¶ A Decree betwene Churchyarde and Camell.
¶ A decree vpon the dreame made by Dauy Dicar,
Wyth answer to Camell, whose taūtes be more quicker.
WHer Dicar hath dreamed of things out of frame,
And Churchyard by writing affirmeth the same,
And Camell contendeth, the same to deface,
And therfore hath put hys doynges in place.
Sythe both of those twayne hath set foorth in myter
The wordes of the Authour, the skyl of the wryghter
And runne in thys race, styl chaffyng the bytte
I thynke in thys case much more then is fytte.
I myndyng as much as lyeth in me
To make them both▪ as in one to agree
Haue taken in hande the dreame to defende
And so to recite theyr race to the ende.
Not so to approue my learning or skyll
But onely because it becommeth them yll
From rymyng to raylyng so ofte to dygresse,
Wheras reasō and wyt doth wil nothing lesse.
As Dicar hath dreamed so tyme out of mynde,
Dicars Dreame.
Some thynges were amys, that some men dyd fynde,
If al thynges were wel, as I woulde God they were,
We shoulde not be plaged from yeare vnto yeare,
If all men do ryght, what nedeth the lawe,
What nede any iustice to hange and to drawe,
If no man be wronged nor wydowe oppressed,
Then needeth no care to haue it redressed,
If no man wyll venter to robbe or to steale,
O England thou hast a good common weale.
If no man do hurde nor hydeth in store,
Then England shal haue no dearth any more
If no man offend by way of excesse.
Then grace doth abound, the fault is the lesse,
If the lustes of the fleshe be putte oute of vre
The world is amended the people be pure.
If the poore and the nedye be daylye relyued,
What man is so mad, therat to be greued?
If no man do slaunder nor styrre vp debate,
Then Dicar I thynke hath dreamed to late.
If no man do flatter, nor fawne for a gayne,
Then may it appeare this dreame is but vain.
If all thyng be well, and in the ryght waye,
Why do they not vse good lawes to obey.
If no man defraude in bying nor sellyng
Then happy is Englande, for ther is best dwellyng.
If fayth he vnfayned, and wordes do once bynde,
The dreame is all false, and so ye may fynde.
If truth do take place and in al thynges encreasse,
Dreame no more Dicar, but lette thy dreame ceasse.
If thys be not so then Camel to you,
I feare me thys dreame wyll proue to be true.
For it is not so geeson wyth vs for to heare,
But the effect of the dreame doth dayly appeare.
And euery man is now in such takynge,
It passeth, a dreame, they fynde it out wakyng.
If you be suche a one as neuer had peere,
Then are you fauty in none of thys geere.
But seyng your writyng doth seme somewhat quycke,
You seme that ye smarted because ye dyd kycke.
Yet when the dreame was to pryntyng dyrected,
I thyncke of the dreamer ye were not suspected.
And where as you contende it doth not belonge,
For Dicar to dreame of ryght or of wronge.
In dede you do well yf you haue done amys,
To shewe hym hys faulte and saye thus it is.
And if you so wel know what doth Dycar behoue,
Then ought you to shewe the same to approue.
But me thyncketh you want a frendly good wyll,
To deface a good matter though the author wer yll.
And certes of you both indifferently to tel
I cannot in your raylynges commend your doyngs wel.
And both of you twayne are yet to me vnknowen,
yet can I ayde your doynges, as if they were myne own.
ye passe from your purpose in such vnworthy sorte,
ye make of your doynges a very laughyng sporte.
ye close and ye glose, in sekyng to be fyne,
ye taunt and retaunt almost in euery lyne.
ye affyrme ye haue red both Terence and Cato,
ye count ye do but flatter, ye well resemble Gnato.
And looke howe much dyffers a Foxe from a foole,
So much do you dyffer from Cato and hys schoole,
For Cato doth affyrme ther is no greater shame,
Then to reproue a vyce, and your selues to do the same.
And because I wyl not seeme your fancy to embrace,
As touchyng your debate▪ I answer in thys case:
Me thynketh in wrytyng ye both haue such skyll▪
ye marre a good matter and make it very yll.
Wherby to say the truth it appeareth wel vnto me,
your names and your wyttes vnnumerable be.
Therfore do not thynke that ye can be forborne,
But such as be readers shall laugh you to scorne.
And when that your doynges be throughly perused,
Then by the same deedes ye shalbe accused.
Ceasse nowe in season cast all contempt away,
Be subiect vnto reason, and make no more delay.
And eyther of you twayne do not refuse to knowe,
As Cato doth enstructe you but strayght embrace it so
whych though my skil be smal, here thought I to reherse
The text and sence wyth all of euery kynde of verce
Contra uerbosos noli contendere uerbis,
Sermo datur cunctis animii sapiencia paucis,
Cum recte uiuas ne curas uerba malorum
Arbitrii nostri non est quid quisque loquatur.
To striue wyth men of many words, refrain I the aduise
It is not geuen to euery man that he shalbe godlye wyse
If thou lyue wel do not regarde what wicked men do say
For why? it lyeth not in vs such wycked tounges to staye,
Thys is it that ye haue read whyche if you lyst to knowe
He wil aswage your sturdi stormes wich you haue reised so
Take this in worth good Reder now expound it to y
e best
For I haue sayd to theyr deuyce, now harken to the rest
¶ The iudgement of the Authour.
Some thyng is a mys and euer shalbe so,
Scripture writeth thys as learned men do knowe.
And some men haue the gyft therof to speake and wryte,
Whych fal yet at a lyfte to frayle and fonde delyte.
It doth behoue vs all so iustly as we canne,
To do ryght well in deede, and eke to wryte it thanne
How be it in hym I iudge much greater faulte there is,
Whych nought can saye nor do, but that whych is a mys.
The best may be amended, and that is very true
The more that haue offended, the more we ought to rue.
If any fal from grace gentelly hym assayle,
Burden hym wyth charity, no rygour can preuayle,
For why, if that the shepherde do wander from the waye,
No maruell if the shepe therafter go astraye
Some men perhappe ther be wyl take me to the wourst
I pray you iudge of me, as I spake it at the furst
For it becommeth yll in wryttyng to contende,
Wythout wytte or skyll to make a raylyng ende
Take me to the best, as one to you vnknowen
Whose worthy wyts I do cōmend & wold w
t you be one.
Not mindyng so assuredly to spende and waste the daye,
To make the people laugh at me, & here I make a staye,
Finis
quod W. Ilderton.
¶ Imprinted at London by Rychard Haruy, dwellyng in Fosterlane.