SPEECHES DELIVERED TO HER MAIESTIE THIS LAST PROGRESSE, AT THE Right Honorable the Lady RVSSELS, at Bissam, the Right Honorable the Lorde CHANDOS at Sudley, at the Right Honorable the Lord NORRIS, at Ricorte.

AC: OX

At Oxforde, Printed by Ioseph Barnes. 1592.

TO THE READER.

I GATHERED these copies in loose papers I know not how imperfect, therefore must I craue a double par­don; of him that penned them, and those that reade them. The matter of small moment, and therefore the offence of no great danger.

I. B.

At the top of the Hill going to Bissam, the Cornets sounding in the Woods, a wilde man came forth and vt­tered this speech.

I Followed this sounde, as enchanted; neither knowing the reason why, nor how to bee ridde of it: vnusuall to these Woods, and (I feare) to our gods prodigi­ous. Syluanus whom I honour, is runne into a Caue: Pan, whom I enuye, courting of the Shephear­desse: Enuie I thee Pan? No, pitty thee, an eie-sore to chast Nymphes; yet still importunate: Honour thee Syluanus? No, contemne thee: fearefull of Musicke in the Woods, yet counted the god of the Woods. I, it may bee more stout, than wise, asked, who passed that way? what he or shee? none durst answere, or would vouchsafe, but passionate Eccho, who saide Shee. And Shee it is, and you are Shee, whom in our dreames many yeares wee Satyres haue seene, but waking could neuer finde any such. Euery one hath tolde his dreame and described your person, all agree in one, and set downe your vertues: in this onely did wee differ, that some saide your Pourtraiture might be drawen, other saide impossible: some thought your vertues might be numbred, most saide they were infinite: Infinite, and impossible, of that side was I: and first in hu­mility to salute you most happy I: my vntamed thoughts [Page]waxe gentle, & I feele in my selfe ciuility, A thing hated, because not knowen, and vnknowen, because I knew not you. Thus Vertue tameth fiercenesse, Beauty, madnesse. Your Maiesty on my knees will I followe, bearing this Club, not as a Saluage, but to beate downe those that are.

At the middle of the Hill sate Pan, and two Virgins keeping sheepe, and sowing in their Samplers, where her Maie­stye stayed and heard this.

Pan.

PRety soules and bodies too, faire shephardisse, or sweete Mistresse, you know my suite, loue, my vertue, Musicke, my power, a godhead. I cannot tickle the sheepes gutts of a Lute, bydd, bydd, bydd, like the calling of Chickins, but for a Pipe that squeeketh like a Pigg, I am he. How doe you burne time, & drowne beauty in prick­ing of clouts, when you should bee penning of Sonnets? You are more simple then the sheepe you keepe, but not so gentle. I loue you both, I know not which best, and you both scorne me, I know not which most. Sure I am, that you are not so young as not to vnderstand loue, nor so wise as to withstand it, vnlesse you think your selues greater thā gods, whereof I am one. Howe often haue I brought you Chestnuts for a loue token, & desired but acceptance for a fauour. Little did you knowe the misterye, that as the huske was thornye and tough, yet the meate sweete, so though my hyde were rough and vnkempt, yet my heart was smooth and louing: you are but the Farmers daughters of the Dale, I the god of the flocks that feede vpon the hils. Though I cannot force loue, I may obedience, or else sende your sheepe a wandring, with my fancies. Coy­nesse must be reuenged with curstnesse, but be not agaste sweet mice, my godhead cōmeth so fast vpon me, that Ma­iestye had almost ouerrūn affectiō, Can you loue? Wil you?

Syb.

Alas poore Pan, looke how he looketh Sister, fitter [Page]to drawe in a Haruest wayne, then talke of loue to chaste Virgins, would you haue vs both?

Pan.

I, for oft I haue hearde, that two Pigeons may bee caught with one beane.

Isab.

And two Woodcocks with one sprindge.

Syb.

And many Dotterels with one dance.

Isab.

And all fooles with one faire worde.

Nay, this is his meaning; as he hath two shapes, so hath he two harts, the one of a man wherewith his tongue is tipped, dissembling; the other of a beast, wherewith his thoughts are poysoned, lust. Men must haue as manie loues, as they haue hart-strings, and studie to make an Al­phabet of mistresses, from A. to Y. which maketh them in the end crie, Ay. Against this, experience hath prouided vs a remedy, to laugh at them when they know not what to saie, and when they speake, not to beleeue them.

Pan.

Not for want of matter, but to knowe the meaning, what is wrought in this sampler?

Syb.

The follies of the Gods, who became beastes, for their affections.

Pan.

What in this?

Isa.

The honour of Virgins who became Goddesses, for their chastity.

Pan.

But what be these?

Syb.

Mens tongues, wrought all with double stitch but not one true.

Pan.

What these?

Isa.

Roses, Eglētine, harts-ease, wrought with Queenes stitch, and all right.

Pan.

I neuer hard the odds betweene mens tongues, and weomens, therefore they may be both double, vnlesse you tell mee how they differ.

Syb.

Thus, weomens tongues are made of the same flesh that their harts are, and speake as they thinke: Mens harts of the flesh that their tongues, and both dissemble, But prythy Pan be packing, thy words are as odious as thy [Page]fight and we attend a fight which is more glorious, then the sunne rising.

Pan.

What doth Iupiter come this waies?

Syb.

No, but one that will make Iupiter blush as guilty of his vnchast iugglings, and Iuno dismaide as wounded at her Maiesty. What our mother hath often tolde vs, and fame the whole world, cannot be concealed from thee; if it be, we wil tell thee, which may hereafter make thee sur­cease thy suite, for feare of her displeasure, and honour virginitye, by wondering at her vertues.

Pan.

Say on sweete soule?

Syb.

This way commeth the Queene of this Islande, the wonder of the world, and natures glory, leading affections in fetters, Virginities slaues: embracing mildnes with Iu­stice, Maiesties twinns. In whom nature hath imprinted beauty, not art paynted it; in whome wit hath bred lear­ning, but not without labour; labour brought forth wise­dome, but not without wonder. By her it is (Pan) that all our Carttes that thou seest, are laden vvith Corne, when in other countries they are filled vvith Harneys, that our horses are ledde vvith a whipp: theirs vvith a Launce, that our Riuers flow with fish, theirs with bloode: our cattel feede on pastures, they feede on pastures like cattel: One hande she stretcheth to Fraunce, to weaken Rebels; the other to Flaunders, to strengthen Religion; her heart to both Countries, her vertues to all. This is shee at whom Enuie hath shott all her arrowes, and now for anger broke her bow, on whom God hath laide all his blessinges, & we for ioy clappe our hands, heedlesse treason goeth hed­lesse; and close trechery restlesse: Daunger looketh pale to beholde her Maiesty; & tyranny blusheth to heare of her mercy. Iupiter came into the house of poore Baucis, & she vouchsafeth to visite the bare Farmes of her subiects. We vpō our knees, wil entreat her to come into the valley, that our houses may be blessed with her presence, whose hartes are filled with quietnes by her gouernement. To her wee wish as many yeares, as our fieldes haue eares of [Page]corne, both infinite: and to her enemies, as many troubles, as the Wood hath leaues, all intollerable. But whist, here shee is, run downe Pan the hill in all hast, and though thou breake thy necke to giue our mother warning, it is no matter.

Pan.

No, giue me leaue to die with wondring, & trippe you to your mother. Here I yeelde all the flockes of these fields to your highnes: greene be the grasse where you treade: calme the water where you rowe: sweete the aire, where you breathe: long the life that you liue, happy the people that you loue: this is all I can wish. During your a­bode, no theft shalbe in the woods: in the fielde no noise, in the vallies no spies, my selfe will keepe all safe: that is all I can offer. And heare I breake my pipe, which Apollo could neuer make me doe; and follow that sounde which followes you.

At the bottome of the hill, entring into the house Ceres with her Nymphes in an har­uest Cart, meete her Maiesty, hauing a Crowne of wheat-ears with a Iewell, and after this song, vttered the speech following.

Swel Ceres now for other Gods are shrinking,
Pomona pineth,
Fruitlesse her tree;
Faire Phoebus shineth
Onely on mee.
Conceite doth make me smile whilst I am thinking,
How euery one doth read my story,
How euery bough on Ceres lowreth,
Cause heauens plenty on me powreth,
And they in leaues doe onely glory,
All other Gods of power bereuen,
Ceres only Queene of heauen.
[Page]
With Robes and flowers let me be dressed.
Cynthia that shineth,
Is not so cleare,
Cynthia declineth,
When I appeere,
Yet in this Ile shee raignes as blessed,
And euery one at her doth wonder,
And in my eares still fonde fame whispers,
Cynthia shalbe Ceres Mistres,
But first my Carre shall riue asunder,
Helpe Phoebus helpe my fall is suddaine,
Cynthia, Cynthia, must be soueraigne.

GReater then Ceres, receiue Ceres Crowne, the orna­ment of my plenty, the honour of your peace, heere at your highnes feete, I lay downe my feined deity, which Poets haue honoured, truth contemned. To your Maie­sty whome the heauens haue crowned with happines, the world with vvonder, birth with dignitie, nature with per­fection, vve doe all Homage, accounting nothing ours but what comes frō you. And this muche dare we promise for the Lady of the farme, that your presence hath added many daies to her life, by the infinite ioies shee conceyues in her heart, who presents your highnesse with this toye and this short praier, poured from her hart, that your daies may increase in happines, your happines haue no end till there be no more daies.

At her Maiesties entrance into the Castle, an olde Shepheard spake this saying.

VOuchsafe to heare, a sim­ple Shephard, shephards and simpli­city cannot part, your highnes is cōe into Cotshold, an vneuē coūtry, but a people, that carry their thoughtes leuell with their fortunes, lowe spi­rites, but true harts, vsing plaine dea­linge, once counted a Iewell nowe beggery, these hills afoorde nothing but cottages, and no­thing can we present to your highnes, but shephards. The country healthy, and harmeles, a fresh aier, where there are noe dampes, and where a black sheepe is a perilous beast, no monsters, we carry our harts, at our tongues ends, being as farre from dissembling, as our sheepe from fiercenesse, and if in any thing, we shall chance to discouer our leud­nes, it wilbe in ouer boldnesse, in gazinge at you, who fils our harts with ioye, and our eies with wonder, as for the ho­norable Lord and Lady of the Castle, what happines they conceiue, I would it were possible for them selues to ex­presse, then should your Maiestie see, that al outwarde en­terteinment, were but a smoake rising from their inward affections, which as they cannot be seene, being in the hart, so can they not be smoothred, appearing in their counte­nance, this lock of wooll Cotsholdes best fruite, and my poore gift, I offer to your highnes, in which nothing is to be esteemed, but the whitenes, virginities colour, nor to be expected but duetye, shepards religion.

Sunday, Apollo running after Daphne, a Shepheard followed vttering this.

Nescis temeraria; nescis,
Quem fugias; idio (que) fugis.

A short tale, but a sorrowfull, a iust complaint, but re­medelesse, I loued, (for shephardes haue their Saints) [Page]long I loued (for beauty bindeth prentices) a Nymph most faire & as chast as faire, yet not more faire, then I vn­happy, Apollo who calleth him selfe a god (a title among men, when they will commit iniuries) tearme them­selues gods, pursued my Daphne with bootelesse loue, and me, with endlesse hate, her he woed; with faire wordes, the flatteries of men, with great gifts, the sorceries of gods, with cruell threates, the terrefiing of weake damosels Néc prece néc pretio néc mouet ille minis. me; he terrified with a mon­strous word metamorphosing, saying that he would turne me into a woolfe and of a shepheard make me a sheepe-biter, or into a Cockatrice and cause mine eies which gazed on her, to blind hers which made mine dazell, or to a molde that I should heare his flattering speech, but neuer behold her faire face, tantaené animis caelestibus irae? some­times would he allure her with sweete musicke, but har­mony is harsh when it is lusts broaker, often with promise of immortality, but chastetye is of it selfe immortall, euer pursuing her with swiftnes, but vertue tying wings to the thoughts of Virgins, swiftnes becommeth surbated; thus liued he twixt loue and ielousy; I twixt loue and danger; she twixt feare and vertue. At last and alas, this day I feare of all my ioyes the last, I cannot as a Poet (who describing the morning, and before he tell what it is, make it night,) stand on the time, loue coyneth no circumloquutions, but by the sunne, a Shepheardes Diall, which goeth as true as our harts, it was four of the clock, whē she flying frō his treason was turned into a tree; which made me stand, as though I had bene turned into a stone, and Apollo so enchanted as wounded with her losse, or his owne crueltye, the fingers which were wonte to play on the Lute, found no other in­strument then his owne face, the goulden haire the pride of his heade pulde off in lockes and stampt at his feete, his sweete voice, turned to howling; and there sitteth he, (long maie he sorrowe,) wondring, and weeping, and kissing the lawrell, his late loue, and mine euer. Pleaseth your Maie­stye to viewe the melancholy of Apollo, my distresse, and [Page] Daphnes mischance, it may be the sight of so rare perfectiō, will make him die for griefe, which I wish, or Daphne re­turne to her olde shape, which must be your wounder; if neither, it shal content me that I haue reuealed my griefes, and that you may beholde his.

This speech ended, her Maiesty sawe Apollo with the tree, hauing on the one side one that sung, on the other one that plaide.

SIng you, plaie you, but sing and play my truth,
This tree my Lute, these sighes my notes of ruth:
The Lawrell leafe for euer shall bee greene,
And chastety shalbe Apolloes Queene.
If gods maye dye, here shall my tombe be plaste,
And this engrauen, fonde Phoebus, Daphne chaste.

After these verses, the song.

MY hart and tongue were twinnes, at once conceaued,
The eldest was my hart, borne dumbe by destenie,
The last my tongue, of all sweete thoughts bereaued,
Yet strung and tunde, to play harts harmonie.
Both knit in one, and yet asunder placed,
What hart would speake, the tongue doeth still discouer,
What tongue doth speake, is of the hart embraced,
And both are one to make a new found louer:
New founde, and onely founde in Gods and Kings,
Whose words are deedes, but deedes nor words regarded:
Chaste thoughts doe mount and flie with swiftest wings,
My loue with paine, my paine with losse rewarded:
Engraue vpon this tree, Daphnes perfection,
That neither men nor gods, can force affection.

The song ended, the tree riued, and Daphne issued out, Apollo ranne after, with these words.

NImpha mane, per me concordant carmina neruis.
Faire Daphne staye, too chaste because too faire,
Yet fairer in mine eies, because so chaste,
And yet because so chaste, must I despaire?
And to despaire, I yeelded haue at last.
Shepheard possesse thy loue, for me too cruell,
Possesse thy loue, thou knowest not how to measure,
A dunghill cock doeth often finde a Iewell,
Enioying that, he knowes not to be treasure.
When broomy bearde, to sweepe thy lips presume,
When on thy necke, his rough hewen armes shall moue,
And gloate on thee with eies that drizell reume,
When that his toothlesse mouth shall call thee loue,
Noght will I saie of him, but pittie thee,
That btauty might, but would no wiser bee.

Daphne running to her Maiestie vttred this.

I stay, for whether should chastety fly for succour, but to the Queene of chastety, by thee was I enterred in a tree, that by crafte, way might be made to lust, by your highnes restored, that by vertue, there might be assurance in ho­nor: these tables, to set downe your prayses long since Si­billas prophesies I humbly present to your Maiesty, not thinking, that your vertues can be deciphered in so slight a volume, but noted; the whole world is drawen in a small mappe, Homers Illiades in a nutshel, and the riches of a Mo­narch, in a few cyphers, and so much ods, betwext explai­ning of your perfections, and the touching, as is betvvixt painting and thinking, the one, running ouer a little table [Page]in a vvhole day, the other ouer the whole world in a mi­nute, vvith this vouchsafe a poore virgins wish, that often wish for good husbands, mine, only for the endlesse prosperity of my soueraigne.

The verses, written in the tables which were giuen to her Maiesty.

LET fame describe your rare perfection,
Let nature paint your beuties glory,
Let loue engraue your true affection,
Let wonder write your vertues story,
By them and Gods must you be blazed,
Sufficeth men they stand amazed.

The thirde day shoulde haue beene presen­ted to her Maiestie, the high Constable of Cotsholde but the weather so vnfit, that it was not. But this it should haue beene, one clothed all in sheepes-skins, face & all spake this by his interpreter.

MAy it please your highnes, this is the great Consta­ble and commandadore of Cotsholde, he speaks no language, but the Rammish tongue, such sheepishe gouer­nours there are, that can say no more to a messenger then he, (Bea), this therfore, as signifying his duety to your Ma­iestye, and al our desires, I am commanded to be his inter­preter, or shepheards starre, pointing directly to Cotshold, and in Cotshold, to Sudley, made vs expect some wonder, and of the eldest, aske some counsel, it was resolued by the ancientst, that such a one should come, by whome all the shepheards should haue their flocks in safety, & their own liues, all the coūtry quietnes, & the whole world astonish­ment: [Page]our Constable commaunds this day to be kept hol­liday, all our shepheards are assembled, and if shepheards pastimes may please, how ioyful would they be if it would please you to see them; which if you vouchsafe not, as pa­stimes too meane for your Maiestie, they meane to call this day the shepheards blacke day; in all humilitie we entreat, that you would cast an eie to their rude deuices, and an eare to their harshe wordes, and if nothing happen to be pleasing, the amends is, nothing shal be tedious.

After this speech her Maiesty was to be brought amonge the shepheards amonge whome was a King and a Queene to be chosen and thus they beganne.

Melibaeus. Nisa. Cutter of Cootsholde.
Mel.

CVT the Cake, who hath the beane; shalbe King, and where the peaze is, shee shalbe Queene.

Nis.

I haue the peaze, and must be Queene.

Mel.

I the beane and King, I must cammaunde.

Nis.

Not so, the Queene, shall and must commaunde, for I haue often heard of a King that coulde not com­maunde his subiects, and of a Queene that hath commaunded Kings.

Mel.

I yeeld, yet is it within compasse of my authoritie to aske questions and first I will beginne with you in loue, I meane Shepheardes loue, for I will not meddle with Gentlefolkes loue, which is most constant, the man or the woman?

Nis.

It is no question, no more then if you should aske whether on a steepe hill, a square stone, or a globe stoode most steddye.

Mel.

Both louing, which is most louing?

Nis.

The woman if she haue her right, the man, if he be his owne Iudge.

Mel.

Why doth the man euer vvoe the vvoman, the woman neuer the man?

Nis.

Because men are most amorous and least chaste, women carelesse of fonde affections, and vvhen they em­brace them, fearefull. But vnlesse your questions were vviser, I commaunde you to silence. You sirra, that sit as though your wits were a vvoole-gathering vvill you haue a question, or a commaundement?

Cut.

No question of a Queene, for they are harde to be answered, but anie commaundement, for that must be o­beyed.

Nis.

Then sing, and you sir, a question, or commaund­ment?

Do.

A commaundment I, and glad that I am?

Nis.

Then play:

Do.

I haue plaide so long with my fingers that I haue beaten out of play al my good fortunes

The Song.

HEarbes, wordes, and stones, all maladies haue cured,
Hearbes, wordes, and stones, I vsed when I loued,
Hearbes smels, words, winde, stones hardnes haue procured,
By stones, nor wordes, nor hearbes her minde was moued;
I askt the cause, this was a womans reason,
Mongst hearbes are weedes, and thereby are refused,
Deceite, as well as truth speakes wordes in season,
False stones by foiles haue many one abused,
I sight, and then shee saide my fancie smoaked,
I gaz'd, shee saide my lookes were follies glauncing,
I sounded deade, shee saide my loue was choaked,
I started vp, shee saide my thoughtes were dauncing,
O sacred loue if thou haue any Godhead,
Teach other rules to winne a maidenheade.
Mel.

Well song, & wel plaide, seldome so well amonge shepheards, but call me the Cutter of Cotsholde, that [Page]lookes as though he onlie knew his leripoope, amorous he is, and vvise, carying a sheepes eie in a calfs heade.

Nis.

Will you 3 questions, or 3 commaundments?

Cut.

Halfe a dozen of eache. My wits worke like new beare, and they will breake my head, vnlesse it vent at the mouthe.

Nis.

Sing,

Cut.

I haue forsworne that since cuckow-time, for I heard, one sing all the sommer, and in the winter was all balde.

Nis.

Play on the Lute.

Cut.

Taylers crafte, a knocke on the knuckles, wil make one faste a fortnight, my belly and back shall not be retai­ners to my fingers.

Nis.

What question shall I aske?

Cut.

Any so it be of loue.

Nis.

Are youe amorous?

Cut.

No, but fantasticall.

Nis.

But what is loue?

Cut.

A single Accidens. In loue there are eight partes.

  • Ioy
  • Hope
  • Truth
  • Cōstācy

all tole­rable.

  • Sorrow
  • Anger
  • Ielousie
  • Dispaire

all intole­rable.

These containe all, till you come to the rules, and then in loue, there are three concords.

  • 1 The first, betwixt a Bacheler, and a maide,
  • 2 The seconde, betwixt a man and his wife,
  • 3 The thirde, betwixt any he and she, that loueth strag­ling.
Nis.

The foole bleeds, it is time to stopp his vaine, for ha­uing wet his foote, he careth not how deepe he wades. Let vs attēd that, which we most expect. the starr, that directs vs hither, vvho hath in Almanacke?

Cut.

What meane you, a starmonger, the quipper of the firmament, here is one. I euer carrie it, to knowe the hye vvaies, to euerie good tovvne, the faires, and the faire weather.

Mel.

Let me see it. The seuenth of September, happines was borne into the world, it may be the eleuenth is some wōder. The moone at the ful, tis true, for Cynthia neuer shi­ned so bright, the twelfth the weather inclined to moisture & shepheards deuises to dryenes, the thirteenth, sommer, goeth from hence, the signe in virgo, viuat clarissimae virgo. The diseases shalbe melancholies, some proceeding of necessitie, some of superfluity, many shalbe studying how to spend what they haue, more, beating their braines to get what they want. Malice shalbe more infectious then the pestilence, and Drones more fauoured then Ants, as for Bees, they shal haue but their laboure for their paines, and when their combes be ful, they shalbe stilde; the warre shal be, twixt hemlocke and honie. At foure of the clocke this day, shal appeare the worldes wonder that leades England into euery land, and brings all lands into England.

Then espying her Maiesty, he & al the shep­heards kneeling, concluded thus.

THis is the day, this the houre, this the starre, pardon dread Soueraigne, poore shepheards pastimes, and bolde shepheards presumptions. We call our selues Kings and Queenes to make mirth, but when we see a King or Queene, we stand amazed. The sunne warmes the earth, yet looseth no brightnes; but sheweth more force, & Kings names that fall vpon shepheards, loose no dignity, but breede more feare. Their pictures are drawen in colours, and in brasse their portraytures engrauen. At chests, there are Kings, and Queenes, & they of wood. Shepheards are no more, nor no lesse, wooddē. In Theaters, artificers haue plaide Emperours, yet the next day forgottē, neither their dueties nor occupations. For our boldenes in borrowing their names, and in not seeing your Maiesty for our blind­nes, we offer these shepheards weedes, which, if your Ma­iestye vouchsafe at any time to weare, it shall bring to our hearts comfort, and happines to our labours.

The 28. of September, her Maiesty went frō Oxforde to Ricort, where an olde gentle­man, sometimes a souldier, deli­uered this speech.

VOVCHSAFE dread soue­raigne, after so many smooth spee­ches of Muses, to heare a rough he­wen tale of a souldier, wee vse not with wordes, to amplifie our con­conceites, and to pleade faith by figures, but by deedes, to shew the loyalty of our harts, and to make it good with our liues. I meane not to recount any seruice, all proceeding of duety, but to tell your Maiesty, that I am past al seruice, saue only deuotion. My horse, mine armour, my shielde, my sworde, the riches of a young souldier, and an olde souldiers reliques, I should here offer to your high­nesse, but my foure boies haue stollen them from me, vow­ing themselues to armes, and leauing mee to my prayers, fortune giueth successe, fidelitye courage, chance cannot blemish faith, nor trueth preuēt destinye, whateuer happē, this is their resolution, and my desire, that their liues maye, be imployed wholy in your seruice, and their deathes, bee their vowes sacrifice. Their deathes, the rumour of which, hath so often affrighted the Crowe my wife, that her hart, hath bene as blacke as her feathers. I know not whether it be affection, or fondnes, but the crowe thinketh her owne birds the fairest, because to her they are dearest. What ioies we both conceiue, neither cā expresse, sufficeth they be, as your vertues, infinite. And although, nothing be more vn­fit to lodge your Maiestye, then a crowes neste, yet shall it be most happy to vs, that it is by your highnesse, made a Phoenix neste. Quicolor ater erat, nunc est contrarius atro. Vouchsafe this trifle, A faire gowne. and with this my heart, the greatest gift I can offer, and the chiefest, that I ought.

On Sunday, her Maiesty going to the gardē, receiued with sweete Musicke of sundry sorts, the olde Gentleman mee­ting her, saide thus.

PArdon dread Soueraigne, the greatnes of my presumption, who hauing nothing to say, must follow stil to wonder, but saft, some newes out of Irelande.

A letter deliuered by an Irish lac (que), in which was inclosed, a Darte of gold, set with Diamonds, & after the letter read, deliuered to her Maiestye, with this motto in Irish, I flye onely for my soueraigne.

MY deuty humbly remembred. It is saide, the winde is vnconstant, I am gladde it is, otherwise had not I heard that, which I most wished, and least looked for. The winde blowing stifly in the weste, on the suddaine turned easterly, by which meanes I receiued letters, that her Ma­iestie woulde bee at Rycort, nothing could happen to mee more happy, vnlesse it were my selfe to be thereto doe my duety. But I am a stranger in mine owne countrye, and al­most vnknowen to my bestfrends, onely remembred by her Maiestie, whose late fauours, haue made me more than fortunate. I should accūot my ten years absence a flatt ba­nishment, were I not honoured in her Maiesties seruice, which hath bound all my affections, prentises to patience. In all humility, I desire this Dart to be deliuered, an Irish weapon, and this wish of an English hearte, that in whose hart faith is not fastned, a Darte may. I can scarce write for ioy, and it is likely, this lacque cannot speak for wondring. If he doe not, this is all that I should say, that my life is my dueties bondman, dutie my faiths soueraigne.

The Dart deliuered, a skipper comming frō Flaunders, deliuered another letter, with a key of golde, set with Diamonds with, this motto in dutch, I onelie open to you.

MY duety remēbred, The enemy of late hath made many braueadoes, euen to the gates of Ostend, but the successe was onely a florish. My selfe walking on the Rāparts, to ouer see the Sentenels, descryed a pink, of whome I enquired, where the Court was, hee saide hee knew not, but that the 28. of Septēber, her Maiesty would be at Rycort. I was ouer-ioyed, & in making haste to remē ­ber my duety, I had almost forgot it, for I was shipping my selfe for England, with this Skipper, but to come without leaue, might be to returne without welcōe. To signifie that my hart is there, I most humbly entreat, that this Key may be presēted, the Key of Ostende, & Ostend the Key of Flaun­ders, the wards are made of true harts, trechery canot coun­terfeit the Key, nor treason her selfe picke the locke. None shal turne it, but whō her Maiesty cōmands, none can. For my selfe, I can but wish, all happines to her highnes, & any occasiō, that what my toung deliuers, my bloud may seale, the end of my seruice, that in her seruice, my life may end.

The Key deliuered, a french page came with three other letters, the one writen to the la­dy Squemish, which beeing mistaken by a wrong superscription, was read before her Maiestie. In the second was inclosed a sword of golde, set with Diamonds and Ru­byes, with this motto in french, Drawen onelie in your defence. In the thirde was inclosed a trunchiō set with Diamōds, with his motto in Spanish, I doe not commaunde but vnder you.

A letter, written by a Souldier to his Mi­stris the Lady Squemish.

FAire Lady and sweete Mistris, I seldome write, because I write not well, if I speake, you say I chatter, because I speake so fast, & when I am silent, you thinke me carelesse. You say loue cannot be in soldiers, I sweare it is, only this the differēce, that we proue it by the sword, others, by their Sonets theirs inke, blacke for colde, ours bloud, redde for heate. Oftē haue you tolde me, that I know not what loue is, & oftē haue I tolde you, that this it is, that which makes the head ake, and the hart to; the eies ielous, and the eares to, the liuer blacke, & the Splen to, the vaines shrinke & the purse to. Wit is but loues wier drawer, making of a short passion an endlesse perswasion, yet no more mettall. You obiect, that I haue many Mistrisses, I answere, you haue ten times as many seruants, and if you should picke a quarrel, why should not I bring my Mistresses into the field a­gainst your seruants? But inconstancy is a souldiers scarre, it is true, but the wound came by constancie; what a pati­ent vertue is staidnes? like a nail in a dore, rusty, because ne­uer remoued, I cannot be so superstitious as these nice lo­uers, who make the pax of their mistris hāds, tis flat popery. I would not purchase loue in fee simple, a lease of two years to me were tedious. I meane not, to haue my tongue rin­ged at my Mistris eare like a Iewel, alwaies whispering of loue, I am no earewigg, nor can I endure still to gaze on her face, as though my eies were bodkins to sticke in her haire. Let me haue my loue answered, and you shall finde me faithfull, in which if you make delaies, I cannot be pa­tient, the winde calls me away, and with the winde, awaie shall my affections.

The second Letter.

MY duetie to your L. remembred &c. Being readie to take shipping, I heard that her Maiesty would honor [Page]Ricort, with her presence, which wrought no smal cōtent, but to haue made it ful, I wished I might haue seene it. In this place is no choise of anie thing, whereby I might sig­nifie my dutifull affection, but that which a Souldier ma­keth his chiefest choise, a sword, which most humblie I de­sire to haue presented to her highnes. With this protesta­tion pourde from my hart, that in her seruice, I will spende the bloud of my hart. Eloquence & I, am vowde enemies, loialty & I, sworne brothers, what my words cannot effect, my sworde shall.

The thirde Letter from the Sea coast.

MY duetie humbly remembred, the same time that I receiued letters that her Maiesty would be at Ri­cort, the winde serued for Britaigne, I was ouer ioi­ed with both, yet stoode in a mamering whether I should take the opportunity of the winde, which I long expected or ride poste to do my duetie, which I most desired, neces­sitye cōtroled affection, that bid me vnlesse I could kepe the winde in a bagge, to vse the windes whē they blew, I o­baide yet, wishing that they would turne for a while, to serue my turne, being vnfurnished, of al fit presents. I would haue this my excuse that cheapside is not in my Shippe, & therefore haue nothing to offer but my Trunchiō the ho­nour which I receiued of her Maiestie, by whom I am only to be commaunded, & euer else let me be only miserable and euer.

These Letters read, and the presents de­liuered, the olde man kneeling downe ended thus.

THat my sonnes, haue remembred their dueties, it is my harts comfort, that your Maiestie accepteth thē, their harts heauen. If fortune, & fidelitie had bin twinnes, [Page]they might haue beene as rich, as faithfull, but this is the Iubyle of my life, that their faithes, are without spot, and your Maiesty I hope, confident, without suspition. Among my ioies, there is one griefe, that my daughter, the Mistris of a Moole hil, hath so much forgottē; that most she should remember, duetie. I doubt not her excuse, because shee is a woman, but feare the truth, of it, because it must be to her soueraigne. For my selfe, my crowe, and all our birds, this I promise, that they are all; as faithfull in their feathers, as they were in their shels.

This being done, there was swcete musicke, and two sonnets which ended, her Maiesty went in.

On mūday morning, as her Maiesty was to take horse, a messenger, comming out of Iersey, and bringing a Daysie of golde, set with Rubies, deliuered it to her Maiesty with this speech.

AT length, though verie late, I am come, from the La­die of the Moold hill, sent long since, but the passage troublesome, at euerie miles end, a louer, at euery sentence end a lie, I staide to heare, the conclusions, and found nut­browne gyrles to be cheapned. But none to be bought, but the amyable. Thus much for my excuse, now for my Mi­stris, who hearing that your Maiesty would enter this cab­bine, was astonished, with ioie, and doubt, ioie, for so great honour done to her father. Doubt, by what meanes shee might shew her duety to your Maiesty. At the last, sitting vpon the top of a moole hill, she espied, a red Daysie, the fairest flower, that barren place doth yeeld, which, with all humilitie she presents to your Maiestie, it hath no sweete­nes, yet manie vertues, her hart no tongue, but infinite af­fections, In you she saith are all vertues, and towardes you all her affections.

FINIS.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. Searching, reading, printing, or downloading EEBO-TCP texts is reserved for the authorized users of these project partner institutions. Permission must be granted for subsequent distribution, in print or electronically, of this EEBO-TCP Phase II text, in whole or in part.