r mistress. In the background, Repentance, sadly arrayed
in a mournful, worn-out, and ragged garment, who, with averted head,
with tears and shame, acknowledges and prepares to receive Truth,
approaching from a distance."[397]

This elegant picture, so happily introduced into a piece of literary
controversy, appears to have only slightly affected the mind of
Brooke, which was probably of too stout a grain to take the folds of
Grecian drapery. Instead of sympathising with its elegance, he breaks
out into a horse-laugh; and, what is quite unexpected among such grave
inquiries into a ludicrous tale in verse, which, though it has not
Grecian fancy, has broad English humour, where he maliciously
insinuates that Camden had appropriated to his own use, or "new-coated
his 'Britannia'" with Leland's MSS., and disguised what he had
stolen.

Now, to show himself as good a painter as he is a herald, he
propounded, at the end of his book, a table (_i.e._ a picture) of
his own invention, being nothing comparable to "Apelles," as he
himself confesseth, and we believe him; for, like the rude painter
that was fain to write, 'This is a Horse,' upon his painted horse,
he writes upon his picture the names of all that furious rabble
therein expressed--which, for to requite him, I will return a tale of
John Fletcher (some time of Oxford) and his horse. Neither can this
fable be any disparagement to his table, being more ancient and
authenticall, and far more conceipted than his envious picture. And
thus it was:--

A TALE (NOT OF A ROASTED) BUT OF A PAINTED HORSE.

JOHN FLETCHER, famous, and a man well known,
But using not his sirname's trade alone,[398]
Did hackney out poor jades for common hire,
Not fit for any pastime but to tire.

His conscience, once, surveying his jade's stable,
Prick'd him, for keeping horses so unable.
"Oh why should I," saith John, "by scholars thrive,
For jades that will not carry, lead, nor drive?"

To mend the matter, out he starts, one night,
And having spied a palfrey somewhat white,
He takes him up, and up he mounts his back,
Rides to his house, and there he turns him black;

Marks him in forehead, feet, in rump, and crest,
As coursers mark those horses which are best.
So neatly John had coloured every spot,
That the right owner sees him, knows him not.

Had he but feather'd his new-painted breast,
He would have seemed Pegasus at least.
Who but John Fletc