To Spencer.
IF I should now forget, or not remember thee,Thou Spencer might'st a foule rebuke, and shame impute to mee.
For I to open shew did love thee passing well,
And thou wert he at parture, whome I loathde to bid farewell.
And as I went they friend, so I continue still,
No better proofe thou canst then this desire of true good will.
I doe remember well when needes I should away,
And that the Poste would licence us, no longer time to stay:
Thou wrongst me by the fist, and holding fast my hand,
Didst crave of me to send thee newes, and how I liked the land.
It is a sandie soile, no very fruitfull vaine,
More waste and wooddie grounds there are, then closes fit for graine.
Yet graine there growing is, which they untimely take,
And cut or eare the corne be ripe, they mowe it on a stacke.
And laying sheafe by sheafe, their harvest so they dry,
They make the greater haste, for feare the frost the corne destroy.
For in the winter time, so glarie is the ground,
As neither grasse, nor other graine, in pastures may be found.
In coms the cattell then, the sheepe, the colt, the cowe,
Fast by his bed the Mowsike then a lodging doth allowe,
Whom he with fodder feeds, and holds as deere as life:
And thus they weare the winter with the Mowsike and his wife.
Seven months the Winter dures, the glare it is so great,
As it is May before he turne, his ground to sowe his wheate.
The bodies eke that die unburied lie they then,
Laid up in coffins made of firre, as well the poorest men,
As those of greater state: the cause is lightly found,
For that in Winter time, they cannot come to breake the ground.
And wood so plenteous is, quite throughout all the land,
As rich, and poore, at time of death assurd of coffins stand.
Perhaps thou musest much, how this may stand with reason,
That bodies dead can uncorrupt abide so long a season.
Take this for certaine trothe, as soone as heate is gone,
The force of colde the body binds as hard as any stone,
Without offence at all to any living thing:
And so they lye in perfect state, till next returne of Spring.
Their beasts be like to ours, as farre as I can see
For shape, and shewe, but somewhat lesse of bulke, and bone they be.
Of watrish taste, the flesh not firme, like English beefe,
And yet it serv's them very well, and is a good releefe:
Their sheepe are very small, sharpe singled, handfull long,
Great store of fowle on sea and land, the moorish reedes among.
The greatnes of the store doeth make the prices lesse,
Besides in all the land they know not how good meate to dresse.
They use neither broach nor spit, but when the stove they heate,
They put their victuals in a pan, and so they bake their meate.
No pewter to be had, no dishes but of wood,
No use of trenchers, cups cut out of birche are very good.
They use but wooden spoones, which hanging in a case
Eache Mowsike at his girdle ties, and thinkes it no disgrace.
With whitles two or three, the better man the moe,
The chiefest Russies in the land, with spoone and knives doe goe.
Their houses are not huge of building, but they say,
They plant them in the loftiest ground, to shift the snow away,
Which in the Winter time, eache where full thicke doth lie:
Which makes them have the more desire, to set their houses hie.
No stone worke is in use, their roofes of rafters bee,
One linked in another fast, their wals are all of tree.
Of masts both long, and large, with mosse put in betweene,
To keepe the force of weather out, I never earst have seene
A grosse devise so good, and on the roofe they lay
The burthen barke, to rid the raine, and sudden showres away.
In every roome a stove, to serve the Winter turne,
Of wood they have sufficient store, as much as they can burne.
They have no English glasse, of slices of a rocke
Hight Sluda they their windowes make, that English glasse doth mocke.
They cut it very thinne, and sow it with a thred
In pretie order like to panes, to serve their present need.
No other glasse, good faith doth give a better light:
And sure the rocke is nothing rich, the cost is very slight.
The chiefest place is that, where hangs the god by it,
The owner of the house himselfe doth never sit,
Unlesse his better come, to whom he yealds the seat:
The stranger bending to the god, the ground with brow must beat.
And in that very place which they most sacred deeme,
The stranger lies: a token that his guest he doth esteeme.
Where he is wont to have a beares skinne for his bed,
And must, in stead of pillow, clap his saddle to his head.
In Russia other shift there is not to be had,
For where the bedding is not good, the boalsters are but bad.
I mused very much, what made them so to lie,
Sith in their countrey Downe is rife, and feathers out of crie :
Unlesse it be because the countrey is so hard,
They feare by nicenesse of a bed their bodies would be mard,
I wisht thee oft with us, save that I stood in feare
Thou wouldst have loathed to have layd thy limmes upon a beare,
As I and Stafford did, that was my mate in bed:
And yet (we thanke the God of heaven) we both right well have sped.
Loe thus I make an ende: none other newes to thee,
But that the countrey is too colde, the people beastly bee.
I write not all I know, I touch but here and there,
For if I should, my penne would pinch, and eke offend I feare.
Who so shall read this verse, conjecture of the rest,
And thinke by reason of our trade, that I do thinke the best.
But if no traffique were, then could I boldly pen
The hardnesse of the soile, and eke the maners of the men.
They say the Lions paw gives judgement of the beast:
And so may you deeme of the great, by reading of the least.
