PASQVILS MADCAP.  
And his Message.  
LONDON Printed by V. S. for Thomas bushel, and are to be sold at his shop at the great North door of Paul's. 1600.   

To the Reader.  
WHAT you are that read this I know not, and how you like it I greatly care not; the honest will keep their condition in spite of the devil▪ and for them that are of the four and twenty Orders, God amend them for I cannot: what I have written was in a mad humour, and so I hope by your reading you will imagine: a gallde hackeney will winch if he hear but the noise of a Currycomb, while a better horse will abide dressing and be quiet: call a fool a fool, and he will either cry or scratch; and yet an Ox cannot hide his horns though he were clad in a bears skin. To be short, I wish well to all honest professions; I honour the Soldier, I reverence the Divine, I commend the Lawyer, and I observe the Courtier: The Merchant I hold a man of worth, the Farmer a rich fellow, the Craftesman no fool, and the labourer worthy his hire; but sor the Beggar, he dwells so near my door, that I am weary of his company: and therefore let Soldiers march, Divines preach, Lawyers plead, merchants traffic, craftsmen follow their trade, and Workmen take pains, Fencers play, and Players thrive, I say nothing to them all, but when they go well to work, God speed the plough: he that cannot abide the wether, let him lay by his feather; the Wise will live in his Wisdom, and the fool will die in his folly, of which number hoping you are none, I leave my labour to your pleasure, to consider of as your patience will give you leave, and so rest, your friend.   

PASQVILS Madcappe.  

WHy should Man love this wretched world so much▪  
In which is nothing but all worse than nought?  
Shadows, and shows of things are nothing such,  
While strong illusions have too weak a thought,  
With wicked humours too much over wrought,  
The witch of Will, and overthrow of Wit,  
Where graceless sins do in their glory sit.   

Beauty is but a Babies looking glass,  
While Money eats into the Miser's heart,  
And guarded Pride, all like a golden Ass,  
Makes Lechery lay open every part:  
Sloth lies and sleeps, and fears no waking smart,  
While froth and fat in drunken gluttony,  
The venom show of nature's villainy.   

Patience is counted but a Poet's fancy,  
While Wrath keeps reaks in every wicked place,  
And fretting Envy fallen into a franzie,  
While tyrant Murder treads a bloody trace,  
And blessed Pity dare not show her face,  
Pride, Power, and Pence march in such battle ray,  
As bears down all that comes within their way.   

The wealthy Rascal be he ne'er so base,  
Filthy▪ ill-favoured, ugly to behold,  
Mowle-eie, Plaise-mouth, Dogges-tooth, and Camels face,  
Blind▪ dumb and deaf, diseased, rotten, old▪  
Yet, if he have the coffers full of gold,  
He shall have reverence, curtsy, cap, and knee,  
And worship, like a man of high degree.   

He shall have Ballads written in his praise,  
Books dedicated unto his patronage,  
Wits working for his pleasure many ways,  
Petigrees sought to mend his parentage,  
And linked perhaps in noble marriage,  
He shall have all that this vile world can give him,  
That into Pride, the devils mouth may drive him.   

If he can speak, his words are Oracles,  
If he can see, his eyes are spectacles,  
If he can hear, his ears are miracles,  
If he can stand, his legs are pinnacles:  
Thus in the rules of Reason's obstacles,  
If he be but a beast in shape and nature,  
Yet, give him wealth he is a goodly creature.   

But be a man of ne'er so good a mind,  
As fine a shape as Nature can devise:  
Virtuous, and gracious, comely, wise, and kind,  
Valiant, well given, full of good qualities,  
And almost free from Fancies vanities:  
Yet let him want this filthy worldly dross,  
He shall be sent but to the Beggars Crosse.   

The fool will scoff him, and the knave abuse him,  
And every Rascal in his kind disgrace him,  
Acquaintance leave him, and his friends refuse him,  
And every dog will from his door displace him:  
Oh this vile world will seek so to deface him,  
That until death do come for to relieve him,  
He shall have nothing here but that may grieve him.   

If he have Pence to purchase pretty things,  
She that doth loath him will dissemble love,  
While the poor man his heart with sorrow wrings,  
To see how Want doth women's love remove,  
And make a jack Daw of a turtle-dove:  
If he be rich, worlds serve him for his pelf,  
If he be poor, he may go serve himself.   

If he be rich, although his nose do run.  
His lips do slaver, and his breath do stink,  
He shall have napkins fair and finely spun,  
Pills for the rheum, and such perfumed drink,  
As were he blind, he shall not seem to wink:  
Yea let him cough, halke, spit, and fart, and piss,  
If he be wealthy, nothing is amiss.   

But with his pence, if he have got him power,  
Then half a God, that is, more half a Devil,  
Then Pride must teach him how to look as sour,  
As Beldames milk that turned with her snevill,  
While the poor man that little thinketh evil,  
Though nobly borne shall fear the Beggar's frown,  
And creep and crouch unto a filthy Clown.   

Oh, he that wants this wicked cankered Coin,  
May fret to death before he find relief,  
But if he have the cunning to purloin,  
And ease the Beggar of his biting grief,  
Although perhaps he play the privy thief:  
It is no matter if the bags be full,  
Well fares the wit that makes the world a Gull.   

The Chuff that sits and champes upon his chaff,  
May have his Malkin kiss him like a mare:  
And on his Barne-dore-threshold lie and laugh▪  
To see the Swaggrer with the Beggar's share,  
Follow the Hounds, till he hath caught the Hare:  
Oh▪ 'tis the purse that guilds the bullocks horn,  
And makes the Shrew to laugh the sheep to scorn.   

Who hath not seen a loggerheaded Ass,  
That hath no more wit than an old joined stool,  
Prinking himself before a Looking-glass,  
And set a face as though he were no fool,  
When he that well might set the calf to school.  
Must be attentive to the Ganders keake,  
Or give a plaudit, when the Goose doth speak▪   

Let but a Dunce, a Dizzard, or a Dolt  
Get him a welted gown, a satin coat,  
Then though at random he do shoot his bolt,  
By telling of an idle tale by rote,  
Where Wisdom finds not one good word to note:  
Yea, though he can but grunde like a swine,  
Yet to the eight wise men he shall be nine.   

But, for a poor man, be he ne'er so wise,  
Grounded in rules of Wit and Reason's grace,  
And in his speeches never so precise,  
To put no word out of Discretions place,  
Yet shall you see, in shutting up the case,  
A peasant sloven with the purses sleight▪  
Will hum and hah him quite out of conceit.   

Look on a soldier that hath bravely served,  
And with discretion can direct a camp,  
If he have nothing for himself reseru'de,  
To warm his joints when he hath got the Cramp,  
He shall have little Oil unto his Lamp,  
But in a jacket and a pair of broags,  
Go pass among the company of rogues.   

But if he can make money of his men,  
And his Lieutenant to supply his place,  
Although the Cock be of a Craven hen,  
And dare not meet a Capon in the face,  
Yet if he can be guarded with gold lace,  
And swear and swagger with a silver sword,  
Who would not fear a stab for a foul word?   

And yet this swappes, that never bloodied sword,  
Is but a coward, brave it as he list:  
And though he swear and stare to keep his word,  
He will but lose his Armour in the Lift,  
Or take the Cuff, and kindly kiss the fist:  
Stolen honour is a jest of Chivalry,  
And unto valour open injury.   

While he that ventures, lands, and, goods, and life,  
To show the virtue of a valiant heart,  
And leaves his house, his children, and his wife,  
And from his country's quiet will depart,  
To pass the pikes of Dangers deadly smart:  
He is the soldier, be he near so poor,  
May write Disgrace upon the coward's door.   

But for the Lords and Generals of fields,  
The Sergeant, majors▪ Colonels and such,  
Marshals and Captains, that in virtues shields,  
Do bear the truth of Valour's honours touch,  
In good of them I cannot say too much,  
If all their armour were of pearl and gold,  
That by desert the due of knighthood hold.   

Take an odd Vicar in a village town,  
That only prays for plenty and for peace,  
If he can get him but a thread bare gown,  
And tithe a Pig, and eat a Goose in grease,  
And set his hand unto his neighbour's lease,  
And bid the Clerk on Sundays ring the bell,  
He is a churchman fits the parish well.   

But if he get a Benefice of worth,  
That may maintain good hospitality,  
And in the pulpit bring a figure forth,  
Of Faith and Works with a formality,  
And tell a knave of an ill quality,  
If with his preaching he can fill the purse,  
He is a good man, God send near a worse.   

But yet this simple idle headed Ass,  
That scarce hath learned to spell the Hebrew names,  
Sir john Lacke-latine with a face of brass,  
Who all by rote his poor collations frames,  
And after service falls to alehouse games,  
How ere his wit may give the fool the lurch,  
He is not fit to govern in the church.   

While he that spends the labour of his youth,  
But in the book of the Eternal bliss,  
And can and will deliver but the truth,  
In which the hope of highest comfort is,  
That cannot lead the faithful soul amiss:  
However so his state of wealth decline,  
Deserves the title of the true divine.   

I do not speak of Bishops nor of Deans,  
Nor learned doctors in Divinity,  
For they are men that rise by godly means,  
Who with the world have no affinity,  
But in the worship of the Trinity,  
Their times, their brains▪ their loves, and lives do spend,  
To gain the honour that shall never end.   

Take but a Peti-fogger in the Law,  
That scarce a line of Littleton hath read,  
If he hath learned the cunning how to claw  
His Clients back, and bring a fool to bed,  
With beating toys and trifles in his head,  
His golden fees will get him such a grace,  
A better Lawyer shall not cross his case.   

But be a poor man never so well read,  
In all the quirks and quiddittes of Law,  
And beat his brains, and weary out his head,  
Till he have proved a Dunce to be a Daw,  
Yet will his skill be held not worth a straw:  
And he perhaps in pleading of his case,  
With flouts and scoffs be shouldered out of place.   

But let that piddling peti-fogging jack,  
That fain would seem a Lawyer at the jest,  
Be near so busy in a beggar's pack,  
And light upon the card that likes him best,  
Yet shall you see in setting up his rest,  
In all the game whoso do loose or save,  
His trick will always fall upon the Knave.   

While he that hath the honest Case in hand,  
And learnedly can judge twixt right and wrong,  
And doth upon the care of conscience stand,  
And knows that Sorrow's the afflict song,  
Bids justice not the poor man's grief prolong,  
But hateth Bribes to hear the Truth approved,  
He is the Lawyer worthy to be loved.   

But for the Lords and judges of the Law,  
They look into the Matter, not the Men:  
They know the metal if they see the flaw,  
And judge the marish if they see the Fen:  
They know both what, and how, and where, and when,  
And are as gods on earth to the distressed,  
To give the right, and see the wrong redressed▪   

But for our gentle justices of peace,  
That but the chair of Charity do keep,  
By whose great wisdom many quarrels cease,  
And honest people do in quiet sleep,  
While their command both watch and ward doth keep:  
I say no more, but God preserve their health,  
They are good members in a Commonwealth▪   

Say, Coin can make a Painter draw face, a  
He cannot give it life do what he can:  
And though that Coin can give an outward grace,  
It cannot make a knave an honest man,  
It cannot turn the cat so in the pan:  
But he that hath his eyes may easily find,  
The difference twixt the body and the mind.   

Take him that is disfigured in the face,  
And worse in mind, and every where to blame,  
He shall be but the subject of Disgrace:  
How ever Fortune do his shadow frame,  
And in loves triumph but a laughing game:  
For never Mastiff cur will be a Beagle,  
Nor ever Owl will grow to be an Eagle.   

Look on a fellow with a filthy face,  
Snow on his head, and frost upon his beard,  
And every where so furnished with disgrace,  
As well might make a silly fool afeard,  
And like a Smith with sea-coal all befmeard,  
Yet if he have his working tool of gold,  
Venus will help to strike, if Vulcan hold.   

Let but a fellow in a fox-furrde gown,  
A greasy nightcap, and a driveled beard,  
Grow but the Bailiff of a fisher town,  
And have a matter fore him to be heard,  
Will not his frown make half a street afeard?  
Yea, and the greatest Codshead gape, for fear  
He shall be swallowed by the ugly bear.   

Look but on Beggars going to the Stocks,  
How mass Constable can march before them,  
And while the Beadle maketh fast the locks,  
How bravely he can knave them, and be-whore them,  
And not afford one word of pity for them,  
When it may be, poor honest silly people,  
Must make the Church make curtsy to the Steeple.   

Note but the Beadle of a beggar's spital,  
How (in his place) he can himself advance,  
And will not of his Title lose a tittle,  
If any matters come in variance,  
To try the credit of his countenance:  
For whatsoever the poor beggars say,  
His is the word must carry all away.   

Why let a beggar but on cockhorse sit,  
Will he not ride like an ill-favoured king?  
And will it not amaze a poor man's wit,  
That Cuckoos teach the Nightingale to sing?  
Oh, this same wealth is such a wicked thing,  
'twill teach an Owl (in time) to speak true Latin,  
And make a Friar forswear our Lady's Mattine.   

Take but a peasant newly from the Cart,  
That only lives by Puddings, Beans, and Pease,  
Who never learned any other art,  
But how to drive his cattle to the Leas,  
And after work, to sit and take his ease:  
Yet put this Ass into a golden hide,  
He shall be Groom unto a handsome Bride.   

Take but a Rascal with a roguish pate,  
Who can but only keep a counting book,  
Yet if his reckoning grow to such a rate,  
That he can angle for the golden hook,  
How ever so the matter be mistook,  
If he can clearly cover his deceit,  
He may be held a man of deep conceit.   

Find out a villain, borne and bred a knave,  
That never knew where Honesty became,  
A drunken rascal, and a dogged slave,  
That all his wits to wickedness doth frame,  
And only lives in infamy and shame,  
Yet let him tincke upon the golden Pan,  
His word may pass yet for an honest man.   

Why take a Fiddler but with half an eye,  
Who never knew if Ela were a Note,  
And can but play a Round, or Hey-de-gey▪  
And that perhaps he only hath by rote,  
Which now and then may hap to get a groat,  
Yet if his Crowd be set with silver Studs,  
The other Minstrels may go chew their cuddes.   

Give mistress Fumkins john Anods his wife,  
The filthiest quean in fifteen country towns,  
Who never had good thought in all her life,  
But one fringde Kertle, and two worsted Gowns,  
And fill her leather powch with a few crowns,  
She shall have more fine suitors for her marish,  
Than all the fairest maidens in the parish.   

Old Gillian Turne-tripe jack an Apes his Trull,  
That scarce can chew a piece of new made cheese,  
Swelled with the dropsy, foul, and farting-full,  
With feeding on the fat of Scullens fees,  
Yet if she have the golden honey bees,  
She shall be kept as cleanly, fine, and fresh,  
As if she were a sweeter piece of flesh.   

Let prinking Parnell with a pair of thumbs,  
That well might serve a Miller's tolling dish,  
Who thicks her porridge but with brown bread crumbs,  
And never card for butter to her fish,  
Have but the metal of the Miser's wish,  
Twenty to one but she shall quickly marry,  
When finer wenches will be like to tarry.   

Look on old Bettresse with her beetle brows,  
Begot betwixt a Tinkar and his Tibbe,  
And, but of late a silly cobblers spouse,  
If she have played the thrifty prowling scribbe,  
To purchase Grass to grease the bullocks rib,  
She shall be fed with fine and dainty fare,  
And wooed and wedded, ere she be aware.   

But for a poor wench, be she ne'er so fair,  
Gracious, and virtuous, wise, and nobly borne,  
And worthy well to sit in honours chair,  
Yet if her kertle, or her gown be torn,  
All her good gifts shall be but held in scorn:  
And she (poor soul) in sorrow and disgrace,  
Be forced to give a filthy baggage place.   

So that by all these consequents I see,  
It is the Money makes or mars the man,  
And yet where judges will indifferent be,  
The Hobby-horse best fits Maid- Marrian,  
While greedy dogs may lick the dripping pan:  
For though that Money may do many things,  
Yet Virtue makes the truest Queens and Kings▪   

Oh what a world it is to see what wiles,  
A silly fool will find to gather wealth!  
And how he laughs, when he himself beguiles,  
With getting of the Cuckoos note by stealth,  
And think all well: it is a sign of health,  
When Patience hath the vain to gather Pence,  
It is a fault to trouble conscience.   

Who doth not see what villainies are wrought,  
To gather wealth, the ground of wickedness?  
How many scholars Machavel hath taught,  
To fill the earth with all ungodliness,  
While wit doth only work for wealthiness:  
Who lives in Ebbs, and may let in the floods,  
But will betray his father for his goods?   

But, what avails unto the world to talk?  
Wealth is a witch that hath a wicked charm,  
That in the minds of wicked men doth walk,  
Unto the heart and souls eternal harm,  
Which is not kept by the Almighty arm:  
Oh, 'tis the strongest instrument of ill  
That e'er was known, to work the devils will.   

An honest man is held a good poor soul,  
And Kindness counted but a weak conceit,  
And Love writ up, but in the woodcocks roll:  
While thriving Wit doth but on Wealth await,  
He is a Fore-horse that goes ever straight:  
And he but held a fool for all his wit,  
That guides his brains but with a golden bit.   

A Virgin is a virtuous kind of creature,  
But, doth not Coin command Virginity?  
And Beauty hath a strange bewitching feature,  
But Gold reads so much worlds divinity,  
As with the heavens hath no affinity,  
So that where Beauty doth with Virtue dwell,  
If it want money, yet it will not sell.   

The market doth not serve to look on minds,  
'tis Money makes the way with every thing,  
Coin altars Natures in a thousand kinds,  
And makes a Beggar think himself a King,  
The Carter whistle, and the Cobbler sing,  
Money, oh God, it carries such a grace,  
That it dare meet the Devil in the face.   

And he that wants this wicked kind of dross,  
May talk of Nuts, but feed upon the Shales,  
In steed of Grass be glad to gather Moss,  
And steed of Hills be glad to keep the Dales,  
With chilling blasts in steed of blessed gales.  
Valour, Wit, Honour, Virtue, Beauty, Grace,  
All little worth, if Wealth be out of place.   

The Golden tale is ever soonest heard,  
The Golden suitor soon hath dispatch,  
The Golden servant hath the best regard,  
And what such marriage, as the Golden match?  
And who so wise as is the golden patch?  
Sweet Music sounds it in a Golden vain,  
The sweetest stroke is in the Golden strain.   

And yet for all this, by your leave awhile,  
Examine all, and give each one his right,  
Let not selfe-will self-will a better wit beguile,  
To take a candle for the Sunny light,  
There is a difference twixt the day and night,  
So is there twixt the riches of the mind,  
And the base dross in Beggar-thoughts to find.   

The wealthy Beggar with his golden bags,  
Is yet a Beggar, maugre all his gold,  
And noble Virtue, though it be in rags,  
May well deserve a better place to hold,  
Than many a one that is for money sold:  
And 'tis not Wealth can make an Ape a man,  
Cut out his coat the best way that you can.   

Wealth will not make an old man young again,  
How ever so Elixirs do abuse him,  
Nor wealth can take out a dishonest stain▪  
How ever kindness for a time excuse him,  
Wealth cannot make the wise but to refuse him:  
Wealth cannot sweeten an old stinking breath,  
Nor save a Miser from the dart of death.   

A Knave in grain can take none other hue,  
The Counterfeit will quickly show his kind,  
A Traitor in his heart cannot be true,  
The Weathercock goes ever with the wind,  
He hath no eyes that can no colours find:  
Fools may be blinded with a wilful mist,  
But wise men will beware of had-I-wist.   

For he that were as rich as Croesus was,  
Yet, if he have a pair of Midas ears,  
He shall be counted but a golden Ass,  
What ever worship in the world he bears,  
For Truth herself by all her trial swears,  
In all the rules where Reason hath his right,  
A shadow doth but only mock the sight.   

While he that hath a manly comely feature,  
And wisdoms grace to guide the spirits will,  
And with the outward ornaments of Nature,  
To heavenly comfort bends his inward skill,  
Although he cannot climb the golden hill,  
How bare soever here be his abode,  
He shall be gracious in the sight of God.   

He that walks wanton with his head aside,  
And knows not well how he may set his feet:  
And she that minceth like a maiden Bride,  
And like a shadow slideth through the street,  
How everso their minds in money meet,  
Measure their humours justly by the middle,  
He may be but a Fool, and she a Fiddle.   

She that hath a round table at her breech,  
And like a Puppet in her apparel dight:  
He that is all formality in speech,  
And like a Rabbit that is set upright,  
How everso their purses be in plight,  
He may be wise, but in his own opinion,  
And she accounted but an idle minion.   

He that with fat goes wallowing like a Bear,  
And puffs and blows, and gapes to gather air:  
She that all day sits curling of her hear,  
And paints her face to make the fowl seem fair▪  
How ever so their wealth increase, or pair,  
He may be held for a Butcher's Wether▪  
And she a Bird, but of an idle feather.   

He, like a Crane that stalks along the street,  
And overlookes the Moon, and all the Stars:  
She that doth softly strive to set her feet,  
As though her joints had lately been at jars,  
How e'er their purses breed their peace or wars,  
He may be counted but the son of Pride,  
And she perhaps have an unwholesome hide.   

He that doth set his wicked wits to work,  
To cousin and to coney-catch his friend,  
And she that doth in secret corners lurk,  
To bring young humours to a wicked end,  
How ever so their purses pair or mend,  
She may hap prove as good as ever twanged,  
And he a Rascal, worthy to be hanged.   

He that doth bring men into bonds of debt,  
And feed their humours with a card of ten:  
She that can mump, and mince, and jerk, and jet,  
As though she were old Chaunteclers chief hen,  
How ere their purses build the golden Pen,  
In the best rules that Witte and Reason have,  
She may be thought a Quean, and he a Knave.   

He that can fleer and leer and look aside,  
As though he studied on some weighty case:  
She that can kindly counterfeit the Bride,  
On working days to make asondays face,  
How ever so their purses be in case,  
He may perhaps have but a knavish wit,  
And she perhaps be but a foolish Tit.   

He that will drink, and swear, and stab, and kill,  
And will be brought unto no better stay,  
She that will brawl and scold, and have her will,  
In spite of whosoever dare say nay,  
How ere their wealth do bear the world away,  
He may be fit to keep the devils court,  
And she a match to make a mad man sport.   

So that I see I find myself deceived,  
To think that Money should monarch it so,  
Although I think I might be well conceived,  
To think that money makes a goodly show,  
Unto a mind that doth not metal know:  
But he that knows the flower from the moss,  
Will find it but a necessary dross.   

But▪ he that can with conscience, and with kindness,  
From a small Molehill, to a mountain rise,  
And she that will not with Discretions blindness  
Lead a poor friend into fools paradise:  
Let Crowns and Angels follow them like flies:  
If they get gold, on God's name let them wear it▪  
He hath a peevish humour cannot bear it.   

But, let him yet acknowledge what he is,  
That by his wealth his only worship getteth:  
And let her that is such a mistresses,  
Think her but fond that so herself forgetteth,  
As Labours lucre even with Honour setteth:  
Let them I say confess but what they be,  
And they shall be still as they are for me.   

But if King Pippin overlook his basket,  
I wish a Rot among his Apples fall:  
And if dame Laundress do forget her flasket,  
I wish her lose her Crippin, or her Cawl,  
I cannot make a Parlour of a hall:  
Let every Rabbit to her borough run,  
And then the hunting will be quickly done.   

But if the hildings care not how they room,  
Nor where they range in fetching of their feed,  
If they be met with in their going home,  
I can not pity their unhappy speed:  
Who cuts their fingers must abide them bleed:  
Who wilfully will venture for a smart,  
I can not help them, if it break their heart.   

Then let a knave be known to be a knave,  
A thief a villain, and a churl a hog,  
A Minx, a Minion, and a rogue a slave,  
A Trull a Tit, a Usurer a dog,  
A Lobbe a lout, a heavy Loll a Log:  
And every bird go rowst in her own nest,  
And then perhaps my Muse will be at rest▪   

But if a jack will be a Gentleman,  
And mistress Needens Lady it at least,  
And every Goose be saucy with the Swan,  
While the Ass thinks he is a goodly beast,  
While so the fool doth keep Ambition's feast,  
My Muse in conscience that cannot be quiet,  
Will give them this good sauce unto their diet▪   

But I do hope I am but in a dream,  
Fools will be wiser than to lose their wits,  
The Country wench will look unto her cream,  
And workmen see, but where their profit sits,  
And leave fantastickes to their idle fits:  
Pride shall go down, and Virtue shall increase,  
And then my Muse be still, and hold her peace.   

But, if I see the world will not amend,  
The wealthy Beggar counterfeit the King,  
And idle spirits all their humours spend,  
In seeking how to make the Cuckoo sing:  
If Fortune thus do dance in Folly's ring,  
When contraries thus go against their kinds,  
My Muse resolves to tell them what she finds.   

For she cannot be partial in her speech,  
To smooth, and flatter, to colloge, and lie,  
She cannot make a breastplate of a breech,  
Nor praise his sight that hath but half an eye,  
She cannot do herself such injury:  
For she was made out of so plain a mould,  
As doth but Truth for all her honour hold.   
FINIS.   

Mad-cappes Message.  

Go Muse abroad, and beat the world about,  
Tell truth for shame, and hugger up no ill:  
Flatter not folly with too plain a flout,  
Nor on a Buzzard set a falcons bill:  
Do no man wrong▪ give every man his right,  
For time will come that all will come to light.   

Do not persuade a fool that he is wise,  
Nor make a Beggar think he is a King:  
Say not a Mole can see that hath no eyes,  
Nor stark dead stocks have any power to spring,  
For while that Logic would maintain a lie,  
'tis easily found out in Philosophy.   

Tell idle eyes that know not how to look,  
Their wanton thoughts will work them nought but woes,  
Tell addle wits that have the world mistook,  
Unbridled wills are Reasons overthrows,  
While only Truth that walks by wisdoms line,  
Happieth the heart and makes the soul divine▪   

Go to the Court, and tell your gracious Queen,  
That in her love her land hath blessed been:  
And tell her land that you have truly seen,  
No Court on earth more graced in a Queen,  
Where Virtue gives a kind of heavenly Crown,  
That all the world can never tumble down.   

There tell the Lords and Ladies in their ears,  
They must be loyal in their humble loves,  
The fairest Badge that Honour ever bears,  
Is, in a crown a nest of Turtle-doves,  
The crown of Laurel that can never wither,  
The Birds, in love, that live and die together.   

There tell the Courtier he doth kindly serve,  
That of his curtsy cannot make a cloak▪  
Where Bounties hand doth honour best deserve,  
That gives reward before the word be spoke:  
And tell the Gallants that will seek for Graces,  
Chaste modest eyes best figure Angels faces.   

Go bid the Lawyers look their Common places,  
And where they know the truth, there give the right:  
For God himself, who hears the poor man's cases,  
Will give a day unto their darkest night:  
When in the book that doth all thoughts disclose,  
Their souls shall see whereto injustice grows.   

Go to the learned Universities▪  
And tell the Scholars of the loss of time,  
Bid them beware of too much liberties,  
Best thriving plants are tended in their prime,  
And bid them first go read the rules of Grace,  
That lower blessings may come on a pace.   

Tell country Players, that old paltry jests  
Pronounced in a painted motley coat,  
Fills all the world so full of Cuckoos nests,  
That Nightingales can scarcely sing a note:  
Oh bid them turn their minds to better meanings,  
Fields are ill sown that give no better glean.   

Go tell the Fiddlers that do haunt the Fairs,  
They are but coals to kindle wicked fires,  
Where only Pence do make unequal pairs:  
Perform the actions of unclean desires:  
When in an Alehouse in a drunken pot,  
The devil danceth though they see him not.   

Go tell the Swaggrers that do use to swear,  
here, or in hell, their mouths will sure be stopped:  
And tell the thieves that rob without a fear,  
That Tyburn trees must once a month be topped:  
And tell the cluster of the damned Crew,  
Such hell hounds heaven out of her mouth doth spew▪   

Bid each Divine go closely to his book,  
And truly teach the comforts of the soul,  
And to his life to have a careful look:  
Knowing what actions Angels do enrol,  
And tell them truly that divinity  
With worldly love hath no affinity.   

Feed not the Soldier with delight of blood,  
While Mercy is the honour of a field:  
And tell the Merchant, that ill-gotten good,  
A wretched life a woeful end will yield:  
And tell the Miser usurer of money,  
His soul is poisoned with his body's honey.   

Go tell the Craftesman of his crafty work,  
And that his cozening one day will decay:  
For long the Fox may in his borrow lurk,  
That may be catched in hunting for his prey:  
And whereas truth can only bear a blame,  
Falsehood must run and hide her face for shame.   

Go tell the Fencer with his deadly foin,  
That Cain and Abel yet are currant weight,  
Where is more easy for to part than join  
The soul and body by a wicked sleight,  
While secret Murder in the sinner's breast,  
Will never let the foul to be at rest.   

Go tell the Beggar at the Rich man's gate,  
That Lazarus in Abraham's bosom lives:  
And tell the Rich, that Dives woeful state,  
Doth show what alms lack of Pity gives:  
And tell the Wise that Solomon is dead,  
While wilful Fancy brings a Fool to bed,   

Go bid the jailor look unto his charge,  
And not be cruel where he may be kind,  
For though a prisoner be not set at large,  
Yet in his sorrow let him comfort find,  
That when the soul at Mercies door doth knock,  
Pity on earth may open the heavenly lock.   

Go to the prisoner that doth live oppressed,  
And tell him, Patience is a heavenly power,  
That in all troubles gives the Spirit rest,  
And makes it happy in a heavenly hour:  
When true Remorse that virtues grief doth see,  
From Care and Sorrow soon will set him free.   

Go tell the wretch that would and cannot thrive,  
That his endeavour, standeth for a deed:  
And bid the sick man in his soul revive,  
While Angels joys on sinners tears do feed:  
And tell the soul that mourneth for her sin,  
Heaven gates stand open for to let her in.   

Tell not the Crow, that she is lily white,  
Because a Painter coloured hath her coat,  
Nor say a Cuckoo hath in music sight,  
Because in May she hits upon a note,  
But say the Crow is black, the Cuckoe's hoarse,  
The finest carcase will be but a coarse.   

Tell Aesopes Pig, that Flies with peacocks feathers,  
They are but stolen, or borrowed, not her own:  
And tell the ship that sails in roughest weather,  
Upon a Rock she may be overthrown:  
And tell the Hart that will not keep the wood,  
To graze too far, will do him little good.   

Go tell the Poets that their piddling rhymes,  
Begin apace to grow out of request,  
While wanton humours in their idle times  
Can make of Love but as a laughing jest:  
And tell prose-Writers, Stories are so stale,  
That penny Ballads make a better sale.   

Go tell the Authors of high Tragedies,  
That bloodless quarrels are but merry fights,  
And such as best conceit their Comedies,  
Do feed their fancies but with fond delights,  
Where toys will show that figure truths intention,  
They spoil their spirits with two much invention.   

Go bid the Scrivener look in his Indentures.  
That no ill covenant a conveyance mar,  
And tell the sailor that in Sea adventures,  
A ship ill guided splits upon a bar:  
And tell the Fisher when he lays his nets,  
He fisheth ill that but a Gudgeon gets.   

Go tell the jugglers that their jests are toys,  
Where Wisdom seeth the worth of little wit,  
Their exercises but for girls and boys,  
That watch the Gander while the Goose doth sit,  
Their tricks but trifles, bred by wickedness,  
But to deceive the eye of simpleness,   

Go tell the Pander and the Parasite,  
The one his tongue is like the others mind,  
The Parasite without a tooth can bite,  
The Pander lives in a more loathsome kind,  
The one, his faculty is flattery,  
The other lives by fitthie Lechery.   

Go tell the traitor, if thou hitst of any,  
That judas is a prologue to their play:  
And tell the world, that judasses' too many,  
In secret corners spring up every day,  
Who, since both heaven and earth may well abhor,  
Go hang themselves as he hath done before.   

Go to the Country, where the Farmers dwell,  
And bid them bring their corn out to the poor,  
Tell them the Sexton comes to ring the Bell,  
When Death will fetch the richest out of door:  
And they too late to their sorrow shall see,  
How Churls on earth, in hell shall plagued be.   

Go tell the labourers that the lazy bones  
That will not work, must seek the beggar's gains,  
And tell the Beggar that his feigned groans,  
Must have a whip to ease him of his pains,  
While workmen's labour and the lame man's woe,  
In wisdoms eye cannot unpitied go.   

Thus not in order seek out every one,  
But as thou meetest them, tell them what I bid thee,  
But if thou seest thou canst do good of none,  
Of graceless Scholars quickly seek to rid thee,  
Such as determine in their sins to dwell,  
Thou canst not help them if they run to hell▪   

But lest thy work be all too much to do,  
Begin again and I will make an end,  
But, have a care of that I set thee to,  
Lest I discard thee ever for a friend:  
But take good heed, begin where I begun.  
And make an end, and I will soon have done▪   

Go bid the Courtier that he be not proud,  
The Sloudier, bloody▪ nor the Lawyer blind:  
And bid the Merchant, that he do not shroud  
A subtle meaning in a simple kind:  
Go bid the Scholars learn, the Doctors teach,  
And have a care to live as they do preach.   

Go bid the Farmer bring abroad his grain,  
The Craftesman, that he sound make his ware,  
The Workman, that he labour for his gain,  
The Beggar, that he wait for Pities share:  
Then, if the Sexton come to ring the Bell,  
Where Faith is fixed, there is no fear of Hell.   

Forbid the Poets, all fantastic humours,  
The Players, acting of unlawful jests,  
The Prose-men, raising of uncivil rumours▪  
The Fiddlers playing, but at Bride-ale feasts▪  
The Fencers fight, but only to defend,  
That easy quarrels soon may have an end,   

Go tell the spendthrift that doth sell his land,  
Money will melt like snow against the Sun:  
And he that takes his rent up aforehand,  
May hap to want before the year be done:  
And tell a fool that plays on better wits,  
A lousy head will quickly show his nits.   

Go bid the Scrivener look he truly write,  
And tell the juggler that his feats are stale:  
And bid the sailor look his ships be tied,  
And take the blowing of a merry gale,  
And bid the fisher lay for bigger fish,  
A world of Gudgeons will not fill a dish.   

Go tell the rich man that his store of wealth,  
Will purchase him no place in Paradise,  
And bid the strong man boast no more of health,  
For as the Lamb, we see the Lion dies:  
And bid the wise man boast not of his wits,  
Lest unawares he fall to madding fits.   

Go bid the jailor look unto his locks,  
And keep his keys and fear no prisoners flight,  
And keep his racks, his tortures, bolts and stocks,  
To make a traitor bring a truth to light,  
But to his power to help the poor oppressed,  
For God is pleased in pitying the distressed,   

Go bid the Poets study better matter,  
Than Mars and Venus in a Tragedy,  
And bid them leave to learn, to lie, and flatter,  
In plotting of a lovers Comedy:  
And bid Play-writers better spend their spirits▪  
Than in Fox-borowes, or in Coney ferrits.   

Do not allure a wanton eye to Love,  
Nor seek with words to witch an itching ear:  
Play not the Turkey with the turtle-dove,  
Nor fray a Baby with a painted Bear,  
Find better work to set thyself unto,  
As good by idle, as have nought to do.   

Follow not Follies, Shadows, nor Conceits,  
For in the end, they will but all deceive thee:  
Practise no jestings, nor no juggling sleights,  
For in the end Discretion will perceive thee,  
And when that woe and want doth overtake thee,  
Fortune will fail thee, and the world forsake thee.   

Lose not thy time with looking after toys,  
Nor fall to building Castles in the air,  
Let Nature's jewels never be thy joys,  
Butlove the beauty of the inward fair:  
Where ere thou go, let Truth and Virtue guide thee,  
And then be sure no evil can betide thee.   

Spend not thy patrimony in thy apparel,  
In cards nor dice, in horses, hawks, nor hounds,  
Maintain thy right, but make no idle quarrel,  
And keep thyself within discretions bounds:  
Abuse no friend, nor trust an enemy,  
And keep thyself from evil company.   

Revenge no wrong, except it be too great,  
True valour lives in sparing, not in spilling,  
Deny no truce that mercy doth entreat,  
A cruel conquest that doth end in killing:  
For Patience finds that poison's wrath to death,  
An angry word is but an angry breath.   

Bid them fear God, that mean to shun the devil,  
And hate the Devil, that will come at God,  
And say when children be inclined to evil,  
Parents sometime of force must use the rod:  
For sin is hateful in jehovahs' eyes,  
And Man his life but in his mercy lies.   
FINIS.