%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> Churchyardes farewell Churchyard, Thomas University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1566-1566 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/30/2012 32149

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

S121729 AS witte is neuer good / till it bee deerly bought: Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 18284 Churchyardes farewell Churchyardes farewell Churchyard's farewell Churchyard, Thomas 1566-1566 Edwarde Russell

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AS witte is never good till it bee deerely bought: So freends untill their truth be tride, may passe for thinges of nought. For freendship all in woordes, a kinde of flattringe is. And if I thinke my woorthiest freende may be abusde by this, I ought in plaine flat termes to shewe him what I thinke, And blaze the meaninge of my minde by paper, pen, and Inke. Because the doores be barde, where my good will should pas: And buzzinge Bees do creepe in place, where Churcheyards credite was. The fowlers mery pype betraies the careles byrde: And fleeringe fawners lye in waite, to geeve their freends a gyrde. When fortune turnes hir face, beware the Syrenes songe: Beware the busie Clawbackes fine whose freendship lastes not longe. Thinke you the flyes doo flocke aboute the fleashe in vaine? Dooth not the Bee seeke out the flower some hony there to gayne? Doo courtiers all for love, approche the princes gates? Dooth plainnesse in these double daies, repaire to great estates? No sure in maskinge robes goeth mischiefe muffled nowe: And subtile sleightes with snakish stings, doo lodge in smilinge browe. And your affections blinde, hath you bewitched so, Ye have no power to finde your freendes, nor to descerne your fo. Ye fill the fleesinge fistes, and let the needie lacke: And sharpe their teeth whose crafty tungs can byte behinde your backe. I pray you tell me now, if hap woulde let you slyde, How many would through thick & thinne for love with you abide? Perhaps a heape of suche could hungry hangers on, Whose nature geves the courte a fygge when worldly hap is gon. Can you not see the cause, that bringes them swarminge in? And where the wheele of Fortune swayes, the worlde favour winne? Had not your elders wise, good triall of suche trashe? Did you not see what woorthy wittes at length were lefte in lashe: By trustinge some to farre, and heapinge hope in those That seemed freends to outwarde sight, and yet were secrete foes? O let me licence have to painte these pecocks out, Whose fethers wavereth with the winde and so turnes taile aboute: Yet flicker with their winges, to faune the face awhile, Untill their sodaine flight they take, and so their freends beguile.
What should we judge of them, that stare in faces still: Where lo, for all their curtsie great, they beare but small good will. And where they seldome come, but when some sute they have: They make a signe to see my Lorde, yet seeke by sleight to crave. What makes them watch their howres, and thrust in thickest preest. It is for freendship that they beare unto a certaine lease. My Lorde must helpe to get, now crowche and kneele they all: Now stand they up like sainctes in shrine, or nayld against a wall? Now figge they here and there, as thornes were in their heeles Now trudge aboute these whirlegigges, as worlde did runne on wheeles. Now cast they freendly lookes, all over the chambers gaye. Now geve they place as God were there, now turne they every waye. Now talke they trimme in printe, and prate of Robin hood: Much like the knightes of Arthers courte, that knew full well their good. Some through a finer meane, doo creepe in credites lappe: And vale their bonettes by devise, as favour folowed cappe. Suche Juglers bleare your eies, and smile within their sleeve: When honour in his harmles moode Dooth best of them beleeve. Were you but once a daye, in simple servauntes place, And like a looker on ye stoode, to prie upon this case: Then should ye throughly see, who plaies the wily foxe: And how the Wolfe can frame himselfe, to draw in yoke like oxe. Then shoulde the mufled men, shew foorth their faces bare And therby noble hartes shoulde learne to knowe what flatterers are. The glory of your state, heaves up your hed so hie: That many thinges doo scape your vewe, whiche we see full with eye. And who is now so bolde, that dare flat warninge geve, To suche as in toppe of pompe, or princely plasures lyve. I muse what new founde chaunce, hath so disguisde the state That men oft times for speakyng plaine, doo purchace endlesse hate. Whilest fraude and fained cheere dooth evell honour feede: And noman dare a plaister geve, to heale the wounde in deede: Full fickle shall you walke, and never wante disease. They should be banisht from your courte that are so glad to please With twittell twatlyng tales. The truth like larm bell. Should shortly sounde in tender eares and learne you to doo well.
But sure the sweetest nuttes doo noorishe woormes apace, And flatterers of the finest stampe, in courte have finest place. I am to plaine therefore, my penne hath drunke to muche? An alie hed makes idle hande, the quicke to neere to touche. Nay, nay, some one must speake, although the vice it bee: Or els the play were done ye wot, then Lordinges pardon mee. For free of every Hance I thanke the gods I am, And serves no turne but for a vice, since first to courte I came. To make the Ladies laugh, that leades the retchles lives Who late, or never woodcocke like at later Lammas thrives. Yet if the foole had gotte, at his departinge thence A night cap, or a motley coate, or els some spendinge pence. It had bene well enough: but nothinge there I founde For nothinge from their budgets fell they were so straitly bounde. Ye lie sir Daw in deede, canst thou so longe be there But needes must fall into thy handes, some paringe of the peare? A hungry paringe Lorde he hath that there doth weight: He watcheth like a greedy hounde that standeth at receight: That oft for lacke of game, runnes home his panche to fill Or sterves in forest or in parke, at least at kepers will. Looke what to courte he brought it is consumed and gone And there the fleash of every jointe, is worne unto the bone. The carraine crowes of Cheape in steyng bones so bare Would clap the fell in counter too, to breede him further care. Nay fie on such good hap, on Souldiers faith I sweare: To sell the Courte and Cittie bothe, and he that takes me there. Let him cut of mine eares, and slitte my nose aright And make a curtoll of the beast, that hath a hed so light. To linger out my yeeres for moone shine in the well A hood, a hood, for such a foole, a bable and a bell. A coxcombe is to good for such a calfe I trow. As of my Lorde my leave I take, so now againe I go. Where fortune shall assigne, my staffe to light or fall. And thus I know a truer freende, was not amonge them all. Then to my power I was, to you and all your race Nor unto whome I dayly wishe, more blesse happe and grace.
FINIS. quod Churchyarde. Printed in Fleetestreete, for Edwarde Russell.