A poor beggar with scrip and staff,
Obey, and thank thy God for all.

This changing and great variance
Of earthly states up and down,
Is not but (a) casualty and chance
As some men say without reasoun;
But by the great provision

Of God above, that rule thee shall;
Therefore thou ever make thee boun
To' obey, and thank thy God for all.

In wealth be meek, heich (6) not thyself;
Be glad in wilful poverty;

Thy power and thy worldis pelf

Is nought but very vanity:

Remember Him that died on tree,

For thy sake tasted bitter gall,

Who heis low hearts and loweis high; (c)
Obey, and thank thy God for all.

ANONYMOUS.
MOUS.

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[From Hore beate Marie Virginis, ad usum insignis Eccl. Sarum, totaliter ad longum. Printed for Wynkin de Worde, 1522:being an Almanack for 23 years from that date.]

Motto.

GOD be in my heed,-and in myn understanding;
God be in myn eyen, and in my lokynge;
God be in my mouth,-and in my speakynge;
God be in my herte,-and in my thynkynge;
God be in myn ende,—and my departynge.

(a) Mere. (b) Exalt. (c) Exalts the low and humbles the high.

The Bible.

[From " a compendyous Olde Treatise, shewynge how we ought to have the Scripture in Englyshe." (No date, probably about 1550.) "Imprynted by me Rychard Banckes." The Treatise here named is said to have been written" about the yere of oure lorde, one thousand fower hundred," and a copy preserved in "the Church Ouer agaynst London stone at this houre."]

The Excusacyon of the Treatise.

THOUGHE I am olde, clothed in barbarous wede,
Nothynge garnyshyd with gay eloquensy,
Yet I tell the truthe, if ye lyste to take hede,
Agaynste their froward furious fantasy,
Which reken it for a great heresy,

And unto laye-people grieuous outrage
To haue Godes worde in their native langage.
Enemyes I shall haue-many a shorne crowne,
With forkid cappes, gay croosis of gold;
Which, to mantayne their ambicious renowne,
Are glad laye-people in ignorance to holde;
Yet to shewe the veryte one may be bolde,
All thoughe it be a prouerbe dayly spoken,

-"Who that tellyth the truthe his hed shal be broken.

ANNE ASKEWE.

BORN 1520. BURNT in Smithfield 1546.

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The Balade which Anne Askewe made and sung when she was in Newgate.

[From "The Examinacyon of Anne Askewe, lately martyred in Smythfielde by the wicked Sinagogue of Antychrist, with the elucydacyon of Johan Bale. Printed at Marpurg in Hessen,

ניי.1546

LYKE as the armed Knyghte,
Appointed to the fielde,
With this world wyl I fyght,
And fayth shal be my shylde.

Fayth is that weapon stronge,
Which wyl not fayle at nede;
My foes therefore amonge,
Therewyth wyl I procede.

As it is had in strengthe,
And forces of Christes waye,
It wyl prevaile at lengthe,
Though all the Devyls saye naye.

Faythe of the Fathers olde
Obtained ryght witness,
Which makes me verye bolde
To fear no worldes distress.

I now rejoice in harte,
And hope bydes me do so;
For Christ wyl take my part,
And ease me of my wo.

Thou sayst, Lord, whoso knocke,
To them wylt Thou attende;
Undo, therefore, the locke,
And thy stronge power sende.

More enemies now I haue
Than heeres upon my head;
Let them not me deprave,
But fyght Thou in my steade,

On Thee my care I cast,
For all their cruell spyght;
I set not by their hast,
For Thou art my delyght.

I am not she that lyst
My anker to let fall
For every dryslynge myst;
My shippe's substancyal.

Not oft I use to wryght
In prose, nor yet in ryme;
Yet wyl I shewe one syght,
That I sawe in my tyme.

I sawe a royall throne,
Where Iustyce shulde have sytte;
But in her steade was One
Of moody cruell wytte.

Absorpt was ryghtwysness,
As by the ragynge floude;
Sathan, in his excess

Sucte up the guiltlesse bloude.

Then thought I,-Iesus, Lorde,
When Thou shalt judge us all,
Harde is it to recorde

On these men what wyll fall.

Yet, Lorde, I Thee desyre,
For that they doe to me,
Let them not taste the hyre
Of their iniquytie.

JOHN HALL.

BORN ABOUT 1520.

Wrote the Court of Virtue, versified Solomon's Proverbs, &c.

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A Ditty on the wicked state and enormities of most people in these present miserable days.

BLAME not my lute, though it do sound
The rebuke of your wicked sin;

But rather seek, as ye are bound,

To know what case that ye are in:
And though this song do sin confute,
And sharply wickedness rebuke,
Blame not my lute.

If my lute blame the covetize,
The gluttons and the drunkards vile,
The proud disdaine of worldly wise,
And how falsehood doth truth exile:

Though vice and sin be now in place,
Instead of virtue and of grace,
Blame not my lute.

Though wrong in justice-place be set,

Committing great iniquity;

Though hypocrites be counted great,
That still maintain idolatry;

Though some set more by things of nought
Than by the Lord that all hath bought,
Blame not my lute.

Blame not my lute, I you desire,
But blame the cause that we thus play,
For burning heat blame not the fire,
But him that bloweth the coal alway;
Blame ye the cause, blame ye not us,
That we mens faults have touched thus:
Blame not my lute.

HENRY HOWARD, EARL of Surrey.

BORN 1518. BEHEADED 1546.

Principal Works :-Sonnets on Geraldine, Version of Ecclesiastes, Translation of the 2d Boke of Virgile's Æneis, &c.

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Quam bonus Israel, Deus.-Psalm LXXIII.

THOUGHE, Lord, to Israell

Thy graces plenteous be,

I meane to such, with pure intent,
As fix their trust in The;

Yet whiles the faith did faynt
That shold have been my guyde,
Lyke them that walk in slipper pathes,
My feet began to slyde:

Whiles I did grudge at those

That glorey in their golde,