WILLIAM ROY AND JEROME BARLOW, 1526, circ.

From Rede me, and be nott wrothe

For I saye no thynge but trothe.'

THE CONFESSIONAL AND CARDINAL WOLSEY.

Wat. DARE they confessions to bewraye?
Jeff. Confessions, catha? Ye, by my faye,
They kepe no secretnes att all.
Though noble men have doctours
To be their private confessours,
Yet they have one that is generall.
Wat. Besyde those which are particuler?
Jeff. Ye, and that hath brought some to care
Of whom I coulde make rehearceall.
Wat. His name wolde I very fayne here.
Jeff. It is the Englisshe Lucifer,

Wotherwyse called-the Cardinall!
In all the londe there is no wyght,
Nether lorde, baron, nor knyght,

To whom he hath eny hatred;
But ether by sower speche, or swete,
Of their confessours he will wete [know]
Howe they have themselves behaved.
What they saye, it is accepted,
In no poynte to be objected,

Though they be as falce as Judas.
Wat. What authoritè do they allege?
Jeff. It is their churches previlege,

Falcely to fayne that never was. Wat. Soche confessours are unjust, Jeff. Yet nedes do it they must,

Yf they will to honour ascende. Wat. Promocions are of the Kyngis gift?

Jeff. For all that, he maketh soche shyft,
That in his pleasure they dependé.
Though they have the Kyngis patent,
Except they have also his assent,
It tourneth to none avauntage;
His power he doth so extende,
That the Kyngis letters to rende

He will not forbeare in his rage.
Wat. This is a grett presumpcion,
For a villayne bocher's sonne,

His authorité so to avaunce;
But it is more to be marveyled,
That noble-men wilbe confessed
To these kaytives of miscreaunce.

SIR THOMAS WYATT [1503—1542].
"Of the Courtier's Life.'

My Poins, I cannot frame my tungue to faine,
To cloke the truth, for praise without desert
Of them that list all vice for to retaine.
I cannot honour them, that set their part
With Venus and Bacchus all theyr life long.
Nor hold my peace of them, although I smart.
I cannot crouche nor knele to such a wronge;
To worship them like God on earth alone,
That are as wolves these sely lambes among.
I cannot with my wordes complayne and mone,
And suffer nought; nor smart without complaint:
Nor turne the word that from my mouth is gone.
I cannot speak and loke like as a saint;
Use wyles for wit, and make desceit a pleasure,
Call craft counsaile, for lucre still to paint.
I cannot wrest the law to fill the coffer;

With innocent bloud to fede myself fatte,
And do most hurt, where that most helpe I offer.
I am not he, that can allow the state

Of hie Ceaser, and damne Cato to dye,
That with his death did scape out of the gate
From Ceasers hands, if Livy doth not lie,
And would not live where liberty was lost;
So did his hart the common wealth apply.
I am not he, such eloquence to bost,

To make the crow in singing, as the swanne;
Nor call the lion of coward beastes the most;
That can not take a mouse, as the cat can ;
And he that dyeth for honger of the golde,
Call him Alexander, and say that Pan
Passeth Apollo in musike manifolde,
Praise syr Topas for a noble tale,

And scorne the story that the knight tolde,

Praise him for counsell, that is dronke of ale;

Grinne when he laughes, that beareth all the sway, Frowne when he frownes, and grone when he is

pale ;

On others lust to hang both night and day.
None of these pointes would ever frame in me:
My wit is nought, I can not learne the way.
And much the lesse of things that greater be,
That asken helpe of colours to devise,
To ioyne the meane with eche extremitie,
With nerest virtue ay to cloke the vice:
And, as to purpose likewise it shall fall,
To presse the vertue that it may not rise:
As dronkenness good felowship to call;
The friendly foe with his faire double face,
Say he is gentle, and curties therewithall,
Affirme that Favel hath a goodly grace
In eloquence; and cruelty to name,

Zeale of justice, and change in time and place:
And he that suffereth offence without blame,

Call him pitifull, and him true and plaine,
That rayleth rechless unto eche mans shame.
Say he is rude, that can not lye and fayne;
The lecher a lover; and tyranny

To be right of a princes raigne :

I can not I, no no, it wyll not be. . . .

I am not now in Fraunce, to judge the wine,
With savery sauce those delicates to fele,
Nor yet in Spaine, where one must him incline,
Rather then to be, outwardly to seme. . ..
But I am here in Kent and Christendome,
Among the Muses, where I reade and rime,
Where if thou list, mine own John Poins, to come,
Thou shalt be judge, how I do spende my time.

GEORGE GASCOIGNE [1525-1577].

From The Steele Glasse' [1576].

O KNIGHTS, O Squires, O Gentle blouds yborne,
You were not borne al onely for your selves:
Your countrie claymes some part of al your paines.
There should you live, and therein should you toyle,
To hold upright, and banish cruel wrong,
To helpe the pore, to bridle backe the riche,
To punish vice, and vertue to advance,
To see God servde, and Belzebub supprest.
You should not trust lieftenaunts in your rome,
And let them sway the sceptre of your charge,
Whiles you (meane while) know scarcely what is
don,

Nor yet can yeld accompt if you were callde.

The stately lord, which woonted was to kepe A courte at home, is now come up to courte,

And leaves the country for a common prey,
To pilling, polling, brybing, and deceit :
(Al which his presence might have pacified,
Or else have made offenders smel the smoke).
And now the youth which might have served him,
In comely wise, with countrey clothes yclad,
And yet thereby bin able to preferre

Unto the prince, and there to seek advance:
Is faine to sell his landes for courtly cloutes,
Or else sits still, and liveth like a loute. . . .
Lo these (my Lord) be my good praying priests,
Descended from Melchysedec by line

Cosens to Paule, to Peter, James, and John,
These be my priests, the seasning of the earth
Which wil not leese their savrinesse, I trowe,
Not one of these will reade the holy write
Which doth forbid all greedy usurie,
And yet receive a shilling for a pounde.
Not one of these wil preach of patience,
And yet be found as angry as a waspe.
Not one of these can be content to sit
In Taverns, Innes, or Alehouses all day,
But spends his time devoutly at his booke.
Not one of these wil rayle at rulers wrongs,
And yet be blotted with extortion.

Not one of these wil paint out worldly pride,
And he himselfe as gallaunt as he dare.
Not one of these rebuketh avarice,
And yet procureth ploude pluralities,
Not one of these reproveth vanitie

Whiles he himselfe, with hauke upon his fist
And houndes at heele, doth quite forget his text.
Not one of these corrects contentions,

For trifling things: and yet wil sue for tythes.
Not one of these (not one of these my Lord)
Wil be ashamde to do even as he teacheth. . . .

I tell thee (priest) when shoomakers make shoes,