The returne of. M. smythes envoy
servaunt to the Kynges Royall Majestye and Clerke of the Quenes
graces counsell (though most unworthy)
Trolle here, trolle there, trolle out, trolle in
Ye trolle away & trolle aboute lyke a blynde sym.
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EVen with the same commendacion that to you dothe pertayne
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I sende you here myne answer, which is no great treatyse
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Desyrynge you to marke, and to understande playne
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That I have receyved your envyous and proude enterpryse
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The mater wherof, I trust, all honest men dothe despyse
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But bragge and face what you can, I care not a whyt
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I take tyme as tyme is, though hereafter commeth not yet.
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You ruffle and you rayle, for malyce and despyte
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And as a loftye lurden, you shewe yourselfe full playne
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For as moche as you are greved with the good that I dyd wryte
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Which I wyll never denye, but earnestlye mayntayne
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Havynge causes ynowe, on your malyce to complayne
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For your manasynges and threatnynges, wherin I am sure ye do but gesse
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For layenge popery to your charge, your herte grauntynge there no lesse.
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Though with the poynt of my penne I dyd you so spurre and pryck
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That therby you were greved, and greatlye styred to yre
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Yet I councell you to syt sure, and that you nother wynche nor kyck
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For and yf you do, I wyll surely laye you in the myer
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Take no more upon you then is mete, lest you selfe ye do tyer
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Or some other myschefe chaunce you, take this proverbe for a token
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That a sycke man is sone beaten, and a skalde hed sone broken.
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I was nothynge greved that yourselfe so openly ye dyd declare
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Nether with the descrybynge of your name, nor of your servyce the pyth
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Nor yet wyll any honest man so judge, and therfore I nothynge care
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Though mad malyce moved you, to be despyted therwith
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Ragynge because I compared a cobler with the smyth
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Your folyshe dysplesure wherwith, is easye ynough to be founde
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Namynge me as ye arre, an upryght vagabounde.
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Of the openynge of your name and servyce I knew not your entent
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But yet for your doynges, I thought ye worthy blame
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Not countynge you gyltlesse, and therfore I dyd you shent
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Consydrynge I regarded your dede, more then I dyd your name
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And therfore unto your offyce, I wysshed no maner of shame
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But entendynge my purpose I wryte as in my mynde it laye
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Howbeyt, you beynge naught yourselfe, turne it another waye.
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Sometyme a thefe shameth not to shewe bothe his name and fate
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Where the true man hydeth hym selfe, and standeth in great doute
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Least that this thevyshe malyce shuld present itselfe in place
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To the destruccyon of him that his thefery wolde trye oute
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So in lykewyse you, do seke all corners rounde aboute
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But it will not helpe you, though awhyle there be delaye
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Tyme maye brynge you forthe, as well as it doth poure graye
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For romblynge in the scryptures in dede I dyd you reprove
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Wysshynge with all my herte that your doynges ye wold amende
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Descrybynge your faute playnly, as honestye dyd me behove
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you myght gentely have spoken with me if ye coulde me reprehende
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But I am sure ye mynded it not, but dyd it least intende
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For all your bragges and krackes, on your ale benche when you syt
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Let tyme be as tyme is, though herafter commeth not yet.
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To a taylour in dede I advysed you that ye dyd resorte
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For the shapynge out of scrypture / your text the better to frame
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A secte I am sure more catholyck / then are your popysshe sorte
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Beynge the membres of chryst / and him selfe the hed of the same
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Neyther heretyckes nor papistes / but men of honest fame
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That alwayes are obedyent and use not / for to rebelle
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Though you and soche other / wolde helpe therto with your councell.
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I nother bluster nor blowe / any false mater to prove
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Though you do desyer of every honest man the fall
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Nother layed I popery to your charge / but thought ye dyd it love
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For yf by you / popery I coulde prove / then a traytour I wolde you call
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And wolde it not concele / but bryng you to your tryall
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Our doynges wyll apere / though ye defer them for a space
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And I wyll be forth commynge / before your betters to shewe my face.
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The rest of your raylynges I wyll as now omytte
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Upon soche braynles braggery my tyme I wyll not spende
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They do nothyng elles but manyfest the lewde use of your wyt
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And the myschefe of your herte whiche to other ye do pretende
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You have no nother buckler yourselfe for to defende
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Who rebuketh your secte / or wolde reforme your popery
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Amonge you strayte / he is a mayntayner of heresy.
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Thus / though ye wolde be hydden / yet men may easely knowe
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What trayterous hertes ye beare / to god and oure good kynge
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His grace hath geven injunctyons / whiche cleane to overthrowe
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What councelles do ye holde / to evydent is the thynge
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We shulde beware of your treason / for surely I feare ye wolde brynge
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Your romyshe ruffeler to be our heed / by some maner of shyft
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To the whiche your papisticall flocke / not longe agoo gave a lyft.
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There sawe we playnly / a myschevous and detestabell sorte
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Of false fayned hertes / that agaynst our good kynge dyd aryse
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Sekynge his destruccyon / and all theyrs that him dyd supporte
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Beynge armed with customes / and soche fayned lyes
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But god (who of his grace) ever provydeth for his
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Gave soche knowledge therof / that they had not theyr entent
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Some fledde / som taken / some were hanged on the galowes and brent.
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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 obedyence
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And to all false fayned hertes I wyshe the same rewarde
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Even lyke as the others had / worthely for their offence
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And nowe Master. T.S. marke well this sentence
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Consyder that as you be / so have you used your wyt
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And I take tyme / as tyme is / though herafter come not yet.
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Paraventure Syr. T.S. you wyll yet bragge and bost
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As ye do here in that ye wyll dryve me out of the way
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But be not to busye I advyse you / lest you come to your cost
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Though in myne owne cause / I wyll but lytell saye
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For and yf you worke moche / ye shall perceyve I wyll not playe
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Nether holdynge downe my hed / nor yet beare it to moche aloft
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For all your braggynge countenance / it wyl become you to speke soft.
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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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Andd to Katherynge our Quene also, his most Laufull Wyfe
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And graunt 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. God save the kynge.
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Trolle here, Trolle there, Trolle out, Trolle in
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Ye trolle awaye and trolle about, lyke a blynde Sym.
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