The schoole of slovenrie: or, Cato turnd wrong side outward. Translated out of Latine into English verse, to the vse of all English Christendome, except court and cittie. By R.F. Gent — Grobianus. English

Author: Dedekind, Friedrich, d. 1598.1605

THE Schoole of Slovenrie: Or, Cato turnd wrong side outward.

Translated out of Latine into English verse, to the vse of all English Christendome, except Court and Cittie.

By R. F. Gent.

LONDON Printed by Valentine Simmes dwelling on Adling hill neere Bainards castle at the signe of the white Swanne. 1605.

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¶ To all that can write and reade and cast accompt, the Translator.

MAY it please you: To bee a foole in Print, is as ordinarie, as a foole at an Ordinarie; and therefore t'were no good fellowship to breake companie. Tis a Proverb, The child thats borne must be kept, though't be a bastard, seeing tis murder by the law to make away even the vnlawfully begotten. If the rugged cadence of this Verse, and scurrile harshnesse of this subiect, doe chance to escape a murdring censure (Quod Dij prius omen in ipsum) If: then the Translator vowes to conclude, that either Signior Malevole his sure of Gumme is fretted out at elbowes, and hee put to the naked shift of keeping his chamber (tis well he hath a chamber;) or at least the subiect of this Booke is entertained with such abiection, that detraction like your breath-broaker in a Midsummer vacation can find no subiect to worke vpon. Many a man may Petere sibi simile, that intends not Procreare sibi simile, may take a snatch and away, [Page] that would be loth to be tied to racke and manger, or passe billes of sope and candle. Tis my case: Who, though in the minority of my grammar-schollership, I was induced by those, whom dutie might not withstand, to vnmaske these Roman manners, and put them on an English face; notwithstanding, witnesse my native bashfull ignorance, how distant it ever was from my desires; nay, how I ever feard to be pressed to death, by the publike censure of those, who (as I have heard) have it by Patent to scandalize whatsoever vndergoes the publike Presse. The truth is, this translation was halfe Printed ere I knew who had it: So that Quo fata trahunt, without prevention or correction the fooles bolt must needes be shot. And this is it. Those which mislike the verse in English, let them reade it in Latine (for I allowe no mislikers, vnlesse at least they can reade Latin) & then perhaps thei'le wonder that a man of such wisedome as my Author, being neyther borne a Roman, nor a Naso, should with such confidence of a generall applause publish so elaborate a trifle: from which admiration of yours, I hope your curtesie will derive a miracle viz. my pardon, especially considering that both Ovid and Virgill (both Poets Laureat) have beene metamorphosed into as indigest and breathlesse a kind of verse [Page] as this. All that I can say for my Author, is, hee speakes broad English, but by contraries: all for myselfe, is, tis a Punies translation onely, an orphane, howsoever (fathered vpon me, because I taught him English, yet begotten without my presence, borne before my witte, and published against my will, vnlesse wee may be saide to will what we can not prevent. So fare ye well, and I pray picke as much matter out of this Epistle, as may be,

Yours in print against his will, R.F. Gent. and no more.

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¶ The Preface of 
Frederike Dedekind to maister Simon Bing 
Secretarie of Hassia.
SVch happinesse on you (deere friend)
the heau'ns I pray bestow,
As you for your so vertuous minde
most requisite doe know.
If that your matters of more weight
did not your presence crave,
Your counsell and your ayde, concerning
this my booke I'de have.
My Muse, which whilome in two bookes
did rusticke faults deride,
I have recalld, and into three,
foorthwith will it divide.
And now againe, through all the worlde
I purpose it to send,
If fortune, friends, and you doe favour
that which I intend,
Then marke I pray, for vnto you
I'le open all the truth,
My minde, my meaning, and intent,
vnto well nurturde youth.
Those manners which vnseemely are
in these decaying times:
And auntient rude simplicitie
I checke in iesting rimes:


[Page]If this my Booke will profite yeeld
to men of any kind,
And make them weed home-bred behavior,
quite out of their minde:
That's all I want, that's all I crave,
that is the furthest scope
Of all my paines, of all my cares,
of all my furdest hope.
But out alas, how dares my Muse
such good successe exspect?
Since bad mens ill conditions
do so the times infect.
I hope, but other mens examples
do me much dismay,
Which have in vaine whole ages spent
in counselling that way.
What skill'st too late for to relate
renowned 
Platoes Bookes?
And all those lights, and guides, whose losse
poore 
Greece but hardly brookes,
Which tride indeede, but all in vaine,
those vices to amend,
Which did mens mindes, by follies meanes,
in beastly sort offend.
And for our later Latine writers,
did they aught prevaile?
Which did so long, with such great paines,
gainst rusticke vices raile.
Did not sage 
Tully in his bookes,
mens dueties plainely tell?
And teach both yong and old, the meanes,
to live and die right well?


[Page]Yet for all this, what good? what gaines?
procur'd that learned worke,
Since vntamde actions well doe shew,
what in mens minds doth lurke:
So did old learned 
Roterodam
set foorth a booke of price,
From which, for manners straitest rule,
all youth might take advise,
And yet what profite did he get
by that most worthy booke?
Or who did on it, as he ought,
for better counsell looke?
Too few do now (God wot) regard
that jewell of such price,
Whenas whole multitudes of men
runne headlong vnto vice.
I touch not heere small common faults,
of a disorderd life,
(Although of these in every place
the world is too too rife)
But let them passe as trifling faults,
and vertues, in respect
Of those great crimes and beastly deedes,
which I will heere detect.
For you shall finde, if you vncloake
mens manners base and rude,
Many which in Rusticitie,
farre passe the multitude.
Put case you finde them eating meate,
to stuffe them till they burst,
Or quaffing liquor pot by pot,
to quench their drunken thurst.


[Page]You'le sweare they do no whit respect
the end of their creation,
Nay, (which is more,) you'le almost sweare
they care for no salvation.
What though their souls were sent from heaven?
as things of peerelesse price,
Yet thei'le love Reason worse then Follie.
Vertue worse then Vice.
They square their actions by the rule
of beasts of brutish kinde,
And to their bellies blinde desires,
they captivate their minde.
Their wide stretcht guts, beyond the vse
of Nature or of neede,
In every place, at every time,
vnsatiately they feede.
Pots by the dozens filld to'th brims,
into their guts they presse,
Whenas (God knowes,) their greatest thirst
might well be quench'd with lesse.
If after Gods gifts thus abus'd,
they heere at length would end,
T'were well, but they exspect for faults,
that men should them commend.
And yet this fault, this great offence,
which daily men live in,
By custome and continuance,
goes currant for no sin.
But what's the cause I pray, that men
neglecting counsells guide,
Leave Vertues straight and narrow path,
and hold on Vices side?


[Page]Why this, bid him that doth offend,
in sober quiet talke,
To mend his faults, and in the steps
of vertuous men to walke.
Hee'le either laugh in pleasant sort,
as if you tolde a iest,
Or else with scorning scouling lookes,
your absence hee'le request.
But if against his greater faults,
with bitter words you scolde,
Hee'le tell you that in others faults,
your iudgement is too bolde.
So that, he which doth nowadaies,
precepts of manners give,
May preach, and teach, but all in vaine,
men as they list will live.
And so, good men which in this subiect
have great studie spent,
Have lost their labor, for to follow them,
no man is bent.
And yet example of their fortune,
troubleth me no whit,
But that same marke which all they misst,
I'le venture for to hit.
And though to dance after their pipe,
the vulgar sort refuse,
Yet I'le presume to teach them manners,
which they ought to vse.
Perhaps I shall be counted rash,
and all my hopes but vaine:
And yet I'le hope, perhaps my meanes
more auditors will gaine.


[Page]Dame Fortune is vnconstant, changing
course each other while:
Then, though on some she frowne,
yet she on me may glance a smile.
Tush, no man knowes the wages, which
I looke for at her hand,
I doubt not but the vulgar sort
my methode will command.
Fortune, I'le try thee, for I thinke
in triall there's no harme;
And god 
Apollo from ill lucke,
my enterprises charme.
What though perhaps I not prevaile?
t'is but my labour lost,
A few ill verses spent in vaine,
and this is all my cost.
But for because austere commands,
and precepts cannot win,
Which say, that all but honestie,
to do, or thinke, is sin.
I'le try by other meanes new found,
the selfe-same marke to hit,
Refusing all those other waies,
wherein fore-fathers writ.
Free leave to live disordredly,
vnto all sorts I give,
And I command, that in good order,
none presume to live.
Each clowne shall see what fits him best,
and what his manners be,
And I affirme, that craftie deeds
with crafty knaves agree.


[Page]Perhaps when many see these faults
so fitting their owne name,
Such clownish manners from their mindes,
thei'le banish quite for shame.
No other meanes is left behinde,
to cure this eating sore,
For being sencelesse of their faults,
they love them more and more.
Within the minde of sinfull man,
vice now hath got such roote,
As by slight meanes to weede it out,
it would be little boote.
Yet let vs not dispaire for helpe,
since this one meanes is left,
Whereby our mindes of vices buds,
may quickly be bereft.
Since to forbid vice will not helpe,
we will alow vice too;
The common people, that which you
forbid them, often doo.
Health most dispaired, healths greatest causer,
sometimes proved is,
And that from which men looke for bale,
doth often bring forth blisse.
You see the good Phisitian,
whenas he cannot cure
By medcines might, a sicknes great, sprung
from a bod
 [...] impure.
How many waies he seekes, to ease
his patients grievous smart,
By seeking learned phisickes aide,
by labour or by Art.


[Page]One while with Poticarie drugs,
he mitigates his paine:
Now he with dust opens his wounds,
now shuts them vp againe.
One while with mangling salve, he cuts
a member almost dead,
Another while he seares the same,
with yron burning red.
At length when all 
Machaons arte
and phisickes force hath done,
(And yet the patient is as sicke,
as when he first begunne.
He gives him hote preservatives,
to comfort vp his heart,
But all in vaine, he still is sicke,
(diseases master Art.)
At length he comes to contraries,
and alters quite the case,
From hote, to colde, he gives him Antidots
in Cordialls place.
And thus to him he doth restore
his vnexspected health,
Which he before could not procure,
by phisicke, friends, nor wealth.
So I perceiving wholesome precepts,
fitting for the minde,
Neglected, and fault-finders workes,
to purchase naught but winde.
All that which good men ought to practise,
I forbid them flat,
And all which country clownage
counteth currant, I bid that.


[Page]That so, whereas throughout my booke.
I still forbid the good,
The contrarie I meane, the bad
I would have vnderstood.
Perhaps while some with greedie minde,
my iesting rimes doth view,
He shall behold of his owne life,
a looking-glasse most true.
And blushing, of his owne accord,
when no man doth him see,
Will spie his faults, and mend them all,
and give some thanks to mee.
But by the way, thou which within
this glasse dost thus behold
Thine owne disordred manners, and
thy life, be not so bold,
As to finde fault with me thy friend,
or with my little booke,
Which vpon thee, as vpon all, with
selfe-same eyes doth looke.
If any will assume these faults
as theirs, at the first view,
Know they that they confesse themselves
some of the rusticke crew.
Wherefore, vnlesse he purpose
to proclaime himselfe a clowne,
All anger lately taken vp,
I wish him to lay downe.
Perhaps some severe Catonist
will this my booke accuse,
Because I good behaviour,
by contraries abuse.


[Page]And say that I in common sence,
have made a grievous breach,
Who those things, which to do t'is sinne,
have thus presum'd to teach.
And I confesse, within my booke
there are bad precepts store,
And I may seeme to spurre a horse,
which ranne too fast before.
But those which looke into the worlds
bad nature with good eyes,
I thinke concerning this my booke,
will iudge farre otherwise.
And finde that in this booke of mine,
no hurt at all doth lurke,
But that a man without much danger,
may pervse this worke.
For clownish customes long ago,
have made our mindes so bad,
That to our ill behaviours
we can no worser adde.
We neede not have a master then,
to make vs sinne the more,
For we without a guide, of vice
can quickly get great store.
Men sinne most willingly, and for their
hainous faults seeke praise,
And have such persons as will still,
to skies their vices raise.
Whatse're I write, in other men
I often have it seene,
From things oft done, the subiect of
my booke deriv'd hath beene.


[Page]Those faults, which ere I thought to write,
in other men were knowne:
How can you iustly say, that I
devisde them of mine owne?
Or by what meanes should this my booke,
make any to be bad,
Vnlesse before from vertues paths,
their mindes declined had?
Wherefore I guiltlesse am of this,
that I should now devise,
Or set new found rusticitie,
before the readers eyes.
If none I profite, (as God knowes,)
I meane to profite many,
Yet sure I know that this my booke
can bring no hurt to any.
And now at length (my good friend 
Bing,)
whose favour I esteeme,
Thou which the chiefe of all my friendes,
at all my neede hast beene;
Respect these youthfull verses, fruits
of an vntamed braine,
And let your favour these my lines,
with wonted love maintaine.
Be ready now to take tuition
of my booke and me,
And let my verse be patroniz'd,
vnder the name of thee.
Gainst all the poisned tongues of those,
that would my booke defame,
Defend these trifling toyes of mine,
vnder thy worthie name.


[Page]In briefe, this booke with all his faults,
I dedicate to thee,
That by thy hand from after-claps,
it may defended bee.
If aught I have, (as sure I have)
let passe in this my booke,
Supply the wants I you desire,
as over it you looke.
If any thing in this my worke,
be added more then should,
Correct it for its masters sake,
for so full faine I would.
And so I being well perswaded,
of your strength and might,
Commit this scepter to your hand,
which is your owne by right.
And furthermore, vnto your lawes,
all such I do subiect,
Which this my perfect worke, of old
Simplicitie respect.
Behold your mightie empire stretcheth
over sea and land,
And in all kingdomes of the earth,
your kingdome hath command.
For this great gift, what benefit
can you repay to mee?
Let me be thine, and thou be mine,
that's all I aske of thee.
Keepe me thy friend, and with the favour
which thou hast begunne,
Pursue me, and my heart to thee
for ever thou hast wonne.


[Page]Behold thy friend, whom if thou lov'st,
as of him lov'd thou art,
Thou maist command to do thee good,
himselfe, 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.
Meane time, because thou of thy selfe,
deservest to live ever,
The gods preserve thee from all harme, and
grant thee to die never.

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

OF modesty to be observed in the morning, in the apparell, the haire, and making cleane of the face and teeth. folio 2
The breakfast, and ordering the body and lookes 4
Of waiting at the table. 9
Behaviour at the table before meate. 13
Of manners in eating. 16
Concerning manners after dinner. 21
The adorning of the table before supper, and other dueties. 26
Of waiting at the table in supper time. 30
Of the vsage 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

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The second Booke.

HOW to prepare himselfe 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 modestie in eating and drinking. 50
Of devouring, laughing, vomiting at the table, and other such like civilities to be observed. 63
Of washing the handes after supper, second courses, and how to behave your selfe in the company of maides. 67
Concerning exclaiming after supper, goeing out, and bargaining for the next nights supper. 71
How going drunke home you shoulde behave your selfe in the way homeward, after sleepe, and the day after. 76
How to entertaine, vse, and send away your guests. 89

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The third Booke.

BEhaviour at an honest feast in eating brewesse and crab-fish. 87
Of daintinesse of drinke, and behaviour when you departe. 91
Of scoffes, farting, hawking, aunswering to a demaunde, and looking into other mennes letters. 95
Of behavior in other mens houses, diverse-colored parted coates, the adorning of the beard, the vse of papers and bookes, entertaining friends, and other such like civilities. 99
Examples of civilitie at the table. 105
Of emptying the bladder, vomiting, and other such like elegancies of behaviour. 112
Of belching, holding his vrine, and such like rudenesse. 121
Grobiana, concerning the behavior of maides. 126

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¶ The Author to such as love Civilitie, health:

Give place time-scourging Aristotle, vice-controuling Plato,

Yeeld learned Tully, deepe Erasmus, and fault-finding Cato:

And you which by your tedious works, though to your mickle paine,

Did teach behaviours perfect meanes, and manners to attaine.

This Booke, which from a new found Schoole of late time did arise,

Behaviours pure simplicitie within it doth comprise:

Then yong and olde that doe desire nurture and education,

Peruse this Booke each day and houre, with great deliberation.

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THE FIRST BOOKE OF antient Simplicitie of Behaviour. Written by M. Fredericke Dedekinde.

IF thou desire an antient, harmelesse, simple life to lead,

And in old, homely, clownish plow-mens perfit steps to tread:

Come hither, and vnto my verse lend thine attentive eare,

It may be for thy private vse, some profit thou maist heare.

Pervse it through, and it no doubt, a way to thee will tell,

How to conforme thy manners so, as thou maist live right well:

Doubt not a single simple man, thou certainely shalt be,

If thou with good advise doost marke, the things thou learn'st of me.

Too hard and intricate a thing it is, and farre from ease,

So strictly to behave thy selfe, as all men thou maist please:

Those I commend, which scorne to suffer every paltry foole

To weigh their words, and iudge their deedes, as Maister of a Schoole.

And those which scorn a masters check, and think their own deeds good,

Are right true Troyans, gallant souldiers, brave men by the Rood:

Pine-girted Silvane, country god, thou art most welcome hither,

Concerning country customes, let vs two conferre together.

The praise of rude simplicitie, in country swaines wee'le 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 country-men, the life that you thinke best.

[Page 2]Old Bacchus father, god of wine, best knowne to drunken crew,

The perfect way of quaffing right, set downe before my view:

And thou which of the gut wert wont iolly governour to be,

Further me, if I chance to handle all thy rights and thee.

And thou neate god Rusticitie, the greatest of our time,

Be present heere, and set thy hands to this my Rusticke rime:

T'is no small thing in perfect sort, good manners thus to frame,

Great men, good schollers, have beene oft times troubled with the same.

Yet by the helpe of all those gods and goddesses Ile try,

To passe the tedious laborinth, of this simplicitie:

O helpe (friend Bing.) judge of this cause, your aide heerein I aske,

For trusting to your helpe and aide, I vnder-go this taske.

If then my Muse with cheerefull lookes, you kindely do revive,

My vaine will be more plentifull, my verse will better thrive.

What modestie is to be observed each morning in the apparell, and making the haire, the face, and the teeth cleane. Chapter. I.

WHose're thou art that hat'st at heart a Masters crabbed charge,
Which reades a Lecture every day of gravitie at large:
Harke hither, come and heare this man, a man of quiet speech,
No thunder-thumping Catonist, you neede him not beseech.
My speech is brode, be rul'd, and then Ile do the best I can,
Be rudible, and sure I thinke you'le prove a learned man:
Be but a carefull and: for and scholler vnto me,
And then you'le soone excell your Master in simplicitie.
What though some crabbed wittall do not like my precepts well,
Yet they can never hurte you, if you marke all that I tell.

When 
Morpheus drowsie god of sleepe, from bed doth thee dismisse,
(Which must be iust at dinner time, for so my counsell is:)
Thy parents blessing never aske, learne that good point of me,
This is a rule and perfect note, of great civilitie.


[Page 3]Good morrow nor good even to friend nor foe impart too fast:
If they beginne, repay no thanks, walke on, you are in haste:
What though you both should vse, to both you know t'would be but vaine,
Then loose no words, for good words past, cannot be cal'd againe.
Let fond Hebritians which account, their superstition wealth,
Salute their friends, pray for their foes, and aske them of their health:
T'is vaine to have so great a care, of such superfluous things,
This too much care to iocond youth, white haires and sorrow brings.

When you are vp, to stretch your selfe, deserveth mickle praise;
This is prescrib'd by all that practise phisicke in our daies:
For when your sinews numb'd with sleepe, cannot performe their worke,
This stretching drives away all numbnesse, which in them did lurke.

Being out of bed, let it suffice, to clothe thee in thy shurt,
To stay to put on all thy clothes, with colde thou mightst thee hurt:
All thy apparrell else get vp forth-with vnder thine arme,
Then to the chimney corner runne, for there thou maist it warme.
What though a maide or married wife, be there before thou come,
Go forward with thy purpose though, as thou wouldst erst have done.
If any man obiect to thee, that manners thou doost lacke,
Bid him if he mislike that sight, be gone and shew his backe.
Let every man give place to thee, thy selfe give place to none,
What man? why Nature made thee free, then boldely hold thine owne.

At length, when thou art well araide, let both thy hose hang downe
About thy heeles, this onely thing will get thee great renowne:
For by this secret meanes, the maides will seeke thy love to have,
And every wench thee for her husband, of her friends will crave.
Your reason sir. O sir, there is a speciall reason why,
I cannot stay to tell it now, Ile tell it by and by.

Simplicitie commands, that you forget to trusse your pointes,

Hard tying is an enimie to bellie and to ioynts.

Lest some men say, you are too hansome, ne're combe your haire,
As Nature sets it, and bed leaves it, vse it so to weare:
Leave plaited haires, and curled lockes, vnto the female sex,
And let them vse to combe their haire, whom cruell love doth vex.
Beleeve me, not a wench vnto thee will affection beare,
If she perceive that thou observ'st such nicenesse in thy haire:


[Page 4]Who can abide yong men that dresse themselves as female crew,
A Creetish dame writ to an Amazonian lover true:
Tis praise and credite to have feathers store vpon your head,
For thereby men may well perceive, you scorne straw in your bed.

In any case cut not your haire, but let it hang at length,
For t'will both keepe away the colde, and argue 
Sampsons strength.
When father 
Saturne rulde the world, all men did vse long haire,
And gloried in it, though now wenches vse it most to weare:
Fore-fathers plaine simplicitie, is prais'd in every place,
Then let not vs disdaine to vse it, it is no disgrace.

Thy face and hands too oft to wash, is cause of mickle hurt,
Therefore (a Gods name) let them both, have ever store of durt:
Let other men, that with hands, have care to wash them cleane;
But as for washing of my hands, to take no care I meane.

Some nice-controuling mate, will counsell 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 dide to a red hue?
That is a perfect saffron colour, t'will much credite you.
What other colour then this red, hath the bright glittering gold,
For which prossessions, tenements, lands, lives, and all are sold?
Then thinke not, that golds perfect colour, doth your teeth disgrace,
That colour which in few mens purses, in your teeth hath place.

The breakefast, the modestie of the eyes, the forehead and the nosthrills: also of pratling, sneezing, bawdinesse, belching and going, and behaviour in the streetes. Chapter II.

WHen your are vp, before that sleepe hath fully left your eyes,
Call for you breakefast presently, marke that in any wise.
Which being got, incontinent, with both hands gripe it round,
Lest if you take not sure fast hold, it slip vpon the ground,
At breakefast never vse a trencher, wherefore serves your hand?


[Page 5]At dinner time t'is farre more meete vpon such pointes to stand.
In any case see that the fat runne downe thy fingers thicke,
Which with your tongue as downe it runnes, you alwaies ought to licke.
As for a ready way at meate, your dinner to devoure,
I cannot tell you yet, but you shall heare within this houre.
For first I must instruct you how, your bodie for to frame,
And all your lookes in fittest sort, then briefly of the same.

And first in any case take heede, of too much modestie,
For that doth very much abhorre; from true simplicitie.
Ist not a foolish thing, that yong hot bloods should be so nice,
You will be callde a ledden slouthfull fellow of the wise.

I will that all men with turnde lookes, you vse for to behold,
For if you looke men in the face, they'le say you are too bold.
Tis not allowed that tender youth, such gravitie should vse,
Wherefore with distort eyes and forehead, every man abuse.

Let such as learne at vertues schoole, and purpose to be wise,
And seeke to live by others praises, care for bashfull eyes.
But as for you, we give you leave, each way to rowle your eye,
Then vse it, for it is a marke of great simplicitie.

Tis not amisse though store of wrinckles, do thy forehead plow,
And though your face be full of furrowes, we will it allow.
Tis like a plowing 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 renowne and fame.
For all those hidden vertues, which mans minde do decke and grace.
Are with a lively portraiture, prefigurd in the face.

To no man speake, but with such wordes, as may him halfe affright,
For if thou doost, as by a foole, by thee they'le set but light.
Wherefore with might and maine, prevent such ill report alwaies,
(And yet I'de with you never try, the meanes to get true praise.)

The proper vse of every tongue, is for to talke apace,

Then let your tongue like a mill-clacke go fast in every place.

It is a custome in some countries, at each nosthrills ends,
To hang great jems and pretious stones, such as rich 
India sends.
Hath Fortune in these pretious jems, denyde to thee a part?


[Page 6]Take courage though, and heare a friend, that loves thee at his heart,
As ice sikles in winter time, which hang on houses hie
Doe grace the roofes, and shew full faire to him that passeth by;
So snot, which from the nostrils both, like bel-ropes hangeth downe,
Doth grace a youth, which doth professe himselfe a simple clowne.
Nature the maker of all things, to decke thy life the more,
Hath lent thee, of such ornaments, a most aboundant store:
Wherefore, as in all things besides, so in this, keepe this meane,
When store of snot is in thy mouth, thy nose then make thou cleane:
Do this, but closely now and then, and sure I thinke, than thee
No man deserveth greater praise, for his civilitie.
If when thou lackst an handkerchiefe, thou vse thy cloake or hat
To blow thy nose, thou wilt be knowne a perfect clowne by that:
Or fill thy hand top full with snot, and cast it on the ground.
It is a very seemely thing to heare the same resound,
And let it lie: What neede you care? I charge you stirre it not,
And let them treade it out, that say you have not store of snot.
I sawe a custome in a country where I lately was,
Where hung with cordes vpon their sleeves a little pretty glasse:
You may (if so it please you) take example from that towne,
And see your picture in your snot, as it hangs dangling downe.

And lest you should lacke 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
Blowe downe whole townes, and all will say, Oh, hee's a valiant man.

When you would sneeze, strait turne your selfe vnto your neibors face:
As for my part, wherein to sneeze, I know no fitter place;
It is an order, when you sneeze, good men will pray for you:
Marke him that doth so, for I thinke 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 blesse him, but, Choake vp, or some such matter, rather.

Never be shamefast, never blush for any fault thats past,
Let them do so which, sory, say, This fault shall be the last.
What though thou speake vnseemely words, yet know it is not good


[Page 7]To have thy face and cheekes looke red, as they were dide with blood.
What though of bawdie beastly words, thou learnst to speake great store,
Why tis a shame that from a childe, 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 thinke those things are base,
Which nature in her secret wisedome, made mankinde to grace.
I would not have you from the common speech depart so farre,
As against Nature our best guide, vnwisely to wage warre.
All that which in thy bladder and thy belly lieth hid,
To empty whenas thou hast neede, what man will thee forbid?
Crabbed precise fault-finders, only will not speake each word,
Thinking it is by proper names, to call each thing absurd.
What kinde of men are these? true reason soone will prove them mad,
Which will not speake the words, but do the deedes, which is as bad.

If any man do tell you newes, which ne're 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 harmelesse flies you meant to catch.
If that he tell a ieast, which worth your laughter you suppose,
(But laugh not at each trifling thing,) then laugh so lowde that those
Which do about their owne affaires, walke over-thwart the streete,
May tell you that you laugh full lowde, when next they do you meete.
And if by laughing your red teeth, some pretty wench espy,
Because that colour is the best, shee'le love you presently.
And if you see shee likes you well, then laugh afresh againe,
This is of rude simplicitie, an argument most plaine.
It is a very prettie thing, when you by laughing much,
Do make your mouth by distorture, your very eares to tutch.
Sometimes though no man give you cause, laugh as lowd as you can,
For this is a most speciall signe, of a praise-worthy man.
Oft times you shall espy some sober man with lookes most grimme,
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 collericke, knowing no cause wherefore.

If now and then you meane to lie, (as who would tell the truth?)


[Page 8]Betweene each word cough once or twise, this is a tricke of youth.
Are not your words in readinesse, according to your minde?
Then cough a while, and by this meanes, perhaps you them may finde.
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 neede to cough indeede, you know this tricke of old,
To cough into your neighbours face, you well may be so bold.
Let him take halfe the breath, which from thy winde-pipe thou hast got,
T'wil 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 neede you care? his force is weake, it well may be withstood.
Whatsoe're thou didst, thou'lt answer it, where, when and how he can;
Thus thou by great out-braving words, must prove thy selfe a man.
Tell him, within his currish heart, anger hath set her rest,
If that he cannot take that well, which thou didst meane in iest;
What would he do (trow,) if he were not, as thou art, a man?
Which no such little trifling iest, with patience suffer can.
Or bid him, if he thinke thy breath could do him any ill,
That presently for full revenge, he would thy heart blood spill.

When thou hast neede to belch, ne're hold it, freely let it out,
Dissemble not, it will not stay, helpe it away you lowt.
Tis hard to hold it without hurt, if that it seeke a vent,
Then let those blasts from forth thy stomacke sayle, be freely sent.
They le breede diseases infinite, in head, and every part,
As stinking breath which doth infect, and the vnsavory fart.
Therefore, to shunne all hurtes and harmes, which thereof soone would breede,
Be not too coy, but belch thy fill, whensoe're thou hast neede,

If thou desire at any time to walke into the streete,
That all thy hat with dirt and dust besprinkled it is meete.
He that regardeth cleanelinesse, which onely women vse,
At him let all men mocke and scoffe, let all men him abuse.

What though thy shooes be doubde with dirt: to make them cleane tis vaine,

For why you know, do what you can, they must be fowlde againe.

A long gowne weare, which all the ground may sweepe as thou doost go,
For so no man the place whereon thou troddest well can know.
The dirt which on thy hem thou getst, as thou doost walke along,


[Page 9]Will make the lowe welt of thy Gowne seeme to be very strong:
And if a man espy the durt, when he is farre remote,
Hee'le thinke you weare a very rich embroydred garded cote;
Cloth made by silke-wormes paineful Art, from 
Scythia land doth come:
Some strangers give to deerest friends, to others they sell some;
A man would think, that with this cloth, your gowne were garded thick,
If on the hemme, a great way off, he should see dry durt sticke;
Or if you like not these long gownes (as oftentimes we see
As many men, so many mindes and manners there will be)
Weare a short coate, which scarce will keepe your buttockes out of sight,
Like Noble men, and those which doe reioyce in martiall fight;
Olde sage 
Erasmus counsaile tis, Regarde not thine attire.
(The precept of so grave a man, who will not much admire?)
Doe as he bids thee then, regarde not how thy garments sit,
Whether they be too little, or too bigge, or very fit.
Let both thy hands behinde thy backe together alwayes meete;
Whether thou sit, or stand, or walke, in citty, or in streete.
But lest my Lecture seeme too tedious for the multitude,
This Exercise in three short wordes I purpose to conclude:
Thus I would have thee frame thy life and deedes in any case:
Let this thy manners and behaviour be in every place,
That he which sees the good behaviour, which thou learnst of me,
May know thou arte an expert Scholler, in Simplicitie.

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

BEhold; the boy hath layde the cloth, and on the Table put
Those cates, which Cookery provides, to fill mans hungry gut:
You're glad of that, that you such dainty dishes shall oresee,
As with your rav'nous empty stomacke very well agree.


[Page 10]But soft sir, first vpon your Maisters trencher you must waite;
And afterward, when he hath dinde, you shall be served strait:
And yet too ready never be vnto your Maisters hand,
Vnlesse your helpe, by word of mouth, he twice or thrice command.
And now sit, your behaviour fit I will lay foorth at large;
Your onely duetie is (as you were wont) to marke my charge,
You cannot say my precepts are too subtile for your reach,
And therefore doubt, I shall not learne, the things which I shall teach
My muse is rusticke, and my Muse is easie, homely, plaine,
Which being perfectly attainde, can ne're be lost againe.
Whether your service be at home, or out of doores extend:
Whether you serve your maister onely, or your maisters friend,
Your methode and your maners eke, must be the selfe same ever.
And all which you have done before, must be forgotten never.

At dinner when you meane 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 meate;
But let your breast be naked, to be seene of them that eate,
That so your bodies slendernesse the strangers may perceave,
And give you praise, which none but fooles & mad men ought to leave.

But if, the weather being colde, apparell you doe weare,
The same to button, tie, or trusse, be sure that you forbeare.
As for those partes which we are bound to hide by natures bandes.
My counsell is, that all them partes thou cover with thy hands;
So modest Matrons and wilde wenches thou shalt please I know,
And shalt thy selfe a prety stripling vnto all men show.

I like not those, which when they wait, must stand on both their feete,
And carefull be, that as they stand, their legges may alwayes meete.
To vse the right foote and the left by turnes I holde it best:
For so, while that you vse the one, the other legge may rest.
But if my counsaile you will take, ne're stand on both togither;
For that which wanteth rest and ease, must needes wax weake and lither.

A nimble, stirring, hobling pase in yong men I like best:
The scabs, the gowt, and such diseases breed, by too much rest.
Good Smiths do hobble with their feete, as they their bellowes blowe.
Then since good trades doe it allow, why shouldst not thou doe so?


[Page 11]Marke that which most men vse to doe, and scorne to learne of none;
But good behaviour, and perfection get of every one.

Be sure, that wheresoe're you wayt, your fingers never stand,
But still be fumbling, tis a credite, not to hold your hand.
Praise comes to them by due desert, which something do alwayes:
But slouthfulnesse is a great let to him that seeketh praise:
Wherefore be sure in both thy hands, thou alwayes something have,
Lest such as finde 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 downe, thou chance to catch some cold;
Though thou doost nothing else, yet let thy finger scratch thine eare,
Or with thy left hand lay at length, thy knotty tangled haire:
Or turne thy hat vpon thy finger, or, among the rest,
Finde out some pretty pleasing sport, that fits thy humour best.
Or if you would be thought a learned Poet of your friends,
Then licke and gnawe with tong and teeth, your nailes and fingers ends;
They vse this action, whome, for thoughts aspiring men admire:
And so doe they which Hymnes doe say, in god 
Apolloes quire.

Or set your armes vp by your side, like to a man of might,

And frowne, and by your very lookes, theile thinke you meane to fight.

Doe nothing that is fit or meete, vnlesse they you constraine:

For if you do, nor praise, nor price, youle get, you worke in vaine.

If you perceive a man ill nurturde, marke him presently;
His going, sitting, standing, deedes, marke with a carefull eie.
Marke how he eates and drinkes, and how his hands he placeth best;
And if out of his life and maners, you can picke some jeast
Thats worth the laughing, thats enough, deride him presently.
Be not ashamde, but laugh so long, till that you seeme to cry:
And from thy wit, of his behaviour, let some quips arise:
It may be, when he sees his faults, hee'le learne to be more wise
And when thy maister shall have greatest store of merry guests;
Then from thy biting budget bring most store of pleasant jeasts:
And this will be an argument of thine exceeding wit.
If each mans sundry humour, thou with biting jeasts canst fit.

Perchaunce at length for second course, some rowme must needes be made;
Then learne this tricke, a point most fit, for this thy serving trade:


[Page 12]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 sachell, to what purpose boughtst thou it?
But now and then, for thine owne vse, to keepe a friendly bit.
What though perchance some man espie thy sachell in thy sleeve;
Take a good courage though, and let not that thy conscience grieve.
But if perchance for this thy tricke, he give thee some reproofe,
Have something still which thou maist freely say for thy behoofe.
What sir, when other strangers have their bellies full, at least
Ist any reason that I should goe empty from the feast?
What can he say when this he heares? perforce hee'le surely yeelde.
Then courage man, for sure from him thou'lt quickely winne the field.

If thou setst on a dainty dish of creame filld to the brimme,

Make bread, and meate, and salt, and all, in curds and creame to swimme.

When all is gone, and for a voider they doe call to thee,
Learne this good point of manners and behaviour of me;
Get from thy maisters sight; and lest with worke thy bones should ake,
Thou setst all on for his, let him remoove all for thy sake:
Say you have waited long enough, and are ev'n starv'd for meate.
And its a hard case, if that now you may not freely eate.
But if at length with thundring words, your maister call his man;
Returne, but with as slow a pase, as possible you can:
Haste maketh waste, and he which runneth, oft doth catch a fall,
When he which goes a sober pase, doth surely best of all.

And when you come, out of its order every dish remove,

When all the sweetest bittes are gone, what man would order love?

Take all at once, a weary man ought not to stand all day.
What foole will goe about, when he can goe a neerer way?
What though perhaps out of your hands, the meate doe chance to fall?
Tush, a small matter, care not for it, tis no fault at all.
In trueth, the platters were so heavy, they weighd downe mine arme,
If that I had not let them fall, I should have caught some harme:
If that a stronger man than I, had felt the weight of all,
I doe not thinke but that he also, would have let them fall:
And if your maister greet you not, with, Take them vp I pray:
First looke vpon them a good while, and then depart away.


[Page 13]And laugh, as though you did reioyce in doing of the same.
And for that fault, its tenne to one, that no man will you blame.
But if your maister, with a frowne, bid you remove them thence;
Looke sadly, and hee'le thinke that you are sorie for th'offence:
If all at once you cannot take, tis good to let some lie,
And after you have placde the other, fetch them presently:
I thinke not one of all the guests will judge your fault so great,
As for the spilling a few scraps, your maister should you beate.
Nay rather, in a merrie vaine, thei'le laugh and jeast at thee,
Which proov'st thy selfe a perfect Scholler in Simplicitie.

Concerning the behaviour at the Table, before meate be set on. Chap. IIII.

HArke how thy hunger-pining panch for meate doth crie and rore,
And yet to comfort it with foode, whie hastest thou no more?
Make haste, make haste, and now at length, after thy fast so great,
Prepare thy selfe most speedily to give thy bellie meate.

If anie great impediment forbids thee to proceede,
As points, or girdle, thou wert best to loose them all with speede:
Although if thou remove all lets, thou wilt be thought vnkinde,
Thy doublet thou maist well vnbutton, when thou hast halfe dinde.

Tis vaine with water (which cannot be cleane) to wash thy hands:
How often into cleerest ponds are clods throwne from the lands?
If water which should cleanse our hands, have lumps of durt in it:
Then surely from our hands it cannot wash the durt a whit.

Thy nailes ne're cut, but let them grow, it is a comely sight:
Hawks with long nailes do catch their meate; yet Lords in them delight:
Or if thou needes wilt cut thy nailes, cut them as thou doost dine,
Betweene the first and second course, for then thou hast good time.

[Page 14]
If any gentleman, at dinner with thee chance to sit,
Be sure to get the highest roome, thats for thy credite 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 plac'd aloft, according to his vse,
Vnto a worse place to be thrust, it is a great abuse.
What reason hast thou for to shew, thou hast so base a minde,
As when thou hast a place before, thou wilt be thrust behinde?
Had we not all one father 
Adam, and one mother 
Eve?
Shall earth and ashes thrust thee downe? at that who would not grieve?

Whenas our Grandsire 
Adam dig'd, and Grandam 
Eve span,
Who then I pray amongst vs all, was the best gentleman?
Whenas you come too late to dinner, and a stoole you lacke,
(Stand not in any case, for too much standing hurtes your backe.)
By head and shoulders, from his place, thrust out some simple foole,
If to his elder, and his better, hee'le not yeelde his stoole.

Perchance your knife is fowle, with bread which yesterday it cut,
Or in some other dirtie place, perhaps it hath beene put.
This fault your shoo will quickely mend, if you no whetstone have,
For whet it on your shoo-sole well, and it will shine most brave.
If any man do marvaile, that you vse so plaine a way,
Tell him, that you have vsde that custome many a summers day.

If when you are sharpe set to dine, you nothing have to eate,
And for your hungry bellie, you can get no store of meate;
Because the Cooke is somewhat long, before he will you serve,
If that you thinke, vnlesse you eate forthwith, you strait shall sterve:
Be angry strait, for why you have good cause, stampe, stare, and fume,
How dare they on thy patience, base pesants, thus presume?
Aske thou thy meate with angrie lookes, with choller, and with heate,
And if they will not bring it thee, cry still out, meate, meate, meate.
But if they still deny to come, with angry forehead say,
That thou wilt beate them everie one, if that they thus delay.

Perhaps at length the meate is readie, and they onely tarrie
For one, which should the meate from thence, vnto the table carrie.
Then sit thou still, stirre not a foote, tis better farre to sterve,
Then like a paltry blew-cote knave (thats base) thy selfe to serve.


[Page 15]Let no man, had he 
Tullies wit, make thee such follie vse,
What? serve thy selfe? thou never canst thine honour more abuse.
Meane time be casting with thy selfe, which way the time to spend,
Beware on idlenes, on which all vices do attend.
Hath the scabd-dogge, with tickling itching all thy bodie bit?
Thou maist have meanes to spend thy time, by over-looking it.

Scratch off the scabs with busie fingers, that is verie good,
For so of putrefaction, thou maist let out a flood:
Or as our Mettall-mongers do, with their industrious paines,
By digging mountaines, rob the earth, of her rich mettall vaines.
So with thy knife, from out thy body scabs thou maist dig store,
And seeke diseases which do lacke, in every hidden pore.
Then with your vnwasht knife to cut your meate, can breede no hurt,
Nor wash your hands, you know that water cannot scowre off durt.

Tis common for yong men, to have great store of lustie lice.
Their names declare their forme, they have six feete, be not so nice.
If that your flesh doth suffer any hurt by their sharpe teeth,
Deferre no whit their punishment, that with your health agreeth.
But with a courage from your head, strait pull them by the taile,
And for their treason, strait behead them, with your thumbs sharpe nail
From forth your bosome take them quicke, vnto their great disgrace,
And on the table valiantly, their captive bodies place.
T'will be a prettie sight to see, how fast thei'le run away,
To save themselves, and all their kinne, from that most bloodie day.

Though all things faile thee else, yet sure thou shalt finde 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, helpe their faults to mend.
The Trencher-maker in his worke, 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 sharpe knife, which seeme not hansome in thy curious eyes.
And when thou hast corrected, of each trencher everie whit,
Thy Master cannot choose, but praise thy labour and thy wit.

The table-cloth, with pin or knife, to pricke, or cut, beginne,
No reasonable man I trow, will say this is a sinne.


[Page 16]For let the foole your Master know, that he did cause this deede,
In keeping such bad Cookes, as would not give you meate with speede.
T'will make him charge his Cookes, that at the first call they you serve,
And not to let his servants, to sit without meate and sterve.

Perhaps a salt-seller stands by, tis good with that to play,
And strike it with your knife, t'will 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 Cookes, remember thee to feed.
And secondly, vnto thine eares, a pretty sound t'will send,
Wherefore, above all other trickes, this one I do commend.

If that your master, or your father, leave his knife behinde,
For their sakes vse it favourably, never be vnkinde.
With stones, or wood, or keyes, be sure you make it blunt and dull,
Lest that it cut too fast as from their sheathes they do it pull.
So when their knife dooth cut their hands, in carving out a messe,
By that good meanes which you foresaw, their wound will be the lesse.

In briefe, if that you had almost forgot your points to loose,
And now you have such suddaine haste, you cannot will, nor choose,
And that you feare your breeches shall partake your heavie waight,
And all the house you shall perfume, if you depart not straight.
Then rise, and if your fellow needes will know whither you went,
Tell him, to thrust away a knave, that would not pay his rent.
So come againe, and without washing either hands or face,
As soone as may be, (as I told you,) get the vpper place.
Perchance if you in washing of your hands, had staied long,
The knaves would soone have parted all your part themselves among.

Your behaviour all the while you eate. Chapter V.

VVHen you are set with pottage, first your stomacke is vnlockt,
Because, before all other meates, you may that best concoct.


[Page 17]And now forsooth you lacke a spoone, yet hardely can abstaine,
Why then to sup it vp with mouth and lips, you must be faine:
Aske but of Nature, our deare mother, and shee'le lend thee soone,
A paire of lips, which thou maist vse, better then scoupe or spoone.

Diogenes did scorne a spoone, but from a fountaine cleere.
Did drinke as well out of his hand, as we from pots of beere.
And sure he had no other cause, the spoone for to despise,
But that he saw his ancesters, do so before his eyes.

When as the meate is all set downe, according to thy wish,
See that thy right hand wrest and all, be first in every dish.
And if there be a daintie bit, tis good to snatch it strait,
Lest that another for the same, do craftilie lay wait.
If thou be wise, observe this course and custome evermore,
So for thy bellie, daintie bits, thou ever shalt have store.
If that some envious man, do seeme for to repine at this,
Love others well, but thy selfe better, say the proverbe is,

Perchance vpon the platters furthest side, there lies a bit,
Which thou doost verie much desire, but canst not reach to it.
And if thou sit by no such friend, as strait will helpe thee to it,
By stretching out thy limbes vpon the table, thou maist do it,
If any seeme offended with thee, tell them tis the fashion,
To set the best meate, to the best men of the congregation.
Now sir, tis a more seemely tricke, to turne the platter round,
That by that meanes, the daintie bits may on your side be found.
The turning of the platter round, in this sort it is best
To hide, and cloake, and in my minde it is a prettie iest.
After this sort, all starres, and the celestiall bodies move,
Which daily motion, and perpetuall stirring ever love.
Then bid your neighbour speake of plants, so your talke to quite,
He smiling hits you on the eare, yo'are planet-strucken right.

Whenas your friend doth on your trencher, daintie wilde-fowle lay,
Strait cover it with both your hands, for feare it flie away.
And though your neighbour ne're so much, vpon you do bestow,
Yet keepe 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 thy selfe doost love with all thy heart.


[Page 18]And as for him which gave it you, his kindnes ne'recommend,
Although he be a man of worship, and your very friend;
Tell him, you were of age enough, your selfe with cares to fit,
Although from off his trencher he had reachd you ne're a bit.
After that you have twice or thrice thus answerd everie friend,
No man from off his trencher dainties vnto you will send;
And so heereafter for your selfe, you where you will may out,
And out of everie daintie dish, choose bits for your owne gut.

On everie side of everie dish, be sure you taste and trie,
And that which pleaseth not your minde, for others let it lie:
False obiects oftentimes deceive this mortall sight of our,
And that which beares the sweetest shew, in taste is often sowre:
Wherefore my counsell is, that in thy mouth thou taste aright,
That which doth make so faire a shew, vnto the outward sight.
If that it hath a pleasant taste, and like your pallate well,
What then you ought to doe therewith, I hope I neede not tell.
But if the taste which you expected, fit not to your minde;
Then take my counsell, for in it great profit thou shalt finde:
Into the platter with an angry looke you may it cast,
There is no sense that you should eate that meate you cannot taste:
Or keepe it, and the best thereof in cleanely sort gnaw round;
For doing this, as I suppose, no fault can well be found.

For whie, with tooth and naile, to bite, and scratch, and gnaw your meate,
Is both a seemelie thing, and also bringeth profite great:
For by this meanes, you spare your knife, which else might loose his edge,
If in your meate there should be bones. O Wisedomes priviledge?
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 hart,
That if they have a good thing, thei'le not give their neighbor part.
That which you cannot eate, some greedie got will snatch vp strait,
And give you thankes, as if for him you had reserv'd that bait:
And that his hungrie paunch at length may well be cramd with meate,
That which vpon your trencher lies, most ravenouslie hee'le eate.

But yet I thinke it is a tricke more civill, and more fine,
To loade thy neighbours trencher with those scraps that lie on thine.


[Page 19]Hee'le thanke you with a ioyfull heart, for that so royall fare,
And saie, he sees (he thankes you) that you mindefull of him are;
T'will moove you for to be his friend most faithfull and most kinde,
And yet a faithfull friend, in these bad daies is hard to finde:
Such meate as thou gav'st to thy friend, when he did none desire,
I thinke a ful-filld dog, would scorne to give his hungrie fire.

When bisket bread, cimnells, and wine vpon the Table stand,
If that thou seest the Butler fills it, with a sparing hand,
Hide thou the pot behinde thy backe, and vnto others fill:
And vnto no man present give a droppe against thy will.
If anie one of them be griev'd which at the Table are,
Tell him, tis good that everie man should for himselfe have care.
And sir, my counsell is, that you the pot doe next time get,
If when you dine abroad, you meane your lippes with wine to wet.

Thus, having filld your stomacke with the first course at the boord,
If that you thinke the second will some daintie cates affoord,
And that you feele your girdle doth your swelling bellie pinch,
Tis better strait to take it off, than from good meate to flinch:
Thinke it no shame, or if thou dar'st not do so, tis thy best,
To pull it off though, for thou well maist cloake it with this jest:
Neighbour, you have a prettie gerdle, it shews verie fine;
What boote ifaith? let me see yours, and you shall strait see mine.
And by this meanes you may have cause, your gerdle to put off.
Whereas if you had not done so, you might have had a scoffe.
And if some bits of new gnawne meate, within your mouth doe sticke,
Out of the same with hands and nailes, tis maners it to picke;
Within the Crocodiles wide jawes, when jagges of flesh do lie,
Some little bird to pull them out, doth help her presently.
For while that she her tonguelesse mouth, in widest sorte dooth stretch,
Some sharp billd bird from forth hir jawes, the meat for food doth fetch:
The seelie bird within the beasts wide jawes doth walke, and feede,
And hath no hurt, because her bellie dooth help the beast at neede.
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 pinne:
Since thou hast such meanes of thine owne, a birds help scorne herein.

[Page 20]
And if from foorth thy teeth thou bring a bloodie peece of meate,
Lest that it should be lost, tis good foorthwith thou shouldst it eate:
Or with your vnwipte knife, from foorth the platter take some bit,
Which for your almost halfe-filld stomacke you doe thinke most fit.
Your gnawne meate on your neighbours trencher smiling you may lay,
Vsing these flattring glosing termes, refuse it not I pray.
And if that he accept the meate, which from your teeth you drew,
T'will stirre vp store of laughter, vnto all that merry crew:
And by this meanes all men will saie, your wit is very quicke,
And count you for a merrie fellow for this cleanely tricke.
Some fooles (to what intent, who knowes?) their knife must needs make cleane,
When as to cut a cleanly piece of common bread they meane.
Thou foole, whie dost thou wipe the fat vpon the table cloth?
Who ever knew a senslesse foole, to learne good maners loth?
Wert not a thing more pleasing, and more welcome to thy tongue,
To wipe it on the common loafe, when thou doost cut along?
Perhaps manie a hungrie man would give thee thankes for that,
Which bread and butter loves at heart, and such things as are fat.

This tricke, although there be some shew of beastlinesse in it:
Yet sure of manie a daintie dish, t'will get thee many a bit,
Whenas your hoste some daintie cates vnto the Table sends,
Which vnto you your meate and drinke-consuming gut commends,
Take thou those jewells from thy nose whereof before I tolde,
I meane thy snot, and in thy hollow palme do thou it holde,
And craftily into the platter, either cast it all,
Or hold it dangling over, so that it may almost fall:
And by this meanes the company will straitway loathe their meate,
And all the delicates remaining, thou thy selfe maist eate.
A man well knowne in everie place, did often doe the same,
Who from an Owle joynd to a Glasse did first derive his name.
This Owglasse all in everie place, praisde, honoured and admirde;
And to relate his prettie prancks, each merrie man desirde:
Wherefore his life, and his behaviour doe not thou refuse,
And then no doubt but times to come, thy merrie trickes will vse.

Dost thou a meane and end of eating now at length require?
And when to know a readie time to leave doost thou desire?


[Page 21]Leave eating when thy swelling bellie will not let thee speake,
And when thou thinkst with one bit more, thy very guts would breake.
I should proceede, and yet more precepts for thy dinner tell,
But tis too late, and I at supper time may doo't as well.

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

NOw having fild your bellie full, with daintie pleasing fare,
Be sure that for your owne affaires, you take but little care.
The belly fild with daintie meates, can hardely cares indure,
For carefull thoughts, are deadly foes, vnto concoction sure.
And care doth with diseases, the best bodies oft infect;
Wherefore out of thy mind, all care in any case reiect.

If that in summer, you your dinners in the fields do keepe,
Be sure that forthwith in a baulke, you frame your selfe to sleepe.
There you may lie, vntill you thinke, tis almost time to sup,
And then tis time from drowzie sleepe, to rowze your spirits vp.

And as you lie, to fart and fiste at pleasure, you have leave,
For why you know theres no man by, such trickes for to perceive.
If that you finde by triall, that no man a fart can hold,
By good experience so to sweare, I thinke you may be bold.

If that to lie and sleepe all day, doth not your fancie please,
Because your nimble body, alwaies scorned slouthfull ease,
Then rise at leisure, and through every streete walke vp and downe,
The doing so, will sure procure both profit, and renowne:
For by this walking, thou thy meate, the better maist digest;
Among all other rules, Phisitians hold this for the best.

As thou didst come to dinner with vnwasht hands, even so
My counsell is, that from the same with vnwasht hands thou go.


[Page 22]Tis better that of daintie meats, thy dirtie hands should smell,
Then of that water, which is drawne, from every dirtie well.

What though your shooes be thicke with diet? to purge them it is vaine,

For why you know in dirt and dung, they must be fowlde againe.

If thou hast cause to vomit, as the streete thou walkst about,
All which thou canst not keepe, 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 stomacke, cast it on the ground.
Grave 
Anthony the same did do, when many did him see,
Yet he was chose in famous 
Rome, a Consull for to bee.
And looke how much worlds mirrour 
Rome, our small townes doth surpas,
So much to be preferd 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 towne, can be no great disgrace.
But if this mans example, cannot move thy minde one whit,
Yet if I vrge thine owne good health, I know thou'lt yeelde to it.
The learned wise Phisitians, their patients hurt to cure,
Prescribe them certaine bitter vomits, which they must indure.
Ech month one vomit at the least, or more, they ought to vse,
A vomit doth mens lives preserve, you can it not refuse.
If in a month, one vomits vse, can drive all hurts away,
How long shalt thou live, if thou vomit twice or thrice a day?

If thou hast neede to pisse, as thou doost walke thy friends among,
Vnlode thy bladder presently, tis ill to keepe it long.
What though some honest Matron, or some chaste maid thee perceave,
Yet do not thou in any case, thy former purpose leave.
Respect good manners, but respect thy health a great deale more,
Care while thou maist, for health once lost, is hard for to restore.
Men that are carelesse of themselves, do lose that in one night,
For which they'de give, what not? poore fooles, if so they get it might.

If any cloake, or such like garment on thy shoulders be,
What needst thou care which way it hangs, such vaine care cast from thee.
Or if you weare a gowne, take heede that not your legs it hides,
Lest that it hinder all your pace, your steps, and eke your shides.
Cast it behinde with both your hands, that all men so may see,
Your perfect bodie, and your limbs, and fore parts what they bee.


[Page 23]And that which else your gowne would cover, tis enough to hide
It with your doublet, and your breeches, lac'd on every side.
Such sights do please old Matrons very well, I tell the trew,
And these are very welcome sights, vnto the virgins crew.
For then thei le marke your slendernes, and all your nimble ioyntes,
And eke how well your bellie is tide, with girdle and with pointes.
And then forthwith with love of thee, thei'le 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 speede,
I thinke to give him a good answer, there is little neede.
First looke him in the face, and marke with what good minde t'was said,
And as you like his, sir God speede, so let it be repaid.
Thou oughtst to bid no man God speede, vntill that thou hast seene,
What his behaviour, and his manners, vnto thee have beene.

For why the wandring multitudes good will, thou needes must lacke,
If they perceive thou speakst so friendly vnto every jacke.
And by this meanes, 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 maiestie, will have a fall,
If thou by such familiar termes, doost every fellow call.

But if perchance some prettie wench, do stand at any doore,
Then which, a fairer in thy life, thou never saw'st before.
Cast thou vpon her all the cheerefull loookes thou canst devise,
Though she be one, whome ne're before, thou didst behold with eyes.
Then go strait to her, and in this case lay aside all shame,
And with a pleasant smiling looke, demand the virgins name.
All that thou thinkst can laughter moove, lay downe before her face,
Let nothing seeme vncivill, or vnseemely in this case.
Mongst all the things which Nature made in wisedome, for mans vse,
Nothing is simply bad, but it from man receives abuse.
If nothing but the crabbed mindes of Stoickes, you do tell,
She ne're will laugh, such sadnes will not please her fancie well.
Despise the sharpe decrees of Catonists, that are severe,
And lest you tell her 
Zenoes statutes, you must have a care.
The flattering sect of shameles men, fulfills her fancie fit,
And that which currish Cinickes teach, tis good to tell her it.


[Page 24]When thou hast tolde her all thy minde, and ript vp all thy heart,
And that thou thinkst tis time for thee, now homeward to depart;
Then round about her necke, be sure that thou thine armes do cast,
And till that thou hast kist thy fill, be sure thou hold her fast,
If she reiect thy gentle offers, and away would go,
Then kisse her and embrace her both, whether she will or no.
If that she flie, then follow her, and once caught, hold her fast,
Though she dissemble for a while, yet sure sheele yeelde at last.
And call her mistris sweete hart, love, and speake her very faire,
Lest she should thinke, thy protestations are but winde and aire.
Let all the yong men of the towne, behold your sport and ieast,
That all may say, he is a comely fellow I protest.
What other wench so e're you meete, while you do vse this sport,
Be sure she taste of the same cup, and vse her in this sort.
You can no whit impeach by this, your gravitie and fame;
Nor is there any man, that ought to blame you for the same.
If any wench speake to thee first, thanke her not for that deede,
But count her light in speaking first, let that be all her meede.

What though you count your selfe a praiser of Simplicitie,
And by your clownish manners, looke to get some high degree.
Yet beare so brave a loftie minde, as all men to despise,
And with a frowning scowling looke, on all men cast your eyes.
He which doth beare a baser minde, and thoughtes which are so low,
Doth seeme his owne perfections, not perfectly to know.
And by this meanes, he soone may take vnworthily disgrace,
Whereas if he would brave it out, all men would give him place.
What every man thinkes of himselfe, that others thinke its meete,
And he that will not raise himselfe, may long he vnder feete.
Then yeelde to none, but scorne thou all, of none respectfull be,
And thinke all places, all degrees, are farre too low for thee.

If that you meete 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 scorne to looke on him, when your head is bare,
But let your cap for feare of cold, cover your head and haire.


[Page 25]We all are dust, we all one forme, we all one matter have
Both rich and poore shall have alike, whenas they go to grave.
The fatall sister 
Clotho, neither spareth rich nor poore,
Since then we all are like, why should some men be honour'd more?
Wherefore, wheresoe're thou art, give none the way, whosoe're he be,
Nay, if he stand vpon such points, then make him yeelde to thee.

When in a common way, thou with thy friend doost walke the streete,
Take thou the right hand both of him, and all that thou doost meete:
But if the way bee fowle, then marke this order not a whit,
Take thou the cleane as for the durtie, let him go in it.

Perchance you have a fart, to send into the world so wide,
Which rumbling in your bellie, troubled you on every side;
Then let it forth in every place, and wheresoe're you will;
That which our mother Nature made, I thinke cannot be ill.
If any man for doing so, you are a sloven say,
In this good sort, his vaine obiections, you well answer may.
Foure great diseases will arise, by keeping in your winde,
A giddie head, the cholicke, dropsie, and the crampe vnkinde.
Phisitians do prescribe this rule, amongst their counsells deepe,
A rule, which every man that loves his health, should alwaies keepe.

Claudius bids that farts and belches, we should never hold,
Lest in presuming on our health, we make our selves 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 hearbes grow greener every day,
With some good talke, the tedious time, tis good to drive away.
When some in sober sort, of weightie matters do intreate,
And proove 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 customes what they were.
Be sure with trifling matters, that thou crosse their purpose quite,
Let others talke of former times, in ours take thou delight.
Old wine, old friends, and eke old faith, may be allowed well,
And yet tis follie to allow, all old things that you tell.
Tis fitter for vs yonger men, to speake of yonger daies,
And see if for their good deserts, they may have any praise.


[Page 26]And then beginne vnto them all, to tell some prettie iest,
Which may enforce great store of laughter vnto all the rest.
Tell them what kindenes you of late, did of your love receave;
And thus with stories of her flattring words, the time deceave.
Since none in crabbed words delight, vse iests in every place,
And bawdie termes, for these oft times, procure a speciall grace.
O yong man, while thy time is fit, in pleasure take thine ease,
If thou thy good companions mindes, doost purpose for to please;
Reiecting shame, speake any filthie words that may be namde,
No valiant man, but onely fainting cowards are ashamde.
This all your yonkers vse to do, whenas abroade they walke,
And scorning honest sober words, they fall to shamelesse talke.
That which all yong men vse to do, the life that all men leade,
(Since it is sure, the safest course in best knowne paths to treade.)
The same in every point to imitate I counsell thee,
And say, and do, that which thou thinkst to most will pleasing bee.
As long as you of nothing else, but toies and trifles talke,
So long you may have worke enough, how farre soe're you walke.

But if at length, when you have vttred all that e're you meant,
(Although I thinke your store of words, can hardly soone be spent;)
Then whatsoe're another saith, be sure you mocke and flowt,
As scorning to be over-talkt, by such a clownish lowt.

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

BVt now sir 
Phoebus prancing horses to the sea do haste,
There to refresh that strength againe, which burning 
Sol did waste.
And now I thinke the time drawes neere, thy supper for to take,
Wherefore go home, that thou in readinesse each thing maist make.

[Page 27]
Bid talke farewell, which staies the bellie from his wish for food,
The finest speech vnto a gut halfe ster'vd, can do no good.
Yet will I not in any case, that too much haste thou make,
But with a good advise and counsell, all things vndertake.
Sometimes tis good thou shouldst stay out, beyond the pointed time,
For then some other will performe that dutie which was thine.
Some other then will lay the cloth, and on thy master tend,
And e're thou comst, of all thy busines he will make an end.
If that thy father or thine host, do for thy comming stay,
Thou sure shalt get great profit and great credite by that way.
Profit, for why thou both their loves shalt try, how great they be;
And ist not credite when thine host or father staies for thee?
And sure I thinke, for shame their hunger cannot be so great,
As whenas thou art in the fields, they should devoure the meate.

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

Ne're labour for great store of wisedome and agilitie,
For neither wit nor vertues deedes can one whit profit thee.
Simplicitie great profit brings, this will defend thee still,
At every time, in every place where thou committest ill.
And if in every dutie thou doost shew thy selfe vnfit,
Thy master in his great affaires, will never trust thy wit.
The man that strives to shun the harmes, he sees before his eyes,
And he which knowes whats fittest for himselfe, is surely wise.
The man which boasteth of his wealth, is often robd we see,
When those which hide their goods vp close, in pleasure still may bee.
Such as do of their vertues brag, are oft vndone thereby,
When those that looke like lazie knaves, in quiet still may lie.
That 
Chicons darling, brave 
Vlysses, might escape vnspide,
All his exploites vnder a distaffe he was glad to hide.
And had not wise 
Vlysses faind himselfe to have beene mad,
In those hot broiles of Troian warres, he surely perish'd had.
In like sort thou, if any act or vertue in thee lie,
Be sure thou keepe it all so close, that no man may it spie.


[Page 28]Thy master and thy father both, will set great taskes to thee,
If they discry those vertuous parts, which by thee cloak'd should bee.

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

It is not meete that from the loafe, you chip the vpper crust,
Which on your masters trencher, for his owne mouth place you must.
Your master oft forbids, that any good thing should be lost,
Then if his chippings he should loose, t'would put him to great cost.

Do onely that which thou art bid, but do thou that with speede,
It is not good at any time, to take more paines then neede.
Most wretched is that servants case, whose lucke it is to have,
A master at whose becke, he must do all that hee shall crave.
If he do that which no man bade him, tis a fault most great,
And for it he forthwith is sure, most soundly to be beat.
Which to prevent, a wittie 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 meanes, his masters minde he better might fulfill.
And having made it by oft reading got it all by heart,
Thinking that he by no meanes then, could from his dutie part.
And as for doing other things, he durst not be so bold,
Vnlesse 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 vnto the ground.
Get such a b ll as this, and then you evermore shall finde,
If any businesse chance to fall out of your slipperie minde.
I told thee many duties fit for dinner time before,
Which lest I spend my time in vaine, I will recite no more.
Vnto each willing person, all my precepts are but plaine,
If by my doctrine they their lives to guide, will take the paine.
For many have so quicke a wit, that they my precepts know,
Although my methode and my doctrine, no man to them shew.

[Page 29]
Whenas your master hath to supper, neither guest nor friend,
And doth for all his houshold servants, very kindely send;
Forthwith to get the vpper place, have alwaies in your minde,
Lest others getting it before, they thrust you downe behinde.
Its alwaies seene, that he most labour still doth vndergo,
Which comming after all his fellowes, hath his place below.
Ho, sirra, boy, vnlocke the doore for them that knocke so fast,
If they be strangers, aske their arrants, why they make such haste.
Go fetch some bread, and bring the venson pastie in your hands,
And draw some wine out of the tunne, which in the corner stands.
Perchance the dog hath let a scape, for which he must be gone,
Then leade him out, and when hees sweeter, bring him in anone.
These things must sometimes all be done, by him that sits below,
Wherefore for any other seate, the lowest place for go.

But if perchance, your master makes you onely stand and waite,
While all your fellowes take their choise, of every pleasing bait.
Then shew some token, that this place is yours against your will,
And with such angry words as these, your hungry stomacke fill.
Ist any reason that I onely, in such servile sort
Should stand and waite, while others eate their meate with pleasant sport?
I see no sense, why onely I should stand and waite on thee,
Whenas my fellowes are at supper, from such bondage free.
But as the hedge is most gone over, where it lieth low,
Because it in that lownesse, most humilitie doth show.
So I because I lesse resist, then others that stand by,
Am quite cast downe, and at my masters feete most basely lie,
And thus the more I do obey, the more I still must toile,
I see tis hard for him to rise, that once hath tooke the foile.
It may be, these thy words to moove thy masters heart may seeme,
And hee'le both give thee lesse to do, and better thee esteeme.
And if hee sees, in ioyfull manner that thou part away,
Hee'le love thee better, and appoint thee lesser taskes each day.

But if he be obdurate still, refuse not then to waite,
Lest he a crooked sticke, vpon thy shoulders broad make straight.
Simplicitie that is too foolish, she in any case,
Lest it procure thee store of stripes, on shoulders, backe, and face.

[Page 30]
As erst I told thee, so be sure thou never tie thy points,
So maist thou as thou serv'st at boord, be nimbler in thy ioynts.
Whether your master and his houshold, onely 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 onely kinde, of rude Simplicitie.
Why shouldst thou strive at any time, more manners for to reach,
Then this my home-bred country muse, in simple verse can teach?
Whether you sup at home, or all your curious friends among,
The selfe-same manners in both places, vnto you belong.
To differ in your actions, cannot choose but breede disgrace,
That which is seemely heere, is not amisse in any place.

Waiting at the Table all supper time. Chapter VIII.

WHen all the guests thou hast invited for thy masters 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 Simplicitie in all thy actions be thy guide.

Then be thou carefull to observe, all that I said before,

And vnto that tis requisite, I adde a little more.

Carry your dish so stedfastly, that being filld to'th brim,
The bread, the salt, the cloth and all, may in the potrage swim.
What though the pottage spilt, do all the strangers clothes staine,
Yet those that know the profit, could indure it so againe.
For why the spice wherewith the Cooke did store the pottage well,
Besides the daintie taste, will also yeelde a fragrant smell.
And by this meanes, their garments afterward will smell more sweete,
Then e're they could, before they with this hot perfume did meete.
They cannot well forget this kindenesse, if you have your due,


[Page 31]For alwaies when they smell that spice, they needes must thinke of you.
If that this deede do seeme to make them ioyfull at the heart,
Then forthwith for to laugh aloude, you know it is your part.
And by this meanes, the company will surely laugh at thee,
And praise thee for thy good intent, and plaine Simplicitie.
But if some testie crabbed fellow, liking not this vse,
With angry lookes do tell thee plaine, thou offerst him abuse.
It shall suffice, if with good words, thou lessen his disgrace,
Since hottest anger vnto gentle words, oft giveth place.
Sir, so it is, each mortall 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 dispaire, he hath a pardon sent.
And by this meanes, I doubt not but his anger you'le appease,
What though he were so hot of late? yet thus you may him please.
Or if the foole will needes be angry, raile as fast as hee,
I hope the foole was old enough, vnto his clothes to see.

Then as you stand, with carefull lookes marke all that sit at meate,
And marke the quantitie, that every man doth drinke and eate.
Hide not your lookes, but vnto every man vnfold your minde,
For why your master by this meanes, great profit sure shall finde.
For then for shame, each man lesse bits into his mouth will put,
And leave halfe 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 fancie best, let that be done and said.
Though all men blame thee, yet if thou doost like thy deedes alwaies,
Thou knowst a mans owne guiltlesse minde, deserves the great st praise.

If any man thats not thy master, do thy service crave.
Strait bid him doo't himselfe, for why thy helpe 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, alwaies be thou slow,
Lest something thou shouldst hurt or loose, if thou too fast shouldst go.
Be sure to frowne, and make such store of faces in that kinde,
That all may know, thou goest about it with no willing minde.

Perhaps thou seest the candle lacke a snuffer, that it might


[Page 32]Vnto the strangers at the table, cast a better light.
Thou foole, why doost thou make such haste to snuffe it with thy hand,
Vnlesse thy master twice or thrice at least, do thee command
If thou doost put it out, while thou to snuffe it doost intend,
All that are by, will presently, this cleanely tricke commend.

It is a very civill tricke, whenas the candle's out,
To let the stincking smoake, ascend their nostrills round about.
If that you dare not put it out quite, lest your master chide,
Yet that the stincke may trouble them, you thus may well provide.
The snuffe cut off you on the ground may cast without offence,
A smoakie vapor, will disturbe their noses all from thence.
Why should you treade it out? vnlesse they ernestly you pray,
Although they you command, yet scorne their pleasures to obey.
Nay, rather you to leave the snuffers open should presume,
From whence will come a smell, which will againe the house perfume.
I thinke this smell to wives with childe, but little good will do,
Though sure t'will profit in some sort, both men and women too.
If some one man among the rest do firmely that denie,
And say hee'le prove the contrarie by reasons presently:
And that he may the better proove, that which he doth defend,
Doth vrge the words of men, whose writings all times did commend.
(For 
Plinie saith, the babe which in the mothers wombe doth lie,
If that the mother feele this smell, immediately doth die.)
Then cry aloude, that he against the truth doth plainely speake,
And that thou presently, wilt proove his argument but weake.
Nor be asham'd to trouble and disturbe the standers by,
But with these words in loftie sort, be sure thou him defie,
I hope good fellow, thou wilt freely give me leave to speake,
Since thou the lawes of modestie, long since thy selfe didst breake.
He surely is a wicked man, which seekes by vaunting lies,
To get him credite and renowne, before vs that are wise.
As I remember, I no place of 
Plinies 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 vaine for to beleeve each word, of every man you know.
For many things vnto this day, are extant in his bookes,


[Page 33]Which he may finde to be most false, that wisely in them lookes.
If thus you answer his obiection, everie man will sweare,
That surely you a skilfull man, and well read scholler are.

The cups being emptie, 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 ful at first, lest you more paines should take,
What though your trembling hand spill some? you soone amends may make.

What though the cup being too full, you powre some on the ground?
I thinke if you should vse this tricke, great fault could not be found.
Or if you dare not give it full, for feare your master brawle,
Then kindely sup off some, as if you dranke vnto them all.
Or (which is much more civill,) if too much you chance to fill,
Into the flaggon emptie some, for feare you should it spill.
For if perchance some durtie drugs, within the cup do lie,
By mingling it with all the wine, t'will forthwith clarifie.

Perhaps your master on his guests, bestowes such store of wine,
That no two cup fulls, grew vpon the selfe-same kinde of vine.
You neede not take great care, to know each sundry sort and kinde,
But alwaies fill of that, which next vnto your hand you finde.
What though a man should alwaies mixe, all kindes of wine together?

The selfe-same earth did beare all wine, which Marchants can bring hether.
The vertues of all sortes of wine, in one cup one might hold,
If all men in this sort, would vse to mingle new with old.
As many vertues ioynde in one, do make that one excell,
So divers wines are of most force, when they be mingled well.
If any man this custome, with some vp-start name abuse,
Tell him, he knowes no orders, which the wise Phisitians vse:
Which would not vse to give their patients compound potions still,
Vnlesse they found such mixture good, by Phisickes sacred skill.
The selfe-same order must be kept, which I prescrib'd before,
In that good ale which vnto vs is brought from 
Saxon shore.
From 
Hamburg cittie on our shore, great store thereof is cast,
Which doth both nourish very well, and hath a pleasant taste,
Next vnto that, Bracket, a kinde of happy pleasant beere,
A kinde of drinke thats made of 
Hannoveraes water cleere.
And Cydar which was brought from thence, where 
Brunon old was king,


[Page 34]And that good kinde of drinke which men from 
Embecke cittie bring.
Let all these sundrie sortes of drinke, be mingled well together,
Since onely for the dry throates vse, they were convaied hether.

If any man intreateth you, to fill his emptie cup,
All that which in the bottome lies, be sure you strait drinke vp.
If thou perhaps art drunke to, by some antient 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 drinke it vp,
As for the cup, in any case let it not emptie stand,
And having silld it fresh, restore it to your masters hand,

I do not bid you stirre your hat, whenas you pledge your friends;
Or if you will, then onely touch it with your fingers ends.
Or if for manners sake, at length to take it off you choose,
Then cast it strait behinde your backe, as meaning it to loose.

And as you stand expecting carefully your masters will,
As fast as they can drinke them off, the emptie cups to fill.
If as you fill, from forth your hands, the bottle you let fall,
You shall be thought to be a hansome fellow of them all.
What though your master heerevpon, beginne to fume and rage?
Yet with this gentle answer, you his answer may asswage.
Forsooth you ought for this, to blame my drunkennes, not mee,
And heerevpon he cannot choose, but pardon give to thee.

If thou perchance espi'st a cup, which voide of liquor is,
Which everie man doth constantly, denie to have beene his
Because perhaps some sober man, to scape it so, did thinke,
And set it by, lest else he should be over-come with drinke.
It is great shame, that emptie cups should on the table stand,
And tis your fault, if any guest want liquor in his hand.
Then take it strait and drinke to him, which for your friend you faine,
And by this meanes, the vse of drinking you'le renew againe.
Yet do not this, without some cunning tricke of craft or other,
For tis a credite nowadaies, to coofin your owne brother.
Wherefore be sure to fill the cup whereon you drinke, with beere,
The common kinde of 
Saxon drinke, which daily we vse heere.
But for your friend mingle good wine, your strongest beere among,


[Page 35]For why the mixture of these liquors, makes them both more strong.
And by this meanes, if of this drinke you give them but your fill,
The company will all be drunke, when you are sober still.

Or if your masters friends you love not thus for to deceive,
Then of each cup of perfect wine, be sure no drop to leave.
And thus to drunkards haven thou thy shipping first shalt take,
And all that halfe-drunke company, most merrie thou shalt make.
And thus by thy example, thou wilt make them drinke the more,
Because they see such good effects of wine in thee before.
For since that wine stirres vp such gallant sporting trickes in thee,
Thei'le all be drunke, that in like sort they all may pleasant bee.

The manner how to serve the guests with drinke after supper, and how to prevent them with craftie trickes. Chapter IX.

THat you have done your busines well, t'wil make your master think,
If by your meanes your masters friends, have tooke good store of drinke.
Wherefore let no man of your master offer leave to take,
Before he with his feete do seeme, indentures for to make.
And though your master give him leave, at length to go his way,
Yet tis your dutie ne'rethelesse, perforce to make him stay.

Nor would I have you fill the cup, at any mans request,
Before he doth each drop which in the bottome lies, digest.
Sir, you must drinke off everie whit, else not a drop Ile fill,
My office bindes me thus to do, and that observe I will.
Plaine dealing's best, such drops of wine to what end should you spare?
Thinke you that I of right and iustice, have no better care?
Drunkards, have alwaies beene the iustest men in every place,
Wherefore I scorne that our old custome, you should now deface.
My master alwaies gives me charge, to give his guests their due,


[Page 36]Which charge I could not choose but breake, if I should favour you.
Thus say, and though a thousand times he bid you fill it vp,
Fill not a whit, vntill each drop he drinke out of the cup.
This profit thou shalt get, if thou dost that which I have sed,
Thy guest, will sooner all be drunke, and sooner gone to bed.
And thou maist sooner take thy rest, and get againe that sleepe,
From which thy early rising, doth thine eyes so often keepe.

Naso, which in such learned sort of flattring love doth speake,
Doth say that want of sleepe doth make mens bodies verie weake.
Then since sleepe doth the contrarie, be sure thou have a care,
That all thy masters guests betimes, with wine well drunken are.
And by the way hee
 [...]e is a tricke, which I must teach to thee,
Which surely is a perfect point, of pure Simplicitie.

Have you two sundry sortes of guests, at supper in your house,
As heere a sort of bellie gods, that love the grand carouse.
And heere a sort of honest quiet men, that vse to play
At Ruffe, at Noddie, and at Pinke, 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 clownes, the worse vnto the good men give,
And theres good reason, why good men without good wine should live.
Such men as rule the multitude, and weightie causes heare,
Lest they should erre by drunkennes, should hate strong wine and beere.
For drunkennes o'recomes our sence, and captivates the minde,
And is the greatest fault, when it in greatest men we finde.
Wherefore, lest thou shouldst seeme the cause and author of this ill,
Be sure th
 [...]t thou the worst wine, for the best men alwaies fill.
Thou seest they love to sit and talke, and passe away the time,
Which prove's that they love honest talke, better then strongest wine.
Thus will they sit and talke all night, forgetting to depart,
Vnlesse thou carefully prevent them with this cunning art,
Give them such tastelesse wine, as thou doost vse with drugs to mixe,
And then thei'le surely strait depart, not liking these thy trickes.
For they will neither for such tappings any mony spend,
Now will such tastelesse drugs as those, their stomacks so offend.
But every man to leave that house, will forthwith thinke it best,


[Page 37]And to his owne house, every man will go to take his rest.

Xantip, wife to 
Socrates, in fame shall ever live,
Who when to certaine worthie men, a banquet she did give.
They talked long and learnedly, of things that lik'd them best,
Including many a weightie matter in a pleasant iest.
When halfe the night they thus had spent, 
Xantip malecontent,
Devisde some meanes, whereby at length their pratling to prevent.
She being well tong'd, both her husband and her guests did chide,
But seeing that they scornde her words, this other meanes she tride.
She threw the table vnder feete, and forc'd 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 thinke with naughtie wine, they sooner will leave talke,
And every man will care, vnto his proper house to walke.

Perchance t'will make them leave their chat, to tell them suddainely,

Where Charles waine is, and other well knowne candles of the skie.

What though you tell a lie? tush, thats a trifle very light;
Or, that they may be gone to bed, tell them what time of night,
Suppose the Cocke hath scarce crow'd once, nights comming to declare,
Yet say the starres vnto the waters, now descending are.

Or say (what though thou liest?) that each man may his owne house see,

Why should their trifling ieasts, disturbe thy master thus and thee?

Or if thou wilt not drive away such grave men in this wise,
Then let them talke, and do what soe're is seemely in their eyes.
But leave those wise men all alone, vnto the clownes go thou,
Who pleasant ieasts, and store of wine; vnto thee will allow.
Mean while, leave those grave Catonists, as men that are forlorne,
And let them sit, (but without wine,) vntill the next day morne.
Wh n they perceive you scorne 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 drinke,
Because on nothing but the throate well drench'd, they vse to thinke.
As little wisedome as you can, will fit their humours best,
And as for knowledge and good conscience, th y do both detest.
Their heads with matters of importance, seldome troubled are,


[Page 38]And from their mindes, I thinke they alwaies banisht carke and care.
They neither care for wife, nor children, nor excesse of wealth,
Their onely care, is now and then in mirth to drinke a health.
God 
Bacchus frolicke feasts, and pleasant wine they still commend,
And all their life in sportive plaies and trickes, they vse to spend.
For those good fellowes at the first, bring forth immediately,
The strongest wine, though vnder twentie lockes and keyes it lie.
Such men as these each day and houre, make drunkennes a ieast,
And if you bring your strongest wine, the strongest they love best.
Vse all thy wit, to make these wel-nie drunken fellowes mad,
And though they come too fast before, yet vse a spurre to adde;
And force them thus to runne that way, which they before did go,
By giving the stalest wine, which strongest thou dost know.
For why, the sooner they be drunke, the sooner thei'le forsake
The house; the sooner thei'le depart, the sooner sleepe thei'le take.

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

VVHenas with 
Bacchus pleasant iuyce, they have bin liquord well,
Thei'le fall to talke, and every man his sundrie tale must tell:
Then all the newes that flies abroad, you shall be sure to heare,
And all the miracles that have beene done, both farre and neere.

One tells how gallantly he spent his sportive youthfull daies,
How readie and how apt he was to sundry kinde of plaies;
How cunningly his hobbie-horse, in those daies he could drive,
And in the Troyan horse how they their battaile did contrive.

Another shewes some lines, received from his whilome love,
And tells how happie and effectuall, all his suites did prove:
And often-times, a cause of fetching bitter sighes hee'le finde,
When his prosperitie thats past, he calles into his minde.


[Page 39]When he his sweetest daies and pleasures past, doth thus recall,
He cannot choose, but into store of sighes he needes must fall.

A third will on the tother side, his ill successe recite,
While he, (vnhappie he) did vnder 
Cupids colours fight,
How he was cold and numbe, even in the midst of all his fire:
And how he went through frost and snow, to compasse his desire.
And yet for all this, he his purpose never could attaine,
But for his praiers and his paines, bad words were all his gaine.

Another yonker to the heavens, his sweete harts praise will tell,
And sweare her haire strives with the gold, the saffron doth excell.
Her glittring eyes do shine like starres, to them that passe them by,

Ʋenus I thinke 
Idaliaes Queene, had not a purer eye.
Her mouth well framde, her face and cheekes in forme are verie 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-fac'd Lillie ioynde:
Her fingers long and slender are, her teates are even so,
Her thighs (sweete thighs,) excell in whitenes the 
Sithonian snow.

Others perchance in other matters place their chiefe delight,
And everie man will speake of that, which fits his state most right,
The souldier speakes of cruell battailes, 
Mars, and bloodie wounds,
The hunts-man which delightes in dogs, commends the swiftest hounds.
He that delightes in store of fruites, commends most fertile fields,
The shepheard he commends the flock, which most wooll to him yields.
The marriner sets forth the windes, and quicke-sands where they bee,
And talkes to them of raging seas, which never sea did see.
Each man according to his life, doth speake of every thing,
The hearing of such newes as these, great profite may thee bring.

Some will repeate those trickes, which they have done in all their daies,
And for these tricks (though they be faults,) wil looke to have some praise.
Oft have I heard old chancelesse men, with one foote 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,
Yong heads vnto decrepite syres, for counsell should resort.
Be sure thou listen with both eares, vnto each word they say,
And in thy carefull minde, each matter firmely beare away.


[Page 40]If in the meane time any guest, desire thy helping hand,
And either bid thee fill some wine, or something else command.
Looke thou another way, as if his voice thou didst not heare,
And with each hand from that ill sound, be sure thou stop each eare.

Ʋlisses, lest the Syrens songs to death should him intice,
Stopt all his fellowes eares with wax, and scapt by that devise.
So lest thou shouldst be forc'd to go, whither thou hast no minde,
Be deafe, and then to heare their talke, thou still maist stay behinde.
But if without your credites cracke, you can no longer stay,
Because he still with lowdest voice praies you to come away,
And yet to heare their trifling talke, you have a great desire,
This favour at his hands, by this meanes you may well require.
Pray him to stay, but till you heare the end of that one ieast,
And then you'le come, he cannot choose but grant that small request.

When store of 
Bacchus drunken iuyce, into their braine is sent,
And drunkennes in every part, hath firmely pitch'd his tent;
Triumphing, that poore reason from his native seate is gone:
And when the soule is headlong thrust, by force from off her throne,
Great strife, concerning sundry weightie matters will arise,
And every tongue made glib with drinke, will talke in divers wise.
One saieth, that after death, our soules do live eternally,
And that it is not like, that with our bodies they should die.
They change their place indeede, but enter other subiects tho,
As that soule which was once a mans, into a beast doth go.
But this absurde opinion, will of some reiected be,
Which in like iudgement, with 
Pythagoras do not agree.
Others will thinke, the soule and bodie both together die,
Even as the heare 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, thats farre beyond heavens axletree, doth stand.
There 
 [...]en have mouthes & teeth like dogs, and do on mans flesh feede;
Thats false another cries, with monsters Nature ner'e agreed.
Each man brings store of arguments, that he may get the field,
And every man will rather die than to another yield.

[Page 41]
Others would gainst such kings as they, mislike, exception take,
And oftentimes great iarres and warres, by their great words they make,
Some Captaines thei'le extoll beyond the heavens, and stars with praise,
Others thei'le wish at 
Stigian lakes, in hell to end their daies.
Others will speake quite contrarie to these, to move debate,
And those which they so hate, thei'le praise, which they so praise, thei'le hate.

Others make difference in the daies, one blacke, another white;

Others by making all alike, dash this distinction quite.

Each man will onely like of that, which he himselfe doth know,
Iudgeing, that as he thinkes, tis meete that every man thinke so.
Another cannot suffer that, but thus it needes must be,
That he knowes what belongs to things, as well as any he.
And then thei'le proove and disproove, all the causes they can get,
And thus their wrangling, wrestling strife, and swaggring will be great.

It may be then from words to bloodie blowes this strife will leade,
And then insteede of arguments, a naked sword must pleade.
As for old Logicke, that in this case can no whit suffise,
Which never taught to prove your words, in this so boistrous wise.
Some 
Aristotle must be found, to print this art anew,
By shewing from what secret place, his shining sword he drew.
Be sure that with a lustie courage, thou on one side take,
And by thy counsell and advise, the battell greater make.
Thrust thou thy selfe into the midst, and all feare cast behinde,
Concerning all the matter, freely vtter thou thy minde.
In store of stirre, and whooping lowde, be sure thou passe them all,
And speake so lowde, that thou maist almost shake thy masters hall.

Boldly give thou the lie, to him which contradicteth thee,
Then at thy thunder-thumping words, thei'le all amazed bee.
And thus to honour and renowne, 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.

[Page 42]

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 booke. Chapter XI.

IF halfe the night be spent in waging warre the guests among,
This iniurie in any case, must not be tooke too long.
He which with carefull diligence, vnto his things will looke,
Must have a care, that all his guests with craft be over-tooke.
That banquet, last it ne're so long can bring to thee no gaine,
Although by keeping thee from sleepe, it put thee to great paine.
Wherefore to make them all depart, thy wit must finde some feate,
Some trickes I have alreadie taught, which heere I will repeate.

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 Cocke doth tell you plaine, t'was ten the clocke strucke last,
Yet be not thou ashamde, to say that it is twelve and past.
Though no man aske, yet tell them this each houre, on thine owne head,
That they may know the better, that its time to go to bed.

If neither they respect thy words, nor yet the time thats past.
Then warne them flatlie, that each person to his house make haste.
And though your master did not bid you, thus his guests to vse,
Yet if you do so, this his credite cannot much abuse.
I doubt not, but your master would himselfe have said the same,
If that it would not have beene preiudiciall to his fame.

As soone as they halfe-drunken, do beginne to part away,
Set ope the doore, lest thou shouldst give them any cause of stay.
Set ope the doores I say, and freely lend them store of light,
And tell each man which is the way, vnto his owne house right.
And when each one hath tooke 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 doores, it is thy masters right
To shut them all, if that he meanes they shall be shut that night.
Let him put out the candles all, and eke rake vp the fire,


[Page 43]Thy master must go last to bed, that 
Cato doth require.

Or else take thou the candle, for I thinke thats farre more fit,
Whenas thou go'st to bed, and for thine owne vse keepe thou it;
Lest in the darke, thy legs or feete be hurt by any thing,
The night, before all other times most hurt doth soonest bring.
As for your master, he may in the darke more safely go,
Because each corner in the house, he perfectly doth know.
Let him a Gods name in the darke, put off his clothes alone,
Hee's old enough, as for thy helpe, be sure thou give him none.

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

As for the pots and cups, which still are left vpon the table,
To sturre them ere tomorrow morne, I thinke thou art not able.
If all the pots should be remoov'd that night, and purg'd by you,
After such paines and losse of sleepe, what profit would ensue?
Then let them stand, that every man may tell his fellow, heere
Was yester night a royall banquet, stuffde with daintie cheere.
For by this meanes, of those great pleasures they may have a taste,
Tis comfortable to remember pleasures that are past.
Nay which is more, this businesse thou ever shouldst neglect,
Because no wise man, will such labour and such paines respect.

Next morning, tis my counsell, that thou sleepe till iust mid-noone,
Left thou shouldst hurt thy braine and wit, if thou shouldst rise too soone.
Nay then, to leave thy sleepie bed, take thou no care at all,
Vnlesse thy father or thy master, twice or thrice thee call.
Meane time, the servants all the pots will place in comely wise,
And quite dispatch thy businesse, before that thou canst rise.

When thou hast slept so well, that all thy wine is wash'd away,
Then rise, whenas the sunne hath shined brightly halfe the day.
Such precepts as are fittest for thee, whenas thou doost rise,
And all fit manners, we have tolde before in ample wise.
Be sure that thou in every place, doost all of them maintaine,
Lest thy forgetfulnes, make me repeate them all againe.

Many there are, which next their heart do burnt wine wholesome thinke,


[Page 44]For why (say they,) our sences are restorde by that warme drinke.
Do thou the same if for such kinde of drinke 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 owne affaires do me prevent.
Vse thine owne wit as much as may be, for thou so maist well
By thine owne practise, all my words and counsell farre excell.
I onely slightly touch those precepts, which I give to thee,
Which if I should at large define, too tedious I should bee.
Few words will serve, since from thy vse great learning thou hast had.
Vnto my precepts by thy practise, thou maist daily adde.
For me to put all things in one booke, it would be but vaine,
Because the greatest place that is, could not that booke containe.
How I (poore wretch,) such labour should sustaine, I do not know,
It is a burthen, greater then my wit can vndergo.
For why, no place (though ne're so wide,) all fooles can comprehend.
Because their court is infinite, their number without end.
Cast but your eyes in carefull sort, through all the worlds wide round,
And marke each sundry sort of men, that therein can be found.
You still most shamelesse filthie faults, in every place shall finde,
For why alas to rudenes, now no meane can be assignde.
Old age to live by vertues line, have nowadaies no care,
Not shaming by vilde vices, to disgrace their silver haire.
And which is worse, they vnto youth such bad examples give,
That they in imitating them, most wickedly do live.
And youth, (such is the wickednes of these inclining daies,)
Doth thinke, that living out of order, merits mickle praise.
Who teacheth youth to mend their lives, or bids them to forsake
Their former most disorderd life, and better courses take?
Nor man nor woman nowadaies, their credite do respect,
But loving vice most shamelesly, all vertue they neglect.
In times of olde, when men by vertue did to honour rise,
Yong maids were much commended, for their chaste & shamefaste eyes.
They seldom spake, and when they spake, their speech was chaste & pure,
Which of a chaste and pure minde, was an argument most sure.
Now tis a credite for a wench, to have a gadding eye,


[Page 45]And if she cannot keepe her way, shee's praisde immediatly.
Now, tis a credite for a wench, to have her tongue to walke;
And she is thought a clownish wench which cannot boldely talke.
Tis vaine to talke of those great men, which are in great account,
And, which in rule and dignitie all others do surmount.
Forgetfull of all comelines, those things they speake and doe,
Which all their mindes regardlesse lust most headlong leades them to:
And those which in a kingdome over others rulers are,
Doe that themselves, from which they should keepe others with great care.
Enter the halles of noble men, pufft vp with pompe and pride;
The high built houses of great men, their porches large and wide:
And at your very entring in, such obiects you shall see,
I meane such men as you, of soules would iudge them voyde to be:
There drunkennesse, and lives beseeming beasts, do rule and raigne:
Heere gluttony the chiefest rule and empire dooth obtaine:
And in another corner pride doth beare the greatest sway,
Which doth mens mindes from good behaviour headlong leade away.
In these and such like steppes, the subiect multitude doth treade,
Which from all vertue to all vice, our mindes do captiue leade.
I would proceede by these complaints these vices to amend,
But that I am inforc'd at this time here to make an end:
For why, the rusticke rowt with piercing cries do me command,
To finish that my taske, which lately I have tooke in hand.

The end of the first Booke.

[Page]

THE SECOND BOOKE of auntient Simplicitie of Behaviour.

How to behave your selfe, being invited by another, with what behavior to come to supper, and how to sit downe at the Table. Chap. I.

THus farre I have set downe, according to my shallow vaine,
The means wherby your masters gests with mirth to intertain
But as a servant which as yet, can have no full command,
But is perforce inforc'd to live, vnder his maisters hand.
But now the meanes to vse your owne invited guests and frends,
This second Booke in ample sort and manner comprehends.
If then you of your neighbour as a guest invited are,
Learne heere, of what good manners you must have a speciall care.

First, of the boy that comes to bid you, many questions aske,
As, whome he bids, and why his maister pointed him that taske,
He rather for that purpose should some serving man have got,
Whereby more grace and credite might have fell vnto your lot:
What fish, what flesh, his maister for that dinner doth provide;
And, how much silver, he amongst the Butchers did divide:
What curious cates, and store of sawce, the Cooke provides for thee;
What sortes of bread, wherewith thy whining paunch may glutted be:
What kindes of wine the Butler hath provided for your taste;
What junkets you shall carry with you, when you part at last:


[Page 48]And whether after meate, there must be dauncing in the hall,
Whether his maister to that feast did any virgins call.

And aske him, if the guests, the cookes, and cates which thou shalt find,
May be supposde, agreeing to your worships stately minde.
Thus having notice of each thing, which that day shalbe done,
Intreate the lad, with thankes, to tel his maister that you'le come.

But if among the number of the guests, you chance to finde
Some hatefull fellowes name, whose actions fit not to your minde;
Then never give your word, that you (God willing) there will be,
Let not all sorts of knaves be mates and fellowes fit for thee.
Amongst a crew of crabbed Catonists scorne thou to dine,
Which vnto grave severitie do all their words incline:
Wherefore commaund the boy, to charge his maister to prepare
A sort of pleasant sportive youths, which of thy nature are.
And if the cates, which he repeates doe not thy stomacke please,
Bid him provide thee better meate, thou canst not dine with these.

But that thou in particular more perfectly maist know,
All which the Cooke provides for dinner, ere thou thither go,
Demaund thou of the boy, a bill containing all the meate,
Whereof thou at thy neighbours house doost meane thy part to eate.
Thus maist thou know both what to eate, and what to set aside:
And, for what wines and daintie cates a rowme you should provide.

Take out your bill from out your bagge, that hangeth at your backe,
And marke as well each dish receiv'd, as each dish which you lacke:
If in your bill you finde some boild dish fitting to your minde,
Which was not brought vnto your table, but was kept behinde,
Because your neighbour bade his Cooke reserve it for a friend,
Whose presence doubtlesse he exspected ere that dinners end.
Strait stampe and stare, fret, rage, and fume, as if that you were madde;
To cloake your anger in this case, I holde it very bad.
There is no sense, your hoste 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 prooves vntrue,
Why ceasest thou with piercing voyce, to bid them bring away
Those dishes, which thou foundst contained in thy bill to day:


[Page 49]Thou hast not this abuse alone, but every stranger there
As well as thou, in this indignitie doth beare his share.
Though no man bid you speake a word, yet say you speake for all,
If onely you had beene abusde, th'had had no cause to brawle.

Thus having well preparde your selfe, to supper see you hie,
Whenas you see the time so long expected, draweth nie.
As for your neighbour which must go to supper that same way,
Since you can finde the way your selfe, tis vaine for him to stay.
Neglect thy businesse all at home, to supper make thou haste,
Tis better to be there too soone, then for to be the last.

When you into your neighbours house, most boldly entred are,
Lest that you bid, God speede too oft, you needes must have a care.
But strait from thence, vnto the smoaking kitchin go with speede,
To see what daintie dishes they provide, thy paunch to feede.
Nor stay thou longer, but demand some provender to eate,
Resistlesse hunger can be tamde by nothing but by meate.
And after that, require a cup of foming wine to drinke,
And by this meanes, thou shalt deceive the lingring time I thinke.
That when the rest to supper come, thou maist be liquord well,
The more thou drinkst, the greater store of pleasant ieasts thou'lt tell.
And all will take thee for a iesting fellow in these daies,
A drunkard and a iester, cannot live without his praise.

If thou doost stay alone, because the rest no haste do make,
How thou the time maist passe away, my counsell thou maist take.
With lowdest voice, be sure that thou beginne to sing some rime,
And let the subiect of it be, the praise of pleasant wine.
The sound whereof will spread itselfe, quite over all the streete,
And thou by this meanes, with great store of companie maist meete.
For when thy fellowes perfectly, do this thy musicke heare,
They surely will perswade themselves, that supper time drawes neere.
And every man will haste to heare, thy sweete enchanting voice,
And leaving all their things vndone, with thee thei'le eke reioyce.

Or if thou take no great delight, in making such great haste,
When all the rest are set and serv'd, then come thou in at last.
Stay thou at home so long, vntill they send in post some man,
To pray you for to make all haste, which possibly you can.


[Page 50]Say that you'le follow presently, but stirre not from that place,
Vntill they send another man, your companie to grace.
Let all the guests for thy sake, from their suppers hindred bee,
This is a credite, which should never be refusde of thee.
Thei'le surely thinke some great affaires, your counsell do require,
And that some man of worship, doth your present aide desire.

If having staid a while, they see you come not yet away,
And therefore thinke you purpose not, to dine with them that day:
And at the last, the Cooke vnto the table sends the meate,
And every guest, as he likes best, beginnes thereof to eate.
Then enter thou, when every man is at his supper quicke,
And all the places are possest, because they sit so thicke.
With frowning face and lowring lookes, be sure to checke thine host,
For making such a man as you, so basely kisse the poste.
Tell him of this his boldenes, all his chiefest guests among,
Tis hurtefull to forget to punish this reproach too long.
Are these the cates wherewith you said, I entertaind should bee?
Is this your love? is this the care you ought to have of mee?
But fare you well sir, for a meale the matter is not great,
I hope I still shall live, without your friendship, or your meate.
And having boldly spoke these words, with a resolved heart,
Go forth, as if you to your house would presently depart.
Then strait with cap in hand, your host will to you humbly come,
Desiring you to pardon that, which rashly hath beene done.

And after he with flattring words, hath woo'd you halfe an houre,
Returne to meate with smiling lookes, ceasing to frowne and lowre.
And then perchance each man, will freely rise from off his place,
That they thy kinde returne, may with the greater credite grace.
Take thou the best place, which for thee thou fittest thinkst to bee,
That is thy due, else why did all those strangers rise to thee?

But if when thou returnst, no man will offer thee his place,
And yet thou spi'st a roome reserv'd, some worthy man to grace.
Lest thou be forc'd to sit behinde, take vp this roome for thee,
It is a rule in every place, first come, first serv'd must bee.
It is a proverb which will last, vntill the day of doome,
He that comes late, must either loose his supper, or his roome.


[Page 51]If by the bench thou canst not come, then thinke it is no hurt,
To staine the cloth, the table, or the trenchers, all with durt.
Climbe o're the table, breake the pots and glasses, spill the wine,
Throw downe the platters, if they hinder this intent of thine.
Or with thy feete bemire their clothes, which on the bench do sit,
I thinke to vse them in this sort, cannot be much vnfit.
What sence had they to keepe that seate from thee, when it was void?
Since for a better man then thee, it could not be emploid.
If any man finde fault, because the cloth is spoilde with durt,
Blame onely them, because that they were authors of that hurt.

Though many ere they take their meate, to wash their hands do love,
Yet, that cold fountaine water hurts a man, I thus could prove;
Great store of cold, vnto the heart thats hot doth breede offence;
(Mans heart is therefore hot, because all heate proceedes from thence,)
Into thy hands and fingers, as into each other part,
Come certaine spreading hidden veines, which rise from forth the heart.
If thou to put thy fingers in the water, art so bold,
Thy fingers by the waters chilnesse, are made numbe and cold.
Which chilnesse by these spreading veines into the heart is sent;
Alas, such nipping cold as this, doth much thy heart torment.
Great coldes expell that heate, which we of Nature do receave,
Which once exhausted, we are strait enforc'd our life to leave.
Wherefore, vnlesse you love in danger of your life to stand,
Abstaine to pierce your heart with colde, by washing of your hand.
For if you long to wash your hands, have such exceeding care,
Old age will seize vpon your limbs, before you are aware.
And whenas vnexpected age, hath of you got the field,
Then to his mercie, you your breath, your life, and all must yield.
If any wonder why such nicenesse you in washing vse,
Tell him, this is the cause why you so oft to wash refuse.

But if you come before the meate be tooke 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 fowler then 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 neighbours house as hee.


[Page 52]Thy fingers thou must also wash, thy mouth and eke thy face,
What though thou make the strangers stay? it can breede no disgrace.
When thou hast washt enough, and fowlde the water with thy fists,
Then let them with thy dirtie leavings, wash their hands and wrists.
Meane time have thou a care, the chiefest roome for to provide,
From whence I thinke, no sober man will bid thee stand aside.

Or marke what sorts of bread, the boy doth on the table put,
Some sorts are better then some other, for thy hungry gut.
One sort is like the sunnes eclips, as blacke as is the ground,
Another sort, as white as the 
Sythonian snow is found.
Then lest thou dine with browne bread, have a care for to provide
Good store of white, which in thy bosome thou maist safely hide.
After, when some few men have snatcht the white bread for their neede,
The rest must be constrainde that meale, on houshold bread to feede,
When all are serv'd, then at the length bring forth thy bread to light,
All that behold this craftie tricke of thee, will iudge aright.
Thy wittie fore-sight thei'le admire, and like this prettie part,
And every man will say, that sure a wittie man thou art.
And many a man that sees it, will therein thy scholler bee,
When he perceives the practise takes such good effect in thee.

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

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

[Page 53]And whatsoever meate your hoste vnto the boorde doth send,
Although you cannot choose, but very much the taste commend;
Yet finde therein something or other that mislikes your minde,
And though it can deserve no blame, be sure some fault to finde:
This is too salt, and this too fresh, and this is too much rost,
This is too sowre, and this too sweete, your cooke's too blame mine host,
And speake so lowde, that all may heare thee, which are then in place:
For by this meanes thou maist in jeast, the carefull cooke disgrace.
And by this tricke thou wilt deserve, a civill yonkers name,
And happy is he nowadayes, which can attaine such fame.

When ev'ry man is at his meate, and no mans tongue dooth walke,
Be sure that thou with pleasant jeasts doost hold them all in talke.
It is not good for him which would be praisde of all men, long
To sit amongst his friends at meate, not vsing of his tong.

When thou arte set, devoure as much as thou with health canst eate,
Thou therefore wert to dinner bid, to helpe away his meate.
Thrust in as much into thy throate, as thou canst snatch or catch,
And with the gobbets which thou eatst, thy jawes and belly stretch.

If with thy meate thou burne thy mouth, then cloake it craftely,

That others may as well as thou, partake that miserie.

To throw thy meate from out thy mouth into the dish againe

I dare not bid thee, for it is too clownish, and too plaine.

But lest thou shouldst be burnt againe, thou shalt a medcine know,
Thy burning meate with cooling breath, thou stowtly oughtst to blow:
In little blasts against this heate, no comfort can be found:
Then puffe thy cheekes with winde, as if a trumpet thou wouldst sound:
From whence, as if the boystrous windes were from their prison freed,
Let foorth great blasts against thy meate to helpe thee at thy neede,
With rumbling noyse let store of cooling blasts, breake forth their fill:
In like sort as do flames of fire, from 
Aetnaes burning hill.

If to thy neighbours face thou turne, I will thee much commend,
And store of breath and pottage, to his cheekes be sure to send.
If thus thou doost, all will applaude thee, and thy trickes allow,
And often will desire to learne this pretty jeast of you.

It is a praise, to have a loving dogge on you to waite;
Wherefore, if you are bid to supper, get a puppie strait:


[Page 54]Let him in any case hard by thee, on a cushon sit,
And give him out of every dish, such meate as thou thinkst fit;
To thrust him downe from off his seate what guest dares be so bolde?
This dog (sir) hath a maister heere that will his deedes vpholde.

When you are almost wearie, and desire your teeth to rest,
Then, that your puppie make you merrie, it is surely best.
And let your dog licke o're your lippes, with fawning tongue put out,
And eke your hands, with which more meate to reach you are about.

Or catch the fleas which hurt your dogge, by all the trickes you can,

And killing them vpon your trencher, proove your selfe a man.

Whenas you eate, stretch wide your iaws, & thrust great gobets down:

Even as the cheekes are stretcht with wind, of some song-tuning clowne.

It is not meete, that in the dish, you should leave anie meate;
That which your hoste dooth set vpon the boord, he would have eat:
Tis better farre, to stand in feare of breaking of a gut,
Than leave one bit of that, which is vpon the Table put.
If thou some little bit thats somewhat tougher than the rest,
Because thy throate wants liquor, canst not very well digest,
Then take some drinke, and keepe it in your mouths most hollow part,
T'will make your meate from out your mouth into your gut depart.

Out of your mouth, into the cup, some little crummes to send,
Though some will say tis clownish, yet it cannot much offend.
I pray, whie is it hurtfull, thus to mingle meate with drinke?
If they be mingled thorowly, they nourish more I thinke.
That meate and drinke should thus be ioynd, Nature her selfe hath saide,
For in this world, one thing doth still desire anothers aide.

The bones and scraps, and such things as thou scornst thy selfe to eate,
Throw down amongst the dogs, how can they live without some meate?
Each dog regarding his owne dinner, none will quiet be.
For want of victualls you a pleasant battell there shall see.
Perchance, insteede of dogs, thei'le snap the strangers as they sit,
In such an hurlie burlie this cannot be much vnfit.
Then laugh alowd, whenas thou doost vnder the Table see
Such warres and iarres, which had their first originall from thee.

[Page 55]

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

VVHen with the first course you have filld your hungrie bellie well,
Your gerdle must be loosde, as I before to you did tell;
For thus your meate will of your mouth, his leave the sooner take,
And your concoction yet to come, you may the better make.
Your bellie will the sooner rowme for other cates provide,
Which with your vnkinde gerdle, was before too hardelie tide.

And now the boy to take away the trenchers hath a care,
To make them cleane against the second course he doth prepare.
When all the rest deferre the time, be sure that in great haste
Thy trencher thou before the rest into the Voider cast.
But now, lest this might senslesse seeme, ile give my reason whie
It is not seemely, that your trencher vppermost 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!
Know'st thou not, that the vulgars should lie troden vnder feete?
Then, lest thou should seeme prowd, to lay thy trencher low, tis meete.

Anothers trencher, though he be a man of high degree,
Stirre not, but let him cast it in, else let it lie for thee.
But when cleane trenchers come, in snatching be not thou the last,
If at the first the boy vnto thee doe no trencher cast.

To maides and wives some will for credite the first trencher give;
But doe not thou so, if in perfect health thou meane to live.
Thou know'st mens manners nowadaies sell at the markets rate,
For that which thou didst do in kindenesse, men will give thee hate.
If thou in friendly sort doost maides or matrons kindely grace,
T'will be mislikt of some, then trust not ev'rie smiling face,
Their husbands will not like of this, but note thee with their eies,
And thinke that all this duetie from some kindled love dooth rise.
The choler of a jealous husband which doth thee suspect,


[Page 56]Eschew: suspition, hurt, deceit, and death doth oft effect:
Then save thy life, and keepe thy selfe from each ensuing wrong,
Lest being once suspected, thou do so remaine too long.

If thus the trenchers being layd, the meate comes not away,
Let not your teeth and bellie rest, if more meate get you may:
But nimbly fall afresh vnto the meate you eate before;
Fowle thou new trenchers, though thy fellowes cannot eate no more.
When you are at your dinner, cast all shame behinde your backe;
He that denies this principle, doth sure his senses lacke.

At length, when all the second course is on the table placde,
Into the best thrust thou thy hand, before the rest in haste:
But wipe thy trencher on the cloth first, be it ne're so deere,
Vnlesse 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 saide vnto you, vse for to repeate,
Whens'ere that hunger is not banisht from your paunch, with meate.

Or if thou be the chiefe man that doth at the Table sit,
And therefore till thou hast begunne, no man will cut a bit;
Sit still a great while ere thou cut, t'will argue maiestie,
Whenas thou maist be counted light, to fall to presently.
Indeede, if thou no great man wert, thy hand might first be in:
But since thou arte, vntill thou arte intreated, ne're beginne.

Deferre the time, in talking, laughing, or some such like arte,
Play with thy trencher, or thy knife, to make thy time departe;
Which while thou doost, the company must on thee gazing sit,
Because, vntill thou hast begunne, they dare not eate one bit.

Nor let it shame thee, when thy fainting chinne doth drop,
Like two strong postes, with both thy hands, the same to vnderprop,
Leane lazily with one or both thine elbows on the boord,
This tricke of manners can no cause of shamefastnes affoord.
But if this deede vnto thy nature doth not much arride,
Then have a care, that both thy hands thou in thy codpeece hide,
Thou then maist pull them out, whenas the time is neere at hand,
Against thy meates invasion of thee, on thy ward to stand.

At length, when as thou seest the time, to fall vnto thy meate,


[Page 57]Be sure to snatch the daintie bits, tis meete thou shouldst them eate.
Of veale, tis best to snatch the reines, that is the sweetest bit,
Wherefore, I thinke vnto thy stomacke, that agrees most fit.
As for the Wolfe-fish, gluttons hold the taile to be the best;
But of the buble fish, the head is sweeter then the rest.
Thou art the cheefe man, then with these be sure thy selfe to grace,
To snatch them have a care, and on thy trencher them to place.
Take them alone, keepe them alone, devoure them all alone,
As for thy neighbour, though he longs for some, yet give him none.

If that thy knife be blunt, thou doost exspect some losse to beare,
Because it will not serve thy turne, as if it sharper were.
But some there are, which vse their knives sharpe edge with stones to waste,
Lest it it be too sharpe, it chance to cut the meate too fast.
What though your knife in teeth and edge, like to a saw should bee?
Yet sure I doubt not but this tricke, with reason would agree.
For if when you at dinner are your neighbour sendeth in
A rosted goose, which hath a very fat and tender skinne.
Good store thereof thy mangling knife, will to thy trencher bring,
Which of the vulgar sort, is thought a very daintie thing.
This dutie can your knife performe, having a mangling edge,
And eke excuse all faults, which they against you can alleadge.

That you the better may the store of meate receiv'd digest,
To keepe good store of liquor still, I count it alwaies best.
And when another in his hand, doth hold the pot to drinke,
Demand it from him, and he cannot say thee nay, I thinke.
If he deny to give it, till his thirst be quencht at full,
Then from thy neighbours mouth in haste, presume the pot to pull.

And having catcht it once againe, be sure to hold it fast,
If it depart, it will not vnto thee returne in haste.
Then though the rest desire to drinke, and humbly thee request
To drinke thy selfe, and then restore the pot vnto the rest.
Regarde them not, but though they should be raving mad for drinke,
Yet keepe the pot, and vse it when thy selfe most fit doost thinke.
With sounding cries, be sure thy selfe alone to fill the house,
Men are most eloquent, when they have drunke a full carouse.
Let none but thee disturbe the guests, which at the table sit,


[Page 58]To suffer others voices to be heard I count vnfit.

That others should, or drinke, or crie, thou wouldst be verie loth,
But as for thee, be sure that thou be cunning found in both.
And when you drinke, to wipe your lips, and clense your snottie nose,
Are trifling things, it is not meete that you take care for those.

Why shouldst thou of such light affaires as these, take any care?
They must be greater matters, which of thee regarded are.
All which you know, vnto the selfe-same bellie to pertaine,
Why should you wipe away, as if their league you did disdaine?

Whether it be flesh, drinke, bread, fat, or whatsoe're beside,
Let it into thy stomacke passe, through thy throat so wide.
Or if you love sometimes to wipe your dirtie mouth a whit,
The cleanest table cloth, is for that purpose sure most fit.
Let that thy braines ill excrements in friendly sort receave,
And all the fat thats 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 mouthes wipe off the dirt.
If that you thinke it is a cleanely tricke, the same to vse,
For my part, I for cleanelinesse, the same will not refuse.

When thou hast drunke thy fill, although he do it not demand,
Yet let the pot before thy neighbours trencher alwaies stand.
Lest that it hinder thee, when thou some daintie bit shouldst eate,
And make thy right hand lacke the roome, wherein to cut thy meate.
Reach it againe for thine owne vse, when thou seest fittest time,
And water all thy jawes and throat, with pleasant tasting wine.

But if thy neighbour knowes as well as thou, that tricke to vse,
And setting it before thy trencher, doth it oft refuse.
Then either with a cheerefull voice, tell him you are not drie,
And so returne it kindely, to his owne hands presentlie.
Or rather, into fretting rage and anger forth-with breake,
And all the thundring words thou canst devise, be sure to speake.
Why should you offer me your drinke, when as I do not thirst?
You rather should have let it stoode, whereas I plac'd it first.
Or thinke you for this, any favour at my hand to get;
Whenas your pot from cutting of my meate, my hand doth let?
And if to adde some railing speeches vnto this you vse,


[Page 59]Tis ten to one, he in this sort will not you oft abuse.
Yet notwithstanding, tis a comely thing forth-with to drinke,
For store of liquor tempers well the meate receiv'd, I thinke.

When all the rest leave drinking, vrge 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 credite for thee, to be drunke before the rest.
Then if thou by thy drunkennes, doost any fault commit,
They may the sooner and the fitter, freely pardon it.

Modestie in eating and drinking. Chapter IIII.

I Oft have seene (the reason of that vse, I do not know,)
Divers which to their neighbours house, will never scot-free go.
Wherefore each man will carrie wine at dinner for to drinke,
That sort of wine which in his iudgement, he the best doth thinke.
One carries wine, brought from the shore of 
Rhene, that runs so swift,
Another thinketh French wine fitter for a friendly gift.
A third will carrie wine, that grew on the 
Pannonian hills;
And all will carrie sundry sorts, agreeing to their wills.

If touching this, thou doost demand my counsell as a friend,
I will not be the man, that shall this custome much commend.
Faith carrie none, but spare cost, if my counsell thou wilt heare,
Thine host provideth wine I hope, if not, thou maist drinke beere.
But if without some, thou canst not with credite thither go,
Take heede, lest on thy wine thou too much mony doost bestow.
That wine which thou doost know, the worst in all the towne to bee,
Be sure to carrie that, to drinke among thy friends and thee.
But when the wine which each man brought, is set vpon the boord,
Search out forth-with, the best wine which the table can affoord.


[Page 60]And get a pot thereof, and set it full behinde your backe,
And drinke thereof alone, whenas you any wine do lacke.
It may be fear'd the daintie wine will hardly come to thee,
By this meanes, this ensuing hurt may well prevented bee.

Then, that thou maist be thought a man more pleasant then the rest,
To make them laugh, be sure to tell them many a prettie ieast.
With loudest voice, beginne to sing some pleasant tuned song,
And of thy love repeate a dittie thats an houre long.
Foure sundry humours, vnto humane bodies do resort.
Which moove the heart in sundry sort, as learned men report.
For earthly choler doth men sad, austere and slouthfull make,
But anger, rage, and furie, men from fierie choler take.
Of fleame to thee (light foole,) I neede not speake as of the rest,
The sanguine which doth cause mirth, is of all complexions best.
Wherefore, that thou vnto a sanguine maist be thought most nie,
With cheerefull singing, lift thy chanting voice beyond the skie.
Tell tales of dances, of yong wenches, and of pleasant wine,
And with such flattring pleasant trifles, drive away the time.

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

When thou at length with much ado, hast got both pot and drinke,
These three good rules, will teach thee when to leave, thou oughtst to thinke.
When want of breath, doth of thy vitall forces thee bereave,
Then in my iudgement is it time thy formost draught to leave.
Vnlesse perhaps (which I commend,) thou doost it better love,
To take thy winde, and yet not from thy mouth the pot to move.
Then when a certaine watry humour, filleth vp thine eyes,
And out of them as from a spring, great store of drops do rise.
This is a signe or token, when to leave the second time,
He is too blame that leaves to drinke, before he see this signe.
The third, and last, most certaine token when thou oughtst to leave,
Which is a signe infallible, it cannot thee deceave;


[Page 61]Is, when the wine is all drunke out, and now the pot is drie;
Then is it time to pull it from thy mouth immediately.
It is meere folly, at thy mouth the empty cup to hold,
Although the cup it selfe were made of pure 
Pannonian gold.

When thou from out the cup hast suckt each drop of wine at last,
Vpon the middle of the boord, its good the cup to cast,
That both thy neighbour may perceive it voyde of wine to be,
And also know, that he therein should foorthwith follow thee.
Vnlesse thou doost thus, there will strait arise some wrangling brawle;
But with thy most couragious hand thou oughtst to quiet all.
They will not thinke that thou alone couldst empty such a cup,
Vnlesse before their face they foorthwith see thee drinke it vp.

Then to the vittailes yet remaining fall with might and maine,
And out of every dish, beginne to snatch the best againe:
For why, sweete meate dooth nourish vs, and store of 
Bacchus wine,
If that we vse to take them oft, a little at a time.

And as thou eatst tis very good great bits of bread to cut,
Which thou maist plainely feele, as they into thy mouth are put.
For little birdes indeede, the meate must needes be minced small,
Lest eating great bits, they offend their tender throate withall.
But valiant men in this case, from all feare should stand aloofe,
Which have a throate thats thicke and hard, and a well temperd roofe.

When with thy knife a peece of houshold bread thou meanst 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 maist meete
With such a crust, as to thy dainty taste will proove more sweete.

From whence to have a care to cut some sops thou maist be bolde,
Which having cut, within thy hand be sure them fast to holde,
To dip them in the fat of well spicde pottage ev'ry whit:
Or at the least one end of them, I count it very fit.
Which being done, tis meete thou shouldst devoure them all in haste,
Vnto thy throate this cannot choose but be a pleasant taste.
And having gnawd them, now and then to sop them there againe,
Will surely bring great store of praise, of profite, and of gaine.

To speake full mouth'd, if for thine vse it necessary bee,
Rather than Ile forbid it, Ile perswade and counsell thee.


[Page 62]For why, if often thou it vse, it bringeth mickle gaine,
Which vnto thee by this example I will proove most plaine.

Demosthenes his eloquence o're all the world is knowne,
Who of that famous cittie 
Athens was the floure alone;
A great impediment from perfect speech his tongue did holde,
So that in pleas he could not as he would his minde vnfolde.
Wherefore he diverse sundrie meanes devised in his minde,
Whereby for his imperfect speech a remedie to finde.
Within his lisping mouth he store of little stones did set,
Which, as he walked by the sea side he did dailie get.
He had a double fight; the first to tame his lisping tong,
Which warre, vnto those little stones he suffered to belong.
For letting alwaies store of stones within his mouth to bee,
He thought at length, when they were gone, his speech would be more free:
The second was, he strivde to make his voice be heard the more,
By speaking then whenas the sea most boistrously did rore,
That so he might indure the peoples tumults and their cries,
If any such amongst them while he pleaded should arise.
Without such foolish trickes as these, thou soone shalt doe as well,
If thou wilt carefully give eare, to that which I shall tell.
In steede of hard stones, thou thy mouth with bread and meate shalt fill,
And rowling that within thy mouth, shalt full mouth'd speake thy will.
And with thy shreeking cries excell the drunkards loftie voyce,
As did 
Demosthenes excell the Oceans roaring noise.

When thou art almost full, the strangers deedes beginne to marke,
Thou hadst no leisure to such trifling toyes before to hearke.
And all those deedes, which from thy manners seeme to goe aside;
My counsell is, that thou in scornefull sort do them deride.
Be sure to carpe at all thou canst, and scoffe at all thou may;
And store of faults (though sometimes false) on others neckes to lay.

If thou espie anothers knife, which on the backe dooth lie,
As if the edge lookt to the heav'ns, or to the starry skie,
Against it presently be sure the backe of thine to strike,
All that beholde it will this prettie jeast applaude and like.
Some men will tell you presently, from hence how many mile
It is to 
Rome, by counting on your knifes edge all the while,


[Page 63]I doe not much mislike this custome, follow it alwayes,
And sure I thinke you cannot chuse, but merite store of praise.
And yet although I give you leave to others it to vse,
I would not wish, that in this sort my knife you should abuse.
For if you do, at sometime I your kindnesse shall repay,
And punish you as you deserve, for this your craftie play.

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

THer are moe precepts that might prove thee clownish tricks to have
At supper; and that thou ne're knewst, such maners as are grave:
But by that meanes, my labour and my care would be too great,
If in this place I all thy sundry dueties should repeate.
Although I had the skill which 
Ovid had in making verse,
Yet could I not, as it deserves, each sundrie thing reherse.
But yet, (although thou of thy selfe, arte better learnd than I,
To teach thee some few needefull things, I will presume to try.
That small time which thou spendst with me, thinke it not spent in vaine;
For in that little time perhaps thou maist great profite gaine.
Both yong and old, both men and boyes, behaviour learne of me,
Since that the sliding time for no mans cause prolongd will be.

To throwe downe pots vpon the table, filld vnto the brimme,
So that each thing vpon the same in 
Bacchus iuice may swimme.
Long custome an continuance, at length, to passe hath brought,
That in these daies of ours, it must no fault all be thought.

Oft times, when yong men would be counted pleasant, I have seene
At that same instant, when their harts full light with wine have beene,
That they with good bread would their vnprovided fellowes hit,
And eke with meate, which they into their hands could closely get.


[Page 64]They doe reioyce their youthfull hearts with such bad kindes of play,
Whereby they may the lingring times the sooner drive away.
I oft have seene such men as were in yeeres, and counsel old,
Which thought no shame to patronize such faults, to be so bold:
What shall the yonger men commit, whenas they daily see
Such filthy faults, by old men in their feasts maintaind to bee.
I dare not be so bold as vnto olde men rules to give,
Because their age doth priviledge them, as they list to live.
But yoong men, if they will attend, may quickely learne of mee,
What manners seemely at their feasts, and what vnseemely bee.

The bread (as each man knowes) dooth vse to have a double crust,
The one whereof, in purenesse needes excell the tother must.
The bottome crust is burnt, and full of ashes and of durt,
There can no good be found, in such vnsav'rie crust, but hurt.
Wherefore, observe the counsell which thou shalt receive of me,
With good advise, and men will thinke thee wondrous wise to bee.
From off the whole loafe for thy vse, that crust be sure to cut,
On which there are no burnt spots, by the scortching oven put.
For by this crust, your body from much loosenesse keepe you may;
And, if the laske doe trouble you, this will it quickely stay.
But if the crust without the crumme you dare not cut for shame,
Although I thinke your shamefastnesse will never get you fame:
And you had rather in that place more mannerly to be,
Then have a care that crust and crumme be tooke alike of thee.
Although if in my perfect paths thou take delight to treade,
And hearken to my verse, which thee to honesty shall leade,
Not cutting any off, without respect, thou all shalt eate,
Both good & bad, both foule and cleane, both crum and crust is meate:
The greedy panch is also filld with ashes, coles, or durt,
Wherefore to cut these from thy bread, it is both losse and hurt.
It is a wondrous gift of God to men that mortall are,
If that which they with paines have got, with paines they eke can spare:
Or if thou likst not this, because thou knowst that at this time,
Thou at anothers table and anothers cost doost dine:
Then care not, for tis easie at anothers boord to live,
In this case thou most freely without any losse maist give.


[Page 65]If any durt sticke on the bread, which may offend thy teeth;
Of any tastelesse bit, which not vnto thy tongue agreeth:
Cut off a thicke peece, crust and crumme, which thou away maist throw:
Or on the barking hungry dogs, in friendly sort bestow,
Or chop away that dirty crust which on the loafe did lie,
Its pretty sport to see the chippings what a way thei'le flie.
Perchance thei'le fall into their eies which at the table sit;
This cunning tricke agrees vnto their humors very fit.

In divers places, divers meates with Almond syrrope swimme,
Others are filld with taste-delighting sugar to the brimme.
Next, melted butter is a sawce fitting a dainty messe:
And also grapes, which have great weight indured in the presse.
Or, some such sawce to grace the cates, as fine as heart can wish,
Do commonly, wherese're you dine, swimme round about the dish.
I spying these, vpon my trencher, foorthwith did them sweepe,
This was an order which my mother alwayes bade me keepe.
And having got them, strait into my belly did them send;
Yet (as I can remember) they did never me offend.
If that you thinke these manners will not to you hurtfull be,
My counsell is, that you in this, example take by me.

It sometimes fals out vnawares, as you your vittailes eate,
Into your throate, there slips a bone together with your meate:
Which either makes your loosened teeth to smite against your gumme,
Or stops the way by which your meate into your throate should come.
What meanst thou man? why dost not thou prevent this hurt no more?
Why seekest thou no meanes, thy halfe lost life for to restore?
Take counsell of thy hands, and holding ope thy mouth with one,
With tother, pull from out thy jawes that hurtfull sticking bone.
Or having pulld thy teeth out, lay them on a trencher by,
And then the bone will fall from forth thy jawes immediately:
Though others like it not, in no case thou must it refuse,
Such modesty as hurtfull is, no wise man ought to vse.

And when with store of meate your stomacke is refresht at last,
Strait catch the full filld pots within thy greedy hands with haste.
Then having set the pot before you, ope it presently.
And lest my counsell should be vaine, Ile give my reason why;


[Page 66]Those vapors which are in the cup may thus exhaled be,
Which else perhaps might have beene hurtfull to thy braine and thee.
Then with the cup in this sort open thou a while maist sit,
And talke an houre or two, this practise cannot be vnfit.
Thus listning to thy talke, of liquor none perhaps will thinke,
And then as much as thou thinkst good thou all alone maist drinke.

At length beginne with pleasant lookes thy pleasant lookes to tell,
And bragge that thou in hearts-ease doost all men alive excell.
The merry minde, by store of laughter, will it selfe bewray;
The world affoords no better thing, then merry life this day.
Wherefore be sure that thou of laughter doost at all times thinke,
Whatse'er you do, whether you worke, play, sit, stand, eate, or drinke.
You so should somtimes laugh, that meate, which in your mouth doth lie,
Might sodainely from out the same into the platter flie.
And let it flie, I count better that it should doe so
Then that it stop that aire which should into the windr-pipe goe.
There can be found no perfecter and straighter way to death,
Then for to stop your throat with meat, which strait wil stop your breath

But now the time drawes nie, 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 stomacke put away;
Make speedy haste, it is not good to make the least delay.
Into thy stomacke while thou maist, thrust store of meate and drinke.
Time staies for no man, then of Time tis good in time to thinke.
Both eate and drinke so much, that thou both drunke and filld maist bee,
Till when, nor rest, nor quiet must be looked for of thee.

And if of hickets, or of sobs thou vse to vtter store,
They both are signes which future vomites vse to goe before.
Let not the newnesse of the thing seeme beastly in thine eies,
But boldly make all those which hinder thy proceedings, rise.
And casting that which with thy queasie stomacke not agreeth,
Returne vnto the table, having slightly washt thy teeth.

And being set, take care againe to fill thy belly straite,
And in the rowme of all thats gone, thrust in another baite.
Nature her selfe which made all things, cannot indure that wrong,
That any thing thats vnder heaven should thus be empty long.


[Page 67]But, if thou hast not time to rise thou hast such wondrous haste,
Vnder the table thrust thy head, and there beginne to cast.
Heere let thy stomacke cast vp all which in the same doth sticke,
Which will be welcome to the dogs, they will it kindely licke.
In briefe, vpon the table thou maist boldely cast thy fill,
If any thing is in thy stomacke, that dooth make thee ill.
Nay, if into the very dish, thou shouldst thy vomit cast,
There's none so hard, but yet I thinke hee'd pardon thee at last.
Nor is it like that vomites should vnto them filthy seeme,
Which doe all drunken gluttony as vertuous deedes esteeme.
Yea, some there are (I know them well) which will no stranger love,
Vnlesse that he be drunke indeede, by certaine signes he prove.
Wherefore all drunkards will commend thee, if as thou doost suppe,
To proove thee drunken, all thy supper thou wilt vomite vp;
Thou shalt both please the guests, and him, which hath invited thee,
And thou the onely credite of that pleasant feast wilt bee.
For, by thy vomiting thou shalt perceive it was good wine,
Which by thine hoste was giv'n 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 beare away the bell.

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

VVHenas the cloth is tooke away, and every pleasing baite,
Cleane water for to wash is set vpon the table strait.
Slouth is a vice; then, lest thou shouldst be slouthfull, it is best
To thrust thy hands into the bosome first before the rest:
Then wash thy face and mouth whenas thou thinkst the time most fit,
And water all thy nostrils with the pleasing deaw of it.


[Page 68]When thou hast washt, then let the water for thy fellowes stand,
Which is made fowle enough already by thy dirtie hand.
Let married wives wash after thee, though beautifull they bee,
And though the virgine be so fine, yet let her waite on thee.
Cleane water from thy filthie hands, will wash the dirt the more,
Than that which hath with dirtie hands, been dirtie made before.

Yet oftentimes, you many men shall finde to be so neate,
That thei'le not touch the water first, vnlesse you them intreate.
They looke that others should beginne, and when the rest have done,
Then thei'le beginne to wash their hands, and to the basen come.
As thus they stand, (well meaning men) desiring to be last,
Be sure that thou good store of water, doost vpon 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.
Thats all the good, which by their manners they shall get of thee,
T'will make them that another time, they wiser men will bee.
Amongst a sort of honest folkes, one tride this tricke of late,
But sped not well, for all the harme returned on his pate.
For thinking certaine wives, with water thus to circumvent,
They by their craftie fore-sight, did his policie prevent.
He scarce could ope his eyes to see, the water stopt them so,
And all his brisly beard, with store of water streames did flow.
He being thus disgrac'd, and loth thus basely there to yield,
Presumed rather to proceede, then thus to loose the field.
He tooke the bason in his hands, and from him stowtly threw,
As well the bason as the water, mongst the female crew.
The strangers all laught merrily, at this so suddaine hap,
And every man and woman there beganne his hands to clap.

Or whenas none to put his hands in first, dares be so rash,
But every man lookes when his neighbour doth beginne to wash,
Because such gravitie, doth to the guests great credite get,
And each man thinks such pompe as this, is for his credite fit.
If these their manners do from washing them, too long detaine,
Thou maist before the rest, great store of praise and credite gaine.
If seeing no man all this while, beginnes to wash his hand,
Thou suffer not the water, longer in that place to stand.


[Page 69]Why should the river water, basely thus vsurpe that place,
Which was preparde, a better liquor farre, the wine to grace?

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

Turne 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 thinke that Nature serves all creatures from one well,
You are deceivde, for things in goodnes other things excell.
The divers differences made among mens mindes that live,
Is not in vaine, since carefull nature divers gifts doth give.
But God himselfe of masters vse having a speciall 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.
Vse iudgement then, and let no rashnes in thy deedes be spide,
And for thy selfe from out each dish, the sweetest bits provide.

It is not needefull that from apples, thou shouldst pare the skinne,
To do that which may needelesse seeme, thou never shouldst beginne.
That so thy meate receivde, the better may concocted bee,
The paring of the greenest apple, must be eate of thee.
For if too long in paring of thine apple, thou shouldst stay,
The rest which in the platter lies, will soone be snatcht away.
And when from forth the dish, to take another tis thy minde,
Thou art prevented of thy purpose, thou not one canst finde.
Therefore, as long as any bit is left, cease not to eate,
Thou shalt not every day perchance, meete with such daintie meate.
Have still a care to leave no bit behinde you when you rise,
For if you do, your host will thinke that you his fruit despise.
He did not therefore set them on, that you should them refuse,
Then if you leave them thus, your carefull host you shall abuse.

If when thy selfe art filld, there still some iunkets do remaine,
To beare them in thy sleeve, vnto thy house thou shalt be faine.
If thou hast any children there, thei'le be a welcome thing,
Thei'le call thee loving father, if such knackes to them thou bring.


[Page 70]Though thou no children have, no dammage can sustained bee,
That which they should have had, till thou art hungry keepe for thee.

To cracke thy nuts, thy teeth may serve, vnlesse thou rather love
To breake thy knife, then such a luckelesse hard attempt to prove.
I oft have seene strong sturdie clownes, which with their bended fist,
With one good blow, would cleave a nut as quickly as they list.
The shells would flie against the pots, and into strangers eyne,
And often times would make the pot halfe crackt, to leake the wine.
Meane time, while this their strength was very much admirde of mee,
Because I thought them surely full of fortitude to bee.
I in another place, a sort of lustie fellowes found,
Stamping vpon their nuts, and picking them from off the ground.
Thou maist of both these follow either, onely spare thy knife,
Lest being conquerd by a nut, it chance to loose its life.

The shell vpon thy neighbours trencher, thou maist kindely set.
And by that deede of charitie great credite thou maist get.
Thy credite thou maist save, and prove thou hast a loving heart.
And giving so much to thy friend, that thou no glutton art.
The companie thereby may know thou art no greedie guest,
But thou canst barre thy throat from meate, whense're thou thinkest best.
Perchance while thou art eating, thou amongst thy meate maist finde
Some bit, or rather that agrees not to thy daintie minde.
Whether thine apple, rottennes within it doth containe,
Or little creeping wormes, within thy peares or nuts remaine:
Of such like peares and nuts as these, give to thy neighbour store,
Am I deceivde? or did I teach this prettie tricke before?

When being full, at last thy stomacke doth these cates forsake,
Then finde out something else, wherein thou more delight maist take.
If that a maide a prettie cheerefull maide do sit thee by,
A maide which hath a bashfull looke, but yet a rowling eye.
Vse many sawcie gestures to her, many sawcie words,
Such pleasant youthfull age as thine, such youthfull sport affoords.
Nor can there any thing, make women like thy talke so well,
As if thou vnto them, doost store of ieasts and trifles tell.

And touch those partes, wherein their greatest ioy doth vse to stand,
Into the virgins bosome eke, be sure to thrust your hand.


[Page 71]And with thy fingers touch the paps, of the delightfull maid,
And let thy tributarie kisses, to her lips be paid.

Or if some ring or jewell, thou vpon thy finger beare,
Or else some golden copper chaine, about thy necke doost weare.
Or hast a silke sowde garment on, in shew and colour light,
Or any other thing, wherein thou seemst to take delight.
By all the drifts and meanes thou canst, be sure to shew her these,
Commend thy selfe, and thou thy selfe beginne thy selfe to please.
She cannot choose, but strait be ravished with the love of thee,
And casting all things else away, or ever thine shee'le bee.
Yong maides before all other things, do shining clothes approve,
And glistring gold, will presently procure a virgins love.

Oft times with sighes, tell her that thou till death her servant art,
And privately before her view, lay ope thy fainting heart.
And that she may perceave, that you for her do daily pine,
As privately as may be, touch her tender foote with thine.
What though she frowne? yet drinke vnto her oft at supper tho,
For by this meanes you shall perceave, whether shee'le yeelde or no.

If at the last she pledge thee kindely, then the truth is knowne,

Follow thy suit, ne're give her over, for she is thine owne.

In briefe, of modestie thou needst not have too great a care,
But do those things, which to thy nature best beseeming are.
All faults committed, cloak'd and hid by drunkennes may bee,
If thou be drunke, the greatest faults are not vnfit for thee.

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

BVt when at last (which cannot choose but grieve thee at the heart,)
The tender damsell with her mother, homeward doth depart.


[Page 72]What busines wilt thou then devise, the lingring time to spend?
Lest this so long prolonged banquet, should thee much offend.

Why this: to those that talke, be sure thy listning eare to lay,
That thou the better maist observe, each private word they say.
What though they whisper secretly, their private selves among?
Yet maist thou listen, to thy profite it doth much belong.
For why, perchance thy neighbour had some hurt of thee to speake,
Then by this suddaine comming, this his purpose thou maist breake.
Concerning whatsoe're they talke, be sure thou them molest,
Thus privately to talke at dinner, fits not any guest.

In briefe, whats'ere is said or done, while they at dinner are,
To make thy selfe a partie in it, thou must have a care.
In every place, such store of worthie talke be sure to finde,
As may be most agreeing to thy praise-deserving minde.

Or, if which loves to talke alowde, among the rowt there's none,
Then tis thy dutie ne'rethelesse, to talke alowde alone.
In lowdest sort with shrieking cries, a noise thou oughtst to make,
That all which do behold thee, may by the example take.
Of sundry kindes of words, thou needes must have exceeding choise,
If (as thou doost professe,) thou hast a Rethoritians voice.

The time will passe, while thou art ripping vp anothers fault,
This is no vice mongst them whose wits are over-come with mault.
But if thou shouldst approve of such a filthy fault as it,
That thou shouldst be my scholler, I could hardly thee permit.
For why amongst the wicked sort, thou wouldst accounted bee,
All which, for ever must be banisht from my booke and mee.

Mary to count your owne ill deedes, I like it very well,
And give you leave with cheerefull voice, your former faults to tell.
By this you divers men shall finde, which get immortall praise,
By setting to the publike view, their owne disorderd waies.

Or if thou art ashamde of this, (though I no shame commend,)
Then learne at last this meanes, whereby the lingring time to spend.
Raise store of strife and wrangling words, concerning trifles small,
If any thou canst finde, which will vouchsafe with thee to brawle.
With lowdest voice, hold some opinion which thou thinkest best,
What though thy cause be bad▪ yet let thy voice exceede the rest.


[Page 73]Vse thou the lowdest voice thou canst, lest if thou shouldst be still,
Thy neighbour should have audience, to do and speake his fill.

If any man intreate thee in more quiet sort to talke,
And not to let thy tamelesse tongue, so freely there to walke;
Then boldly with a wide mouth, into lowder speeches breake,
Thy tong is free, no reason then but freely thou shouldst speake.

And alwaeis (though whatse're thou say be very false and vaine,)
Yet have a care, that thou thy purpose constantly maintaine.
Yeelde thou thy captive hands to none, to none be counted weake,
Affirme that no man but thy selfe, one word of truth doth speake.
But if some stowter adversarie, scornes to leave the field,
Or for thy thundring great bravadoes, scornes an inch to yield:
This great reproach in any case, thou maist no longer beare,
But if thou art a man, thy vaunting threatnings let him heare.
In rage and choler leave the table, furiously depart,
Bid none farewell, tell no man to what place thou going art.
For by this meanes, the companie will stand in feare of thee,
And every man will say, that thou the Conquerour shalt bee.

Or if thou canst not thus defend thy selfe, by force of word,
Then looke that at this pintch, thine hand some helpe to thee affoord.
With naked sword, confirme both true and false, both more and lesse,
Without all faile, this cannot choose but aide thee in distresse.
Those arguments, wherein thy craftie foe would thee involve,
Thy naked sword and broken pots, may serve for to dissolve,

If this thou scorne, and idlenes doth not thy fancie please,
Because a banquet ought not to be posted off with ease;
Vpon the table cut a marke, that it may tell thy fame,
And let ingraved letters plainely shew the makers 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 coale, draw forth thy picture well,
Which picture vnto future ages, will thy wisedome tell.

But all this while, I would not have thee to forget thy drinke,
But making greater haste thereof, with carefull minde to thinke.
When having drunke each drop of drinke, thou leav'st the tankard drie,
And thou perceavest that thy frind must have it presently:


[Page 74]Before thou give it him, thou oughtst to have a speciall care,
To see, that with thy hand thou wipe the brimmes, which moistest are.
For why, your hand is alwaies cleaner then your dirtie lip,
Because in purer water oft, you vse the same to dip.

Sometimes great store of foaming froth, vpon the cup doth stand,
Which tis thy part to wipe away, most boldly with thy hand.
Then presently, thou oughtst as much as ere thou canst to drinke,
Or else to give it to some friend, whom thou most fit doost thinke.
And if vpon thy neighbours head and face, the froth thou spill,
For my part, I will not be hee that shall account it ill.
Some laughter thou shalt move thereby, some profite thou shalt take,
Or (which thou canst not misse,) thou shalt some neighbour angry make.
Some men with swelling cheekes, within the pot do vse to blow,
It is not hurtfull though thou learne, this prettie tricke to know.
For when the windes have leave, to wander from their strongest cage,
The aire is oft infected, by their boistrous rumbling rage.
If any such infectious things, within the pot do lie,
Thy searching breath, will bring it into light immediatelie.
As thou art breathing, if thou chance to spit into the same,
I know no neerer way, whereby to get renowne and fame.

When every man is hard at drinke, I count it very naught,
To leave one drop of that, which may be drunke at one good draught.
Philosophers in all their actions, count it verie vaine,
For that which may be done at once, to take a double paine.
Wherefore drinke off the glasse, and fill it fresh vnto thy hand,
And for thy private vse, vpon thy trencher let it stand.
And pledge thy friend, once, twice, and thrice, and when he dares againe,
Yet never doubt that any losse, thou shalt thereby sustaine.
The sooner thou art drunke, by taking of the grand carouse,
The sooner thou in reeling sort, maist walke vnto thy house.

To leave that crew, and go to bed, nere make thou any haste,
Vntill the clocke doth prove, that mid-night long ago was past.
And though you see that this your stay, from rest your host doth keepe,
Yet stay the longer, that you may detaine him still from sleepe.
Yea, though for Gods sake he intreate you from his very heart,
Yet tell him flatly, that you scorne so quickly to depart.

[Page 75]
And if you heare that any man is gone vnto his bed,
Because that wine had long before (poore man) possest his head.
Then have a care, that from his bed you straitway call him backe,
And make him come perforce, although his garments he do lacke.
And then beginne afresh, great store of strongest wine to take,
And drinke it off, therewith thy selfe more pleasant for to make.

Then breake the pots and windowes all, this cannot much offend,
For this next day, the glazier shall have something for to mend.
And make him in that glasses roome, thy picture for to place,
Most noble men esteeme of this, as of a speciall grace.
Each man will looke vpon thine armes, which to thy house doth flocke,
And thinke that thou art of-spring of some very worthie stocke.

Vpon the benches and the tables, boldly thou maist go:
Nay, which is more, I give thee leave all these to over-throw.
In briefe, with formes throwne vp and downe, thou oughtst the harth to breake.
Before one word of thy departure, thou beginst to speake.

But yet be sure in any case, to keepe this in thine head,
And have a care to thinke thereof, before thou go'st to bed.
To make a league with all thy friends, it is gainefull thing,
And such a league, as may vnto thy bellie profite bring.
Chiefly, be friends with those which did against to morrow night,
Vnto a daintie supper, thee in friendly sort invite.
This prettie tricke, with some hath often tooke so good effect,
That I have dinde with those, whose kindenes I did nere expect.
Faith, when infriendly sort at your house shall we merrie bee?
Or when will you invite to supper, these my friends and mee?
Thus I assaile 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 meate 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 loth,
Observe these manners, and heerein example take by mee,
And doubtlesse thou to many banquets, shalt invited bee.

But if another in this sort, do likewise thee assaile,
Be sure to promise nothing, and he cannot thus prevaile.


[Page 76]Tell him when thou wouldst have him come, he shall be calld of thee,
But now because of other things it cannot fitly bee.
At this time (sir,) of certaine businesse I have mightie haste,
And yet I know not certainely, how long the same will last.
Of say your wife at this time cannot all things fit provide,
Because a kinde of sicknes, makes her in her bed to bide.
Say that she now as patient, in Phisitians hands doth live,
That they to her a strong purgation, tother day did give.
Tell him, that now a certaine laske her bellie doth offend,
But that you hope ere long, her phisicke will her bodie mend,
And then both hee and other friends, shall all be welcome thether,
Youle finde a day (no doubt) ere long, to laugh and quaffe together.

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

VVHen every thing hath hapned thus, according to thine heart,
Beginne with doubled showts and shriekings, homeward to depart.
You neede not stay so long, as of your friends your leave to take,
Nor need you thanke your host for that good cheere which he did make.
For why your host, whenas he verie drunke doth you behold,
To keepe you thus against your will, dares hardly be so bold.

You neede not stay to know your shot, or what your vittailes cost,
To morrow morning you may know such trifles of your host.
It is his dutie for to tell you, what you have to pay,
If you perceave that he deferres it, quickly slinke away.

And walking home, be sure to make great clamors in the streete,
That every man may know where you have beene, that doth you meete.
Be sure that not a neighbour neere thee, thou permit to sleepe,


[Page 77]But with thy stirre, thy neighbours from their rest have care to keepe.
Mis-call one neighbour, and provoke another vnto fight,
If that thou hast within thee, either courage, heart, or might.
Those quarrells which amongst you have a long time beene forgot
Recall afresh againe, when you have tooke the tother pot.

And when hee comes to tame thy tongue, or else to trie thy might,
It is thy fairest, presently to take thy selfe to flight;
Lest in his mad-braind furie, he should split some tender veine,
And thou thereby great losse of blood and danger shouldst susteine.
It oft falles out, when by a veine the blood thus fast dooth runne,
The man is forcde to droope and faint, and life is almost done.

The man that would with clubs & stones his neibors window strike
At midnight when the doores are fast, I would not much mislike.
This also would I have thee doe, for those that drunken are,
Concerning sober life and manners neede not have a care.
But if whenas thou sober wert, this fault thou should commit,
To be mine Auditor, I should not thinke thee verie fit.
Committing this, if thou the cittie watch encounter can,
And they commit thee to the Counter, th'art an happie man.
Thou shalt be safe from all thy foes, thus lying in the gaole,
Their greatest malice cannot in that place gainst thee prevaile.
What though the Sunne be ne're so hote? it cannot burne thee tho,
Thou shalt be safe enough from raine from haile, and eke from snow.

But if thou be so luckie that thou chance to scape the watch,
And no man for these knavish prankes dares venture thee to catch.
At length, when thou with knavish trickes hast filld thy longing hart,
By waking of thy neighbours all, then to thy house depart.

And learne what store of bouncing clamours at thy gate to make,
And in what gentle sort thy carefull wife thou oughtst to wake.
First have a care, that with so great a noise thou vse to rappe,
That all which heare thee, may suppose it is some thunder-clap.
Nor take thou rest, vntill the gate be broke in peeces small,
Because it was not opend to thee, when thou first didst call.

Then if at length thy wife be forcde to come downe in her smocke,
Thinking (well-meaning soule) with speede the doores for to vnlocke.
And with a, welcome home good husband, doth thee entertaine,


[Page 78]Because she plainely sees, that thou art in thy drunken vaine.
To quite her kindenes, with thy fingers give her boxes store,
And as her carefull haste deserves, be sure to beate her sore.
And store of thundring word to word, and weightie blow to blow,
Is this the care shee hath of thee, to entertaine thee so?
Three things, a nut, an asse, a woman without store of blowes,
Will nere be fit for any vse, for so the proverbe goes.
Wherefore, that she the better may thy future charge respect,
Severely for this negligence, thou oughtst her to correct.
And yet this vse is fitter farre for men of 
Ciclops race,
Which in 
Sicilia vncoth 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 rost;
Those markes and limits which I did appoint him, doth surmount,
And sure I thinke, a wicked man I may him well account.

Before thou go'st to bed, be sure so great a stirre to keepe,
That all thy servants be constrainde, to rise from out their sleepe,
One servant thou with thundring threates, and wrangling words must chide,
Another must both brawling words, and weightie blowes abide.
All that which every man hath done, while he hath dwelt with you,
Now being over-come with drinke, you must againe renew.
That thee, they as a master may, both honour, love, and feare,
And tremble at each word, which from thee to proceede they heare.

Then at the last, give leave vnto thy drowsie pate to sleepe,
When all is still, and thou canst finde no greater stirre to keepe;
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 sheetes to wash, to hold them worke next day,
Lest thou for nothing to such idle maids shouldst wages pay.

And when next day you from your bed beginne to rise at last,
Which must not be vntill that noone, and dinner time be past.
When by your sleepe your store of meate is all digested quite,
And all that store of liquor, which you drunke but yesternight:
Then being readie, to some neighbours house you ought to walke
With him, vntill your wife provide your dinner, there to talke.
There drive away the lingring time, in eare-delighting chat,


[Page 79]Long talke procures an appetite, then have a care of that,
And that his favoure thou maist get, and be a welcome guest,
With readie wit, thou oughtst to vtter many a pleasant iest.
Recall to minde all that, which by you yesterday was done,
Whenas your sences all, with beere and wine were over-runne.
If any man last night, was too much over-come with drinke,
And in the morning of the same, he not one whit dooth thinke.
It is thy dutie, 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 mov'd to wrath,
Each man will take it sundry waies, as he his nature hath.

Nor whem thou art amongst thy friends, thou shouldst it faultie thinke.
To brag, that after supper thou took'st greatest store of drinke.
It is a credite thus to brag, my head was then so light,
That it could hardly guide my feete, to finde mine owne house right.
Although they all were prettie well, yet no man found could bee,
Which did not in that drunken art, yeelde cup and kanne to mee.
It can be no discredite, but a praise and same, to say,
That thou in drinking from the rest, didst beare the bell away.

Or waking iust at noone, in haste vnto thy wife depart,
Demanding of her meate and drinke, to comfort vp thine heart.
But first of all, a draught of burnt wine, would do very well,
All giddines and aches this will from thine head expell.
Which having drunke and eate a bit, vnto thy bed repaire,
And take thy rest vntill thy wife, thy dinner do prepare.
When all is readie, then I thinke to rise it will be time,
To recreate thy fainting corpes, with meate and pleasant wine.
And when each dish and pot, is sorted to his pointed place,
Then (as it is a womans dutie,) let thy wife say grace.
To tell those trickes, which were by thee committed yesternight,
How farre thy tongue and minde did stray, from reason and from right.
What railing words and weightie blowes, of thee she did sustaine,
I thinke a reasonable volume hardly would containe.
Shee'le tell you what by you was broke to whom you offerd wrong,
And of your trickes, will make a storie of an houre long.

If this her talke delightes thee not, but doth thy wrath increase,


[Page 80]Charge her, on paine of thy displeasure, strait to holde her peace.
If then she leave, be thou content, if she proceede to say
Her pleasure, scorning this thy friendly warning to obay:
Then catch whatse're thou findest neere thy hand, in rage and haste,
And at the varlets head be sure with might the same to cast.
Twill teach her in thy presence that her prating tongue to hold,
And as to speake before her husband, not to be so bold.
More counsell, but for tediousnesse, I vnto thee might give,
Although I know, that of thy selfe in order thou canst live.
If I most common things can tell, I therewith am content,
All sortes and kindes of manners to declare I never meant.
Thou for thy selfe maist divers good examples soone devise,
Which cannot be misliked much in country farmers eies.

How to entertaine, vse, and send away those guests which you have invited. Chapter IX.

IT is thy parte sometimes some guests vnto thy house to call,
Lest men should thinke thy house is naught, or thou hast none at all.
Or lest some picke-thanke which dooth greatly at thy good repine,
Say thou thy neighbours drinke doost love, but no man tastes of thine.

And when to come to dinner, you your neighbour doe intreate,
Take heede lest this (you shall be welcome) you too oft repeate.
And so departing from them, for their vittailes take no care,
Because you hope that none will come, you nothing need prepare.

If any come, whose paines and company you do not lacke,
This pollicie may serve to bid him from your house to packe.
It may be as a friend to supper I did you invite,
I scarce can thinke my selfe so fond, but I was drunke that night.


[Page 81]If any words which then I spoke in drinke, were over-heard,
Since they were onely words and winde, you must not them regard.
The pot-mate dooth offend, which much regard of wordes doth make,
That which I spoke in iest, you should not thus in earnest take.

Or that thou maist excuse thy selfe, into this humour breake,
That then thou being drunke, in bragging sort those words didst speak;
For credite sake, a man may oft in publike say that thing,
Which after no man can enforce him to effect to bring.

Or say, if now you heere should dine, you could not merry be,
For I am sicke, you cannot have the company of mee:
The beere I dranke hath raisde such store of vapours in my braine,
That I perswade my selfe that I shall never drinke againe.

Or you may lay the fault vpon your curst and crabbed wife,
Which over-rules you so, that you are weary of your life.
Wherefore, intreate them heartily at this time to depart,
When you are well, they shall be welcome all, with all your heart.
But sometimes to your kinder friends, more love you must affoorde,
And for their welcome, set a few small dishes on the boord.

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

If iust at supper time they there vpon 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 counsell give, I presently will show.
If thus for him you send a man, his comming for to grace,
Hee'le thinke he credites you, to come to such a clownish place.
Nay which is more, hee'le thinke that you to him beholding are,
And for your cost, to give you thankes, will have but little care.

Deferre the time for no mans sake, but if a while he stay,
Regarde him not, fall to your meate, and let him keepe away.
As soone as ere the meate is ready, downe to supper sit,
And fall to such things, as thy wife thinks for thy supper fit.


[Page 82]Let those which linger, either loose their supper, or their place;
And yet they are not offerd, either wrong or much disgrace.
What reason had the foole (I pray,) no greater haste to make?
It was his owne fault; for thee, as he brewd, so let him bake.

Or when the pointed time is come, give charge to locke the doore:
Let no man enter that comes late, he should have come before.
Be sure that thou to no man doost, the doore once shut, vnlocke,
But either let them go their waies, or still stand there and knocke.

If thou perchance doost let them in, then give them neither meate,
Nor water for to wash their hands, nor scarce a cleanly seate,
Tis likely they at home had water, ere they came to thee,
And tooke their ease before, lest comming they should wearie bee.
Command thy maid to sweepe the house, when every man is come,
Lest they should thinke it was not swept, they ought to see it done.

When every man is come, and doth his supper long exspect,
Beginne to make it readie then, and till then 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 complaine,
Though by the lowest roome, some wrong he chance for to sustaine.

For feare the cates which thou hast bought, should any man offend,
It is thy dutie, every dish most highly to commend.
Tell them from whence they came, and what a mightie price they cost,
What paines you tooke to get them first, and after, them to rost.
And tell them how they boiled were, how many sundry waies
You vsde therein; in briefe, neglect not any kinde of praise.
And that they may the deerer seeme, bid them themselves to prove,
And they shall hardly get such meate, for mony or for love.
Then will they like the dishes highly, and commend the taste,
Perceaving that so cunningly, thou them commended hast.

And yet I would not have thee counsell any man, to feede
Those which are hungry, of a prompter have but little neede.
But being full, they cannot fall afresh to meate againe:
For being full, to counsell him to feede afresh, is vaine.
To eate thy meate against his will, thou no man oughtst to make,
It is sufficient, if he but by thee example take.


[Page 83]As for thy selfe, be sure thy teeth be wagging still apace,
This is the onely cure whereby thine hunger to deface.
They which to meate, by thine example are not mov'd at last,
Let them depart with emptie guts, a Gods name let them fast.

If thou vpon thy neighbours trencher, needes some bit wilt place,
Thou oughtst to do it warily, lest thou thy selfe disgrace;
That which thou meanst to give, thou oughtst thereof to taste a bit,
Thereby to know the better, if it for thy friend be fit.
By this meanes, thou the perfect taste thereof thy selfe maist know,
And iudge thereby, if thou on such a friend maist it bestow.

To give cleane trenchers to the strangers is a needelesse thing,
Whenas thy servant to the boord, the second course doth bring.
They ought to turne their dirtie trenchers, on the tother side,
And wipe them on the cloth, which for that vse thou didst provide.
Why should you let your servant such great paines in vaine to take?
He may do other things, while he the trenchers cleane should make.

When all is done, and they have eate as much as ere they will,
Be sure as fast as they can drinke it, store of wine to fill.
If any man in drinking, seemes to take too long an ease,
Then for his lingring, punish him according as you please.
Make him perforce, to take whatse're thou requisite doost thinke,
In quaffing make him follow thee, and after thee to drinke.
And being drunke, refuse not to fall out with any man,
Vse railing words, and speake as lowde as possibly thou can,
If any one thats drunke, of naughtie words doth give thee store,
First beate him well and thriftily, then thrust him out of doore.
There is no sence, that in thine owne house he should thee abuse,
Especially since all therein thou as thou list maist vse.
I thinke to come againe in haste, he will have little list,
If once or twice in this sort, he hath felt thy weightie fist.
But if thou dare not strike him, having of thy selfe a care,
Because the strangers then thy folkes, a greater number are.
Yet breake such store of ieasts against him, as thou best doost like,
Whenas thou maist not with thy fist, be sure with tongue to strike.

If any man offended be, that thou so pleasant art,
Command him strait in angy sort, thine house for to depart.


[Page 84]Why should such frowning angry fellowes, thus disturbe the rest?
Because forsooth that onely he mislikes such pleasant jest.

Thou maist be merry with the rest, when he hath left thy house,
Onely regard that every person take the grand carowse.
With yron bolts and barres make fast the doores with thine owne hand,
And have a man which at each doore vndauntedly shall stand.
Let no man passe, vnlesse their fingers force he love to taste,
Although he give to thee a reason why he hath such haste.
This is a pollicie, by making them endure this paine,
There will be few that wiil be brought to sup with thee againe.

And let an empty chamber pot vnder the boord be put,
That every man may there vnloade his bladder, or his gut:
What though they chance to doe the last? it is not much amisse,
This vapour a most pleasing smell vnto your nostrels is,
According as your neede requireth, cast out presently
From foorth a casement, all which in the chamber pot did lie.
If thy companions out of it some wine should foorthwith drinke,
A man might say and sweare, that they were merry men I thinke.

As long as thus their greedy paunch with meate and drinke is fed,
Were it all night, I thinke not one would thinke vpon his bed:
Whenas the day starre ginnes to leave the Ocean, not before,
Commaund thy Porters at the last to open every doore,
When thus the day is victor of the darkesome parting night,
Then every man may finde his house, not needing any light.

Sleepe all the day, though all the rest from rest by worke are kept,
Thy wine will all be gone by night, if thou all day hast slept.
Vse this a while, and when in riches other men doe flowe
Thou (tis the sweetest life that is) a begging still shalt goe:
Though many men a carefull and a painefull life doth please,
Yet, if my counsell thou wilt follow, live thou still at ease.
This store of pinching labour, often makes our ioynts the lesse,
And too much care, with great affliction dooth our hearts oppresse.
Yet oftentimes when many men have tooke this paines and toyle,
Before they can obtaine their wish, they oft receive the foyle.
God graunt me onely that which for my neede I shall desire,
And I will take no care at all, nor further wealth require.


[Page 85]Honours and goods, two things whereat the multitude hath cought,
Have oftentimes the keepers of them, to destruction brought:
Wherefore, if you be wise, imploy your good whenas you may,
Lest having store, you cannot vse it, if you make delay.

The end of the second Booke.

[Page]

[Page 87]

THE THIRD BOOKE of auntient Simplicitie of Behaviour.

The order of this Booke, and behaviour at an honest feast, in eating brewesse 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 certaine bonds in every place, thou maist them not commit,
But with some caveats, for certaine times are onely fit.

But now into the surging seas, my sailing ship is borne,
It now will take a larger course, if it may scape vntorne.
Helpe, helpe, (friend 
Bing,) which in 
Apolloes eyes doost gratious live,
That by thine aide, I to the vulgars these my lines may give.
Draw neere I say, and helpe my ship these surging sulkes to passe,
And make my course as swift, as if a 
Pegasus I was.
You can conduct me with a calme, and very quiet winde,
To aide atleast my fainting wit, let me that favour finde.
A few more precepts to the former, in this place Ile adde,
Which vnto those that love Simplicitie, cannot be bad.
My selfe in reasons paths I cannot very well containe,


[Page 88]For Modestie and Reason, they no whit to me pertaine.
Those things to which blinde Appetite doth leade vs, I must tell,
Which without tediousnes, before I could not have done well.
Once more vnto my Cuckoe notes, lend thine attentive eare,
Whose're thou art, which simple manners doost desire to heare;
Expect to heate that kinde of life, which fittest is for thee,
You cannot in that art which you professe, too cunning bee.
I doubt not but that store of manners fitting to thy minde,
If carefully thou reade this booke, thou in the same shalt finde,
I know, the practise of my precepts will thee homely make,
If in the daily vse thereof, thou any paines wilt take.

All kinde of manners for all ages will not fitting bee,
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 owne, and make them for thy purpose fit.
I do not thinke it is your dutie for to have a care
In what place, or amongst what men, your manners vsed are.
Whatse're it is which can thy life and manners much commend,
To get the same, it is thy dutie all thy force to bend.

Thou needst not have another master, learne of me a while,
Ile teach thee trickes, a thousand craftie marchants to beguile.
Stand you to no mans iudgement but your owne, when you offend,
Simplicitie will in thy greatest danger thee defend.
He which is made at other beckes, in other steps to treade,
Regarding not his future haps, a wretched life doth leade.
It may be thou vnto some place, as guest invited art,
Where thou amongst a sort of worthie men, must take thy part.
When every daintie dish, to which an appetite you finde,
Is plac'd and all things set in order, to your daintie minde,
Cast shame afide, and into most vnseemely speeches breake,
Thy tongue is free, why maist thou not at all time freely speake?
All sence and pining care, thou oughtst to banish from thy breast,
And boldly snatch such meate and drinke, as fits thy fancie best,
With shrieking cries and sundry clamors, pierce the loftie skies,
Refuse not any thing, that seemeth pleasant in thine eyes.
For when you in your neighbours house, at sportive banquets sit,


[Page 89]To have a care of modest manners, is not very fit.

If any man in dinner time permits his tongue to walke,
Presuming with a pleasant speech, of loftie things to talke;
Beginne as gravely as the rest of weightie things to tell,
And have a care, that all the rest in wrangling thou excell.
This custome vnto great preferment will thee quickly raise,
For this thy quicke and readie wit the strangers will thee praise.
To be more wise then thousands more, thy neighbours will thee deeme,
No better meanes there is to prove a man of great esteeme.
There is no fitter time to speake; for when the wine is in,
It addes great eloquence, whereby much credite you may win.

Perchance the Cooke doth to the boord a messe of brewesse bring.
Which doubtlesse to the stomacke is a very pleasing thing.
Then take the broadest smoothest spoone, best fitting to thy minde,
And to that dish before the rest beginne a path to finde.
The neerest way that I can tell thy bellie for to fill,
Is, heape thy spoone so full with sops, that it perforce must spill.
As much as will suffice thy turne, at one time thou maist take,
Concerning toyes, it is not good such restlesse toyles to make.
All that which in thy spoone at once, thou from the dish didst fetch,
At one time thrust into thy mouth, although thy jawes thou stretch.

If any sop amongst the rest doth seeme to lacke some sault,
Most carefully by this meanes thou maist quickly mend that fault.
First fill thy spoone 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 credite make,)
With all thy fingers for thy vse, thou salt enough maist take.
For sure it is impossible, that meate be tasted well,
If salt be wanting, which alone all rancour doth excell.

A Crab-fish is a dish agreeing to your stately minde,
Which if at any time, vpon the table you shall finde,
The smaler and the leaner, vnto strangers you must leave,
Your hungry stomacke from the great more comfort shall receave.
Yet thinke not that the great, are alwaies best of all to eate,
This may deceive, for why the small sometimes excell the great.
Then, that the good ones, from the bad, you may the better know,
Observe this rule, which alwaies will the finest fishes show.

[Page 90]
Vnder their tailes have care to looke, if any egges you finde,
You neede not doubt, they are not hurtfull to the nicest minde.
Eate these thy selfe: but if no egges can there be found to bee,
Suspect their goodnes presently, they scarce are fit for thee.
Thus scorning them thy selfe, vnto thy friend thou maist them give,
By those things which thou scornst to eate, thy poorer friends may live.
Or having searcht them thorowly, take better vp at last,
And in their roomes, be sure those bad ones in the dish to cast.
Keepe not the finest fish, if of the fore-tolde marke it faile,
It is not wholesome, if it hath not egges within the taile.

My counsell is not, vndivided fishes to devoure,
Because I thinke, the very foote would hold you tacke an houre.
To sucke vp all thats in their bellie would do prettie well,
Those parts I thinke will serve thy turne, which are within the shell.
As for the taile and fore-parts, you some corner must provide,
It is a most convenient place, to keepe them by your side.
That so, when every bit of fish is from the platter gone;
Yet thou maist have those fore-parts still, when all the rest have none.
And by this meanes, thou all the rest in eating shall excell,
To take this counsell of a friend, will oft do very well.
Fore-fathers, therefore calld this fish a kinde of waiting meate,
Because when every man hath dinde, you ought the same to eate.
A certaine fellow tride of late to put this tricke in vre,
But sped not, for a stranger present would not it indure.
This merrie stranger, (as he was much giv'n to merriment,)
Devisde this plot, whereby the tothers craft he did prevent.
Seeing the fishes fore-parts by this craftie knave to stand,
Before the tother 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 fellowes vse.
The fore-pars of this fish were wont in great esteeme to bee,
What though they be refusde of you? they shall be likde of mee.
Thus having said, he broke the meate and made an end of it,
And vnto him from whom he snatcht it, would not give a bit.
Therefore it is more wisedome, in some secret bag to hide
Both taile and fore-parts, which thou for thy stomacke didst provide.


[Page 91]For then thou shalt be sure, that none can from thee snatch thy meate,
But at thy house, or where thou please, thy selfe the same maist eate.

Not onely this, but any thing thats pleasing to thy gut,
In secret sort, thon for thy private vse therein maist 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 denie thee meate, why did he for thee send?
I do not love at any feast, to shew my selfe so prowde,
As to refuse that meate, which by my neighbour is alowde.
Nay, sure it is my custome rather, like a thankefull man
To rid mine host of all the meate, that possible I can.

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

SOmetimes your host vpon his guests, such liquor will bestow,
As in a private vineyard of his owne, did lately grow.
If by the smacke, you finde the fruite was of a naughtie vine,
And therefore not agreeing to so nice a taste as thine.
Be sure this naughtie wine, forthwith from off the boord 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 alreadie drawne he seeme his coine to crave,
Aske him the reason, why such customers such tappings have?
Aske him, if coine be nowadaies so lightly got, he thinke?
Or is it meete, that silver should be paid for naughtie drinke?

But if perchance to dine with thee, thou hast invited some,
Or else like men that lacke their suppers, they vnbidden come.


[Page 92]It is thy parte to give to them the basest wine thou hast,
Such wine is for this purpose best, as lackes both strength and taste.
Perchance some one among the rest will better wine demand,
But it may breede both hurt and losse, to doe as they command.
Who knowes their purpose? if they meane the shot receiv'd to pay?
Or thinking not to pay for this, would scot-free parte a way?
If all the things which they have yet received naughty were,
Thy losse will be the lesse, and thou the better maist it beare.
If better wine thou give, theile heape carowse vpon carowse:
But give them weaker wine, and then theile soone departe your house.

If vnto any friend of yours among the rest you drinke,
Take off as much at once, as well will quench your thirst you thinke.
Vntill the man to whome you drunke have pledgd 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 drinkes a beaker dry to hold his breath so long.
Yet, will he, nill he, both by words and blowes thou shalt be faine
To make him drinke it off, that thou thy purpose maist attaine.
But if he chance to shrike and crie, as loath to be controld,
And force perforce do what you can, his first intent will hold.
In raging fume put foming wine into some empty cruse,
And powre it downe his necke, because he did your love refuse.
Vse this but now and then, and sure he will not be so nice,
But that heereafter he will pledge his friend, once, twice, and thrice.
In selfe same sort, a certaine fellow once did me abuse,
He would not pledge me, wherefore I this selfe same tricke did vse:
I got a famous lawrell bough, for my deserved praise.
Whense're I vse such simple trickes my lucke is such alwayes.

Whenas the store of vapours which the foming wine did make,
Are got into thy sacred wit, and there possession take.
Whenas thy sense-bereaved tongue doth stamring speeches yeeld,
And when the minde dispoild of wit, to vice hath lost the field.
Then is it time from foorth your heart to banish carke and care,
And eke to proove by lofty laughters, that you pleasant are.
Deferre no time, it is not good on trifles long to stand,
Take pot or glasse filld full with wine, which holding in your hand,


[Page 93]Beginne a full carowsing draught, vnto some friend to drinke,
Who for his skill in drunkards art, dares pledge you as you thinke.
The drinke and eke the brickle glasse, although it cost a groate,
Together you for fellowship, may send into your throate.
Though sencelesse 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 filthie crimes as these, do take their chiefe delight.
Thinke nothing vilde, thinke nothing base, or vn-beseeming thee,
Which may by men of welthie callings, patronized bee.
All that which other men have done, presume to do the same,
If thou desire by deedes of worth to get immortall fame.

Though other men perceaving these thy sencelesse crimes, refuse
By treading in thy wicked paths, the selfe-same faults to vse:
Yet must you not in any case, scorne any wicked deede,
But constantly, you must in vices further still proceede.
Command a boy to bring a pot which hath a bottome wide,
Which fill'd, another neighbour to assaile you must provide.
When you are drunke, it is a credite stoutly to refuse
Those narrow slender-bellide pots, which sober you did vse.
Command such vn-accustomed vessells to be brought to thee,
That at the first draught with the same, thy thirst may quenched bee.
Ere you proceede, you ought to fill the bason full with wine:
Which done, you strait must send it downe that rav'nous throat of thine.
And after that, with carefull eye looke over all the house,
What other vessells you can finde, wherein you may carowse.
Pots, buckets, caldrons, frying-pans, according to your minde,
As also kettles, barrells, pitchers, doubtlesse you shall finde:
Then shall you finde cups, kans, and tankards, jackes, and bottles blacke,
Such necessarie tooles as these, your neighbour cannot lacke.
All these, (if for your purpose them you requisite do thinke,)
Bring forth of hidden holes, in them your pleasant wine to drinke.
If none of these you there can finde, and yet you lacke a cup,
Out of a dirtie pis-pot, you may drinke your liquor vp.
And yet I would be very loth that you should drinke to mee,
That beastly vessell is not fit for any man but thee.


[Page 94]Amongst that rout, can none be found that will you kindely pledge?
Because they all have drunke too much, do they a scuse alledge?
Then may you freely brag and boast, that you the victor are,
And from the rest that leave you off, the laurell you shall beare.
Yet would I not, that you are yet proclaime your victorie,
But counsell you before you do it, onely thus to trie:
Provide a funnell, (fie, tis shame such trifles for to show,
Me thinks so wise a man as you this tricke before should know,)
Which you to set within their gaping mouthes, must be so bold,
If you perceave they are so drunke, that they no pots can hold.
And by the funnells helpe, have care to liquor every frinde,
Which having finisht, of your challenge you may make an end.
At length, when you with meate have stopt your hungry panches cries,
And eke with store of wine, have almost drunke away your eyes;
You neede not stay, to give your neighbour thanks with all your heart,
But when you please, not taking leave, you homeward may depart.

When you depart, beginne to raile and quarrell with your host,
Let that be all the thankes that you repay for all his cost.
First blame himselfe, and afterward beginne to blame his meate,
It was not fine enough for such brave men as you to eate.
Raile at the Butler, for his not providing better drinke,
Finde fault with any thing whereof you presently can thinke.
Each thing was farre too base, for those which dined in the place:
Then let them all perceave the markes of anger in thy face.
You hop'd that with a greater banquet, he would you receave,
But all your hopes were vaine, your purpose he did quite deceave.
I would have scornd for such a banquet to have left my doore,
But that I thought of daintie meate, we should have lackt no store.
What though indeede you had no cause, so many faults to finde?
Yet speake as constantly, as if you spake it from your minde.
Thus having griev'd with angry words, your carefull host at heart,
If you have nothing else to do, you homeward may depart.

And if the morrow after, this your vexed host you meete,
That you may both be friends, you ought most kindely him to greete.
Or if you please, with ieasts beginne the simple man to mocke,
To make m
 [...]nds for yesternight, make him your laughing stocke.


[Page 95]Tell him, you never gave him cause of anger, you protest:
If he perchance mislike your words, you spake them all in ieast,
What can he do? for shame, he cannot blame the iesting vaine,
Vnlesse he be too currish naturde, hee'le be friends againe.
That very houre of all his quarrell he will make an end,
And thinke you, as he did before, to be his very friend.
Perchance vnto a daintie supper, he will you invite,
With this your wittie iesting humour being conquerd quite.

How to spread and suffer scoffes and ieasts, farting, spitting, answering to questions, and looking into other mens letters. Chap. III.

SOme men there are, which in their actions count it alwaies best,
To spread abroad among their neighbours many a biting iest.
And therefore vse to carpe at faults, which other men commit,
By this meanes thinking to declare their merrie iesting wit.
But as for you, although your neighbours nose be nere so great,
Yet ought you not his name with naughtie speeches to intreate.

If any man makes iests of you, to keepe his wit in vre,
I give you leave to speake your worst, you must not this indure.
Let him by certaine signes perceave, that thou canst angry bee,
I thinke if he perceave thee mov'd, hee'le hardly scoffe at thee.

If he proceede, and into greater flowting speeches breake,
Rather then you will still be wrongd, thus boldly to him speake:
Whenas my father lackt a foole wherewith to sport and play,
That so, the better he might drive the lingring time away;
After he many meanes had tride, at last he found out mee,
That I to banish all his carefull thoughts, a foole might bee.
So sir, if you would have a foole which would your iests abide,


[Page 96]My counsell, is that you some foole on purpose do provide.

If thus you take vp every flowter in his iesting vaine,

Its very likely, few or none will iest at you againe.

If any man with gifts of mony, thinks thee to abuse,
Accept such iesting, so that he this custome do not vse,
Refuse no kinde of iests, which may commoditie procure,
Such flowtes as bring, or gaine, or profite, you may well indure.
And yet, although some profite by their iests you beare away,
It is your dutie word for word, vnto them to repay.
Those men which you in loving league, have tide vnto your heart,
From love of you till you have vext them, let them not depart.
With store of sugred promises, their humours you must feede,
And tell them you will succour them, if ere they stand in neede.
But yet I would not have thee such a simple foole to bee,
As to performe all that which hath beene promised by thee.
To every man you ought most kingly promises to give,
But never to performe the same, if you in peace would live.
And yet, if you in weightie causes do your friend deceave,
It is a precept which of me you never did receave.

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 neede, from forth your griping bellie let you winde,
The scent whereof, the guests will quickly in their nosthrills finde.
And lest the strangers should perceave that you have done amisse,
Be sure to cry before the rest, fie, what a stinke is this?
Affirme, that in the tender virgins all the fault doth lie
And strait a red and blushing colour will their faces die.
Those which offend, have commonly this colour in their face,
When guiltie men beginne to blush, it is a signe of grace.
Or if a little dog be me, be sure the same to kicke,
As if that his perfumed taile, had causde this beastly tricke.
By this meanes your decreasing credite you may finely save.
And others shall have that reward, which you deserve to have.
That noisome smell without offence the guests must vndergo,
Because that none but you do certainly the father know.

Sometimes there from the liver comes an humour like to snot,


[Page 97]Which either riseth from some cold or surfet lately got.
This divers men with hauks and hems, will from their stomacke bring,
And keepe it on their tongue, as if it were a pretious thing.
And in their mouth this fleamie stuffe, they love to rowle about,
A prettie while before they will beginne to spit it out.
What profite by this beastly tricke they get, I do not know,
But in my iudgement it doth make a very seemely show.
Although if some should see this tricke, their meate they would refuse,
Yet this I thinke a reason is, for which they should it vse.
Though ne're so often in my sight this tricke should vsed bee,
Yet sure it should be counted for a welcome sight to mee.
And as for my part, I could wish, if I might have my minde,
That I at dinner, store of snot within your mouth might finde.

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

When you of certaine weightie matters purpose for to tell,
Observe this methode, which will serve your purpose very well.
You must not talke in foolish wise, nor must your speeh be short,
The longest tedious tatling tales, will make the finest sport.
That you may seeme in Rhetorike all others to excell,
Of sundry trifling toyes you ought a tedious tale to tell.
In any case your proeme must an houre or two indure,
In which, your auditors good wills you onely must procure.
If you no subiect have, whereof your future speech to make,
It is no matter, you of mee may store of subiects take.
The Romane battells and the credite which they got in fight,
And all the worthie souldiers names and noble deedes recite.
The great exploites of 
Hanniball and Carthaginian warres
You may repeate, and eke the cause of 
Troyes vnhappie iarres.
Or of the starres and heavenly bodies you a speech may make,


[Page 98]And shew from whence the world its first originall did take.
Thus having opend all their eares, of trifles make an end,
Beginning at the last vnto the purpose to descend.
If any man among the rest doth interrupt thy talke,
Against him in this railing sort, permit your tongue to walke.
And art thou not ashamde, thou foole of manners most corrupt,
So great a man as I, so boldly thus to interrupt?
Where were you taught into such shamelesse boldnes for to breake,
As not to keepe your tongue in awe when wiser persons speake?
If thus your bold presuming friend you vse to entertaine,
You cannot choose but store of praise and credite you shall gaine.

If any man be reading letters which were to him sent,
Although to tell the secrets vnto you he never meant.
To stand behinde the readers backe you ought to have a care,
And reade them o're as well as he before he be aware.
Vnto the King of 
Macedon, Ephestius calld by name,
A certaine friend of his presumde of late to do the same.
It was his custome alwaies boldly to commit this thing,
Yet he continued in the love and favour of the king.
And sure I thinke that no man can thy sawcie boldnes blame,
Although in immitating him you should performe the same.
Though some men thinke this vse a most vnseemely vice to bee,
Yet sure it rather for a vertue shall be thought of mee.
Those learned mens examples which have liv'd in former time,
Will plainely 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 Consull he did plainely prove.
To greete his friends with carefull letters he did daily vse,
And yet to print them every one he never did refuse.
Then why should these our letters which are baser farre then they,
From all mens sight and publike view be closly kept away?

[Page 99]

Behaviour when you enter into other mens houses, going into hot-houses, or baths, divers coloured parted coates, the adorning of the beard, the vse of papers and bookes, entertaining your friends, and other such like civilities. Chapter IIII.

DIvers there are which of their credite such account do make,
That they without advise and care will nothing vndertake.
If they vnto an honest neighbours house invited are,
Softly to knocke before they enter they will have a care.
And though the doores stand open, granting entrance vnto all,
Yet is it not their vse to enter in before they call.
That so their neighbour of their comming may fore-warned bee,
Lest he should have some secret which he would have no man see.
Thinking to seeme well nurturde men by often vsing it,
And I confesse, for honest men it is a custome fit.
But if vnto a neighbours house you purpose for to go,
You neede not take, or care, or paines, to frame your manners so.
If any gate stand ope, rush boldly in vpon your friend,
The very name of friendship may from boldnes you defend.
If thus you should not make a noise but enter suddainely,
Something perchance which he would have vnseene you should espy.
You may procure great store of mirth by entring boldly in,
By giving warning of your comming you his love shall win.

If you into a sweating bath or hot-house chance to come,
Whether you onely are a stranger there, or knowne to some.
If you be chill, to runne vnto a furnace be so bold,
That so you may both from your hands and feete expell the cold.
Then presently be sure to put your shooes from off your feete,
In spite of which (vnhappie man,) the cold did with them meete.
Which having done, against the fire prepare your feete to warme,


[Page 100]That by this meanes you may eschew the colds outragious harme.
To put your hose and breeches off, is sure a pleasant thing,
I do it not mislike, because it will great profite bring.
Suppose the aire (as oft it hath) hath some infectious smell,
Which will disturbe your temperd braine, though it before was well.
That pleasant smell which from your hose and breeches doth proceede,
Will quite expell that other smell to helpe you at your neede.
Which having done, the tothers place this will possesse and vse,
Because the tother did your sence and smelling much abuse.
By this meanes you the aires vnwholesome smells may soone prevent,
This new-found smell will stop the strongnes of the tothers scent.

Thinke 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 thy selfe to all mens humors fit?
It is a toile which cannot choose but farre exceede thy wit.
It is in vaine against your nature foolishly to strive,
He which attempts impossibilities will never thrive.

At length, when you are forc'd the furnace and the bath to leave,
Then you of me your trustie friend this counsell shall receave.
That you from all ensuing harme may keepe your tender feete,
If you heereafter should with frost and pinching coldnes meete.
Thrust store of straw into your shooes to keepe your feete from harme,
The straw which lies within your shooes will make them very warme.
And yet vnlesse you put it so that it may all be seene,
T'had beene as good, that in your shooes it had not placed beene.
This good example, whosoever feareth future cold
Will immitate, and for a fruitfull precept will it hold.

If any tell thee that to leave thy clownish life tis best,
And for thy plaine rusticitie beginne at thee to iest.
Such iniuries as these, if patiently thou suffer can,
For my part, I shall hardly thinke thou art a valiant man.
If thou canst hardly mend thy selfe, for thou no weapons hast,
(Although t'were good, if thou at him a dagger strait wouldst cast.)
Forthwith it is thy dutie into raging words to breake,


[Page 101]Although no weapons you may vse, yet freely you may speake.
Those whom you sharply reprehend in such a raging fume,
Heereafter to abuse you thus they hardly will presume.
I once before forbade thee any scoffings to indure,
And will inculcate it to keepe thee in the better vre.

Thy garments having divers colours better please the sight,
All men in these our daies do in varietie delight.
Nature herselfe in divers things doth sundry colours vse,
To follow such a guide as Nature do not thou refuse.
The man which followes Natures 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 doo.

If you with carefull minde the heavenly Raine-bow do behold,
You shall perceave how many sundry colours it doth hold.
Consider well the formes of plants, the wings of birds which flie,
And all those pretious jems which in the 
Indian lands do lie;
And you shall finde that all of these in colours do abound.
And all things else which Nature for the vse of man hath found.
Also, your garments into divers peeces for to cut,
Is nowadaies in great account and estimation put.
This must before all other things be vsed oft of thee,
If thou wilt harken to my verses, or my scholler bee.
Like some vnwise and sencelesse blocke all men will thee deride,
Vnlesse thou vse thy hose and dublet finely to divide.
But if in curious manner you your garments vse to teare,
So that vpon your bodie you no perfect peece do weare.
A man of noble birth and linage you may quickly seeme,
And all your friends to be a man of credite will you deeme.
Or else you will be thought to be a man of 
Mars, his rowt,
Such men in such apparell vse to march the streetes about.

Vnto what place soe're you come, it is a mightie grace,
To have a frowning countenance and eke a crabbed face.
Ne're laugh at all, but then when you some dolefull fight have found,
As some vnluckie mastlesse ship, in danger to be drownd.
Those men which do your mourning lookes and countenance behold,


[Page 102]Will thinke that weighty matters do from smiling you with-hold.
So every man that sees you, will vnto you honour give,
Supposing that in honest paths and gravitie you live.

Perchance in publike sort some publike matters acted are,
When every man both yong and old doth meete together there,
And then beginnes some clarke to reade the statutes all alowde,
That every precept may be markt, of all the present crowde.
At all such publike meetings, thou must also present bee,
To heare the newes, although perhaps it not concerneth thee.
If to regarde those great affaires you neede not have a care,
It is your duty to disturbe all others that are there.
Devise some boystrous sports and playes which thou approovest best,
And with thy shriking cries, be sure to countervaile the rest.
Let thy delight be placde in making others to be staid,
Lest they attentively should hearken vnto what was said.

This also cannot choose but purchase most deserved grace,
To have a beard beset with brissels, hiding halfe your face.
Or let vpon thine vpper lip, a great muschatoe bide,
Which oft will hinder you from opning of your chaps too wide.
By which you oftentimes great help and profite may receive,
You know my carefull counsell never yet did you deceive.
Perchance within the dirty pot some filthy thing doth lie,
Which by the narrow mouth thereof you hardly can espie.
Your brisly beard and long muchatoes will its passage stay,
When otherwise the filth would by your chin have scapt away.
The wines bad hue, those haires wil change which on your lips do grow,
So that the pure wine onely will into your bellie flowe.
Besides, those dirtie rotten teeth, which in your mouth have place,
As oft as you with laughter gap'd, would breed you great disgrace,
But that your beard to hinder this, a meanes will soone provide,
Which hanging over both your lippes, your teeth will quickly hide.

If ever you have cause to speake of any weightie thing,
Your beard vnto you presently will praise and credite bring.
Which hanging downe vpon your breast, you gravely ought to stroke,
And make a stop at ev'rie sundrie word, which you have spoke.
This in such sort will for thine honour and thy credite make,


[Page 103]That all which see thee, for a grave and wise man will thee take.

If thou at anie time doost write a letter to thy frend,
Because thy purpose and intent thou vnto him must send,
To keepe the same from blots and blurres I holde it verie vaine,
It is no hurt, although the same with store of incke you staine.
The man which in such trifling things such labour will abide,
Forgets the meanes whereby his owne perfections for to hide,
Vnlesse your arte and cunning alwayes hidde and cloaked bee,
What things soe're you write, shall hardly be beleev'd of mee.
And that your friend more carefully may keepe within his minde,
Those things which in your loving letter he dooth written finde,
So carefully your penne and inke to vse you shall be faine,
That all your paper you be sure with store of blots to staine.
In selfe same sort you alwaies ought to vse the finest booke,
Although another kindely lent it you thereon to looke.

If anie friend that dwells farre off, or kinsman of your owne,
Come to your house, which vnto him most perfectly is knowne.
In any case you ought to have a speciall care of this,
To tell him, not too often, that he very welcome is.
For if he chaunce to finde, that he so welcome is to thee,
It may be feard his often comming troublesome will be,
Yet ev'ry time he comes, be sure to give him so much wine,
That being drunke he neither know, what is his name, nor thine,
In better sort an antient friend you cannot entertaine,
Then for to give him wine, vntill he spew it vp againe.
When he begins, at last, to be desirous to be gone,
And therefore both his bootes, his cloake, his sword and all is on,
Permit him not in any case so soone to part away,
But though he earnestly request you, make him longer stay;
Whether he will or no, constraine him more and more to drinke.
This is a sure and certaine pledge of kindest love I thinke.

Concerning such things as are fittest when you goe to bed,
In this my Booke in ample sort I should to you have read.
But if I all occasions offred should presume to take,
I should such store of matter find that I no end should make,
Remember like thy selfe in all thy actions for to bee,


[Page 104]And thou shalt finde that onely they are rules enough for thee.
From taking either sleepe or rest, be sure the rest to keepe,
When thou perceav'st that thou canst hardly set thy selfe to sleepe:
If any sport thou canst invent thy fellowes to abuse,
Because it will procure thee praise, thou oughtst the same to vse.

As soone as ere thy shooe is tooke from off thy stinking feete,
Thy nosthrills with a most vnwholesome savour it will greete,
Which savour, if into the braine it chanceth to ascend,
It is incredible how much it will the same offend.
Wherefore, if thou wouldst be supposde a wittie man to bee,
Have care to set thy shooes a great way from thy bed and thee.
Be sure to have this cunning tricke within thy craftie head,
To let thy shooes be alwaies set before anothers bed.
And let the smell which comes from thence, anothers nosthrills fill,
Lest such a stinking savour should procure thee any ill.
More store of rusticke practises I vnto thee would give,
Whose're thou art which doost according to my precepts live;
But that I see that sleepe at this time rather is requir'd,
Because thy members all for want of rest are almost tir'd.
Wherefore, I grant vnto thee leave to part vnto thy bed,
On it, without, or care, or feare, to rest thy sleepie head.
Meane time such good examples to set downe I will proceede,
As thou maist alwaies immitate whens'ever thou hast neede,
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 ev'ry day of you be vsed well.

[Page 105]

Sundrie sorts of civilities at the Table. Chapter V.

NOt long ago there at a wedding was a costly feast,
To which, a certaine stripling was invited as a guest;
Wherefore his start-vps on were put, besmiered all with durt,
What then? you know a little mire can do but little hurt.
To put a spurre vpon his heele 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 palfray in the hinder leg was somewhat lame.
As soone as he was lite, vpon the boord he found the meate,
And every stranger by the Bride plac'd in his proper seate:
For haste he durst not stay, from off his heele his spurre to take,
Nor yet to put his start-vps off, he then such haste did make.
But running to the boord with both, his comming for to grace,
A certaine honest maid vouchsafde to grant to him her place.
It was his fortune next vnto another maid to sit,
Although of such vnlookt for kindenes he was farre vnfit.
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 skilfull man in carving of his meate,
Scarce knowing what was best to leave vntoucht, and what to eate;
Presumde to take both legs and wings which in the platter lay,
Lest leaving them behinde him, they might chance to flie away.
The carkas he vpon the virgin thinking to bestow,
By great misfortune chanced on the ground the same to throw.
For which he forthwith blusht for shame; but thinking mends to make,
Beganne to stoope, from off the ground the carkas for to take.
But out alas he let a fart which made a grievous scent,
As he by stooping downe too low, too much his bodie bent.
For which his fault, he being sorely vexed at the heart,


[Page 106]Leaving his dinner, presently he purposde to depart.
As he was climing o're the boord his spurre the cloth did teare,
And hung so fast, that with him he was forc'd the cloth to beare.
Those pots and platters which as then vpon the table stood,
And all the candles downe he cast in this his hastie mood.
Besides, (more haste, lesse speede,) as he departing was away,
The tablefull of pots and glasses forc'd 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 vpon the ground.
As he was going out of doores, he with a servant met,
Which had another dish of meate vpon the boord to set.
Thus running headlong on his way, by chance against his will,
He made the servant all the meate vpon the ground to spill.
In this sort at his neighbours wedding having plaid his part,
He got vpon his halting jade and homeward did depart.
Although by practising these prancks great profite you may make,
And for your present purpose out of them example take:
Yet must he not be numberd mongst the vulgar multitude,
Because that he (good man,) was more vnfortunate then rude.

And at a certaine other time it chanced to betide,
A neighbour for his speciall friends a banquet did provide.
When every one had tooke 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 Carps head to the gentlewoman gave.
She thinking well of this his offer, tooke that daintie meate,
Beginning of the same according to her minde to eate.
She scornde to search the head, or ev'ry corner to pervse,
Because she never knew the meate, she did the same refuse.
Each part for to anotomize she thought it mickle paine,
Especially for that, from which she did exspect no gaine.
Wherefore she vnderneath the table cast the daintie head,
Supposing it was meate wherewith the dogs might all be fed.
When this the womans foolish deede the stranger did behold,
Not able longer to forbeare, to chide her he was bold.
From off the ground the head which she refusde he first did take,


[Page 107]And then in angry sort vnto her in this manner spake.
And are you not ashamde (you foole,) such follie to commit?
It greeves me much to see that you should have so little wit.
This head I as a speciall favour did on you bestow,
And not to that intent that on the ground you should it throw.
Though thus to open it your selfe you would not take the paine,
Yet had it beene your part to have restorde it me againe.
She being overcome with shame, no words at all replide,
But lest she should be mockt the more, was forc'd her face to hide.
Iudge whether of the two seeme better mannerd vnto thee,
Or whether of the two mislikte or praised most shall bee.

A Cittizen did on a time with feasting entertaine
A mightie Prince and Potentate, with all his pompe and traine.
Who comming, was receivde with such store of stately cheere,
As if his pallace it had beene, nothing was thought too deere.
Great store of daintie flesh and sundry sortes of costly fish
Were sent vnto the boord; there lackt not any princely dish.
The man suspecting lest his Princes favour he should loose,
From forth the dish among the rest the finest fish did choose.
Which thinking on the Princes trencher hansomely to lay,
The fish by great ill lucke from forth his fingers slipt away.
But ere it came to ground, his slipper with the same did meete,
A slipper blacke as jeate was on the entertainers feete.
Whence having tooke it, it vpon the Princes trencher laid,
And that his fault might seeme the lesse, these words to him he said:
Yet take it (gentle Prince I pray,) the fall did it not hurt,
You know my pantolfe was cleane and not besmirde with durt.
Beleeve me sir, my servant lately clensde it with a cloth,
I put it on e'ne now, to hurt you I'de be very loth.
These words he said, and earnestly the Prince he did intreate,
To pardon this his small offence, and fall vnto his meate.

Another time a gentleman of worship and of fame,
To dinner to a Princes table by inviting came.
The Prince because he thought of him a speciall care to have,
In friendly sort a peece of daintie meate vnto him gave.
The stranger being finely nurturde wondrous haste did make,


[Page 108]The Princes kinde and loving proffer speedily to take,
But by a great misfortune he could hardly hold it well,
So that into a cup of wine vnluckily it fell.
And as with all the haste he could, he striv'd to take it thence,
His trembling hand did adde vnto the first a great offence.
For he with shaking, all the cup of wine did over-throw,
So that both bread and meate vpon the boord in wine did flow.
With store of blushing purple colour, both his cheekes were dide,
He was so vexed for his fault, that he his face did hide.
But sure I thinke some angry gods did crosse his good intent,
For being farre from clownish fashions, mannerly he meant.
But you by his example store of manners ought to take,
The vse whereof will you a rude and simple fellow make.
That which by great ill lucke against his will he did commit,
Thou oughtst to studie to performe 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 meate apace according to his will.
Not willing for to loose his part this tricke he did invent,
Whereby he thought his great ensuing danger to prevent.
He tooke from forth the dish the biggest bits that he could finde,
And all such daintie peeces as were fitting to his minde,
Which having got, to put them vnderneath his arme was bold,
Because he thought in such a place more firmely them to hold.
From whence according to his stomacke he could teare his meate,
Both rost and sod, with tooth and naile, as he desir'd to eate.
For finding that his knife in those affaires did often faile,
He doubted not but with his hand he quickly should prevaile.
But having filld his stomacke, he was carefull to lay downe
Into the dish, all which he left, lest he should seeme a clowne.
And of his leavings, to his neighbours he would offer part,
Requesting that they would accept them e'ne with all his heart.
I would not have you thinke, that of my selfe I this do faine,
To lie when no man doth compell me, were but little gaine.
The rudest things which in my booke I can repeate or tell,


[Page 109]At sundry times in sundry places, often have befell.
Nay, greedie gutlings have committed many a cleanly feate,
Which neither I, nor any other Poet can repeate.

Another time the man and master sate at boord together,
Because there was a feast, and they were both invited thether.
And divers other men of credite were invited there,
Which of the Cittie worthy Magistrates and Rulers were.
While at the table every stranger curtesie did vse,
And every man to carve the rest did earnestly refuse;
Each man with carefull eye, his neighbours gesture did behold,
But for to give the formost onset, none durst be so bold.
The servant having sate so long his hunger did him teach,
To stint the quarrell of his guts, some daintie dish to reach.
By your leave now at length, to stay my stomacke Ile be bold,
For why to tell the troth (quoth he,) I can no longer hold.
He tooke a peece of daintie meate, thus having to them said,
And having tooke it, boldly on his trencher he it laid.
Which when his master had espide, to blush he strait began,
To thinke that he before the rest should have so bold a man.
Vnto his sawcie man he many becks and signes did make,
And in a soft and whispring manner many words he spake.
That he the meate which he had tooke, into the dish should put,
And let the strangers which were better men before him cut.
The servant when his masters 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 rold,
It was so big that in his mouth he scarcely could it hold.
He spewd the meate digested all againe into the dish,
Thinking thereby to satisfie his masters silent wish.
His master frowning more and more for that he did commit,
He halfe beside himselfe as in an extasie did fit.
Thus having sate a prettie while, he tooke the meate at last
From forth the dish, and on the ground he boldly did it cast.
For seeing that his master thus some future harme did threat,
And every stranger else abstaind from touching of the meate,
He thought the meate digested did with poison him infect,


[Page 110]And therefore did some suddaine chance of present death exspect.
A country farmer came to dinner to a kinsman deere,
He was vnto him both by kindred and acquaintance neere:
He very glad of his approach great welcome to him gave,
Assuring him, that all the cheere that might be he should have,
He calls his neighbours presently that they might with him dine,
And promiseth that no man there shall lacke for daintie 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 briefe, from forth his countrie sheathe his clownish knife he tooke,
Which being stainde with houshold bread, did somewhat bluntly looke.
Which he espying, strait with spittle did his whittle wet,
Supposing that by this meanes he the dirt from thence might get.
Then having wipte it on the cloth it shone as bright as day,
So that vpon his trencher then, he boldly might it lay,
When vnto some the host such bits as he thought best had gave,
He bade the rest to carve themselves if they good meate would have.
And strait the country fellow in the platter did espy
A daintie morsell clad in fat, which by it selfe did lie.
He being hungry, snatcht it as a daintie peece of meate,
And setting it before him, strait began thereof to eate.
His host enforc'd to blush for shame did into laughter breake,
And in that merrie vaine, vnto him in this sort did speake.
Good vnckle cast into the platter that vnwholesome bit,
I pray restore it, for it is not for your diet fit.
And which agrees vnto your stomacke, take this peece of mee,
Which for your daintie diet I suppose more fit to bee.
The countriman replide, good coosen set aside your care,
Those cates which I have chose, according to my stomacke are.
That meate which next vnto me in the platter I do finde,
Although you thinke it ne're so bad, it pleaseth well my minde.
I scarce shall finde a sweeter bit in any daintie dish,
And were it worse I were content, such choise I do not wish.
Which having said, before them all the meate he did devoure,
Yet had no hurt at all, the man is living at this houre.

Another host by chance at boord mongst gentlemen did sit,


[Page 111]A clownish foole which was for such companions farre vnfit.
And yet forsooth for all the rest he would a carver bee,
Although such neatenes with such clownish life did not agree.
He tore the raines from off the meate, a cleanly tricke I trow,
And on a man of worship (as t'was meete,) did them bestow.
He thinking them too good a bit refusde the same to have,
And therefore to a man which was his friend, that morcell gave.
He likewise offerd to another friend that daintie meate,
But none among them all was found that would that morcell eate.
At length vnto the carvers trencher they were turned strait,
But he suspecting that within them there was some deceit.
Halfe angry with them answerd thus, what reason do you finde,
That since all others do despise them they should fit my minde?
Which having said, in rage and fume he cast away the meate,
That since the men refusde it so, the dogs the same might eate.

But now a beastly tale I tell, your patience I must crave,
Such things as beastly are, in beastly words you needes must have.
There was a gentleman of late was knowne to me full well,
But for a certaine cause, his name I list not heere to tell.
Him many noble men into their company would take,
Because he was a man which many prettie jests could make.
With store of bitter biting iests he any man would strike,
And therefore merrie 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 constrainde him on a table for to clime,
To make their worships merrie with some eare-delighting rime.
About him many flockes of pleasant yonkers did resort,
To heare his iests, 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 reiecting shamefastnes, his breeches downe he put,
And in the presence of them all he emptied there his gut.
Which when it was perceivde of those which on the ground did stand,
Each man began to laugh alowde and eke to clap his hand.
The gentlemen great store of mony vnto him did give,


[Page 112]This was the losse that he sustainde, because he thus did live.
Let those men now which have refusde to be accounted plaine,
Tell me if clownish manners do not store of riches gaine.

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

THe store of vrine oftentimes doth offer strangers wrong,
Whenas they are constrainde to sit at supper over long.
And therefore some well nurturde fooles presume to be so bold,
As longer then is requisite their water for to hold.
But they are sencelesse fooles, their healths and lives to venture so,
And for a little manners sake such losse to vndergo.
Thou which a wise man art, shouldst cast such foolish care aside,
That for thy future profite by thy care thou maist provide.
Rise thou in dinner time if thou perchance hast neede to leake,
A Gods name let that passage have which would thy bellie breake.
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 finde that you are ill,
Not fearing any, on the ground your vrine you may spill.
All sharpe, severe, and crabbed manners you must now refuse,
Which of so many faults do plaine rusticitie accuse.
Those things which thou by other mens examples vsed hast,
Are iust, thou hast not beene the first, nor shalt thou be the last.

A gallant youth which of a worthie linage did descend,
Vnto a banquet was of late invited by a frend.
Vpon the boord was set such store of taste delighting meate,
As when the gods above do 
Nectar and 
Ambrosia eate.


[Page 113]According to his calling every stranger downe did sit,
Each choosing such things as he counted for his stomacke fit.
This yonker scarce was suffered his horses backe to leave,
But he was called presently his place for to receave.
He had no time allowd, his bootes from off his legs to take;
Nor (which was woorst of all) his pinching water for to make.
As good lucke was, he by a dainty wenches side did sit,
And now beganne his future paine and trouble to forget.
But haplesse he (as nothing which is good can ever last)
His future paine assailed him, his pleasure soone was past;
For being very dry, he store of drinke beganne to gull,
So that before he was aware, his bladder soone was full.
And yet (vnhappy he) he durst not from the table rise,
Lest he should seeme vnmannerly in all the strangers eyes.
Wherefore a great while sundry meanes and helps he did invent,
Whereby the better this ensuing harme he might prevent.
But still his paines increasing more, he was in such a case,
That he was forcde to take this counsell of the time and place,
Into his boote (which was a wide one) such a thing he put,
That he in little space of all his water freed his gut.
Vnder the boord to hold his hand a while he was compelld,
As if some other weighty thing he in the same had held,
Vntill his boote was filld vp with the vrine to the top;
And yet the water powred from the fountaine drop by drop.
Meane time the maide which at the table sate vnto him neere,
Perceiving all, perswaded him to have a valiant cheere,
And strait she tooke him by the hand, which he so busied had,
Desiring him to tell the reason why he was so sad:
And strait from foorth his codpeece he was forcde his hand to bring,
And in the same against his will, his maid-delighting thing.
Looke off, looke off some other way, you maides, by nature kinde,
For feare that such an object make you ever after blinde.
This lucklesse yonker being thus surprised in such haste,
Was forcde vpon the table store of water for to cast.
In selfe same sort as when the neighbours water vse to fling
Vpon an house halfe burnt with fire, or any other thing.


[Page 114]He came vnto that banquet in a most vnhappie morne,
And sure I thinke vnder a lucklesse plannet he was borne.
Thus being scofft of all, he sate, not daring once to rise,
But in a sad and mournefull sort he hid his bashfull eyes.
At length, by store of pleasant wine these cares his heart forsooke,
And setting shame and feare aside, a courage stowt he tooke.
In briefe, when every man had tipled well, it so did chance,
That every man must after supper leade a wench a dance.
This yonker then, (although this dancing he did hardly love,)
Was forc'd according to the fiddles sound his legs to move.
Each time that he remov'd his feete, he shooke the massie ground,
And all the house with store of showts and Ecchoes did resound.
As oft as ere this yonker from the ground his legs did pull,
(Having his bootes (too big before,) with store of water full:)
So oft they forc'd him to remember that vnseemely thing,
And oft the fault forgot, they did afresh remembrance bring.
And then afresh each man began at him to laugh and mocke,
He was the cause that made himselfe so base a laughing stocke.
As soone as dancing time was past that he might private bee,
He found a means whereby from laughter he himselfe might free.
In midst of all the maides and men which compast him apace,
He put his watry buskins off, the cause of his disgrace.
And gave them to his man, that to the fire he might them beare,
Which quickly would exhaust the vapors that within them were.
His trustie servant by the way espide a bed by chance,
Provided for to rest their bones which in the hall did dance.
Hither the carefull servant did his masters buskins beare,
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 againe to be as iocond as the rest.
But now the time of drowsie mid-night had approached nie,
And every stranger made him readie to his bed to hie.
When every man in quiet sort was gone vnto his bed,
Therein vntill the morrow morne to rest his sleepie head.
Amongst the rest there was a fellow of a foolish minde,
Which having eate such meate as hurtfull to him he did finde.


[Page 115]When all the other strangers did their sleepe in quiet take,
He eating over-much, was troubled with the bellie ake.
And therefore was he forc'd to rise, thinking to walke abroad,
That in the yard, he of his burden might himselfe vnload.
The doores by chance were lockt, and therefore he could finde no way,
And which was worse then all the rest, he could no longer stay.
In briefe, he found the bootes vpon the bed which there did stand,
The which as soone as ere he felt, he caught them in his hand.
Both hard and soft which hurt his bellie, into them he sent,
Which having done, immediately vnto his bed he went.
As soone as ere the shining day-starre gan for to appeare,
To manifest vnto the world that 
Sols approach was neere.
The yonker mindefull of the sturre which he last night did make,
Began betimes vnto his horse himselfe for to betake.
Providing, on his legs in haste his cleanly bootes to pull,
But out alas vnhappie man, with dirt the one was full.
What shall he do? if cry, the company will him deride,
Wherefore its best to keepe it close and every thing abide.
He must indure it, if heereafter he have any wit,
Vnto so bad a crew in haste himselfe hee'le not commit.

Suppose thou art a man of credite and of great esteeme,
And one which in a cittie Ruler once or twice hast beene.
When in a strange and vnknowne 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,
Vnlesse you brag in what account you in your country live.
But if a meanes to blaze abroad your name you cannot tell,
And neither any man demands nor knowes your worship well:
Then with a most attentive eare, this precept learne of mee,
Which if you practise, you in great account with all shall bee.

Vpon a time, a Doctor to a famous Inne did come,
About the time whenas the world is robbed of the Sunne.
And after him there thither came more strangers presently,
It being late, each man forthwith vnto his bed did hie.
This Doctor not vnto one stranger that was there was knowne,
And therefore he not once saluted, sadly sate alone.


[Page 116]When all were set to dinner, he was faine to be the last,
And therefore heavily vpon the ground his eyes he cast.
He tooke nor pleasure nor delight with eating of his food,
The store of dainty wines he drunke did him but little good.
To be in honour and account so greatly he did thurst,
That he with care to compasse it his heart did almost burst.
Thus having sate awhile, when he with wine was whitled well,
Be this meanes he occasion tooke, his calling for to tell:
From off his shaven crowne, his Doctors cap he tooke with speede,
Hoping by meanes thereof to get some credite at his neede.
And hanging it vpon a naile which there he did espie,
Such pleasant words as these, began to speake immediatly.
Enough, enough at length of sorrow and of pining care;
Tis time at length to laugh and quaffe with those which merry are.
There hang the Doctor which the crabbed lessons vsde to reade,
Mirth more befits this pleasant crew, this is no time to pleade.
Then lest my Doctors name should hinder all my future sport,
And tell me, that it fits not me mongst roysters to resort:
The title of a Doctor for a while Ile lay aside,
And take it vp when I into my native country ride.
When all the strangers in the house the Doctor did behold,
Each man began to thinke that with him they had beene 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 drinke,
And thus the Doctor got his grace and honour due I thinke.

When you with any place of publike credite graced are,
Or when the Citty on your necke hath layde the publike care,
Within thy lofty minde be sure to lodge disdaine and scorne,
Because thou knowst that vnto fame and honour thou arte borne.
If to abuse thy calling thou doost any man permit,
I cannot choose but thinke, that thou hast almost lost thy wit.
I will repeate, although I almost am ashamde to tell,
When great disgrace vnto a learned scholler once befell,
When many tedious toyles in diverse places he had passt,
By learning he was made a maister of his Arte at last:


[Page 117]And therefore he with speede into his native country rid,
To see his antient kinsmen and acquaintance how they did.
And after in that pleasant iorney he a day had spent,
Being both wearie and be-nighted, to an Inne he went,
Within the selfe same Inne a maid that night her lodging tooke,
A maid which had a shining beautie, yet a bashfull looke.
Their supper being readie made, when every thing was fit,
The scholler by the selfe-same virgins side did chance to sit.
Forthwith a loftie kinde of pride the schollers minde possest,
And he desired to be bolder farre then all the rest.
He thought it reason that the greatest stranger he should seeme,
And so did, for most of them did highly him esteeme.
One man there was among the rest which greatly disallowd
In secret sort, that any scholler should be thought so prowd.
For having in another place his fellow lately beene,
He knew the scholler, and his pride he oft before had seene.
Having a wit which he before in divers iests had tride,
He practisde divers meanes whereby the scholler to deride;
Still noting all the foolish trickes which in him he could finde,
His onely purpose was to make him leave his naughtie minde.
The scholler not regarding well this craftie fellowes drift,
Because his head did itch, his hand vnto the same did lift.
And with his hand his itching head in tender sort did scratch,
From which a cause of great abuse the tother strait did catch.
And then intending certainely his loftie thoughts to breake,
Vnto him presently these vnexspected words did speake:
I pray sir tell me, if as yet those lice about you bee,
Which, as you know, vpon your body I did lately see?
And is it possible that you no remedie should have,
By that same medicine which to you the Poticarie gave?
Why sure the man I speake of, makes an ointment very well,
And hath as many powrefull salves as any man can sell.
These words as if they had beene truth he soberly did speake,
And though they were but faind, he into laughter did not breake.
The scholler being thus disgrac'd, was forc'd to part away,
And putting vp this great abuse had not a word to say.


[Page 118]Anger and shame did so his loftie swelling heart confound
His minde which lately pierc'd the skies, was then vpon the ground.
His learned Logicke could not then his fading fame defend,
Nor could he be reveng'd for this discredite of his friend.

By this discredite and ill lucke you may example take,
Lest some man in the selfesame sort a foole of you should make.
And if you see a man which vnto credite loves to mount,
Which of his neighbours and his friends is held in great account.
T'will be a meanes, whereby thou maist thine owne preferment get,
If thou in lower estimation canst this peacocke set.

At meate mongst many gallants once a carter chancd to sit,
And tooke from forth ech dish, such meate as did his stomacke fit.
One onely cup there was, and every man drunke of the same,
According as in order due, vnto his course it came.
At length it came vnto the carters course to take a sip,
Which doing, in his course he quite forgot to wipe his lip.
And therefore all the greasie fat which on his lips did cleave,
Within the pot in comely sort he was constrainde to leave.
Which thing when some espide, they did not like it very well,
And yet were loth the country fellow of his fault to tell.
But strait among themselves a statute they did soone invent,
Whereby the like committing of this fault they might prevent.
He which heereafter 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.
Summond his wits, and crost their purpose in this craftie wise.
The next time that to drinke a sip vnto his course it came,
Turning the botome to the skies, he tipled off the same.
Which having done, vnto the yonkers in this wise he spoke,
You cannot say that I (well meaning man,) your law have broke.
What filth can any of you all finde swimming in the pot,
When theres no wine? if youle accuse me, Ile discharge the shot.
Thus did the Carter cosen them without their statutes breach,
And by his over-seeing wit, their craft did over-reach.

A common officer was once on an Ambassage sent,
And from a needie country to a wealthie king he went.


[Page 119]His bisnes was some naughty wine vnto the king to give;
But he which alwayes did before in simple manners live,
As soone as ere the person of the King he did espie,
In trembling sort for feare of him beganne alowd to cry.
Thus standing, of his embassage had not a word to say,
But (as the lambe dooth from the woolfe) would faine have run away.
The King perceiving him to tremble, thus vnto him saide,
Take courage man, I give thee leave to speake, be not afraide.
At length th'embassador from off his head his hatte did take,
And simply rowling it vpon his thumbe, a leg did make;
And taking courage, soone could speake as fast as ere he list,
Wherefore he thus beganne his speech, when all the hall was whist:
Good morrow woorthy Prince, which in this place arte held so deare,
Attentively such wordes as I shall speake, vouchsafe to heare.
The Marchants of our country for a truth to vs report,
That you (thrice noble King) have store of wine of ev'ry sort,
And that among good fellowes night and day you love to bee,
And eke that you will quaffe and drinke as long as you can see;
They therefore hoping thus to make you their vnfained friend,
Presumed to your maiesty this pleasant wine to send.
Such naughty wine as this is, since no better we can get,
We are constrainde to quench our thirsts in great esteeme to set,
But seldome thou hast tasted this, thou glutted arte with thine;
Accept it then, not ev'ry man hath such a cup of wine.
Which having saide, from foorth a bagge the wine he quickely tooke,
Intreating him most heartily vpon the same to looke.
By chance, as thus he reacht it forth, he in the same did spie
Some dust, or little straw which on the top thereof did lie,
And thinking vpon many shifts whereby to take it out,
His carefull eies in evry corner he did cast about;
By chaunce as thus he lookt about him with a carefull minde,
A paire of cleanely snuffers on a table he did finde.
Which having thus espide, on poynts 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 strawes he fished vp.


[Page 120]Then to the smiling king he drunke a draught with all his heart,
And without taking leave, into his country did depart.

More drunken trickes concerning wine I would not heere repeate,
But that a crew of drunkards earnestly do me intreate.
I long to make an end, and yet so instantly they crave,
That force perforce two other trickes of drunkards you must have.
Such store of sundry wines vpon a time a drunkard dranke,
That no two kindes amongst them all grew on the selfe-same banke.
Each sundry kinde within his bellie gan to pitch its field,
No wine there was among them all which would allegeance yield.
These civill warres the drunkards steepie minde did hardly please,
And therefore thus he gan to speake being not well at ease.
I wonder what should be the cause my gots are at such strife,
I never felt such civill warre before in all my life.
Tell me, you raging wines, which in me such a tumult keepe,
What is the cause that you disturbe your master in his sleepe?
I charge you, either presently your selves to reconcile,
And lay aside those armes which you have vsde so long a while.
Or else from forth my bellies bounds I will you banish quite,
Ile spew and belch you vp againe vnlesse you leave your fight.
Which having said, they venturde still to trouble him againe,
Then he a man which scornde to seeme to threaten them in vaine.
Those wines, in drinking of the which his silver he had spent,
From forth into the emptie aire from out his bellie sent.
Whereby his banisht rest vnto his guts he did restore,
The battell ceasde, and he was troubled with their strife no more.
If such like fits at any time presume to trouble thee,
Follow but this example and thou quickly shalt be free.
If so it chance to thee as vnto one it once befell;
Thou well maist brag invomiting thou all men shalt excell.
Which while as briefly as I can, I doe to thee repeate;
If thou wilt but attentive be, thy profite shall be great.
A sort of good companions once for store of wine did call,
And drunke thereof so largely, that they tooke no rest at all.
Amongst the rest a beastly knave of belches vtterd store,
A signe which future vomiting doth alwayes goe before;


[Page 121]Another which was by, from off his head did take his hat,
Promising if he wanted, he should have the vse of that.
If thou perchance hast neede to vomite, this I will thee lend,
And fill it if thou canst (quoth he,) because thou art my frend.
Which having said, the fellowes stomacke gan to rise in haste,
So that into the same, great store of wine and meate he cast.
And strait his hat began with meate and wine to over-flow,
This was a pleasant smell for him that held the hat I trow.
As soone as ere he saw his hat was spoild therewith indeede,
He thought he would not so give o're, but further did proceede.
And on his honest neighbours head presumde the hat to place,
And strait the vomite ranne about his shoulders and his face.
Each man began to clap his hands which did the fellow see,
This pleasant tricke to all their homours fitly did agree.
The man which vomited, therewith was pleased at the heart,
And after they were all made friends, they homeward did depart.

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

THus farre concerning duties when at banquets you do sit,
And now Ile tell those things which are for other places fit.
An Oratour vnto a forraine country late did go,
Which both in eloquence and counsell did abound and flow.
Before a mightie Princesse and a sort of virgins kinde,
This eare-inchanting Oratour must vtter all his minde.
Wherefore obtaining leave to speake, such grace with them he found,
Before he would beginne he gravely lookt vpon the ground.
Which having done, as soone as to beginne his speech he meant,


[Page 122]In comely sort for manners sake his knees he gravely bent:
And being full of courtesie, he chancde to bend too lowe,
And vnawares into the ayre he let a fart to go:
But notwithstanding not a whit ashamed at the deede,
Vnto his purpose which he had in hand he did proceede.
Each one dissembling made as if the fart they had not heard,
Except one maide, which all their maners with her laughter marr'd:
Who while she strivde out of her laughing vaine her selfe to put,
Vnhappy she her tender buttockes close she did not shut.
And therefore let a fart, whose pleasant sound was somewhat sharpe:
If you had heard it, youlde ha thought t'had beene a tuned harpe,
He being mindefull of his owne fault, from his speech did breake,
And tooke occasion in this wise vnto the maids to speake;
Proceede in order ev'ry one of you (faire Nymphs) proceede,
To give your winde free passage, it will helpe you at your neede.
And when it comes vnto my turne to doe the same againe,
Ile doe my best to let another, though my selfe I straine.
Then strait the maide beganne to blush seeing her fault was spide,
Her cheekes were dide as red as bloud, and she her face did hide:
The other maides with store of laughter did their bodies shake,
And thus the Rethoritian of his speech an end did make.

But, for we have begunne to speake of learned men indeede,
We will not leave our first intent, but in the same proceede.
Another time there to a princes stately pallace came,
An Orator, which by his wit purchasde immortall fame,
With store of costly silkes and stately robes he was attirde.
He was a man whome all his country honord and admirde.
As soone as might be he was sent for to the princes hall,
And there had licence to pronounce his speech before them all:
Strait into many lofty wordes he boldely gan to breake,
And with a stately swelling voyce, he thundring wordes did speake.
But he was forcde by belching ev'ry sentence to repeate,
Which was a signe what kindes of cates he yesterday did eate:
It was a fault which from his childhoode he did alwayes vse,
And though he labord nere so much, he could it not refuse.
The prince which did attentively behold him, markt the same;


[Page 123]And angry, marveld that he durst presume so much for shame;
And yet he cloakt his wrath, and would into rayling breake:
But with a pleasant looke vnto him thus beganne to speake:
Most learned man, it grieves me not thine eloquence to heare,
For vnto it with all my heart I lent my listning eare;
But for because more weighty matters doe my presence crave,
The residue thereof to morrow willingly weele have.
Meane time the King devised many pollicies to vse,
Whereby the Rethoritians vtterance he might abuse.
As soone as ere the morrow came, the Scholler he did call,
To make an end of his begunne Oration in the hall.
By chance a base and simple man was thither sent for too,
Which for a little silver any beastly tricke would doe:
He was so well a practisde man in farting, that he coulde
Let farts at any mans commaundement whensoere he woulde.
As soone as ere he came, the king in friendly manner saide,
There is a certaine feate to doe, wherein we lacke thine aide.
A Doctors coate and cap vpon him he did quickely place,
And tolde him all things which were fitte in such a crafty case:
The Rethoritian spoke as he the day before had done;
And at the end of ev'ry sentence, he to belch begunne.
The Doctor also not forgetting his enjoyned arte,
Beganne at end of ev'ry belch most decently to fart.
What shall the Rethoritian doe? he first beganne to chide,
The Doctor for his beastlinesse which quickely was espide,
Thus thinking to proceede in railing at him for the same,
He thought vpon his owne offence, and then he blusht for shame.
Which when the King espide, he into laughter strait did breake,
And to the blushing Rethoritian thus beganne to speake:
This Doctor also vnto vs from forraine countries came
To make a speech: he is a man of great renowne and fame.
And as it is your vse to belch at ev'ry sentence end,
Which in your country as a credite all perhaps commend.
To fart in like sort this our Doctor counts a royall thing;
And as a custome from his country hither doth it bring.
Which having saide, the Rethoritian strait his leave did take,


[Page 124]Enforced in the middle of his speech an end to make.

A man began to tell a tale of newes and manners past,
The Preface of the which, was like an houre or two to last.
To which, one man among the rest gave his attentive eare,
As being willing that which he recited for to heare.
Meane time his bladder was so full, no more it could sustaine,
(The keeping of the vrine, often breedeth mickle paine)
But (foolish man,) the present tale so much he did effect,
That he durst hardly stirre, lest he the storie should neglect,
By chance he had a little purse made of a Squirrels skin,
Which lately he provided had, to keepe his mony in.
He thought it better this his purse with vrine for to fill,
Then loosing of that pleasant storie, so to want his will.
He knew that vrine 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 meanes, most vnluckily vnto his end was brought.
Amongst a sort of gallant maides he in a coach did ride,
Incompassed with store of bashfull maides on every side.
Not many houres amongst the youthfull virgins he had sate,
Talking of chaste virginitie, and such like harmelesse chat.
But that his bladder being filld with vrine to the brim,
Some speedie passage privately it did demand of him.
And yet to stirre from forth the coach he would not take the paine,
Thinking it better any paine or perill to sustaine,
He was so chaste, that rather then hee'd trouble maid or wife,
He thought it better farre to stand in danger of his life.
At length, his bladder with such store of vrine was ore-lade,
That all his bowells burst, and so the water passage had.
And he within a day or two was forc'd his life to leave,
This was the profite which by shamefastnes he did receave.
Wherefore, lest thou the like incurre, refuse not any thing,
Rather then thus thy selfe in danger of thy life to bring.

I thinke it good the tale which followes to recite to thee,
Because it is a tale which argues great Simplicitie.
Of late, a clowne which all the trickes of former times did know,


[Page 125]And livde therein, for these our dayes can none so simple show,
Came to an antient friend of his whome long he had not seene,
And when that store of friendly talke had passed them betweene;
At length they came (as strangers vse) to couple hand in hand,
It is a right on which olde friends do often vse to stand.
But first to make his nostrels cleane, the clowne would be so bolde,
And all the snot which thence he tooke he in his hand did holde,
And then his antient friend he boldely by the hand did take,
Saying, lo, heeres a signe how much of thee (my friend) I make.
The cause why thus he did, was this, he in great feare did stand,
Lest that perhaps the tothers fist should hurt his tender hand.
Wherefore to ease his palme with soft and tender fleame he meant,
That he thereby the future blow the better might prevent.
A thousand such like trickes as these I could to thee repeate,
The practise of the which would make thy fame and credite great,
But that I know this little booke of mine too long would bee,
If all things which my selfe have seene I should recite to thee.
If by thy wit the things which I have tolde thou practise can,
I doubt not but thou soone wilt proove a rude and simple man.

Flaccus himselfe desires in precepts brevitie to finde,
That so they may be kept the better in the Schollers minde;
And yet those precepts which are writ i'th end of this my booke,
Since they be few, you ought vpon them carefully too looke:
The simple life of country farmers which the field doe plow,
And all their rusticke trickes must be esteemed deere of you.
Those things which other curious Critickes doe exhort thee to,
Neglect them all, with gravitie you nothing have to doe:
If some men you can crosse, and stirre vp laughter vnto some,
You neede not care for any more, your duety you have done.
And now (well nurturde youth) I bid thee kindely to farewell,
And thinke on all those wholesome rules which I to thee did tell.

[Page 126]

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 booke I would conclude.
But that the tender virgins do so earnestly intreate,
That some few precepts for their vse, I also would repeate.
What shall I do? consent or no? whether will prove the best?
To do as they require, or contradict their iust request?
The last I will not do; attend, attend, you virgins all,
Behold a man which is preparde and readie at your call.
Some precepts I will give, whereby your manners for to frame,
They shall be few, but you shall reape great profite by the same.
It is not neede for your instruction many trickes to tell,
You are so prone, that all men you in clownish trickes excell.
Nature her selfe, which scornes the helpe of any others trade,
Vnto all kindes of vice your sect most tractable hath made.
Yet notwithstanding that which vnto me 
Apollo told,
Since all I speake is true, to tell it you I dare be bold.
You maides which neither modest, honest, nice, nor bashfull are,
Approach, and for your profits of my precepts have a care.

When through a publike cittie streetes to wander you desire,
(For my part, I am not enforc'd to looke to your attire.)
Permit your wandring gadding eyes in every place to bee,
So that before, behinde, on everie side, you all may see.
The minde which nere committed any trespasse may be bold,
Each man, each thing in every corner, freely to behold.
And with a brazen fore-head, looke the prowdest in the face,
Let those looke downe which for offence have suffred some disgrace.

With both your hands in comely sort hold vp your coates you may,
If as you walke, you chance to enter any dirtie way.


[Page 127]Let both your knees and eke your milke-excelling thighes be spide,
But go no further; parts which higher are you ought to hide.
By this meanes, many yonkers 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 durt,
Yet if I should espy them, I should thinke it little hurt.
It argues that about your busines diligent you are,
And of the thing which you have tooke in hand, you have a care.
This maid about her buisnes with such care and fore-sight goes,
That she can scarce finde idle time to rub her durtie hose.

To shew your bosome vnto all, and eke your naked breast,
Because it is a very comely sight, I hold it best.
Your tender dugges and snow-white necke must be beheld of all,
Which when some wenching youth espies, in love with you hee'le fall,
I neither will so sencelesse nor so bashfull ever bee,
But that I will desire a maid in such a case to see.
Those lovely partes which may be seene of all men, all will love,
But no man chooseth hidden things, before he do them prove.

As thus you walke to take your pleasure in the dirtie streete,
If with a wench which your acquaintance was, you chance to meete.
You neede not with good morrow, nor good den begin to speake,
But bluntly into talke of divers weightie matters breake.
Maides and great mishaps there are, which many men oppresse,
Which they (poore soules,) are forc'd to beare with patience ne'rethelesse.
Their parents hard and crabbed sensure oft they must abide,
With cruell words, and bitter taunts, their daughters oft they chide.
Their curst and crabbed mistris, makes them oftentimes to weepe,
When she their tender neckes in choler churlishly doth keepe.
And yong men also do their trustie lovers oft deceave,
When promising to marrie them, alone they do them leave.
Of these, and such like things, to her be sure thy plaint to make,
That vse of tongue which Nature gave thee, freely thou maist take.
Your sect hath store of eloquence, its weakenes to defend,
That gift to woman-kinde I thinke great 
Iove himselfe did send.
Then since it is your gift to talke, have something still to say,
With trifling matters it is good to drive the time away.


[Page 128]For ten houres space at least your talke begun had neede to last,
By no meanes you must cease till then, although you have great haste.
Meane time, (although when maides lacke words it is a strange event,)
If you perchance lacke words wherewith the time for to prevent.

The trickes and acts of other men beginne for to repeate,
Of such things you shall matter have, all day for to intreate.
What rules and precepts to their folkes your neighbours vse to give.
As also in what order they themselves do vse to live.
What meate your neighbours boord affoords, what drinke he most doth drinke,
What store of cattell he doth keeepe, how rich he is you thinke.
These things, and such as these, and many an hundred thousand more,
If you lacke things whereof to talke, will yield you matter store.
Speake boldly any thing of any man that him may vex,
You have a priviledge 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 ceasde from prating with your loving frend,
Begin at length reiecting trifles homeward for to bend.
As home you go, with peares, with nuts, with apples you shall meete,
Which men and women vse to sell to those that walke the streete.
You for a pennie or three halfe-pence may as many buy,
As will your daintie costardmonging stomacke satisfie.
As you go homeward in the streete you may them boldly eate,
No man I thinke will blame a maid for eating of her meate.
If any chance to mocke thee, tell them they are all thine owne.
Thou paidst for them, not one by him vpon thee was bestowne.

Meane time perchance vnto the cittie Players there are come,
Which round about the towne proclaime their Play by sownd of drum.
Vnto the vulgars store of feates and active trickes theile show,
That they vpon them to maintaine them, something may bestow.
Many profane and base, both words and actions they will have,
Which are mislikte of such as are of life and manners grave.
And yet it is thy dutie vnto every word to harke,
And all their gestures and their actions carefully to marke.
To all their wanton words, you your attentive eare must give,
According vnto that you heare, heereafter you must live,


[Page 129]Whether you naughty words do heare, or beastly sights do see,
To blush at either of them both is not beseeming thee.
For one which for some great offence hath suffred some disgrace,
You will be thought, if blushing colours are within your face.
Let nothing in your cheekes a red vnseemely colour raise,
Keepe still this rule, there can be found no neerer way to praise.
All men will thinke that you the way to vice did never know,
If in your gestures you no signe of blushing vse to show.
But if you vse to laugh alowd as if that you were madde,
All men will thinke that of my Book the practise you have had.

Thinke it not any great disgrace to make thy selfe a mate,
At such like feasts as olde and yong do vse to celebrate.
But if thou wilt give eare vnto my precepts, and to me,
At such like banquettings as these thou present oft shalt be.
For mongst a sort of youths whose wits are sharp with store of beere,
Great store of things convenient for thy purpose thou maist heare;
Which to thy simple life thou maist apply I tell thee plaine,
Amongst such men in such like places, clownishnes doth raigne.
I tell you maide, it is no trifle closely for to spie
Those vices which in yong mens maners closely vse to lie.
When wine dooth rule them, all their secret counsels you may finde,
Wine is a great betrayer and bewrayer of the minde.

Perchance there at the present feast will also drunken bee,
Thy love, thou then maist know th'affection which he beares to thee:
And that his meaning and intent thou maist the better prove,
Thou oughtst to have a care to sit the next vnto thy love.
When he is drunke, to all his deedes and wordes thou oughtst to harke,
And with a carefull eie how many pots he drinkes, to marke.
Perchance the wine and you may vrge him promise for to make,
That very shortly for his loving wife he will you take.

If he consent, love domineering o're the captive boy,
You must not hide your love too long, nor must you be too coy.
Beginne to drinke a cup of wine vnto him for his sake,
Thy good example will enforce the youth more wine to take.
And having tooke the cup, be sure to drinke off ev'ry drop,
Although the wine be strong and olde, and filld vnto the top.


[Page 130]Intreate thy love to pledge thee; then beginne thy cup to fill,
And tell him that you dranke it off, to purchase his good will:
If then for maners sake thy love beginne to thee againe,
You cannot shunne it, kindely it to take you shalbe faine.
And at one draught, because your lover dooth the same desire,
You ought to drinke it off, for so your youthfull yeeres require.
Inchaunted with thy kindenes then his love he will impart,
Which he so long in secret sort, had nourisht in his hart.
And then by many publike signes his love he will betray,
Which from you he so long before in jeast had kept away.

Then heele beginne to holde your tender dugs within his hand,
And range in all those snowie vales which round about them stand.
Which while he doth, in loving sort you ought to sit at ease,
I know this likes you wel, 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 credites cracke must vndergoe:
Your credite and your honest name may quickely both be lost:
But to repaire them both againe, a greater price twill cost.

When thus your love is surely drunke, you ought of him to know,
With fawning wordes what giftes he meanes vpon you to bestow.
He needes must yeeld, 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 aske him more and more.
Though many great rewards he give thee, never be content;
Tell him he spares, and all his goodes on other maides are spent,
And yet sometimes that greater gifts of him you may procure,
To send some little gift or token vnto him be sure.
I purpose not in this my Booke to teach you 
Ovids art,
My scope is nothing like, my precepts doe from him depart.
If you to scoffe or mocke your faithful lover have a minde.
I tel you plaine in my booke no such counsel you shal finde.
But if you with a carefull minde 
Pelignus verses reade,
Heele teach you perfectly in these my rusticke lines to treade.

In former times it was accounted as a speciall grace,
A garland made of sweetest flowers in your head to place:


[Page 131]But since that this no other maides but country vulgars did,
To set such garlands on your head I flatly you forbid.
Indeede the former simple ages did the same approve;
But these our latter times doe other finer garments love.
Such things as are too vulgar, are of vs dispraised quite,
The world dooth nowadayes in newer fashions more delight.
Wherefore, hang you a garland on your nose in pleasant wise,
That it may cover almost halfe your forehead and your eies.
But lest you should suppose my counsell foolish for to bee;
Attend, and you a reason of my counsell strait shall see.
Thus much you know, the garland that you weare must needs be made,
Of finest hearbs and flowers sweete, which will not quickely fade.
You may delight your tender nosthrils with the pleasant smell;
And of your braine twill also be accepted very well,
That smell into the empty ayre with currant passage goes,
Vnlesse your garland made of flowers, hang vpon your nose.

Be not ashamed alwayes in your armes a whelp to beare,
Wherewith you may both sport and play, whense're you idle are.
When in your belly you have any painefull rumbling fart,
Which dooth beginne (vnhappy wench) to grieve thee at the hart.
The same you boldely ought into the empty aire to send,
Which with its gripes and pinchings did your bowells much offend.
Perchance the smell thereof offends some person in that place,
Beginning shamelesly the maker of it to disgrace.
Your little dogge to save your credite then is very fit,
Blame onely him, as if that he your trespasse did commit.
Say that twas he, and none but he, that did the aire perfume;
To contradict you in this case, theres no man dares presume.

Twixt fleas and women there was strife ere since the world begunne
Ane will (I thinke) 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 prickes your tender thigh.
And into womens tender skinnes her biting beak sheele thrust,
Where she will feede vpon them, till she ready be to burst.
This paine doth in the night from sleepe the maidens so awake,
That they are forede for ayde themselves vnto their armes to take.


[Page 132]Wherefore, if any such like foe thy tender skinne offend,
Betake thee to thy weapons strait thy body to defend.
Whether it be at home that she presumes thee to assaile,
Or gainst you when you are abroad hopes better to prevaile,
You neede not care though ne're so many men be standing by,
Which will your cruelty against the nimble flea espy.
But having cast off all your clothes, seeke you your secret foe,
That he the punishment which he deservde may vndergo.
In valiant sort from foorth his lurking denne 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 skinne they also taken are.
It is impossible that you in rest should ever live,
Vnles his deaths wound vnto some one enemy you give.

But now lest you should thinke some precepts wanting for to bee,
A tricke which thou must immitate I must propound to thee.
A publike meeting once there was, within an antient towne,
And many weighty matters heard, fore men of great renowne.
Hither a certaine woman came their orders for to know,
Desiring to have notice how ech matter there did goe.
When she with great attention had many howers past
Her belly filld too full with meate, beganne to ake at last.
The meate which she digested had, began of her to crave,
That if she lovde her health, with speede some passage it might have.
She taking in the matters handling pleasure at the hart,
Having so good a place, was loath from foorth it to depart,
By chance she had a bag, wherein great store of bookes there was,
Because she was an holy maide, and given much to masse;
Into the which her bellies griefe she presently did put,
And staid to heare all matters ended, having easde her gut.
If you wil take my counsel, you this tricke shall oft pervse,
Perchance there will occasion come when you the same shall vse.
But (foolish as I am) the lingring time what neede I spend?
Since all which is to come behinde, in three wordes I might end.
Those wholesome precepts which I lately vnto yongmen gave,
To serve your turne whenas you lacke you may them also have:


[Page 133]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.
Exspect, 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 alwaies sure to live,
And have a care vnto my yoake your captive necke to give.
My selfe the straightest way that is, to modestie will leade,
You cannot erre, nor go amisse, if in my steps you treade.
A greater store of precepts yet to you repeate I might,
In practise of the which, you could not choose but take delight.
But that my muse me to my bed to rest my selfe doth send,
Commanding me of this my morall booke to make an end.
Wherefore farewell, If by my booke you any profite take,
I aske no more but this, defend it for its Authors sake.

The Authors conclusion to Master 
Simon Bing, wherein he sheweth all the intent and practise of this present worke.THis raging sea (most deere friend 
Bing,) with good successe at last,
Helpt by thy friendly Pilots hand, my tattred ship hath past:
If to the waters mercy I had trusted all alone,
I know my ship had long ago with waves beene over-throwne.
But your exspected kindenes without faintnes did me leade,
Inticing me with fearelesse heart, in paths vnknowne to treade.
I thinke that you vnto my ship a gentle hand did send,
By whose conducture this my boat obtainde its hop'd for end.
My ship at length hath found the haven which she did desire,
And now in quiet from such boistrous waters will retire.
Although perhaps I nothing got, but labour for my paine,
And cannot as I would, the marke at which I aimde attaine.
Yet is your favour ne'rethelesse, the fault my selfe 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 marke as well as I to hit it meant.
Wherefore the ship with all the sailes I dedicate to thee,
That by thy care from after-claps it may defended bee.


[Page 134]Lest any swelling stormes should hurt it being torne and weake,
Or future tempests by their raging blasts, the same should breake.
For what availes it to have caught the long desired shore?
Or to have scap'd those gulfes which safely we have passed o're?
Vnlesse your wonted love and kindenes do me still pursue,
And I heereafter also may inioy the love of you.
Although my ship at haven stands, yet when the windes do blow,
The raging waves which rise, my ship may quickly over-throw.
But your good will may as an anchors vnremoved 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 vnfained care to have,
If that the matter and the methode be but lik'd of thee,
I hope of no man else my paines can much misliked bee.
It may be, few or none at all, will much esteeme my verse,
Because in civill sort my iests I vse not to reherse.
Some men perchance will therefore not my painefull labours love,
Because forsooth my verses do not store of laughter move.
What though some other thinke my verses lothsome, base, and vile?
Because forsooth they are not written in a loftie stile.
Will therefore every man condemne my labour and my paine?
Is both my care, my time, and toile consumed all in vaine?
I cannot tell, I looke for better fortune; for I know,
Though this my worke will vnto some both base and lothsome showe
Yet some there are I know, which will my painefull worke applaude,
And tis as much as I desire of some to merite laude.
Within my booke no praise-deserving precepts written are,
Nor any salves which from the minde have force to banish care.
And yet vnlesse that my coniecture doth me much deceive,
He which pervseth well this booke, some profite may receive.
Manners which clownish are, I have set downe in clownish wise,
Which I have set in carefull sort before the vulgars eyes.
Most of the trickes which I have writ, my selfe before did see,
The rest, a trustie friend of mine repeated vnto mee.
And some thereof, (it is no shame to tell the naked truth,)
My selfe (as I was apt thereto,) committed in my youth.


[Page 135]Mongst all the precepts which my booke containes, there is not one,
Whose author (be they ne're so clownish,) is to me vnknowne.
They much pervse my booke, (if any man such paines will take,)
Doubtlesse this gaine (if nothing else,) they shall be sure to make.
I know some prettie cleanly tricke or other he shall reade,
Wherein he knowes that he himselfe before did often treade.
When he espies some tricke agreeing to his manners fit,
Which in a youthfull merrie vaine he whilome did commit.
The blushing red which in his visage to and fro will passe,
Will make him thinke, that of that fault he whilome giltie was.
And lest heereafter 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 sortes of men will very thankfull bee,
And sure I thinke for all my paines so much they owe to mee.
But thou which movedst me to write, (for onely for thy sake,
And no mans else (friend 
Bing,) I did this labour vndertake.)
Shalt for the mentioning hereof, have an eternall fame,
And all the future times will daily thinke vpon thy name.
Each man which doth peruse this booke, to thee will render praise,
Because from darke oblivions rage, thou onely 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 then due.
For doubting whither such a trifle I abroad should send,
Which I at idle times a while before had rashly pend.
Knowing it was no worke whereon the learned ought to looke,
Because the Muses every one were absent from my booke.
He having seene the worke before, perswaded me at last,
From forth my minde such abiect thoughts and causelesse feare to cast.
And boldly at the length, to bring my Poeme into light,
That others also for their vse and profite reade it might.
I knowing that in friendly sort he councell'd for the best,
Agreed to publish it according to my friends request.
Wherefore as long as any shall accept of this my paine,
As long as this my booke in vse and credite shall remaine.


[Page 136]So long 
Bings name shall live inspight of blacke oblivious blot,
The name of him in future time shall never be forgot.
The hidden sparkes of vertue which inclosde in him do lie,
Do merite that their masters name and fame should never die.
The Muses all, and those which of them favorites do prove
He holdes in great account, and most entirely them doth love.
Those which to vertue and to learning all their mindes will give,
He doth promote and gives them riches wherewithall to live.
But nowadaies, to finde a learned scholler it is hard,
So few there are which such a jem as learning do regard.
Rather then learning, any other kinde of life thei'le choose,
They love in base maechanicall Arts their youthfull age to loose.
All meanes they try, and all too few their riches to provide,
They passe the richest 
Lydian king in scorne, disdaine, and pride.
The marke which each man nowadaies desireth for to hit,
Is most aboundant 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.
Meane time, those holy Nimphs which on 
Pernassus hill do keepe,
For want of suters, ever vnfrequented sit and weepe.
But thou which lovest learning, wilt not such abuse permit,
That goddesses should vnfrequented without succour sit.
Those which are learned thou dost love, because thou learned art,
All aide and favour which thou canst to them, thou dost impart.
Proceede, proceede, as thou beginst thy bountie to declare,
And as thou dost, of painefull schollers still to have a care.
So in this world eternall fame and credite you shall gaine,
And in the world to come, a full reward you shall attaine,
There can no straighter paths be found nor any neerer waies
Then these, whereby to merite store of everlasting praise.
Wherefore proceede to love the learned as thou hast begunne,
And have a care to cherish them as alwaies thou hast done.
Continue long my friend, and with a kinde and loving looke,
Vouchsafe for to accept my gift, this little merrie booke.
If Fortune and the Gods above vpon my purpose smile,
You shall have better fruits then these within this little while.

The end of the last booke of Grobianus and Grobiana.

[Page]

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The schoole of slovenrie: or, Cato turnd wrong side outward. Translated out of Latine into English verse, to the vse of all English Christendome, except court and cittie. By R.F. Gent — Grobianus. English

Author: Dedekind, Friedrich, d. 1598.1605

The second Booke.

The third Booke.

What modestie is to be observed each morning in the apparell, and making the haire, the face, and the teeth cleane. Chapter. I.

The breakefast, the modestie of the eyes, the forehead and the nosthrills: also of pratling, sneezing, bawdinesse, belching and going, and behaviour in the streetes. Chapter II.

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

Concerning the behaviour at the Table, before meate be set on. Chap. IIII.

Your behaviour all the while you eate. Chapter V.

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

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

Waiting at the Table all supper time. Chapter VIII.

The manner how to serve the guests with drinke after supper, and how to prevent them with craftie trickes. Chapter IX.

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

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 booke. Chapter XI.

How to behave your selfe, being invited by another, with what behavior to come to supper, and how to sit downe at the Table. Chap. I.

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

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

Modestie in eating and drinking. Chapter IIII.

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

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

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

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

How to entertaine, vse, and send away those guests which you have invited. Chapter IX.

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

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

How to spread and suffer scoffes and ieasts, farting, spitting, answering to questions, and looking into other mens letters. Chap. III.

Behaviour when you enter into other mens houses, going into hot-houses, or baths, divers coloured parted coates, the adorning of the beard, the vse of papers and bookes, entertaining your friends, and other such like civilities. Chapter IIII.

Sundrie sorts of civilities at the Table. Chapter V.

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

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

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

The Authors conclusion to Master Simon Bing, wherein he sheweth all the intent and practise of this present worke.

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 booke. Chapter XI.

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