The Complaint Of Carassus. Poem by Thomas Blenerhasset

Sith men be borne by Nature naked all,
With their estates why are not men content?
Why doo they deeme the want of wealth a thral?
Why shoulde they lothe the lot, which God hath sent?
Adam him selfe I finde, at fyrst was sent,
As one who did disdaine his poore estate,
To disobay, with God to be a mate.

Thou maist be made a God, (quoth satan than,)
If on the fruite forbidden thou wilt feede:
The senselesse wight, the feeble forcelesse man,
Did taste thereof, supposing that with speede
He shoulde in hast haue been a God in deede.
He not content, hoping for hygher place,
Brought bitter bale to him and al his race.

And I the sonne of Adam by descent,
Dyd seeke to set my selfe in princely seate,
With mine estate I could not be content,
For which I felt the force of hatreds heat.
As at the first, my good successe was greate,
So at the last, by fansies fond desires,
I gropte for grapes amidst the bramble brires.

Let such as woulde by vertue them aduaunce,
Marke by what menes I did my selfe addresse,
To flye at first my poore alotted chaunce
By honest meanes: let them from wickednesse
Which fayne would flye, learne this by my distresse,
That he who doth from right and reason stray,
Destruction shall destroy him with decay.

For I by byrth borne next to beggers doore,
Was stayde aloft with staffe of high estate:
But whilste that I so hye a pitche did soore,
I left the meanes which made me ryse of late,
I vices loude, I did al vertues hate.
For which, Carassus ranne a race in vayne,
And nothing got, but death and deepe disdayne.

When ciuile strife had Bryttayne quite vndone,
So that her strength was now of none auayle,
The faythlesse Scots with ruth did ouerrunne
That royall realme: the Pictes did so preuayle,
That sorrow did on euery side assayle
My natiue soyle: and being thus dismayde,
To Rome we sent for succour, helpe, and ayde.

Seuerus then by Bassianus sent,
To bring this realme vnto some quiet stay,
The Romans and the Brittaynes both were bent,
To bring the Scottes and Pictes to their decay,
Them to returne agayne to Scithya.
And at the last, by good Seuerus ayde,
We them destroyde, when we were most afrayde.

Whose force though twice the Romans felt to strong,
Yet at the last, we got a goodly day
Euen by my meanes, who thrust into the throng
Of Scots and Pictes, I desperate ther dyd play
The part of hym, whom feare did neuer fray.
And at the last, to end this mortall strife,
I did depriue king Lodrike of his life.

And when the Pictes did see their king depriude
Of vitall life, Lord, how they fled the fielde:
They made me muse, to see how fast they striude,
With staylesse steppes, eche one his life to shielde:
Who could not flye, he there with care was kilde.
So by my meanes, my country did obtayne
Her auncient state, and liberty agayne.

At my returne I to Seuerus sayde,
See here how I with woundes am all bestead?
I cannot liue, I feele how lyfe doth fade,
Lodrike him selfe did carue and cut my head,
For which my blade his lukewarme blood hath shed.
He cut my cap, and I haue got his crowne,
He lost his lyfe, and I haue found renowne.

Seuerus then vnto his Surgion sayde,
Heale hym, and bryng him safe and sound agayne,
Thou for thy paynes with poundes shalt wel be payd,
And he shall haue such honoure for his payne,
As vnto him for euer shal remayne.
For by the Gods which rule the skies aboue,
His noble actes deserue eternal loue.

When by the skill of Surgions curious arte,
My hurtes were healde, and holesome health ensude,
Seuerus then reioycing at the harte,
Made me a Lorde, with wealth he me indude,
Yea, he although my learning were but rude,
Sent me to Rome, as Legate of this lande,
To make reporte how here our state did stande.

My deedes at home, inrichte me with renowne,
My talke abroade, with proper filed phrase,
Adornde my head euen with a Laurell crowne.
The Emperour did much commend my wayes,
So that I was bedeckt with double prayse.
I could not reade, my lerning was but weake.
Yet they of Rome did muse to heare me speake.

As learned Arte doth geue a goodly grace
To some: so some by natures giftes do get
Eternal fame, and purchase them a place
Aboue the place where learned men do sit.
We finde the fine dexteritye of wit
In them which be both wise and ful of skill:
Yet neuer striude to clime Pernassus hill.

So I with prayse a time at Rome did stay,
And tracte of time returnde me backe agayne,
The Emperour, he gaue my ryght away
Within a while, which made me storme amayne:
I had great cause me thought for to complayne,
Seuerus, he was made the king of all:
The giftes he gaue to me were very small.

I was but made the Captayne of the coast,
From Forrayne force to keepe my realme in rest,
Seuerus, he was crowned king in post,
Which did so boyle within my warrelike brest,
That I with griefe most strangely was distrest.
Shal he (sayde I) thus reape the high renowne
Which I deserue? Shal he inioy the Crowne?

I wonne the wreath, and he wil weare the same:
I got the goale, and he will get the gayne.
For me in faith it were a deadly shame,
If I in this his regall royall raygne,
Without repulse should suffer him remaine.
Which if I do, then let the dreadfull darte
Of Vulcans wrath, torment in twayne my hart.

For why, I see what seruile seruitude
Shall then insue, if he may raigne in rest:
Shall Bryttayn braue by Romanes be subdude?
It shal no doubte, by Romans be distrest,
Except my might against his might be prest.
My might as yet cannot his strength constraine,
Yet may my might compell him to complaine.

The drainyng droppes doo make the Marble yeeld
In time: the seas the cragged rockes do rende:
And Courtly Kinges by tearing time be kilde.
For time dooth make the mightie Okes to bende,
And time dooth make the litle twigges ascende:
So I in time, such power may prepare,
As shal constraine Seuerus death, with care.

But whylst I did indeuour to destroy
Seuerus strength, the Pictes were prickte with pride,
For theyr reuenge vs Britaynes to annoy.
Which when I hard, in post I did prouide
A power great, then I in hast did ride,
And kept the Coast so strong with men of warre,
That no man coulde ariue, to make or marre.

The poore Pictes preuented of their pray,
In waltering waues did bouse their bitter bayne,
They digde a diche, and caught theyr owne decay,
On rockes theyr Barkes, in seas them selues were slaine.
The Westerne windes with wo did them constrayne,
By Britayne bankes to make so long delaye,
I, and the Seas, brought them to their decay.

By meanes whereof my credite did increase:
Seuerus did esteeme me as his stay,
I from my fyrst deuises coulde not cease,
For aye I hopte to haue a happy day,
To bring the Roman rule to their decay,
With fauning face good fortune smyled so,
I had my wyshe, what might I hope for mo?

For into Spayne the Roman souldiours sent,
I had at home the might him to depriue,
Then wisely I al perilles to preuent,
Prouided so that no man could ariue,
No Picte, nor Scot, nor Roman then could striue
With me at home, then I the Lordes with speede
Of Brittayne calde, and thus I did proceede:

The Roman rule vs subiect slaues hath made,
You se my Lordes, a Roman heere doth raigne,
Whome to destroy my power shal inuade,
I do in deede this seruile life disdayne:
And you your selues do much therof complayne.
If you with helpe wyl me assiste, I sweare,
The Roman rule shal haue no power here.

Then they most glad with one consent replide,
We wyl assist thee with what myght we may,
And we our selues most wylling wyl prouide,
No Britayne borne against thee shal display
His shielde, but al at the appoynted day,
As prest to please thy heste, shal thee assist:
Winne thou the Crowne, and weare it at thy list.

Which when I hard them say with one consent,
Blame not though pride did then possesse my hart
For Princely Crowne: the dreadfull dierie dent
Of wrakful warre, who would not feele the smart
Of griping grefe? who would not feele the dart
Of dreadful death? or who regardeth payne?
If he a Crowne and kingdome may obtayne?

For gunnehole grotes the countrie Clowne doth care,
Restlesse with ruth, the Rusticke gets his gayne:
The Marchant man for welth doth send his ware
About the worlde, with perill and great payne.
And all the worlde for welth doth not disdayne,
Amidst the surge of mighty mounting Seas,
To caste themselues, their owne delightes to please.

If to obtayne such trifles they do toyle,
And neuer ceasse to bring there driftes about:
Why should I feare the force of forrayne foyle?
Why should I not assay with courage stout,
To wreake my wrath vppon the Romishe route
Which heere remayne? whome to the bale to bringe,
Were me to crowne my natiue countries King.

One thinge there is which greatly doth me grieue,
Seuerus, he who did inhance my state,
He did in my distresse with life relieue
My dyinge dayes, he neuer did me hate:
Yet now with hym I must be at debate.
Euen hym with myght I greatly must disgrace,
Eare I can set my selfe in princely place.

Vntimely death shall not destroy his dayes:
For if he wyl returne to Rome agayne,
Or if he wil resigne his crowne with prayse,
Or if hee wyl amongst vs styl remayne.
If he can like of these, we wyl refrayne
From sheading bloude: which if he dothe disdayne,
I then against my wyl, must woorke his paine.

So foorth I past with al my power prest,
Seuerus did at Durham then delay,
Whereas I mente his state to haue distrest:
But some I thinke my secretes did bewray,
For he to Yorke in hast did take his way.
Which when I had bessiegde on euery side,
with care and griefe of minde, Seuerus dide.

Se heere the force of cruel fretting care?
Se heere how sorowe doth dismay the minde?
For when he harde Carassus did prepare
To reue his crowne, he iudging me vnkinde,
With sobbing sighes of sorrowe, he resignde
Before his time his minde from manly breste:
Beholde with care how sorrowe reaues mans rest.

Thus he intombde in his vntimely Chest,
It was decreed Carassus shoulde be King,
The three estates of al my Realme were prest,
With one consent they al to me did bring
The kingly crowne, then thus they al did singe,
The due desertes of this renowmed wyght,
Deserues to be the Britayne king by right.

Marke by what steppes I dyd the toppe obtayne,
With keeping sheepe my youthful yeares were spent:
Then with the whyp I plide the Plowe amayne,
In Mars his feeldes to fight my minde was bent,
As Legate then to Rome my selfe was sente,
I dubbed was a Lorde, of high renowne,
And now at laste, I haue obtaynd the Crowne.

The ende, the acte (the Plaudite) dooth proue,
And all is well, whose endyng is not yll:
Who sittes aloft had neuer neede to moue,
For feare least he shoulde fall agaynst his wyll.
Though creepyng he dyd gayne the toppe with skil,
Yet at the last, by turning of his toe,
A suddayne fall may worke his wretched woe.

Which fall I felt, and how? I here wyll showe:
When I as King dyd all the Realme comaunde,
I fearefull dyd suspect mine ouerthrow,
The place (mee thought) dyd shake where I dyd stande.
Then for my garde I dyd prouide a bande
Of warlyke wights, to garde my Noble grace,
I lastly dyd my Noble men displace.

From foorth the Feeldes I for my Father sent,
Hym of a Clowne a Noble man I made:
My Brethren all euen for the same intent,
Lyke Courtiers there in Court with me they stayde,
And all my stock were glad and well apayde:
For they of late which rulde the paynefull Plow,
Of Brittayne Lande they bee the Rulers now.

From Cart to Court, a Countrye man to call,
With braue attyre to decke a dunghyll Dycke,
Is lyke a paynted Image in a wall,
Which dooth deceiue, and seemeth to bee quicke,
Though woorkmanship most trimly dooth it tricke,
Yet of a stone, a stone wyll still remayne:
A Clowne cannot from Clownish deedes refrayne.

As hard it is of quarryed Marble stone,
For man to make a liuely mouing wyght,
As of a Lout, or els of such a one
Who dayly doth imploy his whole delyght
To digge and delue, it passeth mortal myght,
To make him serue in Courte a kinges behest:
Turne hym to plowe, the Cart for him is best.

For though thou canst by cunninge art compell
Nature a tyme to leaue her wonted place,
She wyl returne, in spight of heauen or hell:
No Alcumist Dame Nature can displace,
Except that God doth geue abundant grace.
The Caske wyl haue a taste for euermore,
With that wherewith it seasoned was before.

Why did I then my courtlesse court mayntayne
With Hob and Ihon, Rafe Royster, and his mate?
Whose greedy iawes aye gaping after gayne,
Did polle, and pil, and bred bitter debate:
Men much vnmeete to mayntayne myne estate.
Why did I them so neare myne elbowe place?
Because my selfe by byrth was borne but bace.

Like wyl to lyke, the Mule doth claw her mate,
With horned beastes the Ienite cannot iest,
Those bauling Houndes, the haughty Harte doth hate,
With Beares the Beare in safety countes her best.
So I amongst my lyke did looke for rest,
Their dedes by me were alwayes wel alowde,
By them likewyse my doinges were avowd.

But as you see the Husbandman with care
From new sowne feeldes the rauening Rookes to driue,
So dyd the Gentrie of my Realme prepare,
My Countrie Courte and mee for to depriue.
But Gentlemen were then to weake to striue
With mee, and mine, for which they dyd prepare
A new founde snache, which dyd my feete insnare.

In surgelesse Seas of quiet rest when I
Seauen yeares had sayld, a perrye did arise,
The blastes whereof abrigde my liberty:
For whilste I dyd with busye brayne deuise
Them to destroy, which did my Courte despise,
The boystrous blastes of hatred blewe a gale,
My Cables crakte, my Barke was bongd with bale.

For they (I meane the Gentrie of my Lande)
Both mee, and mine, theirs, and themselues had sold
Subiects to Rome, from whence a mighty bande
They had conuaide, to make my courage cold:
Into my Realme they could not be controlde,
But when they were ariude, they quickly brought
Both me and mine, and all the rest, to nought.

Alectus then the Chieftayne of the rest,
Spoyling my friendes, he forst me to the feelde,
The daye was come, we both in fight were prest.
His trustlesse trayne, did seeme to me to yeelde,
But al the feeldes with great ambushmentes filde,
I coulde not flee, Alectus had the day,
With his owne sworde for breath he made me bray.

As due desert did force my shippe to flote,
So vices vile me drencht in waues of woes.
O false suspect, why didst thou make me dote?
Fearing my fall, my friends I deemd my foes:
Fearing the worst, the best I did depose,
And was deposde: let other learne heereby,
The crooked Crabbe wyl alwayes walke awry.

And let them know which do not lothe to learne,
That kinges in Court, be combred most with care.
The Pilotes charge, who sitteth at the stearne,
Doth make him watche, when other do prepare
Them selues to sleep: so kinges distressed are
With doutful dread, and many other thinges:
The sheepheardes life is better then the kinges.