IN VERSE.
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And all without the spurre, once prick them and they skippe,
But go not forward on their way, the Russie has his whippe
To rappe him on the ribbes, for though all booted bee,
Yet shall ye not a payre of spurres in all the countrey see.
The common game is chesse, almost the simplest will
Both giue a checke and eke a mate; by practise comes theyr skill.
Againe the dice as fast, the poorest rogues of al
Will sit them downe in open field, and there to gaming fall;
Their dice are very small, in fashion like to those
Which we do vse; he takes them up, and ouer his thumb he throwes,
Not shaking them a whit, the cast suspiciouslie,
And yet I deeme them void of art that dicing most applie.
At play when siluer lacks, goes saddle, horse, and all,
And each thing else worth siluer walkes, although the price be small;
Because thou louest to play, friend Parker, other while,
I wish thee there the weary day with dicing to beguile.
But thou weart better fare at home, I wist it well,
And wouldest be loathe among such lowts so long a time to dwell;
Then iudge of vs, thy friends, what kinde of life we had,
That neere the frozen pole to waste our weary dayes wer glad;
In such a sauage soile, where lawes do beare no sway,
But all is at the king his will, to saue or els to slay;
And that sans cause, God wot, if so his mind be such:
But what meane I with kings to deale, we ought no saints to touch.
Conceiue the rest yourselfe, and deeme what liues they lead,
Where lust is law, and subiects liue continually in dread;
And where the best estates have none assurance good,
Of lands, of liues, nor nothing falles vnto the next of blood:
But all of custome doth vnto the prince redowne,
And all the whole revenue comes vnto the king his crowne.
Good faith I see thee muse at what I tell thee now,
But true it is, no choice, but all at princes pleasure bow.
So Tarquine ruled Rome, as thou remembrest well,
And what his fortune was at last, I know thy selfe canst tell;
Where will in common weale doth beare the onely sway,
And lust is law, the prince and realme must needs in time decay;
The strangenesse of the place is such for sundry things I see,
As if I would, I can not write, ech priuate point to thee.
The colde is rare, the people rude, the prince so full of pride,
The realme so stored with monks and nunnes, and priests on euery side:
But go not forward on their way, the Russie has his whippe
To rappe him on the ribbes, for though all booted bee,
Yet shall ye not a payre of spurres in all the countrey see.
The common game is chesse, almost the simplest will
Both giue a checke and eke a mate; by practise comes theyr skill.
Againe the dice as fast, the poorest rogues of al
Will sit them downe in open field, and there to gaming fall;
Their dice are very small, in fashion like to those
Which we do vse; he takes them up, and ouer his thumb he throwes,
Not shaking them a whit, the cast suspiciouslie,
And yet I deeme them void of art that dicing most applie.
At play when siluer lacks, goes saddle, horse, and all,
And each thing else worth siluer walkes, although the price be small;
Because thou louest to play, friend Parker, other while,
I wish thee there the weary day with dicing to beguile.
But thou weart better fare at home, I wist it well,
And wouldest be loathe among such lowts so long a time to dwell;
Then iudge of vs, thy friends, what kinde of life we had,
That neere the frozen pole to waste our weary dayes wer glad;
In such a sauage soile, where lawes do beare no sway,
But all is at the king his will, to saue or els to slay;
And that sans cause, God wot, if so his mind be such:
But what meane I with kings to deale, we ought no saints to touch.
Conceiue the rest yourselfe, and deeme what liues they lead,
Where lust is law, and subiects liue continually in dread;
And where the best estates have none assurance good,
Of lands, of liues, nor nothing falles vnto the next of blood:
But all of custome doth vnto the prince redowne,
And all the whole revenue comes vnto the king his crowne.
Good faith I see thee muse at what I tell thee now,
But true it is, no choice, but all at princes pleasure bow.
So Tarquine ruled Rome, as thou remembrest well,
And what his fortune was at last, I know thy selfe canst tell;
Where will in common weale doth beare the onely sway,
And lust is law, the prince and realme must needs in time decay;
The strangenesse of the place is such for sundry things I see,
As if I would, I can not write, ech priuate point to thee.
The colde is rare, the people rude, the prince so full of pride,
The realme so stored with monks and nunnes, and priests on euery side:
