An Envoye from Thomas
Smyth upon th aunswer of one. W.G. Lurkyng in Lorrells Denne /
for feare men shulde hym see.
Whether I troll here, or troll ther, I wyll so troll aboute
That in my trollynge, I do trust, as you are, to trolle you oute.
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NOwe with no lesse salutacyon, that to such doth pertayne
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Unto you I do present, this lytell poore treatyse
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Wyllynge you to understande, and also to knowe playne
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I have receyved, your lewde lybell, wherin you enterpryse
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Both me and my doynges, full proudely to despyse
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But bable what you lyst / it skylleth not a whyt
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Remember well this worde, hereafter cometh not yet.
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You ruffle, and you rayle, for malyce and despyte
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And as a ragynge ruffyen / your selfe you do shewe playne
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For as moche as you be greved, with that, that I dyd wryte
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Which I wyll never denye, but throughlye mayntayne
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Yet (as you wryte) in one poynte, you have cause to complayne
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For that I spake but of lykelyhod / and wente but by gesse
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Of the treson in your herte / you knowynge there no lesse.
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If with the poynte of my penne, I do you so spurre and prycke
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That therby you be greved and greatly styrred to yre
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Yet doubte I not to syt sure / allthough you wynche and kycke
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Fast closed in my dewty / to save me from the myre
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But in your flynges take hede, beware I saye the fyre
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Or some other galtrope / take thys proverbe for a token
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The pot so often goeth forth / at last it commeth home broken.
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You are angry that I myselfe / so openly declare
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My name playnly dyscrybynge, and of my servyce the pyth
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All honest men thynk, I shulde no lesse, wherfore I ne care
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Though mad malyce move you / to be despyted therwith
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Hit have plesed you, to compare, the cobbler with the smyth
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Your proude skorne wherin / is easye ynough to be founde
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Yet better is a cobbler than an ydell vagabounde.
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In openynge my name and servyce / this was myne entente
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In case that for my doynges, I were thought worthy blame
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Any other person gyltles / therfore shuld not be shente
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Consydred (as is well knowen) many be of my name
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Myne offyce therfore I added / and thought therin no shame
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Nether braggynge, nor bostynge / as to my charge you laye
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Who is naught hymselfe / so judgeth in others alwaye.
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A true man shameth never, to shewe his name and face
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A thefe hymselfe mystrusteth and is evermore in doubte
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Lest that his lewde lyvynge / shulde present itselfe in place
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As commenly it is sene / at lenght trouth is tryed oute
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So in lykewyse you / do seke all corners round a boute
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But it woll not helpe you, though a whyle there be delaye
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Tyme shall trye your colour, be it russet, blacke / or graye.
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Of rumblynge in scryptures / you do me moch reprove
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Well yf your wyttes do serve you / my doynges to amende
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Come forth and shew your face / as to honestye doth behove
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And lay unto my charge / what you can reprehende
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Nay / nay / I am sure, you do it lest intende
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In raylynge is your ruffe, in your spelunke whan ye syt
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But remember well this worde / hereafter commeth not yet.
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Full wysely you councell me / to some taylour to resorte
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For shapynge out of scrypture / my texte the better to frame
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You can not hyde your secte / nor yet your brotherly sorte
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(A Clergy for the devyll) you shewe your selfe the same
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As Taylours / Cobblers / and Tylers / doctous of worthy fame
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Vagaboundes / Ruffyens / and others / amongs whom you rynge your bell
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And even lyke as you be / to set you forth your councell.
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Blusterynge in your boldnes / you wolde your selfe a traytour prove
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Upon the only pretens of my most desyred fall
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The mayntenans of popery / you say I do most love
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Whiche yf you knowe trewe / than a traytour I maye you call
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For suche your concelement but I woll dryve you to the tryall
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Both our doynges shall appere / thoughe deferred for a space
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I am no. W.G. I dare well shewe my face
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The rest of your raylynges / I woll as nowe omyte
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Upon suche purpose pevysshe / my ryme I woll not spende
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They do naught / but declare / the lewde use of your wyt
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And what malyce of herte towardes other you pretende
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You have no nother buckler / wherwith your selfe to defende
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Who rebuketh your secte / or wolde refourme your heresye
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Amonge you strayte he is a mayntaynour of popery.
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Thus though you wolde hyde yourselfs / yet men may easely knowe
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What fayned hertes you do beare to God and our good Kynge
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His grace hath ordeyued lawes / whiche cleane to overthrowe
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What travayll is dayly taken / to evydent is the thynge
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We shulde beware your secte for surely you wolde fayne brynge
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Some other to rayne over us / yf you wyste / by what shyfte
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Example we have / herof / Reade of kynge Henry the fyfte
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There maye we playnly fynde / what a detestable sorte
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Of false fayned hertes / agaynst theyr kynge dyd ryse,
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Myndynge to chose another kynge / that wolde theym supporte
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In theyr naughtye errours and mayntaynaunce of heresyes
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But god (who of his grace) ever provydeth for his
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Gave suche knowlege therof / that they had not theyr entente
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Some fled / some taken / some were hanged on the gallowes and brente.
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Whiche thynge I do desyre / all true subjectes to regarde
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And to god and our good kynge / to beare a due obedience
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And to all false fayned hertes / I wishe the same rewarde
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Even lyke as th others had / worthely / for theyr offence
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And nowe syr. W.G. marke well this sentence
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Consyder that as you be / so have you used your wytte
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Rememberr well this worde / here after commeth not yet.
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Peradventure syr. W.G. you wyll yet bragge and boste
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Sayng from the scripturs you have dryven me cleane a waye
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Trye me therin whan you dare / you shall come to your coste
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Though for cause consyderable / a whyle I do lytell saye
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I thinke to ryde you with a byt / shall dryve you from your playe
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And cause you holde downe your hed / that fayne you wolde bere aloft
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And I woll so tramell you heles / youre pace shall be more softe.
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Nowe for an ende (Eternall God) I beseche the graunt longe lyfe
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With prosperous contynuans / to Henry our most noble kynge
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And to Katheryne our Quene also / his most Laufull Wyfe
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And graunte betwene theym bothe / lyke other braunches to sprynge
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(As is Edwarde our Prynce) that most odoriferous thynge
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Preserve theym longe togither Lorde / and graunt theym all the blysse
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Where angels incessantly / synge (Gloria in excelsis) Amen. Tod save the Kynge.
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Whether I trolle here, or trolle there, I wyll so trolle aboute
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That in my trollynge, I do truste, as you are, to trolle you oute
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By the selfe same person, who not withstandynge your despyte
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Shameth not, nor shrynketh not playnely himselfe to wryte
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Thomas Smyth, servant to the Kynges Royall Majestye
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And Clerke of the Quenes graces counsell (though most unworthy)
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