Printed by _E. A._ for _Nicholas Ling_, and are to be
solde at his shop at the west doore of Saint
Paules Church 1600.
To the true Ennobled Lady, and his most bountifull Mistris, Mistris
Anne Fitton, Mayde of Honour to the most sacred Mayde, Royall Queene
Elizabeth.{1:2}
Honorable Mistris, in the waine of my litle wit I am forst to desire
your protection, else euery Ballad-singer will proclaime me bankrupt of
honesty. A sort{1:6} of mad fellows, seeing me merrily dispos'd in a
Morrice, haue so bepainted mee in print since my gambols began from
London to Norwich, that (hauing but an ill face before) I shall appeare
to the world without a face, if your fayre hand wipe not away their
foule coulors. One hath written _Kemps farewell_ to the tune of Kery,
mery, Buffe;{1:11} another, His desperate daungers in his late trauaile;
the third, His entertainement to New-Market; which towne I came neuer
neere by the length of halfe the heath. Some sweare, in a
Trenchmore{1:14} I haue trode a good way to winne the world; others that
guesse righter, affirme, I haue without good help daunst my selfe out of
the world; many say many thinges that were neuer thought. But, in a
word, your poore seruant offers the truth of his progresse and profit to
your honorable view: receiue it, I beseech you, such as it is, rude and
plaine; for I know your pure iudgement lookes as soone to see beauty in
a Blackamoore, or heare smooth speech from a Stammerer, as to finde any
thing but blunt mirth in a Morrice dauncer, especially such a one as
Will Kemp, that hath spent his life in mad Iigges{2:2} and merry iestes.
Three reasons mooue mee to make publik this iourney: one to reproue
lying fooles I neuer knew; the other to commend louing friends, which
by the way I daily found; the third to shew my duety to your honorable
selfe, whose fauours (among other bountifull friends) makes me (dispight
of this sad world) iudge my hart Corke and my heeles feathers, so that
me thinkes I could flye to Rome (at least hop to Rome, as the olde
Prouerb is) with a morter on my head.{2:8} In which light conceite I
lowly begge pardon and leaue, for my Tabrer strikes his huntsup{2:11}, I
must to Norvvich: Imagine, noble Mistris, I am now setting from my Lord
Mayors, the houre about seauen, the morning gloomy, the company many, my
hart merry.
Your worthy Ladiships most
vnworthy seruant,
WILLIAM KEMP.