Virtual Grub Street: Churchyard Calls the Earl of Oxford a Cur.

Here is the poem Churchyard contributed to the front matter of Thomas Bedingfeld’s translation of Cardanus Comforte[1]. In 2 Henry IV Falstaff bellows

Fal. The young Prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog.

It is an astonishingly reckless thing to say to a Prince. That Shakespeare identified with the Prince is a settled matter among scholars.

In this poem, the old soldier, Thomas Churchyard, — retainer to the young Earl of Oxford — “never yet a breaker of proverbs”[2] such as compose this and all of his poems, here one per couplet — writes

The flatterer here may finde his faults, and fall to better frame,

The currishe earle may ciuill be, in noting of the same.

Like Prince Harry, in the Henry IV plays, the Earl, it seems, is in the habit of chastising Churchyard for his many faults. Perhaps he had better sense than to try to correct his doggerel poetry. But, again, it is astonishingly reckless to call one’s employer a “cur” — a dog. Especially if he is an Earl/Prince.

This is only one of many corollations between Churchyard and Jack Falstaff that I present in my Edward de Vere's Retainer Thomas Churchyard: the Man Who Was Falstaff.[3]

"Thomas Churchyarde in the behalfe of the Booke."

YOu troubled mindes with tormentes toste, that sighes and sobs consumes:

(Who breathes and puffes from burning breast, both smothring smoke and fumes.)

Come reade this booke that freelye bringes, a boxe of balme full swete,

An oyle to noynt the brused partes, of euerye heauye spriete.

A souplinge salue for euerye sore, a medcine for the sicke,

A seede that eates vp cankred fleshe, and searcheth neare the quicke.

Eche griefe y^t growes by error blinde (that makes mans iudgement iarre)

May here a precious plaster finde, eare corsye creepe to[o] farre.

The blinde that mournes for want of sight, coulde he but heare this red,

Would take his blindnes in good part, and beare a quiet hed.

The lame whose lacke of legges is death, vnto a loftye mynde,

Wyll kisse his crotche and creepe on knees, Cardanus woorkes to fynde.

The begger bare bedeckt in brats, and patched rotten rags,

In budget if he bare this booke, would scorne the roysters brags.

The shepehearde that in skortchinge sunne, sits skowling on the skyes,

Would leaue the wolfe his flocke of sheepe, to see this booke wyth eyes.

The surlye snodge that sweepes vp golde, and makes his God thereon,

Would sure confesse this pearle shold shyne, when glistring gold were gon.

The wyldest man or monster strange, whose natures naughtye are,

Would stand [amazed] as bucke at baye, vppon this booke to stare,

This is no fable finelye fylde, as cutlare workes the blade,

This is a substance of it selfe, this is no sillye shade.

This speakes out of the brasen heade, full many a golden word,

This strykes the stordye stomackes dead, and yet it drawes no sworde.

This threatens thonderboltes for fooles, yet weather fayre it showes,

So such as can beare of a storme, and calmye weather knowes.

This teacheth men to tune theyr strings, who would sweete musicke make

This showes who faynes, or sweetely sings: & where the tune we take.

The poore that playnes on pinching plagues, by this doth stand content,

And yeldinge thankes for foode and cloth, takes well y^t God hath sent.

The rich whose raging reach would reape, the sweete of euery soyle,

Shall learne to singe a mixrye meane, and leaue the poore the spoyle.

The hye or hautye hart shal here, a liuelye lesson learne,

How wysedome holdes himselfe vpright, and halting heades deserne.

The lowe that lours at lothsome locke, and lingers out his tyme,

Shal see how safe the simple sits, and how they fall that clyme.

The strong that striues to winne the goale, by strength & stoutnes vaine,

Shall shunne the shouldring croked play, and walke the path full plaine.

The weake whose wits wyth woes are worne (which breedes in brest debate)

Shal laughe y^e giants strength to scorne, & prayse the feeble state,

The sicke that seekes a syrope sweete, for soure disease wythin,

Shal helpe the heapes of harmes in hart, eare blister rise on skin.

The proude y^t poultes and pickes his plumes, & prunes his fethers gay,

Shal meekenes showe and forthwyth fling, his painted sheath away.

The prisner that in fetters lyes, shal thincke his fredome more,

In closed walles than al his scoope, that he hath had before,

The banisht wight that beates his braynes, wyth many busy broyles,

Shal see what gaine exile doth bringe, by sight of sondrye soyles.

The seruaunt that in seruage [servitude] lyues, shall see hee hath more ease,

Than hath his maister who of force, must many people please.

The fearefull man that hateth death, shall see that death is best,

And death is most to be desyrde, where life can breede no rest.

The dronken dolt that doth delite, in sosse, in swashe, and swill,

Shall see some snib or soure rebuke, to breake him of his will.

The foole that all sound counsell hates, perhaps in reading this,

Maye waxe more wyse and fondnes leaue, and so amende the mis.

The flatterer here may finde his faults, and fall to better frame,

The currishe earle may ciuill be, in noting of the same.

The cowarde shall win courage great, as he this booke shall vewe,

And he that is not shaped right, may here be made a newe.

The plowman that wyth sweat of browes, doth dearely win his bred.

Shall see what daunger dwell they in, that are wyth daintyes fed.

There is no state that beareth lyfe, of hye or lowe degree,

But for the sickenes of his minde, a medsine here may see.

This booke bewrayes what wretched wracke, belongs to life of man,

What burthens bore he on hys backe, since first this world began.

This is a glasse to gaze vpon, where man himselfe may finde,

A shyning sunne that plainlye shewes, A man is but his minde,

And who that reads and marks a right, the reasons couched here,

Shal win such treasures by the same, as he shall hold ful dere.

Passe on plaine booke of pearelesse price, and preace in worthye place,

Dread no disdaine of froward heads, nor feare the frowning face.

A worthye worke doth iustly craue, a worthye patrone still,

Whose noble bucklar shall defende, this worthye worke from in.

And he that made thee Englishe speake, his tongue and penne be blest,

Wyth happye hope of vertues hye, from heauen, here possest.

FINIS.

[1] Cardano, Girolamo. Cardanus comforte translated into Englishe. And published by commaundement of the right honourable the Earle of Oxenford (1573). Thomas Bedingfeld, tr.

[2] 1 Henry VI, I.ii.

[3] Purdy, Gilbert Wesley. Edward de Vere's Retainer Thomas Churchyard: the Man Who Was Falstaff (2017). https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077LVLXY2/