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Edmund Spenser - Prosopopoia : or, Mother Hubbards Tale
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It was the month in which the righteous Maide, 
That for disdaine of sinfull worlds upbraide 
Fled back to heaven, whence she was first conceived, 
Into her silver bowre the Sunne received; 
And the hot Syrian Dog on him awayting, 
After the chafed Lyons cruell bayting, 
Corrupted had th` ayre with his noysome breath, 
And powr`d on th` earth plague, pestilence, and death, 
Emongst the rest a wicked maladie 
 Raign`d emongst men, that manie did to die, 
Depriv`d of sense and ordinarie reason, 
That it to Leaches seemed strange and geason. 
My fortune was, mongst manie others moe, 
To be partaker of their common woe; 
 And my weake bodie, set on fire with griefe, 
Was rob`d of rest and naturall reliefe. 
In this ill plight there came to visite mee 
Some friends, who, sorie my sad case to see, 
Began to comfort me in chearfull wise, 
 And meanes of gladsome solace to devise: 
But seeing kindly sleep refuse to doe 
His office, and my feeble eyes forgoe, 

They sought my troubled sense how to deceave 
With talke, that might unquiet fancies reave; 
And, sitting all in seates about me round, 
With pleasant tales (fit for that idle stound) 
They cast in course to waste the wearie howres. 
Some told of Ladies, and their Paramoures; 
Some of brave Knights, and their renowned Squires; 
 Some of the Faeries and their strange attires; 
And some of Giaunts, hard to be beleeved; 
That the delight thereof me much releeved. 
Amongst the rest a good old woman was, 
Hight Mother Hubberd, who did farre surpas 
 The rest in honest mirth, that seem`d her well: 
She, when her turne was come her tale to tell, 
Tolde of a strange adventure, that betided 
Betwixt the Foxe and th` Ape by him misguided; 
The which, for that my sense it greatly pleased, 
 All were my spirite heavie and deseased, 
He write in termes as she the same did say, 
So well as I her words remember may. 
No Muses aide me needes heretoo to call; 
Base is the style, and matter meane withall. 
Whilome (said she) before the world was civill, 
The Foxe and th` Ape, disliking of their evill 
And hard estate, determined to seeke 
Their fortunes farre abroad, lycke with his lycke, 
For both were craftie and unhappie witted; 
 Two fellowes might no where be better fitted. 
The Foxe, that first this cause of griefe did finde, 
Gan first thus plaine his case with words unkinde. 
`Neighbour Ape, and my Gossip eke beside, 
(Both two sure bands in friendship to be tide) 
 To whom may I more trustely complaine 
The evill plight that doth me sore constraine, 
And hope thereof to finde due remedie? 
Heare, then, my paine and inward agonie. 
Thus manie yeares I now have spent and worne 
 In meane regard, and basest fortunes scorne, 
Dooing my Countrey service as I might, 
No lesse, I dare saie, than the prowdest wight; 
And still I hoped to be up advaunced, 
For my good parts; but still it has mischaunced. 
 Now therefore that no lenger hope I see, 
But froward fortune still to follow mee, 
And losels lifted up on high, where I did looke, 
I meane to turne the next leafe of the booke: 
Yet, ere that anie way I doo betake, 
 I meane my Gossip privie first to make.` 
`Ah! my deare Gossip, (answer`d then the Ape) 
Deeply doo your sad words my wits awhape, 
Both for because your griefe doth great appeare, 
And eke because my selfe am touched neare: 
 For I likewise have wasted much good time, 
Still wayting to preferment up to clime, 
Whilest others alwayes have before me stept, 
And from my beard the fat away have swept; 
That now unto despaire I gin to growe, 
 And meane for better winde about to throwe. 
Therefore to me, my trustie friend, aread 
Thy Councell: two is better than one head.` 
`Certes (said he) I meane me to disguize 
In some straunge habit, after uncouth wize; 
 Or like a Pilgrim, or a Lymiter, 
Or like a Gipsen, or a Juggeler, 
And so to wander to the worldes ende, 
To seeke my fortune, where I may it mend: 
For worse than that I have I cannot meete. 
 Wide is the world I wote, and everie streete 
Is full of fortunes, and adventures straunge, 
Continuallie subject unto chaunge. 
Say, my faire brother now, if this device 
Doth like you, or may you to like entice.` 
`Surely (said th` Ape) it likes me wondrous well; 
And would ye not poore fellowship expell, 
My selfe would offer you t` accompanie 
In this adventures chauncefull jeopardie: 
For to wexe olde at home in idlenesse.

Is disadventrous, and quite fortunelesse; 
Abroad, where change is, good may gotten bee.` 
The Foxe was glad, and quickly did agree: 
So both resolv`d, the morrow next ensuing, 
So soone as day appeard to peoples vewing, 
 On their intended journey to proceede; 
And over night whatso theretoo did neede 
Each did prepare, in readiness to bee. 
The morrow next, so soone as one might see 
Light out of heavens windowes forth to looke, 
Both their habiliments unto them tooke, 
And put themselves (a Gods name) on their way; 
Whenas the Ape, beginning well to wey 
This hard adventure, thus began t` advise. 
`Now read, Sir Reynold, as ye be right wise, 
 What course ye weene is best for us to take, 
That for our selves we may a living make. 
Whether shall we professe some trade or skill, 
Or shall we varie our device at will, 
Even as new occasion appeares? 
 Or shall we tie our selves for certaine yeares 
To anie service, or to anie place? 
For it behoves, ere that into the race 
We enter, to resolve first hereupon.` 
`Now surely brother (said the Foxe anon) 
 Ye have this matter motioned in season; 
For everie thing that is begun with reason 
Will come by readie meanes unto his end, 
But things miscounselled must needs miswend. 
Thus therefore I advize upon the case, 
 That not to anie certaine trade or place, 
Nor anie man, we should our selves applie; 
For why should he that is at libertie 
Make himselfe bond? sith then we are free borne, 
Let us all servile base subjection scorne; 
 And as we bee sonnes of the world so wide, 
Let us our fathers heritage divide, 
And chalenge to our selves our portions dew 
Of all the patrimonie, which a few 
Now hold in hugger mugger in their hand, 
 And all the rest doo rob of good and land. 
For now a few have all, and all have nought, 
Yet all be brethren ylike dearly bought: 
There is no right in this partition, 
Ne was it so by institution 
 Ordained first, ne by the law of Nature, 
But that she gave like blessing to each creture, 
As well of worldly livelode as of life, 
That there might be no difference nor strife, 
Nor ought cald mine or thine: thrice happie then 
 Was the condition of mortall men 
That was the golden age of Saturne old, 
But this might better be the world of gold; 
For without golde now nothing wilbe got, 
Therefore (if please you) this shalbe our plot: 
 We will not be of anie occupation; 
Let such vile vassals, borne to base vocation, 
Drudge in the world, and for their living droyle, 
Which have no wit to live withouten toyle; 
But we will walke about the world at pleasure 
 Like two free men, and make our ease our treasure. 
Free men some beggars call, but they be free, 
And they which call them so more beggers bee; 
For they doo swinke and sweate to feed the other, 
Who live like Lords of that which they doo gather, 
And yet doo never thanke them for the same, 
But as their due by Nature doo it clame. 
Such will we fashion both our selves to bee, 
Lords of the world; and so will wander free 
Where so us listeth, uncontrol`d of anie: 
 Hard is our hap, if we (emongst so manie) 
Light not on some that may our state amend; 
Sildome but some good commeth ere the end.` 
 
     Well seemd the Ape to like this ordinaunce; 
Yet, well considering of the circumstaunce, 
 As pausing in great doubt, awhile he staid, 
And afterwards with grave advizement said: 
`I cannot, my lief brother, like but well 
The purpose of the complot which ye tell; 
For well I wot (compar`d to all the rest 
 Of each degree) that Beggers life is best; 
And they, that thinke themselves the best of all,

Oft-times to begging are content to fall. 
But this I wot withall, that we shall roune 
Into great daunger, like to bee undone, 
Thus wildly to wander in the worlds eye, 
Withouten pasport or good warrantye, 
For feare least we like rogues should be reputed, 
And for eare-marked beasts abroad be bruted. 
Therefore, I read that we our counsells call, 
 How to prevent this mischiefe ere it fall, 
And how we may, with most securitie, 
Beg amongst those that beggers doo defie.` 
`Right well, deere Gossip, ye advized have, 
(Said then the Foxe) but I this doubt will save; 
 For ere we farther passe I will devise 
A pasport for us both in fittest wize, 
And by the names of Souldiers us protect: 
That now is thought a civile begging sect. 
Be you the Souldier, for you likest are 
For manly semblance, and small skill in warre: 
I will but wayte on you, and, as occasion 
Falls out, my selfe fit for the same will fashion.` 

      The pasport ended, both they forward went; 
The Ape clad Souldierlike, fit for th` intent, 
 In a blew jacket with a crosse of redd 
And manie slits, as if that he had shedd 
Much blood throgh many wounds therein receaved, 
Which had the use of his right arme bereaved. 
Upon his head an old Scotch cap he wore, 
With a plume feather all to peeces tore: 
His breeches were made after the new cut, 
Al Portugese, loose like an emptie gut; 
And his hose broken high above the heeling, 
And his shooes beaten out with traveling. 
But neither sword nor dagger he did beare; 
Seemes that no foes revengement he did feare: 
In stead of them a handsome bat he held, 
On which he leaned, as one farre in elde. 
Shame light on him, that through so false illusion, 
 Doth turne the name of Souldiers to abusion, 
And that, which is the noblest mysterie, 
Brings to reproach and common infamie! 
Long they thus travailed, yet never met 
Adventure which might them a working set; 
 Yet manie waies they sought, and manie tryed, 
Yet for their purposes none fit espyed. 
At last they chaunst to meet upon the way 
A simple husbandman in garments gray; 
Yet though his vesture were but meane and bace, 
 A good yeoman he was of honest place, 
And more for thrift did care than for gay clothing: 
Gay without good is good hearts greatest loathing. 
The Foxe him spying, bad the Ape him dight 
To play his part, for loe! he was in sight 
 That (if he er`d not,) should them entertaine, 
And yeeld them timely profite for their paine. 
Eftsoones the Ape himselfe gan up to reare, 
And on his shoulders high his bat to beare, 
As if good service he were fit to doo; 
 But little thrift for him he did it too: 
And stoutly forward he his steps did straine, 
That like a handsome swaine it him became. 
 
     When as they nigh approached, that good man, 
Seeing them wander loosly, first began 
 T` enquire of custome, what and whence they were? 
To whom the Ape, `I am a Souldiere, 
That late in warres have spent my deerest blood, 
And in long service lost both limbs and good; 
And now, constrain`d that trade to overgive, 
 I driven am to seeke some meanes to live: 
Which might it you in pitie please t` afford, 
I would be readie, both in deed and word, 
To doo you faithfull service all my dayes. 
This yron world (that same he weeping sayes) 
 Brings downe the stowtest hearts to lowest state; 
For miserie doth bravest mindes abate, 
And make them seeke for that they wont to scorne, 
Of fortune and of hope at once forlorne.` 
The honest man, that heard him thus complaine, 
 Was griev`d as he had felt part of his paine; 
And, well dispos`d him some reliefe to showe, 

Askt if in husbandrie he ought did knowe, 
To plough, to plant, to reap, to rake, to sowe, 
To hedge, to ditch, to thrash, to thetch, to mowe? 
 Or to what labour els he was prepar`d, 
For husbands life is labourous and hard? 
Whenas the Ape him hard so much to talke 
Of labour, that did from his liking balke, 
He would have slipt the coller handsomly, 
 And to him said: `Good Sir, full glad am I, 
To take what paines may anie living wight; 
But my late maymed limbs lack wonted might 
To doo their kindly services as needeth. 
Scarce this right hand the mouth with diet feedeth, 
So that it may no painfull worke endure, 
Ne to strong labour can it selfe enure: 
But if that anie other place you have, 
Which askes small paines, but thriftines to save, 
Or care to overlooke, or trust to gather, 
 Ye may me trust as your owne ghostly father.` 

      With that the husbandman gan him avize, 
That it for him were fittest exercise 
Cattell to keep, or grounds to oversee; 
And asked him, if he could willing bee 
 To keep his sheep, or to attend his swyne, 
Or watch his mares, or take his charge of kyne? 
`Gladly (said he) what ever such like paine 
Ye put on me, I will the same sustaine; 
But gladliest I of your fleecie sheepe 
 (Might it you please) would take on me the keep. 
For ere that unto armes I me betooke, 
Unto my fathers sheepe I usde to looke, 
That yet the skill thereof I have not loste: 
Thereto right well this Curdog, by my coste, 
 (Meaning the Foxe) will serve my sheepe to gather, 
And drive to follow after their Belwether.` 
The Husbandman was meanly well content 
Triall to make of his endevourment; 
And, home him leading, lent to him the charge 
 Of all his flocke, with libertie full large, 
Giving accompt of th` annuall increce 
Both of their lambes, and of their woolly fleece. 
Thus is this Ape become a shepheard swaine, 
And the false Foxe his dog (God give them paine!) 
 For ere the yeare have halfe his course out-run, 
And doo returne from whence he first begun, 
They shall him make an ill accompt of thrift. 
Now whenas Time, flying with winges swift, 
Expired had the terme, that these two javels 
 Should render up a reckning of their travels 
Unto their master, which it of them sought, 
Exceedingly they troubled were in thought, 
Ne wist what answere unto him to frame, 
Ne how to scape great punishment, or shame, 
For their false treason and vile theeverie: 
For not a lambe of all their flockes supply 
Had they to shew; but, ever as they bred, 
They slue them, and upon their fleshes fed; 
For that disguised Dog lov`d blood to spill, 
 And drew the wicked Shepheard to his will. 
So twixt them both they not a lambkin left, 
And when lambes fail`d the old sheepes lives they reft; 
That how t` acquite themselves unto their Lord 
They were in doubt, and flatly set abord. 
 The Foxe then counsel`d th` Ape for to require 
Respite till morrow t` answere his desire; 
For times delay new hope of helpe still breeds. 
The goodman granted, doubting nought their deeds, 
And bad next day that all should readie be: 
 But they more subtill meaning had than he; 
For the next morrowes meed they closely ment, 
For feare of afterclaps, for to prevent: 
And that same evening, when all shrowded were 
In careles sleep, they without care or feare 
 Cruelly fell upon their flock in folde, 
And of them slew at pleasure what they wolde. 
Of which whenas they feasted had their fill, 
For a full complement of all their ill, 
They stole away, and tooke their hastie flight, 
 Carried in clowdes of all-concealing night. 
      So was the husbandman left to his losse, 
And they unto their fortunes change to tosse: 

After which sort they wandered long while, 
Abusing manie through their cloaked guile, 
 That at the last they gan to be descryed 
Of everie one, and all their sleights espyed. 
So as their begging now them failed quyte, 
For none would give, but all men would them wyte: 
Yet would they take no paines to get their living, 
 But seeke some other way to gaine by giving, 
Much like to begging, but much better named, 
For manie beg which are thereof ashamed. 
And now the Foxe had gotten him a gowne, 
And th` Ape a cassocke sidelong hanging downe; 
 For they their occupation meant to change, 
And now in other state abroad to range: 
For, since their souldiers pas no better spedd, 
They forg`d another, as for Clerkes booke-redd. 
Who passing foorth, as their adventures fell, 
Through manie haps, which needs not here to tell,
At length chaunst with a formall Priest to meete, 
Whom they in civill manner first did greete, 
And after askt an almes for Gods deare love. 
The man straightway his choler up did move, 
 And with reproachfull tearmes gan them revile, 
For following that trade so base and vile; 
And askt what license, or what Pas they had? 
`Ah! (said the Ape, as sighing wondrous sad) 
Its an hard case, when men of good deserving 
 Must either driven be perforce to sterving, 
Or asked for their pas by everie squib, 
That list at will them to revile or snib: 
And yet (God wote) small oddes I often see 
Twixt them that aske, and them that asked bee. 
 Natheles, because you shall not us misdeeme, 
But that we are as honest as we seeme, 
Yee shall our pasport at your pleasure see; 
And then ye will (I hope) well mooved bee.` 
Which when the Priest beheld, he vew`d it nere, 
 As if therein some text he studying were, 
But little els (God wote) could thereof skill; 
For read he could not evidence, nor will, 
Ne tell a written word, ne write a letter, 
Ne make one title worse, ne make one better; 
 Of such deep learning little had he neede, 
Ne yet of Latine, ne of Greeke, that breede 
Doubts mongst Divines, and difference of texts, 
From whence arise diversitie of sects, 
And hatefull heresies, of God abhor`d: 
 But this good Sir did follow the plaine word, 
Ne medled with their controversies vaine; 
All his care was, his service well to saine, 
And to read Homelies upon holidayes; 
When that was done, he might attend his playes: 
 An easie life, and fit high God to please. 
      He, having overlookt their pas at ease, 
Gan at the length them to rebuke againe, 
That no good trade of life did entertaine, 
But lost their time in wandring loose abroad; 
 Seeing the world, in which they bootles boad, 
Had wayes enough for all therein to live; 
Such grace did God unto his creatures give. 
Said then the Foxe: `Who hath the world not tride, 
From the right way full eath may wander wide: 
 We are but Novices, new come abroad, 
We have not yet the tract of anie troad, 
Nor on us taken anie state of life, 
But readie are of anie to make preife. 
Therefore might please you, which the world have proved, 
 Us to advise, which forth but lately moved, 
Of some good course that we might undertake; 
Ye shall for ever us your bondmen make.` 
The Priest gan wexe halfe proud to be so praide, 
And thereby willing to affoord them aide; 
 `It seemes (said he) right well that ye be Clerks, 
Both by your wittie words, and by your werks. 
Is not that name enough to make a living 
To him that hath a whit of Natures giving? 
How manie honest men see ye arize 
 Daylie thereby, and grow to goodly prize; 
To Deanes, to Archdeacons, to Commissaries, 
To Lords, to Principalls, to Prebendaries? 
All jolly Prelates, worthie rule to beare, 
Who ever them envie: yet spite bites neare. 

 Why should ye doubt, then, but that ye likewise 
Might unto some of those in time arise? 
In the meane-time to live in good estate, 
Loving that love, and hating those that hate; 
Being some honest Curate, or some Vicker 
 Content with little in condition sicker.` 
`Ah, but (said th` Ape) the charge is wondrous great, 
To feed mens soules, and hath an heavie threat.` 
`To feede mens soules (quoth he) is not in man; 
For they must feed themselves, doo what we can. 
 We are but charg`d to lay the meate before: 
Eate they that list, we need to doo no more. 
But God it is that feedes them with his grace, 
The bread of life powr`d downe from heavenly place. 
Therefore said he, that with the budding rod 
Did rule the Jewes, All shalbe taught of God. 
That same hath Jesus Christ now to him raught, 
By whom the flock is rightly fed, and taught: 
He is the Shepheard, and the Priest is hee; 
We but his shepheard swaines ordain`d to bee. 
 Therefore herewith doo not your selfe dismay; 
Ne is the paines so great, but beare ye may, 
For not so great, as it was wont of yore, 
It`s now a dayes, ne halfe so streight and sore. 
They whilome used duly everie day 
 Their service and their holie things to say, 
At morne and even, besides their Anthemes sweete, 
Their penie Masses, and their Complynes meete, 
Their Diriges, their Trentals, and their shrifts, 
Their memories, their singings, and their gifts. 
 Now all those needlesse works are laid away; 
Now once a weeke, upon the Sabbath day, 
It is enough to doo our small devotion, 
And then to follow any merrie motion. 
Ne are we tyde to fast, but when we list; 
 Ne to weare garments base of wollen twist, 
But with the finest silkes us to aray, 
That before God we may appeare more gay, 
Resembling Aarons glorie in his place: 
For farre unfit it is, that person bace 
 Should with vile cloaths approach Gods majestie, 
Whom no uncleannes may approachen nie; 
Or that all men, which anie master serve, 
Good garments for their service should deserve; 
But he that serves the Lord of hoasts most high, 
 And that in highest place, t` approach him nigh, 
And all the peoples prayers to present 
Before his throne, as on ambassage sent 
Both too and fro, should not deserve to weare 
A garment better than of wooll or heare. 
 Beside, we may have lying by our sides 
Our lovely Lasses, or bright shining Brides: 
We be not tyde to wilfull chastitie, 
But have the Gospell of free libertie.` 

      By that he ended had his ghostly sermon, 
The Foxe was well induc`d to be a Parson, 
And of the Priest eftsoones gan to enquire, 
How to a Benefice he might aspire? 
`Marie, there (said the Priest) is arte indeed: 
Much good deep learning one thereout may reed; 
 For that the ground-worke is, and end of all, 
How to obtaine a Beneficiall. 
First, therefore, when he have in handsome wise 
Your selfe attyred, as you can devise, 
Then to some Noble-man your selfe applye, 
 Or other great one in the worldes eye, 
That hath a zealous disposition 
To God, and so to his religion. 
There must thou fashion eke a godly zeale, 
Such as no carpers may contrayre reveale; 
 For each thing fained ought more warie bee. 
There thou must walke in sober gravitee, 
And seeme as Saintlike as Saint Radegund: 
Fast much, pray oft, looke lowly on the ground, 
And unto everie one doo curtesie meeke: 
These lookes (nought saying) doo a benefice seeke, 
And be thou sure one not to lacke or long. 

But if thee list unto the Court to throng, 
And there to hunt after the hoped pray, 
Then must thou thee dispose another way: 
 For there thou needs must learne to laugh, to lie, 
To face, to forge, to scoffe, to companie, 
To crouche, to please, to be a beetle-stock 
Of thy great Masters will, to scorne, or mock. 
So maist thou chaunce mock out a Benefice, 
 Unlesse thou canst one conjure by device, 
Or cast a figure for a Bishoprick; 
And if one could, it were but a schoole trick. 
These be the wayes by which without reward 
Livings in Court be gotten, though full hard; 
 For nothing there is done without a fee: 
The Courtier needes must recompenced bee 
With a Benevolence, or have in gage 
The Primitias of your Parsonage: 
Scarse can a Bishoprick forpas them by, 
 But that it must be gelt in privitie. 
Doo not thou therefore seeke a living there, 
But of more private persons seeke elswhere, 
Whereas thou maist compound a better penie, 
Ne let thy learning question`d be of anie. 
 For some good Gentleman, that hath the right 
Unto his Church for to present a wight, 
Will cope with thee in reasonable wise; 
That if the living yerely doo arise 
To fortie pound, that then his yongest sonne 
 Shall twentie have, and twentie thou hast wonne: 
Thou hast it wonne, for it is of franke gift, 
And he will care for all the rest to shift, 
Both that the Bishop may admit of thee, 
And that therein thou maist maintained bee. 
 This is the way for one that is unlern`d 
Living to get, and not to be discern`d. 
But they, that are great Clerkes, have nearer wayes, 
For learning sake to living them to raise; 
Yet manie eke of them (God wote) are driven 
 T` accept a Benefice in pecces riven. 
How saist thou (friend) have I not well discourst 
Upon this Common-place, (though plaine, not wourst?) 
Better a short tale than a bad long shriving: 
Needes anie more to learne to get a living?` 
`Now sure, and by my hallidome, (quoth he) 
Ye a great master are in your degree: 
Great thankes I yeeld you for your discipline, 
And doo not doubt but duly to encline 
My wits theretoo, as ye shall shortly heare.` 
 The Priest him wisht good speed, and well to fare: 
So parted they, as eithers way them led. 
But th` Ape and Foxe ere long so well them sped, 
Through the Priests holesome counsell lately tought, 
And throgh their owne faire handling wisely wrought, 
 That they a Benefice twixt them obtained; 
And craftie Reynold was a Priest ordained, 
And th` Ape his Parish Clarke procur`d to bee. 
Then made they revell route and goodly glee; 
But, ere long time had passed, they so ill 
 Did order their affaires, that th` evill will 
Of all their Parishners they had constraind; 
Who to the Ordinarie of them complain`d, 
How fowlie they their offices abus`d, 
And them of crimes and heresies accus`d, 
 That Pursivants he often for them sent; 
But they neglected his commaundement. 
So long persisted obstinate and bolde, 
Till at the length he published to holde 
A Visitation, and them cyted thether: 
 Then was high time their wits about to geather. 
What did they then, but made a composition 
With their next neighbor Priest, for light condition, 
To whom their living they resigned quight 
For a few pence, and ran away by night. 
So passing through the Countrey in disguize, 
They fled farre off, where none might them surprize; 
And after that long straied here and there, 
Through everie field and forrest farre and nere, 
Yet never found occasion for their tourne, 
 But almost sterv`d did much lament and mourne. 
At last they chaunst to meete upon the way.

The Mule all deckt in goodly rich aray, 
With bells and bosses that full lowdly rung, 
And costly trappings that to ground downe hung. 
 Lowly they him saluted in meeke wise; 
But he through pride and fatnes gan despise 
Their meanesse; scarce vouchsafte them to requite. 
Whereat the Foxe, deep groning in his sprite, 
Said; `Ah! sir Mule, now blessed be the day, 
 That I see you so goodly and so gay 
In your attyres, and eke your silken hyde 
Fil`d with round flesh, that everie bone doth hide. 
Seemes that in fruitfull pastures ye doo live, 
Or fortune doth you secret favour give.` 
 `Foolish Foxe (said the Mule) thy wretched need 
Praiseth the thing that doth thy sorrow breed: 
For well I weene, thou canst not but envie 
My wealth, compar`d to thine owne miserie, 
That art so leane and meagre waxen late, 
 That scarse thy legs uphold thy feeble gate.` 
`Ay me! (said then the Foxe) whom evill hap 
Unworthy in such wretchednes doth wrap, 
And makes the scorne of other beasts to bee: 
But read (faire Sir, of grace) from whence come yee; 
 Or what of tidings you abroad doo heare? 
Newes may perhaps some good unweeting beare.` 
`From royall Court I lately came (said he) 
Where all the braverie that eye may see, 
And all the happinesse that heart desire, 
 Is to be found: he nothing can admire, 
That hath not seene that heavens portracture. 
But tidings there is none, I you assure, 
Save that which common is, and knowne to all, 
That Courtiers, as the tide, doo rise and fall.` 
 `But tell us (said the Ape) we doo you pray, 
Who now in Court doth beare the greatest sway, 
That, if such fortune doo to us befall, 
We make seeke favour of the best of all?` 
`Marie, (said he) the highest now in grace 
 Be the wilde beasts, that swiftest are in chase; 
For in their speedie course and nimble flight 
The Lyon now doth take the most delight; 
But chieflie joyes on foote them to beholde, 
Enchaste with chaine and circulet of golde. 
 So wilde a beast so tame ytaught to bee, 
And buxome to his bands, is joy to see; 
So well his golden Circlet him beseemeth. 
But his late chayne his Liege unmeete esteemeth; 
For so brave beasts she loveth best to see 
 In the wilde forrest raunging fresh and free. 
Therefore if fortune thee in Court to live, 
In ease thou ever there wilt hope to thrive, 
To some of these thou must thy selfe apply; 
Els as a thistle-downe in th` ayre doth flie, 
 So vainly shalt thou too and fro be tost, 
And loose thy labour and thy fruitles cost. 
And yet full few which follow them, I see, 
For vertues bare regard advaunced bee, 
But either for some gainfull benefit, 
 Or that they may for their owne turnes be fit. 
Nath`les perhaps ye things may handle soe, 
That ye may better thrive than thousands moe.` 

      `But (said the Ape) how shall we first come in, 
That after we may favour seeke to win?` 
 `How els (said he) but with a good bold face, 
And with big words, and with a stately pace, 
That men may thinke of you in generall, 
That to be in you which is not at all: 
For not by that which is, the world now deemeth, 
 (As it was wont) but by that same that seemeth. 
Ne do I doubt but that ye well can fashion 
Your selves theretoo, according to occasion. 
So fare ye well; good Courtiers may ye bee!` 

So, proudlie neighing, from them parted hee. 
 Then gan this craftie couple to devize, 
How for the Court themselves they might aguize; 
For thither they themselves meant to addresse, 
In hope to finde there happier successe. 
So well they shifted, that the Ape anon 
 Himselfe had cloathed like a Gentleman, 
And the slie Foxe, as like to be his groome, 
That to the Court in seemly sort they come; 
Where the fond Ape, himselfe uprearing by 
Upon his tiptoes, stalketh stately by, 
 As if he were some great Magnifico, 
And boldlie doth amongst the boldest go; 
And his man Reynold, with fine counter-fesaunce, 
Supports his credite and his countenaunce. 
Then gan the Courtiers gaze on everie side, 
 And stare on him, with big lookes basen wide, 
Wondring what mister wight he was, and whence: 
For he was clad in strange accoustrements, 
Fashion`d with queint devises, never seene 
In Court before, yet there all fashions beene; 
 Yet he them in newfanglenesse did pas. 
But his behaviour altogether was 
Alla Turchesa, much the more admyr`d; 
And his lookes loftie, as if he aspyr`d 
To dignitie, and sdeign`d the low degree; 
 That all which did such strangenesse in him see 
By secrete meanes gan of his state enquire, 
And privily his servant thereto hire: 
Who, throughly arm`d against such coverture, 
Reported unto all, that he was sure 
 A noble Gentleman of high regard, 
Which through the world had with long travel far`d, 
And seene the manners of all beasts on ground; 
Now here arriv`d, to see if like he found. 

      Thus did the Ape at first him credit gaine, 
 Which afterwards he wisely did maintaine 
With gallant showe, and daylie more augment 
Through his fine feates and Courtly complement; 
For he could play, and daunce, and vaute, and spring, 
And all that els pertaines to reveling, 
 Onely through kindly aptnes of his joynts. 
Besides, he could doo manie other poynts, 
The which in Court served to good stead; 
For he mongst Ladies could their fortunes read 
Out of their hands, and merie leasings tell, 
And juggle finely, that became him well. 
But he so light was at legierdemaine, 
That what he toucht came not to light againe; 
Yet would he laugh it out, and proudly looke, 
And tell them that they greatly him mistooke. 
 So would he scoffe them out with mockerie, 
For he therein had great felicitie; 
And with sharp quips joy`d others to deface, 
Thinking that their disgracing did him grace: 
So whilst that other like vaine wits he pleased, 
 And made to laugh, his heart was greatly eased. 
But the right gentle minde woulde bite his lip, 
To heare the Javell so good men to nip; 
For, though the vulgar yeeld an open eare, 
And common Courtiers love to gybe and fleare 
 At everie thing which they heare spoken ill, 
And the best speaches with ill meaning spill, 
Yet the brave Courtier, in whose beauteous thought 
Regard of honour harbours more than ought, 
Doth loath such base condition, to backbite 
 Anies good name for envie or despite: 
He stands on tearmes of honourable minde, 
Ne will be carried with the common winde 
Of Courts inconstant mutabilitie, 
Ne after everie tattling fable flie; 
 But heares and sees the follies of the rest, 
And thereof gathers for himselfe the best. 
He will not creepe, nor crouche with fained face, 
But walkes upright with comely stedfast pace, 
And unto all doth yeeld due curtesie; 
 But not with kissed hand belowe the knee, 
As that same Apish erne is wont to doo: 
For he disdaines himselfe t` embase theretoo. 

He hates fowle leasings, and vile flatterie, 
Two filthie blots in noble gentrie; 
 And lothefull idlenes he doth detest, 
The canker worme of everie gentle brest; 
The which to banish with faire exercise 
Of knightly feates, he daylie doth devise: 
Now menaging the mouthes of stubborne steedes, 
 Now practising the proofe of warlike deedes, 
Now his bright armes assaying, now his speare, 
Now the nigh aymed ring away to beare. 
At other times he casts to sew the chace 
Of swift wilde beasts, or runne on foote a race, 
 T` enlarge his breath, (large breath in armes most needfull) 
Or els by wrestling to wex strong and heedfull, 
Or his stiffe armes to stretch with Eughen bowe, 
And manly legs, still passing too and fro, 
Without a gowned beast him fast beside, 
 A vaine ensample of the Persian pride; 
Who, after he had wonne th` Assyrian foe, 
Did ever after scorne on foote to goe. 

      Thus when this Courtly Gentleman with toyle 
Himselfe hath wearied, he doth recoyle 
 Unto his rest, and there with sweete delight 
Of Musicks skill revives his toyled spright; 
Or els with Loves, and Ladies gentle sports, 
The joy of youth, himselfe he recomforts; 
Or lastly, when the bodie list to pause, 
 His minde unto the Muses he withdrawes: 
Sweete Ladie Muses, Ladies of delight, 
Delights of life, and ornaments of light! 
With whom he close confers with wise discourse, 
Of Natures workes, of heavens continuall course, 
 Of forreine lands, of people different, 
Of kingdomes change, of divers gouvernment, 
Of dreadfull battailes of renowmed Knights; 
With which he kindleth his ambitious sprights 
To like desire and praise of noble fame, 
 The onely upshot whereto he doth ayme: 
For all his minde on honour fixed is, 
To which he levels all his purposis, 
And in his Princes service spends his dayes, 
Not so much for to gaine, or for to raise 
 Himselfe to high degree, as for his grace, 
And in his liking to winne worthie place, 
Through due deserts and comely carriage, 
In whatso please employ his personage, 
That may be matter meete to gaine him praise: 
 For he is fit to use in all assayes, 
Whether for Armes and warlike amenaunce, 
Or else for wise and civill governaunce. 
For he is practiz`d well in policie, 
And thereto doth his Courting most applie: 
 To learne the enterdeale of Princes strange, 
To marke th` intent of Counsells, and the change 
Of states, and eke of private men somewhile, 
Supplanted by fine falshood and faire guile; 
Of all the which he gathereth what is fit 
 T` enrich the storehouse of his powerfull wit, 
Which through wise speaches and grave conference 
He daylie eekes, and brings to excellence. 
 
     Such is the rightfull Courtier in his kinde, 
But unto such the Ape lent not his minde: 
 Such were for him no fit companions, 
Such would descrie his lewd conditions; 
But the yong lustie gallants he did chose 
To follow, meete to whom he might disclose 
His witlesse pleasance, and ill pleasing vaine. 
 A thousand wayes he them could entertaine, 
With all the thriftles games that may be found; 
With mumming and with masking all around, 
With dice, with cards, with balliards farre unfit 
With shuttelcocks, misseeming manlie wit, 
 With courtizans, and costly riotize, 
Whereof still somewhat to his share did rize: 
Ne, them to pleasure, would he sometimes scorne 
A Pandares coate (so basely was he borne). 
Thereto he could fine loving verses frame, 
 And play the Poet oft. But ah! for shame, 
Let not sweete Poets praise, whose onely pride 
Is virtue to advaunce, and vice deride, 
Ne with the works of losels wit defamed, 
Ne let such verses Poetrie be named! 

 Yet he the name on him would rashly take, 
Maugre the sacred Muses, and it make 
A servant to the vile affection 
Of such, as he depended most upon; 
And with the sugrie sweete thereof allure 
Chast Ladies eares to fantasies impure. 

      To such delights the noble wits he led 
Which him reliev`d, and their vaine humours fed 
With fruitles follies and unsound delights. 
But if perhaps into their noble sprights 
Desire of honor or brave thought of armes 
Did ever creepe, then with his wicked charmes 
And strong conceipts he would it drive away, 
Ne suffer it to house there halfe a day. 
And whenso love of letters did inspire 
 Their gentle wits, and kindle wise desire, 
That chieflie doth each noble minde adorne, 
Then he would scoffe at learning, and eke scorne 
The Sectaries thereof, as people base 
And simple men, which never came in place 
 Of worlds affaires, but, in darke corners mewd, 
Muttred of matters as their bookes them shewd, 
Ne other knowledge ever did attaine, 
But with their gownes their gravitie maintaine. 
From them he would his impudent lewde speach 
 Against Gods holie Ministers oft reach, 
And mocke Divines and their profession. 
What else then did he by progression, 
But mocke high God himselfe, whom they professe? 
But what car`d he for God, or godlinesse? 
 All his care was himselfe how to advaunce, 
And to uphold his courtly countenaunce 
By all the cunning meanes he could devise: 
Were it by honest wayes, or otherwise, 
He made small choyce; yet sure his honestie 
 Got him small gaines, but shameles flatterie, 
And filthie brocage, and unseemly shifts, 
And borowe base, and some good Ladies gifts: 
But the best helpe, which chiefly him sustain`d, 
Was his man Raynolds purchase which he gain`d. 
 For he was school`d by kinde in all the skill 
Of close conveyance, and each practise ill 
Of coosinage and cleanly knaverie, 
Which oft maintain`d his masters braverie. 
Besides, he usde another slipprie slight, 
 In taking on himselfe, in common sight, 
False personages fit for everie sted, 
With which he thousands cleanly coosined: 
Now like a Merchant, Merchants to deceave, 
With whom his credite he did often leave 
 In gage for his gay Masters hopelesse dett: 
Now like a Lawyer, when he land would lett, 
Or sell fee-simples in his Masters name, 
Which he had never, nor ought like the same. 
Then would he be a Broker, and draw in 
 Both wares and money, by exchange to win: 
Then would he seeme a Farmer, that would sell 
Bargaines of woods, which he did lately fell, 
Or corne, or cattle, or such other ware, 
Thereby to coosin men not well aware: 
 Of all the which there came a secret fee, 
To th` Ape, that he his countenaunce might bee. 
 
     Besides all this, he us`d oft to beguile 
Poore suters, that in Court did haunt some while; 
For he would learne their busines secretly, 
 And then informe his Master hastely, 
That he by meanes might cast them to prevent, 
And beg the sute the which the other ment. 
Or otherwise false Reynold would abuse 
The simple Suter, and wish him to chuse 
 His Master, being one of great regard 
In Court, to compas anie sute not hard, 
In case his paines were recompenst with reason. 
So would he worke the silly man by treason 
To buy his Masters frivolous good will, 
 That had not power to doo him good or ill. 
So pitifull a thing is Suters state! 
Most miserable man, whom wicked fate 
Hath brought to Court, to sue for had ywist, 
That few have found, and manie one hath mist! 
 Full little knowest thou, that hast not tride, 
What hell it is in suing long to bide: 
To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; 
To wast long nights in pensive discontent; 
To speed to day, to be put back to morrow; 

To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow; 
To have thy Princes grace, yet want her Peeres; 
To have thy asking, yet waite manie yeeres; 
To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares; 
To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires; 
 To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne, 
To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne. 
Unhappie wight, borne to desastrous end, 
That doth his life in so long tendance spend! 
 
     Who ever leaves sweete home, where meane estate 
 In safe assurance, without strife or hate, 
Findes all things needfull for contentment meeke, 
And will to Court for shadowes vaine to seeke, 
Or hope to gaine, himselfe will a daw trie: 
That curse God send unto mine enemie! 
 For none but such as this bold Ape, unblest, 
Can ever thrive in that unluckie quest; 
Or such as hath a Reynold to his man, 
That by his shifts his Master furnish can. 
But yet this Foxe could not so closely hide 
 His craftie feates, but that they were descride 
At length by such as sate in justice seate, 
Who for the same him fowlie did entreate; 
And having worthily him punished, 
Out of the Court for ever banished. 
 And now the Ape wanting his huckster man, 
That wont provide his necessaries, gan 
To growe into great lacke, ne could upholde 
His countenance in those his garments olde; 
Ne new ones could he easily provide, 
 Though all men him uneased gan deride, 
Like as a Puppit placed in a play, 
Whose part once past all men bid take away: 
So that he driven was to great distresse, 
And shortly brought to hopelesse wretchednesse. 
 Then, closely as he might, he cast to leave 
The Court, not asking any passe or leave; 
But ran away in his rent rags by night, 
Ne ever stayd in place, ne spake to wight, 
Till that the Foxe, his copesmate he had found, 
 To whome complayning his unhappy stound, 
At last againe with him in travell joynd, 
And with him far`d some better chaunce to fynde. 
 
     So in the World long time they wandered, 
And mickle want and hardnesse suffered; 
 That them repented much so foolishly 
To come so farre to seeke for misery, 
And leave the sweetnes of contented home, 
Though eating hipps, and drinking watry fome. 
Thus as they them complayned too and fro, 
Whilst through the forest rechlesse they did goe, 950 
Lo! where they spide, how, in a gloomy glade, 
The Lyon sleeping lay in secret shade, 
His Crowne and Scepter lying him beside, 
And having doft for heate his dreadfull hide: 
 Which when they sawe, the Ape was sore afrayde, 
And would have fled with terror all dismayde. 
But him the Foxe with hardy words did stay, 
And bad him put all cowardize away: 
For now was time (if ever they would hope) 
 To ayme their counsels to the fairest scope, 
And them for ever highly to advaunce, 
In case the good, which their owne happie chaunce 
Them freely offred, they would wisely take. 
Scarse could the Ape yet speake, so did he quake; 
 Yet, as he could, he askt how good might growe 
Where nought but dread and death do seeme in show? 
`Now, (sayd he) whiles the Lyon sleepeth sound, 
May we his Crowne and Mace take from the ground, 
And eke his skinne, the terror of the wood, 
 Wherewith we may our selves (if we thinke good) 
Make Kings of Beasts, and Lords of forests all 
Subject unto that powre imperiall.` 
`Ah! but (sayd the Ape) who is so bold a wretch, 
That dare his hardy hand to those outstretch, 
 When as he knowes his meede, if he be spide, 
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