An halfe-penny-worth of vvit, in a penny-worth of paper. Or, The hermites tale

AN Halfe-peny-worth of Wit , in a Peny-worth of Paper . ALIAS . ¶ The Hermites Tale .

WAlking by a Forrest side , An ancient Hermite I espide , White was his head , old was his face , Pale were his lookes , obscure his place , And in his hand I might behold A booke all torne and very old ; I willing both to see and know His place , and why he liued so , Went to salute him , as vnknowne , To be a partner of his moane , He being of an humble spirit , As one that heauen would inherite , A friendly welcome to me gaue , And brought me to his homely Caue , Where he had liu'd full twenty yeares , And for his sinnes shed many teares ; Thinking euery howre to die , Knowing the worlds vnconstancie . Then sate he downe , and to me told : I once was yong , but now am old , And welcome is mine age to mee , That no more changes I may see ; For I haue seene from time to time , The highest fall , the lowest clime : Contray to that we expect , To make vs know the worlds defect , How time and death doth still presage The ficklenesse of euery age Like to the Moone that hath no power , Louing to change , both day and howre . Vnhappy men that liue therein , Where nought is found but death and sin . Then gentle youth , if you would know Heauens delight , the world forgoe , For wordlings , very seldome can Two Maisters serue , both God and man . For if a man your Maister bee , You then must sinne as well as hee , To smooth his taste , and please his vaine , How much so ere the sinne containe . If he a Tyrant do professe , Then must his seruant be no lesse ; Or if an Athiest hee bee knowne , So must you be , or else be gone : For I haue heard a prouerbe old , Be rul'd by him that hath the gold . Such are the errours of our age , When soules for gold are laid to gage : A substance that wise men besot , A pleasure full of paine , God wot . When I was yong , as you are now , I spent my youth , I know not how , Rating my pleasure at such a price , More worth , then Heauens Paradice . These worldly pleasures are but toies Vnto the high celestiall ioyes , Where God doth sit on Syon hill To giue the doome of good and ill , Then if you knew how sweete it is To meditate on heauens blisse , You sure would leaue all worldly strife And liue with me , an Hermites life .

Answere . FAther or friend , what ere you bee , A happy man you seeme to mee , The happiest man this day on earth , Blest in your age , and at your birth ; Whose heauenly words my heart hath wonne , To liue with you , and be your sonne : Leauing the world , too full of woes , Where sinnes and errors daily flowes , And take me to your homely Cell , Where sweet content doth euer dwell ; Then if you please to take the paine , For Christes sake , a soule to gaine , Your counsell graue on me bestow , That true religion I may know : For all Kings Christned are at warres For Conscience , and religious iarres ; And controuersies now haue made One King on other to inuade , With warre , with death , and famishment , Each other still they do torment ; With Christians bloud they die the ground , Piercing sweet babes with many a wound , And aged men with siluer'd haires , There groueling lie , in blood and teares ; What sinne , what death , so-ere befall , They make Religion cause of all . A grieuous thing , when they shall come To giue account for all and some Before that God that knowes their thought , If they for true Religion fought : Or whether for ambitious pride They meant Religion to deuide ; And so to kindle Gods displeasure For Kingdomes , Crownes , and worldly Treasure ; Knowing them all to be illusions , To bring our soules into confusions , And make vs wish , ere we haue done , Such warres had neuer beene begun . Where Christians seeke each others blood , Their meaning seldome can be good . But if our warres were like to them Which were before Ierusalem , Against the Turkes , which there abod , Sworne enemies vnto our God , What happy men then had we bin , So to haue dy'd , and cleer'd our sin ? Whereas ( God wot ) we now do goe To seate our Brothers ouerthrow . Alas ! if they in warres that die , Did not confesse a Trinitie : Or if that Heathen men they were , Without all knowledge , faith or feare Of Christ that dy'd to saue mankind From death and hell , to him assign'd ; Then without any offence at all , They might take pleasure in our fall .

Hermite . MY sonne of warres you haue complain'd , Which is a plague for sinne ordain'd ; A plague that God himselfe hath chose , His wrath and iustice to disclose : And for my part , I must confesse , Our sinnes ( my sonne ) deserue no lesse . Christ knowes we haue deserued more Then euer our fathers did before : And yet we say , they neuer knew Where true Religion euer grew . For they were still instructed then By Friers and Monks , old ancient men , Such as did then attribute all Vnto Saint Peter , not to Paul . Saying that Christ had chose alone , Him for the Rocke , and corner stone , And vnto him the keyes resign'd , To open , shut , to loose and binde . Taking the word as it was spoken , And not the sence it did betoken : And so by Peters superioritie , The Pope doth chalenge his authoritie . But come my sonne , time doth vs call . Wee 'l leaue our Christ to iudge of all . And go with me , I l'e teach thee how to spend The Sommer day in solace with thy friend , Where thou shalt see the pleasure of this wood , Exceeds all other , were they nere so good . Heere dwels poore men that neuer vse to sweare , But yea and nay , and by the weedes they weare . Farre be it from them to wrong his holy Name That gaue them life , and leaue to vse the same . To him they call ; and still for mercy crie , Because they know in iustice all must die ; They liue secure , and free from any strife , And thinke Content to be the sweetest life : And so it is , to such poore men as these , That looke for nought , but how their God to please . See how they labour all day till they sweate , And take great paines , and all to get them meate . Sauing your Tale , good Father , what be those , That in their lookes decipher many woes , And many times they seeme to make a show As though from whence they came , they faine wold go , Impatient of the crosses God hath sent Them for their good , because they should repent . Well said ( my sonne ) thy iudgement I commend , For Man hath crosses to none other end , And he is happiest that can suffer any For his sake , that for vs hath suffred many . Hast thou not heard a song of Phillida , Of Herpilus , and eke Coren ? why these , my sonne , be they . The one is Coren , that once tooke delight his Hawkes to lure , Th' other Herpilus , ( poore man ) that all paine did endure For Phillida , and that is shee , which oft did flowers twine , And Garlands make of Violets , to please her Corens mind . But he regarded not her loue , nor when she frownd or smild It mou'd not him , he neuer car'd , for once he was beguild . And yet shee was the fairest Maide that euer nature fram'd , And all the Shepheards would reioyce when Phillida was nam'd . But Time , the enemie to Youth , sent Sickenesse , Beauties crosse , As messenger , to tell her now shee is not as shee was : Her golden haire , her for-head smooth her quicke full speaking eie , Her comely nose , her lips where loue did banquet royally , Haue chang'd their hue , for what can last , or hold that will away ? Like Iudas fatall Elder-tree , so lookes poore Phillida . Her haire with Daffadillies dight Ewreth'd with purple-silke , Is now within a night-cap tide , vnkemb'd , as white as milke . Her fore-head all with furrowes fild that was so smoth and white , Her eies ( the Cabinets of loue ) haue lost their wonted sight ; Her nose is sharpe , her iawes are falne , her lips that were so red , Now lookes like Siluer-ore vntried , and no teeth in her head . Ah sonne , if they in Court that liue did once but thinke of this , They soone would finde amongst themselues how they had done amisse , In pampring vp their filthy flesh which is a slaue to time , An enemy vnto the soule , a masse of filth and slime . But come my son , we 'le now go home vnto our homely Caue , And leaue poore Phillida to mourne that wisheth for her graue . For Herpilus , and eke Coren , of whom the Muses song , They vow'd to die with Phillida , because they lou'd so long . Father , I neuer heard a Tale to moue a man to ruth , And make him thinke of all his sinnes committed in his youth As this which you haue told ; A terror vnto those Which in their beauty , wit , or strength , do confidence repose . It is no terror ( sonne ) to those which meane not to repent , They neuer thinke of crooked age , nor of their youth mispent ; But head-long runne from sin to sin , like sheepe that go astray , Yet now and then for fashion sake they make a show to pray ; And come to Church , and knocke and kneele , because they may be taken For honest , good , and godly men , that haue the world forsaken . 'T is true Sir , I haue heard of those that vnder shew of zeale ; Would hate the time , & curse the state , and at the Clergy raile ; Ill minded men , enuious , and proud , discentious , full of wroth , Monstrous dissemblers , fild with sin , in whom there is no troth ; These zealous men , meane to erect a Church , ere it be long , Where Papist neuer set his foote , nor neuer Dirge was song ; Meane while , for feare their faction breake , they thinke it best behoues them , To meete in Barnes , and there to Preach , euen as the Spirit moues them , And there they pray , before they Preach , in heart , with one accord , That they may neuer laugh , for feare they do offend the Lord ; Then starteth vp a brother straight vpon a wicker Chayre , And talkes of sinne , and how it raignes amongst vs euery where ; How euery state is discontent , How many sinne , how few repent : What May-poles , and what Whitson-ales , What ringing , and what old-wiues tales , Are now beleeu'd to be the way To saue vs all another day . My son , these men will nere endure the touch , They know too little , and they speake too much , Their lookes are smoth , like Siluer purifide , They will proue Copper , when they shall be tri'd . I neuer heard of these which seeme so pure , Which for Christs sake wold Martirdom endure , And yet no doubt , as long as peace remaines , Their conscience will endure any paines . But if the God of warre abroad should range , And catch these men that long to see a change , You then should see them all within one day , For very feare of death , to turne Turke-way . But come my sonne , sit downe and let vs eate These homely cates , in steed of better meate , And leaue these men that enuy so the state , To die like dogs , that can do nought but prate . I 'le tell you , Father , of a Tale that is in Skeltons rime , A foolish Tale , but yet a Tale to driue away the time ; Of a very pleasant lad my Tale I must beginne , That came into a house , by chaunce , where Sectaries did Inne , And being in their company , not knowing what they were , He was as merry as a Pie , still skypping here and there , Till at the last a ciuill Sire came mildly towards him , And like a man of God , rebuk'd this yong-man for his sinne . This merry Lad , mus'd at the man , as one loath to offend , Saying , if he had done amisse , he would be glad to mend . Night drew on , Supper came in , they all with one consent Desir'd this yong-mans company , and he was well content . He sadly sate all Supper while , and not a word he said : And as they did , so would he do . They after supper prayed , And Chapters read , and sung a Psalme all to instruct the youth , What great delight he ought to haue in reading of the truth . When that the Lord was serued thus , they cald a reckning presently , And would not let this yong man pay , but thank'd him for his company . This pleasant Lad muz'd at the men , yet being farre from scorning , Intreated them to breake their fast with him the next day morning . They thank'd him all with one consent , but especially Maister Powes , Desired him to bestow no cost , but onely Beefe and Browes . You shall haue nothing ese ( quoth he ) welcome shall be your chiefe , And so good-night , vntill we meete all at a peece of biefe , The morning came , & there they met , the boy that knew his time , Set them downe to breakefast straight , and then began his rime . You are welcome heartily , vnto lusty Humphrey , Welcome here must be your chiefe To a friendly peece of Biefe , Such as was vs'd in ancient time When house-keeping was in prime ; When the Biefe and Brewes flourisht , When the silly soules were nourisht , Then 't was a wonder to the poore To see a Porter keepe the doore , Then were silly harmelesse folkes , Plaine chimneyes then were full of smoakes : Euery table then was spred , And furnisht out with Biefe and bread , Euery man then tooke a pleasure In his house to spend his treasure . Who was then the Gentries Guest ? The Widdow poore , that 's oft opprest , The Souldiers with their wounds and skarres Bleeding for their Countries warres . Then in the Country dwelt true pitty , Now Christmas is but for the Citty ; A Gentleman of small reuenew , Had then the poore for his retinew . Wast not then a merry time When thy neighbour came to mine , Canst thou lend me twenty pound For to buy a peece of ground ? Without statute , or a bond Their word as good as any hand . Then men of ancient calling Loued no pride for feare of falling , Country Russet was their wearing , And Kendall greene , for feare of tearing . The Clothier scarce the Mercer knew , Now Silke-wormes make the Sheepe to rue , The Plough-man liu'd , sweete was his paine , The Taylor now sweepes vp his gaine . If any now do take compassion , 'T is to checke the oldest fashion ; Yet paying for new fashions gold , In spight of all , the new is old . But what meane I to runne so farre ? My foolish words may breed a skarre , Let vs talke of Robin Hoode , And little Iohn in merry Shirewood , Of Poet Skelton with his pen , And many other merry men , Of May-game Lords , and Sommer Queenes , With Milke-maides , dancing o're the Greenes , Of merry Tarlton in our time , Whose conceite was very fine , Whom Death hath wounded with his Dart , That lou'd a May-pole with his heart . His humour was to please all them That seeme no Gods , but mortall men , For ( saith he ) in these our daies , The Cobler now his Last downe laies , And if he can but reade , ( God wot ) Hee talkes and prates he knowes not what , Of May-poles , and of merriments That haue no spot of ill pretence . But I wonder now and then , To see the wise and learned men , With countenance grim , and many a frowne Cries , Maisters , plucke the May-pole downe . To heare this newes , the Milke-maide cries , To see the sight , the Plough-man dies . 'T is a iest to see when they beginne For to plucke downe such wodden sinne . Foolish men , and faith-lesse too , That still professe , and nothing do . The Sectaries were in a rage , and knew not what to say , They spit , and chafd , and stampt amaine , and would haue gone away . This merry Lad began to laugh , and to them thus replide , You see it stands not with my youth from pleasure to be tide , I loue to sit and laugh , not to offend the wise , I care not for their company that honest mirth despise : Those that be Saints abroad , whose substance shadowes bee , Let them go seeke Precisian-sects , they are no mates for mee . And when you are at home , thinke of this prouerbe told , The Tree is still knowne by his fruite , if it be nere so old . The poore men went away , all discontent in minde , And had no pleasure to their meate , but left it all behind . Now , Father , be you iudge who plaid the better part , They with their zeale , or else the boy that spoke with all his heart . In sadnesse my good sonne , I neuer yet did heare , A Tale to that effect , so much to please mine eare ; My iudgement I will stay , vntill our better leisure , I 'le show thee heere a booke my sonne , wherein thou maist take pleasure : Heere shalt thou reade my sonne a volume of dispaire , The death of many a conquering king , their liues , and what they were , The wisedome of this world , the frailty of our age , Our present time now acting sinne like Players on a stage . I writ it with this hand that once could guide a pen , And set my Launce into my rest as well as other men . But ( oh ) those daies are past , and now I wish to haue For all my seruice done , a white sheete and a graue . My Caske of steele is to a night-cap turn'd , My shining Armour to a gowne of gray , My youthful heart , which once with beauty burn'd Like dreames illusions , vading passe away , Euen as the night doth from the glorious day . My Naples Courser is a banke of earth , Whereon I sit to manage all my sinnes , Twixt life and death , which are borne mortall twinnes . My bridle now must be my Beades , The golden bosses bookes , And all my Sonnets must be prayers Whereon deuotion lookes , My Launce turn'd to a Palmers staffe Which once was painted braue , And all my followers be my sinnes , To bring me to my graue . The shield which now my Page Vnto my Prince must giue , Is ( time mispent ) An aged man . that can no longer liue . Beleeue me sonne , I would not liue For to be yong againe , To be great Emperor of the world The world I so disdaine . Iudge you if I say true , Reade this , and know my mind , They that haue eyes , may see the world , Or else they are borne blind : It is a world of care , The greatest Prince that raignes Hath not halfe pleasure in his Crowne To equall all his paines . And he that liues in Court , And can but fauour win , What ere he was , he may be sure That all will follow him . The surly Vshers then Will do him any grace , That told him but a weeke before He did not know his place ; His fellowes of the Guard , When he comes to the dore , Will all stand vp and make a legge , That would sit downe before . But if this man be proud , And full of high disdaine , Caring for nothing else at all But for his priuate gaine . Then Enuy mou'd in heart , A Iury straight doth call , Inditing that vsurping man Conspiring his downe-fall . And straight he doth informe The Iury what he was , That now vsurpes , and hates the poore And doth his betters crosse . The Poet hearing this , Puls forth a booke of Tables , And makes a subtill rime , Much like to Esops fables ; Then being fore-man , tels a Tale That was not much regarded , How men of vertue and of worth , Did wander vnrewarded : So he that liues in Court , And doth not seeke to haue The loue of euery priuate man , And of the poorest slaue , Let him be sure of this , If Fortune chance to frowne , Enuy in time will turne the wheele And throw him head-long downe . Who would bee such a man When Time his fortune reades , That he must leaue his Offices , And take him to his beades , And in a shirt of hayre , Repent his time misled , And giue his treasure to the poore , Whom hee hath iniured . This were the way to go In peace vnto his graue , For none without they do repent , Can any mercy haue . But liues there such a man ? No sure there can be none , We all are Lambes , no Foxes now , The deuil 's dead and gone , No sure : if he were dead , The Poets then would leaue To write of those that follow him , And all the world deceiue . But fare-well to the world Vnlesse I come by stealth , It neuer cares to grace such men As want both wit and wealth . I cannot kisse my hand Nor lout below the knee , Nor take a feather from your gowne , You know such men there be . In world one vndermines another to no end , And worst they speed , who most in hope do spend , Enuide they are , on whom but Fortune smiles , Though those smiles turne to nothing other-whiles . The mighty , seeking to enlarge their might , Into contempt oft tumble downe out-right . The Lawyers Clyent crouching on his knees , Preuaileth nought , except he bring large fees . The Cittizen , the Scholler , and the Boore , Without a largesse , are thrust out of doore . Brauery , the gallant nouice thinkes doth all , When it consum'd , his credite is but small . Valour and Wit , proud on their tip-toes stand , And thinke chiefe dignities they may command . When that a foole , a Parasite , a Pander , Betwixt them steps , and they are set to wander . So from the head vnto the foote it fares , Each one supplanteth other vnawares . The wisest builders , against after stormes , Fishing for honour , baite their hookes with wormes ; Wormes that do dig and delue for them all day , Yet to all rauenous birds are left a pray . In Common-wealth how many vainely dreame Of Indian Mines , that fish against the streame ? How many , that but hauing one good bite , A nodde , or least glaunce from their Mistres sight , Cost vpon cost , clap thicke and three-fold on , And neuer cease , till they be quite vndone . How many that do fish before the Net , Who offices before they fall do get , And count all fish into their Net doth chaunce , Whom nought so vile , but serueth to aduance . All these pursuing gaine , not true content , Fish for their bane , their toile is fruitlesse spent . This is the world my sonne , Then now some comfort giue To me poore man , my time is come I can no longer liue Mine age , my blessed age , Wherein I do reioyce , Hath lent me time for to repent , And sing with Angels voyce , Hymnes , Anthems , Laude , and Praise Vnto the King of Kings , Which out of this vilde wretched world Poore soules to heauen brings . You Poets all and some That write of Esops fables , Conceiting plots to please the world Notes from your booke of Tables ; Methinkes that A-iax should you call , To make wast-paper of you all That spend your time to please the time , With fictions , tales , and idle rime , Leauing the marke that should be hit , To praise Gods glory , and your wit . Oxford and Cambridge was erected For Vertue , not for vice protected . Ah , sonne , I faint , mine age and I Are striuing now who first should die : My will is made , I haue no wealth , But wishes , prayers , content , and health , To thee my sonne , and all my friends That credite to this vaine world lends . My swolne-sicke heart , with death is tost , Like to a foote-ball in a frost ; God blesse thee sonne , now close mine eyes , I hope my soule to heauen flies . And thus I end my Hermites Tale Which is of mickle ruth , It proues there is no hope in age , Nor certainty in youth . As for this homely Tale , And hee that made the same , Hath neither learning , wealth , nor wit , And scarce can write his name .

FINIS .