Quips vpon questions, or, A clownes conceite on occasion offered bewraying a morrallised metamorphoses of changes vpon interrogatories: shewing a litle wit, with a great deale of will; or in deed, more desirous to please in it, then to profite by it. Clapt vp by a clowne of the towne in this last restraint, hauing litle else to doe, to make a litle vse of his fickle muse, and carelesle carping. By Clunnyco de Curtanio Snuffe. ...

Quips vpon Questions , OR , A Clownes conceite on occasion offerd .

WHO began to liue in the worlde ? Adam was he , that first liude in the world , And Eue was next : Who knowes not this is true ? But at the last he was from all grace hurld , And she for companie , the like did rue . Was he the first ? I , and was thus disgrast , Better for him , that he had been the last . Quip . Thou art a foole : Why ? for reasoning so , But not the first , nor last , by many mo .

Why barkes that Dogge ? Aske him , and he will tell thee why he barkes . Dogges can not speake , although they gape so lowde : Enough to pose the wisest heades of Clarkes , To aske this reason , yet it is alowde . Dogges can make noyse and babble in the streete , But why , the wysest cannot thinke it meete . If a man run , straight Dogges begin to ball , I , Dogges at Dogges : is not this strange to see ? No nothing strange , for Men are worst of all , They le brawle , and law , and neuer will agree : A Dogges wrath quickly endes , it hath no keeping : But Mens wrath lasteth both awake and sleeping . A Dogges skin serues for something when he 's dead , A Mans for nothing : yet is Man the better . Nay t is not so , thy skin will stand in stead , T is thicke , tough , strong , and will appease thy debter : For he that owes thee money , and thee feares , hath vowde to pull thy skinne ouer thy eares . Thou that wilt make comparisons so odious , As twixt a Christian and a barking Curre , I hold thy wit to be no whit commodious , But to be scrapt out like a parchment blurre : That louing Dogges , and senselesse li●e as they , Naught sits thee , but their barking in the way . Quip . One to offende in asking such a question , Th'other defende and choke in his disgestion : Well reasond both too fooles , and if you marke , Both wanting wit , better be Dogges , and barke .

Who sleepes in the grasse ? A Man it seemes . No , no , thou art not right , It is a Beast , they still sleepe in the grasse : Perchaunce he wants a bedde , and wakes all night , Making the day his night : yet heese an Asse . Say Woormes or Cankers may offend him there , Indeed that s true , I did not thinke of that : Why then an Asse a Beast is : he is here , T' approue my speaches true , that fables not . If he b' a beast , I know a number more , Thy selfe was one before thou hadst a bed . Take m'as I am , not as I was before : For now I haue a pillow to my hed . Hereafter , he may say so that here lies Till then , as I was , let him be a beast . Cannes , let s goe drinke , and bid this beast arise : Beastes in beastes companie do drinke and feast . Quip . This man 's a worsse beast , hauing worldly pelfe , That thinkes all beastes , and would be none him selfe : Yet he 's a more beast , that poore creatures scornes , Who hauing a beasts hart , God send him haue beasts hornes .

Who 's dead ? A man is dead , that long before ere this , Dy'd twentie times , yet liude to die this day . T is strange it should be so ; yet so it is : But I will tell thee how , and if I may . Yes pre-thee doe , for why , I long to knowe How men can die , yet liue and see to goe . He by his trade dies cloth : he is a Dier . A Iest , no otherwise I vnderstand , And I can witnes thee to be no her , For he dies all things that doth come to hand . But he that many times did die in iest , Now once for all , vouchsafes to die in earnest . Quip . To fooles well met , t'resolue each others minde , Of that in which the wisest eye is blinde . I quip them thus : He that before death dies , Shall with the blind man see , yet want his eies .

Two Fooles well met . Two Fooles well met , each poynted at the other , Laughing a good to see each others face : The one made vow to call his fellow brother , And to acknowledge him in euery place . To lend him coyne , though he had none him selfe : To teach him wit , when he him selfe had none . The other sott , like to this former elfe , T'requite his kindnesse , vowd like loue alone , When none had for to doe the other good : Yet loue will creepe lightly wher't can not go . Seest thou this Bird ( quoth he ) in yonder wood ? I giue thee her to rost . O wilt thou so ? That meate I loue , and I will not denie her . Take her ( quoth he ) and if thou canst come by her . Were not these fooles , to promise what they had not ? Where such want wit , t' were better their tongs gad not . Quip . True hast thou sayd , the first was nothing wise , No more the second was , let it fuffise : One that giues golde , the next that giues the bird , Three Fooles well met , for thou shalt be the third .

Who wins most ? He that doth litle loose , hath litle wonne : He that doth nothing loose when game is donne , He tis winnes most say I : for heer 's the ieast , He winnes content , because he lost the least . Againe , he that much ventures , much is like to lose : But he that nought ventures , nothing from him goes . So that he winnes most euermore say I , That ventures least , and liues contentedly . Quip . If it be so , what can he loose or win That nothing hath ? Why , nothing's lost therein . Thou hadst no wit at all , then by my will , A Foole being euer , so continue still .

What s vnfit . Mee thinks it is vnfit that women scoulde . True , so me thinks ; and yet they will not leaue . Mee thinks t is strange that Summer should be coulde , And yet the season often doth deceaue . How vnfit things are , seeming to agree , That euery man in reason ought to see . Mee thinks t is strange , water should make fire burne , When water quencheth fier euermore : In the Smiths forge t is so , whose hand doth turne , Both heate and cold , to furnish out his store . How can this fit , when things vnsitting bee ? How ere they fit , they fit yet and agree . The Bellowes blowes out fier , yet makes fier blaze . Blow in hot Pottage and they wil be could . When thy nayles freeze , blow with thy breath apace And they will heate againe , thou mayst be bould . Things seeming vnfit , fitteth to be done : God giues , man vses , since the world begun . Quip A wonder how , me thinkes it is vnfit , To see an Iron Gridiron turne a Spit . No , no , mee thinks that it is more vnfit , To see a blockhead asse haue any wit .

Where is Ginking gone ? Ginking iumpt , and Ginking leapt , Ginking thumpt , and Ginking reapt . Sowe he did not , as t is knowne : Why ? then a reapt none of his owne ? Then Ginking weepes , and Ginking mournes , That what he sweepes , he backe returnes . Ginking learne to vse thy owne , And do not barne what others mowne : For if thou do , learne this of mee , Ginking must a beggar bee . But t is not strange , let it suffise , Ginking neare was otherwise . When euery Bird her fether takes , Then Ginkings hart with sorrow akes Now tell me where is Ginking gone ? To giue to euery man his owne . Poore Ginking thou hast made wise hand , To sowe and reape an others land : Trust to thy selfe , Ginking be wise , Men loue them selues , affection dies . Quip . Though Ginking be a foole , learne this of me , The world sayes there be more then he : Under this Ginking perceiue then , That most do toyle for other men : Are not all Ginkings then I pray the iudge , When one man doth become an others drudge .

Who sleepes there ? A Man sleepes here , who when he doth awake , Hath a greeud conscience , and his hart doth ake : Sorrow is his delight ; God giue him ioy , That loue exileth to receiue annoy . Sighes are his comfort , and he foldes his armes , Strooking his beard , desiring still to die , Still calles on death , to end his worldly harmes , Defying life , as cause of miserie . He dreames on death : how sweete his torment is , How louingly death killes his worldly hart : And since sweete death thou canst but worke my misse , Come death I charge thee , end this earthly smart . At last one waking him , and he startes sore , Aloude he cryes , out death I do deny thee : The men by , that beleeud he would before , Choose rather death , then death so soone to flie thee . Now there opinions are , that all men dreame , And in their sleepe desire , what when they wake , They more detest ; then what they do esteeme , T is to no purpose any count to make . Come ( sayes this sleepy man ) let s drinke some wine , Dreames are but fansies , death is farre enough : What in my sleepe I wisht , I see this time , Is farre from purchase , and God speed the plough . Quip Fansies in sleepe , are pleasing when we wake , Such is the ioy in folly , that we take : But time will come , when some so sound shall sleepe , As neither dreames nor fancies rule can keepe : So shall this man , whose dreames such pleasure take , One day hee 'l soundly sleepe and neuer wake .

Who 's the Foole now ? I le tell thee who : marke well , for this is true , It was my friend , that I must tell thee off : And when thou hearst me , say Who 's the foole now ? For such a iest is worthy of a scoff . Many seeme wise as long they had vs'd schooles , When in the end God knowes most seeme but fooles My friend was pleasant , drinking all the day , With huftie tuftie , let vs all be merrie , Forgetting how the time did passe away : Such is mans folly , making himselfe wearrie . But now attend , and I will tell the rest , How my friendes follie he could scarce disgest . When he was beaten with a Brewers washing bittle , Rr had in deed almost quite burst his thombe , Or had behelde the Diuell , where he did tipple , Or ( the old word ) was drunke , marke what did come . Thus it fell out , as he him selfe did say , He to the Curtaine went , to see a Play . His friendes went with him , and as wise as hee , Yet wiser as it chaunst , for he went reeling : A tottering world it was God wott to see My friend disguisde thus without sense or feeling . Here a fell downe , and vp againe God wott , Backward and forward staggring like a sott . A soberer man then he , or girle or boy , I know hot who ; for he him selfe not knowes , Begins to looke into this goodly toy , And to teach him wit , this deede at pleasure showes . Into his pocket diues , and being alone , Pursse , hat , cloake , from my drunken friend was gone . But here 's the Iest : my friend being rifled so , Straight had the wit to misse what he had lost , When all his wit kept not what he left so , But he was welcome to his tardie cost . Then vp he starts , his losse so much did feare him , He lookes , but all in vaine , no one was neare him . He sigh'd , he grond , and sayd he was vndunne , And with a heauie hart through drinke yet greeud , Mazde with his losse , he doth begin to runne , Home through the streete as one from death repreeud ▪ I am spoyld and robd sayes he , my clothes are gone . But all in vaine was all his too late mone . His friendes and I inquired of his losse , He tolde the manner how he drunke and slept : We rather smilde , then mourned at his crosse , Asking if he did want yeeres this t' haue kept ? No , I was olde enough ( quoth he ) to doe it , But was not wise enough to looke vnto it . He that first drinkes away his mother wit , And after ●●nders in the open ayre , To lo●●●●●●out with wisedome is vnfit : For w●●●●●●●cast is in a drunkards care . W●●●●ce too late I rue my vnkind losse , My ●●t's againe restored by my crosse . My ●●●●●es were with me when to drinke I went , My ●riendes did leaue me when I slept alone : My friendes were with me when I money spent , But when this ill chaunce chaunced , then were gone , Is there such trust in friendes , then here I vow , They neare shall aske againe , Who 's the foole now ? Quip . A goodly Iest to iest at , Is it not ? That one should loose what he so hardly got : Patience a plaister that may cure this sore , But patience wil ne'r helpe him to it more .

He playes the Foole . True it is , he playes the Foole indeed ; But in the Play he playes it as he must : Yet when the Play is ended , then his speed Is better then the pleasure of thy trust : For he shall haue what thou that time hast spent , Playing the foole , thy folly to content . He playes the Wise man then , and not the Foole , That wisely for his lyuing so can do : So doth the Carpenter with his sharpe toole , Cut his owne finger oft , yet liues by 't to . He is a foole to cut his limbe say I , But not so , with his toole to liue thereby , Then t is his case that makes him seeme a foole , It is in deed , for it is anticke made : Thus men waxe wise when they do goe to schoole , Then for our sport we thanke the Taylers trade , And him within the case the most of all , That seemes wise foolish , who a foole you call . Meete him abrode , and he is wise , mee thinkes , In curtesie , behauiour , talke , or going , Of garment : eke when he with any drinkes , Then are men wise , their mony so bestowing . To learne by him one time , a foole to seeme , And twentie times for once , in good esteeme . Say I should meete him , and not know his name , What should I say , Yonder goes such a foole ? I , fooles will say so ; but the wise will aime At better thoughts : whom reason still doth rule . Yonder 's the merry man , it ioyes me much , To see him ciuill , when his part is such . Quip . A merry man is often thought vnwise , Yet mirth in modesty's loude of the wise : Then say , should he for a foole goe ? When he 's a more foole that accountes him so . Many men descant on an others wit , When they haue lesse themselues in doing it .

A Poet Pawnde . What did he pawne ? his clothes or els his wit ? Somewhat he pawnde , his neede to satisfie , But what it was , in troth I do not know it : Or whether he pawnd or no , I can not iustifie . Then how canst thou say thus , when t is not so , Harke to the reason I aledge or show . Writing these Embles on an idle time , Within my windowe where my house doth stand : Looking about , and studying for a Rime , I might beholde a Poet weakely man'd . His Sonne I gesse it was a little Boy , But what long circumstaunce requires this toy . Into a Brokers house they went together , Both emptie handed I might see right well : Because I knew them both , I noted either . Yet will not name this man of whom I tell . Empty they went in , and when they came out , A bundell they brought foorth , well wrapt about . I askt the question , and it was a gadge , Newly redeemd : but what it was I know not He pawnd , but what a pawnd I am not of age To tell to any , and the pawne I saw not : What ere it was , I hold it farre vnfit , To say the Poets bundle was his wit . Quip . No matter what it was , the deed is past , He was not first that pawnd , nor is the last : Had it been his wiues wit , thus had you disgrast her , But a faire pawne did neuer shame his maister .

What wisht hee ? I know not what he wisht , but I am sure , He had his wish , his hartes wish to ptocure , And yet he went without his hartes desier . How can this be but thou must be a lyer ? What is a wish ? Why wind , wanting his will . To this I yeeld , and yet am simple still . He wanted what he would , wishing to haue His honestie , being lost playing the knaue : And wishing without purchase , still I finde , His wish was nothing , but an idle winde . This wish he had , it was his owne before . Nay there you erre , therefore say so no more : His wish being winde , because it was in vaine , His winde being spent , neuer returnd againe . Therefore leaue chatt , agree with me in this , His winde was waste , he neuer had his wish . Nay though with wishes he was an ingroser , Yet in the end he did giue ore a loser : Because he spent his winde on such a toye , He lost more by it then he did enioye . Quip . True , but I le haue my wish presently . He that wisht so , I doe wish hartely , That as he was a foole to want his will , So he may nothing loase , but be so still .

Wht's neare her ? Her Smocke is neare her . I that s true indeed , Of outward thinges , it is her nearest weed . Nothing is nearer ( I thinke ) then her smocke . Yes , her sknn's nearer , that it is by cocke . That is a weede to , to keepe out the weather . Then nothing's nearer , we conclude togeather . Quip . Yes one thing 's nearer then her smocke or skinne , Of which I speake not , but will keepe it in .

Why lookes he angry ? One askes me why that man doth looke so sad ? As if fell anger had possest his hart . Content thy selfe , What thinkst thou I am mad , To censure by the looke , and tell the smart ? No , wiser men then I may censure wronge : For what he ayles , cannot be tolde with tongue . But this I know , he curses and he sweares , He vexeth inwardly , but none knowes why : He grates his teeth , and round about he stares , Muttering to him selfe as men passe by . Some feare him , and do shun him as they passe , Others do holde him for a harebraind asse . Some sorts of men there are as nought can please , Others there be which any thing will like : To the first doth belong but little ease , The last will sooner take a blow then strike . Is not this strange ? common men are so curious , Like which of these is he , that seemes so furious ? Like to the first , whom nothing will content , He stormes at all , spurning the harmelesse earth : Foames like a Bore , and neuer is content , Carping at quiet , hating honest mirth . So end thy question : there is no one liues , That tells his griefe , or ease vnto it giues . Quip . As he is carelesse of all people still , So men are fearles of his froward will : But for to quiet this distempered elfe , The next way is , to let him please him selfe . Or as the prouerbe is , no man to minde him , But turne the buckle of his Belt behind him .

What s a clocke ? One askes me what s a clocke , thinking indeede , That I am Iacke of clock-house , and can tell : He is a Iacke to thinke so , or to feede His humor , as the clapper doth the bell . I haue a Hand , but not a Dioll , I , Right it poyntes not , and tongues may lie . Then by the shaddow marke , or by the day , And tell me then for certaine what s a clocke : But that is farre more then a number may , For all haue shaddowes , but no one that strocke . How should they know the striking of a bell , When those that nothing know , can nothing tell . Goe to the Church and see , then tell me more . How should that be , that bidding seemeth od ? When he doth hardly enter in the dore , According to his duetie , to serue God . Nay like enough , therefore be rulde by mee , Wilt thou know what s a clocke ? then go and see . Quip . Worthy of commendations is this elfe , Who sent to see , bids him goe looke him selfe : How vaine it is then , to aske what 's a clocke ? Of one who for an answere , lendes a mocke .

Are you there with your Beares ? One takes my penn and writes this question , As if I were a Beare-ward by profession . O no , such Iestes are ill in their disiestion : God knowes , and all the world knows his transgression , Were I a Beare-ward , I would learne to byte , Because he set this Emblem in my sight . Or knowing I am faultie in such crime , Hath giuen this bitter pill for me to taste , To giue me warning gainst some other time , That I should mende my doinges in all haste : T is taken so , and therefore I le grow wise , Friendes warne like friendes , and let it ●o suffise . Or telling me of Beares , bewrayes his anger , For dreaming of them , tells of wrath indeed : T is so , and I will thinke of it no longer , When I next see him , I le make his braynes bleed : And with like question nearely in affiance , Tell him but this , that I haue seene the Lions . Quip . T is good to doe so much , for harke thee brother , One doubtfull qustion doth expell an other : At that hee 'l muse more then thou didst but now , For Lions and Beares frights witt from both of you .

Who is happy ? Who is happie ? Marry he that is ritch . O y' are disceiued , it is nothing so : You would be that way blest . Sir y' are a witch , You know my thoughts I , and I know thy woe . When thou art knowne rich , thou maist wel be bold Thy friendes will cut thy throate to haue thy gold . Then who is happy , let me heare of you , The strong man , meane you him ? No he is weake , Strength is a blessing I can well alow . But not a happy blessing ? Good sir speake . He that hath strong armes , legges , and limbs , Is like a bubble that in water swims . What , is the wise man happy ? I , some wayes . It should be so , for which men practize schooles : Yet it fall●● out with many now a dayes , That ouer much witt makes a number fooles . Then fare well witt , because I le not abuse thee . Come not at me , I know not how to vse thee . He that liues well , and dies well , I say still . But who is that ? Nay when I know I le tell thee : Then I am not the neare , I want my will . True , and thou must but harken what I will thee . No man shall answere one an others part , But each man for himselfe shall : O my hart ! Quip . What , startst thou backe for feare ? & dost thou quake I see thou knowst no answere what to make .

Who comes yonder ? I le tell thee who : but prethee marke him well . See how he stares about , as one dispayring , And of his sorrowes I will something tell . Sometimes he strikes his brest as one ill faring . Wan , woe , and pale he lookes , as wanting life . Greeud like a kind man , that entombs his wise . Hath he losse at sea by Shipp ? O no not so . Or on the land by fier ? T is not so well . Well do you tearme it , to attaine such woe ? No trust me , I do thinke nought is more ill . That losse God sendes , and who so leaues it , As Iob did , shall with Iob , ten fould receiue it . What ayles he then ? Now list and I will shew him . This man dispaires , is madd , and vext with griefe , Yet as thou thinkst not so vnfortunate , beshrow him : Not robd by sea or land , by fier or thiefe , But yonder comes the asse that nere was wise , For he has lost his money all at dice . Quip At dice in deed ? a foole of fooles say I , That liues with paine , and doth in pleasure die : This be his guilt , mockt still of euery neigbour . For doing that which quitteth not his labour .

What haue I lost ? I cannot tell for certaine , yet I le gesse . You had a thousand thinges that I haue seene . Now I meane that of late I did possesse . Of late I know not , what was lately seene ? You had a faire Wife ? nay I haue her still , And all such thinges I vse at wit and will . But I haue lost that nere shal be recald , No gould can regaine what I carelesse lost . What is it money ? No , or is forestald Your office ? ouer bought by Knights o' th post ? But these are nothing to my losse of late , By'll lucke I haue lost one eare off from my pate . Quip . God giue you ioy good sir , of such a crosse , It seemes by you it was a willing losse : If it be so , and you ioy in your crosses , God send such fooles euer to haue such losses .

How shall I finde it ? I le tell thee how to finde that eare againe . Children in shooting when they loose an Arrow In high growne or deepe grasse , omit no paine , But with their Bowes end rake and search it narrow . And when they bootlesse seeke and finde it not , After some sorrow , this amendes is got . An other shaft they shoote that direct way , As whilome they the first shot , and be plaine , Twentie to one , as I haue heard some say , The former Arrow may be found againe . So as you lost the first eare , gentle brother , Venture the second eare , to finde the tother . Nay soft and faire , to do that I am loth , So I may happen for to lose them both . Quip . Better lost then found , who will beweepe them , Fooles hauing eares , yet do want wit to keepe them .

Who dyes soonest ? Not he that 's sickest , for the sicke may liue . And outliue him that now is perfect well . Nor he that 's wounded when the Surgins giue Potions or playsters , that can griefe expell : Who then dies soonest ? Faith I cannot tell , For no man hath a charter of his life : Simplest of all men , harke and note me well , The wife or husband , hee or else his wise , All is vncertaine , oft hath this been told , As soone the young Sheepe dieth , as the old : But no one die , so soone vpon the earth ; As such who do possesse the shortest bre●th : Quip . Indeede that s so , but if thou wilt preuaile , When thy friende 's dying , blow wind in his taile ▪ Yet to no reason's this , that doth in ●eason lurke , Because that then thou goest wrong way to worke ▪ Wrong way or right , t will neare out of my minde , As much preuailes before , as blowde behinde .

What wisht shee ? A Widdow wisht : harke and I le tell thee what . Choyce of a thousand thinges . What thinges I pray ? Content thy selfe man , and imagine that , Thinke what she wisht , and hit it if thou may . What , was she ritch ? I so a number say , T is hard to iumpe with thee in what she would , For women often wish not what they should . She wisht a Husband that was ritch like her . That wealth to wealth were ioynd : was it not so ? Although in hart she could hit nothing neare . Then she wisht wit , to gouerne it ? Fie no . Then she wisht health , t' enioy it ? Yet ye go . Farre from her meaning : yet you came so neare , As you will hit it by and by I feare . Othen I haue it : Women couet honner . Honour is glorious ; yet you want her minde . Now fortune , yeeld her wish to light vpon her , For I am sencelesse in her wish , and blind . I can not thinke her thought , how shee 's inclind : So wilde are women in their thoughts and deedes , As no wise man knowes where their humour breedes . Now I will answere thee what wish she craude , Not gold ( she had enough ) nor wit to keepe it : For when some thought she spent , she nearely ●aude , And couetously together would she sweepest : Let them alone , too well can women heapest . All wishes set a apart her eye being pleasde , Her wish is graunted , and her hart is eazde . Quip . Her eye to please is endlesse , not to do , Whose scope , no power can compasse therevnto : Well , let her wish , but nere relicude thereby , Whose bellyes sooner pleasd , then is her eye .

Who couets glorie ? He that is nobly borne , couets no glory , Because his birth affordes his mindes desire . The Begger hanges the head , and still is sorry , Gaping with open mouth , and would aspire : But oft it prooues , he that buildes on supposes , As the saying is : all couets , and all loses . Who swims in Silkes ? The Begger , who is prowde . The Begger too . And who is loftie minded ? Why still the Begger , he would be alowde To be in glorie : but his thoughts are blinded . Yes , he will haue his will , or all to wracke , Heele starue his bellie , but hee le cloth his backe . Who 's this that comes ? He is a Gentleman . No , y' are deceiued , a gentle Begger rather . So braue he is , that none discerne him can : Yet this is he that once denide his father . So proude he is , that seeking glorie still , Knowes not his friends , no nor him selfe scarce will . Quip . Well , let him still be subiect to this cursse , A proude hart ietteth with a beggers pursse : No Gentleman , although he iett so braue , But rather be he tearmde a gentle Knaue .

What is shee ? What is that Woman : Sir she was a Mayde . O , but she is not now . How happens this ? Yes sir she is , but therewith ill apayde : Mayde is she , no Mayde by one deede amisse . In deede , one deede which lately for she did , From Maydes estate I must her needes forbid . Is she a Wife ? neither , not so blessed , That honour last leape yeere escapt her too . What , is sh'a Widdow , late by death distressed ? O no , nor that way wrongde : I know not how , Onely thus much I say , and talke no more , Nor mayde , wife , widdow , but a common whore . Quip O beautie thou art wrongd thus euery hower , Fro which this loues , thou 'lt vanish like a flower : And since t is so , this then became her thrall , Correction serues to quittance her for all .

What ayles that Damsell ? What , is she sicke ? no she is lustie and well : Yet some thing is amisse , or I am madd . True sir , but what 's amisse that s strange to tell . None but her selfe knowes why she is so sadd . Yet men may gesse . True sir , & when th'haue done , They 'le be as wise as when they first begun . A Iewrie , howe ! for we will know her griefe , Twelue women comes and calles her state in question . What is she pinde sayes one , wanting reliefe ? Her fatt flesh tels her to haue good disgestion . For , lesse I be deceiude , this Mayde is shee , That eates more at one meale , then some at three . What , is she sullen ? No she laughes and smiles , And that bewrayes her minde is onely quiet . What , has she wrencht her foote with leaping stiles ? No , she was nere so nimbly fraught with riot . Yet let me tell you , she hath stept amisse : Then gently iudge her sorrow what it is . Quip . And is it so in deede : this be her quip , Giue her her due , and let her feele the whip .

What is light ? Fethers are light who lightly in the winde , wanders with nimble flying in the ayre . Corke to is light , whose lightnes many finde To be so light as it hath no compare : But many thinges are light , yet none so much As Women kind , who haue a slipprie tuch . What can be lighter then a sillie Maide , That is vnlightned of her mayden-head ? Was it so heauie ? she was ouer-waide . It was so heauie , yet it s lightly fled . It lightly went : but wishes are in vaine , Nor light nor heauie will it come againe . Is a good name light , that its lightly lost ? It should seeme so for weare it otherwise , The burthen would be carryed with lesse cost : But lightnes is not thought on in our eyes . Our clothes we weare are light , because we vse them But heauie in the Winter , to refuse them . Imagine then all seasons are alike , And that there is no Winter , but all Summer : When for our ease we walke this stroke we strike . You Mayde too heauie a burthen hath vndone her : And therefore in hot Summer , to shun heate , She goes so light of body , loth to sweate . That woman hauing names enough to vse , Will not be loden with too great a waight : A good name is intollerable : choose A lighter carriage , and an easiar fraight , Rather then be a heauie honest woman more , For lightnes , be esteemde an arrant whore . And let not men be heauie laden th●●● But to be lightly clothde : sie , t is too 〈◇〉 To loade their backes with burthens dangerous , To be orecloyde : what , do you thinke men mad ? No , rather let all men refuse no paine . Till they haue eazde their burthens in Long-lane . Quip . I'low thy iudgement , for they that do so , I must confesse in Summer lightly go , But in the Winter of their time to come , That lightnes will turne heauie vnto some : This be their quip , wherewith none can dispence , Lightly liue , but dye with heauie conscience .

Wher 's Tarleton ? One askes where Tarleton is , yet knowes hee 's dead . Foole , sayes the other , who can tell thee that ? Asse , quoth the first , I can : bow downe thy head , Lend but an eare and listen . Sir , to what ? Is t come to Sir , quoth he , euen how twas Foole , One Asse can with an other beare much rule . Well , Asse or Foole , the second sayes , go on : I say hee 's dead . I true , and so say I. And yet a liues too , though some say hee 's gon . Till you approue this , I must say you lie . Lie , quoth the first , the stab with that must go , I do not say you lie , I say I must say so . A Collier after Tarletons death did talke , And sayd , he heard some say that he was dead : A simple man that knew not Cheese from Chaulke , Yet simple men must toyle in wise mens stead . Vnto the Play he came to see him there , When all was done , still was he not the nere . He calles a loude , and sayd that he would see him , For well he knew it was but rumourd prate : The people laught a good , and wisht to free him , Because of further mirth from this debate . The Collier sayd , the squint of Tarletons eie , Was a sure marke that he should neuer die . Within the Play past , was his picture vsd , Which when the fellow saw , he laught aloud : A ha , quoth he , I knew we were abusde , That he was kept away from all this croude . The simple man was quiet , and departed , And hauing seene his Picture , was glad harted . So with thy selfe , it seemes , that knowes he 's dead , And yet desires to know where Tarleton is : I say he liues , yet you say no : your head Will neuer thinke , ne yet beleeue halfe this . Go too , hee 's gone , and in his bodyes stead , His name will liue long after he is dead . So , with the Collier I must thinke he liues , When but his name remaines in memorie : What credite can I yeelde to such repreeues , When at the most , t is but vncertaintie . Now am I a foole in deed ? so let that passe , Before I goe , I le quit thee with the asse . What , is his name Letters , and no more ? Can Letters liue , that breathe not , nor haue life ? No , no , his Fame liues , who hath layde in store His actes and deedes : therefore conclude this strife , Else all that heare vs , striue and breed this mutenie , Will bid vs keepe the Colliar foole for company . Well , to resolue this question , yet say I , That Tarletons name is heare , though he be gone . You say not , Whors his Body that did die ? But , Where is Tarleton ? Whers his name alone ? His Name is heere : t is true , I credite it . His Body 's dead , few Clownes will haue his wit . Quip . Though he be dead , dispaire not of thy wisedome , What wit thou hast not yet , in time may come : But thus we see , two Dogges striue for a bone , Bout him that had wit , till them selues haue none .

What is desier ? Desier , is but a motion of the minde That growes by follie , not encrease of wit : If men were wise , they would not wish to finde That , which vnto their states is farre vnfit . The King is proud , and he would be a God , To shun the toyle of earth : that s his abode . The poore man would be mightie : more foole he , For if it be a sorrow to be poore , To be molested night and day with glorie , Would be a trouble and a terrour more : So that Desier , is but an inward motion , Bred with disgrace , and nurst by lewd deuotion . Quip . Desire no more then thou canst tollerate , Least like the Asse , thy burthen harme thy state : To desier much , and nothing to enioy , e Is like an olde mans beard , on a young boy : Ill seeming to the eye : then shun desir , Least thou best thought a foole , so to aspire .

Who dyed first ? Not he that first was borne , I am sure of that . Who then I pre-thee ? Faith I do not know . Harken to me , and I will tell thee what . What is it thou wilt tell me ? pre-thee show Who first did die , good do , or else I haue wrong . Who ere dide first , I feare thou liu'st too long . Caine slew his brother Abel , I do reed . The worse lucke his to die by his owne brother . The better cause hast thou to take more heede : For thou art one , and I must be the other . What wilt thou kill mee ? Say I should do so , T were but a friendly part , to kill my foe . How haue I wrongd thee , let me know but this ? How canst thou chose but wrong me with much spight , When all the world knowes thou hast done amisse ? For to thy selfe yet thou didst neuer right . Then I will right my owne wronges , foolish elfe , When as I list , I le quickly kill my selfe . Quip . True , is it so in deede , the more 's my sorrow , Men can not say that they will liue to morrow : But die they will to morrow or to night , Such haste some make to hell , the more the spight . Quip Then since t is so , and that you two agree , Vse your owne willes , and hange both for me . Abel was able to endure that banging , And you are able both to endure a hanging .

Whers the Deuill ? One askes me where the Deuill is ? Much I muse What makes this madd man so his name to vse . It may be he would bargaine with the spirit , For much he hath that some would faigne inherit . If it be so , much good may do his hart , How ere he deales , ther s few will take his part . I say he is , or else should be , in hell , True , he should be there : but I can tell Hee 's now not there , hee 's otherwayes employde , He keepes his Christmas other where abrode . It may so be , I know not certainlie : None knowes , but you may be his secretarie . If on the earth he be , I le tell you where , In an Vsurers bagge of money : Is he there ? For money ill got , bringes the deuill and all . A number say so , though their skill be small . Yet you are wide , and know not his abode , In the Cittie he is , some saw him where he rode . Hee 's got into a boxe of Womens paint , And there he lyes , bathing him selfe so quaint , Lockt vp as close as may be in her chist , All this is right , beleeue it they that list . Where pride is , ther s the Diuell : all this is vaine . Yet still you misse , then reckon once againe . I am right glad I misse , and came not neare him , It is my whole desier still to feare him : Hee 's one that with whom I haue had no dealing , And therefore of his kindnes haue small feeling O foole , I tell thee where he is : shun euill , For where God is not , there is sure the Deuill . Where is not God ? I pray thee tell me that ? Not heere I feare , our mindes agree so pat , That medling with the Deuill , who neare was kinde , It shewes the follies of a wauering minde Beshrew thy hart , first that didst aske this doubt , For one bad question , driues two good thoughts out . Quip . Fooles talke like fooles , while wise men sit Wisely to descant on an others wit : What need they meadle where th'haue nought to do , This shewes their folly , and their weaknes to : But now I see all reason set a part , The Deuill 's not in hell , but in his hart .

Why is he drunke ? I know not why , vnlesse I knew his minde , But many besides him is thus inclinde . Perchaunce for company he is disguisde , Or t is his nature to be thus suffisde : Or tasting good Beere neuer found before , Against his will is drunke of his owne skore . It may be his weake braine can beare no drinke : I am not of your minde , so well to thinke . Then knowing his owne weaknes , he should shun , Thus to be loathsome , as he has begun . How ere it is I know not , but these people , Are all brainde with a Brewers washing beetle . Quip . Company causeth Cuckoldes , most men say , But shall this prouerbe beare it so away . I , it must needes : for it is helde least ieobardie , When men go to the Deuill for companie .

He eates much . True , he eates much , but drinketh ten times more . How know you that ? I know it by his skore . What , doth he pay his skore ? yes suer he doth . Then t is no matter , let him feed his tooth . But you say that he drinkes more then he eates . I , so they say : the Brewer the more gets . Tush let vs peace , in vaine we spend our winde , Gluttons will feed , & drunkards drinke them blinde . Quip He that eates much and drinketh out of measure , May eate his clothes off , and drinke hence his treasure Yet in the ende count but what he doth get , Drinke till he dies , he drinkes not out of debt .

He sleepes too much . Those that sleepe much , eate little , so I say . And some poore soules that haue no coyne to buy meat Faigne them selues sicke , and go to bed straight way , As though their queasie stomackes did denie meate . That when the Doctor comes to giue a Potion , They drinke the cup and all , with true deuotion . Then sayes the Doctor , he will straight wayes die , Because a greedy stomacke telles no lesse : The hungry patient he is fed thereby , That being well , could neuer haue redresse . If it be so , something my muse can tell , Better for poore be sicke twice , then once well . Quip . He that for greedines , desireth ill , And ioyes in sicknesse to get succour still : Better say I , such hollow hartes be dead , Then liue to rob the lyuing of their bread .

Do it , and dallie not . If thou wilt do it , let it straight be done , In lingring is ill prospring many say : Goe through with that , which thou hast well begun , I , to do so is good , if a man may . With that is well begun , do it , but dallie not , But that is ill begun , dallie , but doe it not You rime well in your reason , do ye not ? If it be ill , I le giue it ore betime , I le dallie in my deede , and know it not , Because you mocke me for one simple Rime . I see by this , in great things you will blame me , When in so slight a matter , you would shame me . I say againe , doe it and dallie not . I say againe , my feare bids mee keepe backe . Foole , wilt thou feare ? who so doth , he preuailes not . What more disgrace , then when a man growes slacke . Should Souldiers when the foes are ten to one , Feare and keepe backe , and let the fight alone . Shall children finding pinnes by chaunce in bread , Giue ore to eate for feare , so starue and die ? Shall men in doubtfull Law , keepe backe and dread , And let their actions slipp , and lose thereby ? I am commaunded to serue God , and shall I not ? Yes but I will , I le do 't and dallie not . Quip . But men will say , they le strange thinges do . When they will let 't alone , and dally to . I owe a thousand pound vpon a Bande , At such a day t is due I vnderstande : I should in conscience pay , and shall I not ? Then pay it for me : doo 't and dally not .

He washes cleane . Thou art disceaude to say , he washes cleane , I rather thinke that boy , he washes sowle . Weake is thy wit , thou knowst not what I meane , And thou dost rubbe like a false byast Bowle . Then we must law I see , and fall at square , Men that agree not , euer be at iarre . Why doth he wash ? tell me but that I pre-thee ? Because his face is foule , to wash it cleane : He washes foule , then his foule face is durtie , And he will wash it faire : is t so ye meane ? Well then , the more he washes , more is he Cleaner , then fouler , as each eye may see . Againe I tell thee that thou dost mistake . My wit is cleane gone , for to answere thee , And know no way an answere for to make , When right or wrong thou houldst for veritie . Shall we be friendes still , be it foule or cleane ? I , to that ende I speake , and so I meane . Quip . Well fare men still that such a quarrell endes , Who falling out with talke , will talke them friendes : The foule , them selues haue washed ouer againe , All the Tems water cannot wash so cleane .

What smels sweete ? Muske , Ciuet , Amber , and a thousand thinges Long to rehearse , from which sweete odours springes : Flowers are sweete , and sweetest in my minde : For they are sweete by nature and by kinde . Faire Women that in boosoms nosegayes weare , Kisse but their lippes , and say what sent they beare . Their breath perfume , their flowers sweetly smell , Both ioyned to her lippes , do exceeding well . Quip . T is sweete of all sweetes : yet I needes must chide thee , Thou smelst so Sweete , ther s no man can abide thee .

Why weares he Bootes ? Why weares he Bootes and rides not , pre-thee tell ? Three dayes before they ride , some men do so : But he hath neither Horse nor credite . That s not well , And therefore will not ride : yet thus doth go . It is to mocke the worlde , as many do : Many thinkes they haue Horse and credite to . It may be that his Shooes are put to mending , And weares his Bootes vpon necessitie : So for to ride , he hath no such entending , But stayes the Coblers leysure willingly . Nor so , nor so , this man so strangely goes , Wearing his Bootes , because he hath no Hose . Quip . T is likely so , and now I see his drift , I gesse by him , thou hast made such a shift . How ere it is , yet if the worst do fall , Better a bad shyft made , then none at all .

Why sweates he so ? He puffes , and blowes , and sweates , What has he done ? What makes this young man hastely to runne ? It may be he hath stolne , and got some boote , And for to scape makes haste , I see in to 't . T is surely so , and time to runne I weene , When as the Gallous threatens him such teen● . No , y' are deceiude , hee 's true , and euer was , He scornes to steale from any in this place . Then in an other place it seemes he will ? Be not so Iealous , you mistake me still . How is it then he sweates so , let me heare ? O , he ranne for some wager , I do feare . Neither infayth , and yet he made great haste , Such haste as few can make , but with much waste : He leapt three ditches , one hedge , and a wall , To win his will , whereby to scape them all : For shall I tell thee , he hath run his best , To saue his body now from an arrest . Quip . T was time to runne indeede , and to vse cunning , Else had he been layde vpp , for euer running : Yet sweates he not I telt thee , therefore peace , This honest man melts but his knaues greace .

Why Iettes she so ? Gillian doth Iett and braue it with the best , Although a begger borne , and oft distrest : Yet now a Seruant , and in some account , One poore yeeres wages , makes her thus surmount . A gallant Neckenger her necke to grace , No matter for her Gowne , or other place : Good foote , good legge : these two are chiefly fine . And she that giues her wages must decline . O Gillian , yet remember , Iett not so , Maydes must be vnder Mistresses , you know . Must you be fine ? thinke but how things are deere . Aboue fouer Nobles wages in one yeere . Quip . True , that s all one : doe Gillian , goe braue still , And it will bring thee soone vp Holborne hill .

Who is that ? Who do you meane , this Gallant that comes heere ? I , euen the same : listen and I will show . This meacocke was a man , and but last yeere Fell he thus poore , thus wrapt in weedes of woe : And fiue yeeres since , he that should tell him this , Had had his Poyniard in his sides by lysse . For he had houses , and a mightie stocke , Landes in the Countrey , and much coyne at vse : But riotous company that still did flocke Both day and night to him , causd this abuse . Dice , wine , and women , wonne , drunke , & spent all , And now he liues a vasiall at each call . A by-word to the worlde , and thus he goes , Sicke with necessitie , and pinde with want : Where he had plentie , gingling in his hose , Now poouertie in 's pocket , maketh scant . And his poore belly that did surfet then , Feeding a number , now is fedd by men . O griefe exceeding , where did wealth exceede . O care abounding in abundance steade . O ill helpe of the holpen : now his neede , Makes him in sorrow , for to begge his bread . O friendes what meane you to leaue wealth to such , Whose wit seemes nothing , cloyde with ouer much . Quip Content your selues , did parents know the spending , They would not leaue so much , to such bad ending : But hope of doing well , makes them forgo , What after their depart , their Sonnes spend so : And t is enough for Sonnes , that spend so bad , ( Me thinkes ) to say : suffizes once I had .

Can that Boy read ? Yes , he can read , and is a prettie Youth , And hath his Lattin tongue , and can do well . But he will not do well , for still his truth Is subiect to a scandall , doing ill . O good guift ill bestowde , when such as he May do well and will not ; but euill wilbe . Write he can , and cast account right well : Cipher he can too : and in deed what not ? More then he should sometime , which I could tell ▪ But hoping he will mende : no more of that . His reeding sau'd his life once : you know why . Me thinkes it had been better he did die . Quip . No God forbid , the burnt childe dreades the fier , T is true , and once in danger , come no nyer : Least once too neare , you chaunce at length to swarue , When all your ready reeding will not serue .

He had much wit . He had muth wit , else had he neare been ritch , For what he hath , he had it through the fier . He had much wit , and there are but few such , That with their wit can purchase their desier . A number liue that wisely would be thought , When their wit failes them , & doth come to nought Houses he hath a number , and much land , His pursse is stuft , and he hath a full hand ; But of his store what giues he to the needie ? Nothing at all , in that he is not speedie . His pursse is tide fast , and his minde is sparing , And for the poorer sort hath litle caring . Had he much wit to get this worldes encrease ▪ And hath he no wit left rightly to vse it ? He hath no wit then now , and therefore peace , Such as haue Gods true blessing , and abuse it , Had better be still poore : for fellow credite me , He hath but litle wit , and farre lesse honestie . Quip . He that gets much and little giues , He seemes a liuing man , but little liues , He that had wit him selfe to thrall , Better say I , h'had had no wit at all .

He buildes a great House . A man must of necessitie goe builde , Not for a lackes a house , for one a had : Which house hath euer been extreamely filde With goodes and store , which me thinkes was not bad . But though a while his little house had plentie , Yet now of late his little house was emptie . Thinke you his little House was not enough To holde his store , when it was seldome filde : Yes , what of that , he layes hand to his plough , And makes a vow he will a bigger builde . A hundreth men with much a do doth labour , Hated and still despisde of euery neighbour . Yet still goes forward this great worke of worth , And now t is builded , though with care and cost . What will you say now , if to crosse his mirth , His fortunes will not equall his high boast . Will they be strange , if he haue worse successe , Then in his little House which did decrease . True , t will be strange in deed : well , let it passe , Hope well and haue well , that is so you know : But shall a trades man where so ill a was , Remooue his shop in hope to do well so ? No rather in his first shop let him proue . To get good custome for his ware or loue . Well , now t is vp , faire , ritch , and well maintaind . God sende it keepe so , that is all I care , His welfare greeues not mee , nor am I paind , That he shiftes for the better : my dispaire Is onely this , while he for wealth is wooing , I feare his great House will haue little dooing . Quip . Talke what you know , yet it is ritchly stuft , At which this iolly builder laught and puft : His Haruest is but cutting , ear't be downe , The winde may turne , 't may raine , and clowdes may frowne How ere the weather seeme ▪ care set a part , He will not craue thy helpe to pitch his cart .

He begins well , but endes ill . In his beginning , all he did was well : For why , his labour sought still to excell : But ere the middle came , wearines tooke him , So that his Muse offended , quite forsooke him . So in the ende , it must of force be ill , Although perchaunce the Author shewde goodwill : Weakenes of wit , was cause he did so bad , Not loue of hart , for that was alwayes had . Loue cannot labour , if the witt do want : But witt without loue , may both sowe and plant : Yet in the ende , such witles loue hath hope , To reape in Haruest , but a sorry croppe . Who would be wearie in his dooing well , But labour earnestly still to doe well : Well dooing hath an Ague hauntes him still , Which must b'out labourde with an earnest will . Pepper and Aqua-vitae will not sarue , For so well dooing may too sodaine starue : Nor sleeping on a bed , or sweating theare : This Ague must be driuen hence with a feare . Which feare in labour doth maintaine goodwill : Feare so , and labour so , and thou shalt still , Begin at first , and as thou dost begin , The middle and the ende shall ioye therein . Quip . All is as much to say , the Author feares , The Reader vowes to haue him by the eares : Because beginning well , and ending ill , Shewes haughtie thoughts , vsing but little skill . How ere it happens , my good will is such , As what I doe , I doe not thinke too much .

The Conclusion . Gentilles , whose gentlenes in censuring , Is to take pleasure in your pittying : Craftes-men , whose craft in clenly couering , Is to be craftie in your kindest cunning , To you I appeale : to whom in my appealling , I craue forgiuenes , giuing this hard dealing . What can you more , but true contrition . Earnestly craude with true submission . What is amisse , it is your minde to pardon , Whose hartes no vnkinde deede can harden . This is my comfort makes me not dispaire , Your free loue euer will abridge my care . Some one will say , wit wanting , men Are rash to speake , or write with pen . Others excuse it , and will alwayes say , Desier to do well , makes a number stray . If to do well w● offende , then that offence Is to be pardond for the good pretence . So to conclude , no more but this , All thinges well taken , nought's amisse .

FINIS .