Philargyry of Great Britain, Fable

Philargyry of Great Britain · Fable

¶ The fable of Philargyrie y^e great Gigant of great Britain, what houſes were …uilded and landes appoynted for his prou…i…ns, and how all the ſame is waſted to content his gredie gut wythall and yet he rageth for honger

GEue eare a whyle

And marke my ſtyle

You y^t hath wyt in ſtore

For wyth wordes bare

I wyll declare

Thyngs done long tyme before

Sometyme certayne

Into Britayne

A lande full of plentie

A Gyaunte greate

Came to ſeke meate

Whoſe name was Philargyrie

He was ſo ſtronge

That none emonge

That brutyſhe nation

Durſt take in hande

Him to wythſtande

In any ſtation

That curſſed ladde

A fre courſe had

That Ilande ouer all

Boeth vale and hy…

Were at his wyll

Wyth townes both great and ſmal

Then let he crye

That lowe and hye

That woulde to him reſort

Shulde ſtyll endure

In all pleaſure

And lyue in playe and ſporte

So that they woulde

Do as they ſhoulde

And honoure him as God

Wyth Baggis of golde

In many folde

In number euen or odde

Come vntounto me

Who ſo wyll (quoth he)

There ſhall no lawe him bynde

I wyll him make

Free for to take

All thyngis that he can fynde

Force and ſtronge hand

By ſea and lande

Shall be his lawe and ryght

He ſhall be bolde

To take and holde

Al thyngis by force and myght

So that he bryng

To me ſome thynge

I wyll defend him ſtyll

None ſo hardye

Him to deny

Or to ſaye he doeth Ill

When this was knowne

And a broade blowne

Throughout that Iland wyde

From eueryevery porte

Men dyd reſorte

To him on eueryevery ſyde

So that anone

A Legion

Were redy at hys wyl

To do all thynge

At his byddynge

Whether it were good or Ill

Then forth he ſtode

Wyth full mylde mode

Deſyrynge them ſilence

Tyll he had tolde

All that he wolde

VntoUnto that Audience

Philargyries Oration.

GOod ſyrs (quoth he)

Full well I ſe

That ye hauehave ben oppreſt

Longe tyme wyth lawes

Not worth two ſtrawes

But that ſhal be redreſte

Henſeforth there ſhall

No lawe at all

Reſtrayne your Libertie

But that you maye

Boeth nyght and daye

Do your owne wyll frely

Catch what you can

From eueryevery man

And hold it for your owne

Reape, let me ſe

And brynge to me

That other men hauehave ſowne

And when you fynde

Ought to your mynde

That force can not brynge in

Then beate your brayne

Aboute ſome trayne

Whereby you maye it wynne

Se nothynge let

You forto get

All thyngs into your hande

Whych other men

Muſt nowe and then

Nedes hauehave by ſea or lande.

Then ſet the price

Aboue all ſyſe

Your bagges therwyth to fyll

Make the vile ſlaues

And payſant knaues

Paye you at your owne wyll.

And where you ſpye

Commoditie

Ther plant your dwelling place

And then employe

Your whole ſtudy

To get it vp apaſe

And by eche porte

Where is reſorte

Se that ye do conueye

All maner thynge

Whereof myght ſprynge

Profyte to this contrey

For ſo ſhall ye

Enriched be

And hauehave money in ſtore

For you ſhall ſell

Thyngis twyſe ſo wel

As men dyd heretofore.

The woule, the lead

The corne for breadde

The bere butter and cheeſe

Wyll be well ſolde

Wherefore be bolde

By them you can nought leeſe.

Metalle of Bellis

Lether and fellis

And woulſted yarne alſo

Are redye golde

Let them be ſolde

Wyth thyngis a thouſand moe

And if you maye

Conuey awaye

Theſe thyngis beyond y^e fome

Then ſhall the pryſe

Of that aryſe

That ſhal be lefte at home

You muſte therfore

HaueHave euermore

All thoſe thyngis in your hande

Wherin the ſprynge

Of eueryevery thynge

And fyrſt encreaſe doeth ſtande.

The paſture grownde

That feadeth ſound

You muſt in no caſe lacke

All maner mynes

And myllis that gryndis

Muſt helpe to fyll your ſacke

Copſis of wodde

Be verye good

For you to hauehave in hande

You muſt nedes hauehave

Greate fermes a thraue

Wyth all good fruitfull lands.

Shorte tale to make

You muſte all take

And whorde vp ſtyll in ſtore

Tyll that be ſcant

Whereof no want

Was euer ſene before.

Draffe is plenty

Yet certenly

If it were handled well:

It woulde be ſolde

For redy golde

And that ſome men can tel

The tyme hath byn

That men coulde wynne

By ſmoke and by Vryne

And why ſhoulde nat

Gayne ryſe of that

Wher with mē fede their ſwine?

Se to all thynge

Wherof maye ſprynge

Any Lucre or Guyne,

For Gayne doeth ſmell

Excedynge well

In eueryevery thynge certayne.

I wyll therefore

Nowe ſaye no more

But ſe you do apply

Your buſynes

To get rycheſſe

My mynde to ſatiſfie.

You muſte me fede

Aye at my nede

Wyth bagges of moſte pure golde

For I coulde eate

None other meate

Sence I was two dayes olde.

A God am I

That can not dye

Wherefore I muſte be fed

Wyth golde moſt pure

That wyll endure

And not wyth bryckle breade

Brynge, bryng bryng, bryng

Alwaye ſome thynge,

And then you ſhall me pleaſe.

All that is ſolde

For redie golde

Doeth my ſtomake much eaſe.

And as you wyll

Continue ſtyll

Al your dayes in pleaſure

Euen ſo applye

You buſily

Wyth golde me to honoure

I am your God

And hauehave the rod

Of honger in my fyſte

Wherefore take hede

Ye do me fede

Wyth golde that is fyneſt

And him that can

Beſt playe the man

In gettynge golde and fe

I wyl promote

And ſet aflote

In wealth and hygh degree

And in the ende

I wyl him ſende

To Plutos dwellynge place

Were he ſhall be

Next vntounto me

Wherefore, gather apaſe

Dixi, quoth he

And bowed his knee

VntoUnto his audience

Thankyng them all

Boeth greate and ſmale

For theyr quiere ſcilence

How the people of Britaine beca… ſubiect to Philargyrie.

THen wyth one voyce

All dyd reioyce

And clapt theyr handes apaſ…

And after that

They fell all flatte

Proſtrate before his face

Then roſe they vp

And in a cup

Of golde, they dyd him brynge

Moe thouſandis than

Any man can

Well expreſſe by wrytynge

Then gan they ſynge

Beholde we brynge

Oure mornetydis ſacrifice

Deſyrynge the

That it maye be

Pleaſant before thyne eies

Then forth he raught

His hande, and caught

The cup ful of pure golde

ſhud at one ſup

He drancke it vp

Thankyng them many folde

Henſeforth, quoth he

Loke that you be

Wyth me thryſe in the daye

Wyth ſuch a ſup

In ſuch a cup

That I do not decaye

And be ye bolde

To get the golde

As I hauehave ſayde before

No lawe ſhall let

You forto gette

So much, and ten tymes more

All tremblynge then

One of his men

Fell flatte vponupon his face

And deſyred

To be pardoned

To ſpeake his mynde a ſpace

Stand vp quoth he

What ſo thou be

And tell to me thy name

Thou ſhalt hauehave grace

To ſpeake a ſpace

Thou ſhalte ſuſtayne no blame

Deare Souerayne

Quoth he agayne

I am Hypocriſie

There is on mould

No man that woulde

Serue you leuer then I

But thys one thynge

My Lorde and kynge

If I myght be ſo bolde

To ſaye my mynd

A faute I fynde

In that which you hauehave tolde

Saye on, quoth he

I pardon the

Let me knowe all thy thoughte.

If thy counſell

Do lyke me well

It ſhall in dede be wroughte

Then manerly

He made curchy

As one that coulde his goode

Wyth mylde wordis than

Thus he began

Before them as he ſtode

Hypocriſies Oration.

MY Lorde and kynge

This is the thynge

That doeth my mynde offend

And cauſeth me

Thus bolde to be

Truſtyng you wyll it mende

You hauehave vsus tolde

We ſhulde be bolde

To take all at our wyll

And ſpoyle the ryche

And pore alyche

Our baggis wyth golde to fyll

But well I wotte

This thynge wyll not

Be ſuffred anye whyle

Except that we

Worcke ſubtyltee

And get theyr goodis by gyle

We muſte pretende

Some holy ende

That maye the people pleaſe

And ſo we ſhall

Be Lordis of all

And fyl oure baggis wyth eaſe

Sende me to preache

And I wyll teache

The people ouer all

That they ſhall lye

In purgatorye

After theyr death fatall

I will them tell

That paynes in Hell

And paynes there are a lone

Saue that of this

An ende there is

But of the other none

Then that they maye

Be ſure alwaye

To crepe oute at their wyll

I wyll them tell

We hauehave to ſell

Pardone of all theyr Ill

So they wyll brynge

To vsus althynge

Whereof we ſhall ſtande ned…

Houſes to buylde

Boeth thackt and tylde

And bye vsus fode and wede

Then wyll I proue

It doeth behoue

That we hauehave land and rent

That we maye praye

For them alwaye

To God omnipotent

And when they lye

Redy to dye

Then wyl I be at hande

Forto declare

Howe harde we fare.

For lacke of rent and lande.

Then wyll I tell

The paynes of Hell

And purgatorye fyre

And what greate payne

They ſhall ſuſtayne

Vnleſſe they do vsus hyre

For we are they

That faſt and praye

For them that geue vsus ought

And our doynge

Is worth nothynge

Onleſſe it be deare bought

Nowe when they ſe

Them ſelfes to be

Set in ſo greate diſtreſſe

Wyth all theyr herte

They wyl departe

Wyth much of theyr ryches

In hope that we

Wyll factours be

For them, when they begone

And by thys trayne

We ſhall obtayne

Great landis and goodis anon

For what is he

That wyll not be

Glad to redeme wyth golde

Hys ſoule, which he

Shall thyncke to be

Dampened a thouſande folde?

And ſpecially

When he ſhall dye

And leaue all thyngs byhynde

For if he wold

Then whorde vp golde

He can not hauehave his mynde

I wyll I trowe

In ſome eares blowe

So terrible a blaſte

That they ſhall quake

And for feare make

VsUs theyr heyres at the laſte

Yea Kyngis wyth crownes

Shall geue vsus townes

And Cities to be ſure

That we ſhall praye

For them allwaye

Whylſe the world ſhall endure

Thus ſhall we hauehave

All that we craue

And much more at oure wyll

Oure ſelfes to fede

As we ſhall nede

And geue you golde your fyll

Dixi, he ſayed

And then he prayed

Philargyrie of grace

And then wyth that

He fell downe flat

Praſtrate before his face

Howe Philargyrie committeth the Gouernaunce of all hys Subiectes to Hypocriſie.

FVll myldly than

This God began

And bade his man ariſe

Stand vp, quoth he

For well I ſe

Thou arte prudent and wyſe

Wherefore wyth me

Thou ſhalte chiefe be

I wyll worcke by thy reade

And all that be

Subiect to me

Thou ſhalte gouerne and leade

Then let he crye

That lowe and hye

That woulde take him as kyng

Shoulde wyth all ſpede

Fulfyll in dede

Hypocriſies bydynge

For he is wyſe

And can dyuiſe

Wayes to get golde and fe

And make men fyll

Wyth ryght good wyll

Your baggis to brynge to me

Then all that were

Preſent to heare

That proclamaſion

Shewed them content

Wyth full aſſent

And thus they ſayed eche one,

Hypocriſie

Is moſt worthy

To rule vnderunder oure kynge

For he can preach

And men ſo teach

That they wyll gladly brynge

Then went there out

A full greate route

From Philargyries place

And by and by

Hypocriſie

Began to preach apace

All maner men

Were redie then

To geue euen what he woulde

They were ſo madde

They thought he had

Saluation to be ſolde

Then builded he

A greate Citie

Nodnoll he dyd it name

It was all one

Wyth Babylon

If it were not the ſame

In that Citie

Then Bylded he

A temple to his God

Settynge therein

Of his owne kyne

An hundred Knights and odde.

The Arch knyght was

Byſhope Chayphas

Who rode with ſpear and ſhyld

Haueynge his corſe

Armed wyth force

To cauſe all men to yelde

Then in ech place

That pleaſante was

He planted houſes ſure

Of lyme and ſtone

They were echone

Becauſe they ſhoulde endure

Bulwarkis alſo

A thouſande moe

Then any man can tell

To beate them downe

That ware the crowne

If they dyd once rebell

So was that lande

Whole in the hand

Of Philargyries men

No wyght was free

From them if he

Were worth pore ſhyllyngs ten

But to couloure

His endeuoure

He dyd thoſe places name

Houſes for clarkes

And the bulwarckes

Lodgyngis for blynde & lame

Then poynted he

That there ſhoulde be

Leches of wondrous ſkyll

In euerye plare

Whoe in ſhort ſpace

Should helpe theyr bags to fil

At Walſyngehame

Was Noterdame

At Elye good Audrye

And at Wylſedon

Were greate cures done

By bolſtryng of Baudrye

At Hayles there was

One in a glaſſe

That wrought wounders full great

And at Wynchcome

Were cured ſome

That coulde Keuelme intrea

There were alſo

A thouſand moe

Leaches of his poyntynge

That coulde heale all

Boeth great and ſmall

That woulde any thyng bryng

They woulde not ſtycke

To heale the ſycke

In bodye and in ſoule

They had ſuche wytte

They coulde do it

By drynckynge of a bole

When this was done

Then was al wone

They nede to ſeke no more

They had all thynge

At theyr lykynge

To ſpende and kepe in ſtore

Hypocriſie

Thought then to ſtye

Vp to Nodnoll anone

To ſe what was

There brought to paſſe

After he was thenſe gone

But ere he went

More gold he ſent

To his God Philargyrie

Then thouſandis ten

Of brutyſh men

Coulde bare, to make hym mery

Wych he eate vp

All at one ſup

And yet was not content

But ſayde that they

Had by the waye

Spent ſome of that was ſent

Al ragynge than

This God beganne

On them his wrath to wreake

He layed aboute

Emonge the route

Tyl none of them colde ſpeake.

☞ And when he had

Lyke one halfe madde

Slayne all that companye

In all his rage

He calde his page

Whoe came forth by and by

☞ Come on (quoth he)

I wyll go ſee

What prouiſion thereis

They ſhall it bye

Full deare if I

Fare not better then this

¶ Fetch forth my ſteed

Truſtie at nede

For nowe I am in haſte

I muſte go trye

Hypocriſie

And ſe if he make waſte

☞ His lad was preſte

Wyth his ſteede dreſte

Redy For hym to ryde

And ryght anone

He leapt theron

And would no longer byde

He ryd forth faſte

Tyllat th e laſte

He came to I gralk place

Where he dyd ſpye

Hypocriſie

Fyllynge his bagges apaſe

Then laughed he

And ſayde I ſe

Hypocriſie is iuſte

Nought can him let

Treaſure to get

To ſatiſfie my luſte

Hypocriſie

Hearde by and by

His Lorde and maiſters voyce

And ganne to ſynge

To leape and ſprynge

So muche he dyd reioyce.

All ſmylyngly

Philargyrie

Then gan his man embrace

And ſayde my ſonne

Howe haſte thou done

Senſe thou waſt at my place

My Lorde ſayde he

And bowed his knee

I hauehave had good ſucceſſe

For all this lande

Is in my hande

Wyth infinite rycheſſe.

Then ſayde he come

You ſhall ſe ſome

Of that I hauehave in ſtore

Take you your fyll

Of what you wyll

There cometh in dayly more,

Then wyth a keye

He made his waye

Into his treaſurie

Where was more golde

I dare be bolde

Thē wold in poulis church ly

❧ Howe Philargyrie deuored all the treaſure that Hypocriſie had layed vp in ſtore.

Full hungerly

Philargyrie

Began then forto eate

Euen as he had

Ben more then madde

For lacke of nedefull meate.

Goblettes of golde

Went downe twofolde

So dyd owches and ryngis

Tablettis wyth ſtones

Made for the nonce

Wyth many other thyngis

So faſte he eate

That he ganſwere

As it had bene a bull

Ten tunne I wote

Went downe hys throte

And yet he was not ful

Then carefully

Hypocriſie

Bethought him of his ſtore

And wyth wordes wyſe

He dyd aduiſe

His lorde to eate no more

It ſhall, quoth he

Ryght healthfull be

To leaue wyth Appetite

For all fulnes

Doeth cauſe ſyckenes

As Phiſickes maiſters wryte

Yea ſyr, quoth he

But when I ſe

That ſycknes doeth me pricke

I can be bolde

For redy golde

To hauehave preſent Phiſicke

Wherefore I wyll

Nowe eate my fyll

There ſhall nothynge me lette

Therefore be gone

Let me alone

I muſt lyue by my meate

Full Heauily

Hypocriſie

Then toke leaue to departe

And ſayed Adiu

Much good do it you

But thought it not in herte

Wyth boeth handis than

This God began

To crambe into his crawe

Tyll all the golde

Whereof I tolde

Was mowed vp in his mawe

Than ſate he downe

And gan to frowne

As not content in mynde

Becauſe no more

Was lefte in ſtore

And he had not halfe dynde

Then vp he roſe

And caſte the noſe

Alofte into the wynde

Euen as a ſwyne

Holdeth vp the groyne

When he woulde fedyng fynde

Come on, quoth he

For well I ſe

Here is no meat in ſtore

Hypocriſie

Wyll him aply

I thyncke to get in more

Then home he went

Halfe myſſe content

And layed him downe to reſt

But he could get

No ſlepe quiete

To faſten in his breſte

¶ Howe Hypocriſie went about to wythſtande Philargyrie,

IN this meane ſpace

Hypocriſie was

At Nodnoll, full buſy

Some waye to fynde

Hym ſelfe to wynde

Out of that miſerie

Thus dyd he caſte

Then at the laſte

In his diſceytefull thought

I wyll, thought he

Liberall be

Of that which coſte me nought

As many as wyll

Shall hauehave theyr fyll

Of meate and drynck wyth me

Boeth lowe and hye

Shall hauehave plentie

Of fode, wyth golde and fe.

So ſhall I kepe

Wyth them frendſhype

And hauehave them on my ſyde

Wyth al theyr herte

To take my parte

What ſo ſhall me bytyde

Full well I knowe

That hye and lowe

Wyll take parte of my chere

For in ech coaſte.

Boeth ſodde and roſte

Are waxen very dere

And it is lyke

That they wyll ſtycke

To me alwaye at nede

For houndis are wont

Freſhly to hunte

For them that do them fede,

And ſo I ſaye

I ſhall alwaye

Be able to wythſtande

That wycked wyght

If he wyll fyght

Either by ſea or lande

Then by and by

He dyd employe

Hym felfe to make good chere

And for to ſpende

By the yeres ende

All that came in by yere.

This dyd allure

I am ryght ſure

The hertes of thouſandis ten

To be redy

To lyue and dye

Wyth him lyke faythfull men

Then was he bolde

And thought he could

Withſtāde his maiſters myght

He dyd therfore

Kepe nought in ſtore

For hym as he had plyght

Greate fees he gaue

An hundred thraue

To men that had no nede

For well knewe he

That it muſt be

Such that muſte do the dede

Howe ſelfe louelove vttered Hyyocriſie his intent to Philargyrie

THen was there one

That dyd anone

Conceiue his wole intent

And in a nyght

He dyd him dyght

And to Ppilargyrie went

He went ſo faſte

And made ſuch haſte

For feare to come to late

That longe ere daye

He rydde the waye

And was come to the gate

Full fierſly than

To knocke he gan

As one that woulde come in

Tyll the wycket

Was open ſet

To knocke he would not blinne

Then came forth one

To him anone

And ſayde what haſte is this?

Saye on quoth he

Declare to me

What thy buſynes is

Syr, quoth the freke

I muſte nedis ſpeake

Wyth my lorde Philargyrie

I can him tell

All is not well

About Hypocriſie

Then ranne the page

As one in rage

VntoUnto the chaumber dore

And at one puſhe

He dyd it ruſhe

Downe flat into the flore

Wyth that awoke

That God and ſhoke

Hys lockis y^t were full thynne

What maye this

Syr knaue (quoth he)

That thou comeſt ſo faſte in:

VponUpon hys knee

Then kneled he

(So well he could his good)

And myldly than

Thus he began

Wyth a moſte heauy mode

My Lorde, he ſayde

I am a frayed

Oure heauie newes to tell

For feare that ye

Shoulde angry be

And take it nothyng well

Newes? quoth he than

And bade his man

Tell him wythout delaye.

Speake man, quoth he

What ayleth the

Why doſt thou make this ſtay?

Then at the laſte

His man out braſte

And in fewe wordis he ſayed

Surely there is

Some thynge amyſſe

Some man hath you betrayde

Betrayed, quoth he,

Howe maye that be?

And then in hande he toke

Hys boſtarde bryght

So goodly dyght

And gan fierſly to loke

Tell me quoth he

Who it ſhuld be

That hath this treaſō wrought

That I maye wreke

Me on the freke

And bryng his ſtocke to nought

Hypocriſie

I thyncke treuely

Quoth Philargyries men

For one came nowe

To ſpeake wyth you

And thus the freke began.

I muſte, quoth he

If it maye be

Speake wyth Philargyrie

I can hym tell

All is not well

Aboute Hypocriſie

Than the God bade

Fech in that ladde

That I maye here hym ſpeake.

Full lyghtly than

Hys ſaruant ranne

And brought to him the freake.

Full manerly

He made curchie

And lowted to the grownde

Than ſayde the lad

I am ryght glad

I hauehave your lordſhipe founde

For I hauehave ſpyed

And throughly tryed

Thingis by Hypocriſie

Which do declare

That he doeth beare

Grudge to your maieſtie

For certenly

Hypocriſie

Hath nowe in his owne hande

The halfe welmoſte

In eueryevery coaſte

Of this pleaſant Ilande

And doeth employe

Hym buſily

There wyth forto optayne:

All mens good wyll

That he maye ſtyll

In thys ryche Ilande raygne

He goeth aboute

To hauehave a route

Knytte to hym in frendeſhyp:

And to that ende

He doeth intende

A ryght greate houſe to kepe,

He wyll therfore

Kepe nought in ſtore

For you to fede vponupon,

He wyll all ſpende

By the yeres ende

That he maye laye handes on

And if you woulde

Do what you coulde

To recouer your ryght

The loſelles ſhall

Be redy all

In his quarrell to fyght

Wherefore I ſaye

Inuent ſome waye

Betyme, for this myſchyefe,

Els certenly

You ſhall ſhortely

Lacke your nedefull relyefe

Then curteſly

Philargyrie

Thanked this man and ſayde

Ten thouſande pounde

In nobles rownde

Thou ſhalt hauehave treuly payede

Tell me thy name

And I ſhall frame

My wayes after thy ſkyll

For I ſe well

Thou canſte me tell

Wayes to eſcape thys Ill.

Deare ſyr quoth he

My name hath be

Philaute ſence I was borne,

Hypocriſie

Is clombe ſo hye

That my ſtocke is nygh worne

Well ſayde he than

Be content man

I wyll thy ſtocke reſtore

For thou ſhalt be

Chiefe vnderunder me

As Hypocriſie was before

I hauehave no dreade

But by thy reade

I ſhall brynge it to paſſe

That, that vyle ſlaue

And wycked knaue

Shall be brought downe full baſe

Tell me therfore

If any ſtore

Of counſell doe remaye

What waye we maye

Beſte porue and ſaye

To ſubdue this vylayn

My Lorde, quoth he

If it ſo be

That ye wyl, as you ſaye

Take my counſell

Then knowe ye well

I thyncke this the beſte waye.

Let me be ſent

To preach in Lent

And out of Lent alſo:

And I ſhall drawe

Them from his awe

I truſte wyth ſmall adoe

I wyll declare

Howe madde they are

To gyue him of theyr good

To be made iuſt

Sens all men muſte

Be made iuſt bi Chriſtis bloud

For though he rynge

Greate belles and ſynge

A thouſande maſſes and moe

Yet muſt Chriſtis bloude

Shed on the rode

Delyuer all men from woe

Then you ſhall geue

Ech man good leaue

To wytholde what he can

From that vyle ſlaue

That doeth ſtyll craue

A flyſe of eueryevery man.

They muſt be bolde

All to wytholde

And eke to take hym fro

Boeth lande and fee

Where ſo it be

And rych Iewelles alſo.

When this is tolde

You may be bolde

All men wyll be full preſte

Your parte to take

And him forſake

And then the knaue is dreſte,

☞ Let me alone,

There ſhall not one

Holde on hys ſyde I trowe

After they do

Once hearken to

The blaſte that I ſhal blowe.

☞ Wyth wordes myry

Then Philargyrie

Sayde, be it as thou haſt told

To vſe thy ſkyll

At thyne owne wyll

Thou mayſt henſefore be bold

Be thou, quoth he

Next vntounto me

And eke my coſen deare

Henſeforth certayne

In al Britayne

There ſhall not be thy peare

And all that be

Kynne vntounto the

Be it neuer ſo ſmall

I wyll promote

And ſet aflote,

Coſens I wyll them call

Nowe ſwete Kynſman

Do what you can

That Vylaynes wyll to let

And get me golde

Either newe or olde

Elſe ſhall I ſtarue for meate

For I had not

My fyll I wot

This hundred yeres and moe

Whych cauſeth me

So leaue to be

That ſcarſely I can goe

☞ Holde you content

It is nowe lent

You muſt nedes faſt a whyle.

Lenten quoth he

Lent let it be

And then he gan to ſmyle

☞ Wyth that began

Philaute his man

To demaund w^t wordes mild

What thyng myght be

The cauſe that he

Whē Lent was named ſmyld

¶ Oh Couſe qouth he

The tyme hath be

That I hauehave eate more golde

In one ſhorte lent

Then ſome hauehave ſpent

In fyftie wynters colde

¶ For certenly

Hypocriſie

Dyd in lent moſt prouide

Good golde to fede

Me at my nede

In eueryevery tyme and tyde.

But let that go

He doeth not ſo

Nowe, well he ſhall repent

You wyll I trowe

Couſe brynge him lowe

Before an other Lent

Yea ſyr, quoth he

Sure ye ſhall be

I wyll ſo brynge hym downe

That the vyle knaue

Shall nothynge hauehave

In fielde nor yet in towne

Let vsus therefore

Nowe talke no more

I muſte this mater plye

It ſhall be beſte

For you to reſte

Whylſe I to Nodnoll ſtye

Go you to bed

And laye your heade

VponUpon a pyllowe fyne

I truſte to gete

You golden meate

Ere it be tyme to dyne.

Couſe go thy waye

That God gan ſaye

God pluto be thy ſpede

My ſprite ſhal be

Preſent wyth the

To helpe the aye at nede

My lorde, quoth he

It ſhall beſte be

That no man doth is knowe

Wherfore let not

Your ſeruants wot

Leſt they ſome rumours ſowe

For I muſt preach

And al men teach

That gods ſonne hath me ſent

For ſo ſhall I

HaueHave by and by

My purpoſe and intent

Couſe, thou ſhalt ſe

I warant the

All ſhall be kept ſecrete

For counſells knowne

And abroade blowne

Wyll oure procedyngis let

Departe therfore

And ſaye no more

For I knowe al thy mynde

Thou ſhalt well ſe

That I wyll be

As reaſone doeth me bynde

Then louted he

Wyth either knee

And ſayed, my lorde Adiu

The God of ſlepe

Vouchſalfe to kepe

All that belonge to you

Howe Philargyrye went to Nodnol and what he dyd there.

THen forth he went

As he was ſent

Tyl he to Nodnoll came

Where by and bye

He made outecrie

Agaynſt Hypocriſies name

Geue eare to me

All you, quoth he

That do your owne welth louelove

For gods owne ſonne

Dyd byd me runne

Your enmie to remoue.

Hypocriſie

Hath dealt flaſely

Wyth you full many a yere

To gather pelfe

And kepe him ſelfe

In eaſe and bealy chere.

Do you not ſe

Howe greaſye he

And his be, and how fat?

His chekes be bolne

And for fat ſwollen,

His noſe is cowched flat

He walloweth in

That fylthy ſynne

Of gredy glottonnye

He wyll not ſwynke

For meate nor dryncke

But lyue ſtyll Idellye

Yet wyll he eate

Nought but fyne meate

And drincke of the beſt wyne

Who ſo hath bene

Wyth him hath ſene

His fare to be ryght fyne

I graunte he wyll

Your bealies fyll

Tyl your backis can not bowe

But all that is

Nothynge of his

But byggis of your owne ſow

Open your eies

If you be wyſe

And ſe to your owne gayne

Let not thys ſlaue

The ryches hauehave

That you hauehave gote wtih payn

You nede not paſſe

For his vayne maſſe

Hys diryge and prayars longe

For well we ſee

All thoſe thyngis be

But laboure of the tonge

Your ſelfe can praye

As wel alwaye

As he, and alſo feede

All ſuch as ye

Shall knowe to be

Pore and nedie in dede

His prayars ſhall

Helpe none at all

Chriſtis bloude hath paid the price

You nede therefore

To do no more

That one price doeth ſuffice.

What madnes than

Is in that man

That wyll ſo much beſtowe

VponUpon a thynge

Worſſe then nothynge?

No man is ſo madde It rowe

Howe the people forſoke Hypocriſie.

THe people anone

Much muſed on

Theſe words that ſemed ſtraynge

Yet dyd they embrace

Them, in ſhorte ſpace

Becauſe they louelove to chaynge

And naturally

You knowe pardie

Ech man wyll louelove him ſelfe

Then a ſmall thynge

Maye him ſone brynge

In louelove with this worlds pelfe

The brutes therfore

Toke Philautis lore

And lefte Hypocriſie

Then range the bell

To a Counſell

That thynge to ratifie.

In this Synnodde

Ten ſcore and odde

Toke Hypocriſies parte

Yet all they loſte

For all theyr boaſte

In diſpyte of theyr herte

It was decreed

There and agreed

That Philaute ſhould poſſeſſe

For euer more

Hypocriſie ſtore

Hys landes and his ryches.

Then Philaute ſent

In contient

Ten thouſande tunnes of gold

To Philargyrie

To make him miry

Therwith, what time he wold

In ſhorte tyme than

His ſtore began

To waſte and weare apaſe

For he eate ſtyll

And coulde not fyll

Hys paunch, in .vii. yeres ſpaſe

Then Philaute fedde

Hys God wyth leade

With ſtones, and wyth tymber

And tolde hym that

Golde was to fatte

For men that faſte Imber.

You muſte, quoth he

Contented be

Wyth ſuch as doeth remayne,

Ye muſt forbeare

Thys preciouſe geare

Yet for a yere or twayne

Then Philaute ſolde

For redy golde

Fortes that were builded ſtrōg

And made ſo ſure

Forto endure

That they had ſtande ful long

Greate landes alſo

Philaute let go

For golde that was full fyne

And ſent it all

To Philargyries hall

For him therwyth to dyne

But all was gone

And ſpent anone

And he loked for more

But yet in vayne

For nought certayne

Remayned then in ſtore

Well thought he than

I trowe I can

Make ryght fyne golde of bras

And ſo he dyd

But it framed

Full euel as reſone it was

Well, yet he ſent

And rayſed rent

From fyue grotes to a pounde

Yet was there nat

Much wone by that

For more was loſt then founde

Well thus at the laſt

All hope was paſte.

His God he coulde not fyl

Vnleſſe he ſhoulde

Be founde ſo bolde

The kynge & hys reame to ſyl

Then gan this God

To take the rode

Of hunger in his fyſt

And ſayde that he

Woulde fylled be

No man ſhoulde him reſiſte.

Then wyth ſtrokes ſore

He ſmote the pore

And then they gan to crye

To god almyght

For them to fyght

Agaynſt Philargyrie

Howe Trueth tolde all to the kynge.

BVt then toke trueth

Pitie and ruth

And to the kynge he went

And ſayed ſyr kynge

Amende this thynge

Thy realme elſe wylbe ſhent

Philargyrie

Hypocriſie

And Philaute hauehave ſpent all

Thy people are

So full of care

That nowe to god they cal.

Vengeaunce therfore

Is at thy dore

Redy the to deſtroye

Onleſſe thou wyll

Purge out the Ill

That doeth thy flocke anoye

An horrible thynge

It is ſyr kynge

To fall into godis hande

Thou maiſt truſt me

No man can be

Able him to wythſtande

Take hede therfore

Suffer no more

Theſe fell felons to raygne

Leſte God almyght

For thy ſtock fyght

And thou thy ſelfe be ſlayne

What though they be

Myghtie to ſe?

Yet feare not thou at all

For (God no doubt)

Wyll rowte them oute

If thou wylt on him call

For he hath ſayde

He wyll the ayde

Agaynſte his enimies

If thou wylt go

Forthe ſtreyght and do

Thyngis pleaſant in his eies

¶ Howe the kynge draue that wycked ſort oute of his realme

WYth that the kynge

For feare gan ſprynge

VntoUnto the Bible boke

And by and by.

Ryght reuerently

That ſwerde in hand he toke

No wyght, quoth he

Shall ſpared be

That doeth my flocke oppreſſe

God hath me ſet

Such thyngis to let

And all wrongis to redreſſe

Then let he crye

That lowe and hye

In whom gods feare did dwel

Shoulde neuer reſt

But do they beſt

Gods enmies to expell

Then fell he downe

And caſt his crowne

And diademe aſyde

And lokyng on hye

Vp to the ſkye

To God aloude he cryed

Lorde God, quoth he

Thou haſt choſen me

Ouer thy flocke to raygne

Make me of myght

All wrongis to ryght

And make all well agayne

Then God him ſent

Men that were bent

Oppreſſion to expell

Whoe chaſed oute

This gygante ſtoute

And then all thyngs were w…

Finis.

¶ Imprynted at London by Robert Crowly dwellinge in Elie Rentes in Holburne Anno Dmini M.D.L.I.

¶ Cum priuilegio ad imprimendu ſolum.

End of the text · Robert Crowley, Philargyry of Great Britain (1551)