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Read Ebook: An English Garner: Ingatherings from Our History and Literature (8 of 8) by Arber Edward Editor
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To whom the Lord CROMWELL said, "Come hither, fellow! What Book hast thou there in thy hand?" and with that snatched the Book out of his hand: and looking in the Book, said, "I know this hand well enough. This is your hand," said he to the Secretary.
"But where hadst thou this Book?" quoth the Lord CROMWELL to the Bearward.
"This Gentleman lost it two days ago in the Thames," said the Bearward.
"Dost thou know whose servant he is?" said the Lord CROMWELL.
"He saith," quoth the Bearward, "that he is my Lord of CANTERBURY's servant."
"Why then didst thou not deliver to him the Book when he required it?" said the Lord CROMWELL. "Who made thee so bold as to detain or withhold any Book or writing from a Councillor's servant, especially being his Secretary? It is more meet for thee to meddle with thy bears, than with such writing: and were it not for thy Mistress's sake, I would set thee fast by the feet, to teach such malapert knaves to meddle with Councillors' matters. Had not money been well bestowed upon such a good fellow as this is, that knoweth not a Councillor's man from a cobbler's man!"
And with those words, the Lord CROMWELL went up into the King's Chamber of Presence, and the Archbishop's Secretary with him: where he found, in the Chamber, the Lord of CANTERBURY.
To whom he said, "My Lord, I have here found good stuff for you," showing to him the paper book that he had in his hand, "ready to bring both you, and this good fellow your man, to the halter: namely if the knave Bearward, now in the Hall, might have well compassed it."
At these words, the Archbishop smiled, and said, "He that lost the Book is like to have the worst bargain: for, besides that he was well washed in the Thames, he must write the Book fair again."
And, at these words, the Lord CROMWELL cast the Book unto the Secretary, saying, "I pray thee, MORICE, go in hand therewith, by and bye, with all expedition: for it must serve a turn."
"Surely, my Lord, it somewhat rejoiceth me," quoth the Lord CROMWELL, "that the varlet might have had of your man 20s. for the Book: and now I have discharged the matter with never a penny; and shaken him well up for his overmuch malapertness."
"I know the fellow well enough," quoth the Archbishop, "there is not a ranker Papist within this realm than he is; most unworthy to be a servant unto so noble a Princess."
And so, after humble thanks given to the Lord CROMWELL, the said MORICE departed with his Book: which, when he again had fair written it, was delivered to the King's Majesty by the said Lord CROMWELL, within four days after.
R. W. Against the wilful inconstancy of his dear foe E. T.
Which example may justly be a sufficient warning for all young Men to beware the feigned fidelity of unconstant Maidens.
ALL youthful wights at liberty, whom Love did never thrall; I wish that my decay may be a warning to you all!
That have a sore, bred in my breast, although it be not strange; Yet will it bring me to the grave, without some sudden change.
For I, by suit, have serv?d one two years and somewhat more, And now I can no longer serve; my heart it is so sore.
Which heart I let to Usury, through greedy fond desire; Not doubting to receive home twain, when I would them require.
But if that every Usurer had such good hap as I, There would not be so many men would use this usury.
My Debtor hath deceiv?d me; for she is from me fled: And I am left among the briars to bring a fool to bed.
So that I silly man remain each day in doubtful case: For Death doth daily lie in wait to 'rest me with his mace.
And cast me into prison strong, the door is made of grass: And I might bless my hour of birth, if it were come to pass.
For, lo, my careful choice doth choose to keep me still in thrall; And doth regard my love no more than stone that lies in wall.
Whereby I see that women's hearts are made of marble stone: I see how careless they can be, when pensive men do moan.
I sowed both pure and perfect seed on fair and pleasant ground; In hope, though harvest brought some pain, some profit might be found.
But now the harvest ended is; and for my faithful seeds, And all my pain and labour past, I have nought else but weeds.
I thrust my hand among the thorns, in hope the rose to find: I pricked my hand, and eke my heart; yet left the rose behind.
Not I, but many more I know in love do lack relief: But I, as cause doth me compel, do wail my pain and grief.
I doubtless cannot be the first that Love hath put to pain: Nor yet I shall not be the last that Women will disdain.
If I, poor wretch, should think upon the pains that I have past; Or if I could recount the cares that she hath made me taste:
Into despair it would me drive, and cleave my heart in twain; Or else bereave me of my wits, to think upon the pain.
I never spent one day in joy, my careful heart doth know; Since first I lent my love to her, by whom my grief doth grow.
There are no greater pains assigned for damn?d ghosts in hell, Than I do suffer for her sake, that I do love so well.
The price that I have paid for love, not many men would give: But I my bargain shall repent as long as I do live.
I paid for love, and that full dear: yet I received right nought. I never was so much deceived in anything I bought.
If every woman on her friend such pity used to take; Then shortly men will run to love, as bears unto a stake.
But now let VENUS fire her forge! Let CUPID's shaft be sent! They can no more increase my woe: for all my love is spent.
But here, good Reader, thou mayst see how Love hath paid my hire! To leave me burning in the flame; compelled to blow the fire.
Frequent not women's company; but see thou from them swerve! For thy reward shall be but small whatever thou deserve.
Take heed, for thou mayst come in thrall before that thou beware: And when thou art entangl?d once, thou canst not fly the snare.
Take thou not this to be a jest; but think it to be true! Before thou prove, as I have done: lest proof do make thee rue.
Yet if thou chance to place thy love; take heed What thou dost say! And see thou place thy talk in print, or else beware a fray!
And thus I end: not doubting but these words may well suffice To warn thy greedy heart of harm, and ease thy roving eyes.
Ease by Disease hath made me to halt: Time hath so turned my sugar to salt.
R. WITC
FINIS.
Imprinted at London, by RICHARD JONES.
The History of Wyat's Rebellion:
With the order and manner of resisting the same.
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