The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

AN

ENGLISH GARNER.

Volume IV.

AN
ENGLISH
GARNER
INGATHERINGS
FROM OUR
HISTORY AND LITERATURE

BY EDWARD ARBER, FSA. &c.

"YEA, HISTORY HATH TRIUMPHED OVER TIME: WHICH BESIDES IT, NOTHING BUT ETERNITY HATH TRIUMPHED OVER."
Sir W. Raleigh,
Hist. of the World.

"AIRS AND MADRIGALS THAT WHISPER SOFTNESS IN CHAMBERS."
J. Milton,
Areopagitica.

VOLUME IV

Only to be obtained by application to
E. ARBER, 1 Montague Road,
Birmingham. England
16 Jan., 1882.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MITCHELL INVT·ET·DEL

Contents of the Fourth Volume.

FIRST LINES OF POEMS AND STANZAS.

AN
English
Garner
INGATHERINGS
FROM OUR
HISTORY AND LITERATURE

Vol. IV.

Robert Tomson, of Andover, Merchant.
Voyage to the West Indies and Mexico, 1556-1558, A.D.

[Hakluyt. Voyages. 1589.]

The marvel is, that at this date, these Englishmen were allowed to go to New Spain at all; it was probably one of the results of the marriage of Philip with Mary Tudor. Blake, Field, and Tomson were probably the first British islanders who reached the city of Mexico. This narrative also gives us an account of the first auto-da-fé in that city.

Robert Tomson, born in the town of Andover, in Hampshire, began his travels out of England in the month of March, anno 1553 [i.e., 1554]; who departing out of the city of Bristol in company of other merchants of the said city, in a good ship called the bark Young, within eight days after, arrived at Lisbon, at Portugal: where the said Robert Tomson remained fifteen days. At the end of which, he shipped himself for Spain in the said ship, and within four days arrived in the bay of Cadiz in Andalusia, which is under the kingdom of Spain: and from thence, travelled up to the city of Seville by land, which is twenty leagues; and there, he repaired to the house of one John Field, an English merchant who had dwelt in the said city of Seville eighteen or twenty years married, with wife and children. In whose house, the said Tomson remained by the space of one whole year or thereabout, for two causes: the one, to learn the Castilian tongue; the other, to see the orders of the country, and the customs of the people.

At the end of which time, having seen the fleets of ships come out of the [West] Indies to that city, with such great quantity of gold and silver, pearls, precious stones, sugar, hides, ginger, and divers other rich commodities; he did determine with himself to seek means and opportunity to pass over to see that rich country, from whence such a great quantity of rich commodities came.

And it fell out, that within short time after, the said John Field, where the said Tomson was lodged, did determine to pass over into the West Indies himself, with his wife, children, and family: and, at the request of the said Tomson, he purchased a license of the King, to pass into the Indies, for himself, wife, and children; and among them, also, for the said Tomson to pass with them. So that presently they made preparation of victuals and other necessary provision for the voyage. But the ships which were prepared to perform the voyage being all ready to depart, were, upon certain considerations by the King's commandment, stayed and arrested, till further should be known of the King's pleasure.

Whereupon, the said John Field, with his company and Robert Tomson (being departed out of Seville, and come down to San Lucar de Barrameda, fifteen leagues off) seeing the stay made upon the ships of the said fleet, and not being assured when they would depart, determined to ship themselves for the isles of the Canaries, which are 250 leagues from San Lucar, and there to stay till the said fleet should come hither; for that is continually their port to make stay at, six or eight days, to take fresh water, bread, flesh, and other necessaries.

So that in the month of February, in anno 1555, the said Robert Tomson, with the said John Field and his company, shipped themselves in a caravel of the city of Cadiz, out of the town of San Lucar; and within six days, they arrived at the port of the Grand Canary: where at our coming, the ships that rode in the said port began to cry out of all measure, with loud voices: insomuch that the Castle, which stood fast by, began to shoot at us, and shot six or eight shot at us, and struck down our mainmast before we could hoist out our boat to go on land to know what the cause of the shooting was; seeing that we were Spanish ships, and coming into our country.

So that being on land, and complaining of the wrong and damage done unto us; they answered that "they had thought we had been French rovers, that had come into the said port to do some harm to the ships that were there." For that eight days past, there went out of the said port a caravel much like unto ours, ladened with sugars and other merchandise for Spain; and on the other side of the Point of the said island, met with a French Man of War: which took the said caravel, and unladed out of her into the said French ship, both men and goods. And it being demanded of the said Spaniards, "What other ships remained in the port whence they came?"; they answered, "There remained divers other ships, and one ladened with sugars as they were, and ready to depart for Spain." Upon the which news, the Frenchmen put thirty tall men of their ship, well appointed, into the said caravel that they had taken, and sent her back again to the said port from whence she had departed the day before.

Somewhat late towards evening, she came into port, not showing past three or four men, and so came to an anchor hard by the other ships that were in the said port. Being seen by the Castle and by the said ships, they made no reckoning of her, because they knew her: and thinking that she had found contrary winds at the sea, or having forgotten something behind them, they had returned back again for the same, they made no account of her, but let her alone riding quietly among the other ships in the said port. So that about midnight, the said caravel, with the Frenchmen in her, went aboard [touched] the other ship that lay hard by, ladened with sugars; and driving the Spaniards that were in her under the hatches, presently let slip her cables and anchors, and set sail and carried her clean away: and after this sort, deceived them. And they thinking or fearing that we were the like, did shoot at us as they did.

This being past: the next day after our arrival in the said port, we did unbark ourselves, and went on land up to the city or head town of the Grand Canaria, where we remained eighteen or twenty days; and there found certain Englishmen, merchants, servants of Anthony Hickman and Edward Castelin, merchants in the city of London, that lay there for traffic: of whom we received great courtesy and much good cheer.

After the which twenty days being past, in which we had seen the country, the people, and the disposition thereof, we departed from thence, and passed to the next isle of the Canaries, eighteen leagues off, called Teneriffe; and being come on land, went up to the city called La Laguna: where we remained seven months, attending the coming of the whole fleet, which, in the end, came; and there having taken that which they had need of, we shipped ourselves in a ship of Cadiz, being one of the said fleet, belonging to an Englishman married in the city of Cadiz in Spain, whose name was John Sweeting. There came in the said ship as Captain, an Englishman also, whose name was Leonard Chilton, married in Cadiz, and son-in-law to the said John Sweeting: and another Englishman also, whose name was Ralph Sarre, came in the same ship, which had been a merchant of the city of Exeter; one of fifty years of age or thereabouts.

So that we departed from the said islands in the month of October, the foresaid year [1555], eight ships in our company, and so directed our course towards the Bay of New Spain [Gulf of Mexico]; and, by the way, towards the island of Santo Domingo, otherwise called Hispaniola: so that within forty-two days [i.e., in December] after we departed from the said islands of Canaries, we arrived with our ship at the port of Santo Domingo; and went in over the bar, where our ship knocked her keel at her entry. There our ship rid [rode] before the town; where we went on land, and refreshed ourselves sixteen days.

There we found no bread made of wheat, but biscuit brought out of Spain, and out of the Bay of Mexico. For the country itself doth yield no kind of grain to make bread withal: but the bread they make there, is certain cakes made of roots called cassavia; which is something substantial, but it hath an unsavoury taste in the eating thereof. Flesh of beef and mutton, they have great store; for there are men that have 10,000 head of cattle, of oxen, bulls, and kine, which they do keep only for the hides: for the quantity of flesh is so great, that they are not able to spend the hundredth part. Of hog's flesh is there good store, very sweet and savoury; and so wholesome that they give it to sick folks to eat, instead of hens and capons: although they have good store of poultry of that sort, as also of guinea cocks and guinea hens.

At the time of our being there, the city of Santo Domingo was not of above 500 households of Spaniards: but of the Indians dwelling in the suburbs, there were more. The country is, most part of the year, very hot: and very full of a kind of flies or gnats with long bills [mosquitos], which do prick and molest the people very much in the night when they are asleep, in pricking their faces and hands and other parts of their bodies that lie uncovered, and make them to swell wonderfully. Also there is another kind of small worm, which creepeth into the soles of men's feet, and especially of the Black Moors [Indians] and children which use to go barefoot, and maketh their feet to grow as big as a man's head, and doth so ache that it would make one run mad. They have no remedy for the same, but to open the flesh, sometimes three or four inches, and so dig them out.

The country yieldeth great store of sugar, hides of oxen, bulls and kine, ginger, cana fistula, and salsaparilla. Mines of silver and gold there are none; but in some rivers, there is found some small quantity of gold. The principal coin that they do traffic withal in that place is black money, made of copper and brass: and this they say they do use, not for that they lack money of gold and silver to trade withal out of the other parts of [West] India, but because, if they should have good money, the merchants that deal with them in trade would carry away their gold and silver, and let the country commodities lie still. And thus much for Santo Domingo. So we were, coming from the isles of Canaries to Santo Domingo, and staying there, until the month of December: which was three months.

About the beginning of January [1556], we departed thence towards the Bay of Mexico and New Spain; towards which we set our course, and so sailed twenty-four days, till we came within fifteen leagues of San Juan de Ulua, which was the port of Mexico of our right discharge.

And being so near our said port, there rose a storm of northerly winds which came off from Terra Florida; which caused us to cast about into the sea again, for fear lest that night we should be cast upon the shore before day did break, and so put ourselves in danger of casting away. The wind and sea grew so foul and strong, that, within two hours after the storm began, nine ships that were together, were so dispersed, that we could not see one another.

One of the ships of our company, being of the burden of 500 tons, called the "Hulk of Carion," would not cast about to sea, as we did; but went that night with the land: thinking in the morning to purchase the port of San Juan de Ulua; but missing the port, went with the shore, and was cast away. There were drowned of that ship, seventy-five persons, men, women, and children; and sixty-four were saved that could swim, and had means to save themselves. Among those that perished in that ship, was a gentleman who had been Pres[id]ent the year before in Santo Domingo, his wife and four daughters, with the rest of his servants and household.

We, with the other seven ships, cast about into the sea, the storm [en]during ten days with great might, boisterous winds, fogs, and rain. Our ship, being old and weak, was so tossed that she opened at the stern a fathom under water, and the best remedy we had was to stop it with beds and pilobiers [? pillows for litters]: and for fear of sinking we threw and lightened into the sea all the goods we had, or could come by; but that would not serve.

Then we cut our mainmast, and threw all our ordnance into the sea, saving one piece; which, early in a morning, when we thought we should have sunk, we shot off: and, as it pleased GOD, there was one of the ships of our company near unto us, which we saw not by means of the great fog; which hearing the sound of the piece, and understanding some of the company to be in great extremity, began to make towards us, and when they came within hearing of us, we desired them "for the love of GOD! to help to save us, for that we were all like to perish!" They willed us "to hoist our foresail as much as we could, and make towards them; for they would do their best to save us;" and so we did.

And we had no sooner hoisted our foresail, but there came a gale of wind; and a piece of sea struck in the foresail, and carried away sail and mast all overboard: so that then we thought there was no hope of life. And then we began to embrace one another, every man his friend, every wife her husband, and the children their fathers and mothers; committing our souls to Almighty GOD, thinking never to escape alive. Yet it pleased GOD, in the time of most need, when all hope was past, to aid us with His helping hand, and caused the wind a little to cease; so that within two hours after, the other ship was able to come aboard us, and took into her, with her boat, man, woman and child, naked without hose, or shoes upon many of our feet.

I do remember that the last person that came out of the ship into the boat was a woman Black Moore [Indian]; who leaping out of the ship into the boat, with a young sucking child in her arms, leapt too short, and fell into the sea, and was a good while under the water before the boat could come to rescue her: and, with the spreading of her clothes rose above water again, and was caught by the coat and pulled into the boat, having still her child under her arm, both of them half drowned; and yet her natural love towards her child would not let her let the child go. And when she came aboard the boat, she held her child so fast under her arm still, that two men were scant able to get it out.

So we departed out of our ship, and left it in the sea. It was worth 400,000 ducats [= about £100,000 then = about £900,000 now], ship and goods, when we left it.

Within three days after, we arrived at our port of San Juan de Ulua, in New Spain.

I do remember that in the great and boisterous storm of this foul weather, in the night there came upon the top of our mainyard and mainmast, a certain little light, much like unto the light of a little candle, which the Spaniards called the corpos sancto, and said "It was Saint Elmo" [see Vol. III. p. 417], whom they take to be the advocate of sailors. At which sight, the Spaniards fell down upon their knees and worshipped it: praying GOD and Saint Elmo to cease the torment, and save them from the peril they were in; with promising him that, on their coming on land, they would repair unto his chapel, and there cause masses to be said, and other ceremonies to be done. The friars [did] cast relics into the sea, to cause the sea to be still, and likewise said Gospels, with other crossings and ceremonies upon the sea to make the storm to cease: which, as they said, did much good to weaken the fury of the storm. But I could not perceive it, nor gave any credit to it; till it pleased GOD to send us the remedy, and delivered us from the rage of the same. His name be praised therefore!

This light continued aboard our ship about three hours, flying from mast to mast, and from top to top; and sometimes it would be in two or three places at once. I informed myself of learned men afterward, what this light should be? and they said that "It was but a congelation of the wind and vapours of the sea congealed with the extremity of the weather, and so flying in the wind, many times doth chance to hit the masts and shrouds of the ship that are at sea in foul weather." And, in truth, I do take it to be so: for that I have seen the like in other ships at sea, and in sundry ships at once. By this, men may see how the Papists are given to believe and worship such vain things and toys as God; to whom all honour doth appertain: and in their need and necessities do let [cease] to call upon the living GOD, who is the giver of all good things.

The 16th of April in anno 1556, we arrived at the port of San Juan de Ulua in New Spain, very naked and distressed of apparel and all other things, by means of the loss of our foresaid ship and goods; and from thence we went to the new town called Vera Cruz, five leagues from the said port of San Juan de Ulua, marching still by the sea shore: where we found lying upon the sands a great quantity of mighty great trees, with roots and all, some of them four, five, or six cart load, by estimation; which, as the people told us, were, in the great stormy weather which we [en]dured at sea, rooted out of the ground in Terra Florida right against that place (which is 300 leagues over the sea), and brought thither.

So that we came to the said town of Vera Cruz; where we remained a month. There the said John Field chanced to meet an old friend of his acquaintance in Spain, called Gonzalo Ruiz de Cordova, a very rich man of the said town of Vera Cruz; who (hearing of his coming thither, with his wife and family; and of his misfortune by sea) came unto him, and received him and all his household into his house, and kept us there a whole month, making us very good cheer; and giving us good entertainment, and also gave us, that were in all eight persons, of the said J. Field's house, double apparel, new out of the shop, of very good cloth, coats, cloaks, shirts, smocks, gowns for the women, hose, shoes, and all other necessary apparel; and for our way up to the city of Mexico, horses, moyles [mules], and men; and money in our purses for the expenses by the way, which by our account might amount unto the sum of 400 crowns [= £120 then = about £1,000 now].

After we were entered two days' journey into the country, I, the said Robert Tomson, fell sick of an ague: so that the next day I was not able to sit on my horse; but was fain to be carried upon Indians' backs from thence to Mexico.

And when we came within half a day's journey of the city of Mexico, the said John Field also fell sick; and within three days after we arrived at the said city, he died. And presently sickened one of his children, and two more of his household people; who within eight days died. So that within ten days after we arrived at the city of Mexico, of eight persons that were of us of the said company, there remained but four of us alive: and I, the said Tomson, at the point of death, of the sickness that I got on the way, which continued with me for the space of six months [till October 1556]. At the end of which time, it pleased GOD to restore me my health again, though weak and greatly disabled.

Mexico was a city, in my time, of not above 1,500 households of Spaniards inhabiting there; but of Indian people in the suburbs of the said city, there dwelt about 300,000 as it was thought, and many more. This city of Mexico is sixty-five leagues from the North Sea [the Gulf of Mexico] and seventy-five leagues from the South Sea [the Pacific Ocean]; so that it standeth in the midst of the main land, betwixt the one sea and the other.

It is situated in the midst of a lake of standing water, and surrounded round about with the same; save, in many places, going out of the city, are many broad ways through the said lake or water. This lake and city are surrounded also with great mountains round about, which are in compass above thirty leagues; and the said city and lake of standing water doth stand in a great plain in the midst of it. This lake of standing water doth proceed from the shedding of the rain, that falleth upon the said mountains; and so gathers itself together in this place.

All the whole proportion of this city doth stand in a very plain ground; and in the midst of the said city is a square Place, of a good bow shot over from side to side. In the midst of the said Place is a high Church, very fair and well built all through, but at that time not half finished.

Round about the said Place, are many fair houses built. On the one side are the houses where Montezuma, the great King of Mexico that was, dwelt; and now there lie always the Viceroys that the King of Spain sendeth thither every three years: and in my time there was for Viceroy a gentleman of Castille, called Don Luis de Velasco.

And on the other side of the said Place, over against the same, is the Bishop's house, very fairly built; and many other houses of goodly building. And hard by the same are also other very fair houses, built by the Marquis de la Valle, otherwise called Hernando Cortes; who was he that first conquered the said city and country. After the said conquest (which he made with great labour and travail of his person, and danger of his life), being grown great in the country; the King of Spain sent for him, saying that he had some particular matters to impart to him: and, when he came home, he could not be suffered to return back again, as the King before had promised him. With the sorrow for which, he died: and this he had for the reward of his good service.

The said city of Mexico hath streets made very broad and right [straight] that a man being in the highway at one end of the street, may see at the least a good mile forward: and in all the one part of the streets of the north part of their city, there runneth a pretty lake of very clear water, that every man may put into his house as much as he will, without the cost of anything but of the letting in.

Also there is a great ditch of water that cometh through the city, even into the high Place; where come, every morning, at break of the day, twenty or thirty canoes or troughs of the Indians; which bring in them all manner of provisions for the city that is made and groweth in the country: which is a very good commodity for the inhabitants of that place. And as for victuals in the said city, beef, mutton, hens, capons, quails, guinea cocks, and such like, are all very good cheap; as the whole quarter of an ox, as much as a slave can carry away from the butcher's, for five tomynes, that is, five rials of plate [i.e., of silver. See Vol. III. p. 184], which is just 2s. 6d. [= £1 5s. 0d. now]; and fat sheep at the butcher's, for three rials, which is 1s. 6d. [= 12s. 6d. now], and no more. Bread is as good cheap as in Spain; and all other kinds of fruits, as apples, pears, pomegranates, and quinces, at a reasonable rate.

The city goeth wonderfully forward in building of Friaries and Nunneries, and Chapels; and is like, in time to come, to be the most populous city in the world, as it may be supposed.

The weather is there always very temperate. The day differeth but one hour of length all the year long. The fields and woods are always green. The woods are full of popinjays, and many other kind of birds, that make such a harmony of singing and crying, that any man will rejoice to hear it. In the fields are such odoriferous smells of flowers and herbs, that it giveth great content to the senses.

In my time, were dwelling and alive in Mexico, many ancient men that were of the Conquerors, at the first conquest with Hernando Cortes: for, then, it was about thirty-six years ago, that the said country was conquered.

Being something strong, I procured to seek means to live, and to seek a way how to profit myself in the country seeing it had pleased GOD to send us thither in safety.

Then, by the friendship of one Thomas Blake, a Scottish-man born, who had dwelt, and had been married in the said city above twenty years before I came to the said city [i.e., before 1536], I was preferred to the service of a gentleman, a Spaniard dwelling there, a man of great wealth, and of one of the first conquerors of the said city, whose name was Gonzalo Serezo: with whom I dwelt twelve months and a half [i.e., up to November 1557]; at the end of which, I was maliciously accused by the Holy House for matters of religion.

And because it shall be known wherefore it was, that I was so punished by the clergy's hand; I will in brief words, declare the same.

It is so, that, being in Mexico, at table, among many principal people at dinner, they began to inquire of me, being an Englishman, "Whether it were true that in England, they had overthrown all their Churches and Houses of Religion; and that all the images of the saints of heaven that were in them, were thrown down and broken, and burned, and [that they] in some places stoned highways with them; and [that they] denied their obedience to the Pope of Rome: as they had been certified out of Spain by their friends?"

To whom, I made answer, "That it was so. That, in deed, they had in England, put down all the religious houses of friars and monks that were in England; and the images that were in their churches and other places were taken away, and used there no more. For that, as they say, the making of them, and the putting of them where they were adored, was clean contrary to the express commandment of Almighty GOD, Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image &c.: and that, for that cause, they thought it not lawful that they should stand in the church, which is, the House of Adoration."

One that was at the declaring of these words, who was my master, Gonzalo Serezo, answered and said, "If it were against the commandment of GOD, to have images in the churches; that then he had spent a great deal of money in vain; for that, two years past [i.e., in 1555] he had made in the Monastery of Santo Domingo in the said city of Mexico, an image of Our Lady, of pure silver and gold, with pearls and precious stones, which cost him 7,000 and odd pesos" (and every peso is 6s. 8d. of our money) [= about £2,400, or about £24,000 now]: which indeed was true, for I have seen it many times myself where it stands.

At the table was another gentleman, who, presuming to defend the cause more than any one that was there, said, "That they knew well enough, that they were made but of stocks and stones, and that to them was no worship given; but that there was a certain veneration due unto them after they were set up in church: and that they were set there with a good intent. The one, for that they were Books for the Simple People, to make them understand the glory of the saints that were in heaven, and a shape of them; to put us in remembrance to call upon them to be our intercessors unto GOD for us: for that we are such miserable sinners that we are not worthy to appear before GOD; and that using devotion to saints in heaven, they may obtain at GOD's hands, the sooner, the thing that we demand of Him. As, for example," he said, "imagine that a subject hath offended his King upon the earth in any kind of respect; is it for the party to go boldly to the King in person, and to demand pardon for his offences? No," saith he, "the presumption were too great; and possibly he might be repulsed, and have a great rebuke for his labour. Better it is for such a person to seek some private man near the King in his Court, and to make him acquainted with this matter, and let him be a mediator to His Majesty for him and for the matter he had to do with him; and so might he the better come to his purpose, and obtain the thing which he doth demand. Even so," saith he, "it is with GOD and His saints in heaven. For we are wretched sinners; and not worthy to appear or present ourselves before the Majesty of GOD, to demand of Him the thing that we have need of: therefore thou hast need to be devout! and have devotion to the mother of God, and the saints in heaven, to be intercessors to GOD for thee! and so mayest thou the better obtain of GOD, the thing that thou dost demand!"

To this I answered, "Sir, as touching the comparison you made of the intercessors to the King, how necessary they were, I would but ask of you this question. Set the case, that this King you speak of, if he be so merciful as when he knoweth that one or any of his subjects hath offended him; he send for him to his own town, or to his own house or place, and say unto him, 'Come hither! I know that thou hast offended many laws! if thou dost know thereof, and dost repent thee of the same, with full intent to offend no more, I will forgive thee thy trespass, and remember it no more!'" Said I, "If this be done by the King's own person, what then hath this man need go and seek friendship at any of the King's private servants' hands; but go to the principal: seeing that he is readier to forgive thee, than thou art to demand forgiveness at his hands!"

"Even so is it, with our gracious GOD, who calleth and crieth out unto us throughout all the world, by the mouth of His prophets and apostles; and, by His own mouth, saith, 'Come unto me all ye that labour and are over laden, and I will refresh you!' besides a thousand other offers and proffers, which He doth make unto us in His Holy Scriptures. What then have we need of the saints' help that are in heaven, whereas the LORD Himself doth so freely offer Himself for us?"

At which sayings, many of the hearers were astonied, and said that, "By that reason, I would give to understand that the Invocation of Saints was to be disannulled, and by the laws of GOD not commanded."

I answered, "That they were not my words, but the words of GOD Himself. Look into the Scriptures yourself, and you shall so find it!"

The talk was perceived to be prejudicial to the Romish doctrine; and therefore it was commanded to be no more entreated of. And all remained unthought upon, had it not been for a villainous Portuguese that was in the company, who said, Basta ser Ingles para saber todo esto y mas, who, the next day, without imparting anything to anybody, went to the Bishop of Mexico and his Provisor, and said, that "In a place where he had been the day before was an Englishman, who had said that there was no need of Saints in the Church, nor of any Invocation of Saints." Upon whose denomination [denouncement], I was apprehended for the same words here rehearsed, and none other thing; and thereupon was used as hereafter is written.

So, apprehended, I was carried to prison, where I lay a close prisoner seven months [till July 1558], without speaking to any creature, but to the gaoler that kept the said prison, when he brought me my meat and drink. In the meantime, was brought into the said prison, one Augustine Boacio, an Italian of Genoa, also for matters of religion; who was taken at Zacatecas, eighty leagues to the north-westward of the city of Mexico.

At the end of the said seven months [i.e., in July 1558], we were both carried to the high Church of Mexico, to do an open penance upon a high scaffold made before the high altar, upon a Sunday, in the presence of a very great number of people; who were, at least, 5,000 or 6,000. For there were some that came one hundred miles off to see the said auto, as they call it; for that there was never any before, that had done the like in the said country: nor could tell what Lutherans were, nor what it meant; for they never heard of any such thing before.

We were brought into the Church, every one with a san benito upon his back; which is, half a yard of yellow cloth, with a hole to put in a man's head in the midst, and cast over a man's head: both flaps hang, one before, and another behind; and in the midst of every flap a Saint Andrew's cross, made of red cloth, and sewed in upon the same. And that is called San Benito.

The common people, before they saw the penitents come into the Church, were given to understand that we were heretics, infidels, and people that did despise GOD and His works, and that we had been more like devils than men; and thought we had had the favour [appearance] of some monsters or heathen people: and when they saw us come into the Church in our players' coats, the women and children began to cry out and made such a noise, that it was strange to hear and see; saying, that "They never saw goodlier men in all their lives; and that it was not possible that there could be in us so much evil as was reported of us; and that we were more like angels among men, than such persons of such evil religion as by the priests and friars, we were reported to be; and that it was a great pity that we should be so used for so small an offence."

So that we were brought into the said high Church, and set upon the scaffold which was made before the high altar, in the presence of all the people, until High Mass was done; and the Sermon made by a friar concerning our matter: putting us in all the disgrace they could, to cause the people not to take so much compassion upon us, for that "we were heretics, and people seduced of the Devil, and had forsaken the faith of the Catholic Church of Rome"; with divers other reproachful words, which were too long to recite in this place.

High Mass and Sermon being done; our offences (as they called them) were recited, each man what he had said and done: and presently was the sentence pronounced against us, that was that—

The said Augustine Boacio was condemned to wear his San Benito all the days of his life, and put into perpetual prison, where he should fulfil the same; and all his goods confiscated and lost.

And I, the said Tomson, to wear the San Benito for three years; and then to be set at liberty.

And for the accomplishing of this sentence or condemnation, we must be presently sent down from Mexico to Vera Cruz, and from thence to San Juan de Ulua, which was sixty-five leagues by land; and there to be shipped for Spain, with straight commandment that, upon pain of 1,000 ducats, every one of the Masters should look straightly unto us, and carry us to Spain, and deliver us unto the Inquisitors of the Holy House of Seville; that they should put us in the places, where we should fulfil our penances that the Archbishop of Mexico had enjoined unto us, by his sentence there given.

For the performance of the which, we were sent down from Mexico to the seaside, with fetters upon our feet; and there delivered to the Masters of the ships to be carried for Spain, as is before said.

And it was so, that the Italian fearing that if he presented himself in Spain before the Inquisitors, that they would have burnt him; to prevent that danger, when we were coming homeward, and were arrived at the island of Terceira, one of the isles of Azores, the first night that we came to an anchor in the said port [i.e., of Angra], about midnight, he found the means to get him naked out of the ship into the sea, and swam naked ashore; and so presently got him to the further side of the island, where he found a little caravel ready to depart for Portugal. In the which he came to Lisbon; and passed into France, and so into England; where he ended his life in the city of London.

And I, for my part, kept still aboard the ship, and came into Spain; and was delivered to the Inquisitors of the Holy House of Seville, where they kept me in close prison till I had fulfilled the three years of my penance, [i.e., till about 1561].

Which time being expired, I was freely put out of prison, and set at liberty.

Being in the city of Seville, a cashier of one Hugh Typton, an English merchant of great doing, by the space of one year [i.e., till about 1562]; it fortuned that there came out of the city of Mexico, a Spaniard, Juan de la Barrera, that had been long time in the Indies, and had got great sums of gold and silver. He, with one only daughter, shipped himself for to come to Spain; and, by the way, chanced to die, and gave all that he had unto his only daughter, whose name was Maria de la Barrera.

She having arrived at the city of Seville, it was my chance to marry with her. The marriage was worth to me £2,500 [= £25,000 now] in bars of gold and silver, besides jewels of great price. This I thought good to speak of, to show the goodness of GOD to all them that trust in Him; that I, being brought out of the Indies in such great misery and infamy to the world, should be provided at GOD's hand, in one moment, of more than in all my life before, I could attain unto by my own labour.

After we departed from Mexico, our San Benitos were set up in the high Church of the said city, with our names written in the same, according to their use and custom; which is and will be a monument and a remembrance of us, as long as the Romish Church doth reign in that country. The same have been seen since, by one John Chilton; and divers others of our nation, which were left in that country, long since [i.e., in October 1568] by Sir John Hawkins.

Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from Madrigals, Canzonets, &c.

We purpose giving in the present Volume, all the printed Songs to which music was set by John Dowland, the Lutenist; of whom, probably, Barnfield wrote the following lines, which first appeared in the surreptitious Collection the Passionate Pilgrim, in 1599; but which are usually included in Shakespeare's Works:

If Music and sweet Poetry agree;
As they must needs, the sister and the brother:
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me!
Because thou lov'st the one; and I, the other.
Dowland to thee, is dear; whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense:
Spenser, to me; whose deep conceit is such
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound
That Phœbus's Lute, the Queen of Music, makes:
And I, in deep delight, am chiefly drowned
When as himself to singing he betakes.
One god is god of both, as Poets feign:
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain!

The other poems set to music by Dowland, will be found at pp. 519-534, 609-622, 644-656.

John Dowland, Bachelor of Music.

The First Book of Songs or Airs.

1597.

To The Right Honourable Sir GEORGE CAREY,
of the noble Order of the Garter, Knight, Baron of Hunsdon, Captain of Her Majesty's Gentlemen Pensioners, Governor of the Isle of Wight, Lieutenant of the County of Southampton, Lord Chamberlain of Her Majesty's most royal House; and of Her Highness's most honourable Privy Council.

That harmony, Right Honourable! which is skilfully expressed by instruments: albeit, by reason of the variety of number and proportion of itself, it easily stirs up the minds of the hearers to admiration and delight; yet for higher authority and power, hath been ever worthily attributed to that kind of music which to the sweetness of [the] instrument applies the lively voice of man, expressing some worthy sentence, or excellent poem. Hence, as all antiquity can witness, first grew the heavenly Art of Music: for Linus, Orpheus, and the rest, according to the number and time of their Poems, first framed the numbers and times of Music. So that Plato defines Melody to consist of Harmony, Number, and Words: Harmony, naked of itself; Words, the ornament of Harmony; Number, the common friend and writer of them both.

This small book containing the consent of speaking harmony, joined with the most musical instrument, the Lute, being my first labour, I have presumed to dedicate to your Lordship: who, for your virtue and nobility, are best able to protect it; and for your honourable favours towards me, best deserving my duty and service. Besides, your noble inclination and love to all good arts, and namely [particularly] the divine science of Music, doth challenge the Patronage of all Learning; than which no greater title can be added to Nobility.

Neither in these your honours, may I let pass the dutiful remembrance of your virtuous Lady, my honourable mistress, whose singular graces towards me have added spirit to my unfortunate labours.

What time and diligence I have bestowed in the Search of Music, what travels in foreign countries, what success and estimation, even among strangers, I have found, I leave to the report of others. Yet all this in vain, were it not that your honourable hands have vouchsafed to uphold my poor fortunes: which I now wholly recommend to your gracious protection, with these my first endeavours, humbly beseeching you to accept and cherish the same with your continued favours.

Your Lordship's most humble servant,

JOHN DOWLAND.

To the Courteous Reader.

How hard an enterprise it is, in this skilful and curious Age, to commit our private labours to the public view, mine own disability and others' hard success do too well assure me: and were it not for that love [which] I bear to the true lovers of music, I had concealed these my first fruits; which how they will thrive with your taste I know not, howsoever the greater part of them might have been ripe enough by their age. The Courtly judgement, I hope will not be severe against them, being itself a party; and those sweet Springs of Humanity, I mean our two famous Universities, will entertain them for his sake whom they have already graced, and, as it were, enfranchised in the ingenuous profession of Music: which, from my childhood I have ever aimed at, sundry times leaving my native country, the better to attain so excellent a science.

About sixteen years past [i.e., in 1580], I travelled the chiefest parts of France, a nation furnished with great variety of Music; but lately, being of a more confirmed judgement, I bent my course towards the famous provinces of Germany, where I found both excellent Masters, and most honourable patrons of music, namely, those two miracles of this Age for virtue and magnificence, Henry Julio, Duke of Brunswick, and the learned Maurice, Landgrave of Hesse; of whose princely virtues and favours towards me, I can never speak sufficiently. Neither can I forget the kindness of Alexandro Horologio, a right learned master of music, servant to the royal Prince, the Landgrave of Hesse, and Gregorio Howet, Lutenist to the magnificent Duke of Brunswick; both [of] whom I name, as well for their love to me as also for their excellency in their faculties.

Thus having spent some months in Germany, to my great admiration of that worthy country; I passed over the Alps into Italy, where I found the Cities furnished with all good arts, but especially music. What favour and estimation I had in Venice, Padua, Genoa, Ferrara, Florence, and divers other places, I willingly suppress; lest I should, [in] any way, seem partial in mine own endeavours. Yet I cannot dissemble the great content I found in the proffered amity of the most famous Luca Marenzio, whose sundry letters I received from Rome; and one of them, because it is but short, I have thought good to set down, not thinking it any disgrace to be proud of the judgement of so excellent a man.

Molto magnifico Signior mio osservandissimo.

Per una lettera del Signior Alberigo Malvezi ho inteso quanto con cortese affeto si mostri desideroso di essermi congionto d'amicitia, dove infinitamente la ringratio di questo suo buon'animo, offerendomegli all'incontro se in alcuna cosa la posso servire, poi che gli meriti delle sue infinite virtù, e qualità meritano che ogni uno e me l'ammirino e osservino, e per fine di questo le bascio le mani. Di Roma, a' 13. di Luglio. 1595.

D.V.S. Affettionatissimo servitore,

LUCA MARENZIO.

Not to stand too long upon my travels: I will only name that worthy Master, Giovanni Crochio, Vice-master of the Chapel of Saint Mark's in Venice; with whom I had familiar conference.

And thus what experience I could gather abroad; I am now ready to practice at home, if I may but find encouragement in my first assays.

There have been divers Lute Lessons of mine lately printed without my knowledge, false and imperfect: but I purpose shortly myself to set forth the choicest of all my Lessons in print, and also an Introduction for Fingering; with other Books of Songs, whereof this is the first. And as this finds favour with you, so shall I be affected to labour in the rest. Farewell!

John Dowland.

Thomæ Campiani.

Epigramma. De instituto authoris.

Famam, posteritas quam dedit Orpheo.
Dolandi melius Musica dat sibi,
Fugaces reprimens archetypis sonos;
Quas et delitias præbuit auribus,
Ipsis conspicuas luminibus facit.

Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from Madrigals, Canzonets, &c.

John Dowland.
The First Book of Songs or Airs

Vnquiet thoughts! your civil slaughter stint!
And wrap your wrongs within a pensive heart!
And you, my tongue! that makes my mouth a mint,
And stamps my thoughts, to coin them words by art,
Be still! For if you ever do the like,
I'll cut the string, that makes the hammer strike!

But what can stay my thoughts, they may not start?
Or put my tongue in durance for to die?
When as these eyes, the keys of mouth and heart
Open the lock, where all my love doth lie.
I'll seal them up within their lids for ever!
So thoughts and words and looks shall die together.

How shall I then gaze on my mistress' eyes?
My thoughts must have some vent, else heart will break.
My tongue would rust, as in my mouth it lies;
If eyes and thoughts were free, and that not speak.
Speak then! and tell the passions of Desire!
Which turns mine eyes to floods, my thoughts to fire.

Whoever thinks, or hopes of love for love?
Or who beloved, in Cupid's laws doth glory?
Who joys in vows, or vows not to remove:
Who, by this light god, hath not been made sorry?
Let him see me! eclipsed from my sun;
With dark clouds of an earth, quite overrun.

Who thinks that sorrows felt, desires hidden,
Or humble faith in constant honour armed,
Can keep love from the fruit that is forbidden?
Who thinks that change is by entreaty charmed?
Looking on me; let him know Love's delights
Are treasures hid in caves, but kept by sprites!

My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love.
Mount Love unto the moon in clearest night!
And say, "As she doth in the heavens move,
In earth so wanes and waxeth my delight."
And whisper this, but softly, in her ears!
"Hope oft doth hang the head, and Trust shed tears."

And you, my Thoughts, that some mistrust do carry!
If for mistrust, my mistress do you blame,
Say, "Though you alter, yet you do not vary
As she doth change; and yet remain the same:
Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect;
And love is sweetest, seasoned with suspect."

If she for this, with clouds do mask her eyes,
And make the heavens dark with her disdain;
With windy sighs disperse them in the skies!
Or with thy tears dissolve them into rain!
Thoughts, Hopes, and Love return to me no more,
Till Cynthia shine, as she hath done before!

If My complaints could passions move,
Or make Love see wherein I suffer wrong;
My passions were enough to prove
That my despairs had governed me too long.
O Love, I live and die in thee!
Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me!

Thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks,
Yet thou dost hope when I despair!
My heart for thy unkindness breaks!
Thou say'st, "Thou can'st my harms repair."
And when I hope: thou mak'st me hope in vain!
Yet for redress, thou let'st me still complain!

Can Love be rich, and yet I want?
Is Love my judge, and yet am I condemned?
Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant!
Thou made a god, and yet thy power contemned!
That I do live, it is thy power!
That I desire, it is thy worth!

If love doth make men's lives too sour,
Let me not love, nor live henceforth!
Die shall my hopes, but not my faith,
That you, that of my fall may hearers be,
May hear Despair, which truly saith,
"I was more true to Love, than Love to me."

Can she excuse my wrongs with virtue's cloak?
Shall I call her good, when she proves unkind?
Are those clear fires, which vanish into smoke?
Must I praise the leaves, where no fruit I find?

No! No! Where shadows do for bodies stand,
Thou may'st be abused, if thy sight be dim.
Cold love is like to words written on sand;
Or to bubbles, which on the water swim.

Wilt thou be abused still,
Seeing that she will right thee never?
If thou can'st not o'ercome her will,
Thy love will be thus fruitless ever!

Was I so base, that I might not aspire,
Unto those high joys, which she holds from me?
As they are high, so high is my desire,
If she this deny, what can granted be?

If she will yield to that which reason is,
It is Reason's will, that Love should be just.
Dear! make me happy still, by granting this,
Or cut off delays, if that die I must!

Better a thousand times to die,
Than for to live thus still tormented:
Dear! but remember it was I,
Who, for thy sake, did die contented.

Now, O now, I needs must part,
Parting, though I absent mourn;
Absence can no joy impart,
Joy once fled, cannot return.
While I live, I needs must love,
Love lives not, when hope is gone.
Now at last despair doth prove
Love divided, loveth none.
Sad despair doth drive me hence,
This despair, unkindness sends;
If that parting be offence,
It is she which then offends.

Dear! when I from thee am gone,
Gone are all my joys at once.
I loved thee, and thee alone!
In whose love I joyed once:
And although your sight I leave,
Sight wherein my joys do lie;
Till that death do sense bereave,
Never shall affection die!
Sad despair doth drive me hence, &c.

Dear! if I do not return,
Love and I shall die together.
For my absence never mourn!
Whom you might have joyed ever.
Part we must, though now I die,
Die I do, to part with you:
Him despair doth cause to lie
Who both lived and dieth true.
Sad despair doth drive me hence, &c.

Dear, if you change! I'll never choose again.
Sweet, if you shrink! I'll never think of love.
Fair, if you fail! I'll judge all beauty vain.
Wise, if too weak! more wits I'll never prove.
Dear! sweet! fair! wise! change, shrink, nor be not weak;
And, on my faith! my faith shall never break.

Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn;
Heaven her bright stars, through earth's dim globe shall move.
Fire, heat shall lose; and frosts, of flames be born;
Air made to shine, as black as hell shall prove:
Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view,
Ere I prove false to faith, or strange to you!

Burst forth my tears! Assist my forward grief!
And show what pain, imperious love provokes!
Kind tender lambs, lament love's scant relief,
And pine, since pensive care my freedom yokes.
O pine to see me pine, my tender flocks!

Sad pining Care, that never may have peace,
At Beauty's gate, in hope of pity knocks;
And Mercy sleeps while deep disdains increase;
And Beauty, hope in her fair bosom yokes,
O grieve to hear my grief, my tender flocks!

Like to the winds, my sighs have wingèd been,
Yet are my sighs and suits repaid with mocks;
I plead, yet she repineth at my teen.
O ruthless rigour! harder than the rocks!
That both the shepherd kills, and his poor flocks.

O Crystal tears! like to the morning showers.
And sweetly weep into thy lady's breast!
And as the dews revive the drooping flowers,
So let your drops of pity be addresst!
To quicken up the thoughts of my desert.
Which sleeps too sound; whilst I from her depart.

Haste hapless sighs! and let your burning breath
Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart!
Whose frozen rigour, like forgetful Death,
Feels never any touch of my desert.
Yet sighs and tears to her, I sacrifice:
Both, from a spotless heart, and patient eyes.

Think'st thou, then, by feigning
Sleep, with a grand disdaining;
Or, with thy crafty closing,
Thy cruel eyes reposing;
To drive me from thy sight!
When sleep yields more delight,
Such harmless beauty gracing:
And while sleep feignèd is
May not I steal a kiss
Thy quiet arms embracing?

O that thy sleep dissembled,
Were to a trance resembled!
Thy cruel eyes deceiving,
Of lively sense bereaving:
Then should my love requite
Thy love's unkind despite,
While fury triumphed boldly
In beauty's sweet disgrace;
And lived in deep embrace
Of her that loved so coldly,

Should then my love aspiring,
Forbidden joys desiring,
So far exceed the duty
That Virtue owes to Beauty?
No! Love seek not thy bliss
Beyond a simple kiss!
For such deceits are harmless
Yet kiss a thousand fold;
For kisses may be bold
When lovely sleep is armless.

Come away! come, sweet love!
The golden morning breaks;
All the earth, all the air,
Of love and pleasure speaks!
Teach thine arms then to embrace,
And sweet rosy lips to kiss,
And mix our souls in mutual bliss!
Eyes were made for beauty's grace
Viewing, ruing, love's long pains;
Procured by beauty's rude disdain.

Come away! come, sweet love!
Do not in vain adorn
Beauty's grace, that should rise
Like to the naked morn!
Lilies on the river's side,
And fair Cyprian flowers newly blown,
Desire no beauties but their own:
Ornament is Nurse of Pride.
Pleasure measure, love's delight,
Haste then, sweet love, our wishèd flight!

Rest awhile, you cruel cares!
Be not more severe than love!
Beauty kills and beauty spares,
And sweet smiles, sad sighs remove.
Laura, fair Queen of my delight!
Come grant me love, in love's despite!
And if I ever fail to honour thee,
Let this heavenly light I see,
Be as dark as hell to me!

If I speak! My words want weight.
Am I mute! My heart doth break.
If I sigh! She fears deceit.
Sorrow then for me, must speak!
Cruel! unkind! with favour view
The wound that first was made by you!
And if my torments feignèd be,
Let this heavenly light I see,
Be as dark as hell to me!

Never hour of pleasing rest,
Shall revive my dying ghost,
Till my soul hath repossesst
The sweet hope, which love hath lost:
Laura! redeem the soul that dies
By fury of thy murdering eyes!
And if it proves unkind to thee,
Let this heavenly light I see,
Be as dark as hell to me!

Sleep wayward thoughts, and rest you with my Love!
Let not my Love, be with my love diseased!
Touch not proud hands, lest you her anger move!
But pine you with my longings long displeased:
Thus while she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake,
So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.

But O, the fury of my restless fear!
The hidden anguish of my flesh desires!
The glories and the beauties that appear
Between her brows, near Cupid's closèd fires!
Thus while she sleeps, moves sighing for her sake,
So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.

My love doth rage, and yet my Love doth rest;
Fear in my love, and yet my Love secure;
Peace in my Love, and yet my love opprest;
Impatient, yet of perfect temperature.
Sleep dainty Love, while I sigh for thy sake!
So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.

All ye, whom love or fortune hath betrayed!
All ye that dream of bliss, but live in grief!
All ye whose hopes are evermore delayed!
All ye whose sighs or sickness want relief!
Lend ears and tears to me, most hapless man!
That sings my sorrows like the dying swan!

Care that consumes the heart with inward pain,
Pain that presents sad care in outward view;
Both, tyrant-like, enforce me to complain,
But still in vain, for none my plaints will rue:
Tears, sighs, and ceaseless cries alone I spend.
My woe wants comfort, and my sorrow, end.

Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me
Of my heart, and so leave me?
Farewell!
But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel!
Kiss me Sweet, my Jewel!
Farewell!

Hope by disdain grows cheerless
Fear doth love, love doth fear
Beauty peerless.
Farewell!

If no delays can move thee!
Life shall die, death shall live
Still to love thee.
Farewell!

Yet be thou mindful ever!
Heat from fire, fire from heat,
None can sever.
Farewell!

True love cannot be changed,
Though delight from desert
Be estranged.
Farewell!

Would my conceit that first inforced my woe,
Or else mine eyes, which still the same increase,
Might be extinct, to end my sorrows so;
Which now are such, as nothing can release.
Whose life is death; whose sweet, each change of sour;
And eke whose hell reneweth every hour.

Each hour, amidst the deep of hell I fry,
Each hour, I waste and wither where I sit;
But that sweet hour, wherein I wish to die,
My hope, alas, may not enjoy it yet.
Whose hope is such bereaved of the bliss,
Which unto all, save me, allotted is.

To all, save me, is free to live or die;
To all, save me, remaineth hap or hope.
But all, perforce, I must abandon!
Since Fortune still directs my hap aslope;
Wherefore to neither hap nor hope I trust,
But to my thrals I yield: for so I must.

Come again! Sweet love doth now invite
Thy graces that refrain
To do me due delight;
To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss,
To die with thee again in sweetest sympathy!

Come again! that I may cease to mourn
Through thy unkind disdain!
For now, left and forlorn,
I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die
In deadly pain, and endless misery.

All the day, the sun that lends me shine
By frowns doth cause me pine,
And feeds me with delay.
Her smiles, my springs, that make my joys to grow:
Her frowns, the winters of my woe.

All the night, my sleeps are full of dreams,
My eyes are full of streams;
My heart takes no delight
To see the fruits and joys that some do find,
And mark the storms are me assigned.

Out, alas! my faith is ever true;
Yet she will never rue,
Nor yield me any grace.
Her eyes, of fire; her heart of flint is made:
Whom tears nor truth may once invade.

Gentle Love draw forth thy wounding dart!
Thou can'st not pierce her heart!
For I (that do approve
By sighs and tears, more hot than are thy shafts)
Did 'tempt, while she for triumph laughs.

(On the British Museum Copy, G9, there is the following pencil note to this Song. These words by [Robert Devereux] the Earl of Essex, and sung before Queen Elizabeth, in a Masque at Greenwich.)

His golden locks, Time hath to silver turned.
O Time too swift! O swiftness never ceasing!
His Youth, 'gainst Time and Age hath ever spurned,
But spurned in vain, Youth waneth by increasing.
Beauty, Strength, Youth are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, Faith, Love are roots, and ever green.

His helmet, now, shall make a hive for bees,
And lover's Sonnets turn to holy Psalms;
A man-at-arms must, now, serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are Age's alms:
But though from Court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.

And when he saddest sits, in homely cell,
H'll teach his swains this Carol for a Song;
Blest be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well!
Curst be the soul that thinks her any wrong!
Goddess! Allow this aged man his right!
To be your Beadsman now; that was your Knight.

Awake, sweet love! Thou art returned!
My heart, which long in absence mourned,
Lives now in perfect joy.
Only herself hath seemèd fair;
She only could I love.
She only drave me to despair,
When she unkind did prove.

Let love which never, absent, dies;
Now live for ever in her eyes!
Whence came my first annoy:
Despair did make me wish to die
That I my joys might end,
She only, which did make me fly,
My state may now amend.

If she esteem thee now ought worth;
She will not grieve thy love henceforth!
Which so despair hath proved.
Despair hath proved now in me
That love will not unconstant be,
Though long in vain I loved.

If she, at last, reward thy love
And all thy harms repair!
Thy happiness will sweeter prove,
Raised up from deep despair.
And if that now thou welcome be,
When thou with her doth meet;
She all this while, but played with thee,
To make thy joys more sweet.

Come, heavy Sleep! the Image of true Death!
And close up these my weary weeping eyes!
Whose spring of tears doth stop my vital breath,
And tears my heart with sorrow's sigh-swollen cries.
Come, and possess my tired thoughts! worn soul!
That living dies, till thou on me bestoule!

Come, Shadow of my End; and Shape of Rest!
Allied to Death, Child to this black-fast Night!
Come thou, and charm these rebels in my breast!
Whose waking fancies doth my mind affright.
O come, sweet Sleep! Come, or I die for ever!
Come ere my last sleep comes, or come never!

Away with these self-loving lads,
Whom Cupid's arrow never glads!
Away poor souls that sigh and weep,
In love of them that lie and sleep!
For Cupid is a meadow god,
And forceth none to kiss the rod.

God Cupid's shaft, like Destiny,
Doth either good or ill decree;
Desert is borne out of his bow,
Reward upon his feet doth go.
What fools are they, that have not known
That Love likes no laws, but his own!

My songs, they be Cynthia's praise:
I wear her rings on holidays.
On every tree, I write her name,
And every day I read the same:
Where Honour, Cupid's rival is,
There miracles are seen of his.

If Cynthia crave her ring of me,
I'll blot her name out of the tree!
If doubt do darken things held dear,
Then "Well fare nothing!" once a year:
For many run, but one must win.
Fools only, hedge the cuckoo in!

The worth that worthiness should move
Is love; which is the bow of Love:
And love as well the For'ster can,
As can the mighty Nobleman.
Sweet saint, 'tis true, you worthy be!
Yet, without love, nought worth to me!

R[?ichard]. Y[?oung].
The state of a Christian lively set forth, by an allegory of a Ship under Sail.

[This Writer was evidently a forerunner of John Bunyan.]

Prov. xxxi. 14. Job ix. 26. Isaiah xxiii. 1. Rev. viii. 9.

[Original broadside, inserted in a
distinct work of the Author, called
The Victory of Patience. 1636.]

My body is the Hull, the Keel my back, my neck the Stem; the Sides are my ribs, the Beams my bones, my flesh the Planks; gristles and ligaments are the Pintels and Knee-timbers; arteries, veins, and sinews, the several Seams of the ship; my blood is the Ballast, my heart the Principal Hold, my stomach the Cook-room, my liver the Cistern, my bowels the Sink; my lungs the Bellows, my teeth the Chopping-knives; except you divide them, and then they are the 32 Points of the Compass, both agreeing in number. Concoction is the Cauldron, and hunger the Salt or Sauce. My belly is the Lower Deck, my kidneys Close Cabins or receptacles, my thighs are Long Galleries for the grace of the ship; my arms and hands the Canhooks, my midriff is a large partition or Bulkhead. Within the circumference of my head is placed the Steeridge Room and Chief Cabins, with the Round-house [now called the Captain's Cabin] where the Master lieth: and these for the more safety and decency are enclosed in a double fence; the one Dura mater, something hard and thick [the skull], the other Pia mater, very thin and soft [the hair], which serveth instead of hangings. The ears are two doors or Scuttles fitly placed for entertainment; the two eyes are Casements to let in light; under them, is my mouth, the Stowage or Steward's Room. My lips are Hatches for receipt of goods, my two nostrils serve as Gratings to let in air. At the one end stands my chin, which is the Beakhead. My forehead is the Upper Deck; all which being trimmed with my fat instead of Pitch, and hair instead of Oakum, are coloured with my skin.

The Fore Deck is humility, the Stern, charity. Active obedience, the Sails; which being hoisted up with the several Yards, Halliards, and Bowlines of holy precepts and good purposes; are let down again by fickleness, faintings and inconstancy. Reason is my Rudder, experience the Helm, hope of salvation my Anchor, passive obedience the Capstan, holy revenge the Cat and Fish to haul the Sheet Anchor or last hope. Fear of offending is the Buoy, virtues are the Cables, holy desires and sudden ejaculations the Shrouds. The zeal of GOD's glory is my Mainmast, premeditation the Foremast, desire of my own salvation the Mizenmast, saving knowledge the Bowsprit, circumspection a Sounding line.

My Light is illumination; justice is the Card [Map]; GOD's Word, the Compass; the meditation of life's brevity, a Four-Hour Glass [i.e., the length of a ship's watch]; contemplation of the creatures, the Cross-staff or Jacob's-staff; the creed, a Sea-Grammar; the life of Christ, my Load-Star. The saint's falls are Sea-marks; good examples, Land-marks. Repentance pumps out the sink of my sins, a good conscience keeps me clean. Imputative righteousness is my Flag, having this motto, Being cast down, we perish not! the Flag-staff is sincerity.

The ship is victualled afresh by reading, hearing, receiving. Books are Long-boats, letters are little Skiffs to carry and recarry my spiritual merchandise. Perseverance is my Speed, and patience my Name. My Fire is lust, which will not be clean extinguished: full feeding and strong drink are the Fuel to maintain it; whose Flame, if it be not suppressed, is jealousy; whose Sparks are evil words, whose Ashes are envy; whose Smoke is infamy. Lascivious talk is a Flint and Steel, concupiscence as Tinder, opportunity the Match to light it, sloth and idleness are the Servants to prepare it.

The Law of GOD is my Pilot, Faith my Captain, Fortitude the Master, Chastity the Master's Mate, my Will the Coxswain, Conscience the Preacher [or, as we now say, Chaplain], Application of Christ's death the Surgeon, Mortification the Cook, Vivification the Caulker, Self-denial an Apprentice of his, Temperance the Steward, Contentation his Mate, Truth the Purser, Thankfulness the Purser's Mate, Reformation the Boatswain, the Four Humours, Sanguine, Choler, &c., are the Quarter-masters; Christian Vigilancy undertakes to supply the office of the Starboard and Larboard Watches, Memory is the Clerk of the Cheque, Assurance the Corporal, the Armour Innocency, the Mariners, Angels.

Schismatics are Searchers sent abroad. My Understanding, as Master Gunner, culls out from those two Budge-casks of the Old and New Testaments certain threats and promises which are my only Powder and Shot; and with the assistance of the Gunner's Mate, Holy Anger against Sin, chargeth my tongue, which, like to a piece of ordnance, shoots them to the shame and overthrow of my spiritual Adversaries.

My noble passengers are Joy in the Holy Ghost and Peace of Conscience, whose retinue are Divine Graces. My ignoble or rather mutinous passengers are Worldly Cogitations and Vain Delights which are more than a good many; besides some that are arrant thieves and traitors, namely, Pride, Envy, Prejudice: but all these I will bid farewell to, when I come to my journey's end; though I would, but cannot, before.

Heaven is my Country, where I am Registered in the Book of Life, my King is JEHOVAH. My Tribute alms-deeds: they which gather it are the poor. Love is my country's Badge, my Language is holy conference, my Fellow Companions are the saints.

I am poor in performances, yet rich in GOD's acceptation. The Foundation of all my good is GOD's free election. I became Bound into the Corporation of the Church to serve Him, in my baptism. I was Enrolled at the time when He first called me. My Freedom is justification. It was Purchased with the blood of Christ. My Evidence is the earnest of His spirit. My Privileges are His sanctifying graces. My Crown, reserved for me on high, is glorification.

My Maker and Owner is GOD; who built me by His Word, which is Christ; of earth, which was the Material; He freighted it with the essence of my Soul, which is the Treasure; and hath set me to sail in the Sea of this world, till I attain to the Port of death: which letteth the terrestrial part into the Harbour of the grave, and the celestial part into the Kingdom of Heaven. In which voyage, conveniency of estate [comfortable circumstances] is as sea room; good affections serve as a tide; and prayer as a prosperous gale, a wind to help forward.

But innumerable are the impediments and perils. For here I meet with the profers of unlawful gain and sensual delights, as so many Sirens; the baits of prosperity, as High Banks, on the right hand or Weather Shore; and there with evil suggestions and crabbed adversity, as Rocks, on the left hand or Lee Shore, ready to split me. The fear of hell, like Quicksands, threatens to swallow me; original sin like Weeds clog me, and actual transgressions like so many Barnacles hang about me. Yea, every sin I commit springs a new Leak. My senses are as so many Storms of Rain, Hail, and Snow to sink me. Lewd affections are Roaring Billows and Waves. Self-confidence, or to rely upon anything but the Divine assistance, is to lose the Bowsprit. Restitution is heaving goods overboard to save the ship. Melancholy is want of Fresh Water. The scoffs of atheists, and contempt of religion in all places is a notable becalming; the lewd lives and evil examples of them most a contagious air. Idleness furrs it, and is a shrewd decay, both of the Hull and Tackling.

Moreover, sailing along, and keeping Watch (for they that be Christ's friends, you know! must look for all they meet to be their enemies), we no sooner look up, but presently we ken a Man of War, and then we must be for war too, and provide for a skirmish.

Now the Galleon that hath our Pinnace in chase, and always watcheth for advantages to surprise it, is the Piracy of Hell; the Synagogue of Satan. Her Freight is temptations and persecutions, with all the engines of mischief. In which the Devil is Master, Malice the Master's Mate, Cruelty the Captain, Murder the Cook, Flattery the Caulker, Profaneness a Quartermaster, Riot the Steward, Never Content his Mate, Pride the Coxswain, Superstition the Preacher, Hypocrisy the Boatswain, Covetousness the Purser, Lust the Swabber, Fury the Gunner, Presumption the Corporal, Sedition the Trumpeter, Drunkenness the Drummer.

Vices are the Sails, custom the Mainmast, example of the multitude the Foremast, lusts and passions the Cables, blindness of mind the Rudder, hardness of heart the Helm, the wisdom of the flesh the Card, the mystery of iniquity the Compass. The five senses, or if you will, scoffing Atheists, profane foul-mouthed drunkards, and all the rabble of hell are the Mariners. Lewd affections the Passengers, Little Conscience the Load star.

She hath two tire of great ordnance planted in her, Heresy and Irreligion; being either for a false god, or none. Oaths, blasphemy, and curses are the Powder and Shot: which they spit against all that worship the Lamb, or fight under the Ensign of Faith. Her Armour is carnal security. The Flag in her Top is infidelity: the motto, There is no god, but gain!

Her Ballast, which keeps her upright, is Ignorance. Most of her Tackling she has from Rome, or Amsterdam. Antichrist, as Pilot, steers her in such a course that she goes on swiftly, proudly, securely, scorning and scoffing (Sennacherib like) to hear that any Lord should deliver this poor Pinnace out of her hands.

Yet in the sequel, this silly Pink, having the Insurance of GOD's omnipresence, finds not only succour from the Stock of the Church's prayers, which, like another Merchantman, come in to the rescue: but, likewise that GOD's Almighty power and providence is near at hand, as a strong Castle of Defence to free her, whereby she escapes, even as a bird out of the snare of the hunter, to praise the LORD: who hath not given her as a prey unto their teeth, that would have swallowed up all quick; but delivered her from such swelling waters, floods of affliction and streams of persecution, as else had gone over her and even drowned her soul, as it is Psalm cxxiv. While this great Galleon (though it seems like that Invincible Armada) flies; and, having no Anchor, when the storms of GOD's wrath arise, down she sinks to desperation; and perisheth in the bottomless pit or burning lake of fire and brimstone: where we will leave her to receive a just recompense of reward.

R. Y.

London. Printed by Thomas Cotes for the Author; and are to be sold by Sarah Fairbeard, at the North Door of the Royal Exchange, 1636.

[? Thomas Occleve,
Clerk in the Office of the Privy Seal.]
The Letter of Cupid.

[Old forms like servin, serve; wollin, will; tellin, tell; doin, done; and the Imperatives bethe, be; telleth, tell; occur in this Poem.]

[Urry's edition of Chaucer's Works. ii. 534. Ed. 1721.]