reedifying of Salomons Temple / and the
Laborers therof.
|
WHen that the Cocke began to crow
|
in February last
|
It was nere dai I knewe right wel
|
the byrdes they songe so fast
|
For they recorded plesauntly
|
when they did understande
|
That winters blastes began to swage
|
and Vere was even at hande
|
And when the Parker hard this Cock
|
eftsone he gan to stere
|
And up he start and gate him forth
|
to viewe and se the dere,
|
And when he came he se the dere
|
where they were on the launde
|
At whome the dere were not amasde
|
but styll they stode and faunde.
|
For well they wyst this Parker came
|
to do his wonted feate,
|
And or he went from them agayne
|
indede he gave them meate.
|
Which they had sought & could not find
|
wherefore they loked thyn,
|
As though they had ben chast with dogs
|
that lately had rusht in.
|
As sone as he was gon from them
|
a Scory scourde the coste,
|
To fray the bandogges from the Dere
|
for feare they should be loste.
|
Whiche longe had made such spoile of them
|
as like hath not ben sene,
|
At every course a leyshe or two
|
as we full ofte have sene.
|
This Scory scoured all the parke
|
he sercht it rounde about.
|
To fortifie the walles therof
|
to kepe the bandogs out
|
When he had take the viewe therof,
|
and sawe the parke so scalde.
|
He made his sute unto the Quene
|
to have it all newe palde.
|
And after him there dyd succede
|
a man of auncient yeares.
|
Which did renewe the former sute
|
unto the noble Peeres.
|
Whose judgement is profounde & depe
|
as all the learned say.
|
And he affyrmde and proved it both
|
our fayth was in decaye.
|
Whiche is the moost assured wall
|
that may or can be bylte,
|
Whiche wall hath ben battred at
|
that it was almoste spylte,
|
And if this wall be not repayrde
|
but fall styll in decaye
|
The bandogs wyll breake in againe
|
and drive the deare awaye.
|
Thus hath this auncient whithed proved
|
with argumentes moost stronge,
|
That if this wall be not repayrde
|
the parke cannot stande longe.
|
Wherfore the buylders of this wall
|
that have take it in hande
|
Have sharpned all theyr tooles right wel
|
to have this buildinge stande.
|
A Byll also sharped his edge
|
to cut the brambles downe
|
And to destroy the wicked wedes
|
that were in hye renoume.
|
Thus all these builders work righe well
|
for they have begon the frame,
|
And all that se theyr workmanship
|
do much commend the same,
|
They worke it artificiallye
|
as men experte and wyse.
|
For why they builde upon the rocke
|
and not upon the yse.
|
Who hath not sene, who hath not hard
|
the doynges of these men,
|
What paynes they take incessantlye
|
to buylde this wall agen,
|
To kepe the yonge fawnes from the fox
|
and from the wolves and dogges.
|
Leste that the parke be foylde agayne
|
with swyne and fylthy hogges.
|
Marke well the grist that grind all ground
|
and ye shal understande,
|
That he is able well to buyld
|
the thinge he taketh in hande.
|
For he hath newly bete his quernes,
|
wherfore it may be thought,
|
That he intendes to grinde the grist
|
that we full longe have sought,
|
But when the mighty Sampson cam
|
that longe had ben away.
|
He musled up the bandogges mouthes
|
that the had naught to saye.
|
So that theyr fury is well cooled
|
throuh Sampsons force and might
|
For though they grin and loke awrye
|
they have no power to byte,
|
For nowe the dere go quietlye
|
within the pale and parke,
|
And are nothinge afrayde to here
|
the bandogs how they barke,
|
There kepers nowe ar come agen
|
that longe have ben awaye,
|
Wherfore the poore and simple Dere,
|
are joyfull of this daye,
|
For when the Horne was heard of then
|
which sounded like a bell,
|
The Dere that knewe the same before
|
dyd like it wery well.
|
He blew his measures in such sort
|
so truly and so trymme
|
That all that hard the sound therof
|
had much delight in him,
|
Besides all these yet are there mo,
|
whose diligence and payne,
|
Do crave of us etarnall prayse
|
that lyve and do remayne,
|
Lever and Sandes, for so they hyght
|
whose godly hartes and wyll
|
Are wholy bent unto the truth
|
and to confute the yll,
|
So are these two that yet remayne,
|
as it hath well bene sene,
|
How learnedly they speake their mindes
|
before our noble Quene.
|
Pedder and Wyntrel, these are they
|
whose memory and fame
|
Shal be revived, when they are dead
|
their actes deserve the same,
|
For these and for the rest of them
|
let us geve thankes to God,
|
whose mercy towardes us is suche,
|
that he hath broke the rod,
|
O Lorde beholde thy labourers
|
and now put to thy hande,
|
To buylde thy holy Temple up
|
that it may ever stande.
|
Dryve out the ydle men therof
|
ye dryve them cleane awaye
|
Whiche long have sought the spoile of it
|
to bringe it to decaye.
|
To whome let us left up our hartes
|
at morow and at even,
|
That it wyll please him to preserve
|
Elisabeth our quene,
|
Long to endure amongest us here
|
and to possesse her place,
|
And afterwardes to Joye with him
|
when she hath runne her race.
|
|
|
|
|
|