NOWELL

My Lady Ramsie, I have herd ere this Of their contentions, their long suit in Law, How by good friends they have been persuaded both, Yet both but deaf to fair persuasion: What good will my word do with headstrong men? Breath blown against the wind, retures again. To be a make-peace does become me well, The charitable motion good in you, And in good sooth will make me wet mine eyes, To see them even, have been so long at ods. And by my means, isle do the best I can, But God must bless my words, for men but man. Good day to sir Thomas Ramsie. 'Tis not my custom: but sir Thomas. Now body a me, I swear not every day, You are too to much to blame: two Citizens, Such as your self, and sir Thomas Ramsie are, To Beatrice your selves in Law six or seven year, Make Lawyers, Turneys clerks, and knaves, to spend Your money in a brabbling controversy, Even Like too fools: see where the other is, With our Dean of Powles, never better met, We two as Umpires will conclude a strife Before the Clock strike twelve, that now is aleuen: Lawyers this full seven year have brabbled in, And with a cup or two of merry-godown, Make them shake hands: Is't not well said M. Dean? And I could wish it as well done, M. Hobson. How stands the difference betwixt you my good friends? Reason being made men guide, why is't that force Are violent passion to sweep the soul Into such headlong mischiefs: 'tis only this, Reason would rule, Nature a Rebel is. You know the fire of your contention, Hath only cherishing and is maintained From vild affections, whose strength's but that As sultry heat does make us shun the fire, And extreme cold does altar that desire: All things that have beginnings, have their ends. Your hate must have conclusion, then be friends. If I must then decide the difference, Thus it shall be: because that Sir Thomas Ramsis, Had earnest given before you bought the Land, Though you were not acquainted with so much, I do ward he have a hundred pound Towards his charges, and for that you Have both paid for the Land, and built upon it, It shall continue yours: the money you have spent, Either account it lost, or badly lent. With all my heart, long may you live together, As friend should be to friend, brother to brother. Nay stay good John, thou knowest my dwelling John? The hundred pound thou art sent for, bring it thither And my good friends, since that so long a strife Hath end by my persuasion, isle entreat, My house may entertain you for this time. Where with such necessaries weel pass the time, As God shall best be pleased, and you contented: I keep no riot, nor you look for none, Only my table is for every one. Then assure you, he will be hear presently: In the mean time, I have drawn you to this walk, A Gallery, wherein I keep the Pictures Of many charitable Citizens: That having fully satisfied your bodies, You may by them learn to refresh your souls. They are, and isle describe to you some of their births, How they bestowed their lives, and did so live The fruits of this life might a better give. They are two that have deserved a memory, Worthy the note of our Posterity: This Agnes Foster, wife to sir A. Foster, That Freed a Beggar at the grate of Ludgate, Was after Mayor of this most famous City, And built the Southside of Ludgate up, Upon which wall these Verses I have read. Devout souls that pass this way, For M. Foster late Mayor honestly pray, And Agnes his Wife to God consecrate, That of pity this house made for Londoners in Lord. gate: So that for lodging and water here nothing they pay, As their Keepers shall answer at dreadful Dooms day. Your Factor Timothy Thin beard writes to you, Who as it seems is arrested at your suit. And hear confesses by using bade company, He is run behind hand five hundred pound. And does entreat you would be good to him. Here is so much under his own hand. Is this the Plot sir of your work in hand? In sooth it will be a good edifice, Much Art appears in it: in all my time I have not seen a work of this neat form: What is this vaultage for, is fashioned here? Here is a middle round and a far space, The round is greater, and the space Seems open: your conceit for that? So it appears. And what of this partly that is over head? Kind M. Gresham this same work of yours, Will be a Tomb for you after your death, A benefit to Tradesmen and a place Where Matchants meet their traffic to maintain, Where neithèr could shall hurt them, heat, nor rain. Art may discourse of these things none can judge Directly of the will of heaven in this, And by discourse thus far I hold of it. That this strange star appearing in the North, And in the constellation of Cassiopey, Which with three fixed stars commixed to it, Does make a Figure Geometrical, Lozengewise called of the learned Rombus, Conducted with the hourly Moon of heaven, And never altered from the fixed sphere, Foretells such alteration that my friends, Heaven grant with this first sighed our sorrow ends. If you will follow the religious path, That these have Beatrice before you, you shall win heaven, Even in the midday walks you shall not walk the street. But widows orisons, Laysars prayers, Orphans thanks, Will fly into your ears, and with a joyful blush, Make you thank God that you have done for them: When otherwise theil fill you ears with curses, Crying we feed on woe, you are our Nurse's. Oh is't not better that young couples say, You raised us up, then you were our decay: And mother's tongues teach their first born to sing, Of your good deeds, then by the bade to wring. Begin then while you live, least being dead, The good you give in charge be never done, Make your own hands your executors, your eyes overseers, And have this saying ever in your mind: Women be forgetful, children be unkind, Executors be covetous, and take what they find. I know him well, A good sufficient man, and since he purchased His Freedom in the City God hath blessed His travail with increase. Men are more worth then money, a say's true: 'Tis said by many but maintained by few. So suddenly returned? They will take him for a mad man. I am pleased I'll give him physic for a soul diseased. Madam you are welcome into Lumber-street. Not I, believe me Madam. You are merry sir. (cause, This sir Richard Whitington three times Mayor, Son to a Knight, and Prentice to a Mercer, Began the Library of Grayfriars in London; And his Executors after him did built Whittington College, thirteen Almshouses for poor men, Repaired S. Bartholmews in Smithfield, Glazed the Guildhall, and built Newgate. They did the more wrong to the gentleman. This sir John Allen Mercer and Mayor of London, A man so graven of life that he was made A privy Counsellor to King Henry the eight, He gave this City a rich Collar of gold, That by the Mayor succeeding should be worn; Of which sir William Laxton was the first, And is continued even unto this year, A number more there are, of whose good deeds This City flourished. As of all men, we are mortal, made of clay, Now healthful, now crazy; now sick, now well; Now live, now dead, and then to heaven, or hell. It joys me too: Great is the number of the rich in show About the City, but of the charitable, There are but few.