A letter to maister Cressie.

WHere first I footyng founde,
and fancie fauour sought,
And offred faithe with greate estates,
a free accesse had wrought:
I meane emong the rocks,
bothe rough and harde by kinde.
Where stormes doe striue and weather beats,
for eury blaste of winde.
Where growes no Grapes for wine, to glad the griped brest,
Nor deintie heads ne wearie bones, finds bedds of Doune to rest:
I once againe doe staye, and loe suche harber haue,
As wandryng yers and tossed daies, amid greate tempests craue.
Full long before this tyme, as Court did me deceaue,
In countrey close emong sharpe shrubs, I shapt by bones to leaue:
But dazeled dum delights, did drawe my bodie thence,
And cleane bewitcht wilde wandryng witts, where I haue wisht me sence:
Yet as with piuishe pompe, did Pilgrime wearie waxe,
And knowledge sawe the cuttyng curbs, of connyng courtly knacks.
I iudgde what diffrence was, betwene the mountaines hye,
And carpetts fine where flatterers flocke, & depe disdaine doeth lye:
And smothely mischeef smiles, yet leaues on Ladies lappes,
And at rebound ere ball come doune, can snatch vp worldly happes:
The massie mountaine greate, that mossie mantell weares,
Breeds no sutche goates nor grinnyng kidds, nor fostereth no sutche feares.
For there poore people plaine, in ragged garments goe,
And loues the blunt and blotlesse life, and hates the painted showe:
And feeds as thei doe liue, not farest with falshodd fine,
Nor pampred vp with Frenche conceipts, & mightie Spanish wine:
No crafte nor cautell creeps, in cuppes of cold sowre whaie,
For gilded gobblet hides the harmes, that glasse will soone bewraie.
So saied I long ere this, so sweare I now withall,
So some haue founde ere Caesars daies, in goodly golden hall:
O welcome witte well bought, though deere I paied for thee,
Thou bringst for losse of tyme at Court, in countrey gaine to me.
Where now myne aged limmes, must grace or graue abide,
And Peacocke gaie let fall his plumes, for all his pompe and pride:
And where a harber good, I hope my Barke hath founde,
Where ship shall still finde flood at will, whe thousands are a groud.