Tottel's Miscellany

Songes and sonettes, written by the right honorable Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other
1557
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Songes and sonettes, written by the right honorable Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other
Surrey, Henry Howard, Earl of, 1517?-1547.
Wyatt, Thomas, Sir, 1503?-1542.
Grimald, Nicholas, 1519-1562.
Tottel, Richard, d. 1594.
117, [3] leaves
Apud Richardum Tottel. Cum priuilegio ad imprimendum solum,
[London] :
1557.
In verse.
The first edition contained 271 poems, of which 40 are by Surrey, 96 by Sir Thomas Wyatt, 40 by Nicholas Grimald (also sometimes identified as the editor), and 95 by various authors. This is a somewhat different selection.
Known as "Tottel's miscellany".
Includes index.
With a final colophon leaf.
Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.
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SONGES AND SONETTES, written by the right honorable Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other.
Apud Ricardum Tottel. Cum priuilegio ad imprimendum solum. .1557.
To the reder.
THat to haue wel writtē in verse, yea and in small parcelles, deserueth great praise, the woorkers of diuers Latines, Italians, & other, doe proue sufficiently. That our tong is able in that kinde to do as praise worthelye as the rest, the honorable stile of the noble earle of Surrey, and the weightinesse of the depe witted sir Thomas Wiat the elders verse, with seueral graces in sondry good Englishe writers, do show abūdantly. It resteth now (gētle reder) yt thou thinke it not euil don, to publishe, to ye honor of the english tong, and for prosit of the studious of Englishe eloquence, those workes which the vngētle horders vp of such tresure haue heretofore enuied the. And for this point (good reder) thine own profit and pleasure, in these presentlye, & in moe hereafter, shal answer for my defēce. If parhappes some mislike the statelinesse of stile remoued from the rude skil of cōmon earee: I aske help of the learned to defende their learned frendes, the authors of this woork. And I exhort the vnlearned, by reding to learne to
•
ee more skilfull, and to purge that swinelike grossenesse, that maketh the swete maierome not to smell to their delight.
Descripcion of the restlesse state of a louer, with sute to his ladie, to rue on his diyng hart.
THe sūne hath twise brought furth his tender grene,
Twise clad the earth in liuely lustinesse:
Ones haue the windes the trees despoiled ciene,
And ones again begins their cruelnesse,
Sins I haue hid vnder my brest the harm,
That neuer shal recouer healthfulnesse.
The winters hurt recouers with the warm:
The parched grene restored is with shade.
What warmth (alas) may serue for to disarm
The frosen hart, that mine in flame hath made?
What cold againe is able to restore
My fresh grene yeres, that wither thus and fade?
Alas, I see nothing hath hurt so sore,
But time in time reduceth a returne:
In time my harm encreaseth more and more,
And semes to haue my cure alwaies in scorne.
Strange kindes of death, in life that I do trie:
At hand to melt, farre of in flame to burne.
And like as time list to my cure apply,
So doth eche place my comfort cleane refuse.
Al thing aliue, that seeth the heauens with eye,
With cloke of night may couer, and excuse
It self from trauail of the daies vnrest,
Saue I, alas, against all others vse,
That then stirre vp the tormentes of my brest,
And curse eche sterre as causer of my fate:
And when the sunne hath eke the dark opprest,
And brought the day, it doth nothing abate
The trauailes of mine endlesse smart and pain.
For then as one that hath the light in hate,
I wish for night, more couertly to plain,
And me withdraw from euery haunted place,
Lest by my chere my chaunce appere to plain:
And in my minde I measure pace by pace,
To seke the place where I my self had lost,
That day that I was tangled in the lace,
In semyng slack that knitteth euer most:
But neuer yet the trauaile of my thought
Of better state coulde catch a cause to bost.
For if I found sometime, that I haue sought,
Those sterres by whom I trusted of the port:
My sailes do fall, and I aduance right nought,
As ankerd fast: my sprites do all resort
To stand agazed, and sink in more and more
The deadly harme which she doth take in sport.
Lo, if I seke, how I do finde my sore:
And if I flee, I cary with me still
The venomd shaft, which doth his force restore
By haste of flight and I may plaine my fill
Unto my self, vnlesse this carefull song
Print in your hart some parcell of my tene.
For I, alas, in silence all to long,
Of mine old hurt yet fele the wound but grene▪
Rue on my life: or els your cruel wrong
Shall well appere, and by my death be sene.
Description of Spring, wherin eche thing renewes, saue onely the louer.
THe foote season, that bud and blome forth brings,
With grene hath clad the hill, and eke the vale:
The nightingale, with fethers new she sings:
The turtle to her make hath tolde her tale:
Somer is come, for euery spray now springs,
The hart hath hong his old hed on the pale:
The buck in brake his winter coate he flings:
The fishes flete with new repayred scale:
The adder all her slough away she slings:
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smalle:
The busy bee her hony now she minges:
Winter is worne that was the flowers bale:
And thus I see among these pleasant things,
Eche care decayes, and yet my sorow springs.
Description of the restlesse state of a louer.
VVHen youth had led me half the race,
That Cupides scourge had made me runne:
I loked backe, to mete the place,
From whence my wery course begonne.
And then I saw how my desire,
Misguidyng me, had led the way:
Mine eyen, to gredy of their hyre,
Had made me lose a better pray.
For when in sighes I spent the day
And could not cloke my grief with game:
The boylyng smoke did still bewray
The persant heat of secrete flame.
And when salt teares do bain my brest,
where loue his pleasant traines hath sowen:
Her beauty hath the frutes opprest,
Ere that the buds were sprong and blowne.
And when mine eyen did styll pursue
The fliyng chace of their request
Their gredy lokes did oft renew
The hidden wound within my brest.
When euery loke these chekes might staine,
From deadly pale to glowyng red:
By outward signes appeared plaine,
To her for help my hart was fled.
But all to late loue learneth me,
To paint all kinde of colors new:
To blinde their eyes that els should see
My specled chekes with Cupides hewe.
And now the couert brest I claime,
That worshipt Cupide secretely,
And nourished his sacred flame:
From whence no blasyng sparkes do flye.
Desciption of the fickle affections, panges, and sleightes of loue.
SUch waiward waies hath loue, that most part in discord
Our willes do stand: whereby our harts but seldom do accord.
Deceit in his delight, and to begile, and mock
The simple hartes, whom he doth strike wt froward diuers stroke.
He causeth thone to rage with golden burning dart,
And doth alay with leaden cold again the other hart.
Whote glemes of burning fire, and easy sparkes of flame
In balaunce of vnegal weight he pondereth by aime.
From easy ford, where I might wade and passe ful wel,
He me withdrawes, and doth me driue into a depe dark hel,
And me withholdes, wher I am cald, and offred place:
And willes me that my mortall foe I doe beseke of grace.
He lettes me to pursue a conquest welnere wonne,
To folow where my paines were lost, ere that my sute begonne.
So by this meanes I know how soone a hart may turne,
From warre to peace, from truce to strife, and so againe returne.
I know how to content my self in others lust:
Of litle stuffe vnto my self to weaue a web of trust:
And how to hide my harmes with soft dissembling chere,
When in my face the painted thoughtes would outwardly apere.
I know how that the blood forsakes the face for dred:
And how by shame it staines again the chekes with flaming red.
I know vnder the grene the serpent how he lurkes.
The hammer of the restles forge I wote eke how it workes.
I know and can by roate the tale that I would tel:
But oft the words come furth awrie of him that loueth wel.
I know in heat and cold the louer how he shakes:
In singing how he doth complain, in sleping how he wakes:
To languish without ache, sicklesse for to consume:
A thousand things for to deuise, resoluing all in fume.
And though he list to see his ladies grace full sore.
Such pleasures, as delight his eye, do not his health restore.
I know to seke the track of my desired foe:
And fear to finde that I do seke. But chiefly this I know,
That louers must transforme into the thing beloued,
And liue (alas who would beleue?) with sprite from life remoued.
I know in harty sighes, and laughters of the splene,
At ones to change my state, my will, and eke my color clene.
I know how to deceaue my self with others help:
And how the Lion chastised is by beating of the whelp.
In standing nere my fire, I know how that I freze:
Far of I burne: in both I wast: and so my life I leze.
I know how loue doth rage vpon a yelding minde:
How smal a net may take and meash a hart of gentle kinde:
Or els with seldom swete to season heapes of gall:
Reuiued with a glimse of grace old sorowes to let fal,
The hidden traines I know and secret snares of loue:
How soone a loke wil print a thought, that neuer may remoue.
The slipper state I know, the sodein turnes from wealth,
The doubtful hope, the certain woe, and sure despe
••
of health.
Complaint of a louer, that defied loue, and was by loue after the more tormented.
VVHen sōmer toke in hand the winter to assail,
With force of might, & vertue gret, his stormy blasts to quail,
And when he clothed faire the earth about with grene,
And euery tree new garmented, that pleasure was to sene:
Mine hart gan new reuiue, and changed blood did stur
Me to withdrawe my winter woes, that kept within the dore.
A brode, quod my desire: assay to set thy fote,
Where thou shalt finde the sauour swete: for sprong is euery rote.
And to thy health, if thou were sick in any case,
Nothing more good, than in the spring the aire to fele a space.
There shalt thou heare and se all kindes of hirdes ywrought,
Well tune their voice wt warble smal, as nature hath them tought.
Thus pricked me my lust the sluggish house to leaue:
And for my health I thought it best such counsail to receaue.
So on a morow furth, vnwist of any wight.
I went to proue how weil it would my heauy burden light.
And when I felt the aire so pleasant round about,
Lord, to my self how glad I was that I had gotten out.
There might I se how Ver had euery blossom hent:
And eke the new betrothed birdes yccupled how they went.
And in their songes me thought they thanked nature much,
That by her licence all that
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ere to loue their happe was such,
Right as they could deuise to chose them feres throughout:
With much reioysing to their Lord thus flew they al about.
Which when I gan to folue, and in my head c
•
nceaue,
What pleasant life, what heapes of ioy these litle birdes receaue.
And saw in what estate I wery man was brought,
By want of that they had at will, and I reiect at nought:
Lord how I gan in wrath vnwisely me demeane.
I cursed loue and him defied: I thought to turne the streame,
But when I well beheld he had me vnder awe,
I as
•
ed mercy for my fault, that so transgrest his lawe.
Thou blinded God (quod I) forgeue me this offence,
Unwittingly I went about, to malice thy pretence.
Wherwith he gaue a beck, and thus me thought he swore,
Thy sorowe ought suffice to purge thy fault, if it were more.
The vertue of which sound mine hart did so reuiue,
That I, me thought, was made as whole as any man aliue,
But here I may perceiue mine errour all and some,
For that I thought that so it was: yet was it still vndone.
And all that was no more but mine expressed minde,
That faine would haue some good reliefe, of Cupide well assind
••
I turned home forthwith, and might perceue it well,
That he agreued was right sore with me for my rebell.
My harmes haue euer since, encreased more and more,
And I remaine without his help, vndone for euermore,
A mirror let me be vnto ye louers all:
Striue not with loue, for if ye do, it will ye thus befall.
Complaint of a louer rebuked.
LOue, that liueth, and raigneth in my thought,
That built his seat within my captiue brest,
Clad in the armes, wherin with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
She. that me taught to loue, and suffer payne,
My doutfull hope, and eke my hot desire,
with shamefast cloke to shadow and restraine,
Her smiling grace conuerteth straight to yre.
And coward loue then to the hart apace
Taketh his flight, wheras he lurkes and plaines
His purpose lost, and dare not shew his face.
For my lordes gilt thus faultlesse bide I paines,
Yet from my lorde shall not my foote remoue.
Swete is his death, that takes his end by loue.
Complaint of the louer disdained.
IN Ciprus, springes (where as dame Uenus dwelt)
I Well so hotte is, that who tastes the same.
Were he of stone, as thawed yse should melt,
And kindeled finde his brest with fired flame.
Whose moist poyson dissolued hath my hart.
With crepyng fire my colde lymsar supprest,
Feeleth the hart that har
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orde freedome smart,
Endlesse dispaire long thraldome hath imprest.
An other well of frosen yse is founde,
Whose chilling venome of repugnant kinde
The feruent heat doth quenche of Cupides wounde:
And with the spot of change infectes the minde:
Whereof my dere hath tasted, to my paine.
Wherby my seruice growes into disdaine.
Description and praise of his loue Geraldine.
FRom Tuskane came my Ladies worthy race:
Faire Florence was sometime her auncient seate:
The Western yle, whose pleasant shore doth face
Wilde Cambers clifs, furst gaue her liuely heate:
Fostred she was with milke of Irishe brest:
Her sire, an Earle: her dame, of princes blood.
From tender yeres, in Britain did she rest,
With a kinges child, who tasteth ghostly food.
Honsdon did first present her to mine iyen:
Bright is her hewe, and Geraldine she hight.
Hampton me taught to wishe her first for mine:
And Windsor, alas, doth chase me from her sight.
Her beauty of kinde, her vertues from aboue
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Happy is he, that can obtaine her loue.
The frailtie and hurtfulnes of beautie.
BRittle beautie, that nature made so fraile,
Wherof the gift is small, and short the season,
Flowring to day, to morowe apt to faile,
Tickell treasure abhorred of reason,
Daugerous to dele with, vaine, of none auaile,
Costly in keping, past not worthe two peason,
Slipper in sliding as is an eles taile,
Hard to attaine, once gotten not geason,
Iewel of ieopardie that perill doth assaile,
False and vntrue, enticed oft to treason,
Enmy to youth: that most may I bewaile.
Ah bitter swete infecting as the poyson:
Thou farest as frute that with the frost is taken,
To day redy ripe, to morowe all to shaken.
A complaint by night of the louer not beloued.
ALas so all things now do hold their peace.
Heauen and earth disturbed in nothing:
The beasts, the ayre, the birdes their song do cease:
The nightes chare the starres about doth bring:
Calme is the Sea, the waues worke lesse and lesse:
So am not I, whom loue alas doth wring,
Bringing before my face the great encrease
Of my desires, whereat I wepe and sing,
In ioy and wo, as in a doutfull ease.
For my swete thoughtes sometime do pleasure bring:
But by and by the cause of my disease
Geues me a pang, that inwardly doth sting.
When that I thinke what griefe it is againe,
To liue and lacke the thing should ridde my paine.
How eche thing saue the louer in spring reuiueth to pleasure.
WHen Windsor walles susteyned my wearied arme,
My hand my chin, to ease my restles hed:
Set pleasant plots reuested green with warme,
The blossomd bowes with
••
sty Ueryspred,
The flowred meades, the wedded birdes so late
Mine eyes discouer: and to my minde resorte
The ioly woes, the hatelesse shorte debate,
The r
•
kchell life that longes to loues disporte.
Wherewith;alas
•
the heauy charge of care
Heapt in my brest breakes forth against my will,
In smoky sighes, that ouercast the ayre.
My vapord eyes suche drery teares distill,
The tender spring which quicken where they fall,
And I halfbent to throw me down withall.
Vow to loue faithfullie howsoeuer he be rewarded.
SEt me wheras the Sunne do parche the grene,
Or where his beames do not dissolue the yse:
In temperate heat where he is felt and sene:
In presence prest of people madde or wise.
Set me in hye, or yet in low degree:
In longest night, or in the shortest day:
In clearest skie, or where clowdes thickest be:
In lusty youth, or when my heares are gray.
Set me in heauen, in earth, or els in hell,
In hill, or dale, or in the foming flood:
Thrall, or at large, aliue where so I dwell:
Sicke, or in health
•
in
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uyll faine, or good,
Hers will I be, and onely with this thought
Content my selfe, although my chaunce be nought.
Complaint that his ladie after she knew of his loue kept her face alway hidden from him.
I Neuer saw my Ladie laye apart
Her cornet blacke, in cold nor yet in heate,
Sith first she knew my griefe was growen so great,
Which other fansies driueth from my hart.
That to my selfe I do the thought reserue,
The which vnwares did wounde my woful brest,
For on her face mine eyes mought neuer rest,
Sins that she knew I did her loue and serue,
Her golden tresse is clad alway with blacke,
Her smiling lokes to hide thus euermore,
And that restraines which I desire so sore.
So doth this corner gouerne my alacke:
In somer, sunne: in winters breath, of frost:
Wherby the light of her faire lokes I lost.
Request to his loue to ioyne bountie with beautie.
THe golden gift that nature did thee geue
To fasten frendes, and feede them at thy wyll,
With fourme and fauour, taught me to beleue.
How thow art made to shew her greatest skill.
Whose hidden vertues are not so vnknowen,
But liuely domes might gather at the furst
Where beauty so her perfect seede hath sowen,
Of other graces folow nedes there must.
Now certesse Garret, sins all this is true,
That from aboue thy giftes are thus elect:
Do not deface them than with fansies newe,
Nor change of mindes let not thy minde infect:
But mercy him thy frende, that doth thee serue,
Who seekes alway thine honour to preserue.
Prisoned in windsor, he recounteth his pleasure there passed.
SO cruell prison how could betide, alas,
As proude Windsor: where I in lust and ioy.
With a kinges sonne, my childishe yeres did passe,
In greater feastes than Priams sonnes of Troy:
Where eche swete place returns a taste full sower,
The large grene courtes, where we were wont to hone,
With eyes cast vp into the maydens tower.
And easie sighes, such as folke drawe in loue:
The stately seates, the ladies bright of hewe
The daunces short, long tales of great delight:
with wordes and lokes, that tigers could but rewe,
Where eche of vs did pleade the others right:
The palme play, where, dispoiled for the game,
with dazed eies oft we by gleames of loue,
Haue mist the ball, and got sight of our dame,
To baite her eies, which kept the leads aboue:
The grauell ground, with sleues tied on the helme:
On foming horse, with swordes and frendly hartes:
With cheare, as though one should another whelme:
Where we haue fought, and chased oft with dartes,
with siluer droppes the meade yet spred for ruth,
In actiue games of nimblenes, and strength,
Where we did straine, trained with swarmes of youth.
Our tender limmes, that yet shot vp in length:
The secret groues, which oft we made resound
Of pleasaunt plaint, and of our ladies praise,
Recording oft what grace eche one had found,
what hope of spede, what dread of long delaies:
The wilde forest, the clothed holtes with grene:
With rains auailed, and swift ybreathed horse,
With crie of houndes and mery blastes betwene,
Where we did chase the fearfull hart of force,
The wide vales eke that harborde vs ech night,
Wherwith (alas) reuiueth in m
•
brest
The swete accord, such slepes as yet delight:
The pleasant dreames, the quiet bed of rest:
The secrete thoughtes imparted with such trust:
The wanton talke, the diuers change of play:
The frenship sworne, eche promise kept so iust:
wherwith we past the winter nightes away.
And, with this thought, the bloud forsakes the face,
The teares be
•
aine my chekes of deadly hewe:
The which as soone as sobbing sighes
•
alas)
Upsupped haue, thus I my plaint renew:
O place of blisse, renuer of my woes,
Geue me accompt, where is my noble fere:
Whom in thy walles thou doest eche night enclose,
To other leefe, but vnto me most dere.
Eccho (alas) that doth my sorow rewe,
Returns therto a hollow sound of plaint.
Thus I alone, where all my freedome grewe,
In prison pyne, with bondage and restraint,
And with remembrance of the greater griefe
To banish the lesse, I finde my chief reliefe.
The louer comforteth himselfe with the worthinesse of his loue.
VVHen raging loue with extreme payne
Most cruelly distrains my hart:
When that my teares, as floods of rayne,
Beare witnes of my wofull smart:
When sighes haue wasted so my breath,
That I lye at the point of death.
I call to minde the nauie great,
That the Grekes brought to Troye town:
And how the boysteous windes did beate
Their ships, and rent their sayles adown,
Till Agamemnons daughters blood
Appea
•
de the Gods, that them withstood.
And how that in those ten yeres warre,
Full many a bloodie dede was done,
And many a lord, that came full farre,
There caught his bane (alas) to soone:
And many a good knight ouerron,
Before the Grekes had Helene won.
Then thinck I thus: sithe such repaire,
So long time warre of valiant men,
Was all to winne a lady faire:
Shall I not learne to suffer then,
And thinck my life well spent to be,
Seruing a worthier wight than she?
Therfore I neuer will repent,
But paines contented still endure.
For like as when, rough winter spent,
The pleasant spring straight draweth in vre:
So after raging stormes of care
Ioyfull at length may be my fare.
Complaint of the absence of her louer being vpon the sea.
O Happy dam
•
s, that may embrace
The frute of your belight,
Help to bewaile the wofull case,
And eke the heauy plight
Of me, that wonted to reioyce
The fortune of my pleasant choyce:
Good ladies, help to fill my moorning voyc
•
.
In ship, freight with remembrance
Of thoughts, and pleasures past,
He sailes that hath in gouernance
My life, while it will last:
With scalding sighes, for lack of gale,
Furdering his hope, that is his sail
Toward me, the swete port of his auail
•
Alas, how oft in dreames I see
Those eyes that were my food,
Which somtime so delited me,
That yet they do me good.
Wherwith I wake with his returne,
Whose absent flame did make me burne.
But when I finde the lacke, Lord how I mourne?
When other louers in armes acrosse,
Reioyce their chiefe delight:
Drowned in teares to mourne my losse,
I stand the bitter night,
In my window, where I may see,
Before the windes how the clowdes
•
lee.
Lo, what a Mariner loue hath made me.
And in grene waues when the salt flood
Doth rise by rage of winde:
A thousand fansies in that mood
Assaile my restlesse minde.
Alas, now drencheth my swete fo,
That with the spoyle of my hart did go,
And left me but (alas) why did he so?
And when the seas ware calme againe,
To chase fro me annoye.
My doutful hope doth cause me plaine:
So dread cuts of my ioye.
Thus is my wealth mingled with wo,
And of eche thought a dout doth growe,
Now he comes, will he come? alas, no no.
Complaint of a diyng louer refused vpon his ladies iniust mista, king of his writing.
IN winters iust returne, when Bor
•
as gan his raigne,
And euery tree vnclothed fast, as nature taught them plaine:
In misty morning darke, as sheepe are then in holde,
I hyed me fast, it sat me on, my sheepe for to vnfolde.
And as it is a thing, that louers haue by fittes,
Under a palme I heard one cry, as he had lost his wittes.
Whose voyce did ring so shrill, in vttering of his plaint,
That I amazed was to heare, how loue could him attaint.
Ah wretched man (quod he) come death, and ridde this wo:
A iust reward, a happy end, if it may chauuce thee so.
Thy pleasures past haue wrought thy wo, without redresse.
If thou hadst neuer felt no ioy, thy smart had bene the lesse,
And retchlesse of his life, he gan both sighe and grone,
A rufull thing me thought, it was, to hear him make such mone,
Thou cursed pen (sayd he) wo worth the bird thee bare,
The man, the knife, and all that made thee, wo be to their share.
Wo worth the time, and place, where I so could endit
•
.
And wo be it yet once againe, the pen that so can write.
Unhappy hand, it had ben happy time for me,
If, when to write thou learned first, vnioynted hadst thou be.
Thus cursed he himself, and euery other wight,
Saue her alone whom loue him bound, to serue both day & night.
Which when I heard, and saw, how he himself fordid,
Against the ground with bloody strokes, himself euen ther to rid:
Had ben my heart of flint, it must haue melted tho:
For in my life I neuer sawe a man so full of w
•
.
With teares, for his redresse, I rashly to him ran.
And in my armes I caught him fast, and thus I spake him than.
What woful wight art thou, that in such heauy case
Tormentes thy selfe with such despite, here in this desert place?
Wherwith, as al agast, fulf
•
ld with ir
•
, and dred,
He cast on me
•••
ring loke, with colour pale, and ded.
Nay, wh
〈…〉
ou (quod he) that in this heau
•
plight,
Doest find
〈◊〉
, most wofull wretch, that life hath in despighte
I am quot
•
〈◊〉
out poore, and simple in degre:
A shepardes charge I haue in hand, vnworthy though I be.
With that he gaue a sighe, as though the skie shold fall:
And lowd (alas) he shriked oft, and Shepard gan he call,
Come, hie the fast at ones, and print it in thy hart:
So thou shalt know, and I shall tell the, giltlesse how I smart.
His back against the tree, sore febled al with faint,
With weary sprite he stretcht him vp: and thus he told his plaint.
Ones in my hart (quoth he) it chaunced me to loue
Such one, in whom hath nature wrought, her cūning for to proue.
And sure I can not say, but many yeres were spent,
with such good will so recompenst, as both we were content
Wherto then I me bound, and she likewise also,
The sunne should runne his course awry, ere we this faith forgo.
who ioied then, but I: who had this worldes blisse?
Who might compare a life to mine, that neuer thought on this?
But dwelling in this truth, amid my greatest ioy,
Is me befallen a greater losse, then Priam had of Troy.
She is reuersed clene, and beareth me in hand,
That my deserts haue geuen her cause to breke this faithful band.
And for my iust excuse auaileth no defence,
Now knowest thou all: I can no more, but shepheard hie the hēce
And geue him leaue to dye, that may no l
•
nger liue:
Whose record lo I claime to haue, my death, I do forgeue.
And eke when I am gone, be bolde to speake it plaine:
Thou hast seen dye the truest man, that euer loue did paine.
Wherwith he turned him round, and gaspyng oft for breath,
Into his armes a tree he raught
•
and said welcome my death:
welcome a thousand folde, now dearer vnto me,
Than should without her loue to liue, an emperour to be.
Thus, in this wofull state, he yelded vp the ghost:
And little knoweth his lady, what a louer she hath lost.
Whose death when I beheld, no maruail was it, right
For pitye though my hart did blede, to se so piteous sight,
My blood from heat to colde oft changed wonders sore:
A thousande troubles there I found I neuer knew before.
Twene drede and dolour, so my sprites were brought in feare,
That long it w
•
s ere I could call to minde, what I did there.
But, as ech thing hath end, so had these payns of myne:
The furies past, and I my wits restord by length of tyme.
Then as I could deuise, to seke I thought it bes
•
,
Where I might finde some worthy place, for su
••
•
corse to rest.
And in my minde it came: from thence not far away,
Where Creseids loue, king Priams sonne, ye worthy Troilus la
•
By him I made his tomb, in token he was true:
And as to him belongeth well, I couered it with blew.
Whose soule by angels power, departed not so sone,
But to the heauens, lo it fled, for to receiue his dome.
Complaint of the absence of her louer being vpon the sea.
GOod Ladies: ye that haue your pleasures in exile;
Step in your fote, come take a place, & moorne with me a whil
•
And such as by their lordes do set but little price,
Let them sit still: it skilles them not what chance come on ye dice.
But ye whom loue hath bound by order of desire,
To loue your lords, whose good deserts none other wold require:
Come ye yet once again, and set your fote by mine,
Whose wofull plight and sorowes great no tong may well de
••
ne,
My loue and lorde alas, in whom consistes my wealth,
Hath fortune sent to passe the seas in hazarde of his health.
Whom I was wont tembrace with well contented minde
•
Is now amid the fomyng floods at pleasure of the winde.
Where God well him preserue, and sone him home me send,
Without which hope, my life (alas) were shortly at an end.
Whose absence yet, although my hope doth tell me plaine,
With short returne he comes anone, yet ceaseth not my payne,
The fearefull dreames I haue, of
•
times do greue me so:
That when I wake, I lye in dout, where they be true, or no.
Sometime the roaring seas (me semes) do grow so hye:
That my dere Lord (ay me alas) me thinkes I see him dye.
An other time the same doth tell me: he is come:
And plaing, where I shall him finde with his faire little sonne
So, forth I go apace to se that leefsome sight,
And with a kisse, me thinke, I say, welcome my lord, my knight.
Welcome my swete, alas, the stay of my welfare.
Thy presence bringeth forth a tru
••
a
•
w
•
xt me, and my care,
Then liuely dothe he loke, and salu
•
th me againe,
And saith, my dere how is it now, that you haue al this raine?
wherewith the heauy cares, that heapt are in my brest,
Breake forth and me dischargen clene of all my huge vnrest.
But when I me awake, and finde it but a dreme,
The anguish of my former wo beginneth more extreme,
And me tormenteth so that vnneath may I finde
Some hidden place, wherin to slake the gnawing of my minde,
Thus euery way you se, with absence how I burn,
And for my wound no cure I finde, but hope of good return
Saue when I thinke, by sowre how swete is felt the more,
It doth abate some of my paines, that I abode before,
And then vnto my self I say, when we shall mete.
But little while shall seme this paine, the ioy shall be so swete,
Ye windes I you coniure in chiefest of your rage,
That ye my Lord safely sende, my sorowes to asswage,
And that I may not long abide in this excesse,
Do your good will, to cure a wight, that liueth in distresse.
A praise of his loue wherein he reproueth them that compare their Ladies with his.
GEue place ye louers, here before
That spent your bostes and bragges in vaine,
My Ladies beauty passeth more
The best of yours, I dare wel sayen,
Then doth the sonne, the candle light,
Or brightest day, the darkest night,
And therto hath a troth as iust,
As had Penelope the faire,
For what she saith, ye may it trust.
As it by writing sealed were,
And vertues hath she many moe,
Than I with pen haue skill to show.
I could reherse, if that I wold
The whole effect of natures plaint,
when she had lost the perfite mould,
The like to whom she could not paint:
with wringing handes how she did cry,
And what she said, I know it, I.
I know, she swore with raging minde.
Her kingdome onely set apart,
There was no losse, by law of kinde,
That could haue gone so nere her hart.
And this was chiefly all her paine:
She could not make the like againe.
Sith nature thus gaue her the praise
To be che chefest worke she wrought:
In faith me think some better waies
On your behalfe might wel be sought,
Then to compare (as ye haue done)
To matche the candle with the sunne.
To the ladie that scorned her louer
ALthough I had chek,
To giue the mate is hard,
For I haue found a neck,
To kepe mi men in gard.
And you that hardy are
To giue so great assay,
Unto a man of warre.
To driue his men away:
I rede you take good hede,
And marke this folish verse,
For I will so prouide.
That I wyll haue your ferse,
And when your ferse is had,
And all your warre is done,
Then shall yonr selfe be glad
To ende that you begon,
For if by chance I winne
Your person in the felde:
To late then come you in
Your self to me to yeld.
For I will vse
•
y power,
As captaine full of might,
And such I will deuour,
As vs
•
to shew me spight.
And for because you gaue
Me chek in your degre,
This van
•
age loe I haue,
Now checke, and gard: to the,
Defend it, if thou may,
Stand stiffe, in thine estate,
For sure I will assay,
If I can giue the mate.
A warning to the louer how he is abused by his loue.
TO derely had I bought my grene and youthfull yeres,
If in mine age I could not finde when craft for loue apperes.
And seldome though I come in court among the
•
est.
Yet can I iudge in colours dim as depe as can the best.
Where griefe torments the man that suffreth secret smart,
To breake it forth vnto some frende it easeth well the hart,
So standes i
•
now with me for my be
•
ened frinde.
Thie case is thine for whom I fele such torment of my minde.
And for thy sake I burne so in my secret brest
That till thou know my whole disease my hart can haue no rest,
I se how thine abuse
•
ath wrest
•
d so thy wittes,
That all it yeldes to thy desire, and folowes the by fittes.
Where thou hast loued so long with hart and all thy power,
I se thee fedde with fained wordes, thy fredome to deuower.
I know
•
(though she say nay, and would i
•
well w
•
thstand)
Wh
•
n in her grace thou heldest the mo
•
t, she bare the but in hand,
I se her pleasant chere in chiefest of th
•
s
••
e,
When thou art gone, I se him come that gathers vp the fruite.
And eke in thy respect I se
•
he base deg
•
e
Of him to whom she gaue the har
•
that promised was to the,
I se what would you more
•
stode neuer m
•
n so sure
On womans word but wisedome would mi
•••
ust i
•
to endure.
The forsakeu louer describeth and fo
•
saketh loue.
O Lothsome place where I
Haue sene and hard my dere
when in my hart her eye
Hath made her thought appere
By glimsing with such grace
As fortune it ne would,
That lasten any space
Betwene vs l
•
nger should.
As fortune did auance,
To further my desire:
Euen so hath fortunes chaunce
Throwen all amiddes the mire.
And that I haue deserued
with true and faithful hart,
Is to his handes reserued
That neuer felt the smart.
But happy is that man,
That scaped hath the griefe
That loue well teache him can
By wanting his reliefe.
A scourge to quiet mindes
It is, who taketh hede.
A common plage that bindes,
A trauell without mede.
This gift it hath also,
who so enioies it most,
A thousand troubles grow
To vexe his weried ghost.
And last it may not long
The truest thing of all
And sure the greatest wrong
That is within this thrall.
But sins thou desert place
Canst geue me no accompt
Of my desired grace
That I so haue was wont
Farewell thou hast me taught
To thinke me not the furst,
That loue hath set aloft,
And casten in the dust.
The louer describes his restlesse state.
AS oft as I behold and see
The soueraigne beauty that me bound
•
;
The nyer my comfort is to m
•
,
Alas the fressher is my wound.
As flame doth quench by rage of fire,
And runnyng stremes consume by raine:
So doth the sight, that I desire,
Appease my grief and deadly payne.
First when I saw those cristall streames,
Whose beauty made my mortall wound:
I little thought within her beames
So swete a venom to haue found.
But wilfull will did prick me forth,
And blinde Cupide did whippe and guide
•
Force made me take my grief in worth:
My fruteles hope my harme did hide.
As cruel waues full oft be found,
Against the rockes to rore and cry:
So doth my hart full oft rebound
Against my brest full bitterly.
I fall, and see mine owne decay,
As one that beares flame in his brest,
Forgets in payne to put away,
The thing that bredeth mine vnrest
•
The louer excuseth himself of suspected change.
THough I regarded not
The promise made by me,
Or passed not to spot
My faith and honestee:
Yet were my fancy strange,
And witfull will to wite,
If I sought now to change
A falkon for a kite.
All men might well disprayse
My wit and enterprise,
If I estemed a pese
Aboue a perle in prise:
Or iudged the owle in sight
The sparehauke to excell,
which stieth but in the night,
As all men know right well.
Or if I sought to sayle
Into the brittle port,
Where ankerhold doth faile,
To such as do resort.
And leaue the hauen sure,
Where blowes no blusteryng winde,
Nor fickelnesse in vre
So farforth as I finde.
No, thinke me not so light,
Nor of so churlish kinde,
Though it lay in my might
My bondage to vnbinde.
That I would leue the hinde
To hunt the ganders so.
No no I haue no minde
To make exchanges so:
Nor yet to change at all,
For think it may not be
That I should seke to fall
From my felicitie,
Desirous for to win,
And loth for to forgo,
Or new change to begin:
How may all this be so?
The fire it can not frese:
For it is not his kinde,
Nor true loue can not lese
The constance of the minde.
Yet as sone shall the fire,
Want heat to blase and b
•
rn,
As I in such desire,
Haue once a thought to turne.
A carelesse man, scorning and describing, the suttle vsage of women towarde their louers.
VVRapt in my carelesse cloke, as I walkt to and fro:
I se, how loue cā shew, what force ther reigneth in his bow
And how he shoteth eke, a hardy hart to wound:
And where he glanceth by againe, that litle hurt is found.
For seldom is it sene, he woundeth hartes alike.
The tone may rage, when tothers loue is often farre to seke.
All this I see, with more: and wonder thinketh me:
How he can strike the one so sore, and leaue the other free.
I see, that wounded wight, that suffreth all this wrong:
How he is fed with yeas, and nayes, and liueth all to long.
In silence though I kepe such secretes to my self:
Yet do I see, how she somtime doth yeld a looke by stelth:
As though it seemd, ywys I will not lose thee so,
When in her hart so swete a thought did neuer truely grow.
Then say I thus: alas, that man is farre from blisse:
That doth receiue for his relief, none other gaine but this.
And she, that fedes him so, I fele, and finde it plain:
Is but to glory in her power, that ouer such can reign.
Nor are such graces spent, but when she thinkes, that he,
A weried man is fully bent, such fansies to let flie:
Then to retain him still, she wrasteth new her grace,
And smileth lo, as though she would forthwith the man embrace;
But when the proofe is made, to try such lookes withall:
He findeth then the place all voyde, and freighted ful of gall.
Lord what abuse is this: who can such women praise?
That for their glory do deuise, to vse such craftie wayes,
I, that among the rest do sit, and marke the row,
Finde, that in her is greater craft, then is in twenty mo.
Whose tender yeres, alas, with wyles so well are sped:
What will she do, when hory heares are powdred in her hed?
An answer in the behalfe of a woman of an vncertain aucthor.
GIrt in my giltles gowne as I sit here and sow,
I see that thinges are not in dede as to the outward show.
And who so list to looke and note thinges somewhat nere:
Shall finde wher plainesse semes to haūt nothing but craft appere
For with indifferent eyes my self can well discerne,
How some to guide a ship in stormes seke for to take the sterne.
Whose practise if were proued in calme to stere a barge,
Assuredly beleue it well it were to great a charge.
And some I see againe sit still and say but small,
That could do ten times more than they that say they can do all.
Whose goodly giftes are such the more they vnderstand,
The more they seke to learn and know & take lesse charge in hand.
And to declare more plain the time fleetes not so fast:
But I can beare full well in minde the song now soung and past.
The authour whereof came wrapt in a crafty cloke:
With will to force a flaming fire where he could raise no smoke,
If power and will had ioynde as it appeareth plaine,
The truth nor right had tane no place their vertues had ben vain.
So that you may perceiue, and I may safely se,
The innocent that giltlesse is, condemned should haue be.
The constant louer lamenteth
SIns fortunes wrath enuieth the wealth.
wherein I raigned by the sight:
Of that that fed raine eyes by stelth,
With sower swete, dread and delight.
Let not my griefe moue you to mone,
For I will wepe and waile alone.
Spite draue me into Borias raigne,
Where hory frostes the frutes do bite,
When hilles were spred and euery plaine:
With stormy winters mantle white.
And yet my dere such was my heate,
When others freze then did I sweate.
And now though on the sunne I driue,
Whose feruent flame all thinges decaies,
His beames in brightnesse may not striue,
With light of your swete golden rayes,
Nor from my brest this heate remoue,
The frosen thoughtes grauen by loue.
Ne may the waues of the salt flood,
Quenche that your beauty set on fire,
For though mine eyes forbeare the foode,
That did releue the hot desire.
Such as I was such will I be,
Your own, what would ye more of me?
A song written by the earle of Surrey by a ladie that refused to daunce with him.
EChe beast can chose his fere according to his minde,
And eke can shew a frendly chere like to their beastly kinde.
A Lion saw I late as white as any snow,
Which semed well to lead the race his port the same did show.
Upon the gentle beast to gaze it pleased me,
For still me thought he semed wel of noble blood to be,
And as he praunced before, still seking for a make,
As who wold say there is none here I trow will me forsake.
I might perceiue a Wolfe as white as whales bone,
A fairer beast of fresher hue beheld I neuer none.
Saue that her lookes were coy, and froward eke her grace,
Unto the which this gentle beast gan him aduance apace.
And with a beck full low he bowed at her feete,
In humble wise as who would say I am to farre vnmeete.
But such a scornefull chere wherewith she him rew
•
rded,
Was neuer sene I trow the like to such as well deserued.
With that she start aside welnere a foote or twaine,
And vnto him thus gan she say with spite and great disdaine.
Lion she sayd if thou hadst knowen my minde before,
Thou hadst not spent thy trauail thus nor all thy paine forlore.
•
oway I let thee wete thou shalt not play with me,
Go range about where thou maiest finde some meter fere for thee.
with that he bet his taile, his eyes began to flame,
I might perceiue his noble hart much moued by the same.
Yet saw I him refraine and eke his wrath aswage,
And vnto her thus gan he say when he was past his rage.
Cruell, you do me wrong to set me thus so light,
Without desert for my good will to shew me such despight.
How can ye thus entreat a Lion of the race,
That with his pawes a crowned king deuoured in the place:
Whose nature is to pray vpon no simple food,
As long as he may suck the flesh, and drink of noble blood.
If you be faire and fresh, am I not of your hue?
And for my vaunt I dare well say my blood is not vntrue.
For you your self haue heard it is not long agoe,
Sith that for loue one of the race did end his life in woe
In tower strong and hie for his assured truth,
Whereas in teares he spent his breath, alas the more the ruth.
This gentle beast so dyed whom nothing could remoue,
But willingly to lese his life for losse of his true loue.
Other there be whose liues do lingre still in paine,
Against their willes preserued at that would haue died faine,
But now I do perceaue that nought it moueth you,
My good entent, my gentle hart, nor yet my kinde so true.
But that your will is such to lure me to the trade,
As other some full many yeres to trace by craft ye made.
And thus behold our kindes how that we differ farre.
I seke my foes: and you your frendes do threaten still with warre
I fawne where I am fled: you slay that sekes to you,
I can deuour no yelding pray: you kill where you subdue.
My kinde is to desire the honour of the field:
And you with blood to slake your thirst on such as to you yeld.
Wherefore I would you wist that for your coyed lookes,
I am no man that will be trapt nor tangled with such hookes.
And though some lust to loue where blame full well they might,
And to such beasts of currant sort that would haue trauail bright.
I will obserue the law that Nature gaue to me,
To conquer such as will resist and let the rest go fre.
And as a Faucon free that soreth in the ayre,
Which neuer fed on hand nor lure, nor for no stale doth care,
While that I liue and breath such shall my custome be,
In wildnes of the woods to seke my pray where pleaseth me.
where many one shall rue, that neuer made offence.
Thus your refuse against my power shall bote them no defence.
And for reuenge therof I vow and swere therto,
A thousand spoiles I shall commit I neuer thought to do.
And if to light on you my lucke so good shall be,
I shall be glad to fede on that that would haue fed on me.
And thus farewell vnkinde to whom I bent and bow,
I would ye wist the ship is safe that bare his sailes so low.
Sith that a Lions hart is for a Wolfe no pray,
With bloody mouth go slake your thirst on simple shepe I say,
With more dispite and ire than I can now expresse,
Which to my paine though I refrain, the cause you may wel gesse.
As for because my self was aucthor of the game.
It bootes me not that for my wrath I should disturbe the same.
The faithfull louer declareth his paines and his vncertein ioyes, and with only hope recomforteth somwhat his wofull heart.
If care do cause men cry, why do not I complaine?
If eche man do bewaile his wo, why shew not I my paine?
Since that amongst them all I
•
are well say is none,
So farre from weale, so full of wo, or hath more cause to mone.
For all thinges hauing life sometime haue quiet rest.
The bearing
•
sse, the drawing Oxe, and euery other beast.
The peasant and the post, that serues at all assayes,
The shipboy aud the galley slaue haue time to take their
•
ase,
Saue I alas whom care of force doth so constraine
To waile the day and wake the night continually in paine,
From pensluenes to plaint, from plaint to bitter teares,
From teares to painfull plaint againe: and thus my life it weares.
No thing vnder the sunne that I can heare or se,
But moueth me for to bewaile my cruell destenie.
For where men do reioyce since that I can not so,
I take no pleasure in that place, it doubleth but my wo.
And when I heare the sound of song or instrument,
Me think ech
•
tune there dolefull is and helps me to lam
••
t.
And if I see some haue their most desired sight,
Alas think I eche man hath weal saue I most wofull wight.
Then as the striken Dere withdrawes him selfe alone,
So do I seke some secrete place where I may make my mo
•
e.
There do my flowing eyes shew forth my melting hart,
So yt the stremes of those two welles right well declare my s
••
rt.
And in those
•
ares so colde I force my selfe a heat,
As sick men in their shaking
•
ittes procure them self to sweat,
With thoughtes that for the time do much appease my paine,
But yet they cause a farther feare and brede my woe againe.
Me thinke within my thought I se right plaine appere,
My hartes delight my sorowes leche mine earthly goddesse here,
With euery sondry grace that I haue sene her haue.
Thus I within my wofull brest her picture paint and graue.
And in my thought I roll her bewties to and fro,
Her laughing chere her louely looke my hart that perced so.
Her strangenes when I sued her seruant for to be,
And what she said and how she smiled when that she pitied me.
Then comes a sodaine feare that riueth all my rest
Lest absence cause forgetfulnes to sink with in her brest.
For when I think how far this earth doth vs deuide.
Alas me se
•
es loue throwes me downe I fele how that I slide,
But then I think againe why should I thus mistrust,
So swete a wighte so sad and wise that is so true and iust,
For loth she was to loue, and wauering is she not.
The farther of the more desirde thus louers tie their knot.
So in dispaire and hope plonged am I both vp an doune,
As is the ship with wind and waue when Neptune list to froune,
But as the watery showers delay the raging winde,
So doth good hope clene put away dispaire out of my minde.
And biddes me for to serue and suffer paciently,
For what wot I the after weale that fortune willes to me.
For those that care do know and tasted haue of trouble,
When passed is their wofull paine eche ioy shall seme them double.
And bitter sendes she now to make me tast the better,
The plesant swete when that it comes to make it seme the sweter,
And so determine I to serue vntil my breath.
Ye rather die a thousand times then once to false my faithe.
And if my feble corps through weight of woful smart,
Do faile or faint my wyll it is that still she kepe my hart.
And when thys carcas here to earth shalbe refarde.
I do bequeth my weried ghost to serue her afterwarde.
The meanes to attain happy life.
MArtial, the thinges that do attain
The happy life, be these, I finde.
The richesse left, not got with pain:
The frutefull ground: the quiet minde:
The egall frend, no grudge, no strife:
No charge of rule, nor gouernance:
Without disease the healthful life:
The houshold of continuance:
The meane diet, no delicate fare:
Trew wisdom ioyned with simplenesse:
The night discharged of all care,
where wine the wit may not oppresse:
The faithfull wife, without debate:
Such slepes, as may begile the night:
Contented with thine own estate,
Ne wish for death, ne feare his might.
Praise of meane and constant estate.
OF thy life, Thomas, this compasse wel mark:
Not aye with ful sailes the hye seas to beat:
Ne by coward dred, in shonning stormes dark,
On shalow shores thy keel in peril freat.
Who so gladly halseth the golden meane,
Uoide of daungers aduisdly hath his home
Not with lothsome muck, as a den vnclean:
Nor palacelike, wherat disdain may glome.
The lofty pyne the great winde often riues:
With violenter swey fal
•
e turrets stepe:
Lightnings assault the hie mountains, & cliues,
A hart wel stayd, in ouerthwartes depe.
Hopeth amendes: in swete, doth feare the sowre.
God, that sendeth, withdraweth winter sharp.
Now il, not aye thus: once Phebus to lowre
With bowe vnbent shal cesse, and frame to harp
His voice. In straite estate appere thou stout:
And so wisely, when lucky gale of winde
All thy puft sailes shal fill, loke w
•
ll about:
Take in a ryft: hast is wast, profe doth finde.
Praise of certaine psalmes of Dauid, translated by sir T. w. the elder
THe great Macedon, that out of Persle chased
Darius, of whose huge power all Asie rong,
In the rich ark dan Homers rimes he placed,
who fayned gestes of heathen princes song.
What holy graue? what worthy sepulture
To Wiattes Psalmes should Christians then purchase?
where he doth paint the liuely faith, and pure,
The stedfast hope, the swete returne to grace
Of iust Dauid, by perfite penitence.
Where rulers may see in a mirrour clere
The bitter frute of false concupiscence:
How Iewry bought Urias death full dere.
In princes harts Gods scourge imprinted depe,
Ought them awake, out of their sinfull slepe.
Of the death of the same sir T. w.
DYuers thy death do diuersly bemone.
Some, that in presence of thy liuelyhed
Lurked, whose brestes enuy with hate had swolne,
Yeld Ceasars teares vpon Pompeius hed,
Some, that watched with the murdrers knife,
With eger thirst to drink thy giltlesse blood,
Whose practise brake by happy end of life,
With enuious teares to heare thy fame so good.
But I, that knew what harbred in that hed:
What vertues rare were temperd in that brest:
Honour the place, that such a iewell bred,
And kisse the ground, whereas thy corse doth rest,
With vapord eyes: from whence such streames aua
•
l,
As Pyramus did on Thisbes brest bewail.
Of the same.
VVResteth here, that quick could neuer rest:
Whose heauenly giftes encreased by disdain,
And vertue sank the deper in his brest.
Such profit he by enuy could obtain.
A head, where wisdom misteries did frame:
Whose hammers bet still in that liuely brain,
As on a stithe: where that some work of fame
Was dayly wrought, to turne to Britaines gaine.
A visage, st
•
rn, and mylde: where both did grow,
Uice to contemne, in vertue to reioyce:
Amid great stormes, whom grace assured so,
To liue vpright, and smile at fortunes choyce.
A hand, that taught, what might be said in rime:
That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit:
A mark, the which (vnparfited, for time)
Some may approch, but neuer none shal hit.
A toung, that serued in forein realmes his king:
whose courteous talke to vertue did enflame.
Eche noble hart: a worthy guide to bring
Our English youth, by trauail, vnto fame.
An eye, who
•
e iudgement none affect could blinde,
Frendes to allure, and foes to reconcile:
Whose persing loke did represent a minde
With vertue fraught, reposed, void of gile.
A hart, where dreade was neuer so imprest,
To hide the thought, that might the trouth auance:
In neither fortune loft, nor yet represt,
To swel in wealth, or yeld vnto mischance,
A valiaunt corps, where force, and beawty met:
Happy, alas, to happy, but for foes:
Liued, and ran the race, that nature set:
Of manhodes shape, where she the mold did lose.
But to the heauens that simple soule is fled:
Which left with such, as couet Christ to know,
Witnesse of faith, that neuer shall be ded:
Sent for our helth, but not receiued so.
Thus, for our gilte, this iewel haue we lost:
The earth his bones, the heauens possesse his gost.
Of the same.
IN the rude age when knowledge was not rife,
If Ioue in Create and other were that taught.
•
rtes to conuert to profit of one life,
wend after death to haue their temples sought,
If vertue yet no voide vnthankfull time,
Failed of some to blast her endles fame,
A goodly meane both to deterre from crime:
And to her steppes our sequele to enflame,
In daies of truth if Wiates frendes then waile,
The only det that dead of quick may claime:
That rare wit spent employd to our auaile.
where Christ is taught we led to vertues traine.
His liuely face their brestes how did it freat,
Whose cindres yet with enuy they do eate.
Of Sardanapalus dishonorable life, and miserable death.
THassirian king in peace, with foule desire
•
And filthy lustes, that staind his regal hart
In warre that should set princely hartes on fire:
Did yeld, vanquisht for want of marciall art.
The dint of swordes from kisses semed strange:
And harder, than his ladies side, his targe:
From glutton feastes, to so
•
ldiars fare a change:
His helmet, farre aboue a garlands charge.
Who scace the name of manhode did retain,
Drenched in slouth, and womanish delight,
Feble of sprite, impacient of pain:
When he had lost his honor, and his right:
Proud, time of wealth
•
in stormes appalled with dred,
Murthered himself, to shew some manful dede.
How no age is content with his owne e
•
tate, and how the age of children is the happiest, if they had skill to vnderstand it.
L
•
yd in my quiet bed, in study as I were,
I saw within my troubled head, a heape of thoughtes appere:
And euery thought did sheweso liuely in myne eyes,
That now I sighed, & thē I smilde, as cause of thought dyd rise.
I saw the litle boy in thought, how oft that he
Did wish of god, to scape the
••
d, a tall yongman to be.
The yongman eke that feles, his bones with paines opprest
How he would be a rich olde man, to lyue, and lye at rest.
The rych oldman that sees his end draw on so sore,
How he would be a boy again, to liue so much the more.
Wherat full oft I smilde, to se, how all these three,
From boy to man, from man to boy, would chop & change degree.
And musing thus I think, the case is very strange,
That man from welth, to liue in wo, doth euer seke to change.
Thus thoughtfull as I lay, I saw my witherd skyn,
How it doth show my dented chewes, the flesh was worne so thyn
•
And eke my tothelesse chaps, the gates of my rightway,
That opes and shuts, as I do speake, doe thus vnto me say:
Thy white and horish heares, the messengers of age,
That shew, like lines of true belife, that this life doth asswage,
Byds thee lay hand, and fele them hanging on thy chin:
The which do write two ages past, the third now comming in.
Hang vp therfore the bit of thy yong wanton time:
And thou that therin beaten art, the happiest life define,
Wherat I sighed, and sayd, farewell, my wonted
•
ioy:
Trusse vp thy pack, and trudge from me to euery litle boy:
And tell them thus from me, their time most happy is:
If, to their time, they reason had to know the trueth of this.
Bonum est mihi quod humiliasti me.
THe stormes are past these cloudes are ouerblowne,
And humble chere great rigour hath represt:
For the defaute is set a paine fore knowne,
And pacience graft in a determed brest.
And in the hart wher heapes of griefes were growne,
The swete reuenge hath planted mirth and rest,
No company so pleasant as mine owne.
Thraldom at large
•
hath made this prison fre,
Danger wel past remembre
•
workes delight:
Of lingring doubtes such hope is sprong pardie,
That nought I finde displeasaunt in my sight:
But when my glasse presented vnto me:
The curelesse wound that bledeth day and night,
To think (alas) such hap shoud graunted be
Unto a wretch that hath no hart to fight,
To spill that blood that hath so oft bene shed,
For Britannes sake (alas) and now is ded.
Exhortacion to learne by others trouble.
MY Ratcl
•
f, when thy retchlesse youth offendes:
Receue thy scourge by others chastisement.
For such calling, when it workes none amendes:
Then plages are sent without aduertisement.
Yet Salomon said, the wronged shall recure:
But Wia
•
said true, the skarre doth aye endure.
The fansie of a weried louer.
THe fansy, which that I haue serued long,
That hath alway bene enmy to myne ease,
Semed of late to rue vpon my wrong,
And bad me flye the cause of my misease.
And I forthwith did prease out of the throng,
That thought by flight my painfull hart to please
Som other way: tyll I saw faith more strong:
And to my self I said: alas, those daies
In vayn were spent, to runne the race so long.
And with that thought, I met my guyde, that playn
Out of the way wherin I wandred wrong,
Brought me amiddes the hilles, in base Bullayn:
Where I am now, as restlesse to remayn,
Against my will, full plea
•
ed with my payn.
SVRREY.
The louer for shamefastnesse hideth his desire within his faithfull hart.
THe long loue, that in my thought I harber,
And in my hart doth kepe his residence,
Into my face preaseth with bold pretence,
And there campeth, displaying his banner.
She that me learns to loue, and to suffer,
And willes that my trust, and lustes negligenc
•
Be reined by reason, shame, and reuerence,
With his hardinesse takes displeasure.
Wherwith loue to the hartes forest he fleeth,
Leauing his enterprise with paine and crye,
And there him hideth and not appeareth.
What may I do? when my maister feareth,
But in the field with him to liue and dye,
For good is the life, ending faithfully.
The louer waxeth wiser, and will not die for affeccion.
YEt was I neuer of your loue agreued,
Nor neuer shall, while that my life doth last:
But of hating my self, that date is past,
And teares continuall sore hath me weried.
I will not yet in my graue be buried,
Nor on my tombe your name haue fixed fast,
As cruel cause, that did my sprite sone hast.
From thunhappy boones by great sighes stirred,
Then if an hart
•
f amorous faith and will
Content your minde withouten doing grief:
Please it you so to this to do relief,
If other wise you seke for to fulfyll
•
our wrath: you erre, and shall not as you wene.
〈◊〉
you your self the cause therof haue bene.
The abused louer seeth his folie, and entendeth to trust no more.
VVAs neuer file yet half so well yfiled,
To file a file for any smith
•
s entent,
As I was made a filing instrument,
To frame other, while that I was beg
•
led.
But reason loc, hath at my foly smiled,
And pardoned me, sins that I me repent
Of my last yeres, and of my time mispent.
For youth led me, and falshod me misguided.
Yet, this trust I haue of great apparence:
Sins that di
•
ceit is ay returnable,
Of very force it is agreable,
That therwithall be done the recompence.
Then gile begiled playnd should be neuer,
And the reward is little trust for euer.
The louer describeth his being striken with sight of his loue.
THe liuely sparkes, that issue from those eyes,
Against the which there va
••
eth no defence,
Haue perst my hart, and done it none offence,
With quaking pleasure, more then once or twise.
Was neuer man could any thing deuise,
Sunne beames to turne with so great vehemence
To dase mans sight, as by their bright presence
Dased am I, much like vnto the gise
Of one striken with dint of lightening,
Blinde with the stroke, and crying here and there,
So call I for helpe, I not when, nor where,
The paine of my fall paciently bearing.
For streight after the blase (as is no wonder)
Of deadly noyse h
•
are I the fearfull thunder.
The wauering louer willeth, and dreadeth, to moue his desire.
SUch vain thought, as wonted to mislead me
In desert hope by well assured mone,
Makes me from company to liue alone,
In folowing her whom reason bids me flee.
And after her my hart would faine begone:
But armed sighes my way do stop anone.
Twixt hope and dread locking my libertie.
So fleeth she by gentle crueltie.
Yet as I gesse vnder disdainfull brow
One beame of ruth is in her cloudy looke:
which comfortes the minde, that erst for feare shooke.
That bolded straight the way then seke I how
To vtter forth the smart I bide within:
But such it is, I not how to begin.
The louer hauing dreamed enioying of his loue, complaineth that the dreame is not either longer or truer.
VNstable dreame according to the place,
Be stedfast ones, or els at least be true.
By tasted swetenesse, make me not to rew
The soden losse of thy false fained grace.
By good respect in such a daungerous case
Thou broughtest not her into these tossing seas,
But madest my sprite to liue my care tencrease,
My body in tempest her delight timbrace,
The body dead, the sprite had his desire.
Painlesse was thone, the other in delight.
Why then alas did it not kepe it right,
But thus returne to leape into the fire:
And where it was at wish, could not remaine?
Such mockes of dreames do turne to deadly pain
•
.
The louer vnhappy biddeth happy louers reioice in Maie, while he waileth that month to him most vnlucky.
YE that in loue finde luck and swete abundance,
And liue in lust of ioyfull iolitie,
Arise for shame, do way your sluggardy:
Arise I say, do May some obseruaunce.
Let me in bed lye, dreaming of mischance.
Let me remember my mishappes vnhappy.
That me betide in May most commonly:
As one whom loue list little to aduance.
Stephan said true, that my natiuitie
Mischanced was with the ruler of May.
He gest (I proue) of that the veritie.
In May my wealth, and eke my wittes, I say,
Haue stand so oft in such perplexitie.
Ioye: let me dreame of your felicitie.
The louer confesseth him in loue with Phillis.
IF waker care: if sodayn pale colour:
If many sighes, with litle speche to plaine:
Now ioye, now wo: if they my there distaine:
For hope of small, if much to feare therfore,
To haste, or slack: my pace to lesse, or more:
Be signe of loue: then do I loue againe.
If thou aske whom: sure sins I did refraine
Brunet, that set my welth in such a rore,
Thunfayned chere of Phillis hath the place,
That Brunet had: she hath, and euer shall:
She from my self now hath me in her grace:
She hath in hand my wit, my will, and al
•
My hart alone wel worthy she doth stay,
Without whose helpe skant do I liue a day.
Of others fained sorrow, and the louers fained mi
•
th.
CEsar, when that the traitour of Egipt
with thonorable hed did him present,
Couering his hartes gladnesse, did represent
Plaint with his teares outward, as it is writ.
Eke Hannibal, when fortune him out shit
Clene from his reigne, and from all his entent,
Laught to his folke, whom sorow did torment,
His cruel despite for to disgorge and quit.
So chanceth me, that euery passion
The minde hideth by colour c
•
ntrary,
With fained visage, now sad, now mery.
Wherby, if that I laugh at any season:
It is because I haue none other way
To cloke my care, but vnder sport and play.
Of change in minde.
EChe man me telth, I change most my deuise:
And, on my
•
aith, me thinke it good reason
To change purpose, like after the season.
For in eche case to kepe still one gui
•
e
Is mete for them, that would be taken wise.
And I am not of such maner condicion:
But treated after a diuers fashion:
And therupon my diuersnesse doth rise.
But you, this diuersnesse that blamen most,
Change you no more, but still after one rate
Treat you me well: and kepe you in that state.
And while with me doth dwell this weried gost,
My word nor I shall not be va
•
iable.
But alwaies one, your own both firme and stable.
How the louer perisheth in his delight, as the flie in the fire.
SOme fowles there be that haue so perfit sight,
Against the sunne their eies for to defend:
And some, because the light doth them offend,
Neuer appeare, but in the darke, or night.
Other reioyce, to se the fire so bright,
And wene to play in it, as they pretend:
But find contrary of it, that they intend.
Alas, of that sort may I be, by right.
For to withstand her loke I am not able:
Yet can I not hide me in no dark place:
So foloweth me remembrance of that face:
That with my teary eyen, swolne, and vnstable,
My desteny to behold her doth me lead:
And yet I know, I runne into the glead.
Against his tonge that failed to vtter his sutes.
BEcause I stil kept thee fro lyes, and blame
•
And to my power alwayes thee honoured,
Unkind tongue, to yl hast thou me rendred,
For such desert to do me wreke and shame.
In nede of succour most when that I am,
To aske reward: thou standst like one afraied,
Alway most cold: and if one word be said,
As in a dreame, vnperfit is the same.
And ye salt teares, against my wyll eche nyght,
That are with me, when I would be alone:
Then are ye gone, when I shold make my mone.
And ye so ready sighes, to make me shright,
Then are ye slacke, when that ye should outstart
•
And onely doth my loke declare my hart.
Description of the contrarious passions in a louer.
I Finde no peace, and all my warre is done:
I feare
•
and hope: I burne, and frese like yse:
I flye aloft, yet can I not arise:
And nought I haue, and all the world I season.
That lockes not loseth, holdeth me in prison,
And holdes me not, yet can I scape no wise:
Nor lettes me liue, nor dye, at my deuise,
And yet of death it geueth me occasion.
Without eye I se, without tong I playne:
I wish to perish, yet I aske for helth:
I loue another, and I hate my selfe.
I fede me in sorow, and laugh in all my paine.
Lo, thus displeaseth me both death and life.
And my delight is causer of this strife.
The louer compareth his state to a ship in perilous storme tossed on the sea.
MY galley charged with forgetfulnesse,
Through sharpe seas, in winter nightes doth passe,
Twene rocke, and rocke: and eke my fo (alas)
That is my lord, stereth with cruelnesse:
And euery houre, a thought in readinesse,
As though that death were light, in such a case.
An endlesse wind doth teare the saile apace
Of forced sighes, and trusty fearefulnesse.
A rayne of teares, a clowde of darke disdaine
Haue done the weried coardes great hinderance,
Wrethed with errour, and with ignorance.
The starres be hidde, that leade me to this payne.
Drownde is reason that should be my comfort:
And I remayne, dispearing of the port.
Of doutful loue.
AUisyng the bright beames of those fayre eyes,
Where he abides that mine oft moi
•
tes and washeth:
The weried mynde streight from the hart departeth,
To rest within his worldly Paradise,
And bitter findes the swete, vnder his gise.
What webbes there he hath wrought, well he perceaueth
Whereby then with him self on loue he plaineth,
That spurs with fire, and bridleth eke with yse.
In such extremitie thus is he brought:
Frosen now cold, and now he standes in flame:
Twixt wo and wealth: betwixt earnest and game:
With seldome glad, and many a diuers thought:
In sore repentance of his hardinesse,
Of such a roote lo cometh frute frutelesse.
The louer sheweth how he is forsaken of such as he somtime enioyed.
THey flee from me, that sometime did me seke
With naked foote stalking within my chamber.
Once haue I seen them gentle, tame, and meke,
That now are wild, and do not once remember
That sometime they haue put them selues in danger,
To take bread at my hand, and now they range,
Bus
•
ly seking in continuall change.
Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better: but once especiall,
In thynne aray, after a pleasant gise,
When her loose gown did from her shoulders fall,
And she me caught in her armes long and small,
And therwithall, so swetely did me kisse,
And softly sayd: deare hart how like you this?
It was no dreame: for I lay broade awaking.
But all is turnde now through my gentlenesse,
Into a bitter fashion of forsaking.
And I haue leaue to go of her goodnesse,
And she also to vse newfanglenesse.
But, sins that I unkindly so am serued:
How like you this, what hath she now deserued?
To a ladie to answer directlie with yea or naie.
MAdame, withouten many wordes:
Once I am sure, you will, or no.
And if you will: then leaue your boordes,
And vse your wit, and shew it so:
For with a beck you shal me call.
And if of one, that burns alway,
Ye haue pity or ruth at all:
Answer him faier with yea, or nay.
If it be yea: I shall be faine.
Yf it be nay: frendes, as before.
You shall another man obtain:
And I mine owne, and yours nomore.
To his loue whom he had kissed against her will.
ALas, Madame, for stealing of a kisse,
Haue I so much your minde therin offended?
Or haue I done so greuously amisse:
That by no meanes it may not be amended?
Reuenge you then, the rediest way is this:
Another kisse my life it shal haue ended.
For, to my mouth the first my hart did suck:
The next shal clene out of my brest it pluck.
Of the Ielous man that loued the same woman and espied this other sitting with her.
THe wandring gadling, in the summer tide,
That findes the Adder with his rechlesse foot
•
Startes not dismaid so sodeinly aside,
As iealous despite did, though there were no boote,
When that he sawe me sitting by her side,
That of my health is very crop, and roote,
It plesed me then to haue so faire a grace,
To stynge the hart, that would haue had my place,
To his loue from whom he had her gloues.
VVHat nedes these threatning woordes, and wasted wynd?
All this can not make me restore my pray.
To robbe your good ywis is not my mynde:
Nor causelesse your faire hand did I display,
Let loue be iudge: or els whom next we finde:
That may both hear, what you and I can say.
She rest my hart: and I a gloue from her:
Let vs se then if one be worth the other.
Of the fained frend.
RIght true it is, and sayd full yore ago:
Take hede of him, that by the backe thee claweth.
For, none is worse, then is a frendly fo.
Though thee seme good, all thinge that thee deliteth:
Yet know it well, that in thy bosome crepeth.
For, many a man such
•
ixe oft times he kindleth:
That with the blase his berd him self he singeth.
The louer taught, mistrusteth allurementes.
IT may be good like it who list:
But I do dout, who can me blame?
For oft assured, yet haue I mist:
And now againe I feare the same.
The wordes, that from your mouth last came,
Of sodain change make me agast.
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.
Alas I tre
•
d an endlesse mase:
That seke taccord two contraries:
And hope thus still, and nothing hase:
Imprisoned in liberties,
As one vnheard, and still that cries:
Alwayes thirsty, and naught doth taste,
For dreade to fall, I stand not fast.
Assured I dout I be not sure,
Should I then trust vnto such suretie?
That oft haue put the proofe in vre,
And neuer yet haue found it trustie?
Nay syr in fayth, it were great folly.
And yet my life thus do I wast,
For dread to fall I stand not fast.
The louer complaineth that his loue doth not pitie him.
REsownde my voyce ye woodes, that heare me plain:
Both hilles and vales causing reflexion,
And riuers eke, record ye of my paine:
Which haue oft for
•
ed ye by compassion,
As iudges lo to heare my exclamacion.
Among whom, ruth (I finde
•
yet doth remaine.
Where I it seke, alas, there is disdaine.
Oft ye riuers, to heare my wo
•
ull sounde,
Haue stopt your cours, and plainely to expresse,
Many a teare by moysture of the ground
The earth hath wept to heare my heauinesse:
Which causelesse I endure without redresse.
The hugy okes haue rored in the winde,
Eche thing me thought complayning in their kind.
Why then alas d
•
th not she on me rew,
Or is her hart so hard that no pitie
May in it sinke, my ioye for to renew
•
O stony hart who hath thus framed thee
So cruell
•
that art cloked with beauty,
That from thee may no grace to m
•
procede.
But as reward death for to be my m
•
de.
The louer reioyseth against fortune that by hindering his sute had happily made him forsake his folly
•
IN faith I wot not what to say,
Thy chaunces ben so wonderous,
Thou fortune with thy diuers play
That makst the ioyful dolourous,
And eke the same right ioyous.
Yet though thy chaine hath me enwrapt
Spite of thy hap, hap hath wel hapt.
Though thou hast set me for a wonder,
And sekest by change to do me paine:
Mens mindes yet maist thou not so order.
For honestie if it remaine,
Shal shine for all thy cloudy raine.
In vaine thou sekest to haue me trapt,
Spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt.
In hindring me, me didst thou further,
And made a gap where was a stile.
Cruel willes ben oft put vnder.
Wening to lower, then didst thou smile,
Lord, how thy selfe thou didst begile,
That in thy cares wouldst me haue wrapt?
But spite of hap, hap hath wel hapt.
A renouncing of hardly escaped loue
FArewell the hart of crueltie.
Though that with paine my libertie
Deare haue I bought, and wofully
Finisht my feareful tragedy,
Of force I must forsake such pleasure:
A good cause iust, sins I endure
Therby my wo, which be ye sure,
Shal therwith go me to recure.
I fare as one escapt that fleeth,
Glad he is gone, and yet still feareth
Spied to be caught, and so dredeth
That he for nought his paine leseth.
In ioyfull paine reioice my hart,
Thus to sustaine of ech a part.
Let not this song from thee astart,
Welcome among my pleasant smart.
The louer to his bed, with describing of his vnquiet state.
THe restfull place, renewer of my smart:
The labours salue, encreasing my sorow:
The bodies case, and troubler of my hart:
Quieter of minde, mine vnquiet so:
Forgetter of paine, remembrer of my wo:
The place of slepe, wherin I do but wake:
Besprent with teares, my bed, I thee forsake.
The frosty snowes may not redresse my heat:
Nor heat of sunne abate my feruent cold.
I know nothing to ease my paines so great.
Eche cure causeth encrease by twenty fold.
Renewing cares vpon my sorowes old.
Such ouerthwart effectes in me they make.
Besprent with teares my bed for to forsake.
But all for nought: I finde no better ease
In bed, or out. This most causeth my paine:
Where I do seke how best that I may please,
My lost labour (alas) is all in vaine.
My hart once set, I can not it refraine.
No place from me my griefe away can take.
Wherfore with teares, my bed I thee forsake.
Comparison of loue to a streame falling from the Alpes.
FRom these hie hilles as when a spring doth fall,
It trilleth downe with still and suttle course,
Of this and that it gathers ay and shall,
Till it haue iust down flowed to streame and force:
Then at the foote it rageth ouer all.
So fareth loue, when he hath
•
ane a sourse.
Rage is his raine. Resistance vaileth none.
The first eschue is remedy alone.
wiates complaint vpon Loue, to Reason: with Loues answere.
MIne old dere enmy, my froward maister,
A fore that Quene, I causde to be acited,
Which holdeth the diuine part of our nature,
That, like as golde, in fire he mought be tried.
Charged with dolour, there I me presented
With horrible feare, as one that greatly dredeth
A wrongfull death, and iustice alway seketh
And thus I sayd: Once my left foote, Madame,
When I was yong, I set within his reigne:
Wherby other then firely durning flame
I neuer felt, but many a greuous pain.
Torment I suffred, angre, and disdain:
That mine oppressed pacience was past,
And I mine own life hated, at the last.
Thus hitherto haue I my time passed
In pain and smart. What waies profitable:
How many pleasant daies haue me escaped,
In seruing this false lyer so deceauable?
what wit haue wordes so prest and forceable,
That may contain my great mishappynesse,
And iust complaintes of his vngentlenesse?
So small hony, much aloes, and gall,
In bitternesse, my blinde life hath ytasted.
His false semblance, that turneth as a ball:
With faire and amorous daunce, made me be traced,
And, where I had my thought, and minde araced,
From earthly frailnesse, and from vain pleasure,
Me from my rest he toke, and set in errour:
God made he me regardlesse, than I ought,
And to my self to take right
•
itle hede:
And for a woman haue I set at nought
All other thoughtes: in this onely to spede.
And he was onely counseler of this dede:
whetting alwaies my youthly fraile desire
On cruell whetston, tempered with fire.
But (Oh alas) where, had I euer wit
•
Or other gift, geuen to me of nature?
That sooner shalbe changed my weried sprite:
Then the obstinate will, that is my ruler.
So robbeth he my freedom with displeasure,
This wicked traytour, whom I thus accuse:
That bitter life hath turned in pleasant vse.
He hath me hasted, through diuers regions:
Through desert woods, and sharp hye mountaines:
Through froward people, and through bitter passion
••
Through rocky seas, and ouer hilles and plaines:
With wery trauell, and with laborous paines:
Alwaies in trouble and in tediousnesse:
All in errour, and dangerous distresse.
But nother he, nor she, my tother so,
For all my flight, did euer me forsake:
That though my timely death hath been to slow
That me as yet, it hath not ouertake:
The heauenly Gods of pitie do it slake.
And, note they this his cruell tiranny,
That feedes him, with my care, and misery.
Sins I was his, hower rested I neuer,
Nor looke to do: and eke the waky nightes
The baneshed slepe may in no wise recouer.
By guile, and force, ouer my thralled sprites,
He is ruler: sins which bell neuer strikes,
That I heare not as sounding to renue
My plaintes. Himself, be knoweth, that I say true.
For neuer wormes old rotten stocke haue eaten:
As he my hart, where he is resident
And doth the same with death dayly threaten.
Thenc
•
•
ome the teares, and thence the bitter torment
•
The sighes: the wordes, and eke the languishment:
That noy both me, and parauenture other.
Iudge thou: that knowest the one, and eke the tother,
Mine aduersair, with such greuous reproofe,
Thus he began
•
Heare Lady, thother part:
That the plain troth, from which he draweth aloose,
This vnkinde man may shew, ere that I part.
In his yong age, I toke him from that art,
That selleth wordes, and makes a clattering knight:
And of my wealth I gaue him the delight.
Now shames he n
•
t on me for to complain,
That held him euermore in pleasant gaine,
From his desire
•
that might haue been his pain.
Yet therby alone I brought him to some frame:
Which now as wretchednes, he doth so blame:
And toward honour quickned I his wit:
Whereas a daskard els he mought haue sit
He knoweth, how great Atride that made Troy freat,
And Hanniball, to Rome so troubelous:
Whom Homer honored, A chilles that great,
And Thaffricane Scipion the famous:
And many other, by much honour glorious:
Whose fame, and actes did lift them vp aboue:
I did let fall in base dishonest loue.
And vnto him, though he vnworthy were:
I chose the best of many a Milion:
That, vnder sunne yet neuer was her pere,
Of wisdome, womanhod, and of discrecion:
And of my grace I gaue her such a facion,
And eke such way I taught her for to teache,
That neuer base thought his hart so hye might reache.
Euermore thus to content his maistresse,
That was his onely frame of honesty,
I stirred him still toward gentlenesse:
And causde him to regard fidelity.
Pacience I taught him in aduersity.
Such vertues learned he in my great schoole:
Wherof repenteth now the ignorant foole.
These were the same diceites, and bitter gall,
That I haue vsed, the torment and the anger:
Sweter, then euer did to other fall,
Of right good sede yll fruite lo thus I gather.
And so shall he, that the vnkinde doth further.
A Serpent nourish I vnder my wing:
And now of nature, ginneth he to sting.
And for to tell, at last, my great seruise.
From thousand dishonesties haue I him drawen:
That, by my meanes, him in no maner wise.
Ne
•
e
•
vile pleasure once hath ouerthrowen.
whe
••
, in his dede, shame hath him alwaies gnawen:
D
••
ting r
•
port, that should come to her eare:
Whom now he blames, her wonted he to feare.
What euer he hath of any honest custome:
Of her, and me: that holdes he euery whit,
But, lo, yet neuer was there nightly fantome
So farre in errour, as he is from his wit.
To plain on vs, he striueth with the bit,
Which may rule him, and do him ease, and pain:
And in one hower, make al his grief his gain,
But, one thing
••
t there is, aboue all other:
I gaue him win
•
es, wherwith he might vpflie
To honour and fame: and if he would to higher
Then mortal thinges, aboue the starry s
•
ie:
Considering the pleasure, that an eye
Might geue in earth, by reason of the loue:
what should that be that lasteth still aboue?
And he the same himself hath sayd ere this.
But now, forgotten is both that and I,
That gaue her him, his onely wealth and blisse.
And, at this word, with dedly shreke and cry.
Thou gaue her once: quod I, but by and by
Thou toke her ayen from me: that wo worth the.
Not I but price: more worth than thou (quod he.)
At last: eche other for himself, concluded:
I, trembling still: but he, with small reuerence.
Lo, thus, as we eche other haue accused:
Dere Lad
•
: now we waite thine onely sentence.
She smiling, at the whi
•
ted audience:
It liketh me (quod she) to haue heard your question:
But, lenger time doth as
•
a resolucion.
The louers sorowfull state maketh him write sorowfull songes, but (Souche) his loue may change the same.
MAruell no more altho
The songes, I sing do mone:
For other life then wo,
I neuer proued none.
And in my hart also,
Is grauen with letters d
••
e
A thousand sighes and mo:
A flood of teares to wepe.
How may a man in smart
Finde matter to reioyce?
How may a moorning hart
Set foorth a pleasant voyce.
Play who so can
•
that part:
Nedes must in me appere:
How fortune ou
•
rthwart
Doth cause my moorning chere.
Perdy there is no man,
If he saw neuer sight:
That perfitly tell can
The nature of the
•
ight.
Alas: how should I than,
That neuer taste but sowre:
But do, as I began,
Continually to lowre.
But yet perchance some chance
May chance to change my tune:
And when (Souch) chance doth chance:
Then shall I thank fortune.
And if I haue (Souch) chance:
Perchance ere it be
•
ong:
For (Souch) a pleasant chance.
To sing some pleasant song.
The louer complaineth himself forsaken.
VVHere shall I haue, at mine owne wyll.
Teares to complain? Where shall I set
Such sighes? that I may sigh my fill:
And then againe my plaintes repete.
For, though my plaint shall haue none end:
My teares cannot suffise my wo.
To mone my harm, haue I no friend,
For fortunes friend is mishaps fo.
Comfort (God wot) els haue I none:
But in the winde to wast my wordes,
Nought moueth you my deadly mone:
But still you turne it into bordes.
I speake not, now, to moue your hart,
That you should rue vpon my pain:
The sentence geuen may not reuert:
I know, such labour were but vain.
But sins that I for you (my dere)
Haue lost that thing, that was my best:
A right small losse it must appere,
To lese these wordes, and all the rest.
But, though they sparkle in the winde:
Yet, shall they shew your falsed faith:
Which is returned to his kinde:
For like to like: the prouerb saith,
Fortune
•
and you did me auance.
Me thought, I swam, and could not drown:
Happiest of all, but my mischance
Did lift me vp, to throw me down.
And you, with her, of cruelnesse,
Did set your foote vpon my neck,
Me, and my welfare to oppresse:
without offence your hart to wreck.
Where are your pleasant wordes? alas:
where is your faith? your stedfastnesse?
There is no more: but all doth passe:
And I am left all comfortlesse.
But sins so much it doth you greue,
And also me my wretched life:
Haue here my troth: Nought shall releue,
But death alone my wretched strife.
Therfore, farewell my life my death,
My gain, my losse: my salue my sore:
Farewell also, with you my breath:
For, I am gone for euermore.
Of his loue that pricked her finger with a nedle.
SHe sat, and sowed: that hath done me the wrong:
Wherof I plain, and haue done in my
•
day.
And, whilst she heard my pl
•
in
•
, in p
••
eous song:
She wisht my hart the samplar, that it lay
•
The blinde master, whom I haue serued so long:
Grudging to heare, that he did heare her say:
Made her own weapon do her finger blede:
To fele, if pricking were so good in dede.
Of the same.
VVHat man hath heard such cruelty before?
That, when my plaint remembred her my wo,
That caused it: she cruell more and more,
Wished eche stitche, as she did sit and sow,
Had prickt my hart, for to encrease my sore,
And, as I think, she thought it had been so.
For as she thought, this is his hart in dede:
She pricked hard: and made her self to blede.
Request to Cupide for reuenge of his vnkinde loue.
BEhold, Loue, thy power how she despiseth:
My greuous pain how litle she regardeth,
The solemne othe, wherof she takes no cure,
Broken she hath: and yet, she bydeth sure,
Right at her ease, and litle thee she dr
•
d
••
h.
Weaponed thou art, and she vnarmed sitte
••
To thee disdainfull, all her l
•
fe she leade
•••
To me spitefull, without iust cause, or m
••
sure.
Behold Loue, how proudly she triumpheth,
I am in hold, but if thee pitie meueth:
Go, bend thy bow, that stony hartes breaketh:
And with some stroke reuenge the great displeasure
Of thee, and him that sorow doth endure,
And as his Lord thee lowly here entreateth.
Complaint for true loue vnrequited.
VVHat vaileth troth? or by it, to take payn
To striue by stedfastnesse, for to attain
How to be iust: and flee from doublenesse?
Since all alyke, where ruleth carftinesse,
Rewarded is both crafty false, and plain.
Soonest he spedes, that most can lye and fayn.
True meaning hart is had in hi
•
disdain.
Against deceit, and cloked doublenesse,
What vaileth troth, or parfit stedfastnesse.
Deceaued is he, by false and crafty trayn,
That meanes no gile, and faithful doth remain
Within the trapt, without help or redresse.
But for to loue (lo) such a sterne maistresse,
Where cruelty dwelles, alas it were in vain.
The louer that fled loue, now folowes it with his harme.
SOmtime I fled the fire, that me so brent,
By sea, by land, by water, and by wynde:
And now, the coales I folow, that be quent,
From Douer to Calas, with willing minde,
Lo, how desire is both forth sprong, and spent:
And he may see, that whilom was so blinde:
And all his labour, laughes he now to scorne,
Meashed in the breers, that erst was onely torne.
The louer hopeth of better chance.
HE is not dead, that somtime had a fall.
The Sun returnes
•
that hid was vnder clowd.
And when Fortune hath spit out all her gall,
I trust, good luck to me shall be alowd.
For, I haue seen a ship in hauen fall,
After that storme hath broke both maste, & shroud,
The willow eke, that stoupeth with the winde,
Doth rise againe, and greater wood doth binde.
The louer compareth his hart to the ouercharged gonne.
THe furious goonne, in his most raging yre.
When that the boule is rammed into sore:
And that the flame cannot part from the fire
•
Crackes in sunder: and in the ayer do rore
The sheuered peces. So doth my desire,
Whose flame encreaseth ay from more to more.
Which to let out, I dare not loke, nor speake:
So inward force my hart doth all to breake.
The louer suspected of change praieth that it be not beleued against him.
ACcused though I be, without desert:
Sith none can proue, beleue it not for true
•
For neuer yet, since that you had my hert,
Intended I to false, or be vntrue.
Sooner I would of death sustayn the smart,
Than breake one word of that I promised you
•
Accept therfore my seruice in good part.
None is alyue, that can yll tonges eschew.
Hold them as false: and let not vs depart
Our frendship old, in hope of any new.
Put not thy trust in such as vse to fayn,
Except thou minde to put thy frend to payn.
The louer abused renownseth loue.
MY loue to skorne, my seruice to retayne,
Therin (me thought) you vsed crueltie.
Since with good will I lost my libertie,
Might neuer wo yet cause me to refrain,
But onely this, which is extremitie,
To geue me nought (alas) nor to agree,
That as I was, your man I might remain.
But since that thus ye list to order me,
That would haue bene your seruāt true & fast:
Displease you not: my doting time is past.
And with my losse to leaue I must agree.
For as there is a certain time to rage:
So is there time such madnes to aswage.
The louer professeth himself constant.
VVIthin my brest I neuer thought it gain
•
Of gentle mindes the fredom for to lose
Nor in my hart sanck neuer such disdain,
To be a forger, faultes for to disclose.
Nor I can not endure the truth to glose,
To set a glosse vpon an earnest pain.
Nor I am not in nomber one of those,
That list to blow retrete to euery train,
The louer sendeth his complaintes and teares to sue for grace.
PAsse forth my wonted cries,
Those cruel cares to pearce,
which in most hatefull wyse
Doe stil my plaintes reuerse.
Doe you, my teares, also
So wet her barrein hart:
That pitie there may grow,
And crueltie depart.
For though hard rockes among
She semes to haue bene bred:
And of the Tigre long
Bene nourished, and fed.
Yet shall that nature change,
If pitie once win place.
Whom as vnknowen, and strange,
She now away doth chase.
And as the water soft,
Without forcing or strength,
where that it falleth oft,
Hard stones doth perse at length:
So in her stony hart
My plaintes at last shal graue,
And, rygour set apart,
Winne graunt of that I craue.
Wherfore my plaintes, present
Stil so to her my sute,
As ye, through her assent,
May bring to me some
•
rute.
And as she shall me proue,
So bid her me regarde,
And render loue for loue:
Which is a iust reward.
The louers case can not be hidden how euer he dissemble.
YOur lokes so often cast,
Your eyes so frendly rolde,
Your sight fixed so fast,
Alwaies one to behold.
Though hyde i
•
fayn ye would:
It plainly doth declare,
Who hath your hart in hold,
And where good will ye bare,
Fayn would ye finde a cloke
Your brennyng fire to hyde:
Yet both the flame, and smoke
Breakes out on euery syde.
Yee can not loue so guide,
That it no issue winnne.
Abrode nedes must it glide,
That brens so hote within.
For cause your self do wink,
Ye iudge all other blinde:
And secret it you think,
Which euery man doth finde.
In wast oft spend ye winde
Your self in loue to quit,
For agues of that kinde
Will show, who hath the fit.
Your sighes you set from farre,
And all to wry your wo:
Yet are ye neare the narre,
Men ar not blinded so.
Depely oft swere ye no:
But all those othes ar vaine.
So well your eye doth show,
Who puttes your hart to paine.
Think not therfore to hide,
That still it selfe betraies:
Nor seke meanes to prouide
To darke the sunny daies.
Forget those wonted waies:
Leaue of such frowning chere:
There will be found no sta
•
es
To stoppe a thing so clere.
The louer p
•
aieth not be disdained, refused, mistrusted, nor forsaken.
DIsdaine me not without desert:
Nor leaue me not so sodenly:
Since well ye wot, that in my hert
I meane ye not but honestly.
Refuse me not without cause why:
For think me not to be vniust:
Since that by lot of fantasy,
This carefull knot nedes knit I must.
Mistrust me not, though some there be,
That faine would spot my stedfastnesse:
Beleue them not, sins that ye se,
The proofe is not, as they expresse.
Forsake me not, till I deserue:
Nor hate me not, till I offend.
Destroy me not, till that I swerue.
But sins ye know what I intend:
Disdaine me not that am your own:
Refuse me not that am so true:
Mistrust me not till all be known:
Forsake me not, now for no new.
The louer lamenteth his estate with sute for grace.
FOr want of will, in wo I plain:
Under colour of sobernesse.
Renewing with my sute my pain,
My wanhope with your stedfastnesse.
Awake therfore of gentlenesse.
Regard at length, I you require,
My swelting paines of my desire.
Betimes who giueth willingly,
Redoubled thankes aye doth deserue.
And I that sue vnfainedly,
In frutelesse hope (alas) do sterue.
How great my cause is for to swerue:
And yet how stedfast is my sute:
Lo, here ye see, where is the frute?
As hound that hath his keper lost,
Seke I your presence to obtain:
In which my hart deliteth most,
And shall delight though I be slain.
You may release my band of pain.
Lose then the care that makes me cry
•
For want of helpe or els I dye.
I dye, though not incontinent,
By processe yet consumingly
As waste of fire, which doth relent.
If you as wilfull will deny.
wherfore cease of such cruelty:
And take me wholy in your grace:
Which lacketh will to change his place.
The louer waileth his changed ioyes.
IF euery man might him auaunt
Of fortunes friendly chere:
It was my selfe I must it graunt,
For I haue bought it dere.
And derely haue I held also
The glory of her name:
In yelding her such tribute, lo.
As did set forth her fame.
Sometime I stoode so in her grace:
That as I would require,
Ech ioy I thought did me embrace.
That furdered my desire.
And all those pleasures (lo) had I,
That fansy might support:
And nothing, she did me deny,
That was vnto my comfort.
I had (what would you more perde?)
Ech grace that I did craue.
Thus fortunes will was vnto me
All thing that I would haue.
But all to rathe alas the while,
She built on such a ground:
In litle space, to great a guile
In her now haue I found.
For she hath turned so her whele:
That I vnhappy man
May waile the time that I dede fele
Wherwith she fed me than.
For broken now are her behestes:
And plesant lookes she gaue:
And therfore now all my requestes,
From perill can not saue.
Yet would I well it might appere
To her my chiefe regard:
Though my desertes haue been to dere
To m
•••
te such reward.
Sith fortunes will is now so bent
To plage me thus poore man:
I must my selfe therwith content:
And beare it as I can.
To his loue that had geuen him answere of refusell.
THe answere that ye made to me my dere,
When I did sue for my poore hartes redresse:
Hath so appalde my countenance and my chere:
That in this case, I am all comfortlesse:
Sins I of blame no cause can well expresse.
I haue no wrong, where I can claime no right.
Nought tane me fro, where I haue nothing had,
Yet of my wo, I can not so be quite.
Namely, sins that another may be glad
With that, that thus in sorow makes me sad.
Yet none can claime (I say) by former graunt,
That knoweth not of any graunt at all.
And by desert, I dare well make auaunt,
Of faithfull will, there is no where that shall
Beare you more truth, more ready at your call.
Now good then, call againe that bitter word:
That toucht your friende so nere with panges of paine:
And say my dere that it was sayd in bord.
Late, or to sone, let it not rule the gaine,
Wherwith free will doth true desert retaine.
To his ladie cruel ouer her yelden louer
SUch is the course, that natures kinde hath wrought,
That snakes haue time to cast away their stinges.
Ainst chainde prisoners what nede defence be sought:
The fierce lyon will hurt no yelden thinges:
Why should such spite be nursed then thy thought?
Sith all these powers are prest vnder thy winges:
And eke thou seest, and reason thee hath taught:
What mischief malice many wayes it bringes:
Consider eke, that spight auaileth naught,
Therfore this song thy fault to thee it singes:
Displease the not, for saiyng thus (me thought.)
Nor hate thou him from whom no hate forth springes,
For furies, that in hell be execrable.
For that they hate, are made most miserable.
The louer complaineth that deadly sicknesse can not helpe his affeccion.
THe enmy of life, decayer of all kinde,
That with his cold withers away the grene:
This other night, me in my bed did finde:
And offerd me to ryd my feuer clene.
And I dyd graunt: so did dispaire me blinde.
He drew his bow
•
, with arrowes sharpe and kene:
And strake the place, wher loue had hit before:
And draue the first dart deper more and more.
The louer reioiceth the enioying of his loue.
ONce as me thought, fortune me kist:
And bade me aske, what I thought best:
And I should haue it as me list,
Therewith to set my hart in rest.
I asked but my ladies hart
To haue for euermore myne owne:
Then at an end were al my smart:
Then should I nede no more to mone,
Yet for all that a stormy blast
Had ouerturnde this goodly nay:
And fortune semed at the last,
That to her promise she said day.
But like as one out of dispayre
To sodain hope reuiued
•
I.
Now fortune sheweth her selfe so faire,
That I content me wondersly.
My most desire my hand may reach:
My wyll is al way at my hand.
Me nede not long for to beseche
Her, that hath power me to commaunde.
What earthly thing more can I craue?
What would I wishe more at my will?
Nothing on earth more would I haue,
Saue that I haue, to haue it styll.
For fortune now hath kept her promesse,
In graunting me my most desire.
Of my soueraigne I haue redresse,
And I content me with my hire.
The louer complaineth the vnkindnes of his loue.
MY lute awake performe the last
Labour that thou and I shal wast:
And end that I haue now begonne:
And when this song is song and past:
My lute be stil for I haue done.
As to be heard where eare is no
•
e:
As lead to graue in marble stone:
My song may pearse her hart as sone.
Should we then sigh? or singe, or mone?
No, no, my lute for I haue done
•
The rockes do not so c
•
u
•
lly
•
Repulse the waues continually,
As she my sute and affection:
So that I am past remedy,
Wherby my lute and I haue done.
Proude of the spoile that thou hast gotte
Of simple hartes through loues shot:
By whom vnkind thou hast them wonne,
Thinke not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I haue done.
Uengeaunce shall fall on thy disdaine
That makest but game on earnest payne.
Thinke not alone vnder the sunne
Unquit to cause thy louers plain:
Although my lute and I haue done.
May chance thee lie withered and olde.
In winter nightes that are so colde,
Plaining in vaine vnto the mone:
Thy wishes then dare not be tolde.
Care then who list, for I haue done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent
To cause thy louers
•
igh and swowne.
Then shalt thou know beaute but lent,
And wish and want as I haue done.
Now cease my lute this is the last,
Labour that thou and I shal wast
And ended is that we begonne.
Now is this song both
•
song and past,
My lute be still for I haue done.
How by a kisse he found both his life and death.
NAture that gaue the Bee so feate a grace,
To finde hony of so wondrous fashion:
Hath taught the spider out of the same place
To fetche poyson by strange alteracion.
Though this be strange, it is a straunger case,
With one kisse by secret operacion,
Both these at once in those your lipps to finde,
In change wherof, I leaue my hart behinde.
The louer describeth his being taken with sight of his loue.
VNwarely so was neuer no man caught,
With stedfast loke vpon a goodly face:
As I of late: for sodainely me thought,
My hart was torne out of hys place.
Thorow mine eye the stroke from hers did slide
•
And downe directly to my hart it ranne:
In helpe wherof the blood therto did glide,
And left my face both pale and wanne.
Then was I like a man for wo amased:
Or like the fowle that fleeth into the fier.
For while that I vpon her beauty gased:
The more I burnd in my desire.
Anone the bloud start in my face againe,
Inflamde with heat, that it had at my hart.
And brought therwith through out in euery vayne,
A quaking heate with pleasant smart.
Then was I like the straw, when that the flame
Is driuen therin, by force, and rage of winde,
I can not tell, alas, what I shall blame:
Nor what to seke, nor what to finde.
But well I wot: the griefe doth hold me sore
In heat and cold, betwixt both hope and dreade:
That, but her helpe to health do me restore:
This restlesse life I may not lead.
To his louer to loke vpon him.
AL in thy loke my life doth whole depende.
Thou hydest thy self, and I must dye therfore,
But sins thou mayst so easily helpe thy frend:
Why dost thou stick to salue that thou madest sore?
why do I dye? sins thou maist me defend:
And if I dye, thy lyfe may last no more.
For eche by other doth liue and haue reliefe,
I in thy loke, and thou most in my griefe.
The louer excuseth him of wordes wherwith he was vniustly charged.
PErdy I sayd it not:
Nor neuer thought to do.
As well as I ye wot:
I haue no power therto,
And if I did, the lot,
That first did me enchayne:
May neuer slake the knot,
But strayght it to my payne.
And if I did ech thing,
That may do harme or wo;
Continually may wring
My hart where so I go.
Report may alwayes ring
Of shame on me for aye:
If in my hart did spring
The wordes that you do say
And if I did ech starre,
That is in heauen aboue,
May frowne on me to marre
The hope I haue in loue.
And if I did such warre,
As they brought vnto Troye,
Bring all my life as farre
From all his lust and ioye.
And if I did so say:
The beautie that me bounde,
Encrease from day to day
More cruel to my wounde:
With al the mone that may,
To plaint may turne my song:
My life may sone decay,
Without redresse by wrong.
If I be cleare from thought,
Why do you then complayne?
Then is this thing but sought.
To turne my hart to payne,
Then this that you haue wrought,
You must it now redresse,
Of ryght therfore you ought
Such rigour to represse.
And as I haue deserued:
So graunt me now my hire:
You know I neuer swarued.
You neuer founde me lier.
For Rachel haue I serued,
For Lea cared I neuer:
And her I haue reserued
Within my hart for euer.
Of such as had forsaken him.
LUx, my faire fawlcon, and thy felowes all:
How well pleasant it were your libertie:
Ye not forsake me, that faire mought you fal.
But they that sometime liked my company:
Like lice a way from deade bodies they crall.
Loe, what a proofe in light aduersitie?
But ye my birdes, I sweare by all your belles,
Ye be my frendes, and very few elles.
A description of such a one as he would loue.
A Face that should content me wonderous wel
•
Should not be faire, but louely to behold:
Of liuely loke, all griefe for to repel:
With right good grace, so would I that it should
Speake without word, such wordes as none cā tel.
Her tresse also should be of crisped gold.
With wit, and these perchance I might be tride,
And knit againe with knot, that should not slide.
How vnpossible it is to finde quiet in loue.
EUer my hap is slack and slowe in comming
Desire encreasyng ay my hope vncertaine:
With doubtful loue that but increaseth pain
For Tigre like so swift it is in parting.
Alas the snow black shal it be and scalding,
The sea waterles, and fishe vpon the mountaine:
The Temis shal back retourne into his fountaine:
And wher he rose the sunne shal take his lodging.
Ere I in this finde peace or quietnesse.
Or that loue or my lady rightwisely
Leaue to conspire against me wrongfully.
And if I haue after such bitternesse,
One drop of swete, my mouth is out of taste:
That al my trust and trauell is but waste.
Of loue, fortune, and the louers minde.
LOue, Fortune, and my minde which do remēber
Eke that is now, and that that once hath bene:
Torment my hart so sore that very often
I hate and enuy them beyonde al measure.
Loue sleeth my hart while Fortune his depriuee
Of all my comfort: the folishe minde than:
Burneth and plainth: as one that very sildam.
Liueth in rest. So styl in displeasure
My pleasant daies they flete away and passe.
And dayly doth myne yll change to the worse.
while more then halfe is runne now of my course.
Alas not of stele, but of brittle glasse,
I se that from my hand falleth my trust:
And all my thoughtes are dasshed into dust.
The louer prai
•
th his offred hart to be receiued.
HOw oft haue I, my deare and cruel fo:
With my great pain to get som peace or truce,
Geuen you my hart; but you do not vse,
In so hie thinges, to cast your minde so low,
If any other loke for it, as you trow,
Their vaine weake hope doth greatly them abuse.
And that thus I disdaine, that you refuse.
It was once mine, it can no
•
more be so.
If you it chase, that it in you can finde,
In this exile, no maner of comfort:
Nor liue alone, nor where he is calde, resort,
He may wander from his naturall kinde.
So shall it be great hurt vnto vs twayne,
And yours the losse, and mine the deadly payne.
The louers life compared to the Alpes.
LYke vnto these vnmesurable mountaines,
So is my painefull life, the burden of yre.
For hye be they, and hye is my desire.
And I of teares, and they be full of fountaines.
Under craggy rockes they haue barren plaines,
Hard thoughtes in me my wofull minde doth tire,
Small frute and many leaues their toppes do attire,
With small effect great trust in me remaines.
The boystous windes oft their hie boughes do blast:
Hote sighes in me continually be shed.
wilde beastes in them, fierce loue in me is fed.
Unmoueable am I: and they stedfast.
Of singing birdes they haue the tune and note:
And I alwaies plaintes passing through my throte.
Charging of his loue as vnpetious and louing other.
IF amorous fayth, or if an hart vnfained
A swete languor, a great louely desire:
If honest will, kindled in gentle fire:
If long errour in a blind mase chained,
If in my visage ech thought distained:
Or if my sparkelyng voice, lower, or hier,
Which feare and shame, so wofully doth tyre:
If pale colour, which loue alas hath stained:
If to haue another then my self more dere,
If wailing or sighing continually,
With sorowfull anger feding busily
If burning farre of, and if frysing nere,
Are cause that I by loue my selfe destroy:
Yours is the fault, and mine the great annoy.
A renouncing of loue.
FArewell, Loue, and all thy lawes for euer,
Thy bayted hookes shall tangle me no more.
Senec, and Plato call me from thy lore:
To parfit wealth my wit for to endeuer.
In blinde errour when I did parseuer:
Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore:
Taught me in trifles that I set no store:
But scape forth thence: since libertie is leuer.
Therefore, farewell: go trouble yonger hartes:
And in me claime no more auctoritie.
With ydle youth go vse thy propartie:
And theron spend thy many brittle dartes.
For, hitherto though I haue lost my time:
Me list no lenger rotten bowes to clime,
The louer forsaketh his vukinde loue.
MY hart I gaue thee, not to do it pain:
But to preserue, lo it to thee was taken.
I serued thee not that I should be forsaken:
But, that I should receiue reward again,
I was content thy seruant to remain:
And not to be repayed on this fashion.
Now, since in thee there is none other reason:
Displease thee not, if that I do refrain.
Unsaciat of my wo, and thy desire.
Assured by craft for to excuse thy fault.
But, sins it pleaseth thee to fain default:
Farewell, I say, departing from the fire.
For, he, that doth beleue bearing in hand:
Ploweth in the water: and soweth in the sand.
The louer describeth his restlesse state.
THe flaming sighes that boyle within my brest
Somtime breake forth and thei can well declare
The hartes vnrest and how that it doth fare,
The pain therof the grief and all the rest.
The watred eyen from whence the teares do fall,
Do fele some force or els they would be dry:
The wasted flesh of colour ded can try,
And somtime tell what swetenes is in gall.
And he that lust to see and to disarne,
How care can force within a weried minde:
Come he to me I am that place assinde,
But for all this no force it doth no harme.
The wound alas happe in some other place:
From whence no toole away the skar can race.
But you that of such like haue had your part,
Can best be iudge. Wherfore my friend so deare:
I thought it good my state should now appeare.
To you and that there is no great desart.
And wheras you in weighty matters great:
Of fortune saw the shadow that you know,
For trifling thinges I now am striken so
That though I fele my hart doth wound and beat
•
I sit alone saue on the second day:
My feuer comes with whom I spend my time,
In burning heat while that she list assigne.
And who hath helth and libertie alway:
Let him thank God and let him not prouoke,
To haue the like of this my painfull stroke.
The louer lamentes the death of his loue.
THe piller perisht is wherto I lent,
The strongest stay of mine vnquiet minde:
The like of it no man again can finde:
From East to West still seking though he went.
To mine vnhappe for happe away hath rent,
Of all my ioy the very bark and rinde:
And I (alas) by chance am thus assinde,
Dayly to moorne till death do it relent.
But sins that thus it is by desteny,
What can I more but haue a wofull hart,
My penne, in plaint, my voyce in carefull cry:
My minde in wo, my body full of smart,
And I my self, my selfe alwaies to hate,
Till dreadfull death do ease my dolefull state.
The louer sendeth sighes to mone his sute.
GO burning sighes vnto the frosen hart,
Go breake the yse with pities painfull dart.
Might neuer perce and if that mortall praier,
In heauen be heard, at lest yet I desire.
That death or mercy end my wofull smart.
Take with thee pain, wherof I haue my part,
And eke the flame from which I cannot start.
And leaue me then in rest, I you require:
Go burning sighes fulfill that I desire.
I must go worke I see by craft and art,
For truth and faith in her is laid apart:
Alas, I can not therfore now assaile her,
With pitefull complaint and scalding fier,
That from my brest disceiuably doth start.
Complaint of the absence of his loue.
SO feble is the threde, that doth the burden stay,
Of my poore life: in heauy plight, that falleth in decay:
That, but it haue elswhere some ayde or some succours:
The running spindle of my fate anone shall end his course.
For sins thunhappy hower, that did me to depart,
From my swete weale: one onely hope hath stated my life, apart:
Which doth perswade such wordes vnto my
•
ored minde:
Maintain thy self, O wofull wight, some better luck to finde:
For though thou be depriued from thy desired sight:
Who can thee tell, if thy
•
eturne be for thy more delight?
Or, who can tell, thy losse if thou mayst once recouer?
Some pleasant hower thy wo may wrap: and thee defend, & couer
Thus in this trust as yet it hath my life sustained:
But now (alas) I see it faint: and I, by trust, am trayned.
The time doth flete, and I see how the howers, do bend
So fast: that I haue scant the space to marke my comming end,
Westward the sunne from out the East scant shewes his light:
When in the West he hies him strayt, within the dark of night.
And comes as fast, where he began, his path awry.
From East to West, from West to East so doth his iourney lye.
The life so short, so fraile, that mortall men liue here:
So great a weight, so heauy charge the bodies, that we bere:
That, when I think vpon the distaunce, and the space:
That doth so farre deuide me from my dere desired face:
I know not, how tattain the winges, that I require,
To lift me vp: that I might flie, to folow my desire.
Thus of that hope, that doth my life some thing sustaine,
Alas: I feare, and partly fele: full litle doth remain.
Eche place doth bring me grief: where I do not behold
Those liuely eyes: which of my thoughts wer wōt ye keys to hold,
Those thoughts wer pleasant swete: whilst I enioyed that grace:
My pleasure past, my present pain, when I might well embrace.
And, forbecause my want should more my wo encrease:
In watch, and slepe, both day and night, my will doth neuer cease
That thing to wish: wherof sins I did lese the sight:
Was neuer thing that mought in ought my wofull hart delight,
Thuneasy life, I lead, doth teach me for to mete
The floodes, the seas, the land, the hilles: that doth thē entermete
Twene me, and those shene lightes: that wonted for to clere.
My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts, as bright as Phebus spere
It teacheth me also, what was my pleasant state:
The more to fele, by such record, how that my wealth doth bate.
If such record (alas) prouoke then
•
lamed minde:
Which sprong that day, that I did leaue the best of me behinde:
If loue
•
orget himself, by length of absence let:
Who doth me guyde (O wofull wretch) vnto this bayted net?
Where doth encrease my care: much better wer for me,
As dumme, as stone, all thing forgot, still absent for to be.
Alas: the clere christall, the bright transplendant glasse
Doth not bewray the colours hid, which vnderneth it hase:
As doth thaccumbred sprite the thoughtfull throwes discouer,
Of feares delite, of feruent loue: that in our hartes we couer.
Out by these eyes, it sheweth that euermore delight.
In
•
laint, and teares to seke redresse: and eke both day and night.
Those kindes of pleasures most wherein men so reioyce,
To me they do redouble still of stormy sighes the voyce.
For, I am one of them, whom plaint doth well content:
It s
•
ts me well myne absent wealth me semes for to lament:
And with my teares, tassay to charge mine eyes twain:
Like as my hart aboue the brink is fraughted full of pain.
And forbecause, thereto, that those faire eyes to treate
Do me prouoke: I will returne, my plaint thus to repeate.
For, there is nothing els, so toucheth me within:
Where they rule all: and I alone nought but the case, or skin.
Wherefore, I shall returne to them, as well, or spring:
From whom descendes my mortall wo, aboue all other thing,
So shall mine eyes in pain accompany my hart,
That were the guides, that did it lead of loue to fele the smart.
The crisped gold, that doth surmount Apollos pride:
The liuely streames of pleasant starres that vnder it doth glide:
Wherein the beames of loue do still encrease their heate:
Which yet so farre touch me so nere, in cold to make me sweate.
The wise and pleasant talk, so rare, or els alone:
That gaue to me the curteis gift, that erst had neuer none:
Be farre from me, alas: and euery other thing
I might forbeare with better will: then this that did me bring
With pleasant woord and chere, redresse of lingred pain:
And wonted oft in kindled will to vertue me to train.
Thus, am I forst to heare, and harken after newes.
My comfort scant, my large desire in doutfull trust renewes.
And yet with more delite to mone my wofull case:
I must complain those hands, those armes: that firmly do embrace
Me from my self: and rule the sterne of my poore life:
The swete disdaines, the pleasāt wrathes, and eke the louely strife
That wonted well to tune in temper iust, and mete,
The rage: that oft did make me erre, by furour vndiscrete.
All this is hid fro me, with sharp, and ragged hilles:
At others will, my long abode my depe dispaire fulfils.
And if my hope sometime rise vp, by some redresse:
It stumbleth straite, for feable faint: my feare hath such excesse.
Such is the sort of hope: the lesse for more desyre:
And yet I trust ere that I dye to see that I require
The resting place of loue: where vertue dwelles and growes
There I desire, my wery life, somtime, may take repose.
My song: thou shalt attain to finde that pleasant place:
Where she doth liue, by whō I liue: may chance to haue this grace
when she hath red, and sene the grief, wherin I serue:
Betwene her brestes she shall thee put: there, shall she the reserue.
Then, tell her, that I come: she shall me shortly see:
And if for waighte the body fayle, the soule shall to her flee
•
The louer blameth his loue for renting of the letter he sent her.
SUffised not (madame) that you did teare,
My woful hart, but thus also to rent:
The weping paper that to you I sent.
Wherof eche letter was written with a teare.
Could not my present paines
•
alas suffise.
Your gredy hart? and that my hart doth fele,
Tormentes that prick more sharper thē the stele,
But new and new must to my lot arise.
Use then my death. So shall your cruelty:
Spite of your spite rid me from all my smart,
And I no more such tormentes of the hart:
Fele as I do. This shall you gain thereby.
The louer cu
•
seth the time when first he fell in loue.
VVHen first mine eyes did view, and marke,
Thy faire beawtie to behold:
And when mine eares listned to harke:
The pleasant wordes
•
that thou me told:
I would as then, I had been free,
From eares to h
•
are, and eyes to see.
And when my lips gan first to moue,
Wherby my hart to thee was knowne:
And when my tong did talk of loue,
To thee that hast true loue down throwne:
I would, my lips, and tong also:
Had then bene dum, no deale to go.
And when my handes haue handled ought,
That thee hath kept in memorie:
And when my feete haue gone, and sought
•
To finde and get thee companie:
I would, eche hand a foote had bene,
And I eche foote a hand had sene.
And when in minde I did consent
To folow this my fansies will:
And when my hart did first relent,
To taste such bayt, my life to spill:
I would, my hart had bene as thine:
Or els thy hart had bene, as mine.
The louer determineth to serue faithfully.
SYnce loue will nedes, that I shall loue:
Of very force I must agree.
And since no chance may it remoue:
In wealth, and in
•
duersitie,
I shall alway my self apply
To serue and suffer paciently.
Though for good will I finde but hate:
And cruelty my life to wast:
And though that still
•
wretched state
Should pine my dales vnto the last:
Yet I professe it w
•
llingly,
To serue, and suffer paciently.
For since my hart is bound to serue:
And I not ruler of mine owne:
what so befall, till that I sterue,
By proofe full well it shall be knowne:
That I shall still my selfe apply
To serue, and suffer paciently.
•
ea though my grief finde no redresse
•
But still increase before mine eyes:
Though my reward be cruelnesse,
With all the harme, happe can deuise
•
Yet I professe it willingly
To serue and suffer paciently.
Yea though fortune her pleasant
•
ace
Should shew, to set me vp a loft:
And straight, my wealth for to deface,
Should writhe away, as she doth oft:
Yet would I still my selfe apply
To serue and suffer paciently.
There is no grief, no smart, no wo:
That yet I feele, or after shall:
That from this minde may make me go,
And what so euer me befal:
I do professe it willingly
To serue and suffer paciently.
The louer suspected blameth yll tonges.
MYstrustfull mindes be moued
To haue me in suspect.
The troth it shalbe proued:
Which time shall once detect.
Though falshed go about
Of crime me to accuse:
At length I do not dout,
But truth shall me excuse.
Such sawce, as they haue serued
To me without desart:
Euen as they haue deserued:
Therof God send them part.
The louer complaineth and his ladie comforteth.
Louer. IT burneth yet, alas my hartes desire.
Ladye. What is the thing, that hath inflamde thy h
•
rt?
Louer. A certain point, as feruent, as the fire.
Ladye. The heate shall cease, if that thou wilt conuert.
Louer. I cannot stop the feruent raging yre.
La. What may I do, if thy self cause thy smart?
Lo. Heare my request, and rew weying chere.
La. With right good will, say on: lo, I thee here.
Lo. That thing would I, that maketh two content.
La. Thou sekest, perchance, of me, that I may not.
Lo. Would god, thou wouldst, as thou maist, well assent.
La. That I may not, the grief is mine: God wot.
Lo. But I it fele, what so thy wordes haue ment.
La. Suspect me not: my wordes be not forgot.
Lo. Then say, alas: shall I haue helpe? or no.
La. I see no time to answer, y
•
a, but no.
Lo. Say ye, dere hart: and stand no more in dout
•
La. I may not grant a thing, that is so dere
Lo. Lo, with delaies thou drieues me still about.
La. Thou wouldest my death: it plainly doth apper
•
.
Lo. First, may my hart his blood, and life blede out
La. Then for my sake, alas, thy will forbere.
Lo. From day to day, thus wastes my life away.
La. Yet, for the best, suffer some small delay.
Lo. Now, good, say yea: do once so good a dede.
La. If I sayd yea: what should therof ensue?
Lo. An hart in pain of succour so should spede.
Twixt yea, and nay, my doute shal still renew
•
My swete, say yea: and do away this drede.
La. Thou wilt nedes so: be it so: but then be trew.
Lo. Nought would I els, nor other treasure none,
Thus, hartes be wonne, by loue, request, and mone.
why loue is blind.
OF purpose, loue chose first for to be blinde:
For, he with sight of that, that I beholde,
Uanquisht had been, against all godly kinde.
His bow your hand, and trusse should haue vnfolde.
And he with me to serue had bene assinde.
But, for he blinde, and recklesse would him holde:
And still, by chance, his dedly strokes bestowe:
With such, as see, I serue, and suffer wo.
To his vnkinde loue.
WHat rage is this? what furor? of what kinde?
What power, what plage doth wery thus my minde
•
Within my bones to rankle is assinde
What poyson pleasant swete?
Lo, see, myne eyes flow with continuall teares:
The body still away slepelesse it weares:
My foode nothing my fainting strength repaires,
Nor doth my limmes sustain.
In depe wide wound, the d
•
dly stroke doth turne:
To cureles skarr
•
that neuer shall returne.
Go to: triumph: reioyce thy goodly turne:
Thy frend thou doest oppresse.
Oppresse thou doest: and hast of him no cure:
Nor yet my plaint no pitie can procure.
Fierce Tigre, fell, hard rock without recure:
Cruel rebell to Loue,
Once may thou loue, neuer beloued again:
So loue thou styll, and not thy loue obtain:
So wrathfull loue, with spites of iust disdain
•
May thret thy cruell hart.
The louer blameth his instant desire.
DEsire (alas) my master, and my fo:
So
•
ore altered thy self how mayst thou see?
Sometime thou sekest, that driues me to and fro.
Sometime, thou leadst, that leadeth the and me.
what reason is to rule thy subiectes so?
By forced law, and mutabilitie.
For where by thee I douted to haue blame:
Euen now by hate again I dout the same.
The louer complaineth his estate.
I See, that chance hath chosen me
Thus secertly to liue in paine:
And to
•
n other geuen the fee
Of al my losse to hane the gayn.
By chance assinde thus do I se rue:
And other haue, that I deserue.
Unto my self sometime alone
I do lament my woful case.
But what auaileth me to mone?
Since troth, and p
•
t
•
e hath no place
In them: to whom I sue and serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.
To seke by meane to change this minde
•
Alas, I proue, it will not be.
For in my hart I cannot finde
Once to refraine, but styl agre,
As bound by force, alway to serue:
And other haue that I deserue.
Such is the fortune, that I haue
To loue them most, that loue me les
•
:
And to my paine to seke, and craue
The thing, that other haue possest.
So thus in vain alway I serue.
And other haue, that I deserue.
And tyll I may apease the heate:
If that my happe wyll happe so well:
To waile my wo my hart shal freate:
Whose pen
•
if pain my tong can tell.
Yet thus vnhappy must I serue:
And other haue, that I deserue
•
Of his loue called Anna.
VVHat word is that, that changeth not,
Though it be turned & made in tw
•
in
••
It is mine Anna god it wot.
The only causer of my paine:
My loue that medeth with disdaine.
Yet is it loued what will you more.
It is my salue, and eke my sore.
That pleasure is mixed with euery paine.
VEnemous thrones that are so sharp and kene,
Beare flowers we se full fresh and faire of hue.
Poison is also put in medicine.
And vnto man his helth doth oft renue.
The fier that all thinges eke consumeth cleane
May hurt and heale: then if that this be true.
I trust sometime my harme may be my health,
Sins euery woe is ioyned with some wealth.
A riddle of a gift geuen by a Ladie:
A Lady gaue me a gift she had not,
And I receiued her gift which I toke not,
She gaue it me willingly, and yet she would not
•
And I receiued it, albeit, I could not,
If she giue it me, I force not,
And if she take it againe she cares not.
Conster what this is and tel not,
For I am fast sworne I may not.
That speaking or profering bringes alway speding.
SPeake thou and spede where will or power ought help
•••
Where power doth want wil must be wonne by welth.
For nede will spede, where will workes no
•
his kinde,
And gaine, thy foes thy frendes shall cause thee finde,
For sute and golde, what do not they obtaine,
Of good and bad the triers are these twaine.
He ruleth not though he raigne ouer realmes that is subiect to his own lustes.
IF thou wilt mighty be, flee from the rage
Of cruel will, and see thou kepe thee free
From the foule yoke of sensuall bondage,
For though thyne empyre stretche to Indian sea,
And for thy feare trembleth the fardest Thylec,
If thy desire haue ouer thee the power,
Subiect then art thou and no gouernour.
If to be noble and high thy minde be meued,
Consider well thy ground and thy beginning:
For he that hath eche starre in heauen fixed,
And geues the Moone her hornes and her ecsipsing:
Alike hath made the noble in his working,
So that wretched no way may thou bee.
Except foule lust and vice do conquer thee.
All were it so thou had a flood of gold,
Unto thy thirst yet should it not suffice.
And though with Indian stones a thousand folde,
More precious then can thy selfe deuise,
Y
•
harged were thy backe: thy coui
•
ise
And busy biting yet should neuer let,
Thy wretched life, ne do thy death profet.
whether libertie by losse of life, or life in prison and thraldom be to be preferred.
LYke as the birde within the cage enclosed,
The dore vnsparred, her foe the Hawke without,
Twixt death and prison piteously oppressed.
whether for to
•
hose standeth in dout,
Lo, so do I, which seke to bring about,
Which should be best by determinacion,
By losse of life libertie, or life by prison.
O mischiefe by mischiefe to be redressed.
•
here pain is best there lieth but litle pl
••
sur
•
.
By short death better to be deliuered,
Than bide in painfull life, thraldome, and doler,
Small is the pleasure where much pain we suffer.
Rather therfore to chuse me thinketh wisdome,
By losse of lif
•
libertie, then life by prison.
And yet me thinkes although I liue and suffer
•
I do but waite a time and fortunes chance:
Oft many thinges do happen in one hou
•
r.
That which opprest me now may me ad
•
ance.
In time is trust which by deathes greuance
Is wholy lost. Then were it not reason,
By death to chuse libertie, and not life by prison.
But death wer deliuerāce wher life lēgths pain
•
Of these two ylles let see now chuse the best:
This bird to deliuer that here doth plain,
what say ye louers? which shall be the best?
In cage
•
hraldome, or by the Hawke opprest.
And which to chuse make plain conclusion,
By losse of life libertie, or life by prison.
Against hourders of money.
FOr shamfast harm of great, and hatefull nede:
In depe dispaire, as did a wretch go,
With ready corde, out of his life to spede:
His stumbling foote did finde an hoorde, lo,
Of gold, I say: where he
•
reparde this dede:
And in eschange, he lef
•
the corde, tho.
He, that had hid the gold, and found it not:
Of that, he found, he shapte his neck a knot.
Discription of a gonne.
VUlcane begat me: Minerua me taught:
Nature, my mother: Craft nourisht me yere by yere
•
Thre bodies are my foode: my strength is in naught:
Anger, wrath, wast, and noyce are my children der
•
,
Gesse friend, what I am: and how I am wraught:
Monster of sea, or of land, or of els where.
Know me, and vse me: and I may thee defend:
And if I be thine enmy, I may thy life end,
wiate being in prison, to Brian.
SYghes are my foode: my drink are my teares.
Clinking of fetters would such musick craue.
•
tink, and close ayre away my life it weares.
Poore innocence is all the hope I haue.
Rain, winde, or wether iudge I by mine eares.
Malice assaultes, that righteousnesse should haue.
Sure am I, Brian, this wound shall heale again:
But yet alas, the skarre shall still remain.
Of dissembling wordes.
THroughout the world if it wer sought,
Faire wordes inough a man shall finde:
They be good chepe they cost right nought.
Their substance is but onely winde:
But well to say and so to mene,
That swete acord is seldom sene.
Of the meane and sure estate.
SLond who so list vpon the slipper wheele,
Of hye astate and let me here reioyce.
And vse my life in quietnesse eche dele,
Unknowen in court that hath the wanton toyes,
In hidden place my time shal slowly passe
And when my yeres be past withouten noyce
Let me dye olde after the common trace
For gripes of death doth he to hardly passe
That knowen is to all: but to him selfe alas,
He dyeth vnknowen, dased with dreadfull face.
The courtiers life
IN court to serue decked with fresh aray,
Of sugred meates feling the swete repast:
The life in bankets, and sundry kindes of pla
•
,
Amid the presse of worldly lookes to waste,
Hath with it ioynde oft times such bitter taste.
That who so ioyes such kinde of life to hold,
In prison ioyes fettred with cheines of gold.
Of disapointed purpose by negligence.
OF Carthage he that worthy warriour
Could ouercome, but could not vse his chance
And I likewise of all my long endeuour
The sharpe conquest though fortune did aduance,
Ne could I vse. The hold that is geuen ouer,
I vnposest, so hangeth now in balance
Of warre, my peace, reward of all my paine,
At Mountzon thus I restlesse rest in Spaine.
Of his returne from Spaine.
TAgus farewell that Westward with thy stremes
Turnes vp the graines of gold already tried,
For I with spurre and saile go seke the temmes.
Gaineward the sunne that sheweth her welthy pride,
And to the town that Brutus sought by dreames,
Like bended mone that leanes her lusty side.
My king, my countrey, I seke for whom I liue,
O mighty Ioue the windes for this me giue.
Of sodaine trusting.
DRiuen by desire I did this dede
To danger my self without cause why:
To trust thuntrue not like to spede,
To speake and promise faithfully:
But now the proofe doth verifie,
That who so trusteth ere he know,
Doth hurt himselfe and please his foe,
Of the mother that eat her childe at the seige of Ierusalem.
IN doubtfull breast whiles motherly pity
With furious famine standeth at debate,
The mother sayth: O chyld vnhappy
Returne thy bloud where thou hadst milke of late
Yeld me those limmes that I made vnto thee,
And enter there where thou were generate.
For one of body against all nature,
To an other must I make sepulture.
Of the meane and sure estate writen to Iohn Poins.
MY mothers maides when they do sowe and spinne:
They sing a song made of the feldishe mouse:
That for bicause her liuelod was but thinne,
Would nedes go se her townish sisters house,
She thought, her selfe endured to greuous paine,
The stormy blastes her caue so sore dyd sowse:
That when the furrowes swimmed with the raine:
She must lie colde, and wet in sory plight.
And worse then that, bare meat there did remaine
To comfort her, when she her house had dight:
Sometime a barly corne: sometime a beane:
For which she laboured hard both day and night,
In haruest time, while she might go and gleane.
And when her store was stroyed with the floode:
Then weleaway for she vndone was cleane.
Then was she faine to take in stede of fode,
Slepe if she might, her honger to begile.
My sister (quod she) hath a liuing good:
And hence from me she dwelleth not a mile.
In colde and storme, she lieth warme and dry,
In bed of downe: the durt doth not defile
Her tender fote, she labours not as I,
Richely she fedes, and at the richemans cost:
And for her meat she nedes not crane nor cry.
By sea, by land, of delicates the most
Her cater sekes, and spareth for no perell:
She fedes on boyle meat, bake meat, and on rost:
And hath therefore no whit of charge nor trauell.
And when she list the licour of the grape
Doth glad her hart, tyll that her belly swell.
And at this iourney makes she but a iape:
So forth she goes, trusting of all this wealth,
With her sister her part so for to shape:
That if she might there kepe her self in health:
To liue a Lady while her life doth last.
And to the dore nowe is she come by stealth:
And with her fote anone she scarpes full fast.
Thother for fear, durst not well scarse appeare:
Of euery noyse so was the wretch agast.
At last, she asked softly who was there.
And in her language as well as she could,
Pepe (quod the other) sister I am here.
Peace (quod the towne mouse) why speakest thou so loude?
And by the hand she toke her faire and well.
Welcome (quod she) my sister by the rode.
She feasted her that ioye it was to tell
The fare they hadde, they dranke the wine so clere:
And as to purpose now and then i
•
fell:
She chered her, with how sister what chere?
Amid this ioye be fell a sory chance:
That (weleaway) the stranger bought full dere
The fare she had. For as she lookt a scance:
Under a stole she spied two stemyng eyes
In a rounde head, wyth sharpe eares: in Fraunce
Was neuer mouse so ferde, for the vnwise
Had not ysene such a beast before.
Yet had nature taught her after her gise,
To know her fo: and dread him euermore.
The townemouse f
•
ed: she knew whither to go:
The other had no shift, but wonders sore
Ferde of her life, at home she wisht her tho:
And to the dore (alas) as she did skippe:
The heauen it would, lo: and eke her chance was so:
At the threshold hersely fote did trippe:
And ere she myght recouer it againe:
The traitour cat had caught her by the hippe:
And made her there against her wyll remayne:
That had forgot her power, suerty and rest,
For seking welth, wherein she thought to raigne.
Alas (my Poyns) how men do seke the best,
And finde the worse, by errour as they stray,
And no maruell, when sight is so opprest,
And blindes the guide, anone out of the way
Goeth guide and all in seking quiet life.
O wretched mindes, there is no golde that may
Graunt that you seke, no warre, no peace, no strife.
No, no, although thy head were hoopt with golde,
Sergeant with mace, with hawbart, sword, nor knife,
Can not repulse the care that folow should.
Ech kinde of life hath with him his disease.
Liue in delits, euen as thy lust would:
And thou shalt finde, when lust doth most thee please:
It irketh straight, and by it selfe doth fade.
A small thing is it, that may thy minde appease.
None of you al there is, that is so madde,
To seke for grapes on brambles, or on bryers:
Nor none I trow that hath a wytte so badde,
To set his haye for coneies ouer riuers:
Nor ye set not a dragge net for an hare.
And yet the thing, that most is your desire,
You do misseke, with more trauell and care.
Make plaine thine ha
•
t, that it be not knotted
With hope or dreade, and se thy wil be bare
From all affectes, whom vice hath neuer spotted.
Thy selfe content with that is thee assinde:
And vse it well that is to thee alotted,
Then seke no more out of thy selfe to finde
The thing that thou hast sought so long before.
For thou shalt feele it stickyng in thy minde.
Made, if ye list to continue your sore:
Let present passe, and gape on time to come,
And depe thy selfe in trauell more and more.
Henceforth (my Poins) this shall be all and summe
These wretched foles shall haue nought els of me:
But, to the great God and to his dome,
None other paine pray
•
for them to be:
But when the rage doth leade them from the right:
That loking backward, Uertue they may se,
Euen as she is, so goodly fayre and bright.
And whilst they claspe their lustes in armes a crosse:
Graunt them good Lord, as thou maist of thy might,
To freat inwarde,
•
or losyng such a losse.
Of the Courtiers life written to Ihon Poins.
MYne owne Ihon Poins: sins ye delite to know
The causes why that homeward I me draw,
And fle the prease of courtes, where so they go:
Rather then to liue thrall vnder the awe,
Of lordly lokes, wrapped within my cloke,
To will and lust learning to set a law:
It is not that because I scorne or mocke
The power of them: whom fortune here hath lent
Charge ouer vs, of ryght to strike the stroke.
But true it is that I haue alwayes ment
Lesse to esteme them, then the common sort
Of outward thinges: that iudge in their entent,
without regarde, what inward doth resort.
I graunt, sometime of glory that the fire
Doth touch my hart. Me list not to report
Blame by honour, and honour to desire.
But how may I this honour now attaine?
That can not dye the colour blacke a lier.
My Poyns, I can not frame my time to fayn:
To cloke the truth, for praise without desert,
Of them that list all vice for to retaine.
I can not honour them, that set their part
With Uenus, and Bacchus, all their life long:
Nor holde my peace of them, although I smart.
I can not crouch nor knele to such a wrong:
To worship them like God on earth alone:
That areas wolues these sely lambes among.
I can not with my wordes complaine and mone,
And suffer nought: nor smart without complaynt:
No
•
turne the word that from my mouth is gone,
I can not speake and loke
••
ke as a saint:
Use wiles for wit, and make disceyt a pleasure:
Call craft counsaile, for lucre still to paint.
I can not wrest the law to fill the coffer:
with innocent bloud to fede my selfe fatte:
And do most hurt: where that most helpe I offer.
I am not he, that can alow the state
Of hye Ceasar, and damne Cato to dye:
That with his death did scape out of the gate,
From Ceasars handes, if Liuye doth not lye:
And would not liue, where libertie was lost,
So did his hart the common wealth apply.
I am not he, such eloquence to bost:
To make the crow in singyng, as the swanne:
Nor call the lyon of coward beastes the most.
That can not take a mouse, as the cat can.
And he that dieth for honger of the golde,
Call him Alexander, and say that Pan
Passeth Appollo in musike manifold:
Praise syr Copas for a noble tale,
And scorne the story that the knight tolde:
Praise him for counsell, that is dronke of ale:
Grinne when he laughes, that
•
eareth al the sway:
Frowne, when he frownes: and grone when he is pale:
On others lust to hang both night and day.
None of these poyntes would euer frame in me.
My wit is nought, I can not learne the way.
And much the lesse of thinges that greater be,
That asken helpe of colours to deuise
To ioyne the meane with ech extremitie:
With nearest vertue ay to cloke the vice.
And as to purpose likewise it shall fall:
To presse the vertue that it may not rise.
As dronkennesse good fellowship to call:
The frendly foe, with his faire double face,
Say he is gentle and curties therewithall.
Affirme that fauel hath a goodly grace,
In eloquence: And cruelty to name
Zeale of Iustice: And change in time and place.
And he that suffereth offence without blame:
Call him pitifull, and him true and plaine,
That rayleth rechlesse vnto ech mans shame.
Say he is rude, that can not lye and faine:
The letcher a louer, and tyranny
To be the right of a Princes raygne.
I can not I, no, no, it will not be.
This is the cause that I could neuer yet
Hang on their sleues, that weygh (as thou mayst se)
A chippe of chance more then a pounde of wit.
This maketh me at home to hunt and hauke:
And in fowle wether at my booke to sit:
In frost and snow, then with my bowe to stalke.
No man doth marke where so I ride or go.
In lusty leas at libertie I walke:
And of these newes I fele nor weale nor wo:
Saue that a clogge doth hang yet at my heele.
No force for that, for it is ordred so:
That I may leape both hedge and dike full wele,
I am not now in Fraunce, to iudge the wine:
with sauery sauce those delicates to fele.
Nor yet in Spaine where one must him incline,
Rather then to be, outwardly to seme.
I meddle not with wyttes that be so fyne,
Nor Flaunders chere lettes not my syght to deme
Of blacke, and white, nor takes my wittes away
wyth beastlinesse: such do those beastes esteme.
Nor I am not, where truth is geuen in pray,
For money, poyson, and treason: of some
A common practise, vsed nyght and day.
But I am here in kent and christendome:
Among the Muses, where I reade and ryme,
Where if thou list myne owne Ihon Poyns to come:
Thou shalt be iudge, how I do spende my time.
How to vse the court and him selfe therin, written to sir Fraunces Brian.
A Spendyng hand that alway powreth out,
Had nede to haue a bringer in as fast.
And on the stone that styll doth turne about,
There groweth no mosse. These prouerbes yet do last:
Reason hath set them in so sure a place:
That length of yeares their force can neuer was
•
e.
When I remember this, and eke the case,
wherin thou standst: I thought forthwith to write
(Brian) to thee: who knowes how great a grace
In writyng is to counsayle man the right.
To thee therfore that trottes styll vp and downe:
And neuer restes, but runnyng day and nyght,
From realme to realme, from citie strete, and towne.
Why doest thou weare thy body to the bones?
And mightest at home slepe in thy bedde of downe:
And drinke good ale so nappy for the nones:
Fede thy selfe fatte, and heape vp pounde by pound.
Likest thou not this? No. Why? For swine so groines
In stye, and chaw dung moulded on the ground.
And driuell on pearles with heade styll in the maunger,
So of the harpe the asse doth heare the sound.
So sackes of durt be filde. The neat courtier
So serues for lesse, then do these fatted swine.
Though I seme leane and drye, withouten moyster:
Yet wyll I serue my prince, my lord and thyne.
And let them liue to fede the paunch that list:
So I may liue to fede both me and myne.
By God well said. But what and if thou wist
How to bring in, as fast as thou doest spende.
That would I learne. And it shal not be mist,
To tell thee how. Now harke what I intende.
Thou knowest well first, who so can seke to please,
Shall purchase frendes: where trouth shall but offend.
Flee therefore truth, it is both welth and ease.
For though that trouth of euery man hath praise:
Full neare that winde goeth trouth in great misease.
Use vertue, as it goeth now a dayes:
In worde alone to make thy language swete:
And of thy dede, yet do not as thou saies.
Els be thou sure: thou shalt be farre vnmete
To get thy breade, ech thyng is now so skant.
Seke styll thy profit vpon thy bare fete.
Lend in no wise: for feare that thou do want:
Unlesse it be, as to a calfe a chese:
But if thou can be sure to winne a can
•
Of halfe at least. It is not good to leese.
Learne at the ladde, that in a long white cote,
From vnder the stall, withouten landes or feese,
Hath lept into the shoppe: who knowes by rote
This rule that I haue told thee here before.
Sometime also rich age beginnes to dote,
Se thou when there thy gaine may be the more,
Stay him by the arme, where so he walke or go:
Be nere alway, and if he coughe to sore:
What he hath spit treade out, and please him so.
A diligent knaue that pikes his masters purse,
May please him so, that he withouten mo
Executour is. And what is he the wurse?
But if so chance, thou get nought of the man:
The wydow may for all thy paine disburse.
A riueld skynne, a stinkyng breath, what than?
A tothelesse mouth shall do thy lippes no harme.
The golde is good, and though she curse or banne:
Yet where thee list, thou mayest lye good and warme.
Let the olde mule bite vpon the bridle:
Whilst there do lye a sweter in thy arme.
In this also se that thon be not idle:
Thy nece, thy cosyn, sister, or thy daughter,
If she bee faire: if handsome be her middle:
If thy better hath her loue besought her:
Auaunce his cause, and he shall helpe thy nede.
It is but loue, turne thou it to a laughter.
But ware I say, so gold thee helpe and spede:
That in this case thou be not so vnwise,
As Pandar was in such a like dede.
For he the sole of conscience was so nice:
That he no gaine would haue for all his paine.
Be next thy selfe for frendshyp beares no price.
Laughest thou at me, why? do I speake in vaine?
No not at thee, but at thy thrifty iest.
Wouldest thou, I should for any losse or gayne,
Change that for golde, that I haue tane for best.
Next godly thinges: to haue an honest name?
Should I leaue that? then take me for a beast.
Nay then farewell, and if thou care for shame:
Content thee then with honest pouertie:
wyth free tong, what thee mislikes, to blame,
And for thy trouth sometime aduersitie.
And therwithall this guift I shall thee giue,
In this world now litle prosperitie:
And coyne to kepe: as water in a siue.
The song of Iopas vnfinished.
VVHen Dido feasted first the wandring Troian knight:
whō Iunos wrath wt storms did force in Libik sāds to light
That mighty Atlas taught, the supper lasting long,
With crisped lockes on golden harpe, Iopas sang in song.
That same (quod he) that we the world do call and name:
Of heauen and earth with all contents, it is the very frame.
Or thus, of heauenly powers by more power kept in one
Repugnant kindes, in mids of whom the earth hath place alone:
Firme, round, of liuing thinges, the mother, place and nourse:
Without the which in egal weight, this heuen doth hold his course
And it is cald by name, the first and mouing heauen,
The firmament is placed next, conteining other seuen,
Of heauenly powers that same is planted full and thicke:
As shining lightes which we call stars, that therin cleue & sticke.
With great swift sway, the first, and with his restlesse sours,
Carieth it self, and all those eyght, in euen contin
•
all cours.
And of this world so round within that rolling case,
Two points there be that neuer moue, but firmly kepe their place
•
The tone we see alway, the tother standes obiect
Against the same, deuiding iust the ground by line direct.
Which by imaginacion, drawen from the one to thother
Toucheth the centre of the earth, for way there is none other.
And these be calde the Poles, descryde by starres not bright.
Artike the one northward we see: Antartike thother hight,
The line, that we deuise from thone to thother so:
As axel is, vpon the which the heauens about do go
Which of water nor earth, of ayre nor fire haue kinde,
Therefore the substance of those same were hard for man to finde
•
But they bene vncorrupt, simple and pure vnmixt:
And so we say been all those starres, that in those same be sixt.
And eke those erring seuen, in circle as they stray:
So calde, because against that first they haue repugnant way:
And smaller by wayes to, skant sensible to man:
To busy worke for my poore harpe: let sing them he that can.
The wydest saue the first, of all these nine aboue
One hundred yere doth aske of space, for one degree to mo
•
e.
Of which degrees we make, in the first moouing heauen,
Three hundred and threscore in partes iustly deuided euen.
And yet there is another betwene those heauens two:
Whose mouing is so sly so slack: I name it not for now.
The seuenth heauen or the shell next to the s
•
arry sky,
All those degrees that gatherth vp, with aged pase so sly:
And doth performe the same, as elders count hath bene.
In nine and twenty yeres complete, and daies almost sixtene:
Doth carry in his bowt the starre of Saturne old:
A threatner of all liuing things, with drought and with his cold.
The sixt whom this cont
•
ins doth stalke with yonger pase:
And in twelue yere doth somwhat more then thothers v
•
age was.
And this in it doth beare the starre of Ioue benigne,
T'wene Saturns malice and vs men, frendly defending signe.
The fift bears bloody Mars, that in three hundred daies,
And twise eleuen with one
•
ull yere, hath finisht all those waies.
A yere doth aske the fourth, and howers therto sixe,
And in the same the daies eye the sunne, therin he stickes.
The third that gouernd is by that, that gouerns mee:
And loue for loue, and for no loue prouokes: as oft we see:
In like space doth performe that course, that did the tother.
So doth the next vnto the same, that second is in order.
But it doth beare the starre, that cald is Mercury:
That many a crafty secrete steppe doth tread, as Calcars try.
That sky is last, and fixt next vs
•
those waies hath gone,
In seuen and twenty common daies, and eke the third of one:
And
•
eareth with his sway, the diuers Moone about:
Now bright, now brown, now bēt, now ful, & now her light is out.
Thus haue they of their own two mouinges all these seuen
One, wherein they be caried still, eche in his seuerall heauen,
An other of them selues, where their bodies be layd
In by waies, and in lesser rowndes, as I afore haue sayd.
Saue of them all the Sunne doth stray lest from the streight,
The starry sky hath but one course, that we haue cald the eight.
And all these moouinges eight are ment from West to East:
Although they seme to clime aloft, I say from East to west.
But that is but by force of the first mouing sky:
In twise twelue houres from east to east that carieth them by & by
But marke we well also, these mouinges of these seuen,
Be not about the axell tree of the first mouing heuen.
For they haue their two poles directly tone to the tother. &c.
T. VVYATE the elder.
Songes and Sonettes of vncertain auctours.
The complaint of a louer with sute to his loue for pitie.
IF euer wofull man might moue your hartes to ruthe,
Good ladies here his woful plaint, whose deth shal try his truth
And rightfull iudges be on this his true report:
If he deserue a louers name among the faithfull sort.
Fiue hundred times the Sunne hath lodged him in the west:
Since in my hart I harbred first of all the goodlyest gest.
Whose worthynesse to shew
•
my wits are all to faynt.
And I lack cunning of the scooles, in colours her to paynt.
But this I briefly say in wordes of egall weight.
So void of vice was neuer none, nor with such vertues freight.
And for her beauties prayse, no wight, that with her warres.
For, where she comes, she shewes her self as sun among the starres
But Lord, thou wast to blame, to frame such parfitenesse:
And puttes no pitie in her hart, my sorowes to redresse.
For if ye knew the paines, and panges, that I haue past:
A wonder would it be to you, how that my life hath last.
When all the Gods agreed, that Cupide with his bow
Should shote his arrowes from her eies, on me his might to show
I knew it was in vain my force to trust vpon:
And well I wist, it was no shame, to yelde to
•
uch a one.
Then did I me submit with humble hart and mynde,
To be her man for euermore: as by the Gods assinde.
And since that day, no wo, wherwith loue might torment,
Could moue me from this faithfull band: or make me once repent.
Yet haue I felt full oft the hottest of his fire:
The bitter teares, the scalding sighes, the burning hote desire
•
And with a sodain sight the trembling of the hart:
And how the blood doth come, and go, to succour euery part.
When that a pleasant looke hath lift me in the ayer:
A frowne hath made me fall as fast into a depe despayer.
And when that I ere this, my tale could well by hart:
And that my tong had learned it, so that no word might start:
The sight of her hath set my wittes in such a stay:
That to be lord of all the world, one word I could not say.
And many a sodayn cramp my hart hath pinched so:
That for the time, my senses all felt neither weale, nor wo.
Yet saw I neuer thing, that might my minde content:
But wisht it hers, and at her will, if she could so consent.
Nor neuer heard of wo: that did her will displease:
But wisht the same vnto my self, so it might do her ease.
Nor neuer thought that fayre, nor neuer liked face:
Unlesse it did resemble her, or some part of her grace.
No distance yet of place could vs so farre deuide,
But that my hart, and my good will did still with her abide.
Nor yet it neuer lay in any fortunes powre,
To put that swete out of my thought, one minute of an howre.
No rage of drenching sea, nor woodnesse of the winde,
Nor cannōs wt their thundring cracks could put her frō my minde
For when both sea and land asunder had vs set:
My hole delite was onely then, my self alone to get.
And thitherward to looke, as nere as I could gesse:
Where as I thought, that she was thē, that might my wo redresse.
Full oft it did me good, that waies to take my winde:
So pleasant ayre in no place els, me thought I could not finde.
I saying to my self, my life is yonder way:
And by the winde I haue her sent, a thousand sighes a day.
And sayd vnto the sunne, great giftes are geuen thee:
For thou mayst see mine earthly blisse, where euer that she be.
Thou seest in euery place, would God I had thy might:
And I the ruler of my self, then should she know no night.
And thus from wish to wish, my wits haue been at strife:
And wanting all that I haue wisht, thus haue I led my life.
But long it can not last, that in such wo remaines.
No force for that: for death is swete to him, that feles such paines
•
Yet most of all me greues: when I am in my graue,
That she shall purchase by my death a cruel name to haue.
Wherfore all you that heare this plaint, or shall it see:
Wish, that it may so perce her hart, that she may pitie mee.
For and it were her will: for both it were the best,
To saue my life, to kepe her name, and set my hart at rest.
Of the death of master Deuorox the lord Ferres sonne.
VVHo iustly may reioyce in ought vnder the skye?
As life, or lands: as frends, or frutes: which only liue to dye.
Or who doth not well know all worldly works are vaine?
And geueth nought but to the lendes, to take the same again.
For though it lift some vp: as we long vpward all:
Such is the sort of slipper welth: all thinges do rise to fall.
Thuncerteintie is such: experience teacheth so:
That what things men do couer most them sonest they forgo.
Lo Deuorox where he lieth: whose l
•
fe men held so deare
That now his death is sorowed so, that pitie it is to heare.
His birth of auncient blood: his parents of great fame:
And yet in vertue farre before the formost of the same,
His king, and countrye both he serued to so great gaine:
That with the Brutes record doth rest, and euer shall remaine.
No man in warre so mete, an enterprise to take:
No man in peace that pleasurde more of enmies frends to make.
A Cato for his counsell: his hed was surely such.
Ne Theseus frendship was so great, but Deuorox was as much.
A graffe of so small grothe, so much good frute to bring:
Is seldome heard, or neuer sene: it is so rare a thing.
A man sent vs from God, his life did well declare,
And now sent for by God again, to teach vs what we are.
Death, and the graue, that shall accompany all that liue,
Hath brought him heuē, though sōwhat sone, which life could neuer giue
God graunt well all, that shall professe as he profest:
To liue so well, to dye no worse: and send his soule good rest.
They of the meane estate are happiest.
IF right be rackt, and ouerronne:
And power take part with open wrong:
If feare my force do yelde to soone,
The lack is like to last to long.
If God for goodes shalbe vnplaced:
If right for riches lose his shape:
If world for wisdome be embraced:
The gesse is great, much hurt may hap.
Among good thinges, I proue and finde,
The quiet life doth most abound:
And sure to the contented minde
There is no riches may be found.
For riches hates to be content:
Rule is enmy to quietnesse.
Power is most part impacient:
And seldom likes to liue in pease.
I heard a herdman once compare:
That quiet nightes he had mo slept:
And had mo m
•
ry dayes to spare:
Then he, which ought the beastes, he kept.
I would not haue it thought hereby
The Dolphin swimme I meane to teache:
Nor yet to learne the Fawcon fly:
I row not so farre past my reache.
But as my part aboue the rest,
Is well to wish and well to will:
So till my breath shall fail my brest,
I will not ceasse to wish you still.
Comparison of life and death.
THe life is long, that lothsomly doth last:
The dolefull dayes draw slowly to their date:
The present panges, and painfull plages forepast
Yelde griefe aye grene to stablish this estate.
So that I feele, in this great storme, and strife,
The death is swete that endeth such a life.
Yet by the stroke of this strange ouerthrow,
At which conflict in thraldom I was thrust:
The Lord be praised: I am well taught to know
From whence man came, and eke whereto he must:
And by the way vpon how feble force
His terme doth stand, till death doth end his course.
The pleasant yeres that seme, so swift that runne
The mery dayes to end, so fast that flete:
The ioyfull nightes, of which day daweth so soone.
The happy howers, which mo domisse then mete,
Do all consume: as snow against the sunne:
And death makes end of all, that life begunne
•
Since death shall dure, till all the world be wast.
what meaneth man to drede death then so sore?
As man might make, that life should alway last.
Without regard, the lord hath led before
The daunce of death, which all must runne on row:
Though how
•
or when: the Lord alone doth know.
If man would minde, what burdens life doth bring:
What greuous crimes to Go
•
he doth c
•
mmi
•
t:
what plages, what panges, what per
•
iles thereby spring:
With no sure hower in all his daies to
•
it:
He would sure think, as with great cause I do:
The day of death were better of the two.
Death is a port, wherby we passe to ioy.
Life is a lake, that drowneth all in payn.
Death is so dere, it ceaseth all annoy.
Life is so leude, that all it yeldes is vayn.
And as by life to bondage man is braught:
Euen so likewise by death was fredome wraught.
Wherfore with Paul, let all men wish and pray
To be dissolude of this foule fleshly masse:
Or at the least be armde against the day:
That they be found good souldiers, prest to passe
From life to death: from death to life again
To such a life, as euer shall remain.
The tale of Pigmalion with conclusion vpon the beautie of his loue.
IN Grece somtime there dwelt a man of worthy fame:
To graue in stone his cunning was: Pygmaliō was his name,
To make his fame endure, when death had him bereft:
He thought it good, of his own hand some filed worke were left.
In secrete studie then such worke he gan deuise,
•
s might his cunning best commend, and please the lookers eyes
•
A courser faire he thought to graue, barbd for the field:
And on his back a semely knight, well armd with speare & shield:
Or els some foule, or fish to graue he did deuise:
And still, within his wandering thoughtes, new fansies did arise.
Thus varied he in minde, what enterprise to take:
Till fansy moued his learned hand a woman fayre to make.
Whe
•
eon he stayde, and thought such parfite fourme to frame:
Whereby he might amaze all Grece, and winne immortall name.
Of yuorie white he made so faire a woman than:
That nature scornd her perfitnesse so taught by craft of man.
Wel shaped were her lims, ful comly was her face:
Ech litle vain most liuely coucht, eche part had semely grace.
Twixt nature & Pigmalion, there might appere great strife,
So semely was this ymage wrought, it lackt nothing but life.
His curious eye beheld his own deuised work:
And, gasing oft thereon, he found much venome there to lurk.
For all the featurde shape so did his fansie moue:
That, with his idoll, whom he made, Pygmalion fell in loue.
To whom he honour gaue, and deckt with garlandes swete.
And did adourn with iewels rich, as is for louers mete.
Somtimes on it he fawnd: somtime in rage would cry:
It was a wonder to behold, how fansy bleard his eye.
Since that this ymage dum enflamde so wise a man:
My dere alas, since I you loue, what wonder is it than?
In whom hath nature set the glory of her name:
And brake her moulde, in great dispaire, your like she coulde not frame.
The louer sheweth his wofull state, and praieth pitie.
LYke as the Larke within the Marlians foote
With piteous tunes doth chirp her yelden lay:
So sing I now, seyng none other boote,
My rendering song, and to your well obey.
Your vertue mountes aboue my force so hye.
And with your beautie seased I am so sure:
That there auails resistance none in me,
But paciently your pleasure to endure.
For on your will my fansy shall attend:
My life, my death, I put both in your choyce:
And rather had this life by you to end,
Than liue, by other alwayes to reioyce.
And if your crueltie do thirst my blood:
Then let it forth if it may do you good.
Vpon consideration of the state of this life he wisheth death.
THe lenger life, the more offence:
The more offence the greater paine,
The greater paine, the lesse defence:
The lesse defence, the lesser gaine
The losse of gaine long yll doth try
•
:
Wherfore come death, and let me dye.
The shorter life, lesse count I fynde,
The lesse account, the soner made:
The count soone made, the merier mind:
The merier minde doth thought euade,
Short life in truth this thing doth trie.
Wherefore come death, and let me dye.
Come gentle death, the ebbe of care,
The ebbe of care the flood of lyfe.
The flood of life, the ioifull fare,
The ioyfull fa
•
e, the end of strife,
The ende of strife, that thing wishe I:
wherefore come death, and let me dye.
The louer that once disdained loue is now become subiect being canght in his snare.
TO this my songe geue eare who list
And mine
•
ntent iudge as ye will,
The time is come, that I haue myste,
The thing wheron I hoped styll,
And from the toppe of all my trust,
Mishap hath throwen me in the dust.
The time hath bene and that of late:
My hart and I might leape at large,
And was not shut within the gate
Of looues desire: nor toke no charge
Of any thing, that did pertaine
As touching loue in any payn
My thought was free, my hart was lyght,
I marked not, who lost, who saught,
I playd by day, I slept by night
I forced not, who wept, who laught.
My thought from al such thinges was free.
And I my self at libertie.
I toke no hede to tauntes nor toys,
As leef to see them frowne as smyle:
where fortune laught I scornde their ioyes
I founde their fraudes and euery wyle.
And to my selfe oft tymes I smiled.
To see howe loue had them begiled
Thus in the net of my conceyt
I masked still among the sort
Of such as fed vpon the bayte,
That Cupide laide for his disport,
And euer as I saw them caught:
I them beheld, and there at laught.
Tyll at the length when Cupide spied
My scornefull wyll and spitefull vse
And how I past not who was tyed,
So that my selfe myght still liue lose:
He set him self to lye in waite,
And in my way he threw a baite
Such one as nature neuer made,
I dare well say saue she alone,
Such one she was as would inuade
A hart, more hard then marble stone,
Such
•
ne she is, I know it right.
Her nature made to shew her might
Then as a man in a mase,
when vse of reason is away:
So I began to stare and gase,
And sodenly, without delay,
Or euer I had the wit to loke:
I swalowed vp both bai
•
and hoke.
Whych dayly greues me more and more,
By sundry sortes of ca
•
efull wo:
And none aliue may salue the sore.
But onely she t
•
at hurt me so.
In whom my lyfe doth now consist
To saue or slay me as she list.
But seing now that I am caught,
And bounde so fast, I cannot flee:
Be ye by myne ensample taught,
That in your fansies fele you free,
Despise not them, that louers are:
Lest you be caught within his snare,
Of Fortune, and fame.
THe plage is great, where fortune frounes:
One mischiefe bringes a thousand woes
Where trumpets g
•
ue their warlike sown
•
s:
The weke susteyne, sharp ouerthrowes,
No better life they take and fele,
That subiect are to fortunes whele.
Her happy chaunce may last no time:
Her pleasure threatneth paines to come,
She is the fall of those that clime:
And yet her whe
•
e auanceth
•
ome
No force where that she hates, or loues:
Her fickle minde so oft remoues
She geues uo gift, but craues as fast.
She sone repentes a thankfull dede,
She turneth after euery blast.
She helpes them oft, that haue no nede.
Where power dwelles, and riches rest:
False Fortune is a common gest.
Yet some affirme and proue by sayll:
Fortune is not a sleing fame,
She neyther can do good, nor yll,
She hath no fourme, yet beares a name,
Then we but striue against the stremes,
To frame such ioyes on fansies dreames.
If she haue shape, or name alone:
I
•
she do rule or beare no sway:
If she haue bodie, life or none:
Be she a sprite I can not say.
But well I wot, some cause there is:
That causeth wo, and sendeth blisse.
The causes of thinges I will not blame:
Lest I offende the prince of peace,
But I may chide, and braule with
•
ame:
To make her crie, and neuer cease
To blow the trumpe within her eares:
That may appease my wofull teares.
Against wicked tonges.
O Euill tonges, which clap at euery winde:
Ye slea the quicke, and eke the dead defame:
Those that liue well, some faute in them ye finde,
Ye take no thought in sclaundring their good name,
Ye put iust men oft times to open shame,
Ye ryng so loude, ye sounde vnto the skyes:
A
•
d yet in proofe, ye sow nothing but ly
•
s.
Ye make great warre, where peace hath ben of long
Ye bring rich realmes to ruine and decay,
Ye pluck downe right: ye enhaunce the wrong.
Ye turne swete mirth to wo, and well away
Of mischiefes all ye are the grounde I say,
Happy is he, that liues on such a sort:
That nedes not feare such tonges of false report.
Hell tormenteth not the damned gostes so sore, as vnkindnesse the louer.
THe restlesse
•
age of depe deuouring hell,
The blasing brandes, that neuer do consume:
The roring route, in Plutoes den that dwell,
The fiery breath, that from those ympes doth fume:
The dropsy dryeth, that Tantale in the flood
Endureth ay, all hopelesse of reliefe:
He honger steruen, where fruite is ready food
So wretchedly his soule doth suffer griefe:
The liuer gnawne of gylefull Promethus.
Which Uultures fell with strained talant tire:
The labour lost of weried Sisiphus:
These hellish houndes, with paines of quenchlesse fire,
Can not so sore the silly soules torment,
As her vntruth my hart hath all to rent.
Of the mutabilitie
•
f the worlde.
BI fortune as I lay in bed, my fortune was to finde
Such fāsies, as my careful thought had brought into my minde
And when eche one was gone to rest ful soft in bed to lye:
I would haue slept, but than the watche did folow stil mine eye,
And sodenly I saw a sea of woful sorowes prest:
whose wicked wayes of sharpe repulse bred mine vnquiet rest,
I saw this worlde and how it went, eche state in his degree,
And that from wealth I graunted is, both life and libertie.
I saw how enuy it did raine, and beare the greatest price,
Yet greater poyson is not founde within the Cockatrice.
I saw also, how that disdaine oft times to forge my wo,
Gaue me the cup of bitter swette to pledge my mortall foo,
I saw also, how that desire, to rest no place coulde finde
But still constrainde in endlesse payne to folow natures kinde
I saw, also most straunge of all, how nature did forsake
The blood, yt in her wombe, was wrought, as doth ye lothed snake.
I sawe, how fansie would retayne no lenger then her lust,
And as the winde how she doth chaunge, and is not for to trust.
I saw, how, stedfastnes did flie with winges of often change,
A flying bird, but seldome seen, her nature is so strange,
I sawe, how pleasant times did passe, as flowres do in the mede
To daye that riseth red as rose, to morowe falleth ded.
I saw, my time how it did runne, as sand out of the glasse.
Euen as eche hower appointed is, from time and tide to passe,
I saw, the yeres that I had spent, and losse of all my game
And how the sport of youthfull playes my foly did retaine,
I saw, how that the little Ant in somer stil doth runne
To seke her foode, wherby to liue in wiuter for to come,
I saw, eke vertue, how she sat the threde of life to spinne,
which sheweth the ende of euery worke, before it doth beginne,
And when all these I thus behelde with many in
•
pardy,
In me, me thought, eche one had wrought a perfie propertie.
And then I sayde vnto my selfe, a lesson this shalbe
For other, that shall afteh come, for to beware by me
Thus all the night I did deuise, which way I might constaine
To forme a plot, that wit might worke these branches in my brain
Harpalus complaint of Phillidaies loue bestowed on Corin, who loued her not: and denied him that loued her.
PHyllida was a faire mayde,
As fr
•
sh as any flowre,
Whom Harpalus the herdman prayde
To be his paramour.
Harpalus and eke Corin
were herdmen both yfere:
and Phyllida could twist and spinne
And therto s
•
ng full clere
But Phyllida was all to coy,
For harpalus to winne
For Corin was her onely ioy,
who forst her not a pinne,
How often wold she flowres twine
How often garlandes make:
Of Cousips and of Columbine.
And all for Corins sake.
But Corin he had Haukes to lure
And forced more the field:
Of louers lawe he toke no cure
For once he was begilde.
Harpalus preuailed nought
His labour all was lost:
For he was fardest from her thought
And yet he loued her most.
Therefore waxt he both pale and leane
And drye as clod of clay:
His fleshe it was consumed cleene
His colowr gone a way,
His beard it had not long be shaue,
His here hong all vnkempt:
A
••
n most fit euen for the graue
Whom spitefull loue had spent.
His eyes were red and all forewatched
His face besprent with teares:
It semed vnhap had him long hatched,
In mids of his despaires.
His clothes were blacke and also bare
As one forlorne was he,
Upon his head alwaies he ware,
A wreath of willow tree
His beastes he kept vpon the hyll,
And he sa
•
e in the dale:
And thus with sighes and sorowes shrill,
•
egan to tell his tale.
O Harpalus (thus would he say)
Unhappiest vndersunne
The cause of thine vnhappy day
By loue was first begunne.
For thou wentst first by sute to seeke
A Tigre to make tame:
That settes not by thy loue a leeke
But makes thy griefe her game.
As easy it were for to couuert
The frost into the flame:
As for to turne a froward hart
Whom thou so faine wouldest frame
•
Corin he liueth carelesse
He leapes among the leaues
He eates the frutes of thy redresse
Thou reapes: he takes the sheaues.
My beastes a whyle your foode refraine
And harke your heardmans sounde,
Whom spitefull loue alas hath slaine
Through girt with many a wounde,
O happy be ye beastes wilde
That here your pastures takes,
I see that ye be not begilde
Of these your faithfull makes.
The hart he feedeth by the
•
inde
The Buck harde by the Do
The turtle Doue is not vnkinde
To him that loues her so,
The Ewe she hath by her the Ramme
The yong Cow hath the Bull,
The Cal
•
e with many a lusty Lambe
Do fede their hungerfull.
But we
•
away that nature wrought
Thee
•
hi
•
t day so faire,
For I may say that I haue bough
•
Thy beauty all to deare.
What reason is it that crueltie
With beautie shoulde haue parte.
Or els that such great tirany
Should dwell in womans hart.
I see therefore to shappe my death
She cruelly is prest,
To thende that I may wāt my breath
My dayes been at the best.
O Cup
•
de graunt this my request
And do not stoppe thine eares,
That she may feele within her brest,
The paynes of my dispayres.
Of Corin that is carelesse,
That she may craue her fee,
As I haue done in great distresse
That loued her faithfully.
But sins that I shall die her slaue
Her slaue and eke her thr
•
ll,
Write you my frendes, vpon my graue
This chaunce that is befall.
He
•
e lieth vnhappy Harpelus
By cruel loue now slaine,
Whom Philida vniustly thus
Hath murdred with disdayne.
Vpon sir Iames wilfordes death.
LO here the end of man the cruell sisters three
The web of wilfordes life vneth had hal
•
e esponne,
When rash vppon mildede they all accorded bee
To breake of vertues course ere halfe the race were ronne
And trip him on his way that els had wonne the game
And holden highest place within the house of faine,
But yet though he be gone, though sence with him be past,
Which trode the euen steppes that leaden to renowne,
We that remayn aliue, ne suffer shall to waste
The fame of his desertes, so shall he lose but sowne,
The thing shall aye remayne, aye kept as freshe in store
As if his eares should ring of that he wrought before.
Wayle not therfore his want, sith he so left the stage
Of care and wretched life, with ioy and clappe of handes
Who playeth lenger partes, may well haue greater age,
But few so well may passe the gulfe of fortunes sandes
So tryedly did he treade ay prest at vertues becke
That fortune found no place to giue him once a checke.
The fates haue ryd him hence, who shall not after go,
Though earshed be his corps yet florish shall his fame,
A gladsome thing it is, that ere he stept vs fro,
Such mirrours he vs left our life therby to frame,
Wherfore his praise shall last aye freshe in britons sight,
Tyll sunne shall cease to shine, and lend the earth his light.
Of the wretchednes in this world.
VVHo list to liue vpright, and hold himself content,
Shal see such wonders in this world, as neuer erst was sent,
Such groping for the swete, such tasting of the sower,
Such wandring here for worldly welth that lost is in one how
••
.
And as the good or badde, get vp in hye degree,
So wades the world in right or wrong, it may none other bee.
And looke what lawes they make, eche man must them obay,
And yoke hymself with pacient heart, to dryue and draw that w
•••
Yet such as long ago, great rulers wer assynde,
Both liues and lawes are now forgot & worne clene out of mynd
•
So that by this I see, no state on earth may last
But as their times appointed be, to rise and fall as fast,
The goodes that gotten be, by good and iust desart,
Yet vse them that so neady handes may help to spend the part,
For looke what heape thou, hordst of rusty gold in store,
Thine enemies shall waste the same, that neuer swat therfore.
The repentant sinner in durance and aduersitie.
VNto the liuing Lord for pardon do I pray,
From whom I graunt, euen frō the wel, & haue run
〈◊〉
astray.
And other liues there none (my death shall well declare)
On whom I ought to grate for grace, as faulty folkes do fare.
But thee, O Lord alone, I haue offended so,
That this small scourge is much to scant for mine offence I know
I ranne without returne, the way the world likte best,
And what I ought most to regard, that I respected lest,
The through wherin I thrust hath throwen me in such case
That lord my soule is sore beset without thy greater grace.
My gyltes are growen so great, my power doth so appayre,
That with great force they argue oft, and mercy much dispayre.
But then with faith I flee to thy prepared store,
Where there lyeth helpe for euery hurt, and sa
••
e for euery sore,
My lost time to lament, my vayne waies to bewaile,
No day, no night, no place no hower, no moment I shall fayle.
My soule shall neuer cease with an assured fayth
To knocke, to craue, to call, to crye, to thee for helpe, which sayth:
Knock and it shalbe heard, but aske, and geuen it is,
And all that lyke to kepe this course: of mercy shall not misse.
For when I call to minde how the one wandring shepe,
Did bring more ioy with his returne, then al the flocke did
〈◊〉
It yeldes ful hope and trust, my strayed and wandring gho
•••
Sa
•
he receiued and h
•
ld more dere, then those wer neuer lost.
O Lord my hope behold, and for my helpe make haste,
To pardon the forepassed race that carelesse I haue past.
And but the day draw neare that death must pay the det
•
For loue, of life which thou hast lent and time of payment set.
From this sharpe showre me shielde which threatned is at hande,
Wherby thou shalt great power declare, & I the storme withstande
Not my will Lord, but thine, fulfilde be in eche case,
To whose gret wil & mighty power, al powers shal once geue place
My faith, my hope, trust, my God and eke my guide,
Stretch forth thy hande to saue the soule, what so the body hide,
Refuse not to receiue that thou so deare hast bought,
For but by thee alone I know, all safetie in vaine is sought.
I know and knowledge eke, albeit very late,
That thou it is I ought to loue and dreade in eche estate.
And with repentant heart, d
•
elaude the Lord on hye,
That hast so gently set me straight, that erst walkte so awry,
Now graunt me grace my God to stande thine strong in sprite,
And le
•
ye world thē worke such waies, a
•
•
o the world semes met
•
.
The louer here telleth of his diuers ioyes and aduersities in loue and lastly of his ladies death.
SYth singyng gladdeth oft the harts
Of them that fele the panges of loue:
And for the while doth ease their smarts:
My self I shall the same way proue.
And though that loue hath smit the stroke.
wherby is lost my libertie:
Which by no meanes I may reuoke:
Yet shall I sing, how pleasantly.
Ny twenty yeres of youth I past:
Which al in libertie I spent:
And so from first vnto the last,
Ere aught I knewe, what louing ment,
And after shal I syng the wo,
The paine, the greefe, the deadly smart:
When loue this lyfe did ouerthrowe,
That hydden lyes within my hart.
And then, the ioyes, that I dyd feele.
When fortune lifted after this,
And set me hye vpon her whele:
And changde my wo to pleasant blisse,
And so the sodeyn fall agayne
From all the ioyes, that I was in.
All you, that list to heare of payne,
Geue care, for now I doe beginne.
Lo, first of all, when loue began
With hote desires my heart to burne:
Me thought, his might auailde not than
From libertie my heart to turne.
For I was free: and dyd not knowe,
How much his might mannes hert may gre
••
,
I had profest to be his fo:
His law, I thought not to beleue,
I went vntied in lusty leas,
I had my wish alwaies at will:
Ther was no wo, might me displease:
Of pleasant ioyes I had my fill.
No paynfull thought dyd passe my hart:
I spilt no teare to wet my brest:
I knew no sorow, sigh, nor smart,
My greatest griefe was quiet rest.
I brake no slepe, I tossed not:
Nor dyd delite to syt alone.
I felt no change of colde and hote:
Nor nought a nightes could make me mone.
For al was ioy that I did fele:
And of voide wandering I was free.
I had no clogge tied at my hele:
This was my life at libertie.
That yet me thinkes it is a blisse,
To thinke vpon that pleasure past.
But forthwithall I finde the misse,
For that it might no lenger last.
Those daies I spent at my desire,
Without wo or aduersitie:
Till that my hart was set a fire,
With loue, with wrath, and ielousie.
For on a day (alas the while)
Lo, heare my harme how it began:
The blinded Lord, the God of guile
Had list to end my fredome than.
And through mine eye into my hart
All sodenly I felt it glide.
He shot his sharped fiery dart,
So hard, that yet vnder my side
The head (alas) doth still remaine,
And yet since could I neuer know,
The way to wring it out againe:
Yet was it nye three yere ago.
This soden stroke made me agast:
And it began to vexe me sore.
But yet I thought, it would haue past,
As other such had done before.
But it did not that (wo is me)
So depe imprinted in my thought,
The stroke abode: that yet I see,
Me thinkes my harme how it was wrought.
Kinde taught me streight that this was loue
And I perceiued it perfectly.
Yet thought I thus: Nought shall me moue:
I will not thrall my libertie.
And diuers waies I did assay,
By flight, by force, by frend, by fo,
This firie thought to put away.
I was so lothe for to forgo
My libertie: that me was leuer,
Then bondage was, where I hard say:
Who once was bounde, was sure neuer
Without great paine to scape away.
But what for that, there is no choice,
For my mishap was shapen so:
That those my dayes that did reioyce,
Should turne my blisse to bitter wo.
For with that stroke my blisse toke ende.
In stede wherof forth with I caught,
Hotte burnyng sighes, that sins haue brend,
My wretched hart almost to naught.
And sins that day, O Lord my life,
The misery that it hath felt.
That nought hath had, but wo and strife,
And hotte desires my hart to melt.
O Lord how sodaine was the change
From such a pleasant liberty?
The very thraldome semed straunge
But yet there was no remedy.
But I must yeld, and geue vp all,
And make my guide my chefist fo.
And in this wise became I thrall,
Lo, loue and happe would haue it
•
o.
I suffred wrong and held my peace,
I gaue my teares good leaue to ronne:
And neuer would seke for redresse,
•
ut hept to liue as I begonne.
For what it was that might me ease,
He liued not that might it know,
Thus dranke I all mine owne disease:
And all alone bewailde my wo.
I here was no sight that mighte me please
•
I fled from them that did reioyce,
And oft alone my
〈◊〉
to
•
ase,
I would bewaile with wofull voyce
My life, my state, my misery,
And curse my selfe & al my daies.
Thus wrought I with my fantasie,
And sought my helpe none other waies.
Saue sometime to my selfe alone,
When farre of was my helpe God wot:
Lowde would I crye: My life is gone,
My dere, if that ye helpe me not.
Then wisht I streight, that death might end
These bitter panges, and al this grief
For nought, methought, might it amend.
Thus in dispaire to haue relief,
I lingred forth: tyl I was brought
with pining in so piteous case:
That al, that sawe me, sayd, methought:
Lo, death is painted in his face.
I went no where: but by the way
I saw some sight before mine eyes:
That made me sigh, and oft times say
•
My life, alas I thee despyse.
This lasted well a yere, and more:
Which no wight knew, but onely I:
So that my life was nere for lore:
And I dispaired vtterly.
Til on a day, as fortune would:
(For that, that shalbe, nedes must fal)
I sat me down, as though I should
Haue ended then my lyfe, and al.
And as I sat to write my playn
•
,
Meanyng to shew my great vnrest:
With quaking hand, and hart full faint,
Amid my plaintes, among the rest,
I wrote with ynk, and bitter teares:
I am not myne, I am not mine:
Behold my life, away that weares:
And if I dye the losse is thine.
Herewith a little hope I caught:
That for a whyle my life did stay.
But in effect, all was for
••
ught.
Thus liued I styl: tyl on a day
As I sat staring on those eyes:
Those shining eyes, that first me bound:
My inward thought tho cryed: Aryse:
Lo, mercy where it may be found.
And therewithall I drew me nere:
With feble hart, and at a braide,
(But it was softly in her care)
Mercy, Madame, was all, I sayd.
But wo was me, when it was told,
For therwithall fainted my breath:
And I sate still for to beholde,
And heare the iudgement of my death.
But Loue nor Hap would not consent,
To end me then, but welaway:
There gaue me blisse: that I repent
To thinke I liue to se this day.
For after this I plained styll
So long, and in so piteous wise:
That I my wish had at my will
Graunted, as I would it deuise.
But Lord who euer hard, or knew
Of halfe the ioye that I felt than?
Or who can thinke it may be true,
That so much blisse had euer man?
Lo, fortune thus set me aloft:
And more my sorowes to releue,
Of pleasant ioyes I tasted oft:
As much as loue or happe might geue.
The sorowes old, I felt before
About my hart, were driuen thence
•
And for ech griefe, I felt afore
I had a blisse in recompence.
Then thought I all the time well spent
•
That I in plaint had spent so long.
So was I with my life content:
That to my self I sayd amoug.
Sins thou art ridde of al thine yll:
To shewe thy ioyes set forth thy voyce,
And sins thou haste thy wish at will
•
My happy hart, reioyce, reioyce.
Thus felt I ioyes a great deale
〈◊〉
,
Then by my song may well be tolde:
And thinking on my passed wo,
My blisse did double many folde.
Aud thus I thought with mannes blood,
Such blisse might not be bought to deare.
In such estate my ioyes then stode
•
That of a change I had no feare.
But why sing
•
so long of blisse?
It lasteth not, that will away,
Let me therfore bewaile the misse:
And sing the cause of my decay.
Yet all this while there liued none,
That led his life more pleasantly:
Nor vnder hap there was not one,
Me thought, so well at ease, as I.
But O blinde ioye, who may thee trust?
For no estate thou canst assure?
Thy faithfull vowes proue al vniust:
Thy faire behestes be full vnsure.
Good proofe by me: that but of late
Not fully twenty daies ago:
Which thought my life was in such state:
That nought might worke my hart this wo.
Yet hath the enemy of myne case,
Cruell mishappe, that wretched wight:
Now when my life did most me please:
Deuised me such cruel spight.
That from the hiest place of all,
As to the pleasing of my thought,
Downe to the deepest am I fall,
And to my helpe auaileth nough
•
,
Lo, thus are all my ioyes quite gone.
And I am brought from happinesse,
Continually to wayle, and mone.
Lo, such is fortunes stablenesse.
In welth I thought such suertie,
That pleasure should haue ended neuer.
But now (alas) aduersitie,
Doth make my singyng cease
•
or euer.
O brittle ioye, O welth vnstable:
O fraile pleasure, O slidyng blisse,
Who feles thee most, he shall not misse,
At length to be made miserable.
For all must end as doth my blisse:
There is none other certeintie.
And at the end the worst is his,
That most hath knowen prosperitie.
For he that neuer blisse assaied,
May well away with wretchednesse:
But he shall finde that hath it sayd,
A pain to part from pleasantnesse:
As I do now, for ere I knew
What pleasure was, I felt no griefe,
Like vnto this, and it is true,
That blisse hath brought me all this mischiefe.
But yet I haue not songen, how
This mischiefe came: but I intend
With wofull voyce to sing it now:
And therwithall I make an end.
But Lord, now that it is begoon,
I fele, my sprites are vexed sore.
Oh, geue me breath till this be done:
And after let me liue no more.
Alas, the enmy of this life,
The ender of all pleasantnesse:
Alas, he bringeth all this strife,
And causeth all this wretchednesse.
For in the middes of all the welth,
That brought my hart to happinesse:
This wicked death he came by stelth,
And robde me of my ioyfulnesse.
He came, when that I litle thought
Of ought, that might me vexe so sore:
And sodenly he brought to nought
My pleasantnesse for euermore.
He slew my ioy (alas, the wretch)
He slew my ioy, or I was ware:
And now (alas) no might may stretch
To set an end to my great care.
For by this cursed deadly stroke,
My blisse is lost, and I forlore:
And no helpe may the losse reuoke:
For lost it is for euermore.
And closed vp are those faire eyes,
That gaue me first the signe of grace:
My faire swete foes, mine enemies,
And earth doth hide her pleasant face.
The loke which did my life vphold:
And all my sorowes did confound:
With which more blisse then may be told:
Alas, now lieth it vnder ground
But cease
•
for I will sing no more:
Since that my harme hath no redresse:
But as a wretche for euermore,
My life will waste with wretchednesse.
And ending this my wofull song,
Now that it ended is and past:
I would my life were but as long:
And that this word might be my last.
For lothsome is that life (men say)
That liketh not the liuers minde:
Lo, thus I seke mine own decay,
And will, till that I may it finde.
Of his loue name
•
white.
FUll faire and white she is, and White by name:
Whose white doth striue, the lilli
•
s white to staine:
Who may contemne the blast of blacke defame:
who in darke night, can bring day bright againe.
The ruddy rose inpreaseth with cleare heew,
In lips and chekes, right orient to behold:
That the nerer gaser may that bewty reew,
And fele dispar
•
t in limmes the chilling cold:
For White, all white his bloodlesse face will be:
The asshy pale so alter will his cheare.
But I that do possesse in full degree
The harty loue of this my hart so deare:
So oft to me as she presents her face,
For ioy do feele my hart spring from his place.
Of the louers vnquiet stare.
VVHat thing is that which I both haue and lacke,
with good will graunted, yet it is denyed
How may I be receiued and put abacke
Alway doing and yet vnoccupied,
Most slow in that which I haue most applied,
Still thus to seke, and lese all that I win,
And that was doon is newest to begin,
In riches finde I wilfull pouertie,
In great pleasure, liue I in heauinesse.
In much freedome I lacke my libertie,
Thus am I both in ioy and in distresse.
And in few wordes if that I shall be plaine,
In Paradise I suffer all this paine.
where good will is, some proofe will appere.
IT is no fire that geues no heate,
Though it appeare neuer so hot:
And they that runne and can not sweate,
Are very leane and dry God wot,
A perfect leche applieth his wittes,
To gather herbes of all degrees:
And feuers with their feruent fittes,
Be cured with their contraries.
New wine will serch to finde a vent,
Although the caske be set so strong:
And wit will walke when will is bent,
Although the way be neuer so long.
The Rabbets runne vnder the rockes:
The Snailes do clime the highest towers:
Gunpowder cleaues the sturdy blockes.
A feruent will all thing deuowers.
When wit with will and diligent
Apply them selues, and match as mates,
There can no want of resident,
From force defend the castell gates.
Forgetfulnesse make litle haste,
And slouth delites to lye full soft:
That telleth the deaf, his tale doth waste,
And is full dry that craues full oft.
Verses written on the picture of sir Iames wilford knight.
ALas that euer death such vertues should forlet,
As compast was within his corps, whose picture is here set.
Or that it euer lay in any fortunes might,
Through depe disdain to end his life that was so worthy a wight.
For sithe he first began in armour to be clad,
A worthier champion then he was, yet England neuer had.
And though recure be past, his life to haue againe,
Yet would I wish his worthinesse in writing to remaine.
That men to minde might call how farre he did excell,
At all assayes to wynne the fame, which were to long to tell.
And eke the restlesse race that he full oft hath runne,
In painfull plight from place to place, where seruice was to don.
Then should men well perceiue, my tale to be of trouth,
And he to be the worthiest w
•
ght that euer nature wrought,
The ladie praieth the returne of her louer abiding on the seas.
SHall I thus euer long, and be no whit the neare,
And shall I still complain to thee, the which me will not heare?
Alas say nay, say nay, and be no more so dome,
But open thou thy manly mouth, and say that thou wilt come.
Wherby my hart may thinke, although I see not thee,
That thou wilt come thy word so sware, if thou a liues man be.
The roaring hugy waues, they threaten my poore ghost,
And tosse thee vp and downe the seas, in daunger to be lost.
Shall they not make me feare that they haue swalowed thee,
But as thou art most sure aliue, so wilt thou come to me.
Wherby I shall go see thy ship ride on the strand,
And think and say
•
o where he comes, and sure here will he land
And then
•
shall lift vp to thee my litle hand,
And thou shalt think thine hart in ease, in helth to see me stand.
And if thou come in dede (as Christ thee send to do,)
These armes which misse thee yet, shall then imbrace thee to.
Ech vain to euery ioynt, the liuely blood shall spred,
Which now for want of thy glad sight, doth show full pale & dead.
But if thou slip thy trouth and do not come at all,
As minutes in the clocke do strike so call for death I shall.
To please both thy false hart, and rid my self from wo,
That rather had to dye in trouth then liue forsaken so.
The meane estate is best.
THe doutfull man hath feuers strange
And constant hope is oft diseas
•
e,
Dispaire cannot but brede a change,
Nor fleting hartes cannot be pleasde.
Of all these bad, the best I thinck,
Is well to hope, though fortune shrinck.
Desired thinges are not ay prest,
Nor thinges denide left all vnsought,
Nor new things to be loued best,
Nor all offers to be set at nought,
Where faithfull hart hath bene refusde,
The chosers wit was there abusde.
The wofull ship of carefull sprite,
Fleting on seas of w
•
lling teares,
With sailes of wishes broken quite,
Hanging on waues of dolefull feares,
By surge of sighes at wrecke nere hand,
May fast no anker hold on land.
What helps the dyall to the blinde,
Or els the clock without it sound.
Or who by dreames doth hope to finde,
The hidden gold within the ground:
Shalbe as free from cares and feares,
As he that holds a Wolfe by the cares.
And how much mad is he that thinks
To clime to heauen by the beames,
What ioy alas, hath he that winks,
At Titan or his golden streames,
His ioyes not subiect to reasons lawes,
That ioyeth more then he hath cause.
For as the Phenix that climeth hye,
The sunne lightly in ashes burneth,
Againe, the Faulcon so quick of eye,
Sone on the ground the net masheth.
Experience therfore the meane assurance,
Prefers before the doutfull pleasance.
The louer thinkes no paine to great, wherby he may obtain his ladie.
SIth that the way to wealth is wo,
And after paine is pleasure prest,
Why should I than dispaire so,
Ay bewailing mine vnrest:
Or let to leade my life in paine,
So worthy a lady to obtaine.
The fisher man do
•
h count no care,
To cast his nets to wrack or wast,
And in reward of eche mans share.
A gogen gift is much imbrast,
Should I than grudge it grief or gall,
That loke at length to whelm a Whall.
The poore man ploweth his ground for grain,
And soweth his seede increase to craue,
And for thexpence of all his pain,
Oft holdes it hap his seede to saue,
These pacient paines my part doth show,
To long for loue ere that I know.
And take no scorne to scape from skill,
To spend my sprites to spare my speche,
To win for welth the want of will.
And thus for rest to rage I reche,
Running my race as rect vpright:
Till teares of truth appease my plight.
And plant my plaint within her brest,
Who doutles may restore againe,
My harmes to helth, my ruthe to rest.
That laced is within her chaine,
For earst ne are the griefes so gret:
As is the ioy when loue is met.
For who couets so high to clim,
As doth the bird that pitfoll toke,
Or who delightes so swift to swim,
As doth the fish that scapes the hoke,
If these had neuer entred wo:
How mought they haue reioysed so.
But yet alas ye louers all,
That here me ioy thus lesse reioyce,
Iudge not amis what so befall.
In me there lieth no power of choyse,
It is but hope that doth me moue:
Who standerd bearer is to loue.
On whose ensigne when I behold,
I see the shadow of her shape,
Within my faith so fast I fold:
Through drede I die, through hope I scape,
Thus ease and wo full oft I finde,
What will you more she knoweth my minde.
Of a new maried studient that plaied fast or lose.
A Studient at his boke so plast:
That welth he might haue wonne,
From boke to wife did flete in hast,
From wealth to wo to runne.
Now, who hath plaied a feater cast,
Since iugling first begonne?
In knitting of him self so fast,
Him selfe he hath vndonne.
The meane estate is to be accompted the best.
VVHo craftly castes to stere his boate
and safely s
•
oures the flattering flood:
He cutteth not the greatest waues,
for why that way w
•
re nothing good.
Ne fleteth on the crocked shore
lest harme him happe awayting lest.
But wines away betwene them both,
as who would say the meane is best.
Who waiteth on the golden meane,
he put in point of sickernes:
Hides not his head in sluttish coates,
ne shroudes himself in filthines.
Ne sittes aloft in hye estate,
Where hatefull hartes enuie his chance:
But wisely walkes betwixt them twaine,
ne proudly doth himself auance
The highest tree in all the wood
is rifest rent with blustring windes:
The higher hall the greater fall
such chance haue proude and lofty mindes.
When Iupiter from hye doth threat
with mortall mace and dint of thunder
The hyest hilles bene batrid eft
when they stand still that stoden vnder.
The man whose hed with wit is fraught
in welth will feare a worser tide
When fortune failes dispaireth nought
but constantly doth still abide.
For he that sendeth grisely stormes
with whisking windes and bitter blastes
And fowlth with hayle the winters face,
and frotes the soile with hory frostes:
Euen he adawth the force of cold
the spring in sendes with somer hote:
The same full oft to stormy hartes
is cause of bale: of ioy the roote.
Not alwaies yll though so be now
when cloudes ben driuen, then rides the racke.
Phebus the fresh ne shooteth still,
somtime he harpes his muse to wake.
Stand stif therfore, pluck vp thy hart,
lose not thy port though fortune faile.
Againe whan winde doth serue at will,
take hede to hye to hoyse thy saile.
The louer refused, lamenteth his estate.
I Lent my loue to losse and gaged my life in vaine,
If hate for loue and death for life of louers be the gaine.
And curse I may by course the place eke time and howre
That nature first in me did forme to be a liues creature,
Sithe that I must absent my selfe so secretly
In place desert where neuer man my secretes shall discry:
In doling of my dayes among the beastes so brute,
Who with their tonges may not bewray the secretes of my sute.
Nor I in like to them may once to moue my minde
But gase on them and they on me, as beastes are wont of kinde.
Thus ranging as refusde, to reache some place of rest,
Ill ruff of heare
•
my nayles vnnocht, as to such semeth best.
That wander by their wittes, deformed so to be,
That men may say, such one may curse the time he first gan see
The beauty of her face, her shape in such degree,
As God himself may not discerne, one place mended to be.
Nor place it in like place, my fansy for to please,
Who would become a heardmans hyre, one howre to haue of ease.
Whereby I might restore, to me some stedfastnes.
That haue mo thoughtes heapt in my hed thē life may long disges
As oft to throw me downe vpon the earth so cold,
Wheras with teares most rufully, my sorowes do vnfold.
And in beholding them. I chiefly call to minde,
What woman could finde in her hart, such bondnge for to binde.
Then rashly forth I yede, to cast me from that care,
Like as the bird for foode doth flye, and lighteth in the snare.
From whence I may not meue, vntill my race be roon,
So trained is my truth through her, yt thinkes my life well woon.
Thus tosse I to and fro, in hope to haue reliefe,
But in the fine I finde not so, it doubleth but my griefe.
Wherfore I will my want, a warning for to be,
Unto all men, wishing that they, a myrrour make of me.
The felicitie of a minde imbracing vertue, that beholdeth the wretched desires of the worlde.
VVHē dredful swelling seas, through boisterous windy blastes,
So tosse the ships, that all for nought, serues ancor, sail and mas
•
es.
Who takes not pleasure then, safely on shore to rest,
And see with drede and depe dispaire, how shipmen are distrest.
Not that we pleasure take, when others felen smart,
Our gladnes groweth to see their harmes, and yet to fele no part.
Delight we take also, well ranged in aray,
When armies meete to see the fight, yet free be from the fray.
But yet among the rest, no ioy may match with this,
Taspyre vnto the temple hye, where wisdome troned is.
Defended with the saws of hory heades expert,
Which clere it kepe from errours mist, that might the truth peruert
From whence thou mayst loke down, and see as vnder foote,
Mans wādring wil & doutful life, frō whēce they take their roote.
How some by wit contend, by prowes some to rise,
Riches a
•
d rule to gaine and hold, is all that men deuise.
O miserable mindes, O hartes in folly drent,
why see you not what blindnesse in this wretched life is spent?
Body deuoyde of griefe, minde free from care and drede,
Is all and some that natu
•
e craues, wherwith our life to feede.
So that for natures turne few thinges may well suffice,
Dolour and grief clene to expell, and some delight surprice.
Yea and i
•
•
alleth oft, that nature more content
Is with the lesse, then when the more to cause delight is spent.
All worldly pleasures vade.
THe winter with his griesly stormes ne lenger dare abide,
The plesant grasse, with lusty grene, the earth hath newly dide
The trees haue leues, the bowes do
•
•
pred, new chāged is the yere
The water brokes are cleane sonk down, the plesant banks apere.
The spring to come, the goodly nimphes now dasice in euery place
Thus hath the yere most pleasantly of late ychangde his face.
Hope for no immortalitie, for welth will weare away,
As we may learne by euery yere, yea howers of euery day.
For Zepharus doth molifie the cold and blustering windes:
The somers drought doth take away the spring out of our mindes
And yet the somer cannot last, but once must step aside,
Then
•
utumn thinks so kepe his place, but Autumn cannot bide,
For when he hath brought forth his fruits & stuft the barns wt corn
Then winter eates and empties all, and thus is Autumn worn.
Then hory
•
rosts possesse the place, then tēpests work much harm,
Then rage of stormes done make all cold, which somer had made so warm
Wherfore l
•
t no man put his trust in that, that will decay,
For slipper wealth will not continue, pleasure will weare away.
For when that we haue lost our life, and lye vnder a stone,
What are we then: we are but earth, then is our pleasure gone.
No man can tell what God almight of euery wight doth cast,
No man can say to day I liue, till morne my life shall last.
For when thou shalt before thy iudge stand to receiue thy dome,
What sentence Minos doth pronounce that must of thee become.
Then shall not noble stocke and bloud redeme the from his hands
Nor sugred talke with eloquence shall lose thee from his bandes.
Nor yet thy life vprightly lead, can help thee out of hell,
For who descendeth down so depe, must there abide and dwell.
Diana could not thence deliuer chaste Hypolitus,
Nor Theseus could not call to life his frende Perithous.
A complaint of the losse of libertie by loue.
IN seking rest, vnrest I finde,
I finde that welth is cause of wo:
Wo worth the time that I inclinde,
To fixe in minde her beauty so.
That day be darkned as the night,
Let furious rage it cleane deuour:
Ne Sunne nor Moone therin giue light,
But it consume with streame and shower.
Let no small birds straine forth their voyc
•
,
with pleasant tunes, ne yet no beast:
Finde cause wherat he may reioyce,
That day when chaunced mine vnrest.
Wherin alas from me was raught,
Mine own free choyce and quiet minde,
My life me death in balance braught
And reason rasde through barke and rinde,
And I as yet in flower of age,
Both wit and will did still aduance:
Ay to resist that burning rage:
But when I darte then did I glaunce.
Nothing to me did seme so hye,
In minde I could it straight attaine:
Fansy perswaded me therby,
Loue to esteme a thing most vaine.
But as the bird vpon the brier,
Doth pricke and proyne her without care:
Not knowing alas (poore foole) how nere
She is vnto the fowlers snare.
So I amid disceitfull trust,
Did not mistrust such wofull happe:
Till cruell loue ere that I wist
Had caught me in his carefull trappe.
Then did I fele, and partly know,
How litle force in me did raigne:
So soone to yelde to ouerthrow,
Do fraile to flit from ioy to paine.
For when in welth will did me leade
Of libertie to hoyse my saile:
To hale at shete and cast my leade,
I thought free choyce would still preuaile.
In whose calme streames I sayld so farre,
No raging storme had in respect:
Untill I raysde a goodly starre,
wherto my course I did direct.
In whose prospect in doolfull wise,
My tackle failde, my compasse brake?
Through hote desires such stormes did rise
•
That sterne and top went all to wrake.
Oh cruell hap, oh fatall chaunce,
O Fortune why were thou vnkinde:
Without regarde thus in a traunce,
To reue from me my ioyfull minde.
Where I was free now must I serue,
Where I was lose now am I bound:
In death my life I do preserue,
As one through girt with many a wound.
A praise of his Ladye.
GEue place you Ladies and be gone,
Boast not your selues at all:
For here at hand approcheth one:
Who
•
e face will staine you all.
The vertue of her liuely lokes,
Excels the precious stone:
I wish to haue none other bokes
To read or loke vpon.
In eche of her two cristall eyes,
Smileth a naked boye:
It would you all in hart suffice
To see that lampe of ioye.
I thinke nature hath lost the moulde,
Where she her shape did take:
Or els I doubt if nature could,
So faire a creature make.
She may be well comparde
Unto the Phenix kinde:
Whose like was neuer sene nor heard,
That any man can finde.
In life she is Diana cha
•
t,
In trouth Penelopey:
In word and eke in dede stedfast,
What wil you more we sey.
If all the world were sought so farre,
Who could finde such a wight:
Her beuty twinkleth like a starre,
Within the frosty night.
Her rosiall colour comes and goes,
With such a comely grace:
More redier to then doth the rose,
Within her liuely face.
At Bacchus feast none shall her mete,
Ne at no wanton play:
Nor gasyng in an open strete,
Nor gadding as a stray.
The modest mirth that she doth vse,
Is mixt with shamefastnesse:
All vice she doth wholy refuse,
And hateth ydlenesse.
O lord it is a world to see,
How vertue can repaire:
And decke in her such honestie,
Whom nature made so faire.
Truely she doth as farre excede,
Our women now adayes:
As doth the Ielifloure, a wede,
And more a thousand waies.
How might I do to get a graffe:
Of this vnspotted tree.
For al the rest are plaine but chaffe,
Which seme good corne to be.
This gift alone I shal her geue.
When death doth what he can:
Her honest fame shall euer liue,
Within the mouth of man.
The pore estate to be holden for best.
Experience now doth shew what God vs taught before,
Desired pompe is vaine, and seldome doth it last:
Who climbes to raigne with kinges, may rue his fate full sore
•
Alas the woful ende that
•
omes with care full fast,
Reiect him doth renowne his pomp
•
full low is cast
•
.
Deceiued is the birde by swetenesse of the call
Expell that pleasant taste, wherein is bitter gall.
Such as with oten cakes in poore estate abides,
Of care haue they no cure, the crab with mirth they rost,
More ease fele they then those, that from their height down slides
Excesse do
•
h brede their wo, they faile in Scillas cost,
Remainyng in the stormes tyll shyp and al be lost.
Serue God therefore thou pore, for lo, thou liues in rest,
Eschue the golden hall, thy thatched house is besT.
The complaint of Thestilis amid the desert wodde.
THestilis a sely man, when loue did him forsake,
In mourning wise, amid the wods thus gan his plaint to mak
•
Ah woful man (quod he) fallen is thy lot to mone
And pyne away with careful thoughtes, vnto thy loue vnknow
••
Thy lady thee forsakes whom thou didst honor so
That ay to her thou were a frend, and to thy selfe a foe.
Ye louers that haue lost your heartes desired choyse,
Lament with me my cruell happe, & helpe my trembling voice.
Was neuer man that stode so great in fortunes grace:
Nor with his swete alas to deare possest so high a place.
As I whose simple hart aye thought him selfe full sure,
But now I se hie springing tides they may not aye endure.
She knowes my giltelesse hart, and yet she lets it pine,
Of her vntrue professed loue so feble is the twine.
What wonder is it than, if I berent my heares,
And caruing death continually do bathe my selfe in teares,
When Cresus king of Lide was cast in cruell bandes,
And yelded goodes and life also into his enemies handes.
What tong could tell his wo, yet was his griefe much lesse
Then mine: for I haue lost my loue whych might my woe redresse
•
Ye woodes that shroud my limes giue now your holow sound,
That ye may helpe me to bewaile the cares that me confound.
Ye riuers rest a while and stay the streames that runne,
Rew Thestilis most woful man that liues vnder the sunne.
Transport my sighes ye windes vnto my plesant foe,
My tricklyng teares shal witnesse beare of this my cruel woe
•
O happy man wer I if all the goddes agreed:
That now the susters three should cut in twaine my fatall threde.
Till life with loue shall ende I here resigne al ioy:
Thy pleasant sw
•
te I now lament whose lacke bredes myne anoy
Farewell my deare therfore farewell to me well knowne:
If that I die it shalbe said that thou hast slaine thine owne.
An answere of comfort.
THestilis thou sely man, why dost thou so complayne,
If nedes thy loue wyll thee forsake, thy mourning is in vaine.
For none can force the streames against
•
heir course to ronne,
Nor yet vnwilling loue with teares or w
••
lyng can be wonne
•
C
•
ase thou therefore thy plaintes, let hope thy sorowes ease,
The shipmen though their sailes be rent yet hope to scape the seas
Though straunge she serue a while, yet thinke she wil not chaunge
Good causes driue a ladies loue, sometime to seme full straunge,
No louer that hath wit, but can forsee such happe,
That no wight can at wish or will slepe in his ladies lappe.
Achilles for a time faire Brises did forgo,
Yet did they mete with ioye againe, then thinke thou maist do so.
Though he and louers al in loue sharpe stormes do finde,
Dispaire not thou pore Thestilis though thy loue seme vnkinde,
Ah thinke her graffed loue cannot so sone decay,
Hie springes may cease from swelling styll, but neuer dry away
Oft stormes of louers yre, do more their loue encrease:
As shinyng sunne refreshe the fruites whē raining gins to cease.
When springes are waxen lowe, then must they flow againe,
So shall thy hart aduaunced be, to pleasure out of paine.
When lacke of thy delight most bitter griefe apperes,
Thinke on Etrascus worthy loue that lasted thirty yeres,
Which could not long atcheue his hartes desired choice,
Yet at the ende he founde rewarde that made him to reioyce.
Since he so long in hope with pacience did remaine,
Can not thy feruent loue forbeare thy loue a moneth or twaine?
Admit she minde to chaunge and nedes will thee forgo,
Is there no mo may thee delyght but she that paynes thee so?
Thestilis draw to the towne and loue as thou hast done,
In time thou knowest by faythful loue as good as she is wonne.
And leaue the desert woodes and waylyng thus alone,
And seke to salue thy sore els were, if all her loue be gone.
¶The louer praieth pity showing that nature hath taught his dog as it were to sue for the same by kissing his ladies handes.
NAture that taught my silly dog god wat:
Euen for my sake to like where I do loue,
Inforced him whereas my lady sat
With humble sute before her fallyng flat.
As in his sorte he might her pray and moue
To rue vpon his lord and not forgete
The stedfast faith he beareth her and loue,
Kissing her hand whom she could not remoue.
A way that would for frowning nor for threte
As though he would haue sayd in my behoue.
Pity my lord your slaue that doth remaine,
Lest by his death, you giltles slay vs twaine.
Of his ring sent to his ladie.
SInce thou my ring mayst go where I ne may.
Since thou mayst speake, where I must hold my peace.
Say vnto her that is my liues stay,
Grauen within which I do here expresse:
That sooner shall the sunne not shine by day,
And with the raine the floods shall waxen lesse.
Sooner the tree the hunter shall bewray
•
Then I for change, or choyce of other loue,
Do euer seke my fansy to remoue.
The changeable state of louers.
FOr that a restles hed must somwhat haue in vre
Wherwith it may acquainted be, as falcon is with lure.
•
ansy doth me awake out of my drowsy slepe,
In seing how the litle Mouse, at night begins to crepe.
So the desirous man, that longes to catch his pray,
In spying how to watch his time, lyeth lurking still by day,
In hoping for to haue, and fearing for to finde
The salue that should recure his sore, & soroweth but the minde.
Such is the guise of loue, and the vncertain state,
That some should haue their hoped hap, and other hard estate.
That some should seme to ioy in that they neuer had,
And some againe shall frown as fast, where causeles they be sad.
Such trades do louers vse when they be most at large,
That gide the stere when they thēselues lye fettred in the barge.
The grenesse of my youth cannot therof expresse
The processe, for by proofe vnknowen, all this is but by ges
••
.
Wherfore I hold it best, in time to hold my peace,
But wanton will it cannot hold, or make my pen to cease.
A pen of no auaile, a fruitles labour eke,
My troubled hed with fan
•
ies fraught, doth pain it selfe to seke.
And if perhaps my wordes of none auaile do pricke,
Such as do feele the hidden harmes, I wold not they shold kicke.
As causeles me to blame which thinketh them no harme,
Although I seme by
•
thers fire, somtime my selfe to warme.
Which clerely I deny, as giltles of that crime,
And though wrong denide I be therin, truth it will try in time.
A praise of Audley.
VVHen Audley had run out his race, and ended wer his daies
His fame stept forth &
•
ad me write of him som wortht praise
What life he
•
ad, what actes he did: his vertues and good name,
Wherto I calde for true report as witnes of the same.
Wel born he was, wel bēt by kinde, whose minde did neuer sweru
•
A skilfull head, a valiant hart, a ready hand to serue.
Brought vp & trained in feates of war long time beyond the seas
Cald home again to serue his prince, whō still he sought to please
What tornay was there he refu
•
de, what seruice did he shoon,
Where he was not nor his aduice, what great exploit was doon?
In town a Lambe, in fielde full fierce, a Lion at the nede,
In sober wit a Salomon, yet one of Hectors seede.
Then shame it were that any tong shold now defame his dedes
•
That in his life a mirrour was to all that him succedes.
No poore estate nor hie renowne his nature could peruart,
No hard mischance that him befell could moue h
•
s constant hart
•
Thus long he liued, loued of all, as one misliekt of none.
And where he went who cald him not the gentle Paragon.
But course of kinde doth cause eche fruite to fall when it is ripe,
And spitefull death will suffer none to scape his greuous gripe.
Yet though the ground receiued haue his corps into her wombe,
This Epitaphe ygraue in brasse, shall stand vpon his tombe.
Lo here he lies that hateth vice, and vertues life unbrast,
His name in earth, his sprite aboue, deserues to be well plast.
Time trieth truth.
EChe thing I see hath time, which time must try my truth,
Which truth deserues a special trust, on trust gret frēdship groweth.
And frendship may not faile where faithfulnesse is sound,
And faithfulnesse is full of fruit, and frutefull thinges be
•
ound.
And sound is good at proofe, and proofe is prince of praise,
And precious praise is such a pearle, as seldome ner decaies.
All these thinges time tries forth, which time I must abide,
How should I boldly credite craue till time my truth haue tride.
For as I found a time to fall in fansies frame,
So I do wish a lucky time for to declare the same.
If hap may answere hope, and hope may haue his
•
ire,
Then shall my hart possesse in peace the time that I desir
•
.
The louer refused of his loue imbraceth death.
MY youthfull yeres are past,
My ioyfull dayes are gone;
My life it may not last,
My graue and I am one.
My mirth and ioyes are fled,
And I a man in wo:
Desirous to be ded,
My mischiefe to forgo.
I burne and am a colde,
I freze amids the fire:
I see she doth withold
That is my most desire.
I see my help at hand,
I see my life also:
I see where she doth stand
That is my deadly fo.
I see how she doth see,
And yet she will be blinde:
I see in helping me,
She sekes and will not finde.
I see how she doth wry,
When I begin to mone:
I see when I come nye,
How faine she would begone.
I see what will ye more
She will me gladly kill:
And you shall see therfore
That she shall haue her will.
I can not liue with stones
It is to hard a foode:
I will be dead at ones
To do my lady good.
The picture of a louer.
BEhold my picture here well portrayed for the nones.
With hart consumed and falling flesh, behold the very bones.
Whose cruell chance alas and desteny is such,
Onely because I put my trust in some folke all to much.
For sins the time that I did enter in this pine,
I neuer saw the rising sunne but with my weping eyen.
Nor yet I neuer heard so swete a voice or
•
ound,
But that to me it did encrease the dolour of my wound.
Nor in so soft a bedde, alas I neuer lay,
But that it semed hard to me or euer it was day,
Yet in this body bare
•
that nought but life retaines,
The strength wherof clene past away the care yet still remaine.
Like as the cole in flame doth spend it self you se,
To vaine and wretched cinder dust till it consumed be.
So doth this hope of mine inforce my feruent sute,
To make me for to gape in vaine, whilst other eate the frute.
And shall do till the death doth geue me such a grace,
To rid this silly wofull sprite out of this dolefull case.
And then would God wer writ in stone or els in leade,
This Epitaphe vpon my graue, to shew why I am dead.
Here lyeth the louer lo, who for the loue he aught,
Aliue vnto his lady dere, his death therby he caught.
And in a shielde of blacke, loe here his armes appeares,
With weping eyes as you may see, well poudred all with teares.
Loe here you may behold, aloft vpon his brest,
A womans hand straining the hart of him that loued her best.
Wherfore all you that see this corps for loue that staru
•
s,
Example make vnto you all, that thanklesse louers sarues.
Of the death of Phillips.
BEwaile with me all ye that haue profest,
Of musicke tharte by touche of coarde or winde:
Lay down your lutes and let your gitterns rest.
Phillips is dead whose like you can not finde.
Of musicke much exceeding all the rest,
Muses therefore of force now must you wrest,
Your pleasant notes into an other sound,
The string is broke, the lute is dispossest.
The hand is cold, the body in the ground.
The lowring lute lamenteth now therfore.
Phillips her frende that can her touche no more.
That all thing somtime finde ease of their paine, saue onely the louer.
I See there is no sort,
Of thinges that liue in griefe:
Which at somtime may not resort,
Wheras they haue reliefe.
The striken Dere by kinde,
Of death that standes in awe:
For his recure an herbe can finde,
The arrow to withdrawe.
The chased Dere hath soile,
To coole him in his heat:
The Asse after his wery toile,
In stable is vp set.
The Cony hath his caue,
The litle bird his nest:
From heate and cold them selues to saue,
At all times as they list.
The Owle with feble sight.
Lyes lurking in the leaues:
The Sparrow in the frosty night,
May shroude her in the caues.
But wo to me alas,
In sunne nor yet in shade,
I cannot finde a resting place,
My burden to vnlade.
But day by day still beares,
The burden on my backe:
With weping eyen and watry teares.
To hold my hope abacke.
All thinges I see haue place,
Wherein they bow or bende:
Saue this alas my wofull case,
Which no where findeth ende.
Thassault of Cupide vpon the fort where the louers hart lay wounded and how he was taken.
VVHen Cupide scaled first the fort,
wherin my hart lay wounded sore:
The battry was of such a sort
That I must yelde or dye therfore.
There saw I loue vpon the wall,
How he his banner did display:
Alarme alarme he gan to call,
And bad his souldiou
•
s kepe aray,
The armes the which that Cupide bare,
were pearced hartes with teares besprent:
In siluer and sable to declare
The stedfast loue he alwaies ment.
There might you see his band all drest,
In colours like to white and blacke:
With powder and with pellets prest,
To bring the sort to spoile and sacke.
Good will the master of the shot,
Stode in the rampyre braue and proud:
For spence of powder he sparde not,
Assault assault to cry aloud.
There might you heare the cannons rore,
Eche pece discharged a louers loke:
Which had the power to rent, and tore
In any place wheras they toke.
And euen with the trumpets sowne,
The scaling ladders were vp set:
And beauty walked vp and downe
with bow in hand and arrowes whet,
Then first desire began to scale,
And shrowded him vnder his targe,
As on the worthiest of them all,
And aptest for to geue the charge.
Then pushed souldiers with their pikes
And holbarders with handy strokes:
The hargabushe in flesh it lightes,
And dims the ayre with misty smokes.
And as it is the souldiers vse,
When shot and powder gins to want:
I hanged vp my flagge of truce
And pleaded for my liues graunt.
When fansy thus had made her breach,
And beauty entred with her band:
with bag and baggage se
•
y wretch,
I yelded into beauties hand.
Then beauty bad to blow retrete,
And euery soldiour to retire.
And mercy wilde with spede to fet:
Me captiue bound as prisoner.
Madame (quoth I) sith that this day,
Hath serued you at all assaies:
I yelde to you without delay,
Here of the fortresse all the kaies.
And sith that I haue ben the marke,
At whom you shot at with your eye:
Nedes must you with your handy warke
•
Or salue my sore or let me dye,
The aged louer renounceth loue.
I Lothe that I did loue,
In youth that I thought swete:
As time requires for my b
•
houe,
Me thinkes they are not mete.
My lustes they do me leaue,
My fansies a
•
l be fled:
And tract of time begins to weaue,
Gray heares vpon my hed.
For age with
•
teling steps,
Hath clawed me with his crowch:
And lusty life away she leapes,
As there had bene none such.
My muse doth not delight
Me as she did before:
My hand and pen are not in plight,
As they haue bene of yore.
For reason me denies,
This youthly idle tim
•
:
And day by day to me she cries,
Leaue of these toyes in time.
The wrinkles in my brow,
The furrowes in my face:
Say limping age will hedge him now,
Where youth must geue him place.
The harbinger of death,
To me I see him ride:
The cough, the cold, the gasping breath,
Doth bid me to prouide.
A pikeax and a spade,
And eke a shrowding shete,
A house of clay for to be made,
For such a gest most mete.
Me thinkes I heare the clarke,
That knoles the carefull knell:
And bids me leaue my wofull warke,
Ere nature me compell.
My kepers knit the knot,
That youth did laugh to scorne:
Of me that clene shalbe forgot,
As I had not bene borne.
Thus must I youth giue vp,
Whose badge I long did weare:
To them I yelde the wanton cup
That better may it beare.
Lo here the bared scull,
By whose balde signe I know:
That stouping age away shall pull,
which youthfull yeres did sow.
For beauty with her
•
and
These croked cares hath wrought:
And shipped me into the land,
From whence I first was brought.
And ye that bide behinde,
Haue ye none other trust:
As ye of claye were cast by kinde,
So shall ye waste to dust.
Of the ladie went worthes death.
TO liue to dye and dye to liue againe,
With good renowne of fame well led before
Here lieth she that learned had the lore,
Whom if the parfect vertues wolden daine.
To be set forth with foile of worldly grace,
was noble borne and match in noble race,
Lord Wentworthes wife, nor wāted to attaine,
In natures giftes her praise among the rest,
But that that gaue her praise aboue the best
Not fame, her wedlocks chastnes durst distain,
Wherein with child deliueryng of her wombe,
Thuntimely birth hath brought thē both in tomb
So left she life by death to liue againe.
The louer accusing his loue for her vnfaithfulnesse, purposeth to liue in libertie.
THe smoky sighes the bitter teares,
That I in vaine haue wasted:
The broken slepes, the wo and feares,
That long in me haue lasted:
The loue and all I owe to thee,
Here I renounce and make me free.
Which fredome I haue by thy guilt,
And not by my deseruing,
Since so vnconstantly thou wilt
Not loue, but still be swering.
To leaue me of which was thine owne,
•
ithout cause why as shalbe knowen.
The frutes were faire the which did grow,
Within thy garden planted,
The leaues were grene of euery bough,
And moys
•
ure nothing wanted,
Yet or the blossoms gan fall,
The caterpiller wasted all.
Thy body was the garden place,
And
•
ugred wordes it beareth,
The blossomes all thy faith it was,
which as the canker wereth.
The caterpiller is the same,
That hath wonne thee and lost thy name.
I meane thy louer loued now,
By thy pretented folye,
which will proue like, thou shalt finde how,
Unto a tree of holly:
That barke and bery beares alwayes,
The one, birdes feedes, the other slayes.
And right well mightest thou haue thy wish
Of thy loue new acquaynted:
For thou art lyke vnto the dishe
That Adrianus paynted:
Wherin were grapes portraid so faire
That fowles for foode did there repaire
•
But I am lyke the beaten fowle
That from the net escaped,
And thou art lyke the rauening owle
That all the night hath waked.
For none intent but to betray
The slepyng fowle before the day.
Thus hath thy loue been vnto me
As pleasant and commodious,
As was the fyre made on the sea
By Naulus hate so odious.
Therwith to train the grekish host
From Troyes return where they wer lost.
The louer for want of his desire, sheweth his death at hand.
AS Cypres tree that rent is by the roote,
As branch or slippe bereft frō whēce it growes
As wel sowen seede for drought that can not sprout
As gaping ground that raineles can not close
As moules that want the earth to do them bote
As fishe on land to whom no water flowes,
As Thameleon that lackes the aier so sote,
As flowers do fade when Phebus rarest showes.
As Salamandra repulsed from the fire:
So wanting my wish I dye for my desire
A happy end excedeth all pleasures and riches of the world.
THe shining season here to some,
The glory in the worldes sight,
Renowmed fame through fortune wonne
The glitteryng golde the eyes delight,
The sensuall life that semes so swete,
The hart with ioyful dayes replete,
The thyng wherto eche wight is thrall,
The happy ende exceadeth all.
Against an vnstedfast woman.
O Temerous tauntres that delights in toyes
Tumbling cockboat totring to and fro,
Ianglyng iestres deprauers of swete ioyes,
Groud of the graffe whence al my grief doth grow,
Sullen serpent enuironned with dispite,
That yll for good at all times doest requite.
A praise of Petrarke and of Laura his ladie.
O Petrarke hed and prince of poets al,
Whose liuely gift of flowing eloquence,
Wel may we seke, but finde not how or whence
So rare a gift with thee did rise and fal,
Peace to thy bones, and glory immortall
Be to thy name, and to her excellence.
whose beauty lighted in thy time and sence:
So to be set forth as none other shall.
Why hath not our pens, rimes so parfit wrought
Ne why our time forth bringeth beauty such
To trye our wittes as golde is by the touche,
If to the stile the matter aided ought.
But ther was neuer Laure more then one,
And her had Petrarke for his Paragone.
That petrark cannot be passed but notwithstanding that Lawra is far surpassed
VVIth Petrarke to compare ther may no wight,
Nor yet attain vnto so high a stile,
But yet I wote full well where is a file.
To frame a learned man to praise aright:
Of stature meane of semely forme and shap,
Eche line of iust proporsion to her height:
Her colour fresh and mingled with such sleight:
As though the rose sate in the lilies lap.
In wit and tong to shew what may be sed,
To euery dede she ioynes a parfit grace,
If L
•
wra liude she would her clene deface.
For I dare say and lay my life to wed
That Momus could not if he downe discended,
Once iustly say, Lo this may be amended.
Against a cruel woman.
CRuel vnkinde whom mercy cannot moue,
Herbour of vnhappe wher rigours rage doth raigne,
Ground of my griefe where pitie cannot proue:
Trikle to trust of all vntruth the traine,
Thou rigorous rocke that ruth cannot remoue.
Daungerous delph depe dungeon of disdaine:
Sacke of selfe will the chest of craft and change,
What causeth the thus causels for to change?
Ah piteles plante whom plaint cannot prouoke.
Den of disceite that right doth still refuse,
Causles vnkinde that cariest vnder cloke
Cruelty and craft me onely to abuse,
Stately and stubberne withstanding Cupides stroke,
Thou merueilouse mase that makest men to muse,
Solleyn by selfe wil, most stony stiffe and straunge,
what causeth thee thus causelesse for to change?
Slipper and secrete where surety cannot sowe
Net of newelty, neast of newfanglenesse,
Spring of al spite, from whence whole fluddes do flow,
Thou caue and cage of care and craftinesse
Wauering willow that euery blast doth blowe
Graffe without groth and cause of carefulnesse,
Heape of mishap of all my griefe the graunge,
What causeth thee thus causelesse for to chaunge.
Hast thou forgote that I was thine infeft,
By force of loue haddest thou not hart at all,
Sawest thou not other for thy loue were left
Knowest thou vnkinde, that nothing mought befall
From out of my hart that could haue the bereft.
What meanest thou then at ryot thus to raunge,
And leauest thine owne that neuer thought to chaunge.
The louer sheweth what he would haue, if it were graunted him to haue what he would wishe.
IF it were so that God would graunt me my request,
And that I might of earthly thinges haue that I liked best,
I would not wish to clime to princely hye astate,
Which slipper is and slides so oft, and hath so fickle fate.
Nor yet to conquere realmes with cruel sworde in hande,
And so to shed the giltlesse blonde of such as would withstand.
Nor I would not desire in worldly rule to raigne.
Whose frute is all vnquietnesse, and breaking of the braine.
Nor richesse in excesse of vertue so abhorde,
I would not craue which bredeth care and causeth all discorde.
But my request should be more worth a thousand folde:
That I might haue and her enioye that hath my hart in hold.
Oh God what lusty life should we liue then for euer,
In pleasant ioy and perfect blisse, to length our liues together.
With wordes of frendly chere, and lokes of liuely loue,
To vtter all our hotte desires, which neuer should remoue.
But grose and gredie wittes which grope but on the ground.
To gather muck of worldly goodes which oft do them confounde,
Can not attaine to knowe the misteries deuine
Of perfite loue wherto hie wittes of knowledge do incline.
A nigard of his golde such ioye can neuer haue
which gettes wt toile and kepes with care and is his money slaue,
As they enioy alwayes that taste lone in his kinde,
For they do holde continually a heauen in their minde.
No
•
worldly goodes could bring my hart so great an ease
•
As for to finde or do the thing that might my ladie please.
For by her onely loue my hart should haue al ioye,
And with the same put care away, and all that coulde annoy.
As if that any thing should chance to make me sadde,
The touching of her corall lippes would straightewaies make m
•
gladde,
And when that in my heart I fele that dyd me greue
With one imbracing of her armes she might me sone releue:
And as the Angels al which sit in heauen hye
With presence and the sight of god haue their felicitie,
So likewyse I in earth, should haue all earthly blis,
With presence of that Paragon, my god in earth that is.
The lady forsaken of her louer, praieth his returne, or the end of her own life.
TO loue, alas, who would not feare
That seeth my wofull state,
For he to whom my heart I beare
Doth me extremely hate,
And why therfore I cannot tell,
He will no lenger with me dwell.
Did you not sewe and long me seru
•
Ere I you graunted grace?
And will you this now from me swarue
That neuer did trespace?
Alas poore woman then alas,
A wery lyfe here must I passe.
And shal my faith haue such refuse
In dede and shall it so,
Is ther no choise for me to chus
•
But must I leue you so?
Alas pore woman then alas,
A werye life hence must I pas.
And is there now no remedy
But th
•
t you will forget her?
Ther was a time when that perdy
You would haue heard her better.
But now that time is gone and past,
And all your loue is but a blast.
And can you thus breake your behest
In dede and can you so?
Did you not sweare you loued me best,
And can you now say no?
Remember me poore wight in paine,
And for my sake turne once againe.
Alas poore Dido now I fele
Thy present painful state,
When false Eneas did hym stele
From thee at Carthage gate.
And left thee slepyng in thy bed,
Regarding not what he had sed,
Was neuer woman thus betrayed,
Nor man so false forsworne,
His faith and trouth so strongly tyed,
Untruth hath all totorne:
And I haue leaue for my good will
To waile and wepe alone my fyll.
But since it will not better be,
My teares shal neuer blin:
To moist the earth in such degree,
That I may drowne therin:
That by my death al men may say.
Lo women are as true as they.
By me al women may beware,
That s
•
e my wofull smart,
To seke true loue let them not spare,
Before they set their hart.
Or els they may become as I,
Which for my truth am lyke to dye.
The louer yelden into his ladies handes, praieth mercie.
IN fredome was my fantasie
Abhorryng bondage of the minde,
But now I yelde my libertie,
And willingly my selfe I binde.
Truely to serue with al my hart,
whiles life doth last not to reuart.
Her beauty bounde me first of all
And forst my will for to consent:
And I agree to be her thrall,
For as she list I am content.
My wyll is hers in that
•
may,
And where she biddes I wyll obey.
It lieth in her my wo or welth,
She may do that she liketh best,
If that she list I haue my helth,
If she list not in wo I rest.
Sins I am fast within her bandes.
My wo and welth lieth in her handes.
She can no lesse then pitie me,
Sith that my faith to her is knowne,
It were to much extremitie,
With cruelty to vse her owne.
Alas a sinnefull enterprise,
To slay that yeldes at her deuice.
But I thinke not her hart so harde,
Nor that she hath such cruell lust:
I doubt nothing of her reward,
For my desert but well I trust,
As she hath beauty to allure,
So hath she a hart that will recure.
That nature which worketh all thinges for our behoofe, hath made women also for our comfort and delight.
AMong dame natures workes such perfite law is wrought,
That things be ruled by course of kind in order as the
•
ought.
And serueth in their state, in such iust frame and sort,
That slender wits may iudge the same, and make therof report.
Behold what secrete force the winde doth easely show,
Which guides the ships amid the seas if he his bellowes blow.
The waters waxen wilde where blustering blastes do rise,
Yet seldome do they passe their bondes for nature that deuise.
The fire which boiles the leade, and trieth out the gold:
Hath in his power both help and hurt, if he his force vnfold.
The frost which kils the fruite, doth knit the brused bones:
And is a medecin of kinde, prepared for the nones.
The earth in whose entrails the foode of man doth liue,
At euery spring and fall of leafe, what pleasure doth she giue?
The ayre which life desires, and is to helth so swete,
Of nature yeldes such liuely smelles, that comforts euery sprete.
The Sunne through natures might, doth draw away the dew,
And spredes the flowers wher he is wōt his princely face to shew.
The Moone which may be cald, the lanterne of the night,
Is halfe a guide to traueling men, such vertue hath her light.
The sters not vertuelesse are beauty to the eyes,
A lodes man to the Mariner; a signe of calmed skyes.
The flowers and fruitfull trees to man do tribute pay,
And when they haue their duety done by course they fade away.
Eche beast both fishe and foule, doth offer life and all,
To nourish man and do him ease, yea serue him at his call.
The serpentes venemous, whose vglye shapes we hate,
Are soueraigne salues for sondry sores, and nedefull in their state.
Sith nature shewes her power, in eche thing thus at large,
Why should not man submit himselfe to be in natures charge?
Who thinkes to flee her force, at length becomes her thrall,
The wisest cannot slip her snare, for nature gouerns all.
Lo, nature gaue vs shape, lo nature fedes our liues:
Thē they are worse thē mad I think, against her force that striue
•
Though some do vse to say, which can do nought but faine,
Women were made for this intent, to put vs men to paine.
Yet sure I thinke they are a pleasure to the minde,
A ioy which man can neuer want, as nature hath assinde.
when aduersitie is once fallen, it is to late to beware
•
TO my mishap alas I finde
That happy hap is daungerous:
And fortune worketh but her kinde,
To make the ioyfull dolorous.
But all to late it comes to minde,
To waile the want that makes me blinde.
Amid my myrth and pleasantnesse,
Such chaunce is chaunced sodainly,
That in dispayre without redresse,
I finde my chiefest remedy.
No new kinde of vnhappinesse,
Should thus haue left me comfortlesse.
Who would haue thought that my request,
Should bring me forth such bitter frute:
But now is hapt that I feard lest:
And all this harme comes by my sute,
For when I thought me happiest
Euen then hapt all my chiefe vnrest.
In better case was neuer none
And yet vnwares thus am I trapt,
My chiefe desire doth cause me mone,
And to my harme my welth is hapt,
There is no man but I alone,
T
••
t hath such cause to sigh and mone.
Thus am I taught for to beware
And trust no more such pleasant chance,
My happy hap bred me this care,
And brought my mirth to great mischanc
••
There is no man whom hap will spare,
But when she list his welth i
•
bare.
Of a louer that made his onely god of his loue.
ALl you that frendship do professe,
And of a frende present the place:
Geue eare to me that did possesse,
As frendly frutes as ye imbrace.
And to declare the circumstance,
There were them selues that did auaunce:
To teach me truely how to take,
A faithfull friende for vertues sake.
But I as one of litle skill,
To know what good might grow therby,
Unto my welth I had no will,
Nor to my nede I had none e
•
e,
But as the childe doth learne to go,
So I in time did learne to know,
Of all good frutes the world brought forth.
A faithfull frende is thing most worth.
Then with all care I sought to finde,
One worthy to receiue such trust:
One onely that was riche in minde,
One secrete, sober, wi
••
, and iust
•
Whom riches could not
•
aise at all
•
Nor pouertie procure t
•
fall:
And to be short in few wordes plaine,
One such a frende I did attaine.
And when I did enioy this welth,
Who liued Lord in such a case,
For to my frendes it was great helth,
And to my foes a fowle deface,
And to my selfe a thing
•
o riche
As seke the world and finde none such.
Thus by this frende
•
I set such store.
As by my selfe I fet no more.
This frende so much was my delight,
When care had clene orecome my hart
•
One thought of her rid care as quite,
As neuer care had causde my smart.
Thus ioyed I in my frende so dere,
Was neuer
•••
de sate man so nere,
I carde for her so much alone,
That other God I carde for none.
But as it doth to them befall,
That to them selues respect haue none:
So my swete graffe is growen to gall,
Where I sowed mirth I reaped mone.
This ydoll that I honorde so,
Is now transformed to my fo
•
That me most pleased, me most paines,
And in dispaire my hart remaines.
And for iust scourge of such desart,
Thre plages I may my selfe assure,
First of my frende to lose my part,
And next my life may not endure,
And last of all the more to blame,
My soule shall suffer for the same.
Wherfore ye frendes I warne you all,
Sit fast for feare of
•
uch a fall.
Vpon the death of sir Antony Denny.
DEath and the king, did as it were contend,
Which of them two bare Denny greatest loue.
The king to shew his loue gan farre extende,
Did him aduaunce his betters farr
•
aboue.
Nere place, much welth, great honor eke him gaue,
To make it known what powre gret princes haue.
But when death came with his triumphant gift,
From worldly cark he quite his weried ghost,
Free from the corps, and straight to heauen it li
•
t,
Now deme that can who did for Denny most.
The king gaue welth but fading and vnsure,
Death brought him blisse that euer shall endure.
A comparison of the louers paines.
LYke as the brake within the riders hand,
Doth straine the horse nye wood with grief of p
•
in
•
,
Not vsed b
•
fore to co
•
e in such a bande,
Striueth for griefe, although god wot in vain
To be as erst he was at libertie.
But force of force doth straine the contrary.
Euē so since band doth cause my deadly grief,
That made me so my wofull chaunce lament,
Like thing hath brought me into paine & mischiefe,
Saue willingly to it I did assent.
To binde the thing in fredome which was free,
That now full sore alas repenteth me.
Of a Ros
•
mary branche sent.
SUch grene to me as you haue sent,
Such grene to you I sende againe:
•
flowring hart that will not feint,
For drede of hope or losse of gaine:
A stedfast thought all wholy bent,
So that he may your grace obtaine:
As you by proofe haue alwayes sene,
To liue your owne and alwayes grene.
To his loue of his constant ha
•
t.
AS I haue bene so will I euer be,
Unto my d
•
ath and lenger if I myght
•
Haue I of loue the frendly lokyng eye?
Haue, I of fortune fauour or despit
•
?
I am of rock by proofe as you may see:
Not
••
ade of waxe nor of no metall light,
As leefe to dye, by chaunge as to deceaue,
Or breake the promise
•
ade. And so I leau
•
.
Of the token which his loue sent him.
THe golden apple that the Troyan boy,
Gaue to Uenus the fayrest of the thre,
Which was the cause of all the wrack of Troy,
Was not receiued with a greater ioy,
Then was the same (my loue) thou sent to me,
It healed my sore it made my sorowes free,
It gaue me hope it banisht mine annoy:
Thy happy hand full oft of me was blist,
That can geue such a salue when that thou list.
Manhode auaileth not without good Fortune.
THe Cowerd oft whom deinty viandes fed,
That bosted much his ladies eares to please,
By helpe of them whom vnder him he led
Hath reapt the palme ye valiance could not cease.
The vnexpert yt shores vnknowen neare sought,
whom Neptune yet apaled not with feare:
In wandring shippe on trustles seas hath tought
The skill to fele that time to long doth leare.
The s
•
ortīg knight that sco
•
neth Cupides kinde,
With fained chere the pained cause to brede:
In game vnhides the leden sparkes of minde,
And gaines the gole, where glowing flames shold spede,
Thus I see proofe yt trouth & māly hart
May not auaile, if fortune chaunce to start.
That constancy of all vertues is most worthy
THough in the waxe a perfect picture made,
Doth shew as faire as in the marble stone,
Yet do we see it is estemed of none.
Because that fier or force the forme doth fade.
Wheras the marble holden is ful dere,
Since that endures the date of lenger dayes.
Of Diamondes it is the greatest praise
•
So long to last and alwaies one tappere.
Then if we do esteme that thing for best,
Which in perfection leng
•
st time doth last:
And that most vaine yt turnes with euery blast
What
•
ewel then with t
•
ng can be exprest?
Like to that hart wher loue hath framed such feth,
That cā not fade but by ye force of death.
The vncertaine state of of a louer.
LYke as the rage of raine.
Filles riuers with excesse,
And as the drought againe,
Doth draw t
•
em lesse and lesse.
So I both fall and clyme,
With no and yea sometime.
As they swell hye and hye,
So doth encrease my state,
As they fall drye and drye
So doth my wealth abate,
As yea is mixt with no.
So mirth is mixt with wo.
As nothing can endure,
That liues and lackes reliefe,
So nothing can stande sure,
Where chaunge doth raign
•
as chiefe,
Wherefore I must intende,
To bowe when others bende.
And when they laugh to smile,
And when they wepe to waile
•
And when they craft, begile,
And when they fight, as
•
aile,
And thinke there is no chaunge,
Can make them seme to strange
•
Oh most vnhappy sla
•
e,
What man may leade this course,
To lacke he would faynest haue,
Or els to do much worse.
These be rewardes for such,
•
s liue and loue to much.
The louer in libertie smileth at them in thraldome, that sometime scorned his bondage.
AT libertie I sit and see,
Them that haue erst laught me to scorne:
Whypt with the whip that scourged me
And now they banne that they were borne.
I se
•
them sit full soberlye
•
And thinke their earnest lokes to hide:
Now in them selues they can not spye,
That they or this in me haue spide.
I s
•
e them sitting all alone,
Markyng the steppes ech worde and loke:
And now they treade where I haue gone
The painfull pathe that I forsoke.
Now I see well I saw no whit.
When they saw wel that now are blinde
But happy hap hath made me quit,
And iust iudgement hath them assinde.
I see them wander all alone,
And treade full fast in dredfull dout:
The selfe same pathe that I haue gone,
Blessed be hap that brought me out.
At libertie all this I see,
And say no word but erst among;
Smiling at them that laught at me.
Lo such is hap, marke well my song.
A comparison of his loue wyth the faithful and painful loue of Troylus to Creside.
I Read how Troylus serued in Troy,
A lady long and many a day,
And how he bode so great anoy,
For her as all the stories say.
That halfe the paine had neuer man,
Which had this wofull Troyan than.
His youth, his sport, his pleasant chere
•
His courtly state and company,
In him so straungely altred were,
With such a face of contrary.
That euery ioy became a wo,
This poyson new had turnde him so.
And what men thought might most him ease,
And most that for his comfort stode,
The fame did most his minde displease,
And set him most in furious mode.
For all his pleasure euer lay,
To thinke on her that was away.
His chamber was his comon walke,
Wherin he kept him secretly,
He made his bed the place of talke,
To heare his great extremity.
In nothing els had he delight.
But euen to be a martyr right.
And now to call her by her name
And straight therwith to sigh and throbbe:
And when his fansies might not frame,
Then into teares and so to sobbe,
All in extreames and thus he lyes,
Making two fountaines of his eyes.
As agues haue sharpe shiftes of fits
Of cold and heat successiuely:
So had his head like change of wits:
His pacience wrought so diuersly.
Now vp, now down, now here, now there,
Like one that was he wist not where.
And thus though he were Pr
•
ams sonne
And comen of the kinges hye blood,
This care he had ere he her wonne.
Till she that was his mantresse good,
And lothe to see her seruant so,
Became Phisicion to his wo
•
And toke him to her handes and grace,
And said she would her minde apply,
To helpe him in his wofull case,
If she might be his remedy.
And thus they say to ease his smart,
She made him owner of her hart.
And truth it is except they lye,
From that day forth her study went,
To shew to loue him faithfully,
And his whole minde full to content.
So happy a man at last was he,
And eke so worthy a woman she.
Lo lady then iudge you by this,
Mine case and how my case doth fall,
For sure betwene my life and his,
No difference there is at all.
His care was great
•
so was his paine,
And mine is not the lest of twaine.
For what he felt in seruice true
For her whom that he loued so,
The same
•
fele as large for you,
To whom I do my seruice owe.
There was that time in him no paine,
But now the same in me doth raigne.
Which if you can compare and way,
And how I stand in euery plight,
Then this for you I dare well say,
Your hart must nedes remorce of right
To graunt me grace and so to do,
As Creside then did Troylus to.
For well I wot you are as good,
And euen as faire as euer was she,
And commen of as worthy blood,
And haue in you as large pitie
To tender me your own true man,
As she did him her seruant than.
Which gift I pray God for my sake,
Full sone and shortly you me sende,
So shall you make my sorowes slake,
So shall you bring my wo to ende.
And set me in as happy case,
As Troylus with his lady was.
To leade a vertuous and honest life.
FLee frō the prease and dwell with sothfastnes,
Suffise to thee thy good though it be small,
For horde hath hate, and climing ticklenes,
Praise hath enuy, and weall is blinde in all,
Fauour no more, then thee behoue shall.
Rede well thy selfe that others well canst rede,
And trouth shall thee deliuer, it is no drede.
Paine thee not eche croked to redresse,
In hope of her that turneth as a ball,
Great rest standeth in litle businesse,
Beware also to spurne against a nall,
Striue not as doth a crocke against a wall,
Deme first thy selfe, that demest others dede,
And truth shall thee deliuer, it is no drede.
That thee is sent, receine in buxomnesse,
The wrestling of this world asketh a fall:
Here is no home, here is but wildernesse.
Forth pilgryme forth, forth beast out of thy stall,
Looke vp on hye, geue thankes to God of all:
weane well thy lust, and honest life ay leade,
So trouth shall thee deliuer, it is no dreade.
The wounded louer determineth to make sute to his lady for his recure.
SIns Mars first moued warre or stirred men to strife,
Was neuer sene so fearce a fight, I scarce could scape with life.
Resist so long I did, till death approched so nye,
To saue my selfe, I thought it best, with spede away to flye.
In daunger still I fled, by flight I thought to scape
From my dere foe, it vailed not, alas it was to late.
For Uenus from her campe brought Cupide with his bronde,
Who sayd now yelde, or els desire shall chace thee in euery londe.
Yet would I not straight yelde, till fansy fiercely stroke,
Who frō my will did cut the raines & charged me with this yoke.
Then all the daies and nightes mine eare might heare the sound,
What carefull sighes my hart would steale, to feele it self so bound.
For though within my brest, thy care I worke (he sayde)
Why for good will didst thou behold her persing eye displayd,
Alas the fishe is caught, through baite that hides the hooke,
Euen so her eye me trained hath, and tangled with her looke.
But or that it be long, my hart thou shalt be faine,
To stay my life pray her forththrow swete lokes whē I complain.
When that she shall deny, to do me that good turne,
Then shall she see to asshes gray, by flames my body burne.
Deserte of blame to her no wight may yet impute,
For feare of nay I neuer sought, the way to frame my sute.
Yet hap that what hap shall, delay I may to long,
Assay I shall for I heare say, the still man oft hath wrong.
The louer shewing of the continuall paines that abide within his brest, determineth to die because he cannot haue redresse.
THe dolefull bell that still doth ring,
The wofull knell of all my ioyes:
The wretched hart doth perce and wring,
And fils mine eare with deadly noyes.
The hongry Uiper in my brest,
That on my hart doth lye and gnaw:
Doth dayly brede my new vnrest,
And deper sighes doth cause me draw.
And though I force both hand and eye,
On pleasant matter to attend:
My sorowes to deceiue therby,
And wretched life for to amend.
Yet goeth the mill within my hart,
Which grindeth nought but paine and wo:
And turneth all my ioy to smart,
The euil corne it yeldeth so.
Though Uenus smile with yelding eyes,
And swete musicke doth play and sing:
Yet doth my sprites feele none of these,
The clarke doth at mine eare so ring.
As smallest sparckes vncared for,
To greatest flames do sonest grow,
Euen so did this mine inward sore,
Begin in game and end in wo.
And now by vse so swift it goeth,
That nothing can mine eares so fill:
But that the clacke it ouergoeth,
And plucketh me backe into the mill.
But since the mill will nedes about,
The pinne wheron the whele doth go:
I will assay to strike it out,
And so the mill to ouerthrow.
The power of loue ouer gods them selues.
FOr loue Apollo (his Godhed set aside)
Was seruant to the king of Thessaley,
Whose daughter was so pleasant in his eye,
That both his harpe and sawtrey he defide:
And bagpipe solace of the rurall bride,
Did puffe and blow
•
and on the holtes hy,
His cattell kept with that rude melody,
And oft eke him that doth the heau
•
ns gide,
Hath loue transsormed to shapes for him to base
Transmuted thus somtime a swan is he,
Leda taccoy, and eft Europe to please,
A milde white bull, vnwrinckled front and face,
Suffreth her play till on his back lepeth she,
Whō in great care he ferieth through the seas.
The promise of a constant louer.
AS Lawrell leaues that cease not to be grene,
From parching sunne, nor yet from winters threte
As hardened oke that feareth no sworde so kene,
As flint for toole in twaine that will not frete.
As fast as rocke, or piller surely set:
So fast am I to you, and ay haue bene,
Assuredly whom I cannot forget,
For ioy, for paine, for torment nor for tene.
For losse, for gaine, for frowning, nor for thret,
But euer one, yea both in calme and blast,
Your faithfull friende, and will be to my last.
Against him that had slaundered a gentle woman with him selfe.
FAlse may be, and by the powers aboue,
Neuer haue he good spede or lucke in loue,
That so can lye or spot the worthy fame,
Of her for whom thou R. art to blame.
For chaste Diane that hunteth still the chace,
And all her maides that sue her in the race.
With faire bowes bent and arrowes by their side,
Can say that thou in this hast falsely lide.
For neuer hong the bow vpon the wall,
Of Dianes temple, no nor neuer shall.
Of broken chaste the sacred vow to spot,
Of her whom thou doste charge so large I wot,
But if ought be wherof her blame may rise,
It is in that she did not well aduise
To marke thee right, as now she doth thee know
False of thy dede, false of thy talke also.
Lurker of kinde like serpent layd to bite,
As poyson hid vnder the suger white.
What daunger suche? So was the house defilde,
Of Collatiue: so was the wife begilde.
So smarted she, and by a trayterous force,
The Cartage quene so she fordid her corse.
So strangled was the Rodopeian maide,
Fye traytour fye, to thy shame be it sayd,
Thou dunghill Crow that crokest against the rayne,
Home to thy hole, brag not with Phebe againe.
Carrion for thee, and lothsome be thy voyce,
Thy song is fowle,
•
w
•
ary of thy noyce.
Thy blacke fethers, which are thy wearing wede,
Wet them with teares, and sorow for thy dede.
And in darke caues, where yrkesome wormes do crepe,
Lurke thou all day, and flye when thou shouldest slepe.
And neuer light where liuing thing hath life,
But eat and drinke where stinche and filth is ri
•
e.
For she that is a fowle of fethers bright,
Admit she toke some pleasure in thy light.
As fowle of state sometimes delight to take,
Fowle of mean sort their flight with thē to make.
For play of wing
•
or solace of their kinde:
But not in sort as thou dost breake thy minde.
Not for to treade with such foule fowle as thou,
No no I sweare, and dare it here
•
uow.
Thou neuer settest thy foote within her nest,
Boast not so broade then to thine owne vnrest.
But blushe for shame, for in thy face it standes,
And thou canst not vnspot it with thy handes.
For all the heauens against thee recorde beare,
And all in earth against thee eke will sweare,
That thou in this art euen none other man,
But as the iudges were to Susan than.
Forgers of that wherto their lust them prickt,
Bashe, blaser then the truth hath thee conuict.
And she a woman of her worthy fame,
Unspotted standes, & thou hast caught the shame.
And there I pray to God that it may rest,
False as thou art, as false as is the best,
That so canst wrong the noble kinde of man,
In whom all trouth first floorisht and began.
And so hath stand, till now thy wretched part,
Hath spotted vs, of whose kinde one thou art.
That all the shame that euer rose or may,
Of shamefull dede on thee may light I say
•
And on thy kinde, and thus I wishe thee rather,
That all thy seede may like be to their father.
Untrue as thou, and forgers as thou art,
So as all we be blamelesse of thy par
•
.
And of thy dede. And thus I do thee leaue,
Still to be false, and falsely to deceaue.
A praise of maistresse R.
I Heard when faine with thundring voice did sommon to appere,
The chiefe of natures children all that kinde hath placed here.
To view what brute by vertue got their liues could iustly crane,
And bad thē shew what praise by truth they worthy were to haue.
Wherwith I saw how Uenus came and put her selfe in place,
And gaue her ladies leaue at large to stand and pleade their case.
Ech one was calde by name a row, in that assemble there,
That hence are gone or here remaines, in court or other where.
A solemne s
••
ence was proclaimde, the iudges sa
•
e and herd,
What truth could tell, or craft could fain, & who should be preferd.
Then beauty stept before the barre, whose brest and neck was bare
With heare trust vp, and on her hed a caule of gold she ware.
Thus Cupides thralles began to flock whose hongry eyes did say
That she had stayned all the dames, that present were that day.
For er she spake, wt whispring words, the prease was fild throughout
And fansy forced common voyce, therat to giue a shoute.
Which cried to fame take forth thy trump, & sound her praise on hy
That glads the hart of euery wight that her beholdes with eye.
What stirre and rule (quo
•
order than) do these rude people make,
We hold her best that shall deserue a praise for vertues sake.
This sentence was no soner said, but beauty therwith blusht,
The noise did cease, the hall was stil and euery thing was whusht.
Then finenesse thought by training talke to win that beauty lost,
And whet her tonge w
•
th ioly wordes, and spared for no cost:
Yet wantonnesse could not abide, but brake her tale in hast,
And peuish pride
•
or Pecockes plumes would nedes behiest plast.
And therwi
•
hall came curiousnesse and carped out of frame.
The audience laught to heare the strife as they beheld the same.
Yet reason sone apesde the brute her reuerence made and doon,
She purchased fauour
•
or to speake, and thus her tale begoon.
Sins bounty shall the garland weare, and crowned be by fame,
O happy iudges call for her, for she deserues the same.
Where tēperance gouerns beauties flowers & glory is not sought,
And shamefast mekenes mastreth pride, & vertu dwels in thought.
Bid her come forth and shew her face, or els assent eche one,
That true report shall graue her name in gold or marble stone.
For all the world to rede at will, what worthines doth rest,
In perfect pure vnspotted life, which she hath here possest.
Then skill rose vp and sought the prease to finde if that he might,
A person of such honest name, that men should praise of right.
This one I saw full sadly sit, and shrinke her self aside,
Whose sober lokes did shew what giftes her wifely grace did hide.
Lo here (quod skill, good people all
•
is Lucrece left aliue,
And she shall most excepted be, that least for praise did striue.
No lenger fame could hold her peace, but blew a blast so hye,
That made an eckow in the aier and sowning through the s
•
ye.
The voice was loude & thus it said come. R. wit
•
happy daies,
Thy honest life hath wonne the fame & crowned thee with praies.
And when I heard my maistres name I thrust amids the throng,
And clapt my handes and wisht of god yt she might prosper long.
Of one vniustly defamed.
I
•
Ne can close in short and cunning verse,
Thy worthy praise of bountie by desart:
The hatefull spite and slaunder to reherse.
Of them that see but know not what thou art,
For kind by craft hath wrought thee so to eye,
That no wight may thy wit and vertue spye.
But he haue other fele then outward sight,
The lacke wherof doth hate and spite to trie
Thus kind thy craft is let of vertues light:
See how the outward shew the wittes may dull:
Not of the wise but as the most entend,
Minerua yet might neuer perce their scull,
That Circes cup and Cupides brand hath blend.
Whose fonde affects now sturred haue their braine,
So doth thy hap thy hue with colour staine.
Beauty thy soe thy shape doubleth thy sore,
To hide thy wit and shew thy vertue vaine,
Fell were thy fate, if wisdome were not more
•
I meane by thee euen G. by name,
Whom stormy windes of enuy and disdaine,
Do tosse with boisteous blastes of wicked fame.
Where stedfastnesse as chiefe in thee doth raigne.
Pa
•
ience thy setled minde dothe guide and stere
•
Silence and shame with many resteth there.
Till time thy mother list them forth to call,
Happy is he that may enioye them all.
Of the death of the late countisse of Penbroke.
YEt once againe my muse I pardon pray,
Thine intermitted song if I repeate:
Not in such wise as when loue was my pay,
My ioly wo with ioyfull verse to treate.
But now (vnthanke to our desert be geuen,
Which merite not a heauens gift to kepe)
Thou must with me bewaile yt fate hath reuen,
From earth a iewel laied in earth to slepe,
A iewel yea a gemme of womanhed,
Whose perfect vertues linked as in chaine:
So did adorne that humble wiuelyhed,
As is not rife to finde the like againe.
For wit and learnyng framed to obey,
Her husbandes wil that willed her to vse
The loue he bare her chiefely as a staye,
For al her frendes yt wold her furtherance chuse
Wel sa
•
d therf
•
re a heauens gift she was,
Because the best are sonest hence bereft:
And though her self to heauen henc
•
dyd passe,
Her spoyle to earth frō whence it came she left.
And to vs teares her absence to lament,
And eke his chance that was her make by law:
Whose losse to lo
•
e so great an ornament,
Let thē esteme which true loues knot can draw
•
That eche thing is hurt of it self.
VVHy fearest thou thy outward fo,
When thou thy selfe thy harme dost fede,
Of grief, or hurt, of paine or wo.
With
•
n eche thing is sowen the sede
•
So fine was neuer yet the clo
•
h,
No smith so hard his yron did beate:
But thone consumed was with moth,
Thother with canker all to freate.
The knotty oke and wainscot old,
Within doth eate the silly worme:
Euen so a minde in enuy ro
•
d,
Alwaies within it self doth burne.
Thus euer
•
thing that nature w
•
ought
Within it selfe his hurt doth bea
•
e:
No outward harme nede to be sought,
Where enemies be within so neare,
Of the choise of a wife.
THe flickering flame that flieth from eare to eare,
And ay her
•
trength encreaseth with her flight,
Geues first the cause why men to heare delight
Of those whom she doth note for beautie bright,
And with this fame that fleeth on so fast,
Fansy doth hye when reason mak
•
s no hast.
And yet not so content they wishe to see
And therby know if fame haue saide aright,
More trusting to the trial of their eye,
Then to the brute that goes of any weight,
Wise in that point that lightly will not leue,
Unwrie to se that may them after greue.
Who knoweth not how sight may loue allur
•
,
And kindle in the hart a hot desire:
The eye to worke
•
hat same could not procure,
Of greater cause there commeth hotter fire,
For ere he we
•
e himselfe he feleth warme
The fame and eye the causers of his harme.
Let fame no
•
make her knowē whō I shall know
•
For yet mine eye therin to be my guyde
•
Suffiseth me that vertue in her grow,
Whose simple life her fathers walles do hide,
Content with this I leaue the rest to go,
And in such choise shall stande my welth and wo.
Description of an vngodly worde.
VVHo loues to liue in peace, and marketh euery change,
shall here such newes frō time to time, as seme right wōdrou
•
strāge
•
uch fraud in frendly lokes, such frendship all for game:
Such cloked wrath in hatefull har
•
s, which worldly men retaine.
Such fayned flattring faith, amongs both hye and low
•
Such great deceit, such subtil wittes, the poore to ouerthrow.
Such spite in sugred tonges, such malice f
•
ll of pride,
Such open wrong such great vnt
•
uth, which cannot go vnspide,
Such res
•
lesse sute for rowmes
•
which bringeth men to care:
Such sliding downe from s
•
ippery seates, yet can we not beware,
Such barking at
•
he good, such bolstering of the ill:
Such threatning of the wrath of god, such vice embraced styll.
•
uch striuing for the best, such climing to estate:
Such great dissembling euery
•
here, such loue al mixt with hate
•
Such traines to trap the iust, such prolling fautes to pike,
Such cruell woordes for speaking trouth, who euer heard the like?
Such strife for sturri
•
g strawes, such discorde daily wrought:
Such forged
•
ales dul wits to blind, such matters made of nought
Such trifles tolde for trouth, such crediting of lies,
Such sil
•
nce kept when fooles do speak, such laughing at the wise,
Such plenty made
•
o scarce, such crying for redresse:
Such fea
•
ed signes of our decay, which
•
ong dares not expresse,
Such changes ligh
•
ly markt, such troubles still apperes,
which neuer w
•
re before this time, no not this thousand yeres.
Such bribing
•
or the purse, which euer gapes for more.
Such hording vp of worldly welth, such keping mucke in store
Such folly
•
ounde in age, such will in tender youth,
Such sōdry
•
or
•
es among great clerkes, & few that speake ye trueth
Such falshed vnder craft, and such vnstedfast waies,
was neuer seen within mens harts, as is found now a dayes,
The cause and grounde of this, is our vnquiet mynde,
which
•
hinks to take those goods away, which we must leue behind
why do men seke to get which they can not possesse
•
Or breake their slepes with careful thoughtes & al for wretchednes
Though one amonges a skore, hath welth and case a while,
A thousan
•
want which toileth sore and trauaile many a myle.
And some although they slepe yet welth falles in their lap,
Thus some be riche, and some be poore, as fortune geues the hap,
wherfore I holde him wis
•
, which thinkes himself at ease,
And is content in simple state both god and man to please.
For those that liue like god
•
and honoured are to
•
ay:
within short time th
•
ir glory failes as flowers do fade away,
Uncertaine is th
•
ir liues on whom this world will frowne:
For though th
•
y sit
•
b
•
ue y• sta
•
res, a storme may
•
trike thē downe
In wealth who fear
••
no f
•
ll
•
may slide from ioy full soone:
There is nothing so su
•
e on earth, but changeth as the moone.
what pleasure hath the riche, or case more th
•
n the poore?
Although he haue a pleasant house, his trouble is the more
They bowe and speake him feire, which seke to sucke his blood:
And some do wishe his soule in hel, and al to haue his good
The coueting of the goodes, doth nought but dull the sprite
And some men chaunce to tast the sower, that gropeth for
•
the swete
The riche is styl enuied by those which eate his bread:
With fawning speche and flattering tales his eares are bayly
•
ed
In fine I see and proue the riche haue many foes.
He slepeth best, and careth least, that little hath to lose,
As tyme requireth now, who woulde auoyde much strife,
Were better liue in poore estate, then leade a princis life.
To passe those troublesom times I see but littil choyse,
But helpe to wayle with those that wepe, & laugh whē they reioyce
For as we se to day, our brother brought in care:
To morow may we haue such chaunce to fal with him in snare
Of this we may be sure, who thinkes to sit most fast,
Shal sonest fal like withered leaues that can not bide a blast,
Though that the flood be great, the ebbe as low doth runne
When euery man hath playd his part our pagent wylbe donne.
Who trustes this wretched world, I, hold him worse then madde
Here is not one that
•
eareth God, the b
•
st is all to badde.
For those that seme as saintes, are diuels in their dedes
Though that the earth bringes furth some flowers it beareth many wedes,
I see no pres
•
ut helpe from mischiefe to preuaile,
But flee the seas of worldly care or beare a quiet saile,
For who that medleth least, shal saue him selfe from smart
Who stirres an oare in euery boate shal play a foolish part
The dispairing louer lamenteth.
VVAlking the path of pensiue thought,
I askt my hart how came this wo:
Thine eye (quod he) this care me brought,
Thy minde, thy witte, thy wil also
Enforceth me to loue her euer
This is the cause ioy shal I neuer
And as I walke as one dismaide,
Thinking that wroug this wo me lent:
Right, sent me worde by wrath, which sayd
This iust iudgement to thee is sent:
•
eu
•
r to
〈…〉
d
•••
g ever,
••
ll
•
r
••
th th
•
f
••
le, ioy shal
•
thou neu
••
•••
h right
•
oth iu
•
ge this w
•
tendur
•
Of health of welth of remedy.
As I haue done so be she sure,
Of faith and truth vntil I dye.
And as this paine cloke shal I euer
•
o inwardly ioy shal I neuer,
Griping of gripes greu
•
not so sor
•
Nor serpentes styng causeth such smart
Nothing on earth may paine me more,
Then sight that perst my woful hart
Drowned with
•
a
•
es stil to perseue
•
Come death betimes ioy shal I neuer,
O libertie why dost thou swai
•
e:
And steale away thus all at ones
And I in prison like to starue,
For lacke of foode do gnaw on bones
My hope and trust in thee was euer,
Now thou art gon ioy shal I neuer,
But styl as one al desperate,
To leade my l
•
fe in misery:
Sith fear
•
from hope hath locke the gate
Where pitie should graunt remedy,
Dispaire this lot assignes me euer,
To liue in paine, ioy shal I neuer,
The louer praieth his seruice to be accepted, and his defaultes pardoned.
PRo
••
yn that somtime serued Cephalus
With hart as true as any louer might.
Yet her betide in louing this vnright
That as in hart with loue surprised thus
She on a day to see this Cephalus
Where he was wont to shroude him in the shade
When of his hunting he an ende had made.
Within ye woods with dredful lote forth stalketh
So bussly loue in her hed it walketh.
That she to sene him may her not restraine.
This Cephalus that heard one shake ye leaues
Uprist all egre thrusting after pray,
With darte in hand him list no further daine,
To see his loue but slew her in the greaues,
That ment to him but perfect loue alway.
So curious bene alas the rites all,
Of mighty loue that vnnethes may I thinke,
In his high seruice how to loke or winke.
Thus I complaine that wretchedst am of all,
To you my loue, and soueraine lady dere,
That may my hart with death or life stere
As ye best list. That ye vouchsafe in all
Mine humble seruice. And if me misfall,
By negligence, or els for lacke of wit.
That of your mercy yo
•
do pardon it,
And t
••
nk y• loue made Procrin shake ye leues
When with vnright she slain was in y• greues.
Descripcion and praise of his loue.
LYke the Phenix a birde most rare in sight,
That nature hath with gold and purple drest:
Such she me semes in whom I most delight,
If I might speake for enuy at the least.
Nature I thinke first wrought her in despite,
••
rose and lilly that sommer bringeth first,
In beauty sure, exceding all the rest,
•
nder the bent of her browes iustly pight:
•
s Diamondes, or Saphires at the least:
Her glistring lightes the darknesse of the night.
Whose litle mouth and chinne like all the rest.
〈◊〉
ruddy lippes excede the corall quite.
••
yuery teeth where none excedes the rest.
•
autlesse she is from foote vnto the waste:
Her body small and straight as mast vpright,
Her armes long in iust proporcion cast,
Her handes depaint with veines all blew & white.
What shal I say for that is not in sight?
The hidden partes I iudge them by the rest.
And if I were the forman of the quest,
To geue a verdite of her beauty bright,
For geue me Phebus, thou shouldst be dispossest,
Which doest vsurpe my ladies place of right.
Here will I cease lest enuy cause dispite.
But nature when she wrought so faire a wight,
In this her worke she surely dyd entende,
To frame a thing that God could not amende.
The louer declareth his paines to excede far the paines of hell.
THe soules that lacked grace,
Which lye in bitter paine:
Are not in such a place,
As foolish folke do faine.
Tormented all with fire,
And boile in leade againe,
With serpents full of ire,
Stong oft with deadly paine.
Then cast in frosen pittes:
To freze there certaine howers:
And for their painfull fittes,
Apointed tormentours.
No no it is not so,
Their sorow is not such:
And yet they haue of wo,
I dare say twise as much.
Which comes because they lack
The sight of the godhed,
And be from that kept back
Where with are aungels fed
This thing know I by loue
Through absence crueltie,
Which makes me for to proue
Hell pain before I dye.
There is no tong can tell
My thousand part of care
Ther may no fire in hell,
With my desire compare.
No boyling leade can pas
My scalding sighes in hete:
Nor snake that euer was,
With s
•
inging can so frete
A true and tender hert,
As my thoughtes da
•
ly doe,
•
o that I know but smart,
And that which longes thereto.
O Cupid Uenns son,
As thou hast showed thy might.
And hast this conquest woon,
Now end the same aright.
And as I am thy slaue,
Contented with all this:
So helpe me soone to haue
My parfect earthly blisse.
Of the death of sir Thomas w
•
ate the elder.
LO dead he liues, that whilome liued here,
Among the dead that quick go on the groun
•
.
Though he be dead, yet doth he quick apere,
By liuely name that death cannot confound
His life for ay of fame the trump shall sound.
Though he be dead, yet liues he here aliue.
Thus can no death from Wiate; life depriue.
That length of time consumeth all thinges.
VVHat harder is then stone
•
what more then water soft?
Yet with soft water drops
•
hard stones be pers
•
d softe.
What geues so strong impulse,
That stone ne may withstand
•
What geues more weake repulse.
Then water p
•
est with hand:
Yet weke though water be,
It holowith hardest flint:
By proofe wherof we see,
Time geues the greatest dint.
The beginning of the epistle of Penelope to Vlisles, made into verse.
O Lingring make Ulisses dere, thy wife lo sendes to thee,
He
•
driry plaint write not againe, but come thy selfe to me.
Our hatefull scourge that womans foe proud Troy now is fordon
We bye it derer, though Priam slaine, and all his kingdome won.
O that the raging surges great that lechers bane had wrought,
When first with sh
•
p he forowed seas, and Lacedemon sought,
In desert bed my shiuering coarse then shold not haue sought rest,
Nor take in griefe the cherefull sunne so slowly fall to west.
And whiles I ca
•
t long rūning nightes, how best I might begile,
No dista
••
should my widowish hand haue weary made the while.
When dread I not more daungers great then are befall in dede:
Loue is a carefull thing God wot, and passing full of drede.
The louer asketh pardon of his passed follie in lo
•
e.
YOu that in play peruse my plaint, and reade in rime the smart,
Which in my youth with sighes full cold I harbourd in my hart
Know ye that loue in that fraile age draue me to that distresse,
when I was ha
•
fe an other man, then I am now to gesse.
Then for this worke of waue
•
ing words where I now rage now rew
Tost in the toyes of troublous loue, as care or cō
•
ort grew.
I trust with
•
ou that loues affair
••
b
•
proofe haue put in vre:
Not onely pardon in my plaint, but pitie to procure.
For now I wot that in the world a wonder haue I be,
And where to lōg loue made me blinde, to late shame makes mese.
Thus of my fault shame is the fruite, and for my youth thus past,
R
•
pentance is my recompence, and this I learne at last.
Looke what the world hath most in price, as sure it is to kepe.
As is the dreame which fansie driues, while sence and reason slepe.
The louer sheweth that he was striken by loue on good friday.
IT was the day on which the sunne depriued of his light,
To rew Christs death amid his course gaue place vnto y• night
When I amid mine ease did fall to such distemperate fits,
That for the face that hath my hart I was bereft my wits.
I had the bayte, the hooke and all, and wist not loues pretence,
But farde as one that fearde none yll, nor forst for no defence.
Thus dwelling in most quiet state, I fell into this plight,
And that day gan my secret sighes, when all folke wept in sight.
For loue that vewed me voide of care, approcht to take his pray,
And stept by stelth from eye to hart, so open lay the way.
And straight at eyes brake out in teares, so salt that did declare,
By token of their bitter taste that they were forgde of care.
Now vaunt thee loue which fleest a maid defenst wt vertues rare,
And wounded hast a wight vnwise, vnweaponed and vnware.
The louer describeth his whole state vnto his loue, and promising her his faithfull good will: assureth himself of hers again.
THe Sunne when he hath spred his raies,
And shewde his face ten thousand waies.
Ten thousand thinges do then begin,
To shew the life that they are in.
The heauen shewes liuely art and hue,
Of sundry shapes and colours new,
And laughes vpon the earth anone.
The earth as cold as any stone,
Wet in the teares of her own kinde:
Gins then to take a ioyfull minde.
For well she feeles that out and out,
The sunne doth warme her round about.
And dries her children tenderly,
And shewes them forth full orderly.
The mountaines hye and how they stand,
The valies and the great maine land.
The trees, the herbes, the towers strong,
The castels and the riuers long.
And euen for
•
oy thus of this heate,
She sheweth furth her pleasures great.
And s
•
eepes no more but sendeth sorth
Her c
•
ergions her own dere worth.
To mount and flye vp to the ayre,
Where then they
•
ing in order fayre.
And tell in sung
••
il merely,
How they haue slept full quietly,
That night about their mothers sides.
And when they haue song more besides,
Then fall they to their mothers breastes,
Where els they fede or take their restes.
The hunter then soundes out his horne,
And rangeth straite through wood and corne.
On hilles then shew the Ewe and Lambe,
And euery yong one with his dambe.
Then louers walke and tell their tale,
Both of their blisse and of their bale.
And how they serue, and how they do,
And how their lady loues them to.
Then tune the
•
irdes their armonie.
Then flocke the foule in companie.
Then euery thing doth pleasure f
••
de,
In that that comfor
•
es all their kinde.
No dreames do drench them of the night,
Of foes that would them s
•
ea or bite.
As Houndes to hunt them at the taile,
Or men force them through hill and dale.
The shepe then dreames not o
•
the Woulf,
The shipman forces not the goulf.
The Lambe thinkes not the butchers knife.
Should then bereue him of his life.
For when the Sunne doth once run in,
Then all their glad
•
es doth begin.
And then their ski
•
s, and then their play
So falles their sadnes the
•
away.
And thus all thinges haue comforting,
In that that doth them comfort bring,
Saue I alas, whom nei
•
her
•
unne,
Nor ought that God hath wrought and don,
May comfort ought, as though I were
A thing not made for comfort here.
For beyng absent from your sighte,
Which are my ioy and whole delight
My comfort and my pleasure to,
How can I ioy how should I do?
May sick men laugh that rore for paine?
Ioy they in song that do complaine?
Are martirs in their tormentes glad?
Do pleasures please them that are mad?
Then how may I in comfort be,
That lacke the thing should comfort me.
The blind man oft that lackes his sight,
Complaines not most the lacke of light.
But those that knewe their perfectnes,
And then do misse ther blisfulnes.
In martirs tunes they syng and waile,
The want of that which doth them faile.
And hereof comes that in my braines,
So many fansies worke my paines
For when I wayghe your worthynes,
Your wisdome and your gentlnes,
Your vertues and your sundry grace,
And minde the countenaunce of your face,
And how that you are she alone,
To whom I must both plaine and mone.
whom I do loue and must do still.
whom I embrace and ay so wil,
To serue and please you as I can,
As may a wofull faithful man.
And finde my selfe so far you fro.
God knowes what torment, and what wo,
My rufull hart doth then imbrace.
The blood then chaungeth in my face.
My synnewes dull, in
•
ompes I stand.
No life I fele in fo
•
e nor hand.
As pale as any clout and ded,
Lo sodenly the blood orespred,
And gon againe it uill so bide.
And thus from life to death I slide
As colde sometymes as any stone,
And then againe as hote anone.
Thus comes and goes my sundry fits,
To geue me sundri sortes of wits.
Till that a sigh becomes my frende,
And then to all this wo doth ende.
And sure I thinke that sigh doth roon,
From me to you where ay you woon.
For well I finde it easeth me,
And cettes much it pleaseth me,
To think that it doth come to you,
As would to God it could so do.
For then I know you would soone finde,
By sent and sauour of the winde.
That euen a martirs sigh it is,
Whose ioy you are and all his blis.
His comfort and his pleasure eke,
And euen the same that he doth seke.
The same that he doth wishe and craue,
The same that he doth trust to haue.
To tender you in all he may,
And all your likinges to obey,
As farre as in his powre shall lye:
Till death shall darte him for to dye.
But wealeaway mine owne most best,
My ioy, my comfort, and my rest.
The causer of my wo and smart,
And yet the pleaser of my hart.
And she that on the earth aboue:
Is euen the worthiest for to loue.
Heare now my plaint, heare now my wo.
Heare now his paine that loues you so.
And if your hart do pitie beare,
Pitie the cause that you shall heare.
A dolefull foe in all this doubt,
Who leaues me not but sekes me out,
Of wretched forme and lothsome face,
While I stand in this wofull case:
Comes forth and takes me by the hand,
And saies frende harke and vnderstand.
I see well by thy port and chere,
And by thy lokes and thy manere,
And by thy sadnes as thou goest,
And by the sighes that thou outthrowes
••
That thou art stuffed full of wo,
The cause I thinke I do well know.
A fantaser thou art of some,
By whom thy wits are ouercome.
But hast thou red old pamphlets ought?
Or hast thou known how bokes haue taught
That loue doth vse to such as thow,
When they do thinke them safe
•
now.
And certain of their ladies grace:
Hast thou not sene oft tunes the case,
That sodenly there hap hath turnde,
As thinges in flame consumde and burnde?
Some by disceite forsaken right.
Some likwise changed of fansy light.
And some by absence sone forgot.
The lottes in loue, why knowest thou not?
And tho that she be now thine own:
And knowes the well as may be knowne.
And thinkes the to be such a one,
As she likes best to be her own.
Thinkes thou that others haue not grace,
To shew and plain their wofull case.
And chose her for their lady now,
And swere her trouth as well as thow.
And what if she do alter minde?
Where is the loue that thou wouldest finde?
Absence my frende workes wonders oft.
Now bringes full low that lay full loft.
Now turnes the minde now to and fro,
And where art thou if it were so?
If basence (quod I) be marueilous,
I finde her not so dangerous.
For she may not remoue me fro,
The
••
ore good will that I do owe
To her, whom vnneth I loue and shall.
And chosen haue aboue them all,
To serue and be her own as far,
As any man may offer her.
And will her serue, and will her loue,
As lowly as it shall behoue.
And dye her own if fate be so.
Thus shall my hart nay part her fr
•
.
And wilnes shall my good will be,
That absence takes her not from me.
But that my loue doth still encrease,
To minde her still and neuer cease.
Aud what I feele to be in me,
The same good will I think hath she,
As firme and fast to biden ay,
Till death depart vs both away.
And as I haue my tale thus told,
S
••
ps vnto me with countenance bold:
A stedfast frende a counsellour,
And namde is Hope my comfortour.
And stoutly then he speakes and saies:
Thou hast sayde trouth withouten nayes.
For I assure thee euen by othe,
And theron take my hand and trothe.
That she is one the worthiest,
The truest and the faithfullest.
The gentlest and the meekest of minde:
That here on earth a man may finde,
And if that loue and trouth were gone,
In her it might be found alone.
For in her minde no thought there is,
But how she may be true
•
wis.
And tenders thee and all thy heale,
And wisheth both thy health and weale.
And loues thee euen as farforth than,
As any woman may a man,
And is thine own and so she saies,
And cares for thee ten thousand waies.
On thee she speakes, on thee she thinkes,
With thee she eates, with thee she drinkes.
With thee she talkes, with thee she mones,
With thee she sighes, with thee she grones.
With thee she saies farewell mine own.
When thou God knowes full farre art gon.
And euen to tell thee all aright,
To thee she saies full oft good night.
And names thee oft, her owne most dere,
Her comfort weale and al her chere.
And telles her pelow al the tale,
How thou hast doon her wo and bale,
And how she longes and plaines for the,
And saies why art thou so from me?
Am I not she that loues the best?
Do I not wish thine ease and test?
Seke I not how I may the please?
Why art thou then so from thine ease?
If I be she for whom thou carest,
For whom in tormentes so thou farest:
Alas thou knowest to finde me here,
Where I remaine thine owne most dere,
Thine own most true thine owne most iust,
Thine own that loues the styl and must.
Thine own that cares alone for the,
As thou I thinke dost care for me.
And euen the woman she alone,
That is full bent to be thine owne.
What wilt thou more? what cāst thou craue?
Since she is as thou wouldest her haue.
Then set this driuell out of dore,
That in thy braines such tales doth poore.
Of absence and of chaunges straunge,
Send him to those that vse to chaunge.
For she is none I the auowe,
And well thou maiest beleue me now.
When hope hath thus his reason said,
Lord how I fele me well apaide.
A new blood then orespredes my bones,
That al in ioy I stand at ones.
My handes I throw to heuen aboue,
And humbly thank the god of loue.
That of his grace I should bestow,
My loue so well as I it owe.
And al the planets as they stand,
I thanke them to with hart and hand.
That their aspectes so frendly were,
That I should so my good will bere.
To you that are the worthiest,
The fairest and the gentillest.
And best can say, and best can do,
That longes me thinkes a woman to.
And therfore are most worthy far,
To be beloued as you ar.
And so saies hope in all his tale,
Wherby he easeth all my bale.
For I beleue and thinke it true,
That he doth speake or say of you.
And thus contented lo I stand,
With that that hope beares me in hand:
That I am yours and shall so be,
Which hope I kepe full sure in me.
As he that all my comfort is,
On you alone which are my blis.
My pleasure chief which most I finde,
And euen the whole ioy of my minde.
And shall so be vntill the death,
Shall make me yeld vp life and breath.
Thus good mine own, lo here my trust.
Lo here my truth and seruice iust.
Lo in what case for you I stand.
Lo how you haue me in your hand.
And if you can requite a man,
Requite me as you finde me than.
Of the troubled comon welth restored to quiet by the mighty power of god.
THe secret flame that made all Troy so hot,
Long did it lurke within the wooden horse.
The machine huge Troyans suspected not,
The guiles of Grekes, nor of their hidden force:
Till in their beds their armed foes them met,
And slew them there, and Troy on fire set.
Then rose the rore of treason round about,
And children could of treason call and cry.
Wiues wroūg their hands, ye hole fired town through out,
when yt they saw their husbands slam them by.
And to the Gods and to the skies they shright,
Uengeance to take for treason of that night.
Then was the name of Simon spred and blowne,
And wherunto his filed tale did tend.
The secret startes and metinges then were knowne
•
Of Troyan traitours tending to this end.
And euery man could say as in that case:
Treason in Anthenor and Eneas,
But all to long such wisdome was in store,
To late came out the name of traytour than,
When that their king the aultar lay before
Slain there alas, that worthy noble man.
Ilium on flame, the matrons crying out,
And all the stretes in streames of blood about.
But such was fate, or such was simple trust,
That king and all should thus to ruine roon,
For if our stories certein be and iust:
There were that saw such mischief should be doon
And warning gaue which compted were in sort,
As sad deuines in matter but of sport.
Such was the time and so in state it stoode,
Troy trembled not so careles were the men.
They brake ye wals, they toke this hors for good,
They demed Grekes gone, they thought al surety then.
Whē treason start & set the town on fire,
And stroied Troians & gaue Grekes their desire.
Like to our time, wherin hath broken out,
The hidden harme that we suspected least.
Wombed within our walles and realme about,
As Grekes in Troy were in the Grekish beast.
Whose tempest great of harmes and of armes,
We thought not on, till it did noyse our harmes.
Then felt we well the piller of our welth,
How sore it shoke, then saw we euen at hand,
Ruin how she rusht to confound our helth,
Our realme and vs with force of mighty band.
And then we heard how treason loud did rore:
Mine is the rule, and raigne I will therefore.
Of treason marke the nature and the kinde,
A face it beares of all humilitie.
Truth is the cloke, and frendship of the minde,
And depe it goes, and worketh secretly,
Like to a mine that creepes so nye the wall,
Till out breakes sulphure, and oreturneth all.
But he on hye that secretly beholdes
The state of thinges: and times hath in his hand,
And pluckes in plages, and them againe vnsoldes.
And hath apointed realmes to fall and stand:
He in the
••
ost of all this sturre and rout,
Gan bend his browes, and moue him self about.
As who should say, and are ye minded so?
And thus to those, and whom you know I loue.
Am I such one as none of you do know?
Or know ye not that I sit here aboue,
And in my handes do hold your welth and wo,
To raise you now, and now to ouerthrow?
Then thinke that I, as I haue set you all,
In places where your honours lay and fame:
So now my selfe shall giue you eche your fall,
Where eche of you shall haue your worthy shame.
And in their handes I will your fall shalbe,
Whose fall in yours you sought so sore to see.
Whose wisdome hye as h
•
the same foresaw,
So is it wrought, such lo his iustice is.
He is the Lord of man and of his law,
Praise therfore now his mighty name in this,
And make accompt that this our case doth stand:
As Israell free, from wicked Pharaos hand.
The louer to his loue
•
hauing forsaken him, and betaken her self to an other.
THe bird that somtime built within my brest,
And there as then chief succour did receiue:
Hath now els where built her another nest,
And of the old hath taken quite her leaue.
To you mine oste that harbour mine old guest,
Of such a one, as I can now conceiue,
Sith that in change her choise dorh chiefe consist,
The hauke may c
•
eck, that now comes fair to first.
The louer sheweth that in dissembling his loue openly he kepeth secret his secret good will.
NOt like a God came Iupiter to woo,
When he the faire Europa sought vnto.
An other forme his godly wisdome toke,
Such in effect as writeth Ouides boke.
As on the earth no liuing wight can tell.
That mighty Ioue did loue the quene so well.
For had he come in golden garmentes bright,
Or so as men mought haue starde on the sight:
Spred had it bene both through earth and ayre,
That Ioue had loued the lady Europa fayre.
And then had some bene angry at the hart,
And some againe as ielous for their part.
Both which to stop, this gentle god toke minde,
To shape him selfe into a brutish kinde.
To such a kinde as hid what state he was,
And yet did bring him what he sought to passe.
To both their ioyes, to both their comfort soon,
Though knowen to none, til al the thing was don
In which attempt if I the like assay,
To you to whom I do my selfe bewray:
Let it suffice that I do seke to be,
Not counted yours, and yet for to be he.
The louer disceiued by his loue repenteth him of the true loue he bare her.
I That Ulysses yeres haue spent,
To finde Penelope:
Finde well that folly I haue ment,
To seke that was not so.
Since Troylous case hath caused me,
From Cressed for to go.
And to bewa
•
l
•
Ulysses truth,
In seas and stormy skies,
Of wanton will and raging youth,
Which me haue tossed sore:
From Scilla to Caribdis cliues,
Upon the drowning shore.
Where I sought
〈◊〉
, there found I hap,
From daunger vnto death:
Much like the Mouse that treades the trap,
In hope to finde her foode,
And bites the bread that stops her breath,
So in like case I stoode.
Till now repentance hasteth him
To further me so fast:
That where I sanke, there now I swim,
And haue both streame and winde:
And lucke as good if it may last,
As any man may finde.
That where I perished, safe I passe,
And finde no perill there:
But stedy stone, no ground of glasse,
Now am I sure to saue,
And not to flete from feare to feare,
Such anker hold I haue.
The louer hauing enioyed his loue, humbly thanketh the god of loue: and auowing his hart onely to her faithfully promiseth, vtterly to forsake all other.
THou Cupide God of loue, whom Uenus thralles do serue,
I yeld thee thankes vpon my knees, as thou dost well deserue.
By thee my wished ioyes haue shaken of despaire,
And all my storming dayes be past, and weather waxeth faire.
By thee I haue receiued a thousand ttmes more ioy,
Then euer Paris did possesse, when Helen was in Troy.
By thee haue I that hope, for which I longde so sore,
And when I th
••
ke vpon the same, my hart doth leap therefore.
By thee my h
•••
y doubtes and trembling feares are fled,
And now my wits yt troubled wer, with plesant thoughts are fed.
For dread is banisht cleane, wherein I stoode full oft,
And doubt to speake that lay full low, is lifted now aloft.
With armes bespred abrode, with opende handes and hart.
I haue enioyed the fruite of hope, reward for all my smart.
The seale and signe of loue, the key of trouth and trust,
The pledge of pure good will haue I, which makes the louers iust
Such grace sins I haue found, to one I me betake,
The rest of Uenus deelinges all, I vtterly forsake.
And to performe this vow, I bid mine eyes beware,
That they no straungers do salute, nor on their beauties stare.
My wits I warn ye all from this time forth take hede,
That ye no wanton toyes deuise my fansies new to fede.
Mine cares by ye shit vp, and heare no womans voyce,
That may procure me once to smile, or make my hart reioyce.
My fete full slow be ye and lame when ye should moue,
To bring my body any where to seke an other loue,
Let all the Gods aboue, and wicked sprites below,
And euery wight in earth acuse and curse me where I go:
If I do false my faith in any point or case,
A sodein vengeance fall on me, I aske no better grace.
Away then sily rime, present mine earnest faith,
Unto my lady where she is, and marke
•
hou what she saith.
And if she welcome thee, and lay thee in her lap,
Spring thou for ioy, thy master hath his most desired hap.
Totus mundus in maligno positus.
COmplaine we may: much is amisse:
Hope is nye gone to haue redresse:
These daies ben ill, nothing sure is:
Kinde hart is wrapt in heauinesse.
The sterne is broke: the saile is rent:
The ship is geuen to winde and waue:
All helpe is gone: the rocke present.
That will be lost, what man can saue?
Thinges hard, therefore are now refused.
Labour in youth is thought but vaine:
Duty by (will not) is excused.
Remoue the stop the way is plaine.
Learning is lewd, and held a foole:
Wisdome is sh
•
nt counted to raile:
Reason is banisht out of schoole:
The blinde is bold, and wordes preuaile,
Power, without care, stepeth at ease:
Will, without law, runth where he list:
Might without mercy can not please.
A wise man saith not, had I wist.
When power lackes care and forceth not:
When care is feable and may not:
When might is slouthfull and will not:
Wedes may grow where good herbes cannot.
Take wrong away, law nedeth not:
For law to wrong is bridle and paine.
Take feare away, law booteth not.
To striue gainst streame, it is but vaine.
Wyly is witty: brainsicke is wise:
Trouth is folly: and might is right:
Wordes are reason: and reason is lies:
The bad is good: darknesse is light.
Wrong to redresse, wisdome dare not.
Hardy is happy, and ruleth most.
wilfull is witlesse, and careth not,
Which end go first, till all be lost.
Few right do loue, and wrong refuse.
Pleasure is sought in euery state.
Liking is lust: there is no chuse.
The low geue to the hye checke mate.
Order is broke in thinges of weight.
Measure and meane who doth not flee?
Two thinges preuaile: money, and sleight.
To seme is better then to be.
The bowle is round, and doth downe slide,
Eche one thrusteth: none doth vphold.
A fall failes not, where blinde is guide.
The stay is gone: who can him hold?
Folly and falshed prayeth apace.
Trouth vnder bushell is faine to crepe.
Flattry is treble, pride singes the bace.
The meane the best part scant doth pepe.
This firy plage the world infectes.
To vertue and trouth it geues no rest:
Mens harts are burnde with sundry sectes,
And to eche man his way is best.
With floods and stormes thus be we tost,
Awake good Lord, to thee we crye.
Our ship is almost sonk and lost.
Thy mercy help our miserye.
Mans strength is weake: mans wit is dull:
Mans reason is blinde. These thinges tamend,
Thy hand (O Lord) of might is full,
Awake betime, and helpe vs send.
In thee we trust, and in no wight:
Saue vs as chickens vnder the hen.
Our crokednesse thou canst make right,
Glory to thee for aye. Amen.
The wise trade of lyfe.
DO all your dedes by good aduise,
Cast in your minde alwaies the end.
Wit bought is of to dere a price.
The tried, trust, and take as frend,
For frendes I finde there be but two:
Of countenance, and of effect.
Of thone sort there are inow:
But few ben of the tother sect.
Beware also the venym swete
Of crafty wordes and flattery.
For to deceiue they be most mete,
That best can play hypocrisy.
Let wisdome rule your dede and thought:
So shall your workes be wisely wrought.
That few wordes shew wisdome, and work much quiet.
WHo list to lead a quiet life,
Who list to rid him self from strife:
Geue eare to me, marke what I say,
Remember wel, beare it away.
Holde backe thy tong at meat and meale,
Speake but few wordes, bestrow them well.
By wordes the wise thou shalt espye,
By wordes a foole sone shalt thou trye.
A wise man can his tong make cease,
A foole can neuer holde his peace,
Who loueth rest of wordes beware.
Who loueth wordes, is sure of care.
For wordes oft many haue ben shent:
For silence kept none hath repent.
Two eares, one tong onely thou hast,
Mo thinges to heare then wordes to wast.
A foole in no wise can forbeare:
He hath two tonges and but one eare.
Be sure thou kepe a stedfast braine,
Lest that thy wordes put thee to paine.
Words wisely set are worth much gold:
The price of rashnesse is sone told.
If time require wordes to be had,
To hold thy peace I count thee mad.
Talke onely of nedefull verities:
Striue not for trifling fantasies.
With sobernesse the truth poult out,
Affirme nothing wherin is dout.
Who to this lore will take good hede,
And spend no mo words then he nede,
Though he be a fole and haue no braine,
Yet shall h
•
a name of wisdome gaine
Speake while time is or hold thee still.
Words out of time do oft things spyll.
Say well and do well are thinges twaine,
Twise blest is he in whom both raigne.
The complaint of a hot woer, delayed with doutfull cold answers.
A Kinde of coale is as men say,
Which haue assaied the same:
That in the fire will wast away,
And outward cast no flame.
Unto my self may I compare,
These coales that so consume:
Where nought is sene though men
〈◊〉
••
are
•
In stede of flame but fume.
They say also to make them burne;
Cold water must be cast:
Or els to ashes will they turne,
And half to sinder, wast.
As this is wonder for to se,
Cold water warme the fire.
So hath your coldnesse caused me,
To burne in my desire.
And as this water cold of kinde,
Can cause both heat and cold,
And can these coales both breake and binde,
To burne as I haue told.
So can your tong of frosen yse,
From whence cold answers come:
Both coole the fire and fire entice,
To burne me all and some.
Like to the corne that standes on stake,
Which mowen in winter sunne:
Full faire without, within is black:
Such heat therin doth runne.
By force of fire this water cold,
Hath bred to burne within,
Euen so am I, that heat doth hold,
which cold did first begyn.
which heat is stint when I do striue,
To haue some ease sometime:
But flame a fresh I do reuiue,
Wherby I cause to clime.
In stede of smoke a sighing breath:
with sparkes of sprinkled teares.
That I should liue this liuyng death,
Which wastes and neuer weares.
The answer.
YOur borrowd meane to moue your mone, of fume
•
outen flame
Being set from smithy smokyng coale: ye seme so by the same.
To shew, what such coales vse is taught by such as haue assayd,
As I, that most do wish you well, am so right well apayd.
That you haue such a lesson learnd, how either to maintaine,
Your fredome of vnkindled coale, vpheaped all in vaine:
Or how most frutefully to frame, with worthy workmans art,
That cunnyng pece may passe there fro, by help of heated hart.
Out of the forge wherin the fume of sighes doth mount aloft
•
That argues present force of fire to make the metall soft,
To yelde vnto the hammer hed, as best the workman likes.
That thiron glowy
•
g after blast in time and temper strikes.
Wherin the vse of water is, as you do seme to say,
To quenche no flame, ne hinde. heat, ne yet to wast away:
But, that which better is for you
•
and more deliteth me,
To saue you from the sodain waste, vaine cinderlike to be.
Which lastyng better li
•
es in loue, as you your semble ply.
Then doth the bauen blase, that flames and fleteth by and by.
Sith then you know eche vse, wherin your coale may be applide:
Either to lie and last on hoord, in open ayre to bide,
wi
•
houten vse to gather fat by fallyng of the raines,
That makes the pitchy iucye to grow, by sokyng in his veines,
Or lye on fornace in the forge, as is his vse of right,
Wherin the water trough may serue, and enteryeld her might
By worke of smithes both hand and hed a cūnyng key to make,
Or other pece as cause shall craue and bid him vndertake:
Do as you deme most fit to do, and wherupon may grow,
Such ioy to you, as I may ioy your ioyfull case to know.
An epitaph made by. w. G. lying on his death bed, to be set vpon his owne tombe.
LO here lieth G. vnder the ground
Among the gredy wormes,
Which in his life time neuer found
But strife and sturdy stormes.
And namely through a wicked wife,
As to the wor
•
d apperes:
She was the shortnyng of his life
By many dayes and yeres.
He might haue liued long, god wot:
His yer
•
s, they were but yong:
Of wicked w
•
ues this is the lot,
To kill with spitefull tong.
Who
•
memory shall still remayne
In writi
•
g here with me,
That men may know whom she hath slayne,
And say this
•
ame is she.
An answer.
IF that thy wicked wife had spon the thread,
And were the weauer of thy wo:
Then art thou double happy to be dead,
As happely dispatched so.
If rage did causelesse cause thee to complayne,
And mad moode mouer of thy mone:
If frensy forced on thy testy braine:
Then blist is she to liue alone.
So, whether were the ground of others grefe,
Because so doutfull was the dome:
Now death hath brought your payne a right relefe,
And blessed be ye both become:
She, that she liues no longer bound to beate
The rule of such a froward hed:
Thou, that thou liuest no lenger faine to feare
The restlesse ramp that thou hadst wed,
Be thou as glad therfore that thou art gone,
As she is glad she doth avide:
For so ye be a sonder, all is one:
A badder match can not betide.
An epitaph of maister Henry williams.
FRom worldly wo the mede of misbelefe,
From
••
use of care that leadeth to lament,
From vaine delight the ground of greater grefe,
From feare for frendes, from matter to repent,
From painefull pangs la
•
t sorowe that is sent,
From dred of death
•
ith death doth set vs free:
With it the better pleased should we be.
This lothsome life where likyng we do finde,
Thencreaser of our crimes, doth vs bereue
Our blisse that alway ought to be in minde.
This wily world whiles here we breath aliue,
And flesh our fayned fo, do stifly striue
To flatter vs assuryng here the ioy,
Where we, alas, do finde but great annoy.
Untolde heapes though we haue of worldly wealth,
Though we possesse the sea and frutefull ground,
Strength, beauty, knowledge, and vnharmed health,
Though at a wish all pleasure do abound.
It were but vaine, no frendship can be found,
when death assalteth with his dredfull dart.
No raunsome can stay the home hastyng hart.
And sith thou cut the liues line in twaine,
Of Henry, sonne to sir Iohn Williams knight,
whose manly hart and prowes none could staine.
Whose godly life to vertue was our light,
Whose worthy fame shall florish long by right.
Though in this life so cruell mightest thou be,
His spirite in heauen shall triumph ouer thee.
An other of the same.
STay gentle frend that passest by,
And learne the lore that leadeth all:
From whence we come with hast to hye,
To liue, to dye, and stand to fall.
And learne that strength and lusty age,
That wealth and want of worldly woe,
Can not withstand the mighty rage,
Of death our best vnwelcome foe.
For hopefull youth had hight me health.
My lust to last till time to dye,
And fortune found my vertue wealth:
But yet for all that here I lye.
Learne also this, to ease thy minde:
when death on corps hath wrought his spite,
A time of triumph shalt thou finde,
with me to scorne him in delight.
For one day shall we mete againe,
Maugre deathes dart in life to dwell.
Then will I thanke thee for thy paine,
Now marke my wordes and fare thou well.
Against women, either good or bad.
A Man may liue thrise Nestors life,
Thrise wander out Ulisses race:
Yet neuer finde Ulisses wife.
Such change hath chanced in this case.
Lesse age will serue than Paris had,
Small pein (if none be small inough)
To finde good store of Helenes trade.
Such sap the rote doth yelde the bough.
For one good wife Ulisses slew
A worthy knot of gentle blood:
For one
•
yll wife Grece ouerthrew
The towne of Troy: Sith bad and good
Bring mischief: Lord let be thy will,
To kepe me free from either yll.
An answer.
THe vertue of Ulisses wife
Doth liue, though she hath ceast her race,
And farre surmountes old Nestors life:
But now in moe than then it was.
Such change is chanced in this case.
Ladies now liue in other trade:
Farre other Helenes now we see,
Than she whom Troyan Paris had.
As vertue fedes the roote, so be
The sap and rote of bough and tye.
Ulisses rage, not his good wife,
Spilt gentle blood. Not Helenes face,
But Paris eye did raise the strife,
That did the Troyan buildyng race.
Thus sith ne good, ne bad do yll
•
Them all, O Lord maintain my wyll
•
To serue with all my force and skill.
Against a gentil woman by whom he was refused.
TO false report and flying fame,
whilist my minde gaue credit light,
Beleuyng that her bolstred name
Had stuffe to shew that praise did hight.
I finde well now I did mistake,
Upon report my ground to make.
I heard it said such one was she,
As rare to finde as parragon,
Of lowly chere, of hart so free,
As her for bounty could passe none.
Such one were fair though forme and face,
Were meane to passe in second place,
I sought it neare, and thinkyng to finde
Report and dede both to agree:
But chaunge had tried her suttle minde:
Of force I was enforced to see,
That she in dede was nothing so:
Which made my will my hart forgo.
For she is such, as geason none.
And what she most may boast to be:
I finde her matches mo then one.
What nede she so to deale with me?
Masteryng face, with scornefull hart,
So yll reward for good desert
•
I will repent that I haue done,
To ende so well the losse is small:
I lost her loue, that lesse hath won.
To vaunt she had me as her thrall.
What though a gillot sent that not
•
,
By cocke and pye I meant it not.
The answere.
WHom fansy forced first to loue.
Now frensy forceth for
•
o hate:
whose minde erst madnesse gan to moue
•
Inconstance causeth to abate.
No minde of meane, dut heat of braine
Bred light loue: like heate,
•
ate againe
What hurld your hart in so great heat
•
Fansy forced by fayned same.
Belike that she was light to get
•
For if that vertue and good name
Moued your minde, why changed your will,
Sithe vertue the cause abideth still.
Such, Fame reported her to be
As rare it were to finde her peere,
For vertue and for honestie,
For her free hart and lowly cheere.
This laud had lied if you had sped,
And fame bene false that hath ben spred.
Sith she hath so kept her good name.
Such praise of life and giftes of grace,
As brute self blusheth for to blame,
Such fame as fame feares to deface:
You sclaunder not but make it plaine,
That you blame brute of brutish traine.
If you haue found it looking neere,
Not as you toke the brute to be.
Bylike you ment by lowly cheere,
Bountie and hart that you call free,
But lewd lightnesse easy to frame,
To winne your will against her name.
Nay she may deme your deming so,
A marke of madnesse in his kinde,
Such causeth not good name to go:
As your fond folly sought to finde.
For brute of kinde bent ill to blase,
Alway sayth ill, but forced by cause.
The mo there be, such as is she,
More should be gods thank for his grace.
The more is her ioy it to see.
Good should by geason, earne no place,
Nor nomber make nought, that is good.
Your strange lusting hed wants a hoode.
Her dealing greueth you (say ye)
Byside your labour lost in vaine.
Her dealing was not as we see,
Sclaunder the end of your great paine,
Ha lewd lieng lips, and hatefull hart,
What canst thou desire in such desart.
Ye will repent, and right for done.
Ye haue a dede deseruing shame.
From reasons race farre haue ye ronne.
Hold your rayling, kepe your tong tame.
Her loue, ye lye, ye lost it not.
Ye neuer lost that ye neuer got.
She rest ye not your libertie,
She vaunteth not she had your thrall.
If ought haue done it, let it lye,
On rage that rest you wit and all.
What though a varlets tale you tell:
By cock and pye you do it well.
The louer dredding to moue his sute for dout of deniall, accuseth all women of disdaine and ficklenesse.
TO walke on doutfull ground, where daunger is vnsene,
Doth double men that carelesse be in depe dispaire I wene.
For as the blinde doth feare, what footing he shall finde:
So doth the wise before he speake, mistrust the straungers minde.
For he that blontly runnes, may light among the breers,
And so be put vnto his plunge where danger least apperes:
The bird that selly foole, doth warne vs to beware,
Who lighteth not on euery bush, he dreadeth so the snare.
The Mouse that shons the trap, doth shew what harme doth lye:
Within the swete betraying bait, that oft disceiues the eye.
The fish auoydes the hooke, though hunger bids him bite,
And houereth still about the worme, whereon is his delite.
If birdes and beastes can see, where their vndoing lies:
How should a mischief scape our heades, yt haue both wit & eyes?
What madnesse may be more, then plow the barreyn fielde
•
Or any frutefull wordes to sow, to eares that are vnwild.
They heare and than mislike, they like and then they lothe,
They hate, thei loue, thei scorn, thei praise, yea sure thei cā do both
We see what falles they haue, that clime on trees vnknowne:
As they that trust to rotten bowes, must nedes be ouerthrowne.
A smart in silence kept, doth ease the hart much more,
Than for to playn where is no salue, for to recure the sore.
Wherfore my grief I hide, within a holow hart:
Untill the smoke thereof be spred, by flaming of the smart.
An answere
TO trust the fayned face, to rue on forced teares,
To credit finely forged tales, wherin there oft appeares
And breathes as from the brest a smoke of kindled smart,
Where onely lurkes a depe deceit within the hollow hart,
Betrayes the simple soule, whom plaine deceitlesse minde
Taught not to feare that in it selfe, it selfe did neuer finde.
Not euery trickling teare doth argue inward paine:
Not euery sigh doth surely shew the sigher not to faine:
Not euery smoke doth proue a presence of the fire:
Not euery glistring geues the gold, that gredy folke desire:
Not euery wayling word is drawen out of the depe:
Not grief for want of graunted grace enforceth all to wepe.
Oft malice makes the minde to shed the boyled brine:
And enuies humor oft vnlades by conduites of the eyen.
Oft craft can cause the man to make a seming show,
Of hart with dolour all distreined, where grief did neuer grow.
As cursed Crocodile most cruelly can tole,
With truthlesse teares, vnto his death, the silly pitying soule.
Blame neuer those therfore, that wisely can beware
The guilefull man, that sutly sayth himselfe to dread the snare.
Blame not the stopped eares against the Syrenes song:
Blame not the minde not moued wt mone of falsheds flowing tōg.
If guile do guide your wit by silence so to speake,
By craft to craue and faine by fraude the cause yt you wold break.
Great harme your suttle soule shall suffer for the same:
And mighty loue will wreke the wrong, so cloked with his name.
But we, whom you haue warnde, this lesson learne by you:
To know the tree before we clime, to trust no rotten bowe,
To view the limed bushe, to looke afore we light,
To shunne the perilous bayted hooke, and vse a further sight.
As do the mouse, the birde, the fish, by samply fitly show.
That wily wits and ginnes of men do worke the simples wo:
So, simple sithe we are, and you so suttle be,
God help the Mouse, the birde, the fish, & vs your sleightes to
••
e.
The louer complaineth his fault, that with vngentle writing had displeased his lady.
AH loue how waiward is his wit what pāges do perce his brest
Whom thou to wait vpon thy will hast reued of his rest.
The light, the darke, the sunne, the mone, the day & eke the night,
His dayly dieng life, him self, he hateth in despight,
Sith furst he light to looke on her that holdeth him in thrall,
His mouing eyen his moued wit he curseth hart and all,
From hungry hope to pining feare eche hap doth hurle his hart,
From panges of plaint to fits of fume from aking into smart.
Eche moment so doth change his ch
•
re not with recourse of ease,
But with sere sortes of sorrowes still he worketh as the seas.
That turning windes not calme returnde rule in vnruly wise,
As if their holdes of hilles vphurld they brasten out to rise.
And puffe away the power that is vnto their king assignde
To pay that sithe their prisonment they deme to be behinde.
So doth the passions long represt within the wofull wight,
Breake downe the banks of all his wits & out they gushen quite.
To rere vp rores now they be free from reasons rule and stay,
And h
•
dlong hales thunruled race his quiet quite away.
No measure hath he of his ruth, no reason in his rage,
No bottom groūd where stayes his grief, thus weares away his age
In wishing wants, in wayling woes. Death doth he dayly call,
To bring release when of relief he seeth no hope at all.
Thence comes that oft in depe despeire to rise to better state.
On heauen and heauenly lampes he layeth the faute of al his fate.
On God and Gods decreed dome cryeth out with cursing breath,
Eche thing that gaue and saues him life he damneth of his death.
The wōbe him bare, ye brests he suckt, ech star yt with their might.
Their secret succour brought to bring the wretch to worldly light
Yea that to his soules perile is most haynous harme of all,
And craues the cruellest reuenge that may to man befall:
Her he blasphemes in whom it lieth in present as she please,
To dampne him downe to depth of hell, or plant in heauens case.
Such rage constrainde my strained hart to guide thunhappy hand
That sent vnsitting blots to her on whom my life doth stand.
But graunt O God that he for them may beare the worthy blame
Whom I do in my depe distresse finde guilty of the same,
Euen that blinde boy that blindly guides the fautles to their fall,
That laughes when they lament that he hath throwen into thral.
Or Lord, saue louring lookes of her, what penance els thou please
So her contented will be wonne I count it all mine ease.
And thou on whō doth hang my will, with hart, with soul & care,
With life and all that life may haue of well or euell fare:
Graunt grace to him that grates therfore with sea of saltish brine
By extreme heat of boylyng brest distilled through his eyen.
And with thy fancy render thou my self to me againe,
That dayly then we duely may employ a painelesse paine.
To yelde and take the ioyfull frutes that
•
erty loue doth lend
•
To them that meane by honest meanes to come to happy end.
The louer wounded of Cupide, wisheth he had rather ben st
••
ken by death.
THe blinded boy that bendes the bow.
To make with dint of double wound:
The stowtest state to stoupe and know:
The cruell craft that I haue found.
With death I would had chopt a change,
To
•
orow as by bargain made:
Ech others shaft when he did range,
With restlesse rouyng to inuade.
Thunthralled mindes of simple wightes,
Whose giltlesse ghostes deserued not:
To fele such fall of their delightes,
Such panges as I haue past God wot.
Then both in new vnwonted wise,
Should death deserue a better name,
Not (as tofore hath bene his guise)
Of crueltie to beare the blame.
But contrary be counted kinde,
In lendyng life and sparyng space:
For sicke to rise and seke to finde,
A way to wish their weary race
To draw to some desired end,
Their long and lothed life to rid.
And so to fele how like a frend,
Before the bargain made he did.
And loue should either bring againe,
To wounded wightes their owne desire:
A welcome end of pinyng payne,
As doth their cause of ruthe require:
Or when he meanes the quiet man,
A harme to hasten him to grefe:
A better dede he should do then,
With borrowd dart to geue relefe.
That both the sicke well demen may,
He brought me rightly my request:
And eke the other sort may say,
He wrought me truely for the best.
So had not fancy forced me,
To beare a brun
•
of greater wo:
Then leauing such a life may be,
The ground where onely grefes do grow.
Unlucky likyng linkt my hart,
In forged hope and forced feare:
That oft I wisht the other dart,
Had rather perced me as neare.
A fayned trust, constrayned care,
Most loth to lack, most hard to finde:
In sunder so my iudgement tare,
That quite was quiet out of minde.
Absent in absence of mine ease,
Present in presence of my paine:
The woes of want did much displease,
The sighes I sought did greue againe.
Oft grefe that boyled in my brest,
Hath fraught my face with saltish teares
•
Pronouncyng proues of mine vnrest,
Whereby my passed paine appeares.
My sighes full often haue supplied,
That faine with wordes I wold haue said:
My voice was stopt my tong was tyed,
My wits with wo were ouerwayd.
With tremblyng soule and humble chere
•
Oft grated I for graunt of grace:
On hope that bounty might be there,
Where beauty had so pight her place.
At length I found, that I did fere,
How I had labourde all to losse,
My self had ben the carpenter,
That framed me the cruell crosse.
Of this to come if dout alone,
Though bl
•
nt with trust of better spede:
So oft hath moued my minde to mone,
So oft hath made my hart to blede.
What shall I say of it in dede,
Now hope is gone mine olde relefe:
And I enforced all to fede,
Upon the frutes of bitter grefe?
Of womens changeable will.
I Wold I found not as I fele,
Such changyng chere of womens will,
By fickle flight of fortunes whele,
By kinde or custome, neuer still.
So shold I finde no fault to lay,
On fortune for their mouyng minde,
So should I know no cause to say
This change to chance by course of kinde.
So should not loue so work my wo,
To make death surgeant for my sore,
So should their wittes not wander so,
So should I reck the lesse therfore.
The louer complayneth the losse of his ladye.
NO ioy haue I, but liue in heauinesse,
My dame of price bereft by fortunes cruelnesse,
My hap is turned to vnhappinesse,
Unhappy I am vnlesse I finde relesse.
My pastime past, my youthlike yeres are gone,
My mouthes of mirth, my glistring daies of gladsomnesse:
My times of triumph turned into mone.
Unhappy I am vnlesse I finde relesse.
My wonted winde to chaunt my cherefull chaunce,
Doth sigh that song somtime the balades of my lesse:
My sobbes, my sore and sorow do aduaunce.
Unhappy I am vnlesse I finde relesse.
I mourne my mirth for grefe that it is gone,
I mourne my mirth wherof my musing mindefulnesse:
Is ground of greater grefe that growes theron,
Unhappy I am vnlesse I finde relesse.
No ioy haue I: for fortune frowardly:
Hath bent her browes hath put her hand to cruelnesse:
Hath rest my dame, constrayned me to crye,
Unhappy I am vnlesse I finde relesse.
Of the golden meane.
THe wisest way, thy bote, in waue and winde to guie,
Is neither still the trade of middle streame to trie:
Ne (warely shunnyng wrecke by wether) aye to me,
To presse vpon the perillous shore,
Both clenely flees he silthe: ne wonnes a wretched wight.
In carlish coate: and carefull court a
•
e thrall to spite,
With port of proud astate he leues: who doth delight,
Of golden meane to hold the lore.
Stormes rifest rende the sturdy stout pineapple t
•
e.
Of lofty ruing towers the fals the feller be.
Most fers doth lightenyng light, where furthest we do se.
The hilles the valey to forsake.
well furnisht brest to bide eche chanses changing chear,
In woe hath chearfull hope, in weal hath warefull fear,
One self Ioue winter makes with lothfull lokes appear,
That can by course the same as
•
ake.
What if into mishap thy case now casten be?
It forceth not such forme of luck to last to thee.
Not alway bent is Phebus bow: his harpe and he,
Ceast siluer sound sometime doth raise.
In hardest hap vse helpe of hardy hopefull hart.
Seme bold to beare the brunt of fortune ouerthwart.
Eke wisely when forewinde to full breathes on thy part,
Swage swellyng saile, and doubt decayes.
The praise of a true frende.
WHo so that wisely weyes the profite and the price,
Of thinges wherin delight by worth is wont to rise.
Shall finde no iewell is so rich ne yet so rare,
That with the frendly hart in value may compare.
What other wealth to man by fortune may befall,
But fortunes changed chere may reue a man of all.
A frend no wracke of wealth, no cruell cause of wo,
Can force his frendly faith vnfrendly to forgo.
If fortune frendly fawne, and lend thee welthy store,
Thy frendes conioyned ioy doth make thy ioy the more.
If frowardly she frown and driue thee to distresse,
His ayde releues thy ruthe, and makes thy sorow lesse.
Thus fortunes pleasant frutes by frendes encreased be,
The bitter sharp and sowre by frendes alayde to thee.
That when thou doest reioyce, then doubled is thy ioy,
And eke in cause of care, the lesse is thy anoy.
Aloft if thou do liue, as one appointed here,
A stately part on stage of worldly state to bere:
Thy frende as only free from fraud will thee aduise,
To rest within the rule of mean as do the wise.
He seeketh to foresee the peril of thy fall.
He findeth out thy faultes and warnes thee of them all.
Thee, not thy luck he loues, what euer be thy case,
He is thy faithfull frend and thee he doth embrace.
If churlish cheare of chance haue thrown thee into thrall,
And that thy nede aske ayde for to releue thy fall:
In him thou secret trust assured art to haue,
And succour not to seke, before that thou can craue.
Thus is thy frende to thee the comfort of thy paine,
The stayer of thy state, the doubler of thy gaine.
In wealth and wo thy frend, an other self to thee,
Such man to man a God, the prouerb sayth to be.
As welth will bring thee frendes in louring wo to proue,
So wo shall yeld thee frendes in laughing wealth to loue.
With wisedome chuse thy frend, with vertue him retaine:
Let vertue be the ground, so shall it not be vaine.
The louer lamenteth other to haue the frutes of his seruice.
SOme men would think of right to haue,
For their true meaning some reward,
But while that I do cry and craue:
I see that other be preferd,
I gape for that I am debard.
I fare as doth the hound at hatch:
The worse I spede; the lenger I watch.
My wastefull will is tried by trust:
My fond fansie is mine abuse.
For that I would refraine my lust:
For mine auaile I cannot chuse,
A will, and yet no power to vse.
A will, no will by reason iust,
Sins my will is at others lust.
They eate the hony, I hold the hyue.
I sow the sede, they reape the corne.
I waste, they winne, I draw they driue.
Theirs is the thanke, mine is the scorne.
I seke, they spede, in waste my winde is worne,
I gape, they get, and gredely I snatch:
Till wurse I spede, the lenger I watch.
I fast, they fede: they drink, I thurst.
They laugh, I wayle: they ioy, I mourne.
They gayne, I lose: I haue the wurst.
They whole, I sicke: they cold, I burne.
They leape, I lye: they slepe, I tosse and turne.
I would, they may: I craue, they haue at will.
That helpeth them, lo, cruelty doth me kill.
Of the sutteltie of crafty louers.
SUch waiward waies haue some whē folly stirres their braines
To fain & plain full oft of loue, when lest they fele his paines.
And for to shew a griefe such craft haue they in store,
That they can halt and lay a salue wheras they fele no sore.
As hound vnto the foote, or dog vnto the bow,
So are they made to vent her out, whom bent to loue they know.
That if I should discribe one hundred of their driftes,
Two hūdred wits beside mine owne I should put to their shiftes
No woodman better knowes how for to lodge his dere,
Nor shipman on the sea that more hath skill to guide the stere.
Nor beaten dogge to herd can warer chose his game.
Nor scholeman to his fansie can a scholer better frame.
Then one of these which haue old Ouids arte in vre,
Can seke the wayes vnto their minde a woman to allure.
As round about a hyue the Bees do swarme alway,
So roūd about the house they prease wherin they seke their pray.
And whom they so besege, it is a wonderous thing,
What crafty engins to assault these wily warriers bring.
The eye as scout and watch to stirre both to and fro,
Doth serue to stale her he
•
e & there where she doth come and go.
The tong doth pleade for right as herauld of the hart:
And both the handes as oratours do serue to point their part.
So shewes the countenance then with these fowre to agree,
As though in witnes with the rest, it would hers sworne be.
But if she then mistrust it would turne blacke to white,
For that the woorrier lokes most smoth whē he wold fainest bite.
Then wit as counsellour a helpe for this to finde:
Straight makes the hand as secretair forthwt to write his minde.
And so the letters straight embassadours are made,
To treate in haste for to procure her to a better trade.
Wherin if she do thinke all this is but a shewe,
Or but a subtile masking cloke to hide a crafty shrewe:
Then come they to the larme, then shew they in the fielde,
Then muster they in colours strange, that waies to make her yeld
Then shoote they batry of, then compasse they her in,
At tilt and turney oft they striue this selly soule to win.
Then sound they on their lutes, then strain they forth their song.
Then romble they with instrumentes to lay her quite a long.
Then borde they her with giftes, then do they woo and watch.
Then night and day they labour hard this simple hold to catch,
As pathes within a wood, or turnes with in a mase:
So then they shew of wiles & craftes they can a thousand wayes
•
Of the vanitie of mans lyfe.
VAine is the fleting welth,
Whereon the world stayes:
Sithe stalking time by priuy stelth,
Encrocheth on our dayes.
And elde which creepeth fast,
To taynt
•
vs with her wounde:
Will turne eche blysse vnto a blast,
Which lasteth but a stounde.
Of youth the lusty floure,
Which whylome stoode in price:
Shall vanish quite within an houre,
As fire consumes the ice.
Where is become that wight,
For whose sake Troy towne:
Withstode the grekes till ten yeres fight,
Had rasde their walles adowne.
Did not the wormes consume,
Her caryon to the dust?
Did dreadfull death forbeare his fume
For beauty, pride, or lust?
The louer not regarded in earnest sute, being become wiser, refuseth her profred loue.
DO way your phisske I faint no more,
The salue you sent it comes to late:
You wist well all my grief before,
And what I suffred for your sake.
Hole is my hart I plaine no more,
A new the cure did vndertake:
Wherfore do way you come to late.
For whiles you knew I was your own,
So long in vaine you made me gape,
And though my fayth it were well knowne,
Yet small regard thou toke therat,
But now the blast is ouerblowne.
Of vaine phisicke a salue you shape,
Wherfore do way you come to late.
How long or this haue I bene faine,
To gape for mercy at your gate,
Untill the time I sp
•
de it plaine,
That pitie and you fell at debate.
For my redresse then was I faine:
Your seruice cleane for to forsake.
Wherfore do way you come to late.
For when I brent in endlesse fire,
Who ruled then but cruell hate?
So that vnneth I durst desire
One looke, my feruent heate to slake.
Therfore another doth me hyre,
And all the profer that you make,
Is made in vayne and comes to late.
For when I asked recompence,
With cost you nought to graunt God wat:
Then said disdaine to great expence,
It were for you to graunt me that.
Therfore do way your rere pretence,
That you would binde that derst you brake,
For lo your salue comes all to late.
The complaint of a woman rauished, and also mortally wounded.
A Cruell Tiger all with teeth bebled,
A bloody tirantes hand in eche degre,
A lecher that by wretched lust was led,
(Alas) deflowred my virginitee.
And not contented with this villanie,
Nor with thoutragious terrour of the dede,
With bloody thirst of greater crueltie:
Fearing his haynous gilt should be bewrayed,
By crying death and vengeance openly,
His violent hand forthwith alas he layed
Upon my guilt
•
es sely childe and me,
And like the wretch whom no horrour dismayde,
Drownde in the sinke of depe iniquitie:
Misusing me the mother for a time,
Hath slaine vs both for cloking of his crime.
The louer being made thrall by loue, perceiueth how great a losse is libertye.
AH libertie now haue I learnd to know,
By lacking thee what Iewell I possest,
When I receiued first from Cupids bow
The deadly wound that festreth in my brest.
So farre (alas) forth strayed were mine eyes,
That I ne might refraine them backe, for lo:
They in a moment all earthly thinges despise,
In heauenly sight now are they fixed so.
What then for me but still with mazed sight,
To wonder at that excellence diuine:
Where loue (my freedome hauing in despight)
Hath made me thrall through errour of mine eyen.
For other guerdon hope I not to haue,
My foltring toonge so basheth ought to craue.
The diuers and contrarie passions of the louer.
HOlding my peace alas how loud I crye,
Pressed with hope and dread euen both at ones,
Strayned with death, and yet I cannot dye.
Burning in flame, quaking for cold that grones,
Unto my hope withouten winges I flye.
Pressed with dispayre, that breaketh all my bones.
Walking as if I were, and yet am not.
Fayning with mirth, most inwardly with mones.
Hard by my helpe, vnto my health not nye.
Mids of the calme my ship on rocke it rones.
I serue vnbound, fast fettred yet I lye.
In stede of milke that fede on marble stones,
My most will is that I do espye:
That workes my ioyes and sorowes both at ones.
In contrairs standeth all my losse and gaine:
And lo the giltlesse causeth all my paine.
The testament of the hawthorne.
I Sely Haw whose hope is past,
In faithfull true and fixed minde:
To her whom that I serued last,
Haue all my ioyefulnes resignde,
Because I know assuredly,
My dying day aprocheth nye.
Dispaired hart the carefull nest,
Of all the sighes I kept in store:
Conuey my carefull corps to rest,
That leaues his ioy for euermore.
And when the day of hope is past,
Geue vp thy sprite and sigh the last.
But or that we depart in twaine,
Tell her I loued with all my might:
That though the corps in clay remaine,
Consumed to asshes pale and white.
And though the vitall powres do ceasse,
The sprite shall loue her natrelesse.
And pray my liues lady dere,
During this litle time and space,
That I haue to abiden here,
Not to withdraw her wonted grace,
In recompensing of the paine,
That I shall haue to part in twaine.
And that at least she will withsaue,
To graunt my iust and last request:
When that she shall behold his graue,
That lyeth of lyfe here dispossest,
In record that I once was hers,
To bathe the frosen stone with teares
•
The seruice tree here do I make,
For mine executour and my frende:
That liuing did not me forsake,
Nor will I trust vnto my ende,
To see my body well conueyde,
In ground where that it shalbe layde
•
Tombed vnderneth a goodly Oke,
With Iuy grene that fast is bound:
There this my graue I haue besp
•
ke,
For there my ladies name do sou
•
d:
Beset euen as my te
•
tament tels:
With oken leaues and nothing els,
Grauen wheron sha
•
be exprest,
Here lyeth the body in this place,
Of him that liuing neuer cest
To serue the fayrest that euer was,
The corps is here, the hart he gaue
To her for whom he lieth in graue.
And also set about my hersse,
Two lampes to burne and not to queint,
Which shalbe token, and rehersse
That my good will was neuer spent.
When that my corps was layd alow,
My spirit did sweare to serue no mo.
And if you want of ringing bels,
When that my corps goth into graue:
Repete her name and nothing els,
To whom that I was bonden slaue.
When that my life it shall vnframe,
My sprite shall ioy to heare her name.
With dolefull note and piteous sound,
Wherwith my hart did cleaue in twaine:
With such a song lay me in ground,
My sprite let it with her remayne,
That had the body to commend:
Till death therof did make an end.
And euen with my last bequest,
When I shall from this life depart:
I geue to her I loued best,
My iust my true and faithfull hart,
Signed with the hand as cold as stone:
Of him that liuing was her owne.
And if he here might liue agayne,
As Phenix made by death anew:
Of this she may assure her plaine,
That he will still be iust and trew.
Thus farewell she on liue my owne.
And send her ioy when I am gone.
The louer in dispeire lamenteth his case.
A Dieu desert, how art thou spent?
Ah dropping teares how do ye washe?
Ah scalding
•
ighes, how be ye spent?
To pricke them forth that will not hast,
Ah payned hart thou gapst for grace,
Euen there where pitie hath no place.
As easy it is the stony rocke,
From place to place for to remoue,
As by thy plaint for to prouoke:
A f
•
osen hart from hate to loue,
What should I say such is thy lot,
To fawne on them that force the not.
Thus maist thou safely say and sweare,
That rigour raighneth and ruth doth faile,
In thanklesse thoughts thy thoughts do we
••
Thy truth, thy faith, may nought auaile,
For thy good will why should thou so,
Still graft where grace it will not grow.
Alas pore hart thus hast thou spent,
Thy flowryng time, thy pleasant yeres.
With sighing voyce wepe and lament:
For of thy hope no frute apperes,
Thy true meanyng is paide with scorne,
That euer soweth and repeth no corne.
And where thou sekes a quiet port,
Thou dost but weigh agaynst the winde,
For where thou gladdest woldst resort,
There is no place for thee assinde.
Thy desteny hath set it so
That thy true hart should cause thy wo.
Of his maistresse. m. B
•
IN Bayes I boast whose braunch I beare,
Such ioy therin I finde:
That to the death I shall it weare,
To ease my carefull minde.
In heat, in cold, both night and day,
Her vertue may be sene:
When other frutes and flowers decay
•
The bay yet growes full grene.
Her berries fede the birdes full oft,
Her leues swete water make:
Her bowes be set in euery loft,
For their swete sauours sake.
The birdes do shrowd them from the cold,
In her we dayly see:
And men make arbers as they wold,
Under the pleasant tree.
It doth me good when I repayre,
There as these bayes do grow:
Where oft I walke to take the ayre,
It doth delight me so
•
But loe I stand as I w
•
re dome,
Her beauty fo: to blase:
Wherw
•
th my spr
•
tes be ouercome,
So long theron I gase.
At last I turne vnto my walk,
In passing to and fro:
And to my self I smile and talk,
And then away I go.
Why smilest thou say lokers on,
what pleasure hast thou found?
With that I am as cold as stone,
And ready for to swound.
Fie fie for shame sayth fansy than,
Pluck vp thy faynted hart:
And speke thou boldly like a man,
Shrinke not for little smart.
Wherat I blushe and change my chere,
My senses ware so w
•
ake:
O god think I what make I here,
That neuer a word may speake.
I dare not sigh lest I be heard,
My lokes I slyly cast:
And still I stand as one were scarde,
Untill my stormes be past.
Then happy hap doth me reuiue,
The blood comes to my face:
A merier man is not aliue,
Then I am in that case.
Thus after sorow seke I rest,
When fled is fansies fit.
And though I be a homely gest,
Before the bayes I sit
•
Where I do watch till leaues do fall,
When winde the tree doth shake:
Then though my branch be very small,
My leafe away I take.
And then I go and clap my hands,
My hart doth leape for ioy.
These bayes do ease me from my bands,
That long did me annoy:
For when I do behold the same,
Which makes so faire a show:
I finde therin my maistresse name,
And se her vertues grow.
The louer complaineth his harty loue not requited.
WHen Phebus had the serpent slaine,
He claymed Cupides boe:
which strife did turne him to great paine,
The story well doth proue.
For Cupide made him fele much woe,
In sekyng Dephnes loue.
This Cupide hath a shaft of kinde,
Which wounded many a wight:
Whose golden hed had power to binde,
Ech hart in Uenus bandes.
This arrow did on Phebus light,
Which came from Cupides handes.
An other shast was wrought in spite
•
Which headed was with lead:
Whose nature quenched swete delight,
That louers most embrace.
In Dephnes brest this cruell head,
Had found a dwellyng place.
But Phebus fonde of his desire,
Sought after Dephnes so:
He bu
•
nt with heat, she felt no fire,
Full fast she fled him fro.
He gate but hate for his good will,
The gods assigned so.
My case with Phebus may compare,
His hap and mine are one,
I cry to her that knowes no eare,
Yet seke I to her most:
When I approche then is she gone,
Thus is my labour lost.
Now blame not me but blame the shaft,
That hath the golden head,
And blame those gods that with their craft
Such arrowes forge by kinde.
And blame the cold and heauy lead,
That doth my ladies minde.
A praise of m. M.
IN court as I behelde, the beauty of eche dame,
Of right my thought frō all the rest should .M. steale the same
•
But, er I ment to iudge: I vewed with such aduise.
As retchlesse dome should not inuade: the boundes of my deuise,
And, whiles I gased long: such heat did brede within,
As Priamus towne felt not more flame, whē did the bale begin.
By reasons rule ne yet by wit perceue I could,
That .M, face of earth yfound: enioy such beauty should.
And fansy doubted that from heauen had Uenus come,
To norish rage in Britaynes harts, while corage yet doth blome,
Her natiue hue so stroue, with colour of the rose,
That Paris would haue Helene left, and .M. beauty chose.
A wight farre passyng all, and is more faire to seme,
Then lusty May the lodg of loue: that clothes the earth in grene
•
So angell like she shines: she semeth no mortall wight,
But one whom nature in her forge, did frame her self to spight.
Of beauty princesse chiefe: so makelesse doth she rest,
Whose eye would glad an heauy wight: and pryson payne in brest,
I waxe astonied to see: the seator of her shape,
And wōdred that a mortal hart: such heauenly beames could scape
Her limmes so answeryng were: the mould of her faire face,
Of Uenus stocke she semde to spring, the rote of beauties grace.
Her presens doth pretende: such honour and estate,
That simple men might gesse her birthe: if folly bred debate.
Her lokes in hartes of flint: would such affectes imprese,
As rage of flame not Nilus stremes: in Nestors yeres encrease.
Within the subtill seat, of her bright eyen doth dwell,
Blinde Cupide with the pricke of paine: that princes fredom sell.
A Paradice it is: her beauty to behold,
where natures stuffe so full is found, that natures ware is sold
•
An old louer to a yong gentilwoman.
YE are to yong to bryng me in,
And I to old to gape for flies:
I haue to long a louer bene,
If such yong babes should bleare mine eyes,
But trill the ball before my face,
I am content to make you play:
I will not se, I hide my face,
And turne my backe and ronne away.
But if you folowe on so fast,
And crosse the waies where I should go,
Ye may waxe weary at the last,
And then at length your self orethrow.
I meane where you and all your flocke,
Deuise to pen men in the pound:
I know a key can picke your locke,
And make you runne your selues on ground,
Some birdes can eate the strawie corne,
And flee the lime that fowlers set,
And some are ferde of euery thorne,
And so therby they scape the net.
But some do light and neuer loke,
And seeth not who doth stand in waite,
As fish that swalow vp the hoke,
And is begiled through the baite.
But men can loke before they leape,
And be at price for euery ware,
And penyworthes cast to bye good cheape,
And in ech thyng hath eye and
•
are.
But he that bluntly runnes on hed,
And seeth not what the race shal be:
Is like to bring a foole to bed,
And thus ye get no more of me.
The louer forsaketh his vnkinde loue.
FArewell thou frosen hart and eares of hardned stele,
Thou lackest yeres to vnderstand the grefe that I did fele,
The gods reuenge my wrong, with equall plage on thee,
When plesure shal prick forth thy youth, to learn what loue shalbe
•
Perchance thou prouest now, to scale blinde Cupides holde,
And matchest where thou maist repent, when al thy cards are told
But blush not thou therfore, thy betters haue done so,
Who thought they had retaind a doue, when they but caught a cro
And some do lenger time, with lof
•
y lokes we see,
That lights at length as low or wors thē doth the betell bee.
Yet let thy hope be good, such hap may fall from hye:
That thou maist be if fortune serue, a princesse er thou dye.
Is chance prefer thee so, alas poore sely man,
where shall I scape thy cruell handes, or seke for succour than?
God shud such greedy wolues, should lap in giltlesse bloode,
And send short hornes to hurtful heads, y• rage like lyons woode.
I seldome se the day, but malice wanteth might,
And hatefull harts haue neuer hap, to wreke their wrath aright.
The madman is vnmete, a naked sword to gide,
And more vnfit are they to clime, that are orecome with pride.
I touch not thee herein, thou art a fawcon sure,
That can both soer and stoupe sometime, as men cast vp the lure.
The pecock hath no place, in thee when thou shalt list,
For some no soner make a signe, but thou perceuest the fist.
They haue that I do want, and that doth thee begilde,
The lac
•
that thou dost se in me, doth make thee loke so wilde.
My lur
•
ng is not good
•
it liketh not thine eare,
My call it is not half so swete, as would to god it were.
well wanton yet beware, thou do no
•
t
•
ryng take,
At euery hand that would thee fede, or to thee frendship make,
This councell take of him that ought thee once his loue,
Who hopes to mete thee after this among the saintes aboue,
But here within this world, if he may shonne the place,
He rather asketh present death, then to beholde thy face.
The louer preferreth his lady aboue all other.
REsigne you dames whom tikelyng brute delight,
The golden praise that flatteries tromp doth sown
•
And vassels be to her that claims by right,
The title iust that first dame beauty found.
Whose dainty eyes such sugred baits do hide,
As poyson harts where glims of loue do glide.
Come eke and see how heauen and nature wrought,
Within her face where framed is such ioy:
As Priams sonnes in vaine the seas had sought.
If halfe such light had had abode in Troy.
For as the golden sunne doth darke ech starre,
So doth her hue the fayrest dames as farre.
Ech heauenly gift, ech grace that nature could,
By art or wit my lady lo retaynes:
A sacred head, so heapt with h
••
res of gold,
As Phebus beames for beauty farre it stayns,
A sucred tong, where eke such swetenesse snowes,
That well it semes a fountain where it flowes.
Two laughyng eyes so linked with pleasyng lokes,
As wold entice a tygers hart to serue:
The bayt is swete but eager be the hookes,
For Dyane sekes her honour to preserue.
Thus Arundell sits, throned still with fame,
Whom enmies trompe can not attaynt with shame.
My dased head so daunted is with heapes,
Of giftes diuine that harber in her bre
•
t:
Her heauenly shap
•
, that lo my verses leap
•
.
And touch but that wherin she clowds the rest.
For if I should her graces all recite.
Both time should want, and I should wonders write.
Her chere so swete, so christall is her eyes,
Her mouth so small, her lips to liuely red:
Her hand so fine, her wordes so swete and wise,
That Pallas sem
•
s to soiou
••
e in her hed.
Her vertues great her forme as far
•
e excedes,
As sunne the shade that mortall creatures leades.
Would God that wretched age would spare to race,
Her liuely hew that as her graces ra
•
e:
Be goddesse like, euen so her goddesse face,
Might neuer change but still continue faire
That eke in after time ech wight may see,
How vertue can with beauty beare degree.
The louer lamenteth that he would forget loue, and can not.
ALas when shall I ioy,
When shall my wofull hart,
Cast forth the folish toy
That breadeth all my smart.
A thousand times and mo,
I haue attempted sore:
To rid this restlesse wo,
Which raigneth more and more.
But when remembrance past,
Hath laid dead coales together:
Did loue renewes his blast,
That cause my ioyes to wither.
Then sodaynely a spark,
Startes out of my desire:
And lepes into my hart,
Settyng the coles a fire.
Then reason runnes about,
To seke forgetfull water:
To quench and clene put out,
The cause of all this matter.
And saith dead flesh must nedes,
Be cut out of the core,
For rotten withered wedes,
Can heale no greuous sore.
But then euen sodaynely,
The feruent heat doth slake:
And cold then straineth me,
That makes my bodies shake.
Alas who can endure,
To suffer all this paine,
Sins her that should me cure,
Most cruell death hath slaine.
Well well, I say no more,
Let dead care for the dead,
Yet wo is me therfore,
I must attempt to lead.
One other kinde of life,
Then hitherto I haue:
Or els this paine and strife,
Will bring me to my graue.
¶Songes written by N. G. Of the ix. Muses.
I M
•
s of king Ioue, and quene Remembrance lo,
The sisters nyne, the poets pleasant feres.
Calliope doth stately stile bestow,
And worthy praises paintes of princely peres.
Clio in solem songes reneweth all day,
With present yeres conioyning age bypast.
Delitefull talke loues Comicall Thalsy:
In fresh grene youth, who doth like laurell last.
With voyces Tragicall sowndes Melpomen,
And, as with cheins, thall
•
red eare she bindes.
Her stringes when Terpsichor doth touche, euen then
She toucheth hartes, and raigneth in mens mindes,
Fine Erato, whose looke a liuely chere
Presents, in dauncing keepes a comely grace.
With semely gesture doth Polymnie stere:
Whose wordes holle routes of rankes doo rule in place,
Uranie, her globes to view all bent,
The ninefold heauen obserues with fixed face.
The blastes Eutrepe tunes of instrument,
With solace sweet hence heauie dumps to chase.
Lord Phebus in the mids (whose heauenly sprite
These ladies doth enspire) embraceth all.
The graces in the Muses weed, delite
To lead them forth, that men in maze they fall.
Musonius the Philosophers saying.
IN working well, if trauell you sustain:
Into the winde shall lightly passe the paine:
But of the dede the glory shall remain,
And cause your name with worthy wights to raign.
In working wrong, if pleasure you attaine:
The pleasure soon shall vade, and voyde, as vaine:
But of the deed, throughout the life, the shame
Endures, defacing you with fowl defame:
And still tormentes the minde, both night and day
•
Scant length of time the spot can wash away.
Flee then ylswading pleasures baits vntrew:
And noble vertues fair renown purseew.
Description of Vertue.
VVHat one art thou, thus in torn weed yclad?
Uertue, in price whom auncient sages had.
why, poorely rayd? For fading goodes past care.
Why doublefaced? I marke ech fortunes fare.
This bridle, what? Mindes rages to restrain.
Tooles why beare you? I loue to take great pain
•
Why, winges? I teache aboue the starres to flye.
Why tread you death? I onely cannot dye
•
Praise of measure-keping.
THe auncient time commended, not for nought,
The mean: what better thing can ther be sought?
In meane, is vertue placed: on either side,
Both right, and left, amisse a man shall slide
•
Icar, with sire hadst thou the mid way flown,
Icarian beck by name had no man known.
If middle path kept had proud Phaeton,
No burning brand this earth had fa
••
ne vpon.
N
•
cruel powr, ne none to soft can raign:
That kepes a mean, the same shall still remain.
Thee, Iulie, once did too much mercy spill:
Thee, Nero stern, rigor extreem did kill.
How could August so many yeres well passe?
Nor ouermeek, nor ouerferse he was.
Worship not Ioue with curious fansies vain,
Nor him despise: hold right atween these twain.
No wastefull wight, no greedy goom is prayzd.
Stands largesse iust, in egall balance payzd.
So Catoes meal, surmountes Antonius chere,
And better fame his sober fare hath her
•
.
To slender building, bad: as bad, to grosse:
One, an eyesore, the tother falls to losse.
As medcines help, in measure: so (God wot)
By ouermuch, the sick their bane haue got.
Unmeet mee seems to vtter this, mo wayes:
Measure forbids vnmeasurable prayse.
Mans life after Possidonius, or Crates.
VVHat path list you to tread? what trade will you assay?
The courts of plea, by braul, & bate, driue gētle peace away
•
In house, for wife, and childe, there is but cark and care:
With trauail, and with toyl ynough, in feelds we vse to fare.
Upon the seas lieth dreed: the rich in foraine land,
Doo fear the losse: and there, the poore, like misers poorely stand
•
Strife, with a wife, without, your thrift full hard to see:
Yong brats, a trouble: none at all
•
a maym it seems to bee:
Youth, fond, age hath no hert, and pincheth all to nye.
Choose then the leeser of these twoo, no life, or soon to dye.
Metrodorus minde to the contrarie.
VVHat race of life ronne you? what trade will you assay
•
In courts, is glory got, and wit encreased day by day.
At home, wee take our ease, and beak our selues in rest:
The feeldes our nature doo refresh with pleasures of the best
•
On seas, is gayn to get: the straunger, hee shall bee
Estemed: hauing much: if not, none knoweth his lack, but hee
•
A wife will trim thy house: no wyfe? then art thou free.
Brood is a louely thing: without, thy life is loose to thee.
•
ong bloods be strong: old sires in double honour dwell.
D
•
way that choyse, no life, or soon to dye: for all is well.
Of frendship.
OF all the heauenly giftes, that mortall men commend,
What trusty treasure in the world can counteruail a frend?
Our helth is soon decayd: goodes, casuall, light, and vain:
Broke haue we sene the force of powre, and honour suffer stain
•
In bodies lust, man doth resemble but base brute:
True vertue gets, and keeps a frend, good guide of our pursute:
Whose harty zeale with ours accords, in euery case:
No terme of time, no space of place, no storme can it deface.
When fickle fortune failes, this knot endureth still:
Thy kin out of their kinde may swarue, whē frends owe the good will
•
What sweter solace shall befall, than one to finde,
Upon whose brest thou mayst repose the secretes of thy minde?
He wayleth at thy wo, his teares with thine be shed:
With thee doth he all ioyes enioy: so leef a life is led.
Behold thy frend, and of thy self the patern see:
One soull, a wonder shall it seem, in bodies twain to bee.
In absence, present, rich in want, in sicknesse sound,
Yea after death aliue, mayst thou by thy sure frend be found.
Eche house, eche towne, eche realm by stedfast loue doth stand:
Where fowl debate breeds bitter bale, in eche deuided land.
O frendship, flowr of flowrs: O liuely sprite of life,
O sacred bond of blisfull peace, the stalworth staunch of strife:
Scipio with Lelius didst thou conioyn in care,
At home, in warrs, for weal and wo, with egall faith to fare.
Gesippus eke with Tite, Damon with Pythias,
And with M
•
netus sonne Achill, by thee combined was.
Euryalus, and Nisus gaue Uirgil cause to sing:
Of
•
ylades doo many rimes, and of Orestes ring.
Down Thes
•
us went to hell, Pirith, his frend to finde:
O that the wiues, in these our daies, wer to their mates so kinde
•
Cicero
•
the frendly man, to Atticus
•
his frend,
Of frendship wrote: such couples lo doth lot but seldome lend.
Recount thy race, no
•
ronne: how few shalt thou there see,
Of whom to say: This same is he, that neuer fayled mee.
So rare a iewell then must nedes be holden dere:
And as thou wilt esteem thy self, so take thy chosen fere
•
The tirant, in dispaire, no lacke of gold bewayls.
But, Out I am vndoon (saith he() for all my frendship fails.
Wherfore sins nothing is more kindely for our kinde:
Next wisdome thus that teacheth vs, loue we the frendful minde.
The death of Zoroas, an Egyptian Astronomer, in the first fight, that Alexander had with the Persians.
NOw clattering armes, now ragyng broyls of warre,
Gan
••••
e the noyes of dredfull trompets clang:
Shrowded with shafts, the heuen: with clowd of darts,
Couered the ayre: against full fatted bulls,
As forceth kindled yre the Lyons keen:
whose greedy gutts the gnawyng honger pricks:
So Macedoins against the Persians fare.
Now corpses hide the purpurde soyl with blood:
Large slaughter, on ech side: but Perses more
Moyst feelds be bledd: their harts, and nombers bate.
Fainted while they geue back, and fall to flight:
The lightening Macedon, by swoords, by gleaus,
By bands and trowps, of fotemen with his garde,
Speeds to Darie: but him, his nearest kyn,
Oxate preserues, with horsemen on a plump
Before his carr: that none the charge could geue.
Here grunts, here grones, ech where strong youth is spent:
Shakyng her bloody hands, Bellone, among
The Perses, soweth all kynde of cruel death.
with thro
•
e ycutt, he roores: he lieth along,
His entrails with a lance through girded quite:
Him smites the club, him wounds farstrikyng bow,
And him the sling, and him the shinyng swoord:
Hee dieth, he is all dead, he pants, he rests.
Right ouerstood, in snowwhite armour braue,
The Memphite Zor
•
as, a cunning clarke:
To whom the heauen lay open, as his boke:
And in celestiall bodies he could tell
The mouyng, metyng, light, aspect, eclips,
And influence, and constellacions all:
What earthly chances would betide: what yere
Of plenty, storde, what signe forwarned derth:
How winter gendreth snow, what temperature
In the primetide doth season well the soyl:
Why somer burns, why autumne hath ripe grapes:
Whether the circle, quadrate may become:
Whether our times heauens harmony can yelde:
Of four begins, among them selues how great
Proporcion is: what sway the erryng lightes
Doth send in course gayn that first mouyng heauen:
What grees, one from another distant be:
what starre doth let the hurtfull sire to rage,
Or him more milde what opposition makes:
What fire doth
•
qualify Mauorses fire:
what house ech one doth seke: what planet raignes
Within this hemisphere, or that, small things
I speake, whole heauen he closeth in his brest.
This sage then, in the starres had spied: the fates
Threatned him death, without delay: and sithe
He saw, he could not fatall order change:
Forward he preast, in battayle that he might
Mete with the ruler of the Macedoins:
Of his right hand des
•
rous to be slayne,
The boldest beurn, and worthiest in the felde:
And, as a wight
•
ow weary of his life,
And sekyng death: in first front of his rage,
Comes desperatly to Alexanders face:
At him, with darts, one after other throwes:
With reckles wordes, and clamour him prouokes:
And saith, Nectanabs bastard, shamefull stain
Of mothers bed: why losest thou thy strokes,
Cowards among? Turne thee to me, in case
Manhod there be so much left in thy hart:
Come fight with me: that on my helmet weare
Appolloes laurell, both for learnings laude,
And eke for martiall praise: that, in my shield,
The seuenfold sophie of Minerue contein:
A match, more meet, sir king, than any here.
The noble prince amoued, takes ruthe vpon
The wilfull wight: and with soft wordes, ayen,
O monstrous man (quod he) what so thou art,
I pray the, lyue: ne do not, with thy death,
This lodge of lore, the Muses mansion marr.
That treasure house this hand shall neuer spoyl:
My sword shall neuer bruse that skilfull braine,
Long gatherd heapes of science sone to spyll.
O, how faire frutes may you to mortall men
From wisdomes garden geue? How many may
By you the wiser and the better proue?
what error, what mad moode, what phrensy thee
Perswades to be downe sent to depe Auerne:
Where no arts florish, nor no knowledge vails?
For all these sawes, when thus the souerain sayd,
Alighted Zoroas: with sword vnsheathed,
The careles king there smot, aboue the greue,
At thopenyng of his quishes: wounded him
So that the blood down reyled on the ground.
The Macedon perceiuyng hurt, gan gnash:
But yet his minde he bent, in any wise,
Him to forbear: set spurs vnto his st
•
de,
And turnde away: lest anger of his smart
Should cause reuenger hand deale balefull blowes.
But of the Macedonian chieftains knights
One Meleager, could not beare this sight:
But ran vpon the said Egyptian reuk:
And cut him in both knees: he fell to ground:
Wherwith a whole rout came of souldiers stern,
And all in pieces hewed the silly seg.
But happily the soule fled to the starre
•
:
Where vnder him, he hath full sight of all,
Wherat he gased here, with reaching looke.
The Persians wailde such sapience to forgo:
The very fone, the Macedonians wisht.
He wo
•
ld haue liued: king Alexander self
Demde him a man, vnmete to dye at all:
Who won like praise, for conquest of his yre,
As for stout men in field that day subdued:
Who princes taught, how to discerne a man,
That in his hed so rare a iewell beares.
But ouer all, those same Camenes, those same
Deuine Camenes, whose honour he procurde,
As tender parent doth his daughters weal:
Lamented: and for thankes all that they can,
Do cherish'him deceast, and set him free,
From dark obliuion of deuouring death.
Marcus Tullius Ciceroes death.
THerfore, when restlesse rage of winde, and waue
Hee saw: By fates, alas calld for (quod hee)
Is haplesse Cicero: sayl on, shape course
To the next shore, and bring me to my death.
Perdy these thanks, reskued from ciuill swoord,
Wilt thou my countrey paye? I see mine end:
So powers diuine, so bid the gods aboue,
In citie saued that Consul Marcus shend.
Speakyng no more, but drawyng from deep hart
Great grones, euen at the name of Rome rehearst:
His eies and chekes, with showrs of teares, he washt,
And (though a rout in dayly daungers worne)
With forced face, the shipmen held their teares:
And, striuyng long the seas rough
•
floods to passe,
In angry windes, and stormy showres made way:
And at the last, safe ancred in the rode.
Came heauy Cicero a land: with pain,
His fainted lims the aged sire doth draw:
And, round about their master stood his band:
Nor greatly with their owne hard hap dismayd,
Nor plighted fayth, proue in sharp time to break:
Some swordes prepare: some their dere lord assist:
In littour layd, they lead him vnkouth wayes:
If so deceaue Antonius cruell gleaues
They might, and threats of folowyng routs escape.
Thus lo, that Tullie, went, that Tullius,
Of royall robe, and sacred senate prince:
When he a far the men approch espieth,
And of his
•
one the ensignes doth aknow:
And, with drawn swoord, Popilius threatning death:
Whose life, and holl estate, in hazard once,
Hee had preserude: when Room as yet to free
Herd him, and at his thundring voyce amazde.
Herennius eek, more eyger than the rest,
Present enflamde with furie, him purseews.
What might hee doo? Should hee vse in defense
Disarmed hands
•
or pardon ask, for meed?
Should he with wordes attempt to turn the wrath
Of tharmed knight, whose safegard hee had wrought?
No, age, forbids, and fixt within depe brest
His countryes loue, and falling Romes image.
The charret turn, sayth hee, let loose the rayns:
Roon to the vndeserued death: mee, lo,
Hath Phebus fowl, as messenger forwarnd:
And Ioue desires a neew heauensman to make.
Brutus, and Cassius soulls, liue you in blisse:
In case yet all the fates gaynstriue vs not,
Neither shall we perchaunce dye vnreuenged.
Now haue I liued, O Room, ynough for mee:
My passed life nought suffreth me to dout
Noysom obliuion of the lothesome death.
Slea mee: yet all the ofspring to come shall know:
And this deceas shall bring eternall life.
Yea, and (onlesse I fayl, and all in vain
Room, I soomtime thy Augur chosen was)
Not euermore shall frendly fortune thee
Fauour, Antonius: once the day shall coom:
When her deare wights, by cruell spight, thus slain,
Uictorious Room shall at thy hands require.
Me likes, therwhile, go see the hoped heauen.
Speech had he left: and therwith hee, good man,
His throte preparde, and held his hed vnmoued
•
His hasting to those fates the very knightes
Be lothe to see: and, rage rebated, when
They his bare neck beheld, and his horeheyres:
Scant could they hold the teares, that forth gan burst
And almost fell from bloody hands the swoords.
Onely the stern Herennius, with grym looke,
Dastards, why stand you still? he sayth: and straight,
Swaps of the hed, with his presumptuous yron.
Ne with that slaughter yet is he not fild:
Fowl shame on shame to heape, is his delite.
Wherefore the handes also doth hee of smyte,
Which durst Antonius life so liuely paynt.
Him, yeldyng strayned goste, from welkin hye.
With lothy chere, lord Phebus gan behold:
And in black clowd, they say, long hid his hed.
The latin
•
Muses, and the Grayes, they wept:
And, for his fall, eternally shall weep.
And lo, hertpersing Pitho (straunge to tell)
Who had to him suffisde both sense, and words,
When so he spake: and drest, with nectar soote,
That flowyng toung: when his windpipe disclosde,
Fled with her fleeyng frend: and (out alas)
Hath left the earth, ne will no more return.
Popilius flyeth, therwhile: and, leauing there
The senslesse stock, a grizely sight doth bear
Unto Antonius boord, with mischief fed.
Of M. T. Gicero.
FOr Tullie, late, a tomb I gan prepare:
When Cynthie, thus, bad mee my labour spare:
Such maner things becoom the ded, quoth hee:
But Tullie liues, and styll alyue shall bee.
N. G.
A
ALas so al things now. 5
Although I had a chek 10
As oft as I behold 12
Auising the bright 22
Alas madam for steling. 23
Accused though I be. 29
All in thy loke my life 34
A face that shold content. 35
A lady gaue me a gift 42
A spending hand 47
Alas that euer death. 62
A s
•
udent at his boke 64
As cypresse tree. 74
Among dame natures. 77
All ye that frendship 78
As I haue ben so wil 79
At libertie I sit and see 80
As laurel leaues. 83
A kinde of cole is. 97
A man may liue thrise 100
Ah loue how waiward 102
A cruel Tiger. 107
Ah libertie now haue I 107
Adieu desert, how art 108
Alas when shal I ioy 112
B
BRitle beautie that 5
Because I stil kept 21
Behold loue thy power. 28
By fortune as I lay 55
Behold my picture 70
Bewail with me 70
C
CEsar when that the. 21
Cruel vnkinde. 74
Complain we may. 96
D
DIuers thy death. 16
Disdain me not. 31
Desire alas my maister 41
Driuen by desire I did. 44
Death and the king. 78
Do all your dedes by 97
Do way your phisick. 106
E
ECh beast can choose 14
Eche man me telth 21
Euer my hap is slack. 36
Experience now doth 67
Ech thing I see hath 69
F
FRom Tuscan came. 5
Farewell the hart of 24
From these hye hilles 25
For want of will in wo. 31
Farewell loue. 37
For shamefast harme. 43
Full faire and white she is 61
For that a restlesse hed 69
Flee from the prease. 82
For loue Apollo. 8
•
False may he be. 83
From worldly wo 99
Farewell thou frosen hart 111
For Tully late. 117
G
GOod ladies ye that. 9
Geue place ye louers 10
Girt in my giltlesse gown 13
Go burning sighes. 38
Geue place ye ladies 67
H
HE is not dead that. 29
How oft haue I
•
36
Holding my peace. 107
I
IN Cyprus springes 5
I neuer saw my L. lay 6
In winters iust return. 8
If care do cause men cry 15
In the rude age. 17
If waker car
•
. 20
I finde no peace. 21
It may be good. 23
In faith I wote not. 24
If euer man might him 32
If amorous faith. 36
It burneth yet alas. 40
I see that chaunce hath 41
If thou wilt mighty be. 43
In court to serue. 44
In doutfull brest. 45
If euer wofull man. 50
If right be rackt. 51
In Grece sometime 52
It is no fire. 62
I lent my loue to losse. 64
In seking rest, 66
I see there is no sort. 71
I lothe that I did loue. 72
If it wer so that God 75
In fredom was my fantasy 76
I rede how Troilus 81
I heard when fame. 84
I ne can close in short. 85
It was the day on which 90
I that Ulisses yeres. 9
•
If that thy wicked wife 99
I would I found not. 104
I s
••
ly Haw. 107
In bayes I bost. 109
In court as I beheld. 110
Imps of king Io
••
113
In working well. 113
L
LOue
〈◊〉
liueth 4
Lay
•
•
n my quiet bed. 18
Lux, my fair falcon. 35
Loue,
•
ortune, & my minde. 36
Like vnto these vnmesu. 36
Like as the bird with 43
Like as the Lark. 52
Lo here the end of man. 56
Like as the brake. 78
Like as the rage of raine. 80
Like the Phenix a bird 88
Loe ded he liues. 89
Loe here lieth G. 98
M
MArtial, the thinges. 16
My Ratclif, when 18
My galley charged. 22
Madame withouten 23
Myne old dere enmy. 25
Maruell no'more altho. 27
My loue to scorne. 29
My lute awake. 33
My hart I gaue thee. 37
Mistrustfull mindes 40
My mothers maides 45
Mine own I. Poins. 46
My youthfull yeres 70
N
NAture that gaue the bee 34
Nature that taught 68
Not like a God came 95
No ioy haue I. 104
Now clattering armes. 115
O
O Happy dames that may 8
O lothsome place wher 11
Of thy life, Thomas. 16
Ones, as me thought, 33
Of purpose loue chose 41
Of Carthage he 44
O euell tongs. 54
O temerous tauntresse. 74
O Petrarke hed, 74
O lingring make. 89
Of all the heauenly giftes 114
P
PAsse foorth my wonted 30
Perdie I sayd it not. 35
Philida was a fair maide 55
Procrin that sometime
•
7
R
RIght true it is. 23
Resound my voyce. 24
Resigne ye dames. 112
S
SUch wayward wayes 3
So cruel prison 6
Set me wheras the sun. 6
Sins
•
fortunes wrath. 13
Such vain thought as 20
Some foules there be. 21
She sat and sowed. 28
Somtime I fled the fire. 29
Such is the course. 33
So feble is the thred 38
Sufficed not, madame. 39
Since loue wil nedes 40
Speake thou and speede. 42
Sighes are my speede 44
Stand who so list. 44
Sithe singing gladdeth 58
Shall I thus euer long. 62
Sithe that the way to 63
Sins thou my ring. 69
Such grene to me. 79
Sins Mars first moued 82
Stay gentle
•
rend. 99
Some men wold think. 105
Such wayward waies. 105
T
THe sunne hath twise 2
The soote season that 2
The golden gift. 6
To dearely had I bought. 11
Though I regarded not 12
The great Macedon. 16
Thassyrian king. 17
The fansie which that I 18
The stormes are past. 18
The liuely sparkes 19
They flee from me. 22
The wandring gadling 23
The restfull place, renewer 25
The furious gonne. 29
The answer that ye made. 32
The enmy of life. 33
The flaming sighes that 37
The piller perisht is 37
Throughout the world 44
Tagus farewell. 44
The life is long. 51
The longer life the more 53
To this my song geue eare 53
The plage is great. 54
The restlesse rage of 54
The doutfull man hath 63
The winter with his 65
Thestilis a sely man 67
Thestilis thou sely man 68
To liue to dye. 73
The smoky
•
ighes. 73
The shining s
•
ason. 74
To leue alas, who wold 75
To my mishap alas 77
The golden apple. 79
The coward oft. 79
Though in the waxe. 79
The dole
•
ull bell. 82
The sucking fame. 86
The soules that lacked 88
The sun when he hath 90
The secret flame that 93
The bird that somtime, 9
•
Thou Cupide Go
•
95
•
he
•••
tue of Ulisses 100
To false
•
eport 100
To walke on doutfull 101
••
••
ust the fained face 102
〈◊〉
•••
inded boy. 103
〈◊〉
•
isest way, thy bote 104
The auncient time com. 113
Therfore when restlesse. 116
The long loue that in my
V
VNstable dreame. 20
•
nwarely so was 34
•
enemous thornes 42
Uulcan begat me. 43
Unto the liuing Lord. 57
Uain is the fleting welth 106
VV
VVHen youth had led me 3
When
•
omer toke in 4
When Windsor walles. 5
When raging loue. 7
Wrapt in my carelesse 13
Wiat restes here. 16
Was neuer
•
ile. 19
What nedes these threat. 23
Where shall I haue. 27
What man hath heard 28
What vaileth trouth. 29
Within my brest I neuer 30
When first mine eyes 39
What rage is this 41
What word is that 42
When Dido feasted first 49
Who iustly may reioyse 51
Who list to liue vpright 57
What thing is that 62
Who craftly castes to stere 64
When dredfull swelling 65
When Audley had ron 69
When Cupide sealed 7
•
With Petrark to cōpare. 74
Why fearest thow thy 85
Who loues to liue in peace 86
Walking the path. 87
What harder is then stone 89
Who list to leade a quiet 97
Whom fansie forced 100
Whoso that wisely weies 104
when Phebus had 110
What one art thow 113
What path list you to 114
What race of life ron you 114
Y
YEt was I neuer of 19
Ye that in loue finde 20
Your lokes so often 30
Yet ones again my Muse 85
Ye that in play peruse 89
Your borrowd mean
•
98
You are to yong. 1
••
FINIS.
Imprinted at London in flete strete within Temple barre, at the sygne of the hand and starre, by Richard Tottell the .xxxi. day of Iuly. An. 1557.
Cum priuilegio ad imprimendum solum.