For drede of the mastyue cur, For drede of the bochers dogge Wold wyrry them lyke an hogge. For and this curre do gnar, They must stande all a far, To holde vp their hande at the bar. For all their noble blode 300 He pluckes them by the hode, And shakes them by the eare, And brynge[s] them in suche feare; He bayteth them lyke a bere, Lyke an oxe or a bull: Theyr wyttes, he saith, are dull; He sayth they haue no brayne Theyr astate to mayntayne; And maketh them to[166] bow theyr kne Before his maieste. 310 Juges of the kynges lawes, He countys them foles and dawes; Sergyantes of the coyfe eke, He sayth they are to seke In pletynge of theyr case At the Commune Place, Or at the Kynges Benche; He wryngeth them suche a wrenche, That all our lerned men Dare nat[167] set theyr penne 320 To plete a trew tryall Within Westmynster hall; In the Chauncery where he syttes, But suche as he admyttes None so hardy to speke; He sayth, thou huddypeke, Thy lernynge is to lewde, Thy tonge is nat[168] well thewde, To seke before our grace; And openly in that place 330 He rages and he raues, And cals them cankerd knaues: Thus royally he dothe deale Vnder the kynges brode seale; And in the Checker he them cheks; In the Ster Chambre he noddis and beks, And bereth him there so stowte, That no man dare rowte, Duke, erle, baron, nor lorde, But to his sentence must accorde; 340 Whether he be knyght or squyre, All men must[169] folow his desyre. What say ye of the Scottysh kynge? That is another thyng. He is but an yonglyng, A stalworthy[170] stryplyng: There[171] is a whyspring and a whipling, He shulde be hyder[172] brought; But, and it were well sought, I trow all wyll be nought, 350 Nat[173] worth a shyttel cocke, Nor worth a sowre calstocke. There goth many a lye Of the Duke of Albany, That of shulde go his hede, And brought in quycke or dede, And all Scotlande owers The mountenaunce of two houres. But, as some men sayne, I drede of some false trayne 360 Subtelly wrought shall be Vnder a fayned treatee; But within monethes thre Men may happely se The trechery and the prankes Of the Scottysshe bankes. What here ye of Burgonyons, And the Spainyardes onyons? They haue slain our Englisshmen Aboue threscore and ten: 370 For all your amyte, No better they agre. God saue my lorde admyrell! What here ye of Mutrell? There with I dare nat[174] mell. Yet what here ye tell Of our graunde counsell? I coulde say some what, But speke ye no more of that,