PROSOPOPOIA: OR MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE
IT was the month in which the righteous Maide,
That, for disdaine of sinfull worlds upbraide,
Fled back to heaven, whence she was first conceived,
Into her silver bowre the Sunne received;
And the hot Syrian Dog on him awayting, 5
After the chafed Lyons cruell bayting,
Corrupted had th’ ayre with his noysome breath,
And powr’d on th’ earth plague, pestilence, and death.
Emongst the rest a wicked maladie
Raign’d emongst men, that manie did to die, 10
Depriv’d of sense and ordinarie reason;
That it to leaches seemed strange and geason.
My fortune was, mongst manie others moe,
To be partaker of their common woe;
And my weake bodie, set on fire with griefe, 15
Was rob’d of rest and naturall reliefe.
In this ill plight, there came to visite mee
Some friends, who, sorie my sad case to see,
Began to comfort me in chearfull wise,
And meanes of gladsome solace to devise. 20
But seeing kindly sleep refuse to doe
His office, and my feeble eyes forgoe,
They sought my troubled sense how to deceave
With talke, that might unquiet fancies reave;
And sitting all in seates about me round, 25
With pleasant tales (fit for that idle stound)
They cast in course to waste the wearie howres:
Some tolde of ladies, and their paramoures;
Some of brave knights, and their renowned squires;
Some of the faeries and their strange attires; 30
And some of giaunts hard to be beleeved;
That the delight thereof me much releeved.
Amongst the rest a good old woman was,
Hight Mother Hubberd, who did farre surpas
The rest in honest mirth, that seem’d her well: 35
She, when her turne was come her tale to tell,
Tolde of a strange adventure, that betided
Betwixt the Foxe and th’ Ape by him misguided;
The which, for that my sense it greatly pleased,
All were my spirite heavie and diseased, 40
Ile write in termes, as she the same did say,
So well as I her words remember may.
No Muses aide me needes heretoo to call;
Base is the style, and matter meane withall.
¶ Whilome (said she) before the world was civill, 45
The Foxe and th’ Ape, disliking of their evill
And hard estate, determined to seeke
Their fortunes farre abroad, lyeke with his lyeke:
For both were craftie and unhappie witted:
Two fellowes might no where be better fitted. 50
The Foxe, that first this cause of griefe did finde,
Gan first thus plaine his case with words unkinde:
‘Neighbour Ape, and my goship eke beside,
(Both two sure bands in friendship to be tide,)
To whom may I more trustely complaine 55
The evill plight that doth me sore constraine,
And hope thereof to finde due remedie?
Heare then my paine and inward agonie.
Thus manie yeares I now have spent and worne,
In meane regard, and basest fortunes scorne, 60
Dooing my countrey service as I might,
No lesse I dare saie than the prowdest wight;
And still I hoped to be up advaunced,
For my good parts; but still it hath mischaunced.
Now therefore that no lenger hope I see, 65
But froward fortune still to follow mee,
And losels lifted up on high, where I did looke,
I meane to turne the next leafe of the booke.
Yet ere that anie way I doo betake,
I meane my gossip privie first to make. 70
‘Ah, my deare gossip!’ answer’d then the Ape,
‘Deeply doo your sad words my wits awhape,
Both for because your griefe doth great appeare,
And eke because my selfe am touched neare:
For I likewise have wasted much good time, 75
Still wayting to preferment up to clime,
Whilest others alwayes have before me stept,
And from my beard the fat away have swept;
That now unto despaire I gin to growe,
And meane for better winde about to throwe. 80
Therefore to me, my trustie friend, aread
Thy councell: two is better than one head.’
‘Certes,’ said he, ‘I meane me to disguize
In some straunge habit, after uncouth wize,
Or like a pilgrime, or a lymiter, 85
Or like a gipsen, or a juggeler,
And so to wander to the worldes ende,
To seeke my fortune, where I may it mend:
For worse than that I have I cannot meete.
Wide is the world, I wote, and everie streete 90
Is full of fortunes and adventures straunge,
Continuallie subject unto chaunge.
Say, my faire brother, now, if this device
Doth like you, or may you to like entice.’
‘Surely,’ said th’ Ape, ‘it likes me wondrous well; 95
And would ye not poore fellowship expell,
My selfe would offer you t’ accompanie
In this adventures chauncefull jeopardie.
For to wexe olde at home in idlenesse
Is disadventrous, and quite fortunelesse: 100
Abroad, where change is, good may gotten bee.’
The Foxe was glad, and quickly did agree:
So both resolv’d, the morrow next ensuing,
So soone as day appeard to peoples vewing,
On their intended journey to proceede; 105
And over night, whatso theretoo did neede
Each did prepare, in readines to bee.
The morrow next, so soone as one might see
Light out of heavens windowes forth to looke,
Both their habiliments unto them tooke, 110
And put themselves (a Gods name) on their way.
Whenas the Ape, beginning well to wey
This hard adventure, thus began t’ advise:
‘Now read, Sir Reynold, as ye be right wise,
What course ye weene is best for us to take, 115
That for our selves we may a living make.
Whether shall we professe some trade or skill?
Or shall we varie our device at will,
Even as new occasion appeares?
Or shall we tie our selves for certaine yeares 120
To anie service, or to anie place?
For it behoves, ere that into the race
We enter, to resolve first hereupon.’
‘Now surely, brother,’ said the Foxe anon,
‘Ye have this matter motioned in season: 125
For everie thing that is begun with reason
Will come by readie meanes unto his end;
But things miscounselled must needs miswend.
Thus therefore I advize upon the case:
That not to anie certaine trade or place, 130
Nor anie man, we should our selves applie;
For why should he that is at libertie
Make himselfe bond? Sith then we are free borne,
Let us all servile base subjection scorne;
And as we bee sonnes of the world so wide, 135
Let us our fathers heritage divide,
And chalenge to our selves our portions dew
Of all the patrimonie, which a few
Now hold in hugger mugger in their hand,
And all the rest doo rob of good and land. 140
For now a few have all, and all have nought,
Yet all be brethren ylike dearly bough
t.
There is no right in this partition,
Ne was it so by institution
Ordained first, ne by the law of Nature, 145
But that she gave like blessing to each creture,
As well of worldly livelode as of life,
That there might be no difference nor strife,
Nor ought cald mine or thine: thrice happie then
Was the condition of mortall men. 150
That was the golden age of Saturne old,
But this might better be the world of gold:
For without golde now nothing wilbe got.
Therefore (if please you) this shalbe our plot:
We will not be of anie occupation; 155
Let such vile vassalls, borne to base vocation,
Drudge in the world, and for their living droyle,
Which have no wit to live withouten toyle.
But we will walke about the world at pleasure,
Like two free men, and make our ease a treasure. 160
Free men some beggers call; but they be free,
And they which call them so more beggers bee:
For they doo swinke and sweate to feed the other,
Who live like lords of that which they doo gather,
And yet doo never thanke them for the same, 165
But as their due by nature doo it clame.
Such will we fashion both our selves to bee,
Lords of the world, and so will wander free
Where so us listeth, uncontrol’d of anie.
Hard is our hap, if we (emongst so manie) 170
Light not on some that may our state amend;
Sildome but some good commeth ere the end.’
Well seemd the Ape to like this ordinaunce:
Yet, well considering of the circumstaunce,
As pausing in great doubt, awhile he staid, 175
And afterwards with grave advizement said:
‘I cannot, my lief brother, like but well
The purpose of the complot which ye tell:
For well I wot (compar’d to all the rest
Of each degree) that beggers life is best: 180
And they that thinke themselves the best of all
Oft-times to begging are content to fall.
But this I wot withall, that we shall ronne
Into great daunger, like to bee undonne,
Thus wildly to wander in the worlds eye, 185
Without pasport or good warrantie,
For feare least we like rogues should be reputed,
And for eare marked beasts abroad be bruted.
Therefore I read that we our counsells call,
How to prevent this mischiefe ere it fall, 190
And how we may, with most securitie,
Beg amongst those that beggers doo defie.’
‘Right well, deere gossip, ye advized have,’
Said then the Foxe, ‘but I this doubt will save:
For ere we farther passe, I will devise 195
A pasport for us both in fittest wize,
And by the names of souldiers us protect;
That now is thought a civile begging sect.
Be you the souldier, for you likest are
For manly semblance, and small skill in warre: 200
I will but wayte on you, and, as occasion
Falls out, my selfe fit for the same will fashion.’
The pasport ended, both they forward went;
The Ape clad souldierlike, fit for th’ intent,
In a blew jacket with a crosse of redd 205
And manie slits, as if that he had shedd
Much blood throgh many wounds therein receaved,
Which had the use of his right arme bereaved.
Upon his head an old Scotch cap he wore,
With a plume feather all to peeces tore: 210
His breeches were made after the new cut,
Al Portugese, loose like an emptie gut;
And his hose broken high above the heeling,
And his shooes beaten out with traveling.
But neither sword nor dagger he did beare; 215
Seemes that no foes revengement he did feare;
In stead of them a handsome bat he held,
On which he leaned, as one farre in elde.
Shame light on him, that through so false illusion
Doth turne the name of souldiers to abusion, 220
And that, which is the noblest mysterie,
Brings to reproach and common infamie.
Long they thus travailed, yet never met
Adventure, which might them a working set:
Yet manie waies they sought, and manie tryed; 225
Yet for their purposes none fit espyed.
At last they chaunst to meete upon the way
A simple Husbandman in garments gray;
Yet, though his vesture were but meane and bace,
A good yeoman he was of honest place, 230
And more for thrift did care than for gay clothing:
Gay without good is good hearts greatest loathing.
The Foxe, him spying, bad the Ape him dight
To play his part, for loe! he was in sight
That (if he er’d not) should them entertaine, 235
And yeeld them timely profite for their paine.
Eftsoones the Ape himselfe gan up to reare,
And on his shoulders high his bat to beare,
As if good service he were fit to doo;
But little thrift for him he did it too: 240
And stoutly forward he his steps did straine,
That like a handsome swaine it him became.
When as they nigh approached, that good man,
Seeing them wander loosly, first began
T’ enquire, of custome, what and whence they were. 245
To whom the Ape: ‘I am a souldiere,
That late in warres have spent my deerest blood,
And in long service lost both limbs and good;
And now, constrain’d that trade to overgive,
I driven am to seeke some meanes to live: 250
Which might it you in pitie please t’ afford,
I would be readie, both in deed and word,
To doo you faithfull service all my dayes.
This yron world’ (that same he weeping sayes)
‘Brings downe the stowtest hearts to lowest state: 255
For miserie doth bravest mindes abate,
And make them seeke for that they wont to scorne,
Of fortune and of hope at once forlorne.’
The honest man, that heard him thus complaine,
Was griev’d, as he had felt part of his paine; 260
And, well disposd’ him some reliefe to showe,
Askt if in husbandrie he ought did knowe,
To plough, to plant, to reap, to rake, to sowe,
To hedge, to ditch, to thrash, to thetch, to mowe;
Or to what labour els he was prepar’d: 265
For husbands life is labourous and hard.
Whenas the Ape him hard so much to talke
Of labour, that did from his liking balke,
He would have slipt the coller handsomly,
And to him said: ‘Good sir, full glad am I 270
To take what paines may anie living wight:
But my late maymed limbs lack wonted might
To doo their kindly services, as needeth:
Scarce this right hand the mouth with diet feedeth;
So that it may no painfull worke endure, 275
Ne to strong labour can it selfe enure.
But if that anie other place you have,
Which askes small paines, but thriftines to save,
Or care to overlooke, or trust to gather,
Ye may me trust as your owne ghostly father.’ 280
With that the Husbandman gan him avize,
That it for him were fittest exercise
Cattell to keep, or grounds to oversee;
And asked him, if he could willing bee
To keep his sheep, or to attend his swyne, 285
Or watch his mares, or take his charge of kyne.
‘Gladly,’ said he, ‘what ever such like paine
Ye put on me, I will the same sustaine:
But gladliest I of your fleecie sheepe
(Might it you please) would take on me the keep. 290
For ere that unto armes I me betooke,
Unto my fathers sheepe I usde to looke,
That yet the skill thereof I have not loste:
Thereto right well this curdog by my coste’
(Meaning the Foxe) ‘will serve, my sheepe to gather, 295
And drive to follow after their belwether.’
The Husbandman was meanly well content,
Triall to make of his endevourment,
And home him leading, lent to him the charge
Of all his flocke, with libertie full large, 300
Giving accompt of th’ annuall increce
Both of their lambes, and of their woolley fleece.
Thus is this Ape become a shepheard swaine,
And the false Foxe his dog: (God give them paine)
For ere the yeare have halfe his course out-run, 305
And doo returne from whence he first begun,
They shall him make an ill accompt of thrift.
Now whenas Time, flying with winges swift,
Expired had the terme, that these two javels
Should render up a reckning of their travels 310
Unto their master, which it of them sought,
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 134
