That where they not likely been to sped
Such as they been, with a double visage,
They procurin, for to pursue their need
He prayeth him, in his cause to proceed.
And largely guerdoneth she his travail.
Little wot women, how men them assail!
Another wretch, unto his fellow saith,
"Thou fishest fair! She which that thee hath fired
Is false, inconstant, and she hath no faith.
She for the road, of folk is so desired;
And, as an horse, from day to day she is hired!
That when thou twinnest from her company,
Cometh another; and bleared is thine eye!
Now prick on fast! and ridin thy journey
While thou art there! For she, behind thy back,
So liberal is, she will nothing withsay,
But smartly of another take a smack.
And thus farin these women all the pack
Whoso them trusteth, hanged mote he be!
Ever they desire change and novelty."
Wherefore proceedeth this, but of envy?
For that he himself, her ne winnin may,
He speaketh her reprefe and villainy;
As manis blabbing tongue is wont alway.
Thus divers men full often make assay,
For to disturbin folk in sundry wise,
For they may not eschuin their emprise.
Many one eke would speakin for no good,
That hath in love his timè spent and used.
Men wist, his Lady his asking withstood;
Ere that he were of her, plainly refused.
Or waste and vain all that he had ymused:
Wherefore he can none other remedy,
But on his Lady, shapeth him to lie.
"Every woman," he saith, "is light to get,
Can none say, 'Nay!' if she be well ysought;
Whoso may leisure have with her to treat
Of his purpose, ne shall be failin ought
But he on madness be so deep ybrought
That he shende all with open homeliness
That loven women. They doting! as I guess."
To slaunder women thus, what may profit
To gentleness? namely, that them arm should
In defence of women, and them delight
As that the Order of Gentleness would?
If that a man list gentle to be held
He must all eschew that thereto is contrary.
A slanderous tongue is his great enemy!
A foul vice it is, of tongue to be light.
For _whoso mochil clappeth, gabbeth oft_.
The Tongue of Man so swift is, and so wight
That when it is yraisèd up on loft,
Reason is shewed so slowly and soft,
That it him never overtakin may.
Lord! so these men been trusty in assay!
Albeit that men find one woman nice,
Inconstant, recheless, and variable,
Deignous and proud, full fillèd of malice,
Without faith or love, and deceivable,
Sly, quaint, false, in all untrust culpable,
Wicked or fierce, or full of cruelty:
Yet followeth not that such, all women be!
When the high GOD, angellis formèd had:
Amongis them all formed, were there none
That foundin were malicious and bad?
Yet all men wotin, there were many one
That for their pride fell from heaven anon.
Should we, forthy, give all angels proud name?
Nay, he that that sustaineth, is to blame!
Of twelve Apostles, one a traitor was;
The remenant yet good werin and true.
So if it happen men findin, percase,
A woman false; such, good is to eschew:
And deem not all that they therefore be untrue.
I see well, that menis own falseness
Them causeth, woman for to trust the less.
O, every man ought have a heart tender
To a woman, and deem her honourable;
Whether her shape be thick, or else slender,
Or she be good or bad! It is no fable.
Every wight wot, that wit hath reasonable,
That of a woman, he descendèd is:
Then is it shame of her to speak amiss!
A wicked tree, good fruit may none forth bring;
For such the fruit, is aye as is the tree.
Take heed of whom thou take thy beginning!
Let thy mother be mirror unto thee!
Honour her, if thou wilt honoured be!
Despiseth her then not, in no manere!
Lest that thereby thy wickedness appear.
An old proverb there said is, in English,
_That bird or fowl, soothly, is dishonest_
_What that he be, and holdin full churlish_
_That useth to defoulin his own nest_.
Men to say well of women, it is the best:
And naught to despisin them, ne deprave;
If that they will their honour keep or save.
The Ladies ever complain them on Clerks
That they have made bookis of their defame;
In which they despise women and their works,
And speakin of them great reproof and shame:
And causèless give them a wicked name.
Thus they despisèd be, on every side,
Dislanderèd and blown upon full wide.
Those sorry books make mention
How women betrayed in especial
ADAM, DAVID, SAMPSON, and SOLOMON,
And many one more; who may rehearse them all,
The treasons that they havin done, and shall?
The world their malice may not comprehend
(As Clerkis feign), for it ne hath none end.
OVID, in his book callèd _Remedy_
_Of Love_, great reproof of woman ywriteth,
Wherein, I know that he did great folly;
And every wight who, in such case, him delighteth.
A Clerkis custom is, when he enditeth
Of women (be it prose, or rhyme, or verse)
Say, "They be wicked!" all know he the reverse.
And the book Scholars learned in their childhead
For they of women beware should in age,
And to lovin them, ever be in dread.
Sith to deceive, is all their courage,
They say, of peril, men should cast the advantage,
Namely, of such as men havin bewrapped:
For many a man, by woman hath mishapped.
No charge is what so these Clerkis ysain
Of all their writing, I ne do ne cure
All their labour and travail is in vain
For between me and my Lady Nature
Shall not be suffred, while the world may 'dure.
Thus these Clerkis, by their cruel tyranny,
On silly women, kithin their mastery.
Whilom, for many of them were in my chain
Ytied; and now, for unwieldy age
And unlust, they may not to love attain:
And sain, now, that "Love is but very dotage!"
Thus, for they themselfin lackin courage,
They folk excitin by their wicked saws
For to rebell against Me, and my laws!
But, maugre them that blamin women most,
Such is the force of mine impression
That, suddenly, I can fell all their boast,
And all their wrong imagination.
It shall not be in their election,
The foulest slut in all the town to refuse;
If that me lust, for all that they can muse:
But her in heart, as brenningly desire
As though she were a Duchess, or a Queen;
So can I folkis heartis set on fire
And, as me list, sendin them joy or teen.
They that to women ben ywhet so keen,
My sharpè piercing strokis! how they smite!
Shall feel and knowin, how they kerve and bite!
Pardie! this Clerk, this subtle sly OVID,
And many another deceivèd have be
Of women, as it is knowin full wide.
What! no men more! and that is great dainty
So excellent a Clerk as was he!
And other more, that couldin full well preach
Betrapped were, for aught that they could teach!
And trusteth well, that it is no marvail!
For women knowin plainly their intent.
They wist how softily they could assail
Them; and what falsehood they, in heartè meant:
And thus they Clerkis, in their danger hent,
_With one venom, another is destroyed_!
And thus these Clerkis often were annoyed.
These Ladies, ne these gentles ne'ertheless,
Where none of those that wroughtin in this wise;
But such women as werin vertueless
They quiltin thus, these old Clerkis wise.
To Clerkis muchil less ought to suffice
Than to dispravin women generally;
For worship shallin they none get thereby.
If that these men, that lovers them pretend,
To women werin faithful, good, and true,
And dread them to deceive, or to offend;
Women, to love them wouldin not eschew.
But, every day, hath man an heart new!
It, upon one abidin can, no while.
What force is it, such a wight to beguile?
Men bearing, eke, the women upon hand
That lightly, and withoutin any pain
They women be; they can no wight withstand
That his disease list to them to complain!
They be so frail, they may them not refrain!
But whoso liketh them, may lightly have;
So be their heartis easy in to grave.
To Master JEAN DE MEUN, as I suppose,
Then, it was a lewd occupation,
In making of the _Romance of the Rose_,
So many a sly imagination,
And perils for to rollin up and down,
The long process, so many a slight cautel
For to deceive a silly damosel!
Nought can I say, ne my wit comprehend,
That art, and pain, and subtilty should fail
For to conquer, and soon to make an end;
When men, a feeble place shullin assail:
And soon, also, to vanquish a battle
Of which no wight may makin resistance;
Ne heart hath none, to make any defence.
Then mote it follow, of necessity,
Sith art asketh so great engine and pain
A woman to deceive, what so she be?
Of constancy be they not so barren
As that some of these silly Clerkis feign;
But they be, as women oughtin to be,
Sad, constant, and full fillèd of pity.
How friendly was MEDEA to JASON
In his Conquering of the Fleece of Gold!
How falsely quit he, her true affection,
By whom victory he gate as he would!
How may this man, for shame, be so bold
To falsin her, that, from his death and shame
Him kept, and gate him so great a prize and name?
Of Troy also, the traitor ÆNEAS,
The faithless wretch! how he himself forswore
To DIDO, which that Queen of Carthage was
That him relievèd of his smartis sore!
What gentleness might she have doin more
Than she, with heart unfeigned, to him kidde?
And what mischief to her thereof betid!
In my _Legend of Natures_ may men find
(Whoso yliketh therein for to read)
That oathis ne behest may man not bind
Of reprovable shame have they no dread
In manis heart truth ne hath no stead.
The soil is naught; there may no troth ygrow.
To women, namely, it is not unknow[n].
Clerkis feign also there is no malice
Like unto woman's wicked crabbedness.
O Woman! how shalt thou thyself chevice;
Sith men of thee, so mochil harm witness?
Beth ware! O Woman! of their fickleness.
Kepeth thine ownè! what men clap or crake!
And some of them shall smart, I undertake!
Malice of women! What is it to dread?
They slay no man, destroyin no cities,
Ne oppress people, ne them overlaid,
Betray Empires, Realms, or Duchies,
Nor bereaven men their landis, ne their mees,
Empoison folk, ne houses set on fire,
Ne false contractis makin for no hire.
Trust, Perfect Love, and Entire Charity,
Fervent Will, and Entalented Courage,
All thewis good, as sitteth well to be,
Have women, ere, of custom and usage.
And well they canin manis ire asuage,
With soft wordis, discreet and benign.
What they be inward, they show outward by sign!
Womanis heart unto no cruelty
Inclined is; but they be Charitable,
Piteous, Devout, Full of Humility,
Shamefast, Debonaire, and Amiable,
Dread full, and of wordis measurable:
What women, these have not, peradventure;
Followeth not the way of their nature.
Men sayin that our First Mother na'theless
Made all mankind lesin his liberty,
And nakid it of joyè, doubtless,
For GOD is hest disobeyèd she,
When she presumed to taste of the tree,
That GOD forbade, that she eat thereof should.
And ne had the Devil be, no more she would!
The envious swelling, that the Fiend our foe
Had unto man in heart, for his wealth,
Sent a serpent, and made her for to go
To deceive EVE; and thus was manis wealth
Bereft him by the Fiend, in a stealth,
The woman not knowing of the deceipt,
God wot! Full far was it from her conceipt!
Wherefore I say, that this good woman EVE
Our father ADAM, ne deceived nought.
There may no man for a deceipt it prove
Properly, but that she, in heart and thought,
Had it compassed[1] first, ere she it wrought.
And for such was _not_ her Impression,
Men may it call no Deceipt, by reason.
Ne no wight disceiveth, but he purpose!
The Fiend this deceipt cast, and nothing She.
Then it is wrong to deemin or suppose
That of his harm She should the causè be.
Wytith the Fiend, and his be the maugre!
And all excusèd have her innocence,
Save only, that she brake obedience!
And touching this, full fewè men there be,
Unnethis any, dare I safely say!
From day to day, as men may all day see,
But that the hest of GOD they disobey.
Have this in mindè, siris! I you pray.
If that ye be discreet and reasonable;
Ye will her hold the more excusable!
And where men say, "In man is stedfastness;
And woman is of her courage unstable."
Who may of ADAM bear such a witness?
Tellith me this! Was he not changeable?
They both werin in one case semblable.
Save that willing, the Fiend deceived EVE;
And so did she _not_ ADAM, by your leave!
Yet was this sinnè happy to mankind,
The Fiend disceived was, for all his sleight;
For aught he could him in his sleightis wind.
For his trespass, came from heaven on height
GOD, to discharge man of his heavy weight
He, flesh and blood ytook of a Virgine,
And suffered death, him to deliver of pine.
And GOD, to whom there may nothing hid be,
If he, in woman knowen had such malice,
As men record of them in generalty;
Of our Lady, of Life Reparatrice
He n'old have be born: but that she of vice
Was void, and full of virtue, well He wist,
Endowid! of her, to be born Him list.
Her heapèd virtue hath such excellence
That all too lean is manis faculty
To declare it; and therefore in suspense
Her due praising put, needis must ybe.
But this I sayin, Verily, that she
Next GOD, best friend is, that to Man 'longeth.
The Key of Mercy by her girdle hangeth!
And of mercy, hath every man such need,
That razing that, farewel the joy of man!
And of her power, now takith right good heed!
She, mercy may well, and purchasin can.
Depleasith her not! Honoureth that woman!
And other women, honour for her sake!
And but ye do, your sorrow shall awake!
In any book also, where can ye find
That of the workis of death or of life,
Of JESU spelleth or maketh any mind
That women, Him forsoke, for woe or strife?
Where was there any wight so ententife
Aboutin Him as woman? Provid none!
The Apostles him forsokin everichone.
Woman forsoke Him not! For all the faith
Of holy church in woman left only!
These are no lies, for thus Holy Writ saith,
Look! and ye shall so find it hardily!
And therefore I may well provin thereby
That in woman reigneth stable constancy;
And in men is change of variancy.
Thou Precious Gem! Of martyrs, Magarite!
That of thy blood, dreadest none effusion!
Thou Lover true! Thou Maiden mansuete!
Thou, constant Woman! in thy passion
Overcame the Fiendis temptation!
And many a wight, convertid thy doctrine,
Unto the faith of holy GOD, thou Virgin!
But, understandeth this! I commend her nought,
By encheson of her virginity.
Trusteth, it came never into thought!
For ever were I against Chastity.
And ever shall. But, lo, this moveth me!
Her loving heart; and, constant to her lay,
Drive out of my remembrance I ne may.
[Illustration]
Now holdith this for firm, and for no lie!
That this true and just commendation
Of women, tell I for no flattery;
Nor because of pride or elation:
But only, too, for this intention
To give them courage of perseverance
In virtue; and their honour to advance.
The more the virtue, the less is the pride.
Virtue so digne is, and so noble in kind,
That Vice and he will not in fere abide.
He putteth vices clean out of his mind,
He flyeth from them, he leaveth them behind.
O, Woman! that of Virtue, art hostess;
Great is thy honour, and thy worthiness!
[Illustration]
Then will I thus concludin and define.
We, you command! our ministers each one
That ready ye be, our hests to incline!
That of these falsè men, our rebell foen
Ye doin punishment! and that, anon!
Void them our Court! and banish them for ever!
So that therein more comin, may they never!
Fulfilled be it! Ceasing all delay,
Look that there be none excusation!
Written in the lusty month of May,
In our Palace, where many a million
Of lovers true, have habitation;
In the year of grace, joyful and jocond,
A thousand, four hundred and second.
_Thus endeth_
_The letter of CUPID._
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Embraced.
+EDWARD UNDERHILL+, Esq.
of the Band of Gentlemen Pensioners,
surnamed, "The hot Gospeller."
_Examination and Imprisonment in August_
_1553; with anecdotes of the Time._
[Harl. MS. 425.]
[_Narratives of the Days of the Reformation._ Camden Society. 1859.]
A Note of the Examination and Imprisonment of EDWARD UNDERHILL
(son and heir of THOMAS UNDERHILL of Honingham, in the county
of Warwick, Esquire) being of the Band of the Pensioners [_see
pp. 93-94_], for a ballet that he made against the Papists,
immediately after the Proclamation of Queen MARY at London; she
being in Norfolk.
The next day [4th] after the Queen was come to the Tower [_on the 3rd
of August, 1553_]; the foresaid ballet [_ballad_] came into the hands
of Secretary [Sir JOHN] BOURNE; who straightways made inquiry for me,
the said EDWARD, who dwelt at Limehurst [_Limehouse_]; which he having
intelligence of, sent the Sheriff of Middlesex, with a company of bills
and glaives [_lances, with a cutting blade at the end of each_]; who
came unto my house, I being in my bed, and my wife being newly laid in
childbed.
The High Constable, whose name was THOMAS IVE, dwelt at the next house
unto me, the said EDWARD; whom the Sheriff brought also with him. He,
being my very friend, desired the Sheriff and his company to stay
without, for [fear of af]frighting of my wife, being newly laid; and he
would go and fetch me unto him. Who knocked at the door, saying, "He
must speak with me."
I, lying so near that I might hear him, called unto him, willing him
"to come unto me!" for that he was always my very friend, and earnest
in the Gospel. Who declared unto me that the Sheriff, with a great
company with him, was sent for me.
Whereupon I rose, made me ready, and came unto him, demanding, "What he
would with me?"
"Sir," said he, "I have commandment from the Council to apprehend you,
and forthwith to bring you unto them."
"Why," said I, "it is now ten o'clock in the night; ye cannot, now,
carry me unto them!"
"No, Sir," said he, "you shall go with me to my house to London, where
you shall have a bed: and to-morrow, I will bring you unto them at the
Tower."
"In the name of GOD! [=_most certainly_]," said I: and so went with
him, requiring [_inquiring of_] him, "If I might understand the cause."
He said, "He knew none."
"This needed not, then," said I; "any one messenger might have fetched
me unto them": suspecting the cause to be, as it was indeed, the ballet.
On the morrow [_5th of August, 1553_], the Sheriff, seeing me nothing
dismayed, thinking it to be some light matter, went not with me
himself: but sent me unto the Tower with two of his men, waiting upon
me with two bills [_men with halberts_], prisoner-like, who brought me
unto the Council Chamber; being commanded to deliver me unto Secretary
BOURNE.
Thus standing waiting at the Council Chamber door, two or three of my
fellows, the Pensioners, and my cousin-german GILBERT WYNTER, Gentleman
Usher unto the Lady ELIZABETH [_see p._ 120], stood talking with me.
In the meantime, cometh Sir EDWARD HASTINGS [_see Vol. III. p. 147_],
newly made Master of the Horse to the Queen, and seeing me standing
there prisoner, frowning earnestly upon me, said, "Are you come? We
will talk with you or your party, I warrant you!" and so went into the
Council.
With that, my fellows and kinsman shrank away from me, as men greatly
afraid.
I did then perceive the said Sir EDWARD bare in remembrance the
controversy that was betwixt him and me in talk and questions
of religion at Calais, when the Right Honourable the Earl of
HUNTINGDON, his brother, went over, General of 6,000 men: with whom
I went the same time, and was Controller of the Ordnance.
The Earl being visited with sickness when he came thither, for that
I went over in his company, and could play and sing to the lute,
therewith to pass away the time, on the nights being long, for
we went over in Christmas [1552], would have me with him in his
chamber; and had also a great delight to hear his brother reason
with me in matters of religion. Who would be very hot, when I did
overlay him with the texts of the Scripture concerning the natural
presence of CHRIST in the sacrament of the altar; and would swear
great oaths, specially, "by the Lord's foot!" that after the words
spoken by the priest there remained no bread, but the natural body
that MARY bare.
"Nay, then, it must needs be so," would I say, "and [_if_] you
prove it with such oaths!"
Whereat the Earl would laugh heartily, saying, "Brother, give him
over! UNDERHILL is too good for you!" Wherewith he would be very
angry.
The greatest hold that he took of, was of the 3rd of _JOHN_, upon
those words, "And no man ascendeth up to heaven, but He that came
down from heaven, that is to say, the Son of Man which is in
heaven." I drove him from the 6th of _JOHN_ and all other places
that he could allege; but from this, he would not be removed, but
that those words proved his natural body to be in heaven and in
the sacrament also. I told him he as grossly understood CHRIST, as
NICODEMUS did in the same place, of "being born anew."
In my opinion, any man that is not given up of GOD, may be
satisfied concerning the natural presence in the Supper of the
Lord, by the Gospel of Saint JOHN, reading from the first chapter
to the end of the seventeenth; with the witness of the first of the
_Acts of the Apostles_ of CHRIST's ascension and coming again; if
ever he will be satisfied, without the help of any Doctors.
Undoubtedly, the apprehending of me was for this matter: but the
great mercy of GOD so provided for me, that Master HASTINGS was not
at my examination. For tarrying thus at the Chamber door, Doctor Cox
[_afterwards Bishop of ELY_] was within; who came forth, and was
sent to the Marshalsea. Then came forth the Lord FERRERS, [Viscount
HEREFORD], and was committed to the Tower. Then it was dinner time,
and all were commanded to depart until after dinner.
My two waiting men and I went to an alehouse to dinner; and, longing to
know my pain [_punishment_], I made haste to get to the Council Chamber
door, that I might be the first.
Immediately, as they had dined, Secretary BOURNE came to the door,
looking as a wolf doth for a lamb; unto whom my two keepers delivered
me, standing next unto the door: for there were more behind me.
He took me in greedily, and shut to the door; leaving me at the nether
[_lower_] end of the Chamber, he went unto the Council showing them of
me: and then beckoned me to come near.
Then they began the table, and sat them down. The Earl of BEDFORD sat
as chief, uppermost upon the bench. Next unto him, the Earl of SUSSEX;
next him, Sir RICHARD SOUTHWELL.
On the side next me, sat the Earl of ARUNDEL; next him, the Lord PAGET.
By them, stood Sir JOHN GAGE, then Constable of the Tower; the Earl of
BATH, and Master [_afterwards Sir JOHN_] MASON.
At the board's end, stood Serjeant MORGAN [_who, later on, condemned
Lady JANE GREY_] that afterwards died mad; and Secretary [Sir JOHN]
BOURNE.
The Lord WENTWORTH [_the Lord Deputy of Calais, when lost; see p._
173] stood in the bay window, talking with one, all the while of my
examination, whom I knew not.
* * * * *
My Lord of BEDFORD being my very friend, (for that my chance was
to be at the recovering of his son, my Lord RUSSELL, when he was
cast into the Thames against the Limehurst, whom I carried to my
house and got him to bed; who was in great peril of his life, the
weather being very cold) would not seem to be familiar with me,
nor called me not by my name, but said, "Come hither, sirrah! did
not you set forth a ballet of late, in print?"
I kneeled down, saying, "Yes, truly, my Lord! Is that the cause I am
called before your Honours?"
"Ay, marry," said Secretary BOURNE, "you have one of them about you, I
am sure."
"Nay, truly, have I not," said I.
Then he took one out of his bosom, and read it over distinctly; the
Council giving diligent ear.
When he had ended, "I trust, my Lords," said I, "I have not offended
the Queen's Majesty in this ballet; nor spoken against her title, but
maintained it."
"You have, sir," said Morgan, "yes, I can divide your ballet, and make
a distinction in it; and so prove at the least sedition in it."
"Ay, sir," said I, "you men of law will make of a matter what ye list!"
"Lo," said Sir RICHARD SOUTHWELL, "how he can give a taunt! You
maintain the Queen's title, with the help of an arrant heretic,
TYNDALE."
"You speak of Papists there, sir," said Master MASON, "I pray you, how
define you a Papist?"
I look upon him, turning towards him; for he stood on the side of me,
"Why, sir," said I, "it is not long since you could define a Papist
better than I" [_meaning that he had turned with the new change of
religion_]. With that some of them secretly smiled; as the Lords of
BEDFORD, ARUNDEL, SUSSEX, and PAGET.
In great haste, Sir JOHN GAGE took the matter in hand, "Thou callest
men Papists there," said he, "who be they that thou judgest to be
Papists?"