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To flie their conquered trade. Proud England,

then,

Embrace this luggage," which the man of men
Hath landed here, and change thy well-a-day!
Into some homespun welcome roundelay.
Send of this stuffe thy territories thorough
To Ireland, Wales, and Scottish Eddenborough.
There let this booke be read and understood,
Where is no theame nor writer halfe so good.

"Coryate's Crudities hastily gobbled up in five months travels in France, Savoy, Italy, Rhetia, Helvetia, some parts of High Germany, and the Netherlands." 4to. 1611. Re-printed in 3 vols. 8vo. 1776. G.

A CERTAIN POEM,

AS IT WAS PRESENTED IN LATINE BY DIVINES AND OTHERS BEFORE HIS MAJESTY IN CAMBRIDGE, BY WAY OF ENTERLUDE, STYLED LIBER NOVUS DE ADVENTU REGIS AD CANTABRIGIAM. FAITHFULLY

DONE INTO ENGLISH, WITH SOME LIBERAL ADDITIONS. MADE RATHER TO BE SUNGE THAN READ, TO THE TUNE OF BONNY NELL.

(The notes are from a MS. copy in Mr. Gilchrist's possession.)

It is not yet a fortnight since
Lutetia entertain'd our prince,
And vented hath a studied toy
As long as was the seige of Troy:
And spent herself for full five days
In speeches, exercise, and plays.

To trim the town, great care before
Was tane by th' lord vice-chancellor ;
Both morn and even he cleans'd the way,
The streets he gravelled thrice a day :
One strike of March-dust for to see
No proverb would give more than he.

Their colledges were new be-painted,
Their founders eke were new be-sainted;

Quia valde lutosa est Cantabrigia.

+ Ludus per spatium 6 horarum infra.

"A bushel of March dust is worth a king's ransom."

Nothing escap'd, nor post, nor door,
Nor gate, nor raile, nor bawd, nor whore:
You could not know (Oh strange mishap!)
Whether you saw the town or map.

But the pure house of Emanuel*
Would not be like proud Jesabel,
Nor shew herself before the king
An hypocrite, or painted thing:
But, that the ways might all prove fair,
Conceiv'd a tedious mile of prayer.

Upon the look'd-for seventh of March,
Outwent the townsmen all in starch,
Both band and beard, into the field,
Where one a speech could hardly wield;
For needs he would begin his stile,
The king being from him half a mile.

They gave the king a piece of plate,
Which they hop'd never came too late;
But cry'd, "Oh! look not in, great king,
For there is in it just nothing:"
And so prefer'd with tune and gate,
A speech as empty as their plate.

Now, as the king came neer the town,
Each one ran crying up and down,
Alas poor Oxford, thou'rt undone,
For now the king's past Trompington,
And rides upon his brave gray dapple,
Seeing the top of King's-Colledge chappel.

* Coll. Eman abundat puritanis.

+ The king entered Cambr. 7 Mar. 161-45.

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Next rode his lordship* on a nag,

Whose coat was blue,† whose ruff was shag,
And then began his reverence

To speak most eloquent non-sense :

"See how" (quoth he) "most mighty prince, For very joy my horse doth wince.

"What cryes the town? What we?" (said he) "What cryes the University?

What cry the boys? What ev'ry thing?

Behold, behold, yon comes the king :”
And ev'ry period he bedecks

With En et ecce venit rex.

"Oft have I warn'd" (quoth he)

66 our dirt,

That no silk stockings should be hurt;
But we in vain strive to be fine,
Unless your grace's sun doth shine;
And with the beams of your bright eye,
You will be pleas'd our streets to dry."

Now come we to the wonderment
Of Christendom, and eke of Kent,
The Trinity; which to surpass,
Doth deck her spokesman‡ by a glass:
Who, clad in gay and silken weeds,
Thus opes his mouth, hark how he speeds.

"I wonder what your grace doth here, Who have expected been twelve year,

* Samuel Harsnett, then bp. of Chichester.

+ Vestis indicat virum.

‡ Nethersoli Cant. orator, qui per speculum seipsum solet ornari.

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And this your son, fair Carolus,
That is so Jacobissimus:*

Here's none, of all, your grace refuses,
You are most welcome to our Muses.

"Although we have no bells to jangle,
Yet can we shew a faire quadrangle,
Which, though it ne're was grac'd with king,
Yet sure it is a goodly thing:

My warning's short, no more I'le say,
Soon you shall see a gallant play."

But nothing was so much admir'd,
As were their players so well attir'd;
Nothing did win more praise of mine,
Then did their actors most divine :†
So did they drink their healths divinely;
So did they dance and skip so finely.

Their plays had sundry grave wise factors,
A perfect diocess of actors

Upon the stage; for I am sure that
There was both bishop, pastor, curat:
Nor was their labour light, or small,
The charge of some was pastoral.

Our playes were certainly much worse,
For they had a brave hobby-horse,
Which did present unto his grace
A wondrous witty ambling pace:

* Orator hoc usus est vocabulo in oratione ad regem. + Actores omnes fuere theologi.

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