To the Lord Mordant, upon His Returne from the North

My lord, I doe confesse at the first newesOf your returne towards home, I did refuseTo visit you, for feare the northerne windeHad peirc’t into your manners and your minde;For feare you might want memory to forgetSome arts of Scotland which might haunt you yet.But when I knew you were, and when I heardYou were at Woodstock seene, well sunn’d and air’d,That your contagion in you now was spent,And you were just lord Mordant, as you went,I then resolv’d to come; and did not doubtTo be in season, though the bucke were out.Windsor the place; the day was Holy roode;Saint George my muse: for be it understood,For all Saint George more early in the yeareBroke fast and eat a bitt, hee dined here:And though in Aprill in redd inke he shine,Know twas September made him redd with wine.To this good sport rod I, as being allow’dTo see the king, and cry him in the crowd;And at all solemne meetings have the graceTo thrust, and to be trodde on, by my place.

Where when I came, I saw the church besettWith tumults, as if all the Brethren mettTo heare some silenc’t teacher of that quarterInveigh against the order of the garter:And justly might the weake it grieve and wrong,Because the garter prayes in a strange tongue;And doth retaine traditions yet, of Fraunce,In an old Honi soit qui mal y pense.Whence learne, you knights that order that have t’ane,That all, besides the buckle, is profane.But there was noe such doctrine now at stake,Noe starv’d precisian from the pulpit spake:And yet the church was full; all sorts of men,Religions, sexes, ages, were there then:Whilst he that keepes the quire together locksPapists and Puritans, the Pope and Knox:Which made some wise-ones feare, that love our nation,This mixture would beget a toleration;Or that religions should united bee,When they stay’d service, these the letany.But noe such hast; this dayes devotion lyesNot in the hearts of men, but in their eyes;They that doe see St. George, heare him aright;For hee loves not to parly, but to fight.Amongst this audience (my lord) stood I,Well edified as any that stood by;And knew how many leggs a knight letts fall,Betwixt the king, the offering, and his stall:Aske mee but of their robes, I shall relateThe colour and the fashion, and the state:I saw too the procession without doore,What the poore knightes, and what the prebends wore.All this my neighbors that stood by mee tooke,Who div’d but to the garment, and the looke;But I saw more, and though I have their fateIn face and favour, yet I want their pate:Mee thought I then did those first ages know,Which brought forth knightes soo arm’d and looking soe,Who would maintaine their oath, and bind their wordeWith these two seales, an altar and a sworde.Then saw I George new-sainted, when such preistsWore him not only on, but in their breasts.Oft did I wish that day, with solemne vow,O that my country were in danger now!And twas no treason; who could feare to dye,When he was sure his rescue was so nigh?

And here I might a just digression make,Whilst of some foure particular knightes I spake,To whome I owe my thankes; but twere not best,By praysing two or three, t’ accuse the rest;Nor can I sing that order, or those men,That are aboue the maistery of my pen;And private fingers may not touch those thingsWhose authors princes are, whose parents kings:Wherefore unburnt I will refraine that fire,Least, daring such a theame, I should aspireT’ include my king and prince, and soe rehearseNames fitter for my prayer then my verse:“Hee that will speake of princes, let him useMore grace then witt, know God’s aboue his muse.”Noe more of councell: Harke! the trumpetts sound,And the grave organ’s with the antheme drown’dThe Church hath said amen to all their rites,And now the Trojan horse sets loose his knightes;The triumph moues: O what could added bee,Save your accesse, to this solemnitye?Which I expect, and doubt not but to see ’t,When the kings favour and your worth shall meete.I thinke the robes would now become you soe,St. George himselfe could scarce his owne knights knowFrom the lord Mordant: Pardon mee that preachA doctrine which king James can only teach;To whome I leaue you, who alone hath rightTo make knightes lords, and then a lord a knight.Imagine now the sceane lyes in the hall;(For at high noone we are recusants all)The church is empty, as the bellyes wereOf the spectators, which had languish’d there:And now the favorites of the clarke of th’ checke,Who oft haue yaun’d, and strech’t out many a neckTwixt noone and morning; the dull feeders onFresh patience, and raisins of the sunne,They, who had liv’d in th’ hall seaven houres at least,As if twere an arraignment, not a feast;And look’t soe like the hangings they stood nere,None could discerne which the true pictures were;These now shall be refresh’t, while the bold drummeStrikes up his frollick, through the hall they come.Here might I end, my lord, and here subscribeYour honours to his power: But Oh, what bribe,What feare or mulct can make my muse refraine,When shee is urg’d of nature and disdaine?Not all the guard shall hold mee, I must write,Though they should sweare and lye how they would fight,If I procede: nay, though the captaine say,Hold him, or else you shall not eate to day;Those goodly yeomen shall not scape my pen;’Twas dinner-time, and I must speake of men;So to the hall made I, with little careTo praise the dishes, or to tast the fare;Much lesse t’ endanger the least tart, or pyeBy any waiter there stolne, or sett by;But to compute the valew of the meate,Which was for glory, not for hunger eate;Nor did I feare, (stand back) who went beforeThe presence, or the privy-chamber doore.And woe is mee, the guard, those men of warre,Who but two weapons use, beife, and the barre,Began to gripe mee, knowing not in truth,That I had sung John Dory in my youth;Or that I knew the day when I could chauntChevy, and Arthur, and the Seige of Gaunt.And though these be the vertues which must tryWho are most worthy of their curtesy,They profited mee nothing: for no notesWill move them now, they’re deafe in their new coates:Wherefore on mee afresh they fall, and showThemselves more active then before, as thoughThey had some wager lay’d, and did contendWho should abuse mee furthest at armes end.One I remember with a grisly beard,And better growne then any of the heard;One, were he well examin’d, and made lookeHis name in his owne parish and church booke,Could hardly prove his christendome; and yetIt seem’d he had two names, for there were writtOn a white canvasse doublett that he wore,Two capitall letters of a name before;Letters belike which hee had spew’d and spilt,When the great bumbard leak’t, or was a tilt.This Ironside tooke hold, and sodainlyHurled mee, by judgment of the standers by,Some twelve foote by the square; takes mee againe,Out-throwes it halfe a bar; and thus wee twaineAt this hot exercise an hower had spent,Hee the feirce agent, I the instrument.My man began to rage, but I cry’d, Peace,When he is dry or hungry he will cease:Hold, for the Lords sake, Nicholas, lest they take us,And use us worse then Hercules us’d Cacus.

And now I breath, my lord, now have I timeTo tell the cause, and to confesse the crime:I was in black; a scholler straite they guest;Indeed I colour’d for it at the least.I spake them faire, desir’d to see the hall,And gave them reasons for it, this was all;By which I learne it is a maine offence,So neere the clark of th’ check to utter sense:Talk of your emblemes, maisters, and relateHow Æsope hath it, and how Alciate;The Cock and Pearle, the Dunghill and the Jemme,This passeth all to talke sence amongst them.Much more good service was committed yet,Which I in such a tumult must forget;But shall I smother that prodigious fitt,Which pass’d Heons invention, and pure witt?As this: A nimble knave, but something fatt,Strikes at my head, and fairly steales my hatt:Another breakes a jest, (well, Windsor, well,What will ensue thereof there’s none can tell,When they spend witt, serve God) yet twas not much,Although the clamours and applause were such,As when salt Archy or Garret doth provoke them,And with wide laughter and a cheat-loafe choake them.What was the jest doe you aske? I dare repeate it,And put it home before you shall entreat it;He call’d mee Bloxford-man: confesse I must’Twas bitter; and it griev’d mee, in a thrustThat most ungratefull word (Bloxford) to heareFrom him, whose breath yet stunk of Oxford beere:But let it passe; for I have now passd throwTheir halberds, and worse weapons, their teeth, too:And of a worthy officer was invitedTo dine; who all their rudeness hath requited:Where wee had mirth and meat, and a large boardFurnish’t with all the kitchin could afford.But to conclude, to wipe of from before yeeAll this which is noe better then a story;Had this affront bin done mee by commandOf noble Fenton, had their captaines handDirected them to this, I should beleiveI had no cause to jeast, but much to greive:Or had discerning Pembrooke seene this done,And thought it well bestow’d, I would have runWhere no good man had dwelt, nor learn’d would fly,Where noe disease would keepe mee company,Where it should be preferment to endureTo teach a schoole, or else to starve a cure.

But as it stands, the persons and the causeConsider well, their manners and their lawes,Tis no affliction to mee, for even thusSaint Paul hath fought with beasts at Ephesus,And I at Windsor. Let this comfort thenRest with all able and deserving men:Hee that will please the guard, and not provokeCourt-witts, must suite his learning by a cloake:“For at all feasts and masques the doome hath bin,“A man thrust out and a gay cloake let in.”

Quid immerentes hospites vexas canis,Ignavus adversus lupos?