Most Apply. At Play When Siluer Lacks, Goes Saddle, Horse And All, And Eche Thing Els Worth Siluer Walkes, Although

The price be small. Because thou louest to play friend Parker other while, I wish thee there the weary day

With dicing to beguile. But thou weart better farre at home, I wist it well, And wouldest be loath among such lowts so long a time to dwell. Then iudge of vs thy friends, what kinde of life, we had, That neere the frozen pole to waste our weary dayes were glad. In such a sauage soile, weere lawes do beare no sway, But all is at the king his will, to saue or else to slay. And that sans cause, God wot, if so his minde be such. But what meane I with Kings to deale? we ought no Saints to touch. Conceiue the rest your selfe, and deeme what liues they lead, Where lust is Lawe, and Subiects liue continually in dread. And where the best estates haue none assurance good Of lands, of liues, nor nothing falles vnto the next of blood. But all of custome doeth vnto the prince redowne, And all the whole reuenue comes vnto the King his crowne. Good faith I see thee muse at what I tell thee now, But true it is, no choice, but all at princes pleasure bow. So Tarquine ruled Rome as thou remembrest well, And what his fortune was at last, I know thy selfe canst tell. Where will in Common weale doth beare the onely sway, And lust is Lawe, the prince and Realme must needs in time decay. The strangenesse of the place is such for sundry things I see, As if I woulde I cannot write ech priuate point to thee. The colde is rare, the people rude, the prince so full of pride, The Realme so stored with Monks and nunnes, and priests on euery side: The maners are so Turkie like, the men so full of guile, The women wanton, Temples stuft with idols that defile The Seats that sacred ought to be, the customes are so quaint, As if I would describe the whole, I feare my pen would faint. In summe, I say I neuer saw a prince that so did raigne, Nor people so beset with Saints, yet all but vile and vaine. Wilde Irish are as ciuill as the Russies in their kinde, Hard choice which is the best of both, ech bloody, rude and blinde. If thou bee wise, as wise thou art, and wilt be ruld by me, Liue still at home, and couet not those barbarous coasts to see. No good befalles a man that seeks, and findes no better place, No ciuill customes to be learned, where God bestowes no grace. And truely ill they do deserue to be belou'd of God, That neither loue nor stand in awe of his assured rod: Which though be long, yet plagues at last the vile and

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