clvi
CERTAINE LETTERS IN VERSE.
The maners are so Turkie like, the men so full of guile,
The women wanton, temples stuft with idols that defile
The seats that sacred ought to be, the customes are so quaint,
As if I would describe the whole, I feare my penne would faint.
In summe, I say, I never saw a prince that so did raigne,
Nor people so beset with saints, yet all but vile and vaine:
Wilde Irish are as ciul as the Russies in theyr kinde,
Hard choice which is the best of both, ech bloudy, rude and blinde.
If thou be wise, as wise thou art, and wilt be rulde by me,
Liue still at home, and couet not those barbarous coasts to see;
No good befalles a man that seekes, and findes no better place,
No ciul customes to be learned, where God bestowes no grace.
And truelie ill they do deserue to be belou’d of God,
That neither loue nor stand in awe of his assured rod:
Which though be long, yet plagues at last the vile and beastly sort,
Of sinful wights, that all in vice do place theyr chiefest sport.
Adieu, friend Parker, if thou list to know the Russies well,
To Sigismundus booke repayre, who all the trueth can tell,
For he long earst in message went unto that sauage king,
Sent by the Pole, and true report in ech respect did bring.
To him I recommend myself, to ease my penne of paine,
And now at last do wish thee well, and bid farewell againe.
The women wanton, temples stuft with idols that defile
The seats that sacred ought to be, the customes are so quaint,
As if I would describe the whole, I feare my penne would faint.
In summe, I say, I never saw a prince that so did raigne,
Nor people so beset with saints, yet all but vile and vaine:
Wilde Irish are as ciul as the Russies in theyr kinde,
Hard choice which is the best of both, ech bloudy, rude and blinde.
If thou be wise, as wise thou art, and wilt be rulde by me,
Liue still at home, and couet not those barbarous coasts to see;
No good befalles a man that seekes, and findes no better place,
No ciul customes to be learned, where God bestowes no grace.
And truelie ill they do deserue to be belou’d of God,
That neither loue nor stand in awe of his assured rod:
Which though be long, yet plagues at last the vile and beastly sort,
Of sinful wights, that all in vice do place theyr chiefest sport.
Adieu, friend Parker, if thou list to know the Russies well,
To Sigismundus booke repayre, who all the trueth can tell,
For he long earst in message went unto that sauage king,
Sent by the Pole, and true report in ech respect did bring.
To him I recommend myself, to ease my penne of paine,
And now at last do wish thee well, and bid farewell againe.
