The Fall of Collingbourne, Cruelly Executed for Making a Foolish Rhyme

Beware, take heede, take heede, beware, beware
You poets, you, that purpose to rehearce
By any art what tyraunt’s doings are:
Erynnis rage is growne so fell and fearce,
That vicious acts may not be toucht in verse:
The muse’s freedome, graunted them of elde,
Is barde, slye reasons treasons hye are helde.

Be rough in ryme, and then they say you rayle,
As Iuuenal was, but that makes no matter:
With Ieremy you shall bee had to iayle,
Or forc’d with Martial, Cæsar’s faultes to flatter:
Clarkes must bee taught to claw, and not to clatter:
Free Helicon and franke Parnassus’ hylls,
Are helly haunts, and ranke pernicious ylls.

Touch couertly in terms, and then you taunt,
Though praysed poets alway did the like,
Controll vs not, els traytour vile auaunt,
What passe wee what the learned doe mislike?
Our sinnes wee see, wherein to swarme wee seeke:
Wee passe not what the people say or thinke:
Their shittle hate makes none but cowards shrinke.

Wee knowe, say they, the course of fortune’s wheele,
How constantly it whirleth still about,
Arrearing now, while elder headlong reele,
How all the riders alway hang in doubt:
But what for that? we count him but a loute
That sticks to mount, and basely like a beast
Liues temperatly, for feare of Blockam feast.

In deede wee would of all be deemed gods
What euer wee do: and therefore partly hate
Rude preachers, that dare threaten [vs] plagues and rods,
And blase the blots whereby wee stayne our state:
But nought wee passe what any such do prate:
Of course and office they must say theyr pleasure,
And we of course must heare and mend at leasure.

But when these pelting poets in theyr rymes
Shall taunt, or iest, or paynt our wicked workes,
And cause the people know and curse our crymes,
This ougly fault no tyraunt liues but vrkes:
Wherefore wee loth such taunters worse then Turkes,
Whose meaning is to make vs know our misse,
And so to mend: but they but doate in this.

Wee know our faults as well as any other,
Wee also doubt the daungers from them due:
Yet still wee trust so right to rule the rother,
That scape we shall the sourges that ensue:
We thinke we know more shifts than other knew:
In vayne therefore for vs are counsailes writ:
Wee know our faults, and will not mend a whit.

These are the feats of the vnhappy sort,
That preace for honours, wealth, and pleasure vayne:
Ceasse therefore, Baldwine, ceasse I thee exhort,
Withdrawe thy pen, for nothing shalt thou gayne
Saue hate, with losse of paper, ynke, and payne:
Fewe hate theyr faults, all hate of them to heare,
And faultiest, from fault would seeme most cleare.

Thy intent I know is honest, playne, and good,
To warne the wise, to fray the fond fro ill,
But wicked worldlings are so witles wood,
That to the worst they althinges construe still:
With rigour oft they recompence good will:
They racke the wordes till time theyr sinowes burst,
In dolefull sences strayning still the worst.

A paynfull proofe taught mee the truth of this,
Through tyraunt’s rage, and fortune’s cruell tourne:
They murdred mee, for meetring things amisse:
For wotst thou what? I am that Collingbourne
Which made the ryme, whereof I may well mourne:
“The cat, the rat, and Louell our dog,
Doe rule all England, vnder a hog.”

Whereof the meaning was so playne and true,
That euery foole perceiued it at furst:
Most liked it, for most that most things knewe,
In hugger mugger, muttred what they durst:
The tyraunt prince of most was held accurst,
Both for his owne, and for his counsayl’s faults,
Of whom were three, the naughtyest of all naughts.

Catesby was one, whom I called a cat,
A crafty lawyer, catching all hee could:
The second Ratcliffe, whom I namde a rat,
A cruell beast to gnawe on whom hee should:
Lord Louell barkt and bit whom Richard would,
Whom I therefore did rightly tearme our dog,
Wherewith to ryme I calde the king a hog.

Tyll he the crowne had caught, hee gaue the bore,
In which estate would God hee had deceased,
Than had the realme not ruined so sore,
His nephue’s raigne should not so soone haue ceased,
The noble bloud had not beene so decreased:
His rat, his cat, and bloudhound had not noyed,
Such liegemen true, as after they destroyed.

Theyr lawles actes good subiects did lament.
And so did I, and therefore made the rymes
To shew my wit, how well I could inuent,
To warne withall the carelesse of theyr crymes:
I thought the freedom of the auncient tymes
Stoode still in force: Ridentem dicere verum
Quis vetat? nay, nay. Veritas est pessuma rerum.

Belike no tyraunts were in Horace’ dayes,
And therefore poets freely blamed vice,
Witnesse theyr satyrs sharp, and traguike playes,
With chiefest princes chiefly had in price:
They name no man, they mixe theyr gall with spice,
No more doe I, I name no man outright,
But riddle wise, I meane them as I might.

When bruite had brought this to theyr gylty eares,
Whose right surnames were noted in the ryme,
They all conspired, like most greedy beares,
To charge me straight with this most greeuous cryme:
And damned mee the gallow tree to clyme,
And then strangled, in quarters to bee cut,
Which should on high ouer London gates be put.

This iudgement giuen so vehement and sore,
Made me exclame agaynst theyr tyranny:
Wherewith encenst, to make my payne the more,
They practised a shamefull vilany:
They cut mee downe aliue, and cruelly
Ript vp my paunch and bulke, to make me smart,
And lingred long ere they tooke out my hart.

Here tyraunt Richard playde the eager hog,
His grashing tuskes my tender gristles shore:
His bloodhound Louell playde the hungry dog,
His woluish teeth my giltles carkasse tore:
His rat, and cat, did what they might, and more
Cat Catesby clawed my guts to make me smart,
The rat Ratcliffe gnawed mee to the hart.

If Iewes had kilde the iustest king aliue,
If Turkes had burnt vp churches, gods, and all,
What greater payne could cruell hearts contriue,
Than that I suffred for this trespasse small?
I was no prince, nor peere, but yet my fall
Is worthy to be thought vpon for this,
To see how cankard tyrant’s malice is.

To teach also all subiects to take heede
They medle not with magistrates affayres,
But pray to God to mend them if it neede:
To warne also all poets that be strayers,
To keepe them close in compasse of theyr chayers,
And when they touch that they would wish amended,
To sauce them so, that fewe neede bee offended.

And so to mixe theyr sharpe rebukes with mirth,
That they may pearce, not causing any payne,
Saue such as followeth euery kindely byrth,
Requited strayt, with gladnes of the gayne:
A poet must be pleasaunt, not too playne,
Faults to controll, ne yet to flatter vice,
But sound and sweete, in all things ware and wise.

The Greekes do paynt a poet’s office whole
In Pegasus, theyr fayned horse with wings,
Whome shaped so Medusae’s bloud did foale,
Who with his feete strake out the muses’ springs,
Fro flinty rockes to Hellicon that clings:
And then flewe vp into the starry skie,
And there abides among the gods on hye.

For hee that shall a perfect poet bee,
Must first bee bred out of Medusae’s bloud,
He must be chast and vertuous, as was shee
Who to her powre the Ocean god withstoode:
To th’ende also his doome be iust and good,
Hee must, as shee, looke rightly with one eye
Truth to regarde, and write nothing awrye.

In courage eke he must be like a horse,
He may not feare to register the right:
What though some frowne? thereof he may not force,
No bit, nor reyne, his tender iawes may twight:
He must be armde with strength of wit and sprite,
To dash the rocks, darke causes and obscure,
Till hee attayne the springs of truth most pure.

His hooues also must plyant bee and strong,
To riue the rocks of lust and errours blinde,
In braynlesse heads, that alway wander wrong:
These must hee brise with reasons playne and kinde,
Till springs of grace doe gush out of the minde:
For till affections from the fond be driuen,
In vayne is truth tolde, or good counsayle giuen.

Like Pegasus a poet must haue wings,
To flye to heauen, or where him liketh best:
He must haue knowledge of eternall things,
Almighty Ioue must harbour in his brest:
With worldly cares he may not be opprest,
The wings of wit and skill must heaue him hyer,
With great delight to satisfie desier.

He must also be lusty, free, and swift
To trauayle far, to vewe the trades of men,
Great knowledge oft is gotten by this shift:
Things that import hee must bee quicke to pen,
Reprouing vices sharply now and then:
He must be swift when touched tyraunts chafe,
To gallop thence, to keepe his carkas safe.

If I had well these qualityes considered,
Especially that which I touched last,
With speedy flight my feete should haue deliuered
My feeble body from [a] most boystrous blast,
They should haue caught mee, ere I had be cast:
But too much trusting to a tyraunt’s grace,
I neuer shronke, nor chaunged port or place.

I thought the poet’s auncient libertyes
For pleas had beene allowed at the bar:
I had forgot how newe found tyrannyes
With truth and freedom were at open war,
That lust was lawe, that might did make and marre,
That among tyraunts this is and euer was,
Sic volo, sic iubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas.

Where lust is lawe it booteth not to pleade,
No priuelege nor libertyes avayle:
But with the learnde, whome lawe and wisdome leade,
Although through rashnes poets hap to rayle,
A plea of dotage may all quarels quayle:
Theyr olde licence theyr writings to expounde,
Doth quit them cleare from faults by Momus founde.

This freedom old ought not to be debard
From any wight that speaketh ought, or writeth:
The author’s meaning should of right be heard,
He knoweth best to what end he enditeth:
Wordes somtime beare more then the heart behiteth:
Admit therefore the author’s exposition,
If playne, for trueth: if forc’d, for his submission.

In case of slaunder, [the] lawes requyre no more,
Saue to amend that seemed not well sayde:
Or to vnsay the slaunder’s sayde afore,
And aske forgiuenes for the hasty brayde:
To heretikes no greater payne is layde,
Then to recant theyr errours, or retract:
And worse then these can be no writer’s acte.

“Yes,” quoth the Cat, “thy rayling words be treason,
And treason is far worse then heresy:”
Then must it follow by this awkewarde reason,
That kings be more then God in maiesty,
And soules be lesse then bodyes in degree:
For heretikes both soules and God offend,
Traytors but seeke to bring man’s life to end.

I speake not this t’abace the haynous fault,
Of trayterous actes abhorde by God and man,
But to make playne theyr iudgement to be naught,
That heresy for lesser sin doe ban:
I curse them both as deepe as any can,
And alway did: yet through my foolish ryme,
They stayned mee with that most hatefull cryme.

I neuer meant the king or counsayl harme,
Unles to wish them safty were offence:
Agaynst theyr powre I neuer lifted arme,
Nor pen, nor tongue, for any ill pretence:
The ryme I made, though rude, was sound in sence,
For they therein, whom I so fondly named,
So ruled all that they were foule defamed.

This was no treason, but the very troth,
They ruled all, none could deny the same:
What was the cause then why they were so wroth?
What, is it treason in a ryming frame
To clip, to stretch, to adde, or chaunge a name?
And this reserued, there is no ryme nor reason,
That any craft can clout to seeme a treason.

For where I meant the king by name of hog,
I only alluded to his badge the bore:
To Louel’s name I added more our dog,
Because most dogs haue borne that name of yore:
These metaphors I vsde with other more,
As cat, and rat, the halfe names of the rest,
To hide the sence that they so wrongly wrest.

I pray you now what treason finde you heare?
Enough, you rubd the gilty on the gaule,
Both sence and names doe note them very neare:
I graunt that was the chiefe cause of my faule,
Yet can you finde therein no treason at all:
There is no worde against the prince, or state,
No harme to them whom all the realme did hate.

But sith the gilty alwayes are suspicious,
And dread the ruin that must sue by reason,
They cannot choose but count theyr counsayle vicious
That note theyr faults, and therefore call it treason:
All grace and goodnes with the lewde is geason:
This is the cause why they good thinges doe wrest,
Whereas the good take ill things to the best.

And therefore, Baldwine, boldly to the good
Rebuke their fault, so shalt thou purchase thankes:
As for the bad, thou shalt but moue their moode,
Though pleasauntly thou touch their naughty prankes:
Warne poets all, no wise to passe the bankes
Of Hellicon, but keepe within the bound:
So shall their freedome to no harme redound.