A LAST WARNING

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is in his own conceit the only Shakescene in a country. Oh, that I might entreat your rare wits to be employed in more profitable courses, and let those apes imitate your past excellence, and never more acquaint them with your admired inventions! I know the best husband of you all will never prove an usurer, and the kindest of them all will never prove a kind nurse: yet, whilst you may, seek you better masters; for it is pity men of such rare wits should be subject to the pleasures of such rude grooms.

In this I might insert two more, that both have writ against these buckram gentlemen; but let their own works serve to witness against their own wickedness, if they persevere to maintain any more such peasants. For other new-comers, I leave them to the mercy of these painted monsters, who (I doubt not) will drive the best minded to despise them; for the rest, it skills not though they make a jest at them.

But now return I again to you three, knowing my misery is to you no news; and let me heartily entreat you to be warned by my harms. Delight not (as I have done) in irreligious oaths; for from the blasphemer's house a curse shall not depart.

Despise drunkenness, which wasteth the wit, and maketh men all equal unto beasts. Fly lust, as the deathsman of the soul, and defile not the temple of the Holy Ghost. Abhor those epicures whose loose life hath made religion loathsome to your ears: and when they soothe you with terms of mastership, remember Robert Greene, whom they have so often flattered, perishes now for want of comfort. Remember, gentlemen, your lives are like so many lighted tapers, that are with care delivered to all of you to maintain : these with wind-puffed wrath may be extinguished, which drunkenness put out, which negligence let fall; for man's time of itself is not so short, but it is more shortened by sin. The fire of my light is now at the last snuff, and, for want of wherewith to sustain it, there is no substance left for life to feed on. Trust not, then (I beseech ye) to such weak stays; for they are as changeable in mind as in many attires. Well, my hand is tired, and I am forced to leave

F

where I would begin; for a whole book cannot contain these wrongs, which I am forced to knit up in some few lines of words.

Desirous that you should live, though

himself be dying,

Robert Greene.

(A Groat's-worth of Wit.)

GEORGE PEELE

(1558-97)

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

TO QUEEN ELIZABETH

His golden locks Time hath to silver turn'd;
O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing !
His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurn'd,
But spurn'd in vain; youth waneth by increasing :
Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green.

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees;
And, lovers' sonnets turn'd to holy psalms,
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,

And feed on prayers, which are Age his alms :
But though from court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.

And when he saddest sits in homely cell,

He'll teach his swains this carol for a song:
"Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well,
Curst be the souls that think her any wrong."
Goddess, allow this agèd man his right

To be your beadsman now that was your knight.

THEN mounted he upon his steed again,
And with the lady backward sought to wend :
That path he kept which beaten was most plain,
Ne ever would to any by-way bend;

But still did follow one unto the end,

The which at last out of the wood them brought :
So forward on his way (with God to friend)
He passèd forth, and new adventure sought :
Long way he travelled before he heard of ought.

At length they chanced to meet upon the way
An aged sire, in long black weeds yclad,
His feet all bare, his beard all hoary gray,
And by his belt his book he hanging had;
Sober he seemed, and very sagely sad,
And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent,
Simple in show, and void of malice bad;

And all the way he prayed as he went,

And often knocked his breast, as one that did repent.

He fair the knight saluted, louting low,

Who fair him quited, as that courteous was;

And after asked him, if he did know

Of strange adventures which abroad did pass ?
"Ah! my dear son," quoth he," how should, alas!

Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell,
Bidding his beads all day for his trespass,
Tidings of war and worldly trouble tell?

With holy father fits not with such things to mell.

But if of danger, which hereby doth dwell,
And home-bred evil, ye desire to hear,
Of a strange man I can you tidings tell,
That wasteth all this country far and near."
"Of such," said he, " I chiefly do inquire;
And shall thee well reward to show the place
In which that wicked wight his days doth wear;
For to all knighthood it is foul disgrace
That such a cursèd creature live so long a space."

"Far hence," quoth he, " in wasteful wilderness
His dwelling is, by which no living wight
May ever pass, but thorough great distress."
"Now," said the lady, "draweth toward night;
And well I wote, that of your later fight
Ye all forwearied be: for what so strong,
But wanting rest will also want of might?
The sun, that measures heaven all day long,
At night doth bait his steeds the ocean waves among.

"Then with the sun take, Sir, your timely rest,
And with new day new work at once begin :
Untroubled night, they say, gives counsel best."
"Right well, Sir Knight, ye have advised been,"
Quoth than that aged man ; the way to win
Is wisely to advise. Now day is spent,

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Therefore with me ye may take up your inn

For this same night." The Knight was well content; So with that godly father to his home they went.

A little lowly hermitage it was,

Down in a dale, hard by a forest's side,
Far from resort of people that did pass
In travel to and fro: a little wide
There was an holy chapel edified,
Wherein the hermit duly wont to say
His holy things each morn and eventide ;
Thereby a crystal stream did gently play,

Which from a sacred fountain welled forth alway.

THE FAERY QUEEN

Arrived there, the little house they fill,

Ne look for entertainment where none was ;
Rest is their feast, and all things at their will:
The noblest mind the best contentment has.
With fair discourse, the evening so they pass;
For that old man of pleasing words had store,
And well could file his tongue, as smooth as glass :
He told of saints and popes, and evermore

He strowed an Ave-Mary after and before.

The drooping night thus creepeth on them fast,
And the sad humour loading their eye-lids,
As messenger of Morpheus on them cast

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Sweet slumb'ring dew, the which to sleep them bids:
Unto their lodgings then his guests he rids;
Where when all drown'd in deadly sleep he finds,

He to his study goes, and there, amids

His magic books, and arts of sundry kinds,

He seeks out mighty charms to trouble sleepy minds.

Then choosing out few words most horrible,
(Let none them read) thereof did verses frame,
With which, and other spells like terrible,
He bad awake black Pluto's grisly dame;
And cursed Heaven, and spake reproachful shame
Of highest God, the Lord of life and light.
A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name
Great Gorgon, prince of darkness and dead night,
At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight.

And forth he called, out of deep darkness dread,
Legions of sprites, the which, like little flies,
Flutt'ring about his ever-damnèd head,
Await, whereto their service he applies,
To aid his friends, or fray his enemies:
Of those he chose out two, the falsest two,
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lies;
The one of them he gave a message to,
The other by himself stayed other work to do.