's tender skins her biting beak she'll thrust,  
Where she will feed upon them, till she ready be to burst.  
This pain doth in the night from sleep the maidens so awake,  
That they are forede for aid themselves unto their arms to take.  
Wherefore, if any such like foe thy tender skin offend,  
Betake thee to thy weapons straight thy body to defend.  
Whether it be at home that she presumes thee to assail,  
Or 'gainst you when you are abroad hopes better to prevail,  
You need not care though ne'er so many men be standing by,  
Which will your cruelty against the nimble flea espy.  
But having cast off all your clothes, seek you your secret foe,  
That he the punishment which he deserved may undergo.  
In valiant sort from forth his lurking den the captive bring,  
Let no man there beg pardon for his life for any thing.  
The rest perceiving this your cruelty will have a care,  
Lest feeding on your tender skin they also taken are.  
It is impossible that you in rest should ever live,  
Unless his death's wound unto some one enemy you give.   

But now lest you should think some precepts wanting for to be,  
A trick which thou must imitate I must propound to thee.  
A public meeting once there was, within an ancient town,  
And many weighty matters heard, fore men of great renown.  
Hither a certain woman came their orders for to know,  
Desiring to have notice how each matter there did go.  
When she with great attention had many hours past  
Her belly filled too full with meat, began to ache at last.  
The meat which she digested had, began of her to crave,  
That if she lovde her health, with speed some passage it might have.  
She taking in the matters handling pleasure at the heart,  
Having so good a place, was loath from forth it to departed,  
By chance she had a bag, wherein great store of books there was,  
Because she was an holy maid, and given much to mass;  
Into the which her bellies grief she presently did put,  
And stayed to hear all matters ended, having eased her gut.  
If you will take my counsel, you this trick shall oft peruse,  
Perchance there will occasion come when you the same shall use.  
But (foolish as I am) the lingering time what need I spend?  
Since all which is to come behind, in three words I might end.  
Those wholesome precepts which I lately unto youngmen gave,  
To serve your turn whenas you lack you may them also have:  
But yet I dare not say that all their precepts will be fit,  
But take the best, as for the worst, to others them commit.  
Expect, nor love, nor praise, of those which wise and honest are,  
And as for pleasing crabbed Sophisters, take you no care.  
But as your Tutor I command, be always sure to live,  
And have a care unto my yoke your captive neck to give.  
Myself the straightest way that is, to modesty will lead,  
You cannot err, nor go amiss, if in my steps you tread.  
A greater store of precepts yet to you repeat I might,  
In practice of the which, you could not choose but take delight.  
But that my muse me to my bed to rest myself doth send,  
Commanding me of this my moral book to make an end.  
Wherefore farewell, If by my book you any profit take,  
I ask no more but this, defend it for its Author's sake.    

The Author's conclusion to Master Simon Bing, wherein he showeth all the intent and practice of this present work.  
THis raging sea (most dear friend Bing,) with good success at last,  
Helped by thy friendly Pilots hand, my tattered ship hath past:  
If to the waters mercy I had trusted all alone,  
I know my ship had long ago with waves been overthrown.  
But your expected kindness without faintness did me lead,  
Enticing me with fearless heart, in paths unknown to tread.  
I think that you unto my ship a gentle hand did send,  
By whose conducture this my boat obtained its hoped for end.  
My ship at length hath found the haven which she did desire,  
And now in quiet from such boisterous waters will retire.  
Although perhaps I nothing got, but labour for my pain,  
And cannot as I would, the mark at which I aimed attain.  
Yet is your favour nevertheless, the fault myself commit,  
All the defect which can be found, is in my slender wit.  
But since it can no better be, with this I am content,  
That I have hit the mark as well as I to hit it meant.  
Wherefore the ship with all the sails I dedicate to thee,  
That by thy care from afterclaps it may defended be.  
Lest any swelling storms should hurt it being torn and weak,  
Or future tempests by their raging blasts, the same should break.  
For what avails it to have caught the long desired shore?  
Or to have scaped those gulfs which safely we have passed o'er?  
Unless your wont love and kindness do me still pursue,  
And I hereafter also may enjoy the love of you.  
Although my ship at haven stands, yet when the winds do blow,  
The raging waves which rise, my ship may quickly overthrow.  
But your good will may as an anchors unremoved stay  
My wavering ship from all mischances when it lies at bay.  
To take tuition of my verse, of thee I humbly crave,  
And (gentle Bing,) be sure of it unfeigned care to have,  
If that the matter and the method be but liked of thee,  
I hope of no man else my pains can much misliked be.  
It may be, few or none at all, will much esteem my verse,  
Because in civil sort my jests I use not to rehearse.  
Some men perchance will therefore not my painful labours love,  
Because forsooth my verses do not store of laughter move.  
What though some other think my verses loathsome, base, and vile?  
Because forsooth they are not written in a lofty stile.  
Will therefore every man condemn my labour and my pain?  
Is both my care, my time, and toil consumed all in vain?  
I cannot tell, I look for better fortune; for I know,  
Though this my work will unto some both base and loathsome show  
Yet some there are I know, which will my painful work applaud,  
And 'tis as much as I desire of some to merit laud.  
Within my book no praise-deserving precepts written are,  
Nor any salves which from the mind have force to banish care.  
And yet unless that my conjecture doth me much deceive,  
He which peruseth well this book, some profit may receive.  
Manners which clownish are, I have set down in clownish wise,  
Which I have set in careful sort before the vulgars' eyes.  
Most of the tricks which I have writ, myself before did see,  
The rest, a trusty friend of mine repeated unto me.  
And some thereof, (it is no shame to tell the naked truth,)  
Myself (as I was apt thereto,) committed in my youth.  
'mongst all the precepts which my book contains, there is not one,  
Whose author (be they ne'er so clownish,) is to me unknown.  
They much peruse my book, (if any man such pains will take,)  
Doubtless this gain (if nothing else,) they shall be sure to make.  
I know some pretty cleanly trick or other he shall read,  
Wherein he knows that he himself before did often tread.  
When he espies some trick agreeing to his manners fit,  
Which in a youthful merry vain he whilom did commit.  
The blushing read which in his visage to and fro will pass,  
Will make him think, that of that fault he whilom guilty was.  
And lest hereafter such a blush his reading should offend,  
He will have better care his life and manners to amend.  
And for because in mirth and pleasant manner I have writ,  
Such things as I supposed for my present purpose fit.  
I doubt not but some sorts of men will very thankful be,  
And sure I think for all my pains so much they own to me.  
But thou which movedst me to write, (for only for thy sake,  
And no man's else (friend Bing,) I did this labour undertake.)  
Shalt for the mentioning hereof, have an eternal fame,  
And all the future times will daily think upon thy name.  
Each man which doth peruse this book, to thee will render praise,  
Because from dark oblivions rage, thou only didst it raise.  
And though the readers still should render store of thanks to you,  
Yet could they not to such a patron render more than due.  
For doubting whither such a trifle I abroad should send,  
Which I at idle times a while before had rashly penned.  
Knowing it was no work whereon the learned aught to look,  
Because the Muses every one were absent from my book.  
He having seen the work before, persuaded me at last,  
From forth my mind such abject thoughts and causeless fear to cast.  
And boldly at the length, to bring my Poem into light,  
That others also for their use and profit read it might.  
I knowing that in friendly sort he counselled for the best,  
Agreed to publish it according to my friend's request.  
Wherefore as long as any shall accept of this my pain,  
As long as this my book in use and credit shall remain.  
So long Bings name shall live inspite of black oblivious blot,  
The name of him in future time shall never be forgot.  
The hidden sparks of virtue which enclosed in him do lie,  
Do merit that their master's name and fame should never die.  
The Muses all, and those which of them favourites do prove  
He holds in great account, and most entirely them doth love.  
Those which to virtue and to learning all their minds will give,  
He doth promote and gives them riches wherewithal to live.  
But nowadays, to find a learned scholar it is hard,  
So few there are which such a gem as learning do regard.  
Rather than learning, any other kind of life they'll choose,  
They love in base mechanical Arts their youthful age to lose.  
All means they try, and all too few their riches to provide,  
They pass the richest Lydian king in scorn, disdain, and pride.  
The mark which each man nowadays desireth for to hit,  
Is most abundant store of wealth and riches for to get.  
And therefore, oftentimes they catch a most deserved fall,  
By running whetherse're the gods of riches do them call.  
Mean time, those holy Nymphs which on Parnassus' hill do keep,  
For want of suitors, ever unfrequented sit and weep.  
But thou which lovest learning, wilt not such abuse permit,  
That goddesses should unfrequented without succour sit.  
Those which are learned thou dost love, because thou learned art,  
All aid and favour which thou canst to them, thou dost impart.  
Proceed, proceed, as thou beginst thy bounty to declare,  
And as thou dost, of painful scholars still to have a care.  
So in this world eternal fame and credit you shall gain,  
And in the world to come, a full reward you shall attain,  
There can no straighter paths be found nor any nearer ways  
Then these, whereby to merit store of everlasting praise.  
Wherefore proceed to love the learned as thou hast begun,  
And have a care to cherish them as always thou hast done.  
Continue long my friend, and with a kind and loving look,  
Vouchsafe for to accept my gift, this little merry book.  
If Fortune and the Gods above upon my purpose smile,  
You shall have better fruits than these within this little while.   
The end of the last book of Grobianus and Grobiana.