“I first adventure, with foolhardy might,
   To tread the steps of perilous despite. 
   I first adventure, follow me who list,
   And be the second English satirist.”

He could only have meant by this to claim that he was the first in England to write Satires in the manner of the Latins.  He would not bend, he said, to Lady or to Patron—­

   “Rather had I, albe in careless rhymes,
   Check the misordered world and lawless times.”

Some of these Satires were, of course, of the nature of Characters, and I quote two or three in passing.

A DOMESTIC CHAPLAIN.

   A gentle squire would gladly entertain
   Into his house some trencher-chaplain;
   Some willing man that might instruct his sons,
   And that would stand to good conditions. 
   First, that he lie upon the truckle-bed,
   Whilst his young master lieth o’er his head. 
   Secondly, that he do, on no default,
   Ever presume to sit above the salt. 
   Third, that he never change his trencher twice. 
   Fourth, that he use all common courtesies;
   Sit bare at meals, and one half rise and wait. 
   Last, that he never his young master beat
   But he must ask his mother to define
   How many jerks she would his breech should line. 
   All these observed, he could contented be,
   To give five marks and winter livery.

THE WITLESS GALLANT.

   Seest thou how gaily my young master goes,
   Vaunting himself upon his rising toes;
   And pranks his hand upon his dagger’s side;
   And picks his glutted teeth since late noon-tide? 
   ’Tis Ruffio:  Trow’st thou where he dined to-day? 
   In sooth I saw him sit with Duke Humfray. 
   Many good welcomes, and much gratis cheer,
   Keeps he for every straggling cavalier. 
   An open house, haunted with great resort;
   Long service mixed with musical disport. 
   Many fair younker with a feathered crest,
   Chooses much rather be his shot-free guest,
   To fare so freely with so little cost,
   Than stake his twelve-pence to a meaner host. 
   Hadst thou not told me, I should surely say
   He touched no meat of all this live-long day. 
   For sure methought, yet that was but a guess,
   His eyes seem sunk for very hollowness,
   But could he have (as I did it mistake)
   So little in his purse, so much upon his back? 
   So nothing in his maw? yet seemeth by his belt,
   That his gaunt gut not too much stuffing felt. 
   Seest thou how side it hangs beneath his hip? 
   Hunger and heavy iron makes girdles slip. 
   Yet for all that, how stiffly struts he by,
   All trapped in the new-found bravery. 
   The nuns of new-won Cales his bonnet lent,
   In lieu of their so kind a conquerment. 
   What needed he fetch that from farthest