P. 546; _Hamel_, P. 238), Was The One Bearing Bassendine And His Companions.]

* * * * * Certaine letters in verse, written by Master George Turberuile [Footnote: Born at Whitchurch about 1530; educated at New College, Oxford; supposed to have died about 1600.

"Occasional felecity of diction, a display of classical allusion, and imagery taken from the customs and amusements of the age ate not wanting; but the warmth, the energy, and the enthusiasm of poetry are sought for in vain." (_Drake_, Shakespeare and his Times, p. 456).] out of Moscouia, which went as Secretarie thither with Master Tho. Randolph, her Maiesties Ambassadour to the Emperour 1568, to certeine friends of his in London, describing the maners of the Countrey and people.

To his especiall friend Master Edward Dancie. [Footnote: Probably the grandson of Sir Thomas Moore, and son of his second daughter, Elizabeth Dancy.]

My Dancie deare, when I recount within my brest, My London friends, and wonted mates, and thee aboue the rest: I feele a thousand fits of deepe and deadly woe, To thinke that I from land to sea, from blisse to bale did go. I left my natiue soile, full like a retchlesse man, And vnacquainted of the coast, among the Russes ran: A people passing rude, to vices vile inclinde, Folke fit to be of Bacchus traine, so quaffing is the kinde. Drinke is their whole desire, the pot is all their pride, The sobrest head doth once a day stand needfull of a guide. If he to banket bid his friends, he will not shrinke On them at dinner to bestow a douzen kindes of drinke: Such licour as they haue, and as the countrey giues, But chiefly two, one called Kuas, whereby the Mousiket[1] liues. Small ware and waterlike, but somewhat tart in taste, The rest is Mead of honie made, wherewith their lips they baste. And if he goe vnto his neighbour as a guest, He cares for litle meate, if so his drinke be of the best. No wonder though they vse such vile and beastly trade, Sith with the hatchet and the hand, their chiefest gods be made. Their Idoles haue their hearts, on God they neuer call, Vnlesse it be (Nichola Bough)[2] that hangs against the wall. The house that hath no god, or painted Saint within, Is not to be resorted to, that roofe is full of sinne. Besides their priuate gods, in open places stand Their crosses vnto which they crooche, and blesse themselues with hand. Deuoutly downe they ducke, with forehead to the ground, Was neuer more deceit in ragges, and greasie garments found: Almost the meanest man in all the countrey rides, The woman eke, against our vse, her trotting horse bestrides. In sundry colours they both men and women goe, In buskins all, that money haue on buskins to bestoe. Each woman hanging hath a ring within her eare, Which all of ancient vse, and some of very pride doe weare. Their gate is very

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