Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt :: :: University of Virginia Library

Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt

Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson

Wyatt, Thomas (1503?-1542)

[section]

I Poems from the Egerton Manuscript

II.

II Satires

III.

III Penitential Psalms

IV.

IV Poems from the Blage Manuscript

V Poems from the Devonshire Manuscript

VI.

VI Poems from the Arundel Manuscript

VII.

VII Poems from Minor Manuscripts

VIII.

VIII Poems from Tottel's Songes and Sonettes

IX.

IX Poems from The Court of Venus and A Boke of Balettes

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I
Poems from the Egerton Manuscript

I

[Behold, love, thy power how she dispiseth!]

Behold, love, thy power how she dispiseth!
My great payne how litle she regardeth!
The holy oth, wherof she taketh no cure
Broken she hath: and yet she bideth sure,
Right at her ease: and litle she dredeth.
Wepened thou art: and she vnarmed sitteth:
To the disdaynfull, her liff she ledeth:
To me spitefull, withoute cause, or mesure.
Behold, love!

I ame in hold: if pitie the meveth,
Goo bend thy bowe: that stony hertes breketh:
And, with some stroke, revenge the displeasure
Of thee and him, that sorrowe doeth endure,
And, as his lorde, the lowly entreath.
Behold, love!

II

[What vaileth trouth? or, by it, to take payn?]

What vaileth trouth? or, by it, to take payn?
To stryve, by stedfastnes, for to attayne,
To be iuste, and true: and fle from dowblenes:
Sythens all alike, where rueleth craftines

Rewarded is boeth fals, and plain.
Sonest he spedeth, that moost can fain;
True meanyng hert is had in disdayn.
Against deceipte and dowblenes
What vaileth trouth?

Decyved is he by crafty trayn
That meaneth no gile and doeth remayn
Within the trapp, withoute redresse,
But, for to love, lo, suche a maisteres,
Whose crueltie nothing can refrayn,
What vaileth trouth?

III

[Caesar, when that the traytour of Egipt]

Caesar, when that the traytour of Egipt
With th'onourable hed did him present,
Covering his gladness did represent
Playnt with his teeres owteward, as it is writt:
And Hannyball eke, when fortune him shitt
Clene from his reign and from all his intent,
Laught to his folke whome sorrowe did torment,
His cruell dispite for to disgorge and qwit.
So chaunceth it oft that every passion
The mynde hideth by colour contrary
With fayned visage, now sad, now mery:
Whereby, if I laught, any tyme, or season
It is for bicause I have nother way
To cloke my care but vnder spoort and play.

IV

[The longe love, that in my thought doeth harbar]

The longe love, that in my thought doeth harbar
And in myn hert doeth kepe his residence
Into my face preseth with bold pretence,
And therin campeth, spreding his baner.
She that me lerneth to love and suffre
And will that my trust, and lustes negligence
Be rayned by reason, shame, and reverence
With his hardines taketh displeasure.
Wherewithall, vnto the hertes forrest he fleith,
Leving his entreprise with payne and cry
And there him hideth and not appereth.
What may I do when my maister fereth,
But, in the felde, with him to lyve and dye?
For goode is the liff, ending faithfully.

V

[Alas the greiff, and dedly wofull smert]

Alas the greiff, and dedly wofull smert,
The carefull chaunce, shapen afore my shert,
The sorrowfull teres, the sighes hote as fyer,
That cruell love hath long soked from myn hert,
And for reward of ouer greate desire
Disdaynfull dowblenes have I for my hiere!

O lost seruise! O payn ill rewarded!
O pitiful hert with payn enlarged!
O faithfull mynd, too sodenly assented!
Retourne, Alas, sethens thou art not regarded;
Too great a prouf of true faith presented
Causeth by right suche faith to be repented.

O cruel causer of vnderserued chaunge
By great desire vnconstantly to raunge
Is this your waye for prouf of stedfastnes?
Perdy you knowe—the thing was not so straunge—
By former prouff to muche my faithfulnes:
What nedeth, then, suche coloured dowblenes?

I have wailed thus weping in nyghtly payne
In sobbes, and sighes, Alas! and all in vayne,
In inward plaint and hertes wofull torment;
And yet, Alas, lo! crueltie and disdayn
Have set at noght a faithfull true intent
And price hath priuilege trouth to prevent.

But though I sterue and to my deth still morne,
And pece mele in peces though I be torne,
And though I dye, yelding my weried goost,
Shall never thing again make me retorne:
I qwite th'entreprise of that that I have lost
To whome so euer lust for to proffer moost.

VI

[But sethens you it asaye to kyll]

But sethens you it asaye to kyll
By crueltie and dowblenes,
That that was yowers, you seke to spill.
Against all right and gentilnes;
And sethens you will, euen so I will.

And then, helas, when no redresse
Can be, to late ye shall repent,
And say your self with woordes expresse:
Helas, an hert of true intent
Slain haue I by vnfaithfulnes!

VII

[Who so list to hounte I know where is an hynde]

Who so list to hounte I know where is an hynde;
But as for me, helas, I may no more:
The vayne travaill hath weried me so sore,
I ame of theim that farthest cometh behinde;
Yet may I by no meanes my weried mynde
Drawe from the Diere: but as she fleeth afore
Faynting I folowe; I leve of therefore,
Sithens in a nett I seke to hold the wynde.
Who list her hount I put him owte of dowbte,
As well as I may spend his tyme in vain:
And graven with Diamondes in letters plain
There is written her faier neck rounde abowte:
‘Noli me tangere for Cesars I ame,
And wylde for to hold though I seme tame’.

VIII

[Myne olde dere En'mye, my froward master]

Myne olde dere En'mye, my froward master,
Afore that Quene I caused to be acited;
Which holdeth the divine parte of nature:
That, lyke as goolde, in fyre he mought be tryed.
Charged with dolour, theare I me presented
With horrible fear, as one that greatlye dredith
A wrongfull death, and iustice alwaye seekethe.

And thus I sayde: ‘Once my lefte foote, Madame,
When I was yonge I sett within his reigne;
Whearby other than fiercelye burninge flame
I never felt, but many a grevous payne;
Tourment I suffred, angre and disdayne,
That myne oppressed patience was past
And I myne owne life hated at the last.

Thus hytherto have I my time passed
In payne and smarte. What wayes proffitable,

How many pleasant dayes have me escaped
In serving this false lyer so deceaveable?
What witt have wordes so prest and forceable,
That may contayne my great myshappynesse,
And iust complayntes of his vngentlenesse?

O small hony, much aloes, and gall,
In bitterness have my blynde lyfe taisted
His fals swetenes, that torneth as a ball,
With the amourous dawnce, have made me traced:
And where I had my thought and mynde araced
From all erthely frailnes and vain pleasure,
He toke me from rest, and set me in errour.

He hath made me regarde god muche less then I ought
And to my self to take right litle heede:
And, for a woman, have I set at nought
All othre thoughtes, in this onely to spede:
And he was onely counceillour of this dede,
Alwayes wheting my youthely desyere
On the cruell whetstone, tempered with fiere.

But (helas) where, nowe, had I ever wit?
Or els any othre gift geven me of nature?
That souner shall chaunge my weryed sprite
Then the obstinate will that is my rueler.
So robbeth my libertie with displeasure
This wicked traytour whom I thus accuse
That bitter liff have torned me in pleasaunt vse.

He hath chased me thorough dyvers regions,
Thorough desert wodes and sherp high mountaignes,
Thorough frowarde people and straite pressions,
Thorrough rocky sees, over hilles and playnes,
With wery travaill and labourous paynes,
Alwayes in trouble and in tediousnes,
In all errour and daungerous distres.

But nother he, nor she, my tother ffoo,
For all my flyght, did ever me forsake:
That though tymely deth hath ben to sloo
That, as yet, it hath me not overtake;
The hevynly goodenes of pitie do it slake
And not this his cruell extreme tyranny
That fedeth hym with my care and mysery.

Syns I was his, owre rested I never,
Nor loke for to do, and eke the waky nyghtes
The bannysshed slepe may no wyse recouer.
By decept and by force over my sprites
He is rueler; and syns there never bell strikes
Where I ame, that I here not my playntes to renewe;
And he himself, he knoweth that that I say is true.

Ffor never wormes have an old stock eaten
As he my hert, where he is alwaye resident;
And doeth the same with deth daily thretyn.
Thens com the teres and the bitter torment,
The sighes, the wordes, and eke the languisshement
That annoye boeth me and, peraduenture, othre;
Iudge thou, that knowest th'one and th'othre’.

Myn aduersary, with grevous reprouff,
Thus he began: ‘here, lady, th'othre part:
That the plain trueth from which he draweth alowff,
This vnkynd man, shall shew ere that I part.
In yonge age I toke him from that art
That selleth wordes, and maketh a clattering knyght;
And of my welth I gave him the delight.

Nowe shameth he not on me for to complain
That held him evermore in pleasaunt game
From his desire that myght have ben his payne;
Yet onely thereby I broght him to some frame,
Which, as wretchednes he doth greately blame:
And towerd honour I qwickened his wit,
Where els, as a daskard, he myght have sitt.

He knoweth that Atrides, that made Troye frete
And Hannyball, to Rome so trobelous;
Whome Homere honoured, Achilles that grete,
And the Affricane Scipion, the famous,
And many othre, by much vertue glorious,
Whose fame and honour did bryng theim above
I did let fall in base dishonest love.

And vnto him, thoughe he no deles worthy were
I chose right the best of many a mylion,
That, vnder the mone, was never her pere,
Of wisdome, womanhode, and discretion;
And of my grace I gave her suche a facon
And eke suche a way I taught her for to teche,
That never base thought his hert myght have reche.

Evermore thus to content his maistres
That was his onely frame of honeste.
I sterred him, still, towerd gentilnes,
And caused him to regard fidelitie;
Patiens I taught him in aduersite:
Suche vertues he lerned in my great schole,
Wherof he repenteth, the ignoraunt ffole.

These were the deceptes and the bitter gall
That I have vsed, the torment and the anger;
Sweter then for to injoye eny othre in all.
Of right good seede ill fruyte I gather
And so hath he that th'unkynd doeth forther.
I norisshe a Serpent vnder my wyng
And of his nature nowe gynneth he to styng.

And for to tell at last my great seruise
From thousand dishonestes I have him drawen:
That by my meanes in no maner of wyse
Never vile pleasure him hath overthrawen
Where in his dede shame hath him alwaies gnawen
Dowbting repoort that should com to her eere;
Whome now he accuseth, he wonnted to fere.

What soever he hath of any honest custume
Of her and me, that holdeth he every wit;
But, lo, there was never nyghtely fantome
So ferre in errour as he is from his wit;
To plain on vs he stryveth with the bit,
Which may ruell him and do him pleasure and pain,
And in oon Oure make all his greif remayn.

But oon thing there is above all othre:
I gave him wynges wherewith he myght flye

To honour and fame, and if he would farther
By mortall thinges above the starry skye;
Considering the pleasure that an Iye
Myght geve in erthe by reason of his love
What should that be, that lasteth still above?

And he the same himself hath sayed, or this,
But now forgotten is both that and I
That gave her him his onely welth and blisse’.
And, at this worde, with dedly shright and cry:
‘Thou gave her me’ (quod I) ‘but, by and by
Thou toke her streight from me, that wo worth thee!’
‘Not I’ (quod he) ‘but price, that is well worthy.’

At last, boethe, eche for himself, concluded,
I trembling; but he, with small reverence:
‘Lo, thus, as we have nowe eche othre accused,
Dere lady, we wayte onely thy sentence’.
She, smyling: ‘after thissaid audience,
It liketh me’ (quod she) ‘to have herd your question:
But lenger tyme doth aske resolution.’

IX

[Was I never, yet, of your love greeved]

Was I never, yet, of your love greeved:
Nor never shall, while that my liff doeth last:
But of hating myself that date is past:
And teeres continuell sore have me weried.
I will not yet in my grave be buried:
Nor on my tombe your name yfixed fast:
As cruell cause, that did the sperit sone hast
Ffrom th'unhappy bonys, by great sighes sterred.
Then, if an hert of amourous faith and will

May content you, withoute doyng greiff,
Please it you so, to this to doo releiff:
Yf, othre wise, ye seke for to fulfill
Your disdain, ye erre, and shall not as ye wene:
And ye yourself the cause therof hath bene.

X

[Eche man me telleth I chaunge moost my devise.]

Eche man me telleth I chaunge moost my devise.
And on my faith me thinck it goode reason
To chaunge propose like after the season,
Ffor in every cas to kepe still oon gyse
Ys mytt for theim that would be taken wyse,
And I ame not of suche maner condition,
But treted after a dyvers fasshion,
And therupon my dyvernes doeth rise.
But you that blame this dyvernes moost,
Chaunge you no more, but still after oon rate
Trete ye me well, and kepe ye in the same state;
And while with me doeth dwell this weried goost,
My word nor I shall not be variable,
But alwaies oon, your owne boeth ferme and stable.

XI

[Ffarewell, the rayn of crueltie!]

Ffarewell, the rayn of crueltie!
Though that with pain my libertie
Dere have I boght, yet shall surete
Conduyt my thoght of Joyes nede.

Of force I must forsake pleasure
A goode cause just syns I endure
Thereby my woo, which be ye sure
Shall therewith goo, me to recure.

I fare as oon escaped that fleith,
Glad that is gone yet still fereth,
Spied to be cawght, and so dredeth
That he for nought his pain leseth.

In joyfull pain reioyse myn hert,
Thus to sustain of eche a part;
Let not this song from the estert;
Welcome emong my plaisaunt smert.

XII

[Yf amorous faith, an hert vnfayned]

Yf amorous faith, an hert vnfayned,
A swete languor, a great lovely desire,
Yf honest will kyndelled in gentill fiere,
Yf long errour in a blynde maze chayned,
Yf in my visage eche thought depaynted,
Or else in my sperklyng voyse lower or higher,
Which nowe fere, nowe shame, wofully doth tyer,
Yf a pale colour which love hath stayned,
Yf to have an othre then my selfe more dere,
Yf wailing or sighting continuelly
With sorrowful anger feding bissely,
Yf burning a farre of and fresing nere
Ar cause that by love my self I distroye,
Yours is the fault and myn the great annoye.

XIII

[Ffarewell, Love, and all thy lawes for ever]

Ffarewell, Love, and all thy lawes for ever;
Thy bayted hookes shall tangill me no more;
Senec and Plato call me from thy lore,
To perfaict welth my wit for to endever.

In blynde errour when I did perseuer,
Thy sherpe repulce that pricketh ay so sore
Hath taught me to sett in tryfels no store
And scape fourth syns libertie is lever.
Therefore, farewell; goo trouble yonger hertes
And in me clayme no more authoritie;
With idill yeuth goo vse thy propertie
And theron spend thy many britill dertes:
For hetherto though I have lost all my tyme,
Me lusteth no lenger rotten boughes to clyme.

XIV

[My hert I gave the not to do it payn]

My hert I gave the not to do it payn,
But to preserue it was to the taken;
I serued the not to be forsaken,
But that I should be rewarded again.
I was content thy seruant to remayn,
But not to be payed vnder this fasshion.
Nowe syns in the is none othre reason,
Displease the not if that I do refrain.
Vnsaciat of my woo and thy desire,
Assured be craft to excuse thy fault;
But syns it please thee to fain a default,
Farewell, I say, parting from the fyer:
For he that beleveth bering in hand
Plowith in water and soweth in the sand.

XV

[Ffor to love her for her lokes lovely]

Ffor to love her for her lokes lovely
My hert was set in thought right fermely,
Trusting by trought to have had redresse;
But she hath made an othre promes
And hath geven me leve full honestly
Yet do I not reioyse it greately,
For on my faith I loved to surely;
But reason will that I do sesse
For to love her.

Syns that in love the paynes ben dedly,
Me thinck it best that reddely
I do retorne to my first adresse;
For at this tyme to great is the prese,
And perilles appere to abundauntely
For to love her.

XVI

[There was never ffile half so well filed]

There was never ffile half so well filed
To file a file for every smythes intent,
As I was made a filing instrument
To frame othre while I was begiled.
But reason hath at my follie smyled
And pardond me syns that I me repent
Of my lost yeres and tyme myspent,
For yeuth did me lede and falshode guyded.
Yet this trust I have of full great aperaunce:
Syns that decept is ay retourneable
Of very force it is aggreable;
That therewithall be done the recompence.
Then gile begiled plained should be never
And the reward litle trust for ever.

XVII

[Helpe me to seke for I lost it there]

Helpe me to seke for I lost it there:
And if that ye have founde it, ye that be here,
And seke to convaye it secretely,
Handell it soft and trete it tenderly
Or els it will plain and then appere,
But rather restore it mannerly,
Syns that I do aske it thus honestly;
For to lese it it sitteth me to neere:
Helpe me to seke.

Alas, and is there no remedy,
But I have I thus lost it wilfully?
I wis it was a thing all to dere
To be bestowed and wist not where.
It was myn hert: I pray you hertely
Help me to seke.

XVIII

[Yf it be so that I forsake the]

Yf it be so that I forsake the,
As banysshed from thy company,
Yet my hert, my mynde and myn affection
Shall still remain in thy perfection;
And right as thou lyst so order me.
But some would saye in their opinion
Revoulsed is thy good intention;
Then may I well blame thy cruelte,
Yf it be so.

But myself I say on this fasshion,
I have her hert in my possession,

And of it self there cannot, perdy,
By no meanes love an herteles body;
And, on my faith, good is the reason,
If it be so.

XIX

[Thou hast no faith of him that hath none]

Thou hast no faith of him that hath none,
But thou must love him nedes by reason;
For as saieth a proverbe notable,
Eche thing seketh his semblable:
And thou hast thyn of thy condition.
Yet is it not the thing I passe on,
Nor hote nor cold of myn affection;
For syns thyn hert is so mutable,
Thou hast no faith.

I thought the true withoute exception,
But I perceve I lacked discretion
To fasshion faith to wordes mutable:
Thy thought is to light and variable,
To chaunge so oft withoute occasion,
Thou hast no faith.

XX

[Goo burnyng sighes Vnto the frosen hert!]

Goo burnyng sighes Vnto the frosen hert!
Goo breke the Ise which pites paynfull dert
Myght never perse, and if mortall prayer
In hevyn may be herd, at lest I desire
That deth or mercy be end of my smart.
Take with the payne wherof I have my part,

And eke the flame from which I cannot stert
And leve me then in rest, I you require:
Goo burning sighes!

I must goo worke, I se, by craft and art,
For trueth and faith in her is laide apart;
Alas, I cannot therefore assaill her
With pitefull plaint and scalding fyer,
That oute of my brest doeth straynably stert:
Goo burning sighes!

XXI

[It may be good, like it who list]

It may be good, like it who list,
But I do dowbt: who can me blame?
For oft assured yet have I myst,
And now again I fere the same:
The wyndy wordes, the Ies quaynt game,
Of soden chaunge maketh me agast:
For dred to fall I stond not fast.

Alas! I tred an endles maze
That seketh to accorde two contraries;
And hope still, and nothing hase,
Imprisoned in libertes,
As oon unhard and still that cries;
Alwaies thursty and yet nothing I tast:
For dred to fall I stond not fast.

Assured, I dowbt I be not sure;
And should I trust to suche suretie
That oft hath put the prouff in vre
And never hath founde it trusty?

Nay, sir, In faith it were great foly.
And yet my liff thus I do wast:
For dred to fall I stond not fast.

XXII

[Resound my voyse, ye woodes that here me plain]

Resound my voyse, ye woodes that here me plain,
Boeth hilles and vales causing reflexion;
And Ryvers eke record ye of my pain,
Which have ye oft forced by compassion
As Judges to here myn exclamation;
Emong whome pitie I fynde doeth remayn:
Where I it seke, Alas, there is disdain.

Oft ye Revers, to here my wofull sounde,
Have stopt your course and, plainly to expresse,
Many a tere by moystour of the grounde
The erth hath wept to here my hevenes;
Which causeles to suffre without redresse
The howgy okes have rored in the wynde:
Eche thing me thought complayning in their kynde.

Why, then, helas, doeth not she on me rew?
Or is her hert so herd that no pitie
May in it synke, my Joye for to renew?
O stony hert, who hath thus joyned the
So cruell that art, cloked with beaultie?
No grace to me from the there may procede,
But as rewarded deth for to be my mede.

XXIII

[In faith I not well what to say]

In faith I not well what to say,
Thy chaunces ben so wonderous,
Thou fortune, with thy dyvers play
That causeth Joy full dolourous,
And eke the same right Joyus:
Yet though thy chayne hath me enwrapt
Spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt.

Though thou me set for a wounder
And sekest thy chaunge to do me payn,
Mens myndes yet may thou not order,
And honeste, and it remayn,
Shall shyne for all thy clowdy rayn;
In vayn thou sekest to have trapped:
Spite of thy hap, hap hath well happed.

In hindering thou diddest fourther,
And made a gap where was a stile;
Cruell willes ben oft put vnder,
Wenyng to lowre thou diddist smyle.
Lorde! how thy self thou diddist begile,
That in thy cares wouldest me have lapped!
But spite of thy hap, hap hath well happed.

XXIV

[Som fowles there be that have so perfaict sight]

Som fowles there be that have so perfaict sight,
Agayn the Sonne their Iyes for to defend,
And som, bicause the light doeth theim offend,
Do never pere but in the darke or nyght.
Other reioyse that se the fyer bright
And wene to play in it as they do pretend,
And fynd the contrary of it that they intend.

Alas, of that sort I may be by right,
For to withstond her loke I ame not able;
And yet can I not hide me in no darke place,
Remembraunce so foloweth me of that face,
So that with tery yen swolne and vnstable,
My destyne to behold her doeth me lede;
Yet do I knowe I runne into the glede.

XXV

[Bicause I have the still kept fro lyes and blame]

Bicause I have the still kept fro lyes and blame
And to my power alwaies have I the honoured,
Vnkynd tong right ill hast thou me rendred
For suche deserft to do me wrek and shame.
In nede of succour moost when that I ame
To aske reward, then standest thou like oon aferd
Alway moost cold, and if thou speke a word,
It is as in dreme vnperfaict and lame.
And ye salt teres again my will eche nyght
That are with me when fayn I would be alone,
Then are ye gone when I should make my mone;
And you so reddy sighes to make me shright,
Then are ye slake when that ye should owtestert,
And onely my loke declareth my hert.

XXVI

[I fynde no peace and all my warr is done]

I fynde no peace and all my warr is done;
I fere and hope I burne and freise like yse;
I fley above the wynde yet can I not arrise;
And noght I have and all the worold I seson.

That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison
And holdeth me not, yet can I scape no wise;
Nor letteth me lyve nor dye at my devise,
And yet of deth it gyveth me occasion.
Withoute Iyen, I se; and withoute tong I plain;
I desire to perisshe and yet I aske helthe;
I love an othre and thus I hate my self;
I fede me in sorrowe and laugh in all my pain;
Likewise displeaseth me boeth deth and lyffe;
And my delite is causer of this stryff.

XXVII

[Though I my self be bridilled of my mynde]

Though I my self be bridilled of my mynde,
Retorning me backewerd by force expresse,
If thou seke honour to kepe thy promes,
Who may the hold, my hert, but thou thy self vnbynd?
Sigh then no more, syns no way man may fynde
Thy vertue to let, though that frowerdnes
Of ffortune me holdeth: and yet, as I may gesse,
Though othre be present thou art not all behinde.
Suffice it then that thou be redy there
At all howres; still vnder the defence
Of tyme, trouth and love to save the from offence;
Cryeng, ‘I burne in a lovely desire
With my dere Maisteres: that may not followe,
Whereby his absence torneth him to sorrowe.’

XXVIII

[My galy charged with forgetfulnes]

My galy charged with forgetfulnes
Thorrough sharpe sees in wynter nyghtes doeth pas
Twene Rock and Rock; and eke myn ennemy, Alas,

That is my lorde, sterith with cruelnes;
And every owre a thought in redines,
As tho that deth were light in suche a case;
An endles wynd doeth tere the sayll a pase
Of forced sightes and trusty ferefulnes.
A rayn of teris, a clowde of derk disdain
Hath done the wered cordes great hinderaunce,
Wrethed with errour and eke with ignoraunce.
The starres be hid that led me to this pain;
Drowned is reason that should me confort,
And I remain dispering of the port.

XXIX

[Auysing the bright bemes of these fayer Iyes]

Auysing the bright bemes of these fayer Iyes,
Where he is that myn oft moisteth and wassheth,
The werid mynde streght from the hert departeth
For to rest in his woroldly paradise,
And fynde the swete bitter vnder this gyse.
What webbes he hath wrought well he perceveth
Whereby with himself on love he playneth,
That spurreth with fyer and bridilleth with Ise.
Thus is it in suche extremitie brought:
In frossen thought nowe and nowe it stondeth in flame;
Twyst misery and welth, twist ernest and game;
But few glad and many a dyvers thought;
With sore repentaunce of his hardines:
Of suche a rote commeth ffruyte fruytles.

XXX

[Ever myn happe is slack and slo in commyng]

Ever myn happe is slack and slo in commyng,
Desir encresing, myn hope vncertain,
That leve it or wayt it doeth me like pain,
And Tigre like, swift it is in parting.
Alas, the snow shalbe black and scalding,
The See waterles, fisshe in the moyntain,
The Tamys shall retorne back into his fountain,
And where he rose the sonne shall take lodging,
Ere that I in this fynde peace or quyetenes,
Or that love or my lady rightwisely
Leve to conspire again me wrongfully;
And if that I have after suche bitternes
Any thing swete, my mouth is owte of tast,
That all my trust and travaill is but wast.

XXXI

[Love and fortune and my mynde, remembrer]

Love and fortune and my mynde, remembrer
Of that that is nowe with that that hath ben,
Do torment me so that I very often
Envy theim beyonde all mesure.
Love sleith myn hert; fortune is depriver
Of all my comfort; the folisshe mynde then
Burneth and plaineth as one that sildam
Lyveth and rest still in displeasure.
My plaisaunt dayes they flete away and passe,
But daily yet the ill doeth chaunge into the wours;
And more than the half is runne of my cours.

Alas, not of steill but of brickell glasse,
I see that from myn hand falleth my trust,
And all my thoughtes are dasshed into dust.

XXXII

[How oft have I, my dere and cruell foo]

How oft have I, my dere and cruell foo,
With those your Iyes for to get peace and truyse,
Profferd you myn hert: but you do not vse
Emong so high thinges to cast your mynde so lowe.
Yf any othre loke for it, as ye trowe,
There vayn weke hope doeth greately theim abuse;
And thus I disdain that that ye refuse;
It was ones mine: it can no more be so.
Yf I then it chase, nor it in you can fynde
In this exile no manner of comfort,
Nor lyve allone, nor where he is called resort,
He may wander from his naturall kynd.
So shall it be great hurt vnto vs twayn,
And yours the losse and myn the dedly pain.

XXXIII

[Like to these vnmesurable montayns]

Like to these vnmesurable montayns
Is my painfull lyff the burden of Ire,
For of great height be they, and high is my desire,
And I of teres, and they be full of fontayns.
Vnder Craggy rockes they have full barren playns;
Herd thoughtes in me my wofull mynde doeth tyre;
Small fruyt and many leves their toppes do atyre;
Small effect with great trust in me remayns.
The boystous wyndes oft their high bowghes do blast,
Hote sighes from me continuelly be shed;
Cattell in theim, and in me love is fed;

Immoveable ame I, and they are full stedfast;
Off the restles birdes they have the tune and note,
And I alwayes plaintes that passe thorough my throte.

XXXIV

[Madame, withouten many wordes]

Madame, withouten many wordes,
Ons I am sure ye will or no:
And if ye will, then leve your bordes,
And vse your wit and shew it so.

And with a beck ye shall me call,
And if of oon that burneth alwaye
Ye have any pitie at all,
Aunswer him faire with yea or nay.

Yf it be yea, I shalbe fayne;
If it be nay, frendes as before;
Ye shall an othre man obtain,
And I myn owne and yours no more.

XXXV

[Ye old mule that thinck your self so fayre]

Ye old mule that thinck your self so fayre,
Leve of with craft your beautie to repaire,
For it is true withoute any fable
No man setteth more by riding in your saddell;
To muche travaill so do your train apaire,
Ye old mule!
With fals savours though you deceve th'ayer,
Who so tast you shall well perceve your layer
Savoureth som what of a Kappurs stable,
Ye old mule!

Ye must now serve to market and to faire,
All for the burden for pannyers a paire:
For syns gray heres ben powdered in your sable,
The thing ye seke for you must your self enable
To pourchase it by payment and by prayer,
Ye old mule!

XXXVI

[Suche happe as I ame happed in]

Suche happe as I ame happed in
Had never man of trueth I wene;
At me fortune list to begyn
To shew that never hath ben sene
A new kynde of vnhappenes;
Nor I cannot the thing I mene
My self expres.

My self expresse my dedely pain
That can I well, if that myght serue;
But why I have not helpe again
That knowe I not vnles I starve;
For honger still a myddes my foode
So graunted is that I deserue
To do me good.

To do me good what may prevaill?
For I deserve and not desire,
And stil of cold I me bewaill
And raked ame in burnyng fyere;
For tho I have, suche is my lott,
In hand to helpe that I require,
It helpeth not.

It helpeth not, but to encrese
That that by prouff can be no more:
That is the hete that cannot cesse,
And that I have to crave so sore,
What wonder is this greedy lust
To aske and have, and yet therefore
Refrain I must.

Refrain I must; what is the cause?
Sure, as they say, so hawkes be taught.
But in my case laieth no suche clause,
For with suche craft I ame not caught;
Wherefore I say and good cause why,
With haples hand no man hath raught
Such happe as I.

XXXVII

[They fle from me that sometyme did me seke]

They fle from me that sometyme did me seke
With naked fote stalking in my chambre.
I have sene theim gentill tame and meke
That nowe are wyld and do not remembre
That sometyme they put theimself in daunger
To take bred at my hand; and nowe they raunge
Besely seking with a continuell chaunge.

Thancked be fortune, it hath ben othrewise
Twenty tymes better; but ons in speciall
In thyn arraye after a pleasaunt gyse
When her lose gowne from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her armes long and small;
Therewithall swetely did me kysse,
And softely said ‘dere hert, how like you this?’

It was no dreme: I lay brode waking.
But all is torned thorough my gentilnes
Into a straunge fasshion of forsaking;
And I have leve to goo of her goodeness,
And she also to vse new fangilnes.
But syns that I so kyndely ame serued,
I would fain knowe what she hath deserued.

XXXVIII

[There was never nothing more me payned]

There was never nothing more me payned,
Nor nothing more me moved,
As when my swete hert her complayned
That ever she me loved.
Alas the while!

With pituous loke she saide and sighed
‘Alas what aileth me
To love and set my welth so light
On hym that loveth not me?
Alas the while!

‘Was I not well voyde of all pain,
When that nothing me greved?
And now with sorrous I must complain
And cannot be releved.
Alas the while!

‘My restfull nyghtes and Joyfull daies
Syns I began to love
Be take from me; all thing decayes
Yet can I not remove.
Alas the while!’

She wept and wrong her handes withall,
The teres fell in my nekke.
She torned her face and let it fall;
Scarsely therewith could speke.
Alas the while!

Her paynes tormented me so sore
That comfort had I none,
But cursed my fortune more and more
To se her sobbe and grone.
Alas the while!

XXXIX

[Patience, though I have not]

Patience, though I have not
The thing that I require,
I must of force, god wot,
Forbere my moost desire:
For no ways can I fynde
To saile against the wynde.

Patience, do what they will
To worke me woo or spite,
I shall content me still
To thyncke boeth day and nyte,
To thyncke and hold my peace,
Syns there is no redresse.

Patience, withouten blame,
For I offended nought;
I knowe they knowe the same,
Though they have chaunged their thought.
Was ever thought so moved
To hate that it haith loved?

Patience of all my harme,
For fortune is my foo;
Patience must be the charme
To hele me of my woo:
Patience, withoute offence,
Is a painfull patience.

XL

[Patiens for my devise]

Patiens for my devise,
Impaciens for your part;
Of contraries the gyse

Is ever the overthwart:
Paciens, for I ame true,
The contrary for yew.

Paciens, a good cause why
You have no cause at all;
Therefore yours standeth awry,
Perchaunce sometyme to fall:
Paciens, then take him vp
And drynck of paciens cupp.

Pacience, no force for that,
But brusshe your gowne again;
Pacience, spurne not therat;
Let no man knowe your payne:
Pacience, evyn at my pleasure,
When youres is owte of mesure.

Th'othre was for me,
This pacience is for you;
Chaunge when ye list, let se,
For I have taken a new;
Pacience, with a good will
Is easy to fulfill.

XLI

[Ye know my herte, my ladye dere]

Ye know my herte, my ladye dere,
That sins the tyme I was your thrall
I have bene yours both hole and clere,
Tho my reward hathe bene but small;
So am I yet and more then all
And ye kno well how I have seruid,

As yf ye prove it shall apere
Howe well, how longe,
How faithefulye
And soffred wrong
How patientlye!
Then sins that I have neuer swarfde
Let not my paines be ondeseruide.

Ye kno also, though ye saye naye,
That you alone are my desire
And you alone yt is that maye
Asswage my fervent flaming fire;
Soccour me then I you require.
Ye kno yt ware a just request,
Sins ye do cause my heat, I saye,
Yf that I bourne
That ye will warme
And not to tourne
All to my harme
Sending suche flame from frosen brest
Against all right for my vnrest.

And I knowe well how frowerdly
Ye have mystaken my true Intent
And hetherto how wrongfully
I have founde cause for to repent;
But deth shall ryd me redely
Yf your [hard] hert do not relent;
And I knowe well all this ye knowe
That I and myne
And all I have
Ye may assigne
To spill or save.
Why are ye then so cruel ffoo
Vnto your owne that loveth you so?

XLII

[Who hath herd of suche crueltye before?]

Who hath herd of suche crueltye before?
That when my plaint remembred her my woo
That caused it, she cruell more and more
Wisshed eche stitche, as she did sit and soo,
Had prykt myn hert, for to encrese my sore;
And, as I thinck, she thought it had ben so:
For as she thought this is his hert in dede,
She pricked herd and made her self to blede.

XLIII

[If fansy would favour]

If fansy would favour
As my deseruing shall,
My love, my paramour,
Should love me best of all.

But if I cannot attain
The grace that I desire,
Then may I well complain
My seruice and my hiere.

Fansy doethe knowe how
To fourther my trew hert
If fansy myght avowe
With faith to take part.

But fansy is so fraill
And flitting still so fast,
That faith may not prevaill
To helpe me furst nor last.

For fansy at his lust
Doeth rule all but by gesse;

Whereto should I then trust
In trouth or stedfastnes?

Yet gladdely would I please
The fansy of her hert,
That may me onely ease
And cure my carefull smart.

Therefore, my lady dere,
Set ons your fantasy
To make som hope appere
Of stedfast remedy.

For if he be my frend
And vndertake my woo,
My greife is at an ende
If he continue so.

Elles fansy doeth not right,
As I deserue and shall,
To have you daye and nyght
To love me best of all.

XLIV

[Alas madame for stelyng of a kysse]

Alas madame for stelyng of a kysse
Have I so much your mynd ther offended?
Have I then done so greuously amysse,
That by no meanes it may be amended?
Then revenge you, and the next way is this:
An othr kysse shall have my lyffe endid.

For to my mowth the first my hert did suck,
The next shall clene oute of my brest it pluck.

XLV

[What no, perdy, ye may be sure!]

What no, perdy, ye may be sure!
Thinck not to make me to your lure,
With wordes and chere so contrarieng,
Swete and sowre contrewaing;
To much of it were still to endure.
Trouth is trayed where craft is in vre;
But though ye have had my hertes cure,
Trow ye I dote withoute ending?
What no, perdy!

Though that with pain I do procure
For to forgett that ons was pure
Within my hert shall still that thing,
Vnstable, vnsure and wavering,
Be in my mynde withoute recure?
What no, perdye!

XLVI

[The wandering gadlyng in the sommer tyde]

The wandering gadlyng in the sommer tyde,
That fyndes the Adder with his recheles fote,
Startes not dismayd so soudenly a side
As jalous dispite did, tho there ware no bote,
When that he sawe me sitting by her side
That of my helth is very croppe and rote,
It pleased me then to have so fair a grace
To styng that hert that would have my place.

XLVII

[The lyvely sperkes that issue from those Iyes]

The lyvely sperkes that issue from those Iyes
Against the which ne vaileth no defence
Have prest myn hert and done it none offence
With qwaking pleasure more then ons or twise.
Was never man could any thing devise
The sonne bemes to torne with so great vehemence,
To dase mans sight as by their bright presence.
Dased ame I much like vnto the gyse
Of one I-stricken with dynt of lightening,
Blynded with the stroke, erryng here and there,
So call I for helpe, I not when ne where,
The pain of my fal patiently bering:
For after the blase, as is no wounder,
Of dedly nay here I the ferefull thoundere.

XLVIII

[What nedeth these thretning wordes and wasted wynde?]

What nedeth these thretning wordes and wasted wynde?
All this cannot make me restore my pray.
To robbe your good, I wis, is not my mynde,
Nor causeles your faire hand did I display.
Let love be judge, or els whome next we meit,
That may boeth here what you and I can say.
She toke from me an hert and I a glove from her:
Let vs se nowe, if th'one be wourth th'othre.

XLIX

[Ryght true it is, and said full yore agoo]

Ryght true it is, and said full yore agoo:
Take hede of him that by thy back the claweth,
For none is wourse then is a frendly ffoo.

Though they seme good, all thing that the deliteth,
Yet knowe it well, that in thy bosom crepeth:
For many a man such fier oft kyndeleth,
That with the blase his berd syngeth.

L

[What wourde is that that chaungeth not]

What wourde is that that chaungeth not,
Though it be tourned and made in twain?
It is myn aunswer, god it wot,
And eke the causer of my payn.
A love rewardeth with disdain,
Yet is it loved. What would ye more?
It is my helth eke and my sore.

LI

[At moost myschief]

At moost myschief
I suffre greif
For of relief
Syns I have none
My lute and I
Continuelly
Shall vs apply
To sigh and mone.

Nought may prevaill
To wepe or waill
Pitie doeth faill
In you Alas
Morning or mone
Complaint or none
It is all one
As in this case.

For crueltie
Moost that can be
Hath soveraynte
Within your hert
Which maketh bare
All my welfare
Nought do ye care
How sore I smart.

No Tigres hert
Is so pervert
Withoute dessert
To wreke his Ire
And you me kyll
For my good will
Lo how I spill
For my desire!

There is no love
That can ye move
And I can prove
None othre way;
Therefore I must
Restrain my lust
Banisshe my trust
And welth away.

Thus in myschief
I suffre greif
For of relief
Syns I have none,
My lute and I
Continuelly
Shall vs apply
To sigh and mone.

LII

[Marvaill no more, all tho]

Marvaill no more, all tho
The songes I syng do mone,
For othre liff then wo
I never proved none;
And in my hert also
Is graven with lettres diepe
A thousand sighes and mo,
A flod of teres to wepe.

How may a man in smart
Fynde matter to rejoyse,
How may a morning hert
Set fourth a pleasaunt voise?
Play who that can that part,
Nedes must in me appere
How fortune overthwart
Doeth cause my morning chere.

Perdy, there is no man,
If he never sawe sight,
That perfaictly tell can
The nature of the light;
Alas, how should I then
That never tasted but sowre
But do as I began
Continuelly to lowre?

But yet perchaunce som chaunce
May chaunce to chaunge my tune,
And when suche chaunce doeth chaunce,
Then shall I thanck fortune;
And if I have souche chaunce,

Perchaunce ere it be long,
For such a pleasaunt chaunce
To syng som plaisaunt song.

LIII

[Where shall I have at myn owne will]

Where shall I have at myn owne will
Teres to complain? Where shall I fett
Suche sighes that I may sigh my fill
And then again my plaintes repete?

For tho my plaint shall have none end,
My teres cannot suffice my woo.
To mone my harme have I no frend
For fortunes frend is myshappes ffoo.

Comfort (god wot) els have I none,
But in the wynde to wast my wordes.
Nought moveth you my dedly mone,
But all you torne it into bordes.

I speke not now to move your hert
That you should rue vpon my pain;
The sentence geven may not revert:
I know such labour were but vayn.

But syns that I for you, my dere,
Have lost that thing that was my best,
A right small losse it must appere
To lese thes wordes and all the rest.

But tho they sparkill in the wynde,
Yet shall they shew your falsed faith
Which is retorned vnto his kynde,
For like to like the proverbe saieth.

Fortune and you did me avaunce;
Me thought I swam and could not drowne;
Happiest of all, but my myschaunce
Did lyft me vp to throwe me downe.

And you with your owne crulnes
Did set your fote vpon my neck,
Me and my welfare to oppresse,
Without offence your hert to wreke.

Where are your plaisaunt wordes, alas,
Where your faith, your stedfastnes?
There is no more but all doth passe,
And I ame left all comfortles.

But forbicause it doeth you greve
And also me my wretched liff,
Have here my trouth: shall not releve,
But deth alone my wery striff.

Therefore farewell my liff, my deth,
My gayn, my losse, my salve, my sore!
Farewell also with you my breth!
For I ame gone for evermore

Podra esser che no es

LIV

[She sat and sowde that hath done me the wrong]

She sat and sowde that hath done me the wrong
Wherof I plain, and have done many a daye;
And whilst she herd my plaint in pitious song
Wisshed my hert the samplar as it lay.
The blynd maister whome I haue serued so long,
Grudging to here that he did here her saye,
Made her owne wepon do her fynger blede,
To fele if pricking were so good in dede.

LV

[‘A Robyn]

‘A Robyn
Joly Robyn
Tell me how thy leman doeth
And thou shall knowe of myn.’

‘My lady is vnkynd, perde!’
‘Alack, whi is she so?’
‘She loveth an othre better than me,
And yet she will say no.’

Responce

I fynde no suche doublenes,
I fynde women true.
My lady loveth me dowtles,
And will chaunge for no newe.

Le plaintif

Thou art happy while that doeth last,
But I say as I fynde,
That womens love is but a blast
And torneth like the wynde.

Responce

Yf that be trew yett as thou sayst
That women turn their hart,
Then spek better of them thou mayst
In hope to hau thy partt.

Le plaintif

Suche folkes shall take no harme by love
That can abide their torne,
But I alas can no way prove
In love but lake and morne.

Responce

But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme
Lerne this lessen of me,
At othre fires thy self to warme
And let theim warme with the.

LVI

[Suche vayn thought as wonted to myslede me]

Suche vayn thought as wonted to myslede me
In desert hope by well assured mone,
Maketh me from compayne to live alone,
In folowing her whome reason bid me fle.
She fleith as fast by gentill crueltie;
And after her myn hert would fain be gone,
But armed sighes my way do stoppe anone,
Twixt hope and drede locking my libertie.
Yet, as I gesse, vnder disdaynfull browe
One beame of pitie is in her clowdy loke,
Which comforteth the mynde that erst for fere shoke:
And therewithall bolded I seke the way how
To vtter the smert that I suffre within,
But suche it is, I not how to begyn.

LVII

[Tho I cannot your crueltie constrain]

Tho I cannot your crueltie constrain,
For my good will to favour me again;
Tho my true and faithfull love,
Have no power your hert to move,
Yet rew vpon my pain.

Tho I your thrall must evermore remain,
And for your sake my libertie restrain,

The greatest grace that I do crave
Is that ye would vouchesave
To rew vpon my pain.

Tho I have not deserued to obtain
So high Reward but thus to serue in vain,
Tho I shall have no redresse
Yet of right ye can no lesse
But rew vpon my pain.

But I se well that your high disdain
Wull no wise graunt that I shall more attain;
Yet ye must graunt at the lest
This my poure and small request:
Reioyse not at my pain.

LVIII

[To wisshe and want and not obtain]

To wisshe and want and not obtain,
To seke and sew esse of my pain,
Syns all that ever I do is vain,
What may it availl me?

All tho I stryve boeth dey and howre,
Against the streme with all my powre,
If fortune list yet for to lowre,
What may it availl me?

If willingly I suffre woo,
If from the fyre me list not goo,
If then I burne to plaine me so,
What may it availl me?

And if the harme that I suffre
Be runne to farre owte of mesur,
To seke for helpe any further
What may it availl me?

What tho eche hert that hereth me plain
Pitieth and plaineth for my payn,
If I no les in greif remain
What may it availl me?

Ye tho the want of my relief
Displease the causer of my greif,
Syns I remain still in myschiefe,
What may it availl me?

Such cruell chaunce doeth so me threte,
Continuelly inward to frete,
Then of relesse for to trete,
What may it availl me?

Fortune is deiff vnto my call,
My torment moveth her not at all,
And though she torne as doethe a ball
What may it availl me?

For in despere there is no rede;
To want of ere speche is no spede;
To linger still alyve as dede,
What may it availl me?

LIX

[Some tyme I fled the fyre that me brent]

Some tyme I fled the fyre that me brent
By see, by land, by water and by wynd;
And now I folow the coles that be quent
From Dovor to Calais against my mynde.
Lo! how desire is boeth sprong and spent!
And he may se that whilome was so blynde;
And all his labor now he laugh to scorne.
Mashed in the breers that erst was all to torne.

LX

[He is not ded that somtyme hath a fall.]

He is not ded that somtyme hath a fall.
The Sonne retorneth that was vnder the clowd
And when fortune hath spitt oute all her gall
I trust good luck to me shalbe allowd.
For I have sene a shippe into haven fall
After the storme hath broke boeth mast and shrowd;
And eke the willowe that stowpeth with the wynde
Doeth ryse again, and greater wode doeth bynd.

LXI

[The furyous gonne in his rajing yre]

The furyous gonne in his rajing yre,
When that the bowle is rammed in to sore,
And that the flame cannot part from the fire,
Cracketh in sonder, and in the ayer doeth rore
The shevered peces; right so doeth my desire
Whose flame encreseth from more to more,
Wych to let owt I dare not loke nor speke:
So now hard force my hert doeth all to breke.

LXII

[My hope, Alas, hath me abused]

My hope, Alas, hath me abused,
And vain rejoysing hath me fed;
Lust and Joye have me refused
And carefull plaint is in their stede;
To muche avauncing slaked my spede;
Myrth hath caused my hevines,
And I remain all comfortles.

Whereto did I assure my thought
Withoute displeasure stedfastly?

In fortunes forge my Joye was wrought,
And is revolted redely.
I ame mystaken wonderly,
For I thought nought but faithfulnes,
Yet I remain all comfortles.

In gladsom chere I did delite,
Till that delite did cause my smert
And all was wrong where I thought right;
For right it was that my true hert
Should not from trouth be set apart,
Syns trouth did cause my hardines;
Yet I remain all comfortles.

Sometyme delight did tune my song,
And led my hert full pleasauntly;
And to my self I saide among:
My happe is commyng hastely.
But it hath happed contrary;
Assuraunce causeth my distres,
And I remain all comfortles.

Then if my note now do vary
And leve his wonted pleasauntnes,
The hevy burden that I cary
Hath alterd all my Joyefulnes.
No pleasure hath still stedfastnes,
But hast hath hurt my happenes,
And I remain all comfortles.

LXIII

[What deth is worse then this]

What deth is worse then this
When my delight,
My wele, my joye, my blys,
Is from my sight?
Boeth daye and nyght
My liff, alas, I mys.

For though I seme alyve,
My hert is hens
Thus botles for to stryve
Oute of presens
Of my defens,
Towerd my deth I dryve.

Hertles, alas, what man
May long endure?
Alas, how lyve I then?
Syns no recure
May me assure
My liff I may well ban.

Thus doeth my torment gro
In dedly dred.
Alas, who myght lyve so,
Alyve as deed
Alyve to lede
A dedly lyff in woo.

LXIV

[Th'enmy of liff, decayer of all kynde]

Th'enmy of liff, decayer of all kynde,
That with his cold wethers away the grene,
This othre nyght me in my bed did fynde,
And offered me to rid my fiever clene;
And I did graunt, so did dispayre me blynde.
He drewe his bowe with arrowe sharp and kene,
And strake the place where love had hit before,
And drave the first dart deper more and more.

LXV

[Ons as me thought fortune me kyst]

Ons as me thought fortune me kyst
And bad me aske what I thought best,
And I should have it as me list
Therewith to set my hert in rest.

I asked nought but my dere hert
To have for evermore myn owne;
Then at an ende were all my smert,
Then should I nede no more to mone.

Yet for all that a stormy blast
Had overtorned this goodely day;
And fortune semed at the last
That to her promes she saide nay.

But like as oon oute of dispere
To soudden hope revived I;
Now fortune sheweth herself so fayer
That I content me wonderly.

My moost desire my hand may reche,
My will is alwaye at my hand;
Me nede not long for to beseche
Her that hath power me to commaund.

What erthely thing more can I crave?
What would I wisshe more at my will?
No thing on erth more would I have,
Save that I have to have it still.

For fortune hath kept her promes
In graunting me my moost desire:
Of my sufferaunce I have redres,
And I content me with my hiere.

LXVI

[My lute, awake! perfourme the last]

My lute, awake! perfourme the last
Labour that thou and I shall wast
And end that I have now begon;
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute be still, for I have done.

As to be herd where ere is none,
As lede to grave in marbill stone,
My song may perse her hert as sone;
Should we then sigh, or syng, or mone?
No, no, my lute, for I have done.

The Rokkes do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continuelly
As she my suyte and affection,
So that I ame past remedy,
Whereby my lute and I have done.

Prowd of the spoyll that thou hast gott
Of simple hertes thorough loves shot,
By whome, vnkynd, thou hast theim wone,
Thinck not he haith his bow forgot,
All tho my lute and I have done.

Vengeaunce shall fall on thy disdain
That makest but game on ernest pain;
Thinck not alone vnder the sonne
Vnquyt to cause thy lovers plain,
All tho my lute and I have done.

Perchaunce the lye wethered and old,
The wynter nyghtes that are so cold,
Playnyng in vain vnto the mone;
Thy wisshes then dare not be told;
Care then who lyst, for I have done.

And then may chaunce the to repent
The tyme that thou hast lost and spent,
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoune;
Then shalt thou knowe beaultie but lent
And wisshe and want as I have done.

Now cesse, my lute; this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall wast,
And ended is that we begon;
Now is this song boeth sung and past;
My lute, be still, for I have done.

LXVII

[If chaunce assynd]

If chaunce assynd
Were to my mynde
By very kynd
Of destyne,
Yet would I crave
Nought else to have
But only liff and libertie.

Then were I sure
I myght endure
The displeasure
Of crueltie,
Where now I plain
Alas in vain,
Lacking my liff for libertie.

For withoute th'one
Th'othre is gone
And there can none
It remedy;
If th'one be past,
Th'othre doeth wast,
And all for lack of libertie.

And so I dryve
As yet alyve

All tho I stryve
With myserie,
Drawing my breth,
Lowking for deth
And losse of liff for libertie.

But thou that still
Maist at thy will
Torne all this ill
Aduersitie,
For the repare
Of my welfare
Graunt me but liff and libertie.

And if not so,
Then let all goo
To wretched woo,
And let me dye;
For th'one or th'othre
There is none othre,
My deth or liff with libertie.

LXVIII

[Nature, that gave the bee so feet a grace]

Nature, that gave the bee so feet a grace
To fynd hony of so wondrous fashion
Hath taught the spider owte of the same place
To fetche poyson, by straynge alteration.
Tho this be straynge, it is a straynger cace
With oon kysse by secret operation
Boeth these at ons, in those your lippes to fynde,
In chaunge wherof, I leve my hert behinde.

LXIX

[I have sought long with stedfastnes]

I have sought long with stedfastnes
To have had som ease of my great smert,
But nought availleth faithfulnes
To grave within your stony hert.

But happe and hit or els hit not,
As vncertain as is the wynde,
Right so it fareth by the shott
Of love, alas, that is so blynd.

Therefore I plaid the foole in vain,
With pitie, when I first began
Your cruell hert for to constrain,
Syns love regardeth no doulfull man.

But, of your goodenes, all your mynde
Is that I should complain in vain:
This is the favor that I fynde,
Ye list to here how I can plain.

But tho I plain to please your hert,
Trust me, I trust to temper it so,
Not for to care which do revert:
All shalbe oon in welth or woo.

For fansy rueleth, tho right say nay,
Even as the goodeman kyst his kowe;
None othre reason can ye lay
But as who saieth, I reke not how.

LXX

[Lyke as the Swanne towardis her dethe]

Lyke as the Swanne towardis her dethe
Doeth strayn her voyse with dolefull note
Right so syng I with waste of brethe,
I dy! I dy! and you regarde yt note.

I shall enforce my faynting breth
That all that heris this dedlye note
Shall knowe that you dothe cause my deth:
I dy! I dy! and you regarde yt note.

Your vnkyndnes hath sworne my dethe,
And chaunged hathe my plesaunte note
To paynfull sighes that stoppis my brethe:
I dy! I dy! and you regarde yt note.

Consumeth my lif, faileth my brethe;
Your fawte is forger of this note,
Melting in tearis, a cruell dethe:
I dy! I dy! and you regarde yt note.

My faith with me after my dethe
Bured shalbe, and to this note
I do bequethe my wery brethe
To cry ‘I dyede and you regardid note’.

LXXI

[In eternum I was ons determed]

In eternum I was ons determed
For to have louid and my mynde affermed,
That with my herte it should be confermed
In eternum.

Forthwith I founde the thing that I myght like,
And sought with loue to warme her hert alike,
For as me thought I shuld not se the like
In eternum.

To trase this daunse I put my self in prese;
Vayne hope ded lede and bad I should not cese
To serue, to suffer, and still to hold my pease
In eternum.

With this furst Rule I fordred me a pase
That as me thought my trowghthe had taken place
With full assurans to stond in her grace
In eternum.

It was not long er I by proofe had found
That feble bilding is on feble grounde,
For in her herte this worde did never sounde
In eternum.

In eternum then from my herte I keste
That I had furst determind for the best;
Now in the place another thought doeth rest
In eternum.

LXXII

[Syns ye delite to knowe]

Syns ye delite to knowe
That my torment and woo
Should still encrese
Withoute relese,
I shall enforce me so
That liff and all shall goo,
For to content your cruelnes.

And so this grevous trayne
That I to long sustayn
Shall sometyme cese
And have redresse;
And you also remain
Full pleased with my pain,
For to content your cruelnes.

Onles that be to light
And that ye would ye myght
Se the distresse
And hevines
Of oon slain owte right,
Therewith to please your sight,
And to content your cruelnes.

Then in your cruell mode
Would god fourthwith ye woode
With force expresse
My hert oppresse
To do your hert suche good
To se me bathe in blode,
For to content your cruelnes.

Then cowld ye aske no more
Then should ye ease my sore,
And the excesse
Of myn excesse;
And you should evermore
Defamed be therefore,
For to repent your cruelnes.

LXXIII

[Hevyn and erth and all that here me plain]

Hevyn and erth and all that here me plain
Do well perceve what care doeth cause me cry,
Save you alone to whome I cry in vain:
‘Mercy, madame, alas, I dy, I dy!’

Yf that you slepe, I humbly you require
Forbere a while and let your rigour slake
Syns that by you I burne thus in this fire:
To here my plaint, dere hert, awake, awake!

Syns that so oft ye have made me to wake
In plaint and teres and in right pitious case,
Displease you not if force do now me make
To breke your slepe, crieng ‘alas, alas!’

It is the last trouble that ye shall have
Of me, madame, to here my last complaint:
Pitie at lest your poure vnhappy slave
For in dispere, alas, I faint, I faint!

It is not now, but long and long ago
I have you serued as to my powre and myght
As faithfully as any man myght do,
Clayming of you nothing of right, of right.

Save of your grace only to stay my liff,
That fleith as fast as clowd afore the wynde;
For syns that first I entred in this stryff
An inward deth hath fret my mynde, my mynd.

Yf I had suffered this to you vnware,
Myn were the fawte and you nothing to blame;
But syns you know my woo and all my care
Why do I dy? Alas, for shame, for shame!

I know right well my face, my lowke, my teeres,
Myn Iyes, my Wordes, and eke my drery chiere
Have cryd my deth full oft vnto your eres;
Herd of belefe it doeth appere, appere!

A better prouff I se that ye would have
How I ame dede; therefore when ye here tell
Beleve it not all tho ye se my grave.
Cruell, vnkynd! I say farewell, farewell!

LXXIV

[Comfort thy self my wofull hert]

Comfort thy self my wofull hert
Or shortly on thy self the wreke,
For length redoubleth dedly smert:
Why sighes thou, hert, and woult not breke?

To wast in sighes were pitious deth;
Alas, I fynd the faynt and weke.
Enforce thy self to lose thy breth:
Why sighes thou then, and woult not breke?

Thou knowest right well that no redresse
Is thus to pyne, and for to speke,
Pardy, it is remediles:
Why sighes thou then, and woult not breke?

It is to late for to refuse
The yoke when it is on thy neck;
To shak it of vaileth not to muse:
Why sighes thou then, and woult not breke?

To sobbe and sigh it were but vain,
Syns there is none that doeth it reke;

Alas, thou doyst prolong thy pain:
Why sighes thou then, and woult not breke?

Then in her sight, to move her hert,
Seke on thy self thy self to wreke,
That she may knowe thou sufferdst smert:
Sigh there thy last, and therewith breke!

LXXV

[Desire, alas, my master and my foo]

Desire, alas, my master and my foo,
So sore alterd thi sellff how mayst thou se?
Some tyme I sowght that dryvys me to and fro;
Some tyme thow ledst that ledyth the and me.
What reson is to rewle thy subiectes so
By forcyd law and mutabilite?
For where by the I dowtyd to have blame,
Evyn now by hate agayne I dowt the same.

LXXVI

[Venemus thornes that ar so sharp and kene]

Venemus thornes that ar so sharp and kene
Sometyme ber flowers fayre and fresh of hue;
Poyson offtyme is put in medecene
And cawsith helth in man for to renue;
Ffyre that purgith allthing that is vnclene
May hele, and hurt: and if these bene true,

I trust somtyme my harme may be my helth,
Syns every wo is joynid with some welth.

LXXVII

[To cause accord or to aggre]

To cause accord or to aggre,
Two contraries in oon degre,
And in oon poynct as semeth me
To all mens wit it cannot be:
It is impossible.

Of hete and cold when I complain
And say that hete doeth cause my pain,
When cold doeth shake me every vain,
And boeth at ons, I say again
It is impossible.

That man that hath his hert away
If lyff lyveth there as men do say
That he hertles should last on day
Alyve and not to torne to clay,
It is impossible.

Twixt lyff and deth, say what who sayth,
There lyveth no lyff that draweth breth;
They joyne so nere and eke i' feith
To seke for liff by wissh of deth,
It is impossible.

Yet love that all thing doeth subdue
Whose power ther may no liff eschew
Hath wrought in me that I may rew
These miracles to be so true
That are impossible.

LXXVIII

[Though this thy port and I thy seruaunt true]

Though this thy port and I thy seruaunt true
And thou thy self doist cast thy bemes from hye
From thy chieff howse promising to renew
Boeth Joye and eke delite, behold yet how that I
Bannysshed from my blisse carefully do crye:
‘Helpe now Citherea, my lady dere,
My ferefull trust en vogant la galere.’

Alas the dowbt that dredfull absence geveth;
Withoute thyn ayde assuraunce is there none;
The ferme faith that in the water fleteth
Succour thou therefor; in the it is alone.
Stay that with faith that faithfully doeth mone,
And thou also gevest me boeth hope and fere,
Remembre thou me en vogant la galere.

By Sees and hilles elonged from thy sight,
Thy wonted grace reducing to my mynde
In sted of slepe thus I occupy the nyght;
A thowsand thoughtes and many dowbtes I fynde,
And still I trust thou canst not be vnkind
Or els dispere my comfort, and my chiere
Would fle fourthwith en vogant la galere.

Yet on my faith full litle doeth remain
Of any hope whereby I may my self vphold,
For syns that onely wordes do me retain,
I may well thinck the affection is but cold;
But syns my will is nothing as I would
But in thy handes it resteth hole and clere,
Forget me not en vogant la galere.

LXXIX

[Vnstable dreme according to the place]

Vnstable dreme according to the place
Be stedfast ons: or els at leist be true:
By tasted swetenes make me not to rew

The sudden losse of thy fals fayned grace.
By goode respect in such a daungerous case
Thou broughtes not her into this tossing mew
But madest my sprite lyve my care to renew,
My body in tempest her succour to embrace.
The body dede, the spryt had his desire;
Paynles was th'one: th'othre in delight.
Why then, Alas, did it not kepe it right,
Retorning to lepe into the fire,
And where it was at wysshe it could not remain?
Such mockes of dremes they torne to dedly pain.

LXXX

[In dowtfull brest, whilst moderly pitie]

In dowtfull brest, whilst moderly pitie
With furyous famyn stondyth at debate,
Sayth thebrew moder: ‘O child vnhappye,
Retorne thi blowd where thou hadst milk of late.
Yeld me those lymmis that I made vnto the,
And entre there where thou wert generate;
For of on body agaynst all nature
To a nothr must I mak sepulture.’

LXXXI

[Off Cartage he that worthie warrier]

Off Cartage he that worthie warrier
Could ouercome, but cowld not vse his chaunce,
And I like wise off all my long indeuor
The sherpe conquest tho fortune did avaunce
Cowld not it vse: the hold that is gyvin ouer
I vnpossest. So hangith in balaunce
Off warr, my pees, reward of all my payne;
At Mountzon thus I restles rest in Spayne.

LXXXII

[Processe of tyme worketh such wounder]

Processe of tyme worketh such wounder
That water which is of kynd so soft
Doeth perse the marbell stone a sonder
By litle droppes falling from aloft.

And yet an hert that sems so tender
Receveth no dropp of the stilling teres,
That alway still cause me to render
The vain plaint that sowndes not in her eres.

So cruel, alas, is nowght alyve,
So fiers, so frowerd, so owte of fframe,
But some way, some tyme, may so contryve
By mens the wild to tempre and tame.

And I that alwaies have sought and seke
Eche place, eche tyme for some lucky daye
This fiers Tigre lesse I fynde her meke
And more denyd the lenger I pray.

The lyon in his raging furour
Forberis that sueth mekenes for his boote:
And thou, Alas, in extreme dolour
The hert so low thou tredis vnder thy foote.

Eche fiers thing lo! how thou doest excede
And hides it vnder so humble a face,
And yet the humble to helpe at nede
Nought helpeth tyme, humblenes, nor place.

LXXXIII

[After great stormes the cawme retornis]

After great stormes the cawme retornis
And pleasanter it is thereby;
Fortune likewise that often tornis
Hath made me now the moost happy.

Thevin that pited my distres,
My iust desire and my cry,
Hath made my languor to cesse
And me also the most happy.

Whereto dispaired ye, my frendes?
My trust always in hevin did ly
That knoweth what my thought intends
Whereby I lyve the most happy.

Lo! what can take hope from that hert
That is assured stedfastly?
Hope therefore ye that lyve in smert,
Whereby I ame the most happy.

And I that have felt of your paine
Shall pray to god continuelly
To make your hope, your helth retayne,
And make me also the most happy.

LXXXIV

[All hevy myndes]

All hevy myndes
Do seke to ese their charge
And that that moost theim byndes
To let at large.

Then why should I
Hold payne within my hert
And may my tune apply
To ese my smart?

My faithfull lute
Alone shall here me plaine,
For els all othre sute
Is clene in vaine.

For where I sue
Redresse of all my grieff

Lo! they do most eschew
My hertes relieff.

Alas, my dere,
Have I deserued so
That no help may appere
Of all my wo?

Whome speke I to,
Vnkynd and deff of ere?
Alas, lo, I go,
And wot not where.

Where is my thoght?
Where wanders my desire?
Where may the thing be soght
That I require?

Light in the wynde
Doth fle all my delight
Where trouth and faithfull mynd
Are put to flyght.

Who shall me gyve
Fetherd wynges for to fle
The thing that doeth me greve
That I may se?

Who would go seke
The cause whereby to playne?
Who could his foo beseke
For ease of payne?

My chaunce doeth so
My wofull case procure
To offer to my ffoo
My hert to cure.

What hope I then
To have any redresse?

Of whome, or where, or when,
Who can expresse?

No, sins dispaire
Hath set me in this case
In vain oft in the ayre
To say Alas,

I seke nothing
But thus for to discharge
My hert of sore sighing,
To plaine at large;

And with my lute
Sumtyme to ease my pain,
For els all othre sute
Is clene in vain.

LXXXV

[To seke eche where, where man doth lyve]

To seke eche where, where man doth lyve,
The See, the land, the Rock, the clyve,
Fraunce, Spayne and Ind and every where
Is none a greater gift to gyve,
Lesse sett by oft and is so lyff and dere,
Dare I well say than that I gyve to yere.

I cannot gyve browches nor Ringes,
Thes goldsmythes work and goodly thinges,
Piery nor perle oryente and clere,
But for all that is no man bringes
Leffer Juell vnto his lady dere,
Dare I well say, then that I gyve to yere.

Nor I seke not to fetche it farr,
Worse is it not tho it be narr,
And as it is it doeth appere
Vncontrefaict mistrust to barr,

Left hole and pure withouten pere,
Dare I well say the gift I gyve to yere.

To the therefore the same retain;
The like of the to have again,
Fraunce would I gyve if myn it were;
Is none alyve in whome doeth rayne
Lesser disdaine; frely, therfore, lo here,
Dare I well gyve, I say, my hert to yere.

LXXXVI

[O goodely hand]

O goodely hand,
Wherin doeth stand
My hert distrast in payne,
Faire hand, Alas,
In litle spas
My liff that doeth restrayne.

O fyngers slight,
Departed right,
So long, so small, so rownd,
Goodely bygone,
And yet alone
Most cruell in my wound.

With Lilis whight
And Roses bright
Doth stryve thy colour faire;
Nature did lend
Eche fyngers ende
A perle for to repayre.

Consent at last,
Syns that thou hast
My hert in thy demayne,
For seruice trew
On me to rew,
And reche me love againe.

And if not so,
Then with more woo
Enforce thiself to strayne
This simple hert,
That suffereth smart,
And rid it owte of payne.

LXXXVII

[Lo what it is to love!]

Lo what it is to love!
Lerne ye that list to prove
At me, I say,
No ways that may
The growndyd greiff remove,
My liff alwaie
That doeth decaye:
Lo what it is to love!

Fle alwaye from the snare,
Lerne by me to beware
Of suche a trayne
Which dowbles payne,
And endles woo and care,
That doth retayne;
Which to refrayne
Fle alwaye from the snare.

To love and to be wise,
To rage with good aduyse,
Now thus, now than,
Now of, now an,
Vncertyn as the dyse;
There is no man
At ons that can
To love and to be wise.

Suche are the dyvers throws,
Suche that no man knows
That hath not profd
And ons have lofd;
Suche are the raging woos,
Soner reprofd
Then well remofd:
Suche are the dyvers throwes.

Love is a fervent fire,
Kendeld by hote desire,
For a short pleasure
Long displeasur;
Repentaunce is the hire;
A poure tresoure
Withoute mesure,
Love is a fervent fire.

Lo what it is to love!

Leve thus to slaunder love!
Though evill with suche it prove
Which often vse
Love to mysuse
And loving to reprove;
Such cannot chose
For their refuse
But thus to slaunder love.

Fle not so much the snare;
Love sildom causeth care,
But by deserftes
And crafty partes
Some lese their owne welfare;
Be true of hertes
And for no smartes
Fle not so much the snare.

To love and not to be wise
Is but a mad devise;
Such love doeth last
As sure and fast
As chansys off the dise
A bitter tast
Coms at the last
To love and not to be wise.

Suche be the plaisaunt daies,
Suche be the honest wayes;
There is no man
That fully can
Knowe it but he that sayes
Loving to ban
Were folly then:
Such be the plaisaunt daies.

Love is a plaisaunt fire
Kyndled by true desire,
And though the payne
Cause men to playne,
Sped well is oft the hiere;
Then though som fayne
And lese the gayne
Love is a plaisaunt fyer.

Who most doeth slaunder love
The dede must alwaye prove;
Trouth shall excuse
That you accuse
For slaunder and reprove;
Not by refuse
But by abuse
You most do slaunder love.

Ye graunt it is a snare
And would vs not beware;
Lest that your trayne
Should be to playne
Ye colour all the care;
Lo how you fayne
Pleasure for payne
And graunt it is a snare!

To love and to be wise,
It were a straunge devise;
But from that tast
Ye vow the fast;
On zyns tho runne your dise,
Ambs as may hast
Your payne to wast:
To love and to be wise!

Of all suche pleasaunt dayes,
Of all suche pleasaunt playes,
Without deserft
You have your part,
And all the worould so sayes;
Save that poure hert
That for more smert
Feleth yet suche pleasaunt dayes.

Such fire and suche hete
Did never make ye swete,
For withoute payne
You best obtayne
To good spede and to great;
Who so doeth playne
You best do fayne
Such fire and suche hete.

Who now doeth slaunder love?

LXXXVIII

[I lede a liff vnpleasant, nothing glad]

I lede a liff vnpleasant, nothing glad;
Crye and complaynt offerre, voydes Joyfullnesse;
So chaungethe vnrest that nought shall fade;
Payne and dyspyte hathe altered plesantnes
Ago, long synnys, that she hathe truly made,
Dysdayne for trowght sett lyght yn stedfastnes,
I haue cause goode to syng this song:
Playne or reioyse, who felythe wele or wrong.

LXXXIX

[Yf in the world ther be more woo]

Yf in the world ther be more woo
Then I haue yn my harte,
Wher so ytt is itt doithe come fro,
And in my brest there doithe itt groo,
For to encrease my smarte.
Alas I ame recepte of euery care
And of my liff eche sorrow claymes his part.
Who list to lyue in quyetnes
By me lett hym beware,
For I by highe dysdayne
Ame made withoute redresse;
And vnkyndenes, alas, hath slayne
My poore trew hart all comfortles.

XC

[Th'answere that ye made to me, my dere]

Th'answere that ye made to me, my dere,
Whann I did sewe for my poore hartes redresse,
Hathe so appalld my countenaunce and my chere,
That yn this case I ame all comfortlesse,
Sins I of blame no cawse can well expresse.

I haue no wrong wher I cann clayme no right;
Nowght tane me fro wher I nothing haue had;
Yete of my wo I cann nott so be quyte,
Namely sins that another may be glad
With that that thus in sorowe makethe me sad.

Another? why, shall lyberty be bond?
Fre hart may not be bond but by desert.

Nor none cann clayme, I say, by former graunte
That knowithe nott of any graunt att all;
And by deserte I dare well make avaunte,
Of faythfull will ther is no wher that shall
Bere you more trowthe, more redy att your call.

Now good then call agayne that frendly word
That sleithe your frende in saving of his payne;
And say, my dere, that itt was sayde in borde;
Late or too sone lett that nott rule the gayne,
Wherwith fre will doth trew deserte retayne.

XCI

[Most wretchid hart most myserable]

Most wretchid hart most myserable,
Syns the comforte is from the fled,
Syns all the trouthe is turned to fable,
Most wretchid harte why arte thou nott ded?

No, no, I lyve and must doo still,
Whereof I thank god and no mo;
Ffor I me selff have all my will,
And he is wretchid that wens hym so.

Butt yete thow hast bothe had and lost
The hope so long that hathe the fed,
And all thy travayle and thy cost:
Most wretchid harte why arte thow nott ded?

Some other hope must fede me new;
Yff I haue lost I say ‘what tho?’
Dyspayr shall nott throwghe it ynsew
For he is wretchid that wenys hym so.

The sonne, the mone doth frowne on the;
Thow hast darkenes in daylightes stede;
As good in grave as soo to be:
Moost wretched hert why art thou not ded?

Some plesant sterre may shewe me light,
But tho the heven wold worke me woo,
Who hath himself shal stande vp right,
And he is wretched that wens him soo.

Hath he himself that is not sure?
His trust is like as he hath sped;
Against the streme thou maist not dure:
Most wretched herte, why art thou not ded?

The last is worst, who feres not that.
He hath himself where so he goo;
And he that knoweth what is what
Sayeth he is wretched that wens him soo.

Seist thou not how they whet their teth,
Which to touche the somtime ded drede?
They finde comforte for thy mischief:
Moost wretched hert, why art thou not dede?

What tho that currs do fal by kinde
On him that hathe the overthrow?
Al that can not opresse my minde,
For he is wretched that wens him soo.

Yet can it not be thenne denyd,
It is as certain as thy crede;
Thy gret vnhap thou canst not hid:
Vnhappy thenne why art thou not dede?

Vnhappy, but no wretche therfore,
For happe doth come again and goo;
For whiche I kepe my self in store,
Sins vnhap cannot kil me soo.

XCII

[You that in love finde lucke and habundance]

You that in love finde lucke and habundance
And live in lust and joyful jolitie,
Arrise for shame! do away your sluggardie!
Arise, I say, do May some obseruance!
Let me in bed lye dreming in mischaunce;
Let me remembre the happs most vnhappy
That me betide in May most commonly,
As oon whome love list litil to avaunce.
Sephame saide true that my natiuitie
Mischaunced was with the ruler of the May:
He gest I prove of that the veritie.
In May my welth and eke my liff I say
Have stonde so oft in such perplexitie:
Reioyse! let me dreme of your felicitie.

XCIII

[And if an Iye may save or sleye]

And if an Iye may save or sleye,
And streke more diepe then wepon longe,
And if an Iye by subtil play
May move on more thenne any tonge,
How canne ye say that I do wrong
Thus to suspect without deserte?
For the Iye is traitour of the herte.

To frame all wel I am content
That it were done vnwetingly;

But yet I say who wol assent,
To do but wel, do nothyng whie
That men shuld deme the contrary,
For it is said by menn expert
That the Iye is traitour of the hert.

But yet, alas, that loke all sowle
That I doo clayme of right to haue,
Shuld not, methinkes, goo seke the scole
To plese alle folke; for who canne crave
Frendlier thing thenne hert witsaue?
By loke to give in frendely parte,
For the Iye is traitour of the hert.

And my suspect is without blame,
For, as ye saye, not only I
But other moo haue demyd the same;
Thenne is it not of Jelowsye
But subtille loke of rekeles Iye
Did rainge to farre to make me smart,
For the Iye is traitour of the hert.

But I your freende shall take it thus,
Sins you wol soo, as stroke of chaunce;
And leve furder for to discus
Wither the stroke did sticke or glaunce;
But scuse who canne, let him avaunce
Dissembled lokes; but for my parte
My Iye must still bitray my harte.

And of this grief ye shalbe quitte
In helping trowth stedfast to goo;
The time is longe that he doth sitt
Feble and weike and suffreth woo,
Cherish him wel, continewe soo,
Let him not fro your hart astart;
Thenne fere not the Iye to shewe the hert.

XCIV
Psalm 37.

Noli emulare in maligna

Altho thow se th'owtragius clime aloft,
Envie not thowe his blinde prosperitye;
The welth of wretches tho it semith soft,
Move not thy hert by theyre felicitye.
They shalbe found like grasse turnd into hay,
And as the herbes that wither sodenlye.
Stablisshe thy trust in god, seke right allway,
And on the yerth thowe shalte inhabite longe;
Fede and encreace such hope from day to day,
And if with god thow time thy hartie songe
He shal the giue what soo thy hart can lust.
Cast vppon god thy will that right thy wrong;
Gyve him the charge for he vpright and iust
Hath cure of the and of thy cares all,
And he shall make thy trowgh to be discust
Bright as the sonne, and thy rightwisnes shall
(The cursids welth, tho now do it deface)
Shine like the daylight, that we the none call.
Paciently abide the Lordes assured grace;
Bere with even minde the trouble that he sendes
Dismay the not tho thou se the purchace
Encresse of some, for such like lucke god sendes
To wicked folke [OMITTED]
Restrayne thy mind from wrath that ay offendes;
Do way all rage, and se thou do eschew
By theire like dede suche dedes for to committ:
For wikked folke theire overthrow shal rewe.
Who pacientlie abid and do not flitt,
They shall possede the world from heire to hayre:
The wikked shall of all his welth be quitt
So sodainly and that without repaire
That all his pompe and his staring aray
Shall from thyn Iye departe as blast of ayre.
The sobre thenne the world shall weld, I say,

And live in welth and pes soo plentifull.
Him to distroy the wikked shall assay
And gnasshe his teethe eke with girninge yrefull.
The Lord shall scorne the threatninges of the wretche,
Ffor he doth know the tyde is nighe at full
When he shall syncke and no hand shall hym seeche.
They have vnsheathed eke their blouddy bronds
And bent theire bowe to prove if they might reach
To overthrowe the [OMITTED]
Bare of relief the harmelesse to devoure.
The sworde shall pearce the hart of suche that fonds;
Their bow shall breake in their moste endevoure.
A litle Livinge gotten rightfullie
Passithe the ritchesse and eke the highe powre
Of that that wretches have gatherd wickedlye.
Pearishe shall the wickedes posteritie,
And god shall stablishe the iuste assuredlye.
The iust mans dayes the Lorde doth know and see,
Their heritage shall laste for evermore,
And of their hope beguylde they shall not be.
When dismolde dayes shall wrappe the tother sore,
They shall be full when other faynte for foode;
Thearwhyl'ste shall faile theise wicked men thearfore.
To godes ennemyes suche end shall be allowdd
As hath lambs greace wastinge in the fyre,
That is consumde into a smokye clowde.
Borow'th th'vniust without will or desyre
To yelde agayne; the iuste freelye dothe geve,
Wheare he seethe neede as marcye dothe requyre.
Who will'the hym well for right thearfore shall leve;
Who bannythe hym shall be rooted awaye;
His steppes shall god directe still and relieve,
And please hym shall what lyf hym lust assaye;
And though he fall vnder foote lye shall not he,
Catchinge his hand for god shall streight hym staye.
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
Nor yet his sede foodelesse seene for to be.
The iuste to all men mercyfull hathe bene,

Busye to do well, thearfore his seede, I saye,
Shall have habundaunce all waye fresshe and grene.
Fflee yll, do good, that thow mayste last all waye,
Ffor god dothe love for evermore th'vpright:
Never his Chosen dothe he cast awaye;
Ffor ever he them myndeth daye and night,
And wicked seede alwaye shall waste to nought:
The iust shall welde the worlde as their owne right,
And longe thearon shall dwell as theye have wrought.
Withe wisdome shall the wyse mans mowthe hym able;
His tongue shall speake alwaye even as it ought;
With godes learning he hathe his harte stable;
His foote thearfore from slydinge shall be sure.
The wicked watchethe the iust for to disable,
And for to sle hym dothe his busye cure;
But god will not suffer hym for to quaile
By tyrannye nor yet bye faulte vnpure
To be condemn'd in iudgement without faile.
Awayte thearfore the commynge of the Lorde;
Live withe his lawes in pacience to prevayle,
And he shall raise the of thyne owne accorde
Above the earth in suretye to beholde
The wickedes deathe that thow maye it recorde.
I have well seene the wicked sheene lyke goolde,
Lustie and greene as lawrell lasting aye;
But even anon and scantt his seate was colde:
When I have paste agayne the self same waye,
Wheare he did raigne he was not to be fownde;
Vanyshte he was for all his fresshe arraye.
Let vprightnes be still thie stedfast grownde.
Ffollowe the right suche one shall alwaye fynde
Hym self in peace and plentie to habounde.
All wicked folke reversyd shall vntwynde,
And wretchidnes shall be the wickedes end:
Healthe to the iuste from god shall be assignde.
He shall them strengthe whome troble shoulde offend.
The Lord shall helpp, I saye, and them delyver
Ffrom curssed handes, and healthe vnto them send,
For that in hym they sett their trust for ever.

XCV

[From thes hye hilles as when a spryng doth fall]

From thes hye hilles as when a spryng doth fall
It tryllyth downe with still and suttyll corse;
Off this and that it gaders ay and shall
Tyll it have just off flowd the streme and forse,
Then at the fote it ragith ouer all:
So faryth love when he hath tan a sorse;
His rayne is rage, resistans vaylyth none;
The first estew is remedy alone.

XCVI

[Prove wythr I do chainge, my dere]

Prove wythr I do chainge, my dere,
Or if that I do still remayne
Lik as I went or ferre or nere
And if ye fynde [OMITTED]

XCVII

[If waker care if sodayne pale Coulour]

If waker care if sodayne pale Coulour
If many sighes with litle speche to playne
Now ioy, now woo, if they my chere distayne,
For hope of smalle, if muche to fere therfore,
To hast, to slak my pase lesse or more,
Be signe of love then do I love agayne.
If thow aske whome, sure sins I did refrayne
Brunet that set my welth in such a rore,
Th'unfayned chere of Phillis hath the place
That Brunet had: she hath and ever shal.
She from my self now hath me in her grace:
She hath in hand my witt, my will, and all
My hert alone wel worthie she doth staye,
Without whose helpe skant do I live a daye.

XCVIII
In Spayne

So feble is the threde that doth the burden stay
Of my pore lyff, In hevy plyght that fallyth in dekay,
That but it have elles where some aide or some socours,
The runyng spyndell off my fate anon shall end his cours.
Sins thunhappy howre that did me to depart
From my swete wele, one only hope hath staide my lyff apart,
Wych doth perswade such wordes vnto my sory mynd.
‘Mayntene thy sellff, o wofull spryte, some better luk to fynd:
Ffor tho thou be depryffd from thy desyerd syght
Who can the tell iff thi retorne be for thy most delyght?
Or who can tell thy losse if thou ons maist recover?
Some plesant howre thy wo may rape and the defend and cover.’
This is the trust that yet hath my lyff sustaynid;
And now alas I se' it faint and I by trust ame trainid.
The tyme doth flete and I perceyve thowrs how thei bend
So fast that I have skant the space to marke my comyng end.
Westward the sonne from owt th'est skant doth shew his lyght,
When in the west he hyds hym straite within the darke of nyght;
And coms as fast where he began his path a wrye
From est to west, from west to thest so doth his jornei ly.
The lyff so short, so fraile, that mortall men lyve here,
So gret a whaite, so hevy charge, the body that we bere,
That when I thinke apon the distance and the space
That doth so ferr devid me from my dere desird face,
I know not how t'attayne the wynges that I require,
To lyfft my whaite that it myght fle to folow my desyre.
Thus off that hope, that doth my lyff some thing sustayne,

Alas, I fere and partly fele full litill doth remayne.
Eche place doth bryng me grieff, where I do not behold
Those lyvely Iyes wich off my thowghtes were wont the kays to hold.
Those thowghtes were plesaunt swete whilst I enioyd that grace;
My plesure past, my present payne, wher I myght well embrace.
But for becawse my want shold more my wo encresse,
In wache, in slepe, both day and nyght, my will doth neuer cesse
That thing to wish wheroff, sins I did lese the syght,
I neuer saw the thing that myght my faytfull hert delyght.
Th'vnesy lyff I lede doth teche me for to mete
The flowdes, the sees, the land and hilles that doth them entremete
Twene me' and those shining lyghtes that wontyd to clere
My darke panges off clowdy thowghtes as bryght as Phebus spere;
It techith me also what was my plesant state,
The more to fele by such record how that my welth doth bate.
If such record, alas, provoke th'enflamid mynd
Wich sprang that day that I did leve the best of me byhynd;
If love forgett hym sellff by lenght of absence let,
Who doth me guyd, o wofull wrech, vnto this baytid net
Where doth encresse my care? much better were for me
As dome as stone, all thing forgott, still absent for to be.
Alas the clere crystall, the bryght transparant glas,
Doth not bewray the colour hyd which vnderneth it has,
As doth th'accomberd sprite thowghtfull throws discover
Off fiers delyght, off fervent love, that in our hertes we cover.
Owt by thes Iyes it shewth that euer more delyght
In plaint and teres to seke redresse, and that both day and nyght.
Thes new kyndes off plesurs, wherein most men reioyse,
To me thei do redowble still off stormye syghes the voyce;

Ffor I ame one off them whom plaint doth well content:
It sittes me well, myn absent welth meseems me to lament,
And with my teris for to' assay to charge myn Iyes tweyne,
Lyke as myn hert above the brink is frawtid full of payne;
And for by cawse therto off those fayre Iyes to trete,
Do me provoke, I shall retorne, my plaint thus to repete;
For there is nothing elles that towches me so within
Where thei rule all, and I alone nowght but the cace or skyn.
Wherfore I do retorne to them as well or spryng,
From whom decendes my mortall wo above all othr thing.
So shall myn Iyes in payne accompagnie min hert,
That were the guydes that did it lede of love to fele the smert.
The cryspid gold that doth sormount Apollos pryd,
The lyvely strenes off plesaunt sterres that vnder it doth glyd,
Where in the bemes off love doth still encresse theire hete,
Wich yet so farre towch me so nere in cold to make me swete;
The wise and plesaunt talk, so rare or elles alone,
That did me gyve the courtese gyfft that such had neuer none,
Be ferre from me, alas, and euery other thing
I myght forbere with better will then that that did me bryng
With plesant word and chere redresse off lingerd payne,
And wontyd oft in kendlid will to vertu me to trayne.
Thus ame I dryven to here and herken affter news
My confort skant, my large desire, in dowtfull trust renewes;
And yet with more delyght to mone my wofull cace
I must complaine; those handes, those armes, that fermely do embrace
Me from my sellff, and rule the sterne of my pore lyff,
The swete disdaynes, the plesant wrathes, and eke the lovely stryff
That wontid well to tune in tempre just and mete

The rage that offt did make me erre by furour vndiscrete:
All this is hid me fro with sharp and craggyd hilles.
At other will my long abode my diepe dispaire fulfilles.
But if my hope somtyme ryse vp by some redresse,
It stumblith straite, for feble faint, my fere hath such excesse.
Such is the sort off hope, the lesse for more desire,
Wherby I fere and yet I trust to see that I requyre,
The restyng place of love where vertu lyves and grose,
Where I desire my wery lyff also may take repose.
My song, thou shalt ataine to fynd that plesant place
Where she doth lyve by whome I lyve; may chaunce the have this grace:
When she hath red and seene the dred wherein I sterve
By twene her brestes she shall the put there shall she the reserve.
Then tell her that I come she shall me shortly se;
Yff that for whayte the body fayle, this sowle shall to her fle.

XCIX

[Tagus, fare well, that westward with thy stremes]

Tagus, fare well, that westward with thy stremes
Torns vp the grayns off gold alredy tryd:
With spurr and sayle for I go seke the Tems
Gaynward the sonne, that shewth her welthi pryd
And to the town which Brutus sowght by drems
Like bendyd mone doth lend her lusty syd.
My kyng, my Contry, alone for whome I lyve,
Of myghty love the winges for this me gyve.

C

[Off purpos Love chase first for to be blynd]

Off purpos Love chase first for to be blynd,
For he with sight of that that I behold
Vanquisht had bene against all godly kynd;
His bow your hand and trusse shold have vnfold,
And he with me to serve had bene assind.
But for he blind and rekelesse wold him hold,
And still by chaunse his dedly strokes bestow,
With such as see I serve and suffer wow.

CI

[What rage is this? What furour of what kynd?]

What rage is this? What furour of what kynd?
What powre, what plage, doth wery thus my mynd?
Within my bons to rancle is assind
What poyson, plesant swete?

Lo, se myn iyes swell with contynuall terys;
The body still away sleples it weris;
My fode nothing my faintyng strenght reperis,
Nor doth my lyms sustayne.

In diepe wid wound the dedly strok doth torne
To curid skarre that neuer shalle retorne.
Go to, tryumphe, reioyse thy goodly torne,
Thi frend thow dost opresse.

Opresse thou dost, and hast off hym no cure,
Nor yett my plaint no pitie can procure,
Fiers tygre fell, hard rok withowt recure,
Cruell rebell to love!

Ons may thou love, neuer belovffd agayne;
So love thou still and not thy love obttayne;
So wrathfull love with spites of just disdayne
May thret thy cruell hert.

CII

[From thowght to thowght from hill to hill love doth me lede]

From thowght to thowght from hill to hill love doth me lede,
Clene contrary from restfull lyff thes comon pathes I trede

CIII

[Vulcane bygat me; Mynerua me taught]

Vulcane bygat me; Mynerua me taught;
Nature my mother craft norischt me yere by yere;
Thre bodyes ar my fode; my strength is in naught;
Angre, wrath, wast, and noyse, are my children dere.
Gesse, frend, what I ame and how I ame wrought:
Monstre of see or of lande or of els where?
Know me and use me and I may the defende,
And if I be thine enmye I may thy life ende.

CIV
Jopas' Song

When Dido festid first the wandryng Troian knyght,
Whom Junos wrath with stormes did force in Lybyke sandes to lyght,
That myghty' Atlas did teche, the souper lastyng long,
With cryspid lokkes, on golden harpe, Jopas sang in his song.
That same, quod he, that we the world do call and name,
Off hevin and yerth with all contentes it is the very frame.

Or thus: off hevinly powrs, by more powre kept in one
Repugnant kyndes, in myddes of whome the yerth hath place alone;
Firme, round, off liuing thynges the moder place and nourse,
Withowt the wych in egall whaight this hevin doth hold his course;
And it is calld by name the first moving hevin,
The firmament is next containing othr sevyn.
Off hevinly powrs that same is plantid full and thikk,
As shyning lyghtes wych we call steres that therin cleve and stikk;
With gret swifft sway the first and with his restles sours
Caryth it sellff and all those eight in evin continuall cours.
And off this world so rownd within that rollyng case
There be two pointes that neuer move, but fermely kepe ther place:
The t'one we se alway, the t'othr stondes obiect
Against the same deviding just the round by line direct;
Wich by' ymagination draune from t'on to t'othr
Towchith the centre of the yerth, way there is no nothr;
And thes bene calld the poles, discribd by sterres not bryght
Artyke the t'one northward we se, Antartyke t'othr hight.
The lyne that we devise from t'on to t'othr so
As Axell is, apon the wich th'evins abowt doth go;
Wych off water nor yerth, of Ayre nor fyre have kynd:
Therfore the substance of those same were herd for man to fynd.
But thei ben vncorrupt, symple and pure, vnmixt;

And so we say bene all those sterrys that in those same bene fixt;
And eke those errying sevin in cyrcles as thei stray
So calld by cawse against that first thei have repugnant way.
And smaller by ways to, skant sensible to man
To busy work for my pore harp, let sing them he that can!
The widest, saff the first, off all these nyne above
On hundred yere doth aske of space for on degre to move:
Off wich degres we make In the first moving hevin
Thre hunderd and thre skore in partes, justly devidid evin.
And yet there is an othr by twene those hevins tow,
Whose moving is so sli, so slake, I name it not for now.
The sevent hevyn, or the shell next to the starry skye,
All those degres that gaderth vp with agid pas so slye,
And doth performe the same, as elders compt hath bene,
In nyne and twenty yeres complete and days almost sixtene,
Doth cary in his bowght the sterr off Saturne old,
A thretner of all lyving thinges with drowfft and with his cold.
The sixt whom this containes doth staulk with yonger pase,
And in twelff yere doth sum what more then t'othrs viage wase.
And this in it doth bere the sterre of Jove benigne,
Twene Saturns malice and vs men frendly deffendyng signe.
The fift berth blody Mars that in three hundred days
And twise elefn with on full yere hath finisht all those ways.
A yere doth aske the fourt, and houres thereto six,
And in the same the day his yie the sonner therein he stix.
The third that governd is by that that governth me,
And love for love and for no love provokes as offt we se.
In like space doth performe that cours that did the t'othr,
So doth the next to the same that second is in order,

But it doth bere the sterr that calld is Mercury,
That mayni' a craffty secret stepp doth tred as calcars try.
That skye is last and first, next vs those ways hath gone
In sevin and twenty comon days, and eke the third of one;
And beryth with his sway the diuerse mone abowt,
Now bryght, now browne, now bent, now full, and now her light is owt.
Thus have thei of thire owne two movinges all those sevin:
One, wherin they be carid still eche in his sevrall hevin;
An othr, of hym sellffes where theire bodis ben layd
In by ways and in lesser rowndes, as I afore have sayd.
Saff of them all, the sonne doth stray lest from the straight,
The sterry sky hath but on cowrse that we have calld the eight;
And all these movinges eight ar ment from west to th'est,
Altho thei seme to clymb alofft, I say, from est to west.
But that is but by force of the first moving skye,
In twise twellff howres from est to th'est that caryth them bye and bye.
But mark we well also thes movinges of these sevin
Be not about that axell tre of the first moving hevin;
For thei have theire two poles directly t'one to t'other [OMITTED]

II
Satires

CV

[Myne owne John Poyntz, sins ye delight to know]

Myne owne John Poyntz, sins ye delight to know
The cawse why that homeward I me draw,
And fle the presse of courtes wher soo they goo
Rather then to lyve thrall vnder the awe
Of lordly lookes, wrappid within my cloke,
To will and lust lerning to set a lawe,
It is not for becawsse I skorne or moke
The power of them to whome fortune hath lent
Charge over vs, of Right, to strike the stroke;
But trew it is that I have allwais ment
Lesse to estime them then the common sort
Off owtward thinges that juge in their intent
Withowte Regarde what dothe inwarde resort.
I grawnt sumtime that of glorye the fyar
Dothe touche my hart: me lyst not to report
Blame by honowr and honour to desyar;
But how may I this honour now atayne
That cannot dy the coloure blake a lyer?
My Poyntz, I cannot frame my tonge to fayne
To cloke the trothe for praisse, withowt desart,
Of them that lyst all vice for to retayne.
I cannot honour them that settes their part
With Venus and Baccus all their lyf long,
Nor holld my pece of them alltho I smart.

I cannot crowche nor knelle, nor do so great a wrong
To worship them like God on erthe alone,
That ar as wollffes thes sely lambes among.
I cannot with my wordes complayne and mone
And suffer nought; nor smart wythout complaynt,
Nor torne the worde that from my mouthe is gone.
I cannot speke and lok lyke a saynct,
Vse wyles for witt and make deceyt a plesure,
And call crafft counsell, for proffet styll to paint.
I cannot wrest the law to fill the coffer,
With innocent blode to fede my sellff ffat,
And doo most hurt where most hellp I offer.
I am not he that can alow the state
Off highe Cesar and dam Cato to dye,
That with his dethe dyd skape owt off the gate
From Cesares handes, if Lyvye do not lye,
And wolld not lyve whar lyberty was lost:
So did his hart the commonn wele aplye.
I am not he suche eloquence to boste,
To make the crow singing as the swanne,
Nor call the lyon of cowarde bestes the moste,
That cannot take a mows as the cat can:
And he that diethe for hunger of the golld
Call him Alessaundre, and say that Pan
Passithe Apollo in musike manyfolld;
Praysse Syr Thopas for a noble tale,
And skorne the story that the knyght tolld;
Praise him for counceill that is droncke of ale;
Grynne when he laugheth, that bereth all the swaye,
Frowne when he frowneth and grone when he is pale;

On othres lust to hang boeth nyght and daye:
None of these poyntes would ever frame in me.
My wit is nought, I cannot lerne the waye:
And much the lesse of thinges that greater be,
That asken helpe of colours of devise
To joyne the mene with eche extremitie,
With the neryst vertue to cloke always the vise;
And as to pourpose like wise it shall fall
To presse the vertue that it may not rise;
As dronkenes good felloweshippe to call,
The frendly ffoo with his dowble face
Say he is gentill and courtois therewithall;
And say that Favell hath a goodly grace
In eloquence, and crueltie to name
Zele of Justice and chaunge in tyme and place;
And he that sufferth offence withoute blame
Call him pitefull and him true and playn
That raileth rekles to every mans shame.
Say he is rude that cannot lye and fayn,
The letcher a lover, and tirannye
To be the right of a prynces reigne.
I cannot, I; no, no, it will not be,
This is the cause that I could never yet
Hang on their slevis that way as thou maist se
A chippe of chaunce more then a pownde of witt.
This maketh me at home to hounte and hawke
And in fowle weder at my booke to sitt.
In frost and snowe then with my bow to stawke;
No man doeth marke where so I ride or goo;
In lusty lees at libertie I walke,
And of these newes I fele nor wele nor woo,
Sauf that a clogg doeth hang yet at my hele:

No force for that for it is ordered so,
That I may lepe boeth hedge and dike full well.
I ame not now in Fraunce to judge the wyne,
With saffry sauce the delicates to fele;
Nor yet in Spainge where oon must him inclyne
Rather then to be owtewerdly to seme.
I meddill not with wittes that be so fyne,
Nor Flaunders chiere letteth not my sight to deme
Of black and white, nor taketh my wit awaye
With bestlynes, they beestes do so esteme;
Nor I ame not where Christe is geven in pray
For mony, poisen and traison at Rome,
A commune practise vsed nyght and daie:
But here I ame in Kent and Christendome
Emong the muses where I rede and ryme;
Where if thou list, my Poynz, for to come,
Thou shalt be judge how I do spend my tyme.

CVI

[My mothers maydes when they did sowe and spynne]

My mothers maydes when they did sowe and spynne,
They sang sometyme a song of the feld mowse,
That forbicause her lyvelood was but thynne,
Would nedes goo seke her townyssh systers howse.
She thought her self endured to much pain,
The stormy blastes her cave so sore did sowse,
That when the forowse swymmed with the rain
She must lye cold and whete in sorry plight;

And wours then that, bare meet then did remain
To comfort her when she her howse had dight,
Sometyme a barly corn, sometyme a bene,
For which she laboured hard boeth daye and nyght,
In harvest tyme whilest she myght goo and glyne;
And when her stoore was stroyed with the flodd,
Then well awaye, for she vndone was clene.
Then was she fayne to take in stede of fode
Slepe if she myght her hounger to begile.
‘My syster’, quod she, ‘hath a lyving good,
And hens from me she dwelleth not a myle.
In cold and storme she lieth warme and dry,
In bed of downe the dyrt doeth not defile
Her tender fote; she laboureth not as I;
Richely she fedeth and at the richemans cost,
And for her meet she nydes not crave nor cry.
By se, by land of delicates the moost
Her Cater sekes and spareth for no perell;
She fedeth on boyled bacon, meet and roost,
And hath therof neither charge nor travaill;
And when she list the licour of the grape
Doeth glad her hert, till that her belly swell’.
And at this Journey she maketh but a Jape;
So fourth she goeth, trusting of all this welth
With her syster her part so for to shape
That if she myght kepe her self in helth
To lyve a Lady while her liff doeth last,
And to the dore now is she come by stelth
And with her foote anon she scrapeth full fast.
Th'othre for fere durst not well scarse appere,
Of every noyse so was the wretche agast.
At last she asked softly who was there;
And in her langage as well as she cowd,
‘Pepe’, quod the othre, ‘syster I ame here’.

‘Peace’, quod the towne mowse, ‘why spekest thou so lowde?’
And by the hand she toke her fayer and well.
‘Welcome’, quod she, ‘my sister, by the Rood’.
She fested her, that Joy it was to tell
The faere they had; they drancke the wyne so clere,
And as to pourpose now and then it fell,
She chered her with ‘how syster, what chiere?’
Amyddes this Joye befell a sorry chaunce
That well awaye the straunger bought full dere
The fare she had, for as she loked ascaunce
Vnder a stole she spied two stemyng Ise
In a rownde hed with sherp erys; in Fraunce
Was never mowse so ferd, for tho th'unwise
Had not I-sene suche a beest before,
Yet had nature taught her after her gyse
To knowe her ffoo and dred him evermore.
The towney mowse fled: she knewe whether to goo.
Th'othre had no shift but wonders sore
Ferd of her liff; at home she wyshed her tho,
And to the dore, alas, as she did skipp,
Thevyn it would, lo, and eke her chaunce was so,
At the threshold her sely fote did tripp,
And ere she myght recover it again
The traytour Catt had caught her by the hipp,
And made her there against her will remain,
That had forgotten her poure suretie and rest
For semyng welth wherin she thought to rayne.
Alas, my Poynz, how men do seke the best
And fynde the wourst by errour as they stray!
And no marvaill, when sight is so opprest,
And blynde the gyde; anon owte of the way
Goeth gyde and all in seking quyete liff.
O wretched myndes there is no gold that may

Graunt that ye seke, no warre, no peace, no stryff,
No, no, all tho thy hed were howpt with gold,
Sergeaunt with mace, hawbert, sword, nor knyff
Cannot repulse the care that folowe should.
Eche kynd of lyff hath with him his disease.
Lyve in delight evyn as thy lust would,
And thou shalt fynde when lust doeth moost the please
It irketh straite and by it self doth fade.
A small thing it is, that may thy mynde apese.
Non of ye all there is that is so madde
To seke grapes vpon brambles or breers,
Nor none I trow that hath his wit so badd
To set his hay for Conys over Ryvers,
Ne ye set not a dragg net for an hare,
And yet the thing that moost is your desire
Ye do mysseke with more travaill and care.
Make playn thyn hert that it be not knotted
With hope or dred and se thy will be bare
From all affectes whome vice hath ever spotted;
Thy self content with that is the assigned
And vse it well that is to the allotted.
Then seke no more owte of thy self to fynde
The thing that thou haist sought so long before,
For thou shalt fele it sitting in thy mynde.
Madde, if ye list to continue your sore,
Let present passe and gape on tyme to come
And diepe your self in travaill more and more.
Hens fourth, my Poynz, this shalbe all and some:
These wretched fooles shall have nought els of me
But to the great god and to his high dome
None othre pain pray I for theim to be
But when the rage doeth led them from the right
That lowking backward vertue they may se

Evyn as she is so goodly fayre and bright;
And whilst they claspe their lustes in armes a-crosse,
Graunt theim, goode lorde, as thou maist of thy myght,
To frete inward for losing such a losse.

CVII

[A spending hand that alway powreth owte]

A spending hand that alway powreth owte
Had nede to have a bringer in as fast,
And on the stone that still doeth tourne abowte
There groweth no mosse: these proverbes yet do last.
Reason hath set theim in so sure a place
That lenght of yeres their force can never wast.
When I remembre this and eke the case
Where in thou stondes I thowght forthwith to write,
Brian, to the, who knows how great a grace
In writing is to cownsell man the right.
To the, therefore, that trottes still vp and downe,
And never restes: but runnyng day and nyght
From Reaulme to Reaulme, from cite, strete and towne;
Why doest thou were thy body to the bones,
And myghtst at home slepe in thy bed of downe
And drynck goode ale so nappy for the noyns,
Fede thy self fat and hepe vp pownd by pownd?
Lykist thou not this? ‘No’. ‘Why?’ ‘For swyne so groyns
In stye and chaw the tordes molded on the grownd,
And dryvell on pearles, the hed still in the maunger,
Then of the harp the Asse to here the sownd.
So sackes of durt be filled vp in the cloyster,
That servis for lesse then do thes fatted swyne.
Tho I seme lene and dry withoute moyster,
Yet woll I serve my prynce, my lord and thyn,
And let theim lyve to fede the panche that list,
So I may fede to lyve both me and myn.’
By god, well sayde, but what and if thou wist
How to bryng in as fast as thou doest spend?

‘That would I lerne’; and it shall not be myst
To tell the how: now hark what I intend.
Thou knowest well first who so can seke to plese
Shall pourchase frendes where trowght shall but offend.
Fle therefore trueth: it is boeth welth and ese.
For tho that trouth of every man hath prayse,
Full nere that wynd goeth trouth in great misese.
Vse vertu as it goeth now a dayes:
In word alone to make thy langage swete,
And of the dede yet do not as thou sayse;
Elles be thou sure thou shalt be farre vnmyt
To get thy bred, eche thing is now so skant.
Seke still thy proffet vpon thy bare fete.
Lend in no wise for fere that thou do want,
Onles it be as to a dogge a chese;
By which retorne be sure to wyn a kant
Of half at lest, it is not good to lese.
Lerne at Kittson that in a long white cote
From vnder the stall withoute landes or feise
Hath lept into the shopp; who knoweth by rote
This rule that I have told the here before.
Sumtyme also riche age begynneth to dote:
Se thou when there thy gain may be the more.
Stay him by the arme where so he walke or goo;
Be nere alway: and if he koggh to sore,
When he hath spit, tred owte and please him so.
A diligent knave that pikes his maisters purse
May please him so that he withouten mo
Executour is, and what is he the wourse?
But if so chaunce you get nought of the man,
The wedow may for all thy charge deburse.
A ryveld skyn, a stynking breth, what than?
A tothles mowth shall do thy lips no harme:
The gold is good, and tho she curse or ban,
Yet where the list thou maist ly good and warme;
Let the old mule byte vpon the bridill,

Whilst there do ly a swetter in thyn arme.
In this also se you be not Idell:
Thy nece, thy cosyn, thy sister or thy doghter,
If she be faire, if handsom be her myddell,
Yf thy better hath her love besoght her,
Avaunce his cause and he shall help thy nede.
It is but love, turne it to a lawghter.
But ware I say so gold the helpe and spede,
That in this case thow be not so vnwise
As Pandare was in suche a like dede;
For he the ffooll of conscience was so nyse
That he no gayn would have for all his payne.
Be next thy self, for frendshipp beres no prise.
Laughst thou at me? Why do I speke in vayne?
‘No, not at the, but at thy thrifty gest.
Wouldest thou I should for any losse or gayne
Chaunge that for gold that I have tan for best,
Next godly thinges, to have an honest name?
Should I leve that? then take me for a best?’
Nay, then, farewell, and if you care for shame
Content the then with honest pouertie
With fre tong what the myslikes to blame
And for thy trouth sumtyme aduersitie:
And therewithall this thing I shall the gyve—
In this worould now litle prosperite,
And coyne to kepe as water in a syve.

III
Penitential Psalms

[The great Macedon that out of Perse chasyd]

The great Macedon that out of Perse chasyd
Darius of whose huge power all Asy Rang,
In the riche arke of Homers rymes he placyd,
Who fayned gestes of hethen Prynces sang;

What holly grave, what wourthy sepulture
To Wyates Psalmes shuld Christians then purchase?
Wher he dothe paynte the lyvely faythe and pure,
The stedfast hope, the swete returne to grace

Of iust Dauyd by parfite penytence,
Where Rewlers may se in a myrrour clere
The bitter frewte of false concupicense,
How Jewry bought Vryas deathe full dere.

In Prynces hartes goddes scourge yprynted depe
Myght them awake out of their synfull slepe.

HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY

CVIII

[Love to gyve law vnto his subiect hertes]

Love to gyve law vnto his subiect hertes
Stode in the Iyes off Barsabe the bryght;
And in a look anone hymsellff convertes,
Cruelly plesant byfore kyng David syght;
First dasd his Iyes and forder forth he stertes
With venemd breth as sofftly as he myght
Towcht his sensis and ouer ronnis his bonis
With creping fyre, sparplid for the nonis.

And when he saw that kendlid was the flame,
The moyst poyson in his hert he launcyd,
So that the sowle did tremble with the same;
And in this brawle as he stode and trauncyd,
Yelding vnto the figure and the frame
That those fayre Iyes had in his presens glauncid,
The forme that love had printyd in his brest
He honorth it as thing off thinges best.

So that forgott the wisdome and fore-cast
(Wych wo to Remes when that thes kynges doth lakk)
Forgettyng eke goddes maiestie as fast,
Ye and his own, forthwith he doth to mak
Vrye to go in to the feld in hast,
Vrye I say, that was his Idolles mak,
Vnder pretence off certen victorye
For enmys swordes a redy pray to dye.

Wherby he may enjoy her owt of dowte,
Whom more then god or hymsellff he myndyth;
And after he had browght this thing abowt
And off that lust posest hym sellff, he fyndyth
That hath and doth reuerse and clene torn owt
Kynges from kyndomes and cytes vndermyndyth:
He blyndyd thinkes this trayne so blynd and closse
To blynd all thing that nowght may it disclosse.

But Nathan hath spyd out this trecherye
With rufull chere, and settes afore his face
The gret offence, outrage and Iniurye,
That he hath done to god as in this Case,
By murder for to clok Adulterye;

100

He shewth hym ek from hevyn the thretes, alas,
So sternly sore, this prophet, this Nathan,
That all amasid this agid woofull man.

Lyke hym that metes with horrour and with fere,
The hete doth strayte forsake the lyms cold,
The colour eke drowpith down from his chere,
So doth he fele his fyer maynifold.
His hete, his lust and plesur all in fere
Consume and wast, and strayt his crown of gold,
His purpirll pall, his sceptre he lettes fall,
And to the ground he throwth hym sellff withall.

The pompous pryd of state and dygnite
Fortwith rabates repentant humblenes;
Thynner vyle cloth then clothyth pouerty
Does skantly hyde and clad his nakednes;
His faire hore berd of reverent gravite
With ruffeld here, knowyng his wykednes:
More lyke was he the sellff same repentance
Then statly prynce off worldly governance.

His harpe he taketh in hand to be his guyde,
Wherewith he offerth his plaintes his sowle to save,
That from his hert distilles on euery syde,
Withdrawyng hym into a dark Cave
Within the grownd wherin he myght hym hyde,
Fleing the lyght, as in pryson or grave:
In wych as sone as David enterd had,
The dark horrour did mak his fawte a drad.

101

But he withowt prolonging or delay
Rof that that myght his lord, his god, apese,
Fallth on his knees, and with his harp, I say,
Afore his brest, frawtyd with disese
Off stormy syghes, his chere colourd lyk clay,
Dressyd vpryght, sekyng to conterpese
His song with syghes, and towching of the strynges
With tendre hert, lo thus to god he synges.

Psalm 6.

Domine ne in furore

O lord, sins in my mowght thy myghty name
Sufferth it sellff, my lord to name and call,
Here hath my hert hope taken by the same,
That the repentance wych I have and shall
May at thi hand seke marcy as the thing,
Only confort of wrechid synners all.
Wherby I dare with humble bymonyng
By thy goodnes off the this thing require:
Chastyse me not for my deserving,
Acordyng to thy just conceyvid Ire.
O lord, I dred, and that I did not dred
I me repent, and euermore desyre
The, the to dred. I open here and spred
My fawte to the, but thou, for thi goodnes,
Mesure it not in largenes nor in bred,
Punish it not, as askyth the grettnes
Off thi furour, provokt by my offence.
Tempre, O lord, the harme of my excesse
With mendyng will, that I for recompense
Prepare agayne; and rather pite me,
For I ame wek and clene withowt defence:
More is the nede I have of remede,

102

For off the hole the lech takyth no cure.
The shepe that strayth the sheperd sekes to se:
I lord ame strayd: I, sek withowt recure,
Fele al my lyms, that have rebelld for fere,
Shake in dispayre, onles thou me assure.
Mye flesshe is troubled, my hart doth feare the speare;
That dread of death, of death that ever lastes,
Threateth of right and draweth neare and neare.
Moche more my sowle is trowbled by the blastes
Of theise assawltes, that come as thick as hayle,
Of worldlye vanytie, that temptacion castes
Agaynst the weyke bulwarke of the flesshe frayle:
Wheare in the sowle in great perplexitie
Ffeelethe the sensis, with them that assayle,
Conspyre, corrupte by vse and vanytie;
Whearby the wretche dothe to the shade resorte
Of hope in the, in this extreamytie.
But thow, O Lord, how long after this sorte
Fforbearest thow to see my myserye?
Suffer me yet, in hope of some comforte,
Ffeare and not feele that thow forgettest me.
Returne, O Lorde, O Lorde, I the beseche,
Vnto thie olde wonted benignitie.
Reduce, revyve my sowle: be thow the Leche,
And reconcyle the great hatred and stryfe
That it hath tane agaynste the flesshe, the wretche
That stirred hathe thie wrathe bye filthie life.
Se how my sowle doth freat it to the bones,
Inward remorce so sharp'the it like a knife;
That but thow helpp the caitife, that bemones
His great offence, it turnes anon to dust.
Heare hath thie mercye matter for the nones,
Ffor if thie rightwise hand that is so iuste
Suffer no Synne or stryke with dampnacion,
Thie infinyte marcye want nedes it must

103

Subjecte matter for his operacion:
For that in deth there is no memorie
Amonge the Dampnyd, nor yet no mencion
Of thie great name, grownd of all glorye.
Then if I dye and goe wheare as I feare
To thinck thearon, how shall thie great mercye
Sownde in my mowth vnto the worldes eare?
Ffor theare is none than can thee lawde and love,
Ffor that thow wilt no love among them theare.
Suffer my Cryes thie marcye for to move,
That wonted is a hundred yeares offence
In momente of repentaunce to remove.
How ofte have I calde vpp with diligence
This slowthful flesshe longe afore the daye,
Ffor to confesse his faulte and negligence,
That to the done for ought that I coold say
Hath still returnd to shrowde it self from colde;
Whearbye it suffers nowe for suche delaye.
By nightlye playntes in stede of pleasures olde
I wasshe my bed with teares contynuall,
To dull my sight that it be never bolde
To stirr mye hart agayne to suche a fall.
Thus drye I vpp among my foes in woe,
That with my fall do rise and grow with all,
And me bysett evin now where I am so
With secrett trapps to troble my penance.
Sum do present to my weping yes, lo,
The chere, the manere, beaute and countenance
Off her whose loke alas did mak me blynd;
Sum other offer to my remembrans
Those plesant wordes, now bitter to my mynd;
And sum shew me the powre of my armour,
Tryumph, and conquest, and to my hed assind
Dowble diademe: sum shew the favour

104

Of people frayle, palais, pompe and ryches:
To thes marmaydes and theyre baytes off errour
I stopp myn eris with help of thy goodnes;
And for I fele it comith alone of the
That to my hert thes foes have non acces
I dare them bid: ‘avoyd wreches and fle!
The lord hath hard the voyce off my complaint;
Your engins take no more effect in me.
The lord hath herd, I say, and sen me faynt
Vnder your hand, and pitith my distres.
He shall do mak my sensis by constraint
Obbey the rule that reson shall expres,
Wher the deceyte of yowr glosing baite
Made them vsurp a powre in all exces’.
Shamid be thei all that so ly in whaite
To compas me, by missing of theire pray!
Shame and rebuke redound to suche decayte!
Sodayne confusion's stroke withowt delay
Shall so defface theire craffty sugestion
That they to hurt my helthe no more assay,
Sins I, o Lord, remayne in thi protection.

Who so hathe sene the sikk in his fevour,
Affter treux taken with the hote or cold
And that the fitt is past off his faruour,
Draw faynting syghes, let hym, I say, behold
Sorowfull David affter his langour,
That with the terys that from his iyes down rold,
Pausid his plaint, and laid adown his harp,
Faythfull record of all his sorows sharp.

105

It semid now that of his fawt the horrour
Did mak aferd no more his hope of grace,
The thretes whereoff in horrible errour
Did hold his hert as in dispaire a space
Till he had willd to seke for his socour,
Hym selff accusing, beknowyng his cace,
Thinking so best his lord for to apese,
Eesd, not yet heled, he felith his disese.

Semyth horrible no more the dark Cave
That erst did make his fault for to tremble,
A place devout or refuge for to save
The socourles it rather doth resemble:
For who had sene so knele within the grave
The chieff pastor of thebrews assemble
Wold juge it made by terys of penitence
A sacrid place worthi off reuerence.

With vapord iyes he lokyth here and there,
And when he hath a while hym sellff bethowght,
Gadryng his sprites that were dismayd for fere,
His harp agayne in to his hand he rowght.
Tunyng accord by Jugement of his ere:
His hertes botum for a sigh he sowght,
And there withall apon the holow tre
With straynid voyce agayne thus cryth he.

Psalm 32.

Beati quorum remisse sunt

Oh happy ar they that have forgiffnes gott
Off their offence (not by their penitence
As by meryt wych recompensyth not
Altho that yet pardone hath non offence
Withowte the same) but by the goodnes

106

Off hym that hath perfect intelligens
Off hert contrite, and coverth the grettnes
Off syn within a marcifull discharge.
And happy ar they that have the willfullness
Off lust restraynd, afore it went at large,
Provokyd by the dred of goddes furour
Wherby thei have not on theyre bakes the charge
Of othrs fawte to suffer the dolour;
For that thire fawte was neuer excecute
In opyn syght, example of errour;
And happi is he to whom god doth impute
No more his faut by knoleging his syn
But clensid now the lord doth hym repute,
As adder freshe new stryppid from his skin;
Nor in his sprite is owght vndiscoverd.
I for by cawse I hidd it still within,
Thynking by state in fawte to be preferd,
Do fynd by hyding of my fawte my harme,
As he that feels his helth to be hinderd
By secrete wound concelid from the charme
Of lechis cure that elles had had redresse,
And fele my bonis consume and wax vnfarme
By dayly rage roryng in excesse.
Thy hevy hand on me was so encrest
Both day and nyght and held my hert in presse
With priking thowghtes byreving me my rest,
That wytherd is my lustynes away
As somer hettes that hath the grene oprest;
Wherfore I did an othr way assay,
And sowght forthwith to opin in thi syght
My fawt, my fere, my filthines, I say,

107

And not to hide from the my gret vnryght.
I shall (quod I) agaynst my sellff confesse
Vnto the lord all my synfull plyght;
And thou forthwith didst washe the wikkednes
Off myn offence, of trowgth ryght thus it is.
Wherfor they that have tastid thi goodnes
At me shall take example as of this,
And pray and seke in tyme for tyme of grace.
Then shall the stormes and fluddes of harme him miss,
And hym to rech shall neuer have the space.
Thow art my refuge and only savegard
From the trobles that compasse me the place.
Such Joy as he that skapis his enmis ward
With losid bondes hath in his libertie,
Such Joy, my Joy, thow hast to me prepard,
That as the seman in his Jeopretie
By soden lyght perceyvid hath the port,
So by thy gret marcifull propertie
Within thi lok thus rede I my confort.
I shall the tech and gyve vnderstondyng,
And poynt to the what way thou shalt resort;
For thi adresse to kepe the from wandryng,
Myn iye shall tak the charge to be thy guyde.
I aske therto of the alone this thing:
Be not like horse or Mule that man doth ryde,
That not alone doth not his master know,
But for the good thou dost hym must be tyde
And brydeld, lest his guyd he bite or throw.
Oh dyuerse ar the chastysinges off syn!
In mete, in drynk, in breth that man doth blow,
In slepe, in wach, in fretyng styll within,
That neuer soffer rest vnto the mynd;
Filld with offence, that new and new begyn

108

With thowsand feris the hert to strayne and bynd.
But for all this he that in god doth trust
With mercy shall hym sellff defendid fynd.
Joy and reioyse, I say, ye that be just
In hym that makth and holdyth yow so still;
In hym your glory alwey set yow must,
All ye that be off vpright hert and will.

This song endid, David did stint his voyce,
And in that while abowt he with his iye
Did seke the Cave with wiche withowten noyce
His sylence semid to argew and replye
Apon this pees, this pees that did reioyce
The sowle with mercy, that mercy so did Crye,
And fownd mercy at mercyes plentifull hand,
Neuer denid but where it was withstand.

As the servant that in his masters face
Fyndyng pardon of his passid offence,
Consyderyng his grete goodnes and his grace,
Glad teris distills, as gladsome recompence;
Ryght so David that semid in that place
Marble ymage off singuler reuerence
Carffd in the rokk with Iyes and handes on hygh,
Made as by crafft to plaine, to sobbe, to sygh.

This while a beme that bryght sonne forth sendes,
That sonne the wych was neuer clowd cowd hide,

109

Percyth the cave and on the harpe discendes,
Whose glauncyng light the cordes did ouerglyde,
And such luyster apon the harpe extendes
As lyght off lampe upon the gold clene tryde:
The torne wheroff into his Iyes did sterte,
Surprisd with Joye by penance off the herte.

He then Inflamd with farr more hote affect
Of god then he was erst of Bersabe,
His lifft fote did on the yerth erect,
And just therby remaynth the tothr kne;
To his lifft syde his wayght he doth direct.
Sure hope of helth, and harpe agayne takth he;
His hand, his tune, his mynd sowght his lay,
Wyche to the Lord with sobre voyce did say.

Psalm 38.

Domine ne in furore tuo arguas me

O Lord, as I the have both prayd and pray,
(Altho in the be no alteration
But that we men, like as our sellffes we say,
Mesuryng thy Justice by our Mutation)
Chastice me not, o lord, in thi furour,
Nor me correct in wrathfull castigation.
Ffor that thi arrows off fere, off terrour
Of sword, of sekenes, off famine and fyre
Stikkes diepe in me. I, lo, from myn errour
Ame plongid vp, as horse owt of the myre
With strok off spurr: such is thi hand on me,
That in my fleshe for terrour of thy yre
Is not on poynt of ferme stabilite,

110

Nor in my bonis there is no stedfastnes:
Such is my drede of mutabilite,
Ffor that I know my frailefull wykednes.
For why? my sinns above my hed ar bownd,
Like hevi wheyght that doth my force oppresse
Vnder the wych I stopp and bowe to grownd,
As whilow plant haled by vyolence;
And off my fleshe ech not well curyd wound,
That festred is by foly and neclegens,
By secrete lust hath ranklyd vnder skyn,
Not duly Curyd by my penitens.
Perceyving thus the tyranny off sin,
That with his wheit hath humblid and deprest
My pryd, by gruging off the worme within
That neuer dyth, I lyve withowten rest.
So ar myn entrayles infect with fervent sore,
Fedyng the harme that hath my welth oprest,
That in my fleshe is lefft no helth therfore.
So wondrus gret hath bene my vexation
That it hath forst my hart to crye and rore.
O lord thow knowst the inward contemplation
Off my desire, thou knowst my syghes and plaintes
Thow knowst the teres of my lamentation
Can not expresse my hertes inward restraintes.
My hart pantyth, my force I fele it quaile,
My syght, myn Iyes, my lok dekays and fayntes.
And when myn enmys did me most assayle,
My frendes most sure, wherein I sett most trust,
Myn own vertus, sonest then did ffaile,
And stoud apart, reson and witt vniust,

111

As kyn vnkynd were fardest gone at nede.
So had thei place theire venim owt to thrust
That sowght my deth by nowghty word and dede:
Theire tonges reproche, theire wittes did fraude aplye,
And I like deffh and domme forth my way yede,
Lyk one that heris not, nor hath to replye
One word agayne, knowyng that from thi hand
Thes thinges procede and thow o lord shalt supplye
My trust in the wherein I stikk and stand.
Yet have I had gret cawse to dred and fere
That thou woldst gyve my foos the ouerhand;
Ffor in my ffall they shewd suche plesant chere,
And therwithall I alway in the lashe
Abyd the strok: and with me euery where
I bere my fawte, that gretly doth abashe
My dowlfull chere; ffor I my fawt confesse,
And my desert doth all my conffort dashe.
In the mene while myn Enmys saffe encresse
And my provokars herby do augement,
That withowt cawse to hurt me do not cesse.
In evill for good agaynst me they be bent,
And hinder shall my good pursuyte off grace.
Lo now, my god, that seist my hole Intent,
My lord, I ame, thow knowst well, in what case.
Fforsak me not, be not farre from me gone:
Hast to my help, hast, lord, and hast apace,
O lord, the lord off all my helth alone.

Lik as the pilgryme that in a long way
Fayntyng for hete, provokyd by some wind

112

In some fresh shaade lith downe at mydes off day,
So doth off David the weryd voyce and mynd
Tak breth off syghes when he had song this lay,
Vnder such shaad as sorow hath assynd;
And as the tone still myndes his viage end,
So doth the tother to mercy still pretend.

On sonour cordes his fingers he extendes,
Withowt heryng or Jugement off the sownd;
Down from his Iyes a storme off terys discendes,
Withowt feling, that trykill on the grownd,
As he that bledes in baigne ryght so intendes
Th'altryd sensis to that that thei ar bownd;
But syght and wepe he can non othr thing,
And lok vp still vnto the hevins kyng.

But who had bene withowt the Cavis mowth,
And herd the terys and syghes that he did strayne,
He wold have sworne there had owt off the sowth
A lewk warme wynd browght forth a smoky rayne;
But that so close the Cave was and vnkowth
That none but god was record off his payne:
Elles had the wynd blowne in all Israelles erys
The wofull plaint and off theire kyng the terys.

Off wych some part, when he vpp suppyd hade,
Like as he whom his owne thowght affrays,
He torns his look; hym semith that the shade
Off his offence agayne his force assays
By violence dispaire on hym to lade;

113

Stertyng like hym whom sodeyne fere dismays,
His voyce he strains, and from his hert owt brynges
This song that I not wyther he crys or singes.

Psalm 51.

Miserere mei domine

Rew on me, lord, for thy goodnes and grace,
That off thy nature art so bountefull,
Ffor that goodnes that in the world doth brace
Repugnant natures in quiete wonderfull,
And for thi mercys nomber withowt end
In hevin and yerth perceyvid so plentefull
That ouer all they do them sellffes extend:
Ffor those marcys much more then man can synn
Do way my synns that so thy grace offend.
Agayne washe me but washe me well within,
And from my synn that thus makth me affrayd
Make thou me clene as ay thy wont hath byn;
Ffor vnto the no nombre can be layd
For to prescrybe remissions off offence
In hertes retornd, as thow thy sellff hast sayd.
And I beknow my ffawt, my neclegence,
And in my syght my synn is fixid fast,
Theroff to have more perfett penitence.
To the alone, to the have I trespast,
Ffor none can mesure my fawte but thou alone;
For in thy syght I have not bene agast
For to offend, juging thi syght as none,
So that my fawt were hid from syght of man,
Thy maiestye so from my mynd was gone:
This know I and repent; pardon thow than,
Wherby thow shalt kepe still thi word stable,

114

Thy justice pure and clene; by cawse that whan
I pardond ame, then forthwith Justly able,
Just I ame jugd by justice off thy grace.
Ffor I my sellff, lo thing most vnstable,
Fformd in offence, conceyvid in like case,
Ame nowght but synn from my natyvite;
Be not this sayd for my excuse, alase,
But off thy help to shew necessite;
Ffor lo thou loves the trowgh off inward hert,
Wich yet doth lyve in my fydelite;
Tho I have fallen by fraylte ouerthwart,
Ffor willfull malice led me not the way,
So much as hath the flesh drawn me apart.
Wherfore, o lord, as thow hast done alway,
Tech me the hydden wisdome off thy lore,
Sins that my fayth doth not yet dekay;
And as the Juyz to hele the liepre sore
With hysope clense, clense me, and I ame clene.
Thow shalt me wash, and more then snow therfore
I shall be whight, how fowle my fawt hath bene.
Thow off my helth shalt gladsome tydynges bryng;
When from above remission shall be sene
Descend on yerth, then shall for Joye vp spryng
The bonis that were afore consumd to dust.
Looke not, o lord, apon myn offendyng,
But do a way my dedes that ar vnjust.
Make a clene hert in the myddes off my brest
With spryte vpryght, voydyd from fylthye lust.
Ffrom thyn Iys cure, cast me not in vnrest,
Nor take from me thy spryte of holynesse.
Rendre to me joye off thy help and rest;

115

My will conferme with spryte off stedfastnesse:
And by this shall thes goodly thinges ensue.
Sinners I shall in to thy ways adresse:
They shall retorne to the and thy grace sue.
My tong shall prayse thy Justification,
My mowgh shall spred thy gloryus praysis true.
But off thi sellff, o god, this operation
It must proced, by purging me from blood,
Among the just that I may have relation;
And off thy lawdes for to let owt the flood;
Thow must, o lord, my lypps furst vnlose:
Ffor if thou hadst estemid plesant good
The owtward dedes that owtward men disclose,
I wold have offerd vnto the sacryfice.
But thou delyghtes not in no such glose
Off owtward dede, as men dreme and devyse.
The sacryfice that the lord lykyth most
Is spryte contrite: low hert in humble wyse
Thow dost accept, o god, for plesant host.
Make Syon, lord, accordyng to thy will,
Inward Syon, the Syon of the ghost:
Off hertes Hierusalem strength the walles still.
Then shalt thou take for good these vttward dedes,
As sacryfice thy plesure to fullfyll.
Off the alone thus all our good procedes.

Off diepe secretes that David here did sing,
Off mercy, off fayth, off frailte, off grace,
Off goddes goodnes and off Justyfying,
The grettnes dyd so astonne hymselff a space,
As who myght say who hath exprest this thing?

116

I synner, I, what have I sayd alas?
That goddes goodnes wold within my song entrete,
Let me agayne considre and repete.

And so he doth, but not exprest by word:
But in his hert he tornith and paysith
Ech word that erst his lypps might forth aford.
He poyntes, he pawsith, he wonders, he praysyth
The marcy that hydes off justice the swourd,
The justice that so his promesse complysyth,
For his wordes sake to worthilesse desert,
That gratis his graces to men doth depert.

Here hath he confort when he doth mesure
Mesureles marcys to mesureles fawte,
To prodigall sinners Infinite tresure,
Tresure termeles that neuer shall defawte.
Ye, when that sinn shall fayle and may not dure,
Mercy shal reygne, gaine whome shall no assaute
Off hell prevaile, by whome, lo, at this day,
Off hevin gattes Remission is the kay.

And when David hath ponderd well and tryd,
And seith hym sellff not vtterly deprivid
From lyght of grace that dirk of sinn dyd hyde,
He fyndes hys hope muche therewith revivid;
He dare Importune the lord on euery syde,
(For he knowth well to mercy is ascrybid
Respectles labour) Importune, crye and call:
And thus begynth his song therwithall.

117

Psalm 102.

Domine exaudi orationem meam

Lord here my prayre and let my crye passe
Vnto the lord withowt impediment.
Do not from me torne thy mercyfull fase,
Vnto my sellff leving my government.
In tyme off troble and aduersitye
Inclyne to me thyn ere and thyn Intent;
And when I call help my necessitye;
Redely graunt th'effect off my desyre.
Thes bold demaundes do plese thy maiestye,
And ek my Case such hast doth well require.
Ffor like as smok my days bene past awaye,
My bonis dryd vp as forneis with the fyre.
My hert, my mynd is wytherd vp like haye,
By cawse I have forgot to take my brede,
My brede off lyff, the word off trowthe, I say.
And ffor my plaintfull syghes, and my drede,
My bonis, my strenght, my very force of mynde
Cleved to the flesh, and from thi spryte were flede,
As dispairate thy mercy for to fynd.
So made I me the solaine pelycane,
And lyke the owle that fleith by propre kynd
Lyght of the day and hath her sellff betane
To ruyne lyff owt of all companye.
With waker care that with this wo bygane,
Lik the sparow was I solytarye,
That sittes alone vnder the howsis effes.
This while my foes conspird continually,
And did provoke the harme off my dises.
Wherfor lik ashes my bred did me savour,
Of thi just word the tast myght not me ples;

118

Wherfore my drynk I temperd with lycour
Off weping teris that from myn Iyes do rayne.
By cause I know the wrath off thy furour,
Provokt by ryght had off my pride disdayne;
For thou didst lyfft me vp to throw me downe,
To tech me how to know my sellff agayne;
Wherby I knew that helples I shold drowne.
My days lik shadow declyne and I do drye;
And the for euer eternite doth crowne;
World withowt end doth last thy memorye.
Ffor this frailte that yokyth all manekynd,
Thou shallt awake, and rue this misery,
Rue on Syon, Syon that as I ffynd
Is the peple that lyve vnder thy law;
For now is tyme, the tyme at hand assynd,
The tyme so long that doth thy servantes draw
In gret desyre to se that plesant day,
Day off redeming Syon ffrom sins Aw.
Ffor they have ruth to se in such dekay
In dust and stones this wrechid Syon lowr.
Then the gentilles shall dred thy name alway;
All erthly kinges thy glory shall honour,
Then, when thi grace this Syon thus redemith,
When thus thou hast declard thy myghty powre.
The lord his servauntes wishis so estemith
That he hym tornth vnto the poores request.
To our discent thys to be wrytten semith,
Off all confortes as consolation best;
And thei that then shalbe regenerate
Shall praise the lord therfore both most and lest.
Ffor he hath lokt from the heyght off his astate,

119

The lord from hevyn in yerth hath lokt on vs,
To here the mone off them that ar algate
In fowle bondage, to lose and to discus
The sonns off deth owt from theire dedly bond,
To gyve therby occasion gracius,
In this Syon hys holy name to stond
And in Hierusalem hys laudes lastyng ay.
When in one chirche the peple off the lond
And remes bene gaderd to serve, to lawd, to pray
The lord aboue so just and mercyfull.
But to this samble runnyng in the way
My strenght faylyth to rech it at the full.
He hath abrigd my days, they may not dure,
To se that terme, that terme so wonderfull,
Altho I have with herty will and Cure
Prayd to the lord; take me not lord away
In myddes off my yeres, tho thyn euer sure
Remayne eterne, whom tyme can not dekay.
Thow wrowghtst the yerth, thy handes thevyns did mak;
Thei shall peryshe and thou shalt last alway,
And althinges age shall were and ouertake
Like cloth, and thou shalt chainge them lik aparell,
Tourne, and translate, and thei in worth it tak.
But thou thy sellff the sellff remaynist well
That thou wast erst, and shalt thi yeres extend.
Then sins to this there may nothing rebell,
The gretest confort that I can pretend
Is that the childerne off thy servantes dere
That in thy word ar gott, shall withowt end
Byfore thy face be stablisht all in fere.

120

When David had perceyvid in his brest
The sprite off god retournd that was exild,
By cause he knew he hath alone exprest
Thes grete thinges that greter spryte compilde,
As shalme or pype letes owt the sownd inprest
By musikes art forgid to fore and fyld,
I say when David had percyvid this
The sprite of confort in hym revivid is.

Ffor therapon he makyth argument
Off reconsiling vnto the lordes grace,
Altho sometyme to prophecy have lent
Both brut bestes and wikkyd hertes a place;
But our David jugith in his intent
Hym sellff by penance clene owt off this cace,
Wherby he hath remission off offence,
And gynnyth to Alow his payne and penitence.

But when he weyth the fawt and recompense
He damth his dede and fyndyth playne
A twene them to no whitt equivalence,
Wherby he takes all owtward dede in vayne
To bere the name off ryghtfull penitence;
Wich is alone the hert retornd agayne
And sore contryt that doth his fawt bymone,
And owtward dede the sygne or fruyt alone.

With this he doth deffend the slye assault
Off vayne alowance off his voyde desert,
And all the glory off his forgyven fault
To good alone he doth it hole convertt.

121

His owne merytt he fyndyth in deffault;
And whilst he ponderd thes thinges in his hert,
His knee, his arme, his hand, susteind his chyn,
When he his song agayne thus did begynn.

Psalm 130.

De profundis clamavi

Ffrom depth off sinn and from a diepe dispaire,
Ffrom depth off deth, from depth off hertes sorow,
From this diepe Cave off darknes diepe repayre,
The have I cald o lord to be my borow;
Thow in my voyce o lord perceyve and here
My hert, my hope, my plaint, my ouerthrow,
My will to ryse, and let by graunt apere
That to my voyce, thin eres do well entend.
No place so farr that to the it is not nere;
No depth so diepe that thou ne maist extend
Thin ere therto; here then my wofull plaint.
Ffor, lord, if thou do observe what men offend
And putt thi natyff mercy in restraint,
If just exaction demaund recompense,
Who may endure o lord? who shall not faynt
At such acompt? dred, and not reuerence,
Shold so raine large. But thou sekes rather love,
Ffor in thi hand is mercys resedence,
By hope wheroff thou dost our hertes move.
I in the, lord, have set my confydence;
My sowle such trust doth euermore approve
Thi holly word off eterne excellence,
Thi mercys promesse, that is alway just,
Have bene my stay, my piller and pretence;

122

My sowle in god hath more desyrus trust
Then hath the wachman lokyng for the day,
By the releffe to quenche of slepe the thrust.
Let Israell trust vnto the lord alway,
Ffor grace and favour arn his propertie;
Plenteus rannzome shall com with hym, I say,
And shall redeme all our iniquitie.

This word redeme that in his mowght did sownd,
Did put David, it semyth vnto me,
As in a traunce to starre apon the grownd,
And with his thowght the heyght of hevin to se;
Where he beholdes the word that shold confownd
The sword off deth, by humble ere to be
In mortall mayd, in mortall habitt made,
Eternall lyff in mortall vaile to shade.

He seith that word, when full rype tyme shold come,
Do way that vayle by fervent affectione
Torne off with deth, for deth shold have her dome.
And leppeth lyghter from such coruptione
The glint of lyght that in the Ayre doth lome.
Manne redemid, deth hath her distructione,
That mortall vaile hath immortalite,
David assurance off his iniquite.

Wherby he frames this reson in his hert:
That goodnes wych doth not forbere his sonne
From deth for me and can therby convert
My deth to lyff, my synn to salvation,
Both can and woll a smaller grace depert

123

To hym that suyth by humble supplication;
And sins I have his larger grace assayd,
To aske this thing whi ame I then affrayd?

He grauntyth most to them that most do crave,
And he delyghtes in suyte withowt respect;
Alas my sonne, poursuys me to the grave,
Sufferd by god my sinne for to correct;
But of my sinne sins I my pardonne have,
My sonnis poursuyt shall shortly be reiect;
Then woll I crave with suryd confidence.
And thus begynns the suyt off his pretence.

Psalm 143.

Domine exaudi orationem meam

Here my prayer o lord, here my request,
Complyshe my bone, answere to my desire,
Not by desert, but for thyn own byhest,
In whose ferme trowgh thou promest myn empyre
To stond stable. And after thy Justyse,
Performe, o lord, the thing that I require;
But not off law after the forme and guyse
To entre judgement with thy thrall bond slave,
To plede his ryght, for in such maner wyse
By fore thy syght no man his ryght shall save.
Ffor off my sellff lo this my ryght wisenes,
By skourge and whipp and prykyng spurrs I have
Skante rysen vp, such is my bestlynes;
Ffor that my enmy hath pursuyd my lyff,
And in the dust hath foyld my lustynes;

124

Ffor that in heins to fle his rage so ryff,
He hath me forst as ded to hyd my hed;
And for by cawse within my sellff at stryffe
My hert and spryte with all my force were fled.
I had recourse to tyms that have ben past,
And did remembre thy dedes in all my dred;
And did peruse thi workes that euer last,
Wherby I knew above those wondres all
Thy mercys were. Then lyfft I vp in hast
My handes to the, my sowle to the did call
Like bareyne soyle for moystre off thy grace.
Hast to my help, o lord, afore I fall;
Ffor sure I fele my spryte doth faynt a pace
Torne not thi face from me, that I be layd
In compt off them that hedlyng down do pase
In to the pitt. Shew me by tyms thyn Ayde,
Ffor on thy grace I holly do depend.
And in thi hand sins all my helth is stayde
Do me to know what way thou wolt I bend,
Ffor vnto the I have reysd vp my mynd.
Rydd me, o lord, from that that do entend
My foos to me, ffor I have me assind
Allway within thi secrette protection.
Tech me thy will, that I by the may fynd
The way to work the same in affection.
Ffor thou my god, thy blyssyd spryte vp right,
In lond off trowght shalbe my dyrection.
Thow for thy name, lord, shalt revive my spryte
Within the ryght that I receyve by the,
Wherby my lyff off danger shalbe quyte.

125

Thow hast fordon theire grete Iniquite
That vext my sowle, thou shalt also confownd
My foos, o lord, for thy benignite,
Ffor thyn ame I, thy servant ay most bownd.

126

IV
Poems from the Blage Manuscript

CIX

[Alas! dere herte, what happe had I]

Alas! dere herte, what happe had I,
Yf that I myght youre grace attayne!
And sens I loue you faythfully,
Why should ye not loue me agayne?

Me thynkes of right ye should me loue,
For well ye know I doo not fayne,
Nor neuer shall ye other proue;
Therfore, swete hart, loue me agayne.

I dare well say, yf that ye knew
How long that I haue suffered payne,
Ye wold not chaunge me for no new,
But euyn of ryght loue me agayne.

For as youre owne, ye may be sure,
Ye haue my hart styll to remayne;
Hyt lyeth in you me to recure:
Therefore, swet hart, loue me agayne.

In hopp I lyve, and haue doone long,
Trustyng yet styll for to optayne;
And sure, me thynkes, I haue great wrong,
Yf that I be not loved agayne.

127

CX

[Alone musyng]

Alone musyng,
Remembryng
The woofull lyfe that I doo lede;
Then sore sythyng,
I lye crying
As one for payne nere dede.

The vnkyndnes
Of my mystres
In great distres hath me brought;
Yet disdayneth she
To take petye
And settith my hart right naught.

Whoo wold haue thought
She wold haue wrought
Such sorow vnto my hart,
Seyng that I
Indeuered me
Frome her neuer to depart?

CXI

[Absence, alas]

Absence, alas,
Causeth me pas
Frome al solas
To great grevans:
Yet though that I
Absent must be,
I trust that she
Hath remembraunce.

Where I her fynd
Lovyng and kynd,
There my poore mynd
Eased shalbe;
And for my parte
My loue and harte
Shall not reverte,
Though I shuld dye.

128

Beawty, pleasure,
Riches, treasure,
Or to endure
In pryson stronge,
Shall not me make
Her to forsake,
Though I shuld lak
Her neuer soo long.

For ones trust I,
Or that I dy,
For to aspye
The happy owre—
At lyberty
With her to be,
That pytys me
In this dolowre.

CXII

[Alas, fortune, what alith the]

Alas, fortune, what alith the
Thus euermore to turment me?
Although that I onworthy be
Thow wylt not chaunge.

Faynest when I wold obteyne,
Then thow hast me still in disdayne,
Wylt thow thus styll increase my payne,
And wylt not chaunge?

Alas! doth this not the suffice?
What prouf yet canste thow more devyse
Then styll to turment me in this wise
And yet not chaunge?

What shuld I more to thee now saye?
Sum hoppe in me doth rest alwaye,
Yet bound to thee I doo obey;
When wylt thou chaunge?

129

Seyng there ys noo remedy,
I wyll the suffer paciently,
Euer in trust at last, perdy,
That thow wylt chaunge.

CXIII

[A! my harte, A! what aleth the]

A! my harte, A! what aleth the
To set soo light by libertye,
Makyng me bounde where I was fre?
A! my harte, A! what ayleth the?

Where thow warte ryd from all distres,
Voide of all payne and pensyfnes,
To chouse agayne a new mistress,
A! my harte, A! what ayleth the?

When thow warte well, thow couldest not hold;
To turne agayne thow warte to bolde;
Thus to renew my sorowes olde,
A! my harte, a! what ayleth the?

Thow knowest full well that but of late
I was turned owt of loues gate,
And now to gyde me to this mate,
A! my harte, a! what ayleth the?

I hopte full well all had ben doone,
But now my hope is tane and wone,
To my turment to yeld soo sone,
A! my hart, a! what ayleth the?

CXIV

[At last withdraw youre crueltye]

At last withdraw youre crueltye,
Or let me dy at ons;
Hit ys to mych extremety
Devysid for the nons,

130

To hold me styll alyve
In paynes styll for to stryve.
What may I more susteigne?
Alas! that dy wold fayne,
And cannot dy for payne.

For to the flame wherwith I burne
My thought and my desyre,
When into ashes hit shuld turne
My harte by faruent fyer,
You send a stormy rayne
That doth yt quench agayne
And makes my Eyes expresse
The teyres that do redresse
My lyffe in wretchednes.

Then when they shuld haue drowned
And ouerwhelmed my harte,
The hete doth them confound,
Renewyng all my Smarte;
Then doth the flame encresse,
My turment cannot seasse;
My paynes doth than revyve,
And I remayne alyve,
With deth styll for to stryve.

But yf that you wyll haue my deth,
And that you wold no nother,
Then shortly for to stope my breth
Withdrawe the one or other;
For this youre cruelnes
Doth let yt self doughtles,
And that ys reason why
No man a lyve nor I
Of dowble deth canne dy.

131

CXV

[Alle ye that knowe of care and heuynes]

Alle ye that knowe of care and heuynes,
My wofull fatte when ye haue hard,
Then judge the truthe in this my great distresse,
Yf any woo may be therto compared;
And marke my thought as I shall yt expresse,
For cause hit self doth nother mar nor make,
But euyn as the pacyent doth hit take.

I thyncke whoo soo doth behold my payne
Sees the Soule of Sorow grounded in gryff,
The rotte of woo portred in payne,
The cloude of care dispayred of Relyff,
The lothed lyff thorow dartyd with dysdayne,
Sorow ys I and I evyn the same,
Ine that all men do call me by that name.

When I doo cast my careful lok doun Right
Vpon the ground, as thoo that I wolld fall,
Theryn me thynckes ys gravyn with my sight
The pyctour of my Sorowfull thoughtes all;
Ye, and the wormes that appere agaynst the nyght,
As me Semes, they thynck that deth doth mych yll
To leve me thus to lyve agaynst my wyll.

Where I do vse to lye Right secretly,
Apon a banck ouer a Ryuer clere,
Soo ofte I there be wayle my desteyne
That the water disdayneth hit to here,
And at my wepyng takes great envy,
Lest the teres that ffrome my nyes do rayne
Shuld cause the fysshe theryn to morne and playne.

Alone when I doo walke the woodes wandryng,
Vttryng my care with paynefull sighes and groans,
The birdes, which on the bowes syt syngyng,
To here my Cry then ses they all attons,
Hauyng great grudge at me and my wellyng,
By cause yt was so grevous shyrle and lowde,
That hit stonnyd their song thorow all the woode.

132

CXVI

[Accusyd thoo I be without desert]

Accusyd thoo I be without desert,
Noone can hit proue, yet ye beleue hit treue;
Nor neuer yet, sens that ye had my hart,
Entended I to be false or untrewe.
Soner I wold of deth sustayne the Smart
Than breke one thyng of that I promast you;
Accept therfore my seruyce in good parte;
Noon ys a lyve that yll tonges can Extew.
Hold them as false and let not vs depart
Oure frendship old in hope of any new.
Put not thy trust in suche as vse to fayne,
Except thow mynd to put thy frynds to payne.

CXVII

[Agaynste the Rock I clyme both hy and hard]

Agaynste the Rock I clyme both hy and hard,
When at the foote the ford doth bray so lowde
That saue the hart So faythfully had vowyed,
Seith frome the foote in medeway I was forward,
No hart soo hardy nor corryge that cowld
Aventure to clyme Soo hy a Shrowd:
Hoppe byddes me hoppe of payne the right reward.
Now past the vale of Daunger and Dispyt,
Mounted the Rock of Loue and perfit Joye;
Bayned in the forde, Dispere to washe awaye,
Hoppyng hereafter frome Darke to fynd the Light,
Brought to the hyiste, am of the Deptyst agast,
For Dred to falle, my hand now hold the fast.

CXVIII

[A face that shuld content me wonders well]

A face that shuld content me wonders well
Shuld not be faire but cumley to behold,
Wyth gladsum loke all gref for to expell;

133

With sober chere so wold I that yt shuld
Speke withowt wordes, such wordes as non can tell;
The tresse also shuld be of cryspyd goold;
With wytt, and these myght chance I myght be tyed,
And knytt agayne the knott that shuld not slyde.

CXIX

[Alas! my Dere, the word thow spakest]

Alas! my Dere, the word thow spakest
Hath smotte the Stroke within my brest
Of Cruell Deth, sens thow forsackyst
Me and my faithfull ment behest.
Too long I Shewed that word to here,
That doth renew my great onrest
And mornyng Chere.

And mornyng Chere, which by dispayre
For wante of hoppe ys myche increst,
So that now past both hoppe and fere,
Of my judgement I know the best
Ys Lyf a while in paynefull woo;
And how soon Deth wyll pers my brest,
I doo not know.

I do not know when, nor how sone,
The stroke thow smast within my hart
Wyll blede me to a dedely sowne,
But well I know, tho thow revert,
Till yt do blede and I stark dede,
I shall renew with dayly smart
This Lyffe I Lede.

This Lyffe I Lede and Lyve to Long,
Agayn my wyll in ters to melt,
Sens none ther ys may ryght my wrong;

134

But I must fele that I haue felt
The Stroke of Deth, and cannot Dy,
Gaylyd within the strongist belt
Of Crueltie.

Of Crueltie and cruell Deth,
Forst to abyde Extremytie,
And yet to lyve, thoo I want breth,
To Show further how cruelly
My hope ys turned to murnyng chere,
And ye the cause thereof onely,
Alas, my dere.

CXX

[By belstred wordes I am borne in hand]

By belstred wordes I am borne in hand,
As whoo saith, byddyn I shuld obbey.
Ye may thret twys, er ons ye maye
Prevayle by poure to vnderband,
That I shuld yeld and nat withstand.
Youre wordes doo well, your wittes bewraye
Wenyng to bere so great a Swaye,
To wene my will when ye commaunde.
The ffre ye fforse by ffere,
To seke obedyens of the thrall.
Youre thretnyng wordes of poer but small
Ys wasted wynd to vse them here;
For lyke aquytaunce of lyke scathe
Ys my noo force of your no faith.

CXXI

[Beyng as noone ys I doo complayne]

Beyng as noone ys I doo complayne
Of my myshapp, turment, and my woo,
Wysshyng for Dethe with all my myght and mayne,
For Lyffe ys to me as my Chief Deadly foo.
Alas, alas, of Comford I haue noo moo;
Left but onely to syng this Dulphull song:
Paciens, parforce content thy self with wrong.

135

Euer I hoppe sum faver to obteyne,
Trustyng that she wyll recompence at Last,
As reason were, my passyng deadly payne;
And styll I percevered, and they incresed soo fast,
That hoppe me Left, and I, as all agaste,
Had noo comford, but Lernd to syng this song:
Paciens, parforce content thy self with wrong.

I Burne and boyle withoute redres;
I syegh, I wepe, and all in vayne.
Now Hotte, now Cold, whoo can expresse
The thowsaund parte of my great payne?
But yf I myte her faver Atteigne,
Then wold I trust to chaunge this song,
With pety for paciens, and consciens for wrong.

CXXII

[Complaynyng, alas, without redres]

Complaynyng, alas, without redres,
Thus wofully do I my Lyfe Lede,
My harte Lamentyng in heuynes,
Through whose mekenes I am nere dede.

This I induer alwayes in payne,
Dewoyd of pyty as in this Case,
Yet my pore Harte cannot refrayne;
Wherfore, Alas, I Dy, Alas!

Soo vnkynd, alas, saw I never noone,
So hard hartid, so mych without pyty
As she to whome I make my mone;
Wherefore, alas, I Dy, I Dy.

Where I Love best, I am refused;
Where I am Louyd, I doo not passe;
Where I wold faynest, I am dysdayned;
Wherefore I Dy, alas, alas!

Comforthles, complaynyng, thus I remayne;
Merceles, remaynyng without remedy;

136

Cruelnes incressyng through fals dysdayne,
Pytyles remaynyng, alas, I Dy, I Dy.

But from hensforth I hold it best
Them for to loue that loueth me;
And then my hart shall haue sum rest,
Where now for payne I Dy, I Dy.

CXXIII

[“Comeforthe at hand, pluck vp thy harte!]

“Comeforthe at hand, pluck vp thy harte!
Lok Lowe! se where hit doth stand!
Synes the redresse of all thy smart
Douth Ley soo good a hand,
Pluck vp thy hart.

Pluck vp thy harte! why Droupest thow soo?”
So Sayde I me thought;
And frome the Hile I loked Loo
And with myn eye I Sought
Comforth at hand.

Comeforth at hand myn eye hath found;
My thought, therfore be glade;
Yf she be there may hele thy wounde,
Why shuldyst thou then be sad?
Pluck vp thy hart.

Pluck vp thy hart! A mornyng man
Doth gett noo good by woo.
Be glad alway, for whoo soo can
Shall fynd, wher soo He goo,
Comeforth at hand.

Comeforth at hand! goo seecke and fynd!
Loke yf there be redresse:
Yf not, abyde a better wynd,
In hope of Sum reles,
Pluck vp thy hart.

137

CXXIV

[Durese of paynes and grevus Smarte]

Durese of paynes and grevus Smarte
Hath brought me Low and wonderusse weke,
That I cannot cumfort my hart:
Why Syest thou, hart, and wilt not breke?

Thy syghes, thy playntes ar all in vayne;
The teres that from thyne eyes doo Leke;
This Lyffe ys Dethe, this joye ys payne:
Why Syest thow, hart, and wil not breke?

Thow clymest to catche where ys noo hold,
Thow stryves where strength ys all to weke,
Thy carefull lyff cannot be told:
Why Syest thow, hart, and wyll not breke?

The faithfuller thow dust endure,
Les she regards to here the speke;
And seyng pety will not the Cure,
Why Syest thow, hart, and wyll not Breke?

As good thow wart asvnder ryve,
As thus in thought thy self to breke;
Better were dethe then thus alyve
Euer to sighe and never breke.

Wherefore, pety, now shew redresse,
Or elles cum Dethe, thy vengeance wreke!
And sens thow fyndes noo gentylnes,
Harte, syghe no more, I pray the Breke.

138

CXXV

[Do way, do way, ye lytyll wyly prat!]

Do way, do way, ye lytyll wyly prat!
Youre slyly slynkyng cannot you excuse,
Nor wordes Dysymmblyd cannot hid that
That wyll pere owt, yf oftyn ye yt vse.
Yf ye thynke other, youre self ye do abuse,
For hartly Loue unspyd Long to Last,
Yf ye asay, youre wyttes sore ye waste.

Yff yt be possible, that frome a fyer gret
The blak Smoke shall not yssu owt,
Or a fore a Cryppyll to halt and countefet
And be not spyd, then quycly goo aboute
Vs to begyle; for truly without dowte
We know the craft, the Lokys and the prys.
Wherfore trust me yt ys hard to blere our yes.

Yff that we to you of this do speke,
For good wyll to make ye leue your folly,
Then wyll ye not stynt till ye be wreke;
And redy to swere and styll wyll deny
That that ys trew, yet wyll ye neuer apply
To youre own fawtes, but alwayes ye excuse.
Leve, fy for shame! ye make men to thynk and muse.

Ye thynck to cloke that cloked cannot be,
And thincke to hide that open ys in sight.
Alas! my thynckith yt ys a great pety
Youre self to bryng in suche a plyght,
That shuld vs cause to thynck ye Light.
Leue of, therfore: in faith ye ar to blame;
Ye hurt your self and lesyth your good name.

CXXVI

[Desyre to Sorow doth me constrayne]

Desyre to Sorow doth me constrayne,
Dayly incressyng my Smart and payne;
I Se there ys no remedy playne,
But paciens.

139

Dispayre doth put hym self in prese
To cause my sorows to encrese:
I trust at Last that yt wyll sesse
By paciens.

Good hoope doth byd me be content,
And not my self thus to torment,
Promassyng me my hole intent
Through paciens.

I wyll not stryve agaynst the tyde,
For well I Se who doth abide;
That sufferans to hartes desyre ys gyde
By pacyens.

CXXVII

[Defamed gyltynes by sylens vnkept]

Defamed gyltynes by sylens vnkept,
My name alle slaunderus, my faut detect,
Gylty, I graunt that I haue don amys.
Shall I neuer do soo agayne, forgyve me this.

Betrayed by trust and soo begyled,
By promas vnjust my name defyled;
Wherfore I graunt that I haue done amys.
Wyll I neuer do so agayne, forgyue me this.

Accept myne Excuse for this Offens,
And spare not to refuse me your presens,
Onles ye perceyue ye do refrayne
From doyng amys, wyle I Lyue agayne.

CXXVIII

[Dryven by Desire I Dyd this Dede]

Dryven by Desire I Dyd this Dede,
To Daunger my self without cause why:
To trust the vntrue, not Lyke to sped,
To speke and promas faithfully;
But now the prouf Doth verefy

140

That whoo soo trustith ere he knoo
Doth hurt hym self and pleas his foo.

Sens that my Language without eloquence
Ys playne vnpaynted and not vnknowen,
Dyspache myn answere with redy vtteraunce:
The question ys youres or elles my owne.
To be vpholdyn and styll to fawne,
I know non cause of such obedyence.
To haue suche corne as sede was sowen,
That ys the worst: therfore gyve centaunce.

But yf youre wyll be in this case
To vphold me Styll, what nedith that?
Sith ye or nay my question was:
So Long delay yt nedith not.
Yf I haue ye, than haue I that
That I haue sought to bryng to pas;
Yf I haue nay, yet reke I nat:
Where aught ys got, ther ys no lose.

The ye desyred, the nay not;
No gref so gret, nor desire so sore
But that I may forbere to dote.
Yf ye, for euer; yf nay, no more
To trubbyll ye thus: speke on therfore.
Yf that ye wyll, say ye; yf not,
We shalbe frendes euyn as before,
And I myn own, that yours may not.

CXXIX

[Dryuyn to Desyre, a drad also to Dare]

Dryuyn to Desyre, a drad also to Dare,
Bitwene two stoles my tayle goith to the ground.
Dred and desire the reson doth confound,
The tonge put to sylence, the hart in hope and fere,
Doth Dred that hit Dare and hyde that wold appere.

141

Desyrus and Dredfull, at Lybertye I goo bound,
For presyng to proffer me thynckes I here the sonde.
Back of thy Boldnes, thy corage passith care.
This Daungerus Dought whether to obey
My Dred or my Desire soo sore douthe me troubyll,
That cause causith for Dred of my Dekey.
In thowght al wone, in dedes to shoo me Dobyll,
Ferefull and faithfull, yet take me as I am,
Though Dowbell in Dedes, a inward perfit man.

CXXX

[Dobell, dyuerse, soleyn and straunge]

Dobell, dyuerse, soleyn and straunge,
But I haue sped and skappt vnspyd.
Thancked be fortune of frendly chaunge,
The Dede ys Don and I not Denyed.
My traught mystakyn, and I vntryed,
Yf Dobbell Drabbes were soo Defyed,
As worthy ys there wandryng wyt.
I wysse with reson doth not sit:
To Do and vndo, and Scapp vnquyt.
For youre noo faith, such faute were fyt,
Forborne for fere, nay Loue ys hit
Wherby ys bound the body soo.
Thancked be fortune of euery chaunce,
Of my myshappe I thanck my self.
Payne or pleasure, woo or welth.
Wounded by wordes, and Lackes avaunce.

CXXXI

[Dydo am I, the fownder first of Cartage]

Dydo am I, the fownder first of Cartage,
That as thou seyst my nowne deth do procuer
To saue my fayth, and for no new loues rage
To fley Iarbes, and kepe my promes suer.
But se fortune, that wold in nother age
Myne honest wyll in perfayte blisse assuer;
For while I lyuyd, she made my day short;
And now with Lyes my shame she doth report.

142

CXXXII

[Dysdayne not, madam, on hym to louke]

Dysdayne not, madam, on hym to louke,
Whom sumtyme you haue louyd;
And, tho you forswar yt on a bouke,
Error yt may be prouyd:
Tho now your loue be gon and spent,
May happe you may yt soon repent.

Syns that hieraufter coums not yet,
Nor now ys so good as than,
Yet throw hym not doun, but let hym syt,
That so longe hathe been your man:
The tym may comm he may you ees,
Wyche now so soor dothe you dysplees.

Onys I was he that now I am not;
Your selff knos thys full well.
My mynd you kno wel enou by rot—
You nyd no fashion to spell:
Feyr wourds to you I use,
Tho that you cruelly me refuse.

What tho nu broum suype very clyne,
Yet cast not the olde awey;
That seruys not sumtym ys often syen
To serue well a nouther dey:
And stoer of housolde ys well had,
To kype the best and leue the bad.

CXXXIII

[Had I wiste that now I wott]

Had I wiste that now I wott,
For to haue found that now I fynd,
I wold haue Don that I Dyd not;
But fayned faith dyd make me blynd,
And by great othes fixed in my mynd,
His faith to be faithfull to trust,
The Dede now proued, I fynd vnjust.

143

Hit ys not the thing that I pas on:
Of his faith though I had assuraunce,
Of that no more I wyll trust one
Then of a thyng that Lyeth in balance.
Truth Laide aparte falsed ys: his mayntenaunce,
Euer Dubbell, neuer wyll be true;
Roted at the hart must nedes contynew.

CXXXIV

[Horrybell of hew, hidyus to behold]

Horrybell of hew, hidyus to behold,
Carefull of countenaunce, his here all clustred,
With dead dropy blude that down his face rowled,
Pale, paynefull, and petyvsly persyd,
His hart in sunder sorofully Shyvered,
Me thought a man, thus marvelyusly murdred,
This night to me Came and carefully cryed.

‘O man mysfortunate, more then any Creytour,
That paynefully yet lyues more payne to perceyue,
What hardenyd hath thy hart this harme to suffer?
Thy Doughtfull hope, hit doo the but disceyue.
No good nor grace to glade the shalt receyve,
By payne frome thy payne then payne to procure,
Moe bitter hit were then endles Deth to endure.

‘Folowe me’, Seith he, ‘hold here my hand.
To longe ys Dethe in ters to Proue.
The se shall Soner quenche the brand
Of the Desyre that hath the thus ondon;
Or soner send the to a deadly sowne.
Hold in thy hand the hafte herof this knyfe,
And with the blade boldely bereyve thy lyffe.’

‘Cum of’, quod he. ‘I cum’, quod I.
Then therwith as me thought
My brest I persyd paynefully,
My hart right sowne I hit raught.
But, lord! alas! hit was for naught:
For with that stroke I dyd awake.
My hart for sorow yet fele I quake.

144

CXXXV

[Happe happith ofte vnloked for]

Happe happith ofte vnloked for,
As men may se before theire yes;
For he that Dayly Doth labour
And studith all he can Devyse
To bryng his purpose to affect,
Yet by myshap most commenly
From his entent he ys abiect;
And happe doth happe clene contrary,
So that the prouf Doth verefye,
As I haue wryttyn here before,
That happ happes ofte vnloked for.

Some to myshapp when they ar borne,
Ar prefate by there Distyne;
To sume, tho all the world had sworn,
Fortune wyl not be contrary:
This happ doth happ at his own lust.
Sum men to welth and sum to woo;
Sum tyme the stronge he throyth yth Dust;
Sum tyme the lame he maketh goo,
And the Starke blynd to se alsoo;
Sum tyme the hole he maketh sore:
Alle this happs ofte vnloked for.

Sum by good happe ar braught alofte,
And sum by myshap ar throwen doun;
And sum by hap ar set full softe,
That thynck neuer for to come downe.
But I wyll rede them to take hede,
Seith hap doth turne soo sodenly,
Lest he by chaunge do chaunce them lede
Into sum trade clene contrary,
And bryng hym low that was full hy,
And set hym hard that set full softe:
Vnloked for all this happs ofte.

145

CXXXVI

[Hate whome ye lyste, I care not]

Hate whome ye lyste, I care not;
Loue whome ye lyste and spare not;
Doo what ye lyst and fere not;
Sey what ye lyst and dred not;
For as for me, I am not
But euyn as one that rekyth not
Whether ye hate or hate not,
For in youre loue I dote not;
Wherfore I pray you forget not,
But loue whome ye lyst and spare not.

CXXXVII

[Your lokes so often cast]

Your lokes so often cast,
Your eyes so frendly rold,
Your syght fyxid so fast,
All ways one to behold:
Thoughe hyd yt fayne you would,
Yet playnly dothe declaer
Who hathe your hart in hold,
And wheer goudwil ye baer.

Fayne woulde you fynde a cloke
Your byrninge fier to hyde,
Yet bothe the flame and smoke
Brekes out on euery syed:
Ye can not Love so gide
That yt not issue wynn;
Abrode nydes must it glide
That burnes so hot within.

For cawse your selff dothe winke,
Ye iuge all other blynde;
And that Secret you thinke
That euery man dothe fynde;

146

In wast oft spend your wynde,
Your selfe from Loue to quitt,
For agues of that kynde
Wyl sho who hathe the fytt.

Cawses you fet from far,
And all to wrap your wo;
Yet ar you neuer the nar;
Men ar not blyndyd so.
Dyply oft swer you no,
But all thos othes ar vayne,
So wel your eye dothe sho
The cawse of all your payne.

Thynke not therfor to hyde
That styll yt selffe betrays,
Nor syek menes to prouid
To darke the sounny deys.
Forget thos wontyd weys,
Leue of dyssemblynge chyer:
Theer woul be found no steys
To stop a thynge so cleer.

CXXXVIII
The answere

Evyn when you lust ye may refrayne
To payne youre self thus wilfully.
Nother new nor old I doo retayne:
Hit ys naught but your fantesy.

Youre profferd seruice ys nothing Swete,
Yet wold you fayne yt properly.
I doo not love but where yt ys mete:
I chaunge nothing my fantesy.

Youre meate and Drynke though hit be gone,
Ye toke enouff when yt was by:

147

Or ye may call for more a noone,
When hit shall please your fantesy.

Hit was youre febyll founded love
That fancy, founded fowlyshely,
That made me love, lenger to prove
Shuch fowlyshe fayned fantesy.

Yf that youre fancy, as you say,
Doth cause you playne thus petiously,
Esely to turne, perdy you may,
When hit shall please your fantesy.

Your chaine ys long, thow you be bound,
For ye leppe far and Diversly;
To small effect your wordes doth sound:
They come but of your fantesy.

As ye Dyd knyt, soo Dyd I knyt.
Evyn slack for slack right wisely:
I Dought yt mych your new fangled wyt,
Which proued ys by your fantesy.

Thus to comeplayne withouten gryffe,
Therto ye lust your self Apply.
The Smartles nedith no relyff:
I am not Rulyd by fantesy.

CXXXIX

[I am redy and euer wyll be]

I am redy and euer wyll be
To doo you seruice with honeste.
Ther ys nothing that lackys in me
But that I haue not.

My pore hart alwayes and my mynd
Fixed in youres you shall styll fynd;
To Loue you best reson doth bynd,
Although I haue not.

148

And for youre sake I wold be glad
To haue myche more then I haue had,
The Lacke wherof doth make me sad,
Because I haue not.

For I doo loue ye faithfully,
And ye me agayne right secretly;
Of let ther ys no cause why,
But that I haue not.

Yff I you ons of that myght suer,
Oure loue shuld increse and induer;
To study therfore hit ys my cure
How I myght haue.

Such ar cald frendes now a Dayes,
Which do muse and study alwayes
Bitwixt yong Lovers to put Dylayes
By cause they haue not.

But this resisteth all my trust verely,
That ye agayne wyll love me stedfastly,
And let thy word pas as yt hath don hardely,
Till that we haue.

But for this tyme, swete hart, adew.
Contynew faithfull, and I wylbe true:
And loue thee styll, what soeuer insew,
Although I haue not.

CXL

[I am as I am and so wil I be]

I am as I am and so wil I be,
But how that I am none knoith trulie;
Be yt evill, be yt well, be I bonde, be I fre,
I am as I am and so will I be.

I lede my lif indifferentelye,
I meane no thing but honestelie,
And thoughe folkis judge full dyverslye,
I am as I am and so will I dye.

149

I doo not rejoise nor yet complayne;
Both myrth and sadness I do refrayne;
And vse the mene sens folkys wyll fayne;
Yet I am as I am, be hit pleasure or payne.

Men doo juge as they doo trow,
Sum of pleasure, and sum of woo;
Yet for all that nothing they know;
But I am as I am wheresoeuer I goo.

But sens that Judgers take that way,
Let euery man his judgement say;
I wyll hit take in sport and play,
Yet I am as I am whoosoeuer say nay.

Who Judggis well, god well them send;
Whoo Judgith yll, god them amend;
To juge the best therefore intend;
For I am as I am and soo wyll I end.

Yet sum therbe that take delyght
To Judge folkes thowght by outward sight;
But whether they Judge wrong or Right,
I am as I am and soo doo I wright.

I pray ye all that this doo rede,
To trust hit as ye doo your cred,
And thynck not that I wyll change my wede,
For I am as I am how sooeuer I spede.

But how that ys I leue to you;
Judge as ye lyst, false or trew;
Ye know no more then afore ye knew;
But I am as I am whatsoeuer insew.

And frome this mynd I wyll not flee;
But to all them that mysejudge me

150

I do protest, as ye doo se,
That I am as I am and soo wyll I dy.

CXLI

[I muste go walke the woodes so wyld]

I muste go walke the woodes so wyld,
And wander here and there
In dred and Dedly fere;
For wher I trust, I am begilyd,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

I am banysshed from my blys
By craft and fals pretens,
Fawtles, without offens,
And of return no certen ys,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

Banysshed am I, remedyles,
To wildernes alone,
Alone to sigh and mone,
And of relefe all comfortles,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

My house shalbe the grene wood tre,
A tuft of brakys my bede,
And this my lyf I lede
As one that from his Joy doth fly,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

The runnyng stremes shalbe my drynke,
Akehornes shalbe my foode;
Naught Elles shall doo me good,
But on your beawty for to thynke,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

And when the Dere draw to the grene
Makys me thynke on a row,
How I haue sene ye goo
Aboue the fayrest, fayrest besene,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

151

But where I se in any cost
To turkylles set and play,
Rejoysing all the day,
Alas, I thinck this haue I lost,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

No Byrd no bushe, no bowgh I se
But bryngith to my mynd
Sumthing wherby I fynd
My hart far wandred, far fro me,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

The tune of byrdes when I doo here,
My hart doth bled, alas,
Remembryng how I was
Wont for to here your wayes so clere,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

My thought doth please me for the while:
While I se my Desire
Naught Elles I do requyer.
So with my thought I me begyle,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

Yet I am further from my thought
Then yerth from hevyn aboue:
And yet for to remoue
My payne, alas, avayleth naught,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

And where I ly Secret, alone,
I marke that face a none,
That stayith my Lyff, as one
That other comfort can get non,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

The Sumer Dayes that be so long,
I walked and wandred wyde,
Alone, without a gyde,
Alwayes thynkyng how I haue wrong,
And all for your loue, my dere.

152

The wynter nyghtes that ar so cold,
I ly amyd the
Vnwrapt in pryckyng thornes,
Remembryng my sorowes old,
And all for your loue, my dere.

A wofull man such desprat lyfe
Becummyth best of all;
But wo myght them befall
That are the causers of this stryfe,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

CXLII

[Yf I myght hau at myne owne wyll]

Yf I myght hau at myne owne wyll
Suche fflud of tearis wherwith to drowne
Or ffyer so hott as Ætna hyll
With fervent ffyere that I myght burne,
Then shulde I ende this carffull paygne
That fforce perforce I do sustayne.

Or yf the syghis of woffull hart
Could cause my selffe a sonder brake,
Then by that means I shulde departe
My mornynge dayes, and so to wreake
My weryede lyfe and carffull payne
That fors perforce I do sustayne.

Or yf my hand suche happe myght ffinde,
With sword or knyfe to ese my woo,
Then shulde I ease my paynffull mynd;
But syns my hap cannote hap soo,
I must Abyd this carffull payne
That fforce perforce I do sustayne.

Or yf I myght haue at my wyshe
The hevyn to ffall to short my lyfe,
So by suche chaunce I coulde not myse
But I shuld ende this carfull stryfe

153

That dothe increase the woffull payne
That ffors perforce I do sustayne.

Or yf the yerthe at my request
Had powere to opyne, as in my wyll,
I know Ryght well my weryed breast
Shuld ned no more to syghe his ffyll,
For then shulde end this carffull payne
That fforce perforce I do sustayne.

CXLIII

[I wyll allthow I may not]

I wyll allthow I may not,
The more yt ys my paygne;
What thow I wyll, I shall not,
Wherffor my wyll ys vayne.

My wyll wylling ys vayne,
This Ryght well may I see,
Tho wyll wold neuer so ffayne,
Yet my wyll wyll not be.

By cawse I will and may not,
My will is not my owne;
For lacke of will I can not,
The cawse wherof I mone.

Ffor that I wyll and cannot,
The more I wyll certayne:
Thus betwene wyll and shall not
My wyll I may optayne.

Thus wyshyrs want ther wyll
And they that wyll do crave;
But they that wyll not wyll
Ther wyll they soonest have.

154

Syns that I will and shall not,
My will I will refrayne,
Thus for to will and will not
Will willinge is but vayne.

CXLIV

[I knowe not where my heuy syghys to hyd]

I knowe not where my heuy syghys to hyd
My sorrowffull hart ys so vexed with paygne
I wander fforthe as one without a gyd,
That sekythe to ffynd a thyng partyd in twaine,
And so fforthe ronne that skant can torne Agayne;
Thus tyme I passe and wast ffull petuslye,
Ffor Dethe yt ys owte off thy syght to bee.

I skantlye know ffrome whome commys all my greff,
But that I wast as one dothe in seknes,
And cannot tell whiche way commes my mescheff;
Ffor All I tast to me ys betyrnes,
And of my helthe I have no sykernes
Nor shall not have tyll that I do the see:
Yt ys my Dethe out of thy syght to be.

I leve in yerthe as one that wold be dead,
And cannot dye: Alas! the more my payne.
Ffamyshed I am, and yet Alwayes am ffed:
Thus contrary all thyng dothe me constrayne
To laugh, to morne, to walke, to joye, to playne,
And shall do styll, ther ys no remedye,
Vntyll the tyme that in thy syght I be.

Ther nys syknes but helth yt dothe desyer,
Nor povertye but Ryches lyke to haue,
Nor shypp in storme but stering douthe Requyer
Harbor to fynd, so that she may her saue;

155

And I, Alas, nought in thys world do craue
Save that thow lyst on hym to haue mercye,
Whose dethe yt ys out of thy syght to be.

CXLV

[I have benne a lover]

I have benne a lover
Ffull long and many days,
And oft tymes a prover
Of the most paynffull wayes;
But all that I have past
Ar tryffylles to the last.

By prouffe I know the payne
Of them that serue and serue;
And nothyng can attayne
Of that whiche they deserue;
But those payngys haue I past
As tryffylles to this last.

I haue er this bene thrall
And durst yt neuer shewe;
But glad to suffer all,
And so to clok my woo;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryffelles to this last.

By lenthe of tyme or nowe
I haue attayned grace;
And or I west well howe
A nothyr had my place;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryffelles to this last.

My loue well ner ons wonne,
And I ffull lyk to sped,
Evyll tonges haue then begonne

156

With lyes to let my med;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryfflles to thys last.

Somtyme I lovyd one
That lykyd well my suete;
But of my dedly mone
Ffayr wordys was all the ffruite;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryfflles to this last.

My stedffast ffaythe and wyll
With ffayr wordes haue I told;
Yet haue I ffownd them styll
In ther beleve to colde;
But that pang haue I past
As tryfflles to thys last.

In love when I haue benne
With them that loved me,
Suche daunger haue I senne
That we wold not Agree;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryffelles to this last.

Abssence of tymes or this
Hathe doblyd my deasease
In causying me to mysse
That thing that myght me please;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryfflles to this last.

To promys love ffor love,
And mak to long delayes,
Hath mad me ffor to prove
Of love the paynffull wayes;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryfflles to this last.

157

Ffull many tormentes more
In lovyng I haue ffound,
Whiche oft hathe payned sore
My hart when yt was bound;
Yet all that haue I past
As tryfflles to this last.

Nowe gesse all ye that lyst
And juge now as ye please;
For oftymes haue ye myst
In Jugyng my dessease;
Be nothyng then agast,
Tho ye mysiug these last.

CXLVI

[In mornyng wyse syns daylye I Increas]

In mornyng wyse syns daylye I Increas,
Thus shuld I cloke the cause of all my greffe;
So pensyve mynd with tong to hold his pease,
My reasone sayethe there can be no relyeffe:
Wherffor geve ere, I vmble you requyre,
The affectes to know that thus dothe mak me mone.
The cause ys great of all my dolffull chere,
Ffor those that were, and now be dead and gonne.

What thoughe to Dethe Desert be now ther call,
As by ther ffautis yt dothe apere ryght playne,
Of fforce I must lament that suche a ffall
Shuld lyght on those so welthily dyd Raygne;
Thoughe some perchaunce wyll saye of crewell hart,
A tratores dethe why shuld we thus bemone?
But I, Alas, set this offence apart,
Must nedis bewayle the dethe of some begonn.

As ffor them all I do not thus lament,
But as of Ryght my Reason dothe me bynd;
But as the most doth all ther dethes repent,
Evyn so do I by fforce of mornyng mynd.
Some say: ‘Rochefford, hadyst thou benne not so prowde,

158

Ffor thy gryt wytte eche man wold the bemone;
Syns as yt ys so, many crye alowde:
Yt ys great losse that thow art dead and gonne.’

A! Norrys, Norres, my tearys begyne to Rune
To thynk what hap dyd the so led or gyd,
Wherby thou hast bothe the and thyn vndone.
That ys bewaylyd in court of euery syde;
In place also wher thou hast neuer bene
Both man and chyld doth petusly the mone.
They say: ‘Alas, thou art ffar ouer seene
By there offences to be thus ded and gonne.’

A! Weston, Weston, that pleasant was and yonge;
In actyve thynges who myght with the compayre?
All wordis exsept that thou dydyst speake with tonge;
So well estemyd with eche wher thou dydyst fare.
And we that now in court dothe led our lyffe
Most part in mynd doth the lament and mone;
But that thy ffaultis we daylye here so Ryffe
All we shuld weppe that thou art dead and gone.

Brewton, ffarwell, as one that lest I knewe.
Great was thy love with dyuers as I here;
But common voyce dothe not so sore the Rewe,
As other twayne that dothe beffore appere.
But yet no dobt but thy frendes thee lament
And other her ther petus crye and mone.
So dothe eche hart ffor the lykwyse Relent,
That thou gevyst cause thus to be ded and gonne.

A! Mark what mone shuld I ffor the mak more?
Syns that thy dethe thou hast deseruyd best,
Save only that myn eye ys fforsyd sore
With petus playnt to mone the with the Rest.
A tym thou haddyst aboue thy poore degree,
The ffall wherof thy frendis may well bemone.
A Rottyn twygge apon so hyghe a tree
Hathe slepyd thy hold and thou art dead and goonn.

159

And thus ffarwell eche one in hartye wyse!
The Axe ys home, your hedys be in the stret;
The trykklyngge tearys dothe ffall so from my yes,
I skarse may wryt, my paper ys so wet.
But what can helpe when dethe hath playd his part,
Thoughe naturs cours wyll thus lament and mone?
Leve sobes therffor, and euery crestyn hart
Pray ffor the sowlis of thos be dead and goone.

CXLVII

[Longer to troo ye]

Longer to troo ye
What may hyt avayle me?
For ryght well knoo ye
Ye sware hyt vnto me
Styll for to loue me
Alone and no moo;
But ye haue deceyvd me:
Who cold haue thowght soo?

Yowr fayth and yowr othe
Fly abrode in the wynd;
I woold be ryght loth
To stay that by kynde
Cold never yet fynd
In change to say whoo:
Thys mene I by your mynd.
Who cold haue thowght soo?

Your gret assuerance
Full oftyms dyd glade me;
But the parformance
Hath as well made me,
As reson bade me,
To lett your loue goo.

160

Wyth lyse ye haue lade me:
Who cold haue thowght soo?

But trust well that I
Shall neuer mystrust ye;
I care not a fley;
Go loue wher hyt lust ye,
For nedes change must ye
In wele and in woo—
In that most I trust ye.
Who cold haue thowght soo?

Farewell, vnstabyll,
For here I forsake thee;
Tru love ys not abyll
Tru louer to make the.
Therfore betake the
To them that do knoo
The ways how to brake the,
Where I cold not soo.

Youre faire wordes caught me
And made me your mickell,
But tyme hath taught me,
Their truthe is to tickell,
Sence faithe is fickell
And flitted you froe
Your ware is to brickell;
Whoe wolde have thought soe?

Sence waxe nor wryting
Can certain assure ye
Nor Love nor lyking
Can no waies allure ye
Once to procure ye
To staidnesse to growe,
I can not endure ye,
I care not whoe knowe.

161

CXLVIII

[Love hathe agayne]

Love hathe agayne
Put me to payne,
And yet all ys but lost:
I serue in vayne
And am certayne
Of all myslyked most.

Bothe het and cold
Dothe so me holde,
And combres so my mynd
That when I shuld
Speak and be bold
Yt draweth me styll behynd.

My wyttes be past,
My lyfe dothe wast,
My comffort ys exyled;
And I in hast
Am lyk to tast
How love hathe me begylled.

Onles that Ryght
May in her syght
Optayne pety and grace,
Why shuld a wyght
Haue bewty bryght
Yf marsye haue no place?

Yet I Alas
Am in suche case
That bak I cannot goo;
But styll forthe trace
A pacient pace
And suffer seckret woo.

Ffor wythe the wynde
My fyered mynd
Dothe styll incres in flame,

162

And she vnkynd
That dyd me bynd
Dothe torne yt all to game.

Yet can no paygne
Make me reffrayne
Nor here nor ther to range;
I shall Retayne
Hope to obtayne
A hart that ys so strange.

But I requyer
The paynffull ffyre
That oft dothe mak me swete
For all my hyer
With lyk desyere
To geve here hart a hette.

Then shall she prove
How I her love,
And what I haue her offeryd,
Whiche shuld her move
Ffor to Remove
The payne that I haue sufferd.

A better ffee
Then she gave me
She shall of me attayne;
Ffor wher as she
Showyd creweltye
She shall my hart optayne.

CXLIX

[Lyue thowe gladly, yff so thowe may]

Lyue thowe gladly, yff so thowe may;
Pyne thou not in loukynge for me;
Syns that dispayr hathe shut the wey,
Thoue to see me, or I to see the.

163

Make thoue a vertu of a constreynte;
Deme no faulte wer non ys wourthy;
Myns ys to muche, what nedes thy playnt?
God he knoythe who ys for me.

Cast apon the Lorde thy cuer,
Prey ounto hym thy cause to iuge;
Beleuye, and he shall send recur:
Vayne ys all trust of mans refuge.

CL

[Mornyng my hart dothe sore opres]

Mornyng my hart dothe sore opres,
That ffors constraynethe me to complayne;
Ffor wher as I shuld haue redres,
Alas, I cannot be lovyd Againe.

I serue, I sewe, all of one sorte;
My trust, my trayvell ys all in vayne;
As in dispere without comfforte:
Alas, I cannot be lovyd Agayne.

Perdye, yt ys but now of late,
Not long ago ye knew my paygne;
Wyll your Rygore neuer Abate?
Alas, when shall I be louyd agayne?

It ys bothe dethe and dedlye smart,
No sharp sorrow can now susstayne,
Then ffor to love with ffaythffull harte,
Alas, and cannot be lovyd agayne.

CLI

[Madame, I you requyere]

Madame, I you requyere
No longer tyme detract;
Let truth in you aper,
And geve me that I lak.

164

Ye wot as well as I
That promys ye dyd mak,
When tyme I cold aspye
I shuld haue that I lak.

Bothe tyme and place ye haue
My fervent paygnes to slak;
Nothyng, Alas, I crave,
But onlye that I lak.

Whyche thyng me thynk ys deue,
Remembryng what ye spake;
Ffor yf your wordes be trewe,
I must haue that I lake.

CLII
The Aunswere

Your ffolyshe fayned hast
Ffull small effecte shall tak;
Your wordes in vayne ye wrast;
Ye get not that ye lack.

I wot, as ye shall ffind,
The promys I dyd mak;
No promys shall me bynd:
Ye get not that ye lack.

Tho tyme and place I haue
To slyd yf truthe wer slacke,
Tho styll ye crye and crave,
Ye get not that ye lacke.

Bycause ye thynck yt deue,
I spek that that I spake;
And this word shalbe trewe:
Ye get not that ye lacke.

CLIII

[Myght I as well within my songe belaye]

Myght I as well within my songe belaye
The thing I wolde, as in my hart I maye.

165

Repentens shulde drawe frome those eyes
Salt tearis, with cryes, remorce, and grudge of harte,
Causles by cause that I haue ssuffred smart.

Or myght I ellis enclose my paynfull breast,
That that myght be in syght, my great vnrest,
Ther shulde ye see tormentes Remayn
As hell of payne to move your crewell hart,
Causles by cause that I haue suffred smart.

Ther ys in hell not such a feruent fyere
As secret hete of inward hotte desyere,
That wyll not let the flame appayre
That I haue here within my wastyd hart,
Causles by cause that I haue suffred smart.

Yet you cause yt, and ye may cause my welthe;
Ons cause yt, then retorne vnto my helthe;
And of all mene releve that man
That nothyng can but crye: ‘Releve this hart,
Causles by cause that I haue suffred smart.’

Redres ye ought that harme that ye haue donne,
Yt ys no game that ye nowe haue bygonne;
But worthye blame ye shall remayne
To do hym payne that knowythe not thought of hart,
Causeles by cause that I haue suffred smart.

CLIV

[My swet, alas, fforget me not]

My swet, alas, fforget me not,
That am your owne ffull suer posseste;
And ffor my part, as well ye woot,
I cannot swarue ffrome my behest;
Sens that my lyffe lyethe in your lott,
At this my pore and just request,
Fforget me not.

Yet wott how suer that I am tryed,
My menyng clene, devoyde of blott;

166

Yours ys the proffe; ye haue me tryed,
And in me, swet, ye ffound no spott;
Of all my welthe and helth is the gyd,
That of my lyff doth knyt the knot,
Fforget me not.

Ffor yours I am and wilbe styll,
Although dalye ye se me not;
Sek ffor to saue, that ye may spyll,
Syns of my lyffe ye hold the shott;
Then grant me this ffor my goodwyll,
Which ys but Ryght, as god yt wot,
Fforget me not.

Consyder how I am your thrall,
To serue you bothe in cold and hott;
My ffawtes ffor thinking nought at all;
In prysone strong tho I shuld Rott,
Then in your earys let petye ffall,
And leste I peryshe, in your lott
Fforget me not.

CLV

[O what vndeseruyd creweltye]

O what vndeseruyd creweltye
Hathe ffortune shewed vnto me!
When all my welthe, joye and ffelycytie
Ar tornyd to me most contrarye.

My joye ys woo, my pleasure payne,
My ease ys trayvell—what remedye?
My myrthe ys mornyng, hoppe ys in vayne:
Thus all thyng tornythe clen contrayrye.

The place of slepe that shuld my rest restore
Ys vnto me an vnquyet enymye,
And most my woo reuiuythe euermore;
Thus all thyng tornythe to me contrayrye.

167

I borne ffor cold, I sterve ffor hete;
That lust lykythe desyre dothe yt denye;
I ffast ffrom joye, sorrow ys my meate;
Thus euery joy tornythe to me contrayrye.

The place of my reffuge ys my exylle;
In desdaynes pryson desperat I leye,
Therto abyd the tyme and wooffull whyle,
Till my carffull lyfe may torne contrarye.

CLVI

[Ons in your grace I knowe I was]

Ons in your grace I knowe I was,
Evyn as well as now ys he;
Tho ffortune so hath tornyd my case,
That I am doune, and he ffull hye,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he that dyd you please
So well that nothyng dyd I dobte;
And tho that nowe ye thinke yt ease
To take him in and throw me out,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he in tyms past
That as your owne ye did Retayne;
And tho ye haue me nowe out cast,
Shoyng vntruthe in you to Raygne,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he that knyt the knot,
The whyche ye swore not to vnknyt;
And tho ye fayne yt now fforgot,
In vsynge yowr newffanglyd wyt,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he to whome ye sayd:
‘Welcomm, my joy, my hole delight!’
And tho ye ar nowe well apayd

168

Of me, your owne, to clame ye quyt,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he to whome ye spake:
‘Haue here my hart, yt ys thy owne!’
And tho thes wordis ye now fforsake,
Sayng therof my part ys none,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he before Reherst,
And nowe am he that nedes must dye;
And tho I dye, yet at the lest,
In your Remembrance let yt lye
That ons I was.

CLVII

[O crewell hart, wher ys thy ffaythe?]

O crewell hart, wher ys thy ffaythe?
Wher ys become thy stedffast vowe?
Thy sobbyng syghys, with ffayntyng breathe,
Thy bitter tearys, where ar theay now?

Thy carffull lokys, thy petus playnte,
Thy woffull wordis, thy wontyd chere?
Now may I see thou dydst but paynt,
And all thy craft does playn Appere.

For now thy syghes ar out of thought,
Thyn othe thou dost no thyng Regard,
Thy tears hathe quenchet thy lov so hote,
And spyt ffor love ys my Reward.

Yet love ffor love I had Awhyle,
Tho thyn were ffalse and myn were true;
Thy ffayned tearys dyd me begylle,
And causyd me trust the most vntrue.

To trust why dyd I condyssend,
And yeld my selffe so ernystlye
To her that dyd nothyng intend
But thus to trappe me craftyllye?

169

O ffalshed ffaythe, hast thou fforgot
That ons of latte thou wart myn owne?
But slaklye tyed may slepe the knot,
No marvell then tho thou arte gonne.

Myn owne but late assuredlye,
With ffaythe and truthe so justlye bounde,
And thus to chaung so sodenlye,
Eche thyng vpon thy shame shall sownd.

Eche thyng shall sownd vppon thy shame;
Syns that thy ffaythe ys not to trust,
What mor Reproche ys to thy name
Then of thy word to prove vnjust?

And ffrom thy wordis yf thow wylt swerue,
And swere thou dydst them neuer seye,
Thy letters yet I do Reserve,
That shall declare the owre and daye.

The owre and day, the tyme and where
That thou thy selffe dyddyst them indyte,
Wherin thou showdyst what dred and ffeare
Thou haddyst ons spyed thy byllys to wrytte.

Thys proffe I thynk may well ssuffyse
To prove yt tru that her I speake;
No fforgyd taylis I wyll devyse,
But with thy hand I shall me wreake.

When tyme and place therto I see,
No dobt ther ys, but thou shalt know
That thou dydst payn me wrongffully,
Without offence to fforge my woo.

And thus ffarwell, most crewell hart;
Ffarwell, thy falshyd ffayth also;
Ffarwell my syghes, ffarwell my smart;
Ffarwell my love, and all my woo.

170

CLVIII

[Perdy I sayd hytt nott]

Perdy I sayd hytt nott,
Nor never thought to doo,
As well as I ye wott
I haue no powr thertoo;
And yff I dyd, the lott
That furst dyd me inchayne
Do never slake the knoott
But strayter to my payne.

And yff I dyd, ech thyng
That may do harm or woo
Contynually may wryng
My hart wher so hytt goo;
Report may alway ryng
Off shame on me for aye,
Yf in my hart dyd spryng
Theys wordes that ye do say.

And yff I dyd, ech starr
That ys in heavyn aboue
May frown on me to mar
The hope I haue in loue;
And yff I dyd, such war
As they browght in to Troy
Bryng all my lyfe afar
From all hys lust and joy.

And yf I dyd so say,
The bewty that me bound
Incresse from day to day
More cruell to my wound,
Wyth all the mone that may
To playnt may turn my song;
My lyfe may sone decay,
Wythowt redresse my wrong.

171

Yf I be clere from thowght,
Why do ye then complayn?
Then ys thys thyng but sowght
To put me to more payn.
Then that that ye haue wrowght
Ye must hyt now redresse;
Off ryght therfore ye ought
Such rygor to represse.

And as I haue deseruyd,
So grant me now my hyer;
Ye kno I never swarvyd,
Ye never fownd me lyer.
For Rakhell haue I seruyd,
For Lya caryd I never;
And her I haue reseruyd
Wythin my hart for euer.

CLIX

[Pas fourthe, my wountyd cries]

Pas fourthe, my wountyd cries,
Thos cruel eares to pearce,
Whyche in most hatful wyse
Dothe styll my playntes reuers.
Doo you, my tears, also
So weet hir bareyn hart,
That pite ther may gro
And cruelty depart.

For thoughe hard roks amonge
She semis to haue beyn bred,
And wythe tygers ful Longe
Ben norysshed and fed;
Yet shall that natuer change,
Yff pyte wons wyn place,
Whome as ounknown and strange
She nowe away dothe chase.

172

And as the water soufte,
Wytheout forsinge of strength,
Wher that it fallythe oft,
Hard stonnes dothe perce at Lengthe,
So in hyr stony hart
My playntes at Lengthe shall grave,
And, rygor set apart,
Cawse hir graunt that I craue.

Wherfor, my pleyntes, present
Styl so to hyr my sut,
As it, through hir assent,
May brynge to me some frut;
And as she shall me proue,
So byd hir me regard,
And render Loue for Loue:
Wyche is my iust reward.

CLX

[Quondam was I in my Ladys gras]

Quondam was I in my Ladys gras,
I thynk as well as nou be you;
And when that you haue trod the tras,
Then shal you kno my woordes be tru,
That quondam was I.

Quondam was I. She sayd for euer:
That euer lastyd but a short whyl;
Promis mad not to dysseuer.
I thoght she laughte—she dyd but smyl:
Than quondam was I.

Quondam was I: he that full oft lay
In hyr armes wythe kysses many whon.
Yt is enou that thys I may saey:
Tho amonge the moo nou I be gon,
Yet quondam was I.

173

Quondam was I: yet she wyl you tell
That syns the ouer she was furst borne
She neuer louyd non halffe so well
As you. But what altho she had sworne,
Suer quondam was I.

CLXI

[Ffortune what ayleth the]

Ffortune what ayleth the
Thus for to banyshe me
Her company whome I loue best?
For to complayne me
Nothyng avaylethe me;
Adew, fare well thys nyghtes rest.

Her demure countenaunce,
Her homely pacience,
Hath wounded me thorough Venus darte,
That I cannot refrayne me
Nother yet abstayne me,
But nedes I must loue her with all my hart.

Long haue I loued her,
Ofte haue I prayd her,
Yet, alas, she thorow dysdayn
Nothyng regardes me
Nor yet rewardes me
But lets me ly in mortall payn.

Yet shall I loue her styll
With all my hart and wyl
Wher so euer I ryde or go;
My hart, my seruyce,
Afore al ladyes
Is hers al onely and no mo.

She hath my hart and euer shall
In this terrestrial;
What can she more of me require?

174

Her whom I loue best,
God send her good rest,
And me hartely my whole desyre.

CLXII

[Sche that shuld most, percevythe lest]

Sche that shuld most, percevythe lest
The vnffayned sufferance of my gret smart;
Yt ys to her sport to haue me oprest;
But theay of suche lyffe whiche be expert
Say that I borne vnsertayne in my hart:
But wher jug ye? no mor! ye kno not.
Ye ar to blame to saye I cam to late.

To lat? naye, to soon methynke Rather,
Thus to be intretyd and haue seruyd ffaythffully.
Lo! thus am I Rewardyd amonge the other.
I thoughe vnvysyd whiche was to besye,
Ffor ffere of to late I cam to hastylye;
But thether I cam not, yet cam I ffor all that:
But whether so euer I cam, I cam to late.

Who hathe mor cause to playn then I?
Ther as I am jugyd to lat, I came;
And there as I cam, I cam to hastylye.
Thus may I playn as I that am
Mysjugyd, mysintretyd more then any man.
Now juge, let se of this debate,
Whether I cam to hastelye, or to late.

CLXIII

[Spytt off the spytt whiche they in vayne]

Spytt off the spytt whiche they in vayne
Do styk to fforce my fantysye,
I am proffest, ffor losse or gayne,
To be thyn owne assuredlye.
Who lyst therat by spytt to sporne:
My ffancy ys to hard to torne.

175

Altho that some of bessye witt
Do babyll styll, ye, ye, what tho?
I haue no ffeare, nor wyll not flytt
As dothe the water to and ffroo.
Spytt then ther spytt that lyst to sporne,
My ffancye ys to hard to torne.

Who ys affrayd? ye, let hym fflee,
Ffor I full well shall byd the bront,
May grece ther lyppis that lyst to lye
Of bessye brayns as ys ther wont;
And yet agaynst the pryk thay sporne:
My fancy ys to hard to torne.

Ffor I am set and wyll not swerve,
Whose ffaythffull spetche removyth nought;
And well I may thy grace deserue;
I think yt ys not derely bought;
And yf thay bothe do spyt and sporne,
My ffancy ys to hard to torne.

Who lyst therat to lyst or louere,
I am not he that ought dothe reche;
Ther ys no payne that hathe the power
Out of my brest this thought to seche;
Then though theay spytt therat and sporne,
My ffancy ys to hard to torne.

CLXIV

[Syethe yt ys so that I am thus refusyd]

Syethe yt ys so that I am thus refusyd,
And by no meanys I can yt Remedye,
Me thynckes of Right I ought to be excusyd,
Tho to my hart I set yt not to nye;
But now I see, Alas, tho I shuld dye,
Ffor want of truthe and ffaythffull stedfastnes
Of hym that hathe my hart onlye,
Yt wold not be but ffals nuffanglydnes.

176

I set my hart I thought not to withdrawe,
The proffe therof ys knowen to well, Alas!
But now I se that neuer erst I sawe
Wher I thought gold I fond but brytell glas.
Now yt ys this ye know, somthyng yt was
Not so promysed, the truthe ys so dobtles.
Who ys my fo who brynges me in thys cace?
I can none blame but ffals newfanglydnes.

Yet Reasone wold that trewe love wer regardyd
Without ffayninge, wher ment ffaythfully,
And not with vnkyndnes ys to be rewardyd.
But this yt ys, Alas, suche hap had I,
I can no more but I shall me aplye
My woffull hart to bryng out of distres,
And withdraw my mynd so full of ffollye,
Sythe thus dothe Raygne this false newfanglydnes.

CLXV

[Suffryng in sorrowe in hope to Attayne]

Suffryng in sorrowe in hope to Attayne,
Desyring in ffeare I dar not complayne,
Trewe in belyefe in whome ys All my trust,
Do thou aplye to ease me of my payne,
For elys to serue and suffyr styll I must.

Hope ys my hold, yet in Dyspayre I speake;
I Dryve ffrom tyme to tyme and do not Recke
How long to love thus after louys lust,
In studye styll of that I dar not brake:
Wherffore to serue and suffyr styll I must.

Encreas of care I ffynd bothe day and nyght;
I hate that sometyme was my most delyght;
The cause therof ye know I haue dyscust,

177

And yet to Reffrayne yt passythe my myght:
Wherfor to serue and suffer styll I must.

Love who so lyst, at lenthe he shall well saye:
To love and lyve in feare yt ys no playe.
Record that knoweth, yf this be notyd just,
That wher as love Dothe lede, ther ys no nay,
But serue and suffer styll allwaye I must.

Then ffor to lyve with losse of lybertye
At last perchaunce shalbe his remedye;
And ffor his truthe quyted with ffals mistrust,
Who wold not Rew to se how wrongfullye
Thus for to serue and suffer styll I must.

Vntruthe by trust oft tymes hathe me betrayed,
Mysusyng my hoppe, styll to be Delayed;
Fortune Allway I haue the fownd vniust;
And so with lyk Reward now hast thou me payed:
That ys, to serue and suffer styll I must.

Neuer to cesse, nor yet lyke to attayn,
As long as I in fere dare nor complayn;
Trew of beleff hathe allways ben my trust,
And tyll she knowythe the cawse of all my payn,
Content to serve and suffer styll I must.

CLXVI

[Sythe I my selffe dysplease the]

Sythe I my selffe dysplease the,
My ffrends why shuld I blame
That from the ffawte aduyse me
That Kynkoryd my good name,
And mad my mynd to morne
That laughyt my lov to skorne,
And bownd my hart allwaye
To thynk this payne a playe,
That wold and neuer maye?

178

Too led my lyffe at lybertye,
I lyk yt wonders well,
Ffor proffe hath tought his propertye
That allway payne is hell;
But sythe so well I wott
Theys kyndes of cold and hott,
Suche ffancyes I fforsake,
That dothe ther ffredome lake;
My lyst no more to make.

Grodge one that ffell the greffe,
I laughe that ffell the gayne
Of ffredome from the lyffe
Wherby wyld beastys be tayme.
As ffast and wak a bedde,
With hart and hevy hed,
That haue a hongery hart
To mak my selffe well ffed,
That may Redresse my smart.

Sythe I have slept the knot
That dothe my hart inchayne,
I lyk the loky lotte
To well to knyt agayne.
So newly com to welthe,
Shall I deceayue my selffe?
Nay, set thy hart at reast,
Ffor welthe, my new ffownd gest,
Shall harber in my neast.

To mak a wyllffull band
Wher I may well Reffus,
To be a byrde in hand
And not my ffredome vse,
To syng and sorow not
Yf wyllyngly I dott,
To slypp in to the cayge,
Yt were a wylffull Rage.

179

CLXVII

[Thou slepest ffast; and I with wofull hart]

Thou slepest ffast; and I with wofull hart
Stand here alone, syghing, and cannot ffleye.
Thou slepyst ffast, when crewell love his darte
On me dothe cast, Alas! so paynefullye.
Thou slepyst fast, and I all ffull of smart
To the my fo in vayn do call and crye.
And yet, methinkes, thou that slepyst ffast,
Thou dremyst styll whiche way my lyf to wast.

CLXVIII

[Tho some do grodge to se me joye]

Tho some do grodge to se me joye,
Fforcynge ther spytte to slak my helthe,
Ther false mystrust shall neuer noy
So long as thou dost wyll my welthe;
Ffor tho theay frowne, ffull well I knowe
No power theaye haue to fforge my woo.
Then grodge who lyst, I shall not sease
To seke and sew ffor my Redres.

Whylest lyffe doth last and thou content,
What shulde I dobt, what shuld I dred
Ther spyet that daylye do consent
To make my joy frome me be led?
What shulde I bowe to ffrend or ffoo,
That wold me so thi syght fforgoo?
What shuld I do, but passe full light
The ffrayle mystrust of all ther spyet?

Yf cause were gevyne of any part
To cause mystrust in them to spryng,
Nought shuld yt greve me then to smart;
But I, Alas, know none suche thynge.
Then by myshappe and crewell lott,
Thowe thaye wold so, forsake me not;

180

Nor wyll me not my ffoos to please,
To slake the sewte of all my ease.

Thyne owne and thyne for euermore
I am and must contynew styll.
No woo nor paynes, no hurt nor sore
Can cause me fflee frome this my wyll
Thy owne to be, and not to start
As long as lyfe ys in my hart.
Then graunt me this my lyfe to saue;
As I desyrve, so let me haue.

CLXIX

[Tho of the sort ther be that ffayne]

Tho of the sort ther be that ffayne
And cloke ther craft to serve ther turne,
Shall I, Alas, that trewlye mene,
Ffor ther offence thus gyltles burne;
And yf I bye ther ffawt to dere,
That ther vntruthe thus hett my ffyere,
Then haue I wronge.

Tho ffraylte fayle not to appere
In them that wayle as well as I,
And thoughe the ffals by lycke desyere
Dothe swere hym selfe thyn owne to bee,
Yf thou dost judge me one of theys
That so can fayne suche commone ways,
Then haue I wronge.

Tho chaunse hathe powere to chaunge their love,
That all by chaunce ther wyll dothe gyd,
Suche chaunce may not my hart remove,
For I by choise my selfe haue tryed;
And not by chaunce, wherfore I saye,
Yf thou dost not my wylffare staye,
Then haue I wronge.

181

Tho stedffastnes in them do lacke,
That do protest the contrayrye,
And tho perfformans none theay mak
Of that theay promyse diuerslye,
Yet syns ther ffawtis ar none of myne,
Yf thou Reffussyst me for thyne,
Then haue I wronge.

CLXX

[To wette your yee withoutyn teare]

To wette your yee withoutyn teare,
And in good helthe to fayne dyssease,
That you therby myn yee myght bleare,
Therwith your ffrendes to please;
And thoughe ye thynk ye ned not ffeare,
Yet so ye cannot me Apease;
But as you lyst, ffayne, fflatyr or glose,
You shall not wynn yf I do lose.

Prat and paynt and spare not,
Ye knowe I can me wreke;
And yf so be ye car not,
Be suer I do not Recke:
And thoughe ye swere yt were not,
I can bothe swere and speake;
By god and by the crosse,
If I haue the mocke, ye shall haue the worse.

CLXXI

[To my myshap alas I fynd]

To my myshap alas I fynd
That happy hap ys dangerus;
And fortune workyth but her kynd
To make the joyfull dolorus.
But all to late hyt cumes in mynd

182

To wayle the want that made me blynd,
So often warnyd.

Amydes my myrth and plesantnes
Such chance ys chansyd sodenly,
That in dyspere to haue redres
I fynd my chefyst remedy.
No new kynd off vnhappynes
Shuld thus haue left me comfortles,
So oftyn warnyd.

In better case was never none,
And yet vnwares thus am I trappt;
My chefe desyer doth cause me mone,
And to my harm my welth ys hapt:
Ther ys no man but I alone
That hath such cause to syghe and mone,
So oftyn warnyd.

Who wold haue thowght that my request
Shuld bryng me forth such bytter frute?
But now ys hapt that I ferd lest,
And all thys harm cumes by my sute;
For when I thought me happyest,
Evyn then hapt all my chefe vnrest,
So oftyn warnyd.

Thus am I tawght for to beware,
And trust no more such plesant chance;
My happy hap hath bred thys care,
And browght my myrth to grete myschance.

183

Ther ys no man that hap wyll spare,
But when she lyst hys welth ys bare,
Thus am I warnyd.

CLXXII

[The knott that furst my hart dyd strayn]

The knott that furst my hart dyd strayn,
When that thy servant I becam,
Doth bynd me styll for to remayn
Always your own, as now I am;
And yff ye fynd that I do fayn,
Wyth just jugement my self I dam
To haue dysdayn.

Yf other thowght in me do groo,
But styll to loue the stedfastly,
And yff the proffe do nott forth shoo
That I am yours assuerydly,
Lett euery welth turne me to woo,
And ye to be contynually
My chefyst foo.

Yff other thowght or new request
Do sese my hart, but only thys,
Or yff whythin my weryd brest
Be hyd one thowght that mene amys,
I do desyer that my unrest
May styll incres and I to mys
That I loue best.

Yff in my loue be hyd one spoot
Off fals decete and dubbylnes,

184

Or yff I mynd to slyp the knoot
By want of fayth or stedfastnes,
Let all my servys be forgoot,
And when I wold haue chefe redres,
Esteme me nott.

But yff that I consume in payn
Wyth burnyng syghes and farvent loue,
And dayly seke non other gayn
But wyth my dedes thes wordes to proue,
Me thynkes off ryght I shuld obtayn
That ye shuld mynd for to remoue
Your gret dysdayn.

And for an end off thys my song,
In to your handes I do submytt
The dedly grefe, the paynes so strong,
Wych in my hart be fyrmly shytt;
And when ye lyst, redres my wrong,
Sens well ye knoo thys paynfull fytt
Hath last to long.

CLXXIII

[That tyme that myrthe dyd stere my shypp]

That tyme that myrthe dyd stere my shypp
Whyche now ys frowght with heuenes,
And fortune bot not then the lypp,
But was Defence off my Dystresse,
Then in my boke wrote my mystresse:
‘I am yowres you may be well sure,
And shall be whyle my lyff dothe dure.’

But She her selffe whyche then wrote that
Is now myn extreme enemye;
Above all men she dothe me hate,
Reioysyng of my myserye;
But thoughe that for her sake I dye,

185

I shall be hyrs she may be sure,
As long as my lyff dothe endure.

It is not tyme than can were out
With me that once ys fermly sett;
Whyle nature kepys her cours Abowt
My hate frome her no man can lett;
Thowghe neuer so sore they me thrett,
Yet I am hyrs, she may be sure,
And shallbe whyle that lyff dothe dure,

And once I trust to see that day,
Renuer of my joy and welthe,
That She these wordes to me shall say:
‘In feythe, welcum to me myselffe,
Welcum my hart, welcum my helthe;
Ffor I am thyne, thow mayst be sure,
And shallbe whyle that lyff dothe dure.’

Ho me! alas! What woordes were theyse?
In couenant I myght fynd them so!
I Reke not what smart or dysease,
Tourment or troubel, payne or woo
I suffred so that I myght knoo
That she were myn, I myght be sure,
And shuld be whyle that lyff dothe dure.

CLXXIV

[Wythe seruyng styll]

Wythe seruyng styll
This haue I wonne,
Ffor my good wyll
To be vndonne.

And ffor redres
Of all my payne
Disdaynffulnes
I haue agayne.

186

And ffor Reward
Of all my smart
Lo thus unhard
I must departe.

Wherefore all ye
That after shall
By fortune be,
As I am, thrall,

Exempell take
What I have wonne,
Thus for her sake
To be vndone.

CLXXV

[What wolde ye mor of me, your slav, Requyere]

What wolde ye mor of me, your slav, Requyere
Then ffor to aske and haue that ye desyre?
Yet I Remaygne without recure.
I you insuere ther ys no ffaythffull harte
That without cause causles that sufferth smart.

You haue the joy, and I haue all the payne;
Yours the pleasore and I in woo Remaygne.
Alas! and why do ye me blame?
Yt ys no gam, thus to destroye my hart,
Nor without cause thus to cause yt smart.

I haue Assayed in all that euer I myght
You ffor to please, ffor that was my delyght.
All could not serue: ye lyst not see,
But crewelly hathe vndone my pore hart,
And without cause dothe cause yt suffer smart.

Ye mak a play at all my woo and greffe,
And yet Alas! Amonge all my myscheffe
Nothyng at all that ye regard,

187

Nor wyll Reward a ffaythfful menyng hart,
But thus causles to cause yt suffer smart.

If that ye lyst my paynffull dethe to see
Ye ned no more but vse this creweltye;
Ffor shorter dethe cannot be ffownd
Then without grownd by force of crewell hart
Causeles by cause to cause me suffer smart.

A Deue! ffarwell! I ffell my joyes destresse.
Ffled ys my welthe, my tormentis dothe encres.
Thus haue I woone ffor all my hyere
To brynne in ffyer sweltyng my woffull hart,
That without cause causles thus suffreth smart.

CLXXVI
V. Innocentia
Veritas
Viat Fides Circumdederunt me inimici mei

Who lyst his welthe and eas Retayne,
Hym selffe let hym vnknowne contayne;
Presse not to ffast in at that gatte
Wher the Retorne standes by desdayne:
For sure, circa Regna tonat.

The hye montaynis ar blastyd oft,
When the lowe vaylye ys myld and soft;
Ffortune with helthe stondis at debate;
The ffall ys grevous ffrome Aloffte:
And sure, circa Regna tonat.

These blodye dayes haue brokyn my hart;
My lust, my youth dyd then departe,
And blynd desyre of astate;
Who hastis to clyme sekes to reuerte:
Of truthe, circa Regna tonat.

The bell towre showed me suche syght
That in my hed stekys day and nyght;

188

Ther dyd I lerne out of a grate,
Ffor all vauore, glory or myght,
That yet circa Regna tonat.

By proffe, I say, ther dyd I lerne,
Wyt helpythe not deffence to yerne,
Of innocence to pled or prate;
Ber low, therffor, geve god the sterne,
Ffor sure, circa Regna tonat.

CLXXVII

[Venus, in sport, to please therwith her dere]

Venus, in sport, to please therwith her dere,
Dyd on the helm off myghty Mars the red.
Hys spere she toke, hys targe she myght not stere;
She lokt as tho her foys shuld all be ded,
So wantonly she frownyth wyth her chere.
Priapus gan smyle and sayd; ‘Doway for dred,
Do way, maddame, theys wepyns gret and grym.
I, I for you am wepyn fytt and trym.’

189

V
Poems from the Devonshire Manuscript

CLXXVIII

[Take hede be tyme leste ye be spyede]

Take hede be tyme leste ye be spyede
Your lovyng eye yee canne not hide
At last the trowthe will sure be tryde,
Therefore take hede!

For Som there be of craftie kynde
Thowe yow shew no parte of your mynde,
Sewrlye there Ies ye cannot blynde,
Therefore take hede!

For in lyke case there selves hathe bene,
And thowght ryght sure none had theym sene,
But it was not as theye did wene,
Therfore take hede!

All thowgth theye be of dyvers skoolles,
And well can yose all craftye toolles
At leynthe theye prove themselfe bott foolles
Therefore take hede!

Yf theye myght take yow in that trape
Theye wolde sone leve yt in your lape;
To love vnspyed ys but a happe
Therfore take hede!

190

CLXXIX

[My pen, take payn a lytyll space]

My pen, take payn a lytyll space
To folow that whyche dothe me chace,
And hathe in hold my hart so sore;
But when thow hast thys browght to passe,
My pen, I prithe, wryght no more!

Remember, oft thow hast me eaysyd,
And all my paynes full well apeaysyd,
But now I know vnknowen before
Ffor where I trust I am dysceavyd,
And yet, my pen, thow canst no more.

A tyme thow haddyst as other have
To wryght whyche way my hope to crave;
That tyme ys past; withdrawe therffore!
Syns we do lose that other save,
As good leve off and wryght no more.

Yn worthe to vse another waye,
Not as we wold, but as we maye,
For ons my losse ys past Restore,
And my desyre ys my decaye;
My pen, yet wryght a lytyll more.

To love in vayn who euer shall
Off worldlye payn yt passythe all,
As in lyke case I fynd. Wherfore
To hold so fast and yet to ffall?
Alas, my pen, now wryght no more!

Syns thow hast taken payn thys space
To folow that whyche dothe me chace,

191

And hathe in hold my hart so sore,
Now hast thow browght my mynde to passe:
My pen, I prithe, wryght no more.

CLXXX

[I love lovyd and so doithe she]

I love lovyd and so doithe she,
And yet in love wee sufer still;
The cause is strange as semeth me,
To love so will and want our will.

O deadly yea! O grevous smart!
Worse than refuse, vnhappe gaine!
I love: whoeuer playd this part,
To love so will and leve in payn.

Was euer hart soo well agrede,
Sines love was love as I do trowe,
That in ther love soo evell dyd sped,
To love so will and leve in woo?

Thes morne wee bothe and hathe don long,
With wofull plaint and carefull voice:
Alas! it is a grevous wrowng
To love so will and not reioice.

And here an end of all our mone!
With sighinge oft my brethe is skant,
Sines of myshappe ours is alone—
To love so will and it to wantt.

But they that causer is of this,
Of all owr cares god send them part!
That they may trowe what greve it is
To love so will and leve in smart.

192

CLXXXI

[Farewell all my wellfare]

Farewell all my wellfare,
My shue is trode awry;
Now may I karke and care
To syng lullay by by.
Alas! what shall I do thereto?
There ys no shyffte to helpe me now.

Who made hytt such offence
To love for love agayn?
God wott that my pretence
Was but to ease hys payn;
Ffor I had Ruthe to se hys wo;
Alas, more fole, Why did I so?

For he frome me ys gone
And makes thereat a game
And hathe leffte me Alone
To suffer sorow and shame.
Alas! he is vnkynd dowtles
To leve me thus all comfortles.

Hytt ys a grevows smarte
To suffer paynes and sorrowe;
But most it grevyd my hart
He leyde hys feythe to borow;
And falshode hathe hys feythe and trowthe,
And he forsworne by many an othe.

All ye lovers, perde,
Hathe cawse to blame hys dede,
Whyche shall example be
To lett yow off yowre spede;
Let neuer woman Agayn
Trust to suche wordes as men can fayn.

For I vnto my coste
Am warnyng to yow all,
That they whom you trust most

193

Sonest dysceyve yow shall;
But complaynt cannot redresse
Of my gret greff the gret excesse.

CLXXXII

[The hart and servys to yow profferd]

The hart and servys to yow profferd
With ryght good wyll full honestly,
Refuce yt not syns yt is offerd
But take yt to yow jentylly.

And tho yt be a small present,
Yet good, consyder gracyowsly
The thowght, the mynd, and the entent
Of hym that lovys you faythfully.

Yt were a thyng of small effecte
To worke my wo thus cruelly,
Ffor my good wyll to be abiecte:
Therfore accepte yt lovyngly.

Payn or travell, to rune or ryde,
I vndertake yt plesawntly;
Byd ye me go and strayte I glyde
At your commawndement humbly.

Payn or plesure now may yow plant
Evyn whyche it plese yow stydfastly;
Do whyche yow lyst, I shall not want
To be your servant secrettly.

And syns so muche I do desyre
To be your owne Assuryddly,
Ffor all my servys and my hyer
Reward your servante lyberally.

CLXXXIII

[What menythe thys when I lye alone?]

What menythe thys when I lye alone?
I tosse, I turne, I syghe, I grone,
My bedd me semys as hard as stone:
What menys thys?

194

I syghe, I playne contynually;
The clothes that on my bedd do ly
Always methynk they lye awry:
What menys thys?

In slumbers oft for fere I quake;
Ffor hete and cold I burne and shake;
Ffor lake of slepe my hede dothe ake;
What menys thys?

A mornynges then when I do rysse
I torne vnto my wontyd gysse;
All day after muse and devysse:
What menys thys?

And yff perchanse by me there passe
She vnto whome I sue for grace,
The cold blood forsakythe my face:
What menythe thys?

But yff I sytte nere her by,
With lowd voyce my hart dothe cry,
And yet my mowthe ys dome and dry:
What menys thys?

To aske ffor helpe no hart I have
My tong dothe fayle what I shuld crave,
Yet inwardly I Rage and Rave:
What menys thys?

Thus have I passyd many a yere,
And many a day, tho nowght Apere;
But most of that that most I fere:
What menys thys?

CLXXXIV

[Ys yt possyble]

Ys yt possyble
That so hye debate,
So sharpe, so sore, and off suche rate

195

Shuld end so sone and was begone so late?
Is it possible?

Ys yt possyble
So cruell intent,
So hasty hete and so sone spent,
Ffrom love to hate, and thens ffor to Relent?
Is it possyble?

Ys yt possyble
That eny may fynde
Within on hert so dyverse mynd,
To change or torne as wether and wynd?
Is it possyble?

Is it possyble
To spye yt in an Iye
That tornys as oft as chance on dy?
The trothe wheroff can eny try?
Is it possyble?

It is possyble
Ffor to torne so oft,
To bryng that lowyste that wasse most Alofft,
And to fall hyest yet to lyght sofft:
It is possyble.

All ys possyble,
Who so lyst beleve;
Trust therfore fyrst, and after preve;
As men wedd ladyes by lycence and leve,
All ys possyble.

CLXXXV

[Alas, poor man, what hap have I]

Alas, poor man, what hap have I
That must fforbeare that I love best
I trow yt be my desteny
Neuer to lyve in quiet Rest.

196

No wonder ys tho I complayn,
Not withowt cawse ye may be sure;
I seke ffor that I cannot attayn
Whyche ys my mortall dysplesure.

Alas, pore hart, as in thys case
With pensyff playntes thow art opprest,
Vnwysse thow were to desyre place
Where as another ys possest.

Do what I can to ese thy smart,
Thow wylt not let to love her styll;
Hyrs and not myn I se thow art
Let her do by the as she wyll.

A carefull carkace full of payn
Now hast thow lefft to morne for the;
The hart ons gone the body ys slayn;
That euer I saw her, wo ys me!

Myn Iye, alas, was cawse of thys
Whyche her to se had neuer hys ffyll;
To me that syght full bytter ys
In Recompence of my good wyll.

She that I sarve all other above
Hathe payd my hyre as ye may se;
I was vnhappy and that I prove
To love aboue my poore degre.

CLXXXVI

[And wylt thow leve me thus?]

And wylt thow leve me thus?
Say nay, say nay, ffor shame,
To save the from the Blame
Of all my greffe and grame;
And wylt thow leve me thus?
Say nay, Say nay!

And wylt thow leve me thus,
That hathe lovyd the so long,
In welthe and woo Among?

197

And ys thy hart so strong
As for to leve me thus?
Say nay, Say nay!

And wylt thow leve me thus,
That hathe gevyn the my hart,
Neuer for to Depart,
Nother for payn nor smart;
And wylt thow leve me thus?
Say nay, Say nay!

And wylt thow leve me thus
And have nomore Pyttye
Of hym that lovythe the?
Helas thy cruellte!
And wylt thow leve me thus?
Say nay, Say nay!

CLXXXVII

[The restfull place, Revyver of my smarte]

The restfull place, Revyver of my smarte,
The labors salve incressyng my sorow,
The body ese and trobler off my hart,
Quieter of mynd and my vnquiet foo,
Fforgetter of payn, Remembrer of my woo,
The place of slepe wherein I do but wake
Besprent with teres my bed I the forsake.

The frost, the snow, may not redresse my hete
Nor yet no heate abate my fervent cold.
I know nothyng to ese my paynes mete,
Eche cure cawsythe increse by twenty fold;
Revyvyng carys vpon my sorows old.
Suche overthwart affectes they do me make
Bysprent with terys my bed for to forsake.

198

Yet helpythe yt not I fynd no better ese
In bed or owt thys moste cawsythe my payn,
Where most I seke how beste that I may plese,
My lost labor, Alas, ys all in vayn;
Yet that I gave I cannot call agayn;
No place fro me my greffe away can take,
Wherfor with terys my bed I the forsake.

CLXXXVIII

[As power and wytt wyll me Assyst]

As power and wytt wyll me Assyst
My wyll shall wyll evyn as ye lyst.

Ffor as ye lyst my wyll ys bent
In euery thyng to be content
To serve in love tyll lyff be spent
And to Reward my love thus ment
Evyn as ye lyst.

To fayn or fable ys not my mynd
Nor to Refuce suche as I fynd
But as a lambe of humble kynd
Or byrd in cage to be Assynd
Evyn as ye lyst.

When all the flokk ys cum and gone
Myn eye and hart agreythe in one
Hathe chosyn yow only Alone
To be my joy or elles my mone
Evyn as ye lyst.

Joy yf pytty apere in place
Mone yf dysdayn do shew hys face
Yet crave I not as in thys case

199

But as ye lede to follow the trace
Evyn as ye lyst.

Sum in wordes muche love can fayn
And sum for wordes gyve wordes agayn;
Thus wordes for wordes in wordes Remayn,
And yet at last wordes do optayn
Evyn as ye lyst.

To crave in words I wyll exchew
And love in dede I wyll ensew;
Yt ys my mynd bothe hole and trew
And for my trewthe I pray yow rew,
Evyn as ye lyst.

Dere hart, I bydd you now farewell
With better hart than tong can tell;
Yet take thys tale as trew as gospell;
Ye may my lyff save or expell
Evyn as ye lyst.

CLXXXIX

[Sum tyme I syghe, sumtyme I syng]

Sum tyme I syghe, sumtyme I syng,
Sumtyme I lawghe, sumtyme mornynge,
As one in dowte thys ys my ssayyng:
Have I dysplesyd yow in anythyng?

Alake, what aylythe you to be grevyd?
Ryght sory am I that ye be mevyd;
I am your owne yf trewthe be prevyd
And by your dyspleasure as one myschevyd.

When ye be mery, than am I glad;
When ye be sory, than am I sad;
Suche grace or fortune I would I had,
Yow for to plese how euer I were bestad.

200

When ye be mery, why shuld I care?
Ye are my joye and my wellfare;
I wyll you love; I wyll not spare
Into yowre presens as farr as I dare.

All my poore hart and my love trew
Whyle lyff dothe last I gyve yt yow;
And yow to serve with servys dew,
And neuer to change yow for no new.

CXC

[Pacyence of all my smart]

Pacyence of all my smart,
Ffor fortune ys tornyd awry;
Pacyence must ese my hart
That mornes contynually;
Pacyence to suffer wrong
Ys a pacyence to long.

Pacyence to have a nay
Of that I most Desyre;
Pacyence to haue all way
And euer burne lyke fyre;
Pacyence withowt desart
Ys grownder of my smart.

Who can with mery hart
Set forthe sum plesant song,
That allways felys but smart
And neuer hathe but wrong?
Yet pacyence euermore
Must hele the wownd and sore.

Pacyence to be content
With froward fortunes trayn;
Pacyence to the intent
Sumwhat to slake my payn;
I see no Remedy
But suffer pacyently.

To playn wher ys none ere
My chawnce ys chawnsyd so

201

Ffor yt dothe well apere
My frend ys tornyd my foo;
But syns there ys no defence
I must take pacyence.

CXCI

[Who would haue euer thowght]

Who would haue euer thowght
A hart that was so sett
To have suche wrong me wrowght,
Or to be cownterfett?
But who that trustythe most
Ys lyke to pay the cost.

I must of force, god wott,
Thys paynfull lyff susteyen,
And yet I know nott
The chefe cawse of my payn;
Thys ys a strange dyssese
To serve and neuer plese.

I must of force endure
Thys drawght drawyn Awry,
Ffor I am fast and sure
To have the mate therby;
But note I wyll thys texte,
To draw better the nexte.

CXCII

[It was my choyse, yt was no chaunce]

It was my choyse, yt was no chaunce,
That browght my hart in others holde,
Wherby ytt hath had sufferaunce
Lenger perde then Reason wold;
Syns I ytt bownd where ytt was ffree,
Me thynkes, ywys, of Ryght yt shold
Acceptyd be.

Acceptyd be withowte Refuse
Vnles that fortune hath the powere
All Ryght of love for to abuse

202

For, as they say, one happy howre
May more prevayle then Ryght or myght.
Yf fortune then lyst for to lowre,
What vaylyth Right?

What vaylyth Ryght yff thys be trew?
Then trust to chaunce and go by gesse;
Then who so lovyth may well go sew
Vncerten hope for hys redresse.
Yett some wolde say assueredly
Thou mayst appele for thy relesse
To fantasy.

To fantasy pertaynys to chose;
All thys I knowe, for fantasy
Ffurst vnto love dyd me Induse;
But yet I knowe as stedefastly
That yff love haue no faster knott
So nyce a choyse slyppes sodenly—
Yt lastyth nott.

Itt lastyth not that stondes by change;
Fansy doth change, fortune ys frayle;
Both these to plese, the ways ys strange;
Therfore me thynkes best to prevayle,
Ther ys no way that ys so Just
As trowgh to lede, tho tother fayle,
And therto trust.

CXCIII

[So vnwarely was never no man cawght]

So vnwarely was never no man cawght
With stedefast loke apon a goodly face,
As I of late; for sodenly me thowght
My hart was torne owte of hys place.

Thorow myn Iye the strock frome hyrs dyd slyde,
Dyrectly downe vnto my hert ytt ranne;
In helpe wherof the blood therto dyd glyde,
And left my face both pale and wanne.

203

Then was I leke a manne for woo amasyd,
Or leke the byrde that flyeth in to the fyer;
For whyll that I vpon her beaulte gasyd
The more I burnt in my desyre.

Anon the blowd stert in my face agayne,
Enflamde with hete that yt had att my hart,
And browght therwith thorowt in euery vayne
A quakyng hete with plesaunt smert.

Then was I leke the strawe whan that the flame
Ys drevyn therin by force and rage off wynd;
I can nott tell, alas, what I shall blame,
Nor what to seke, nor what to fynd.

But wele I wote the greffe holdes me so sore
In hete and cold betwyxt hope and drede,
That but her helpe to helth doth me restore
Thys restles lyff I may nott lede.

CXCIV

[Thy promese was to loue me best]

Thy promese was to loue me best,
And that thy hart with myn shold rest,
And nat to brek thys thy behest,
Thy promese was, thy promese was.

Thy promese was not to aquyt
My ffathfulnes with such despyt,
But recompense it yff thou myght,
Thy promese was, thy promese was.

Thy promese was, I tel the pleyn,
My ffayth shold not be spent in vayne,
But to haue mor shold be my gayne,
Thy promese was, thy promese was.

204

Thy promese was to haue obsarued
My ffayth lyke as yt hath deserued,
And nat casles thus to a' swarued,
Thy promese was, thy promese was.

Thy promese was, I dar avow,
But yt ys changyt I wot well how,
Tho then wer then and now ys now,
Thy promese was, thy promese was.

But sens to change thou dost delyt
And that thy ffayth hath tayn his fflyghte,
As thou desaruest I shall the quyt,
I promese the, I promese the.

CXCV

[I se the change ffrom that that was]

I se the change ffrom that that was
And how thy ffayth hath tayn his fflyt
But I with pacyense let yt pase
And with my pene thys do I wryt
To show the playn by prowff off syght,
I se the change.

I se the change off weryd mynd
And sleper hold hath quet my hyer;
Lo! how by prowff in the I ffynd
A bowrnyng ffath in changyng ffyer.
Ffarwell my part, prowff ys no lyer!
I se the change.

I se the change off chance in loue;
Delyt no lenger may abyd;
What shold I sek ffurther to proue?
No, no, my trust, ffor I haue tryd
The ffolloyng of a ffallse gyd:
I se the change.

205

I se the change, as in thys case,
Has mayd me ffre ffrom myn avoo,
Ffor now another has my plase,
And or I wist, I wot ner how,
Yt hapnet thys as ye here now:
I se the change.

I se the change, seche ys my chance
To sarue in dowt and hope in vayn;
But sens my surty so doth glanse,
Repentens now shall quyt thy payn,
Neuer to trust the lyke agayn:
I se the change.

CXCVI

[Howe shulde I]

Howe shulde I
Be so plesunte
In my semblaunt
As my fellowes bee?

Not long agoo
It chaunsed soo
As I ded walke alone
I harde a man
That now and than
Hymselff ded thus bemone:

Alas (he saide)
I am betraide
And vttrelye ondone;
Whom I dede trust
And think so iuste
Another man hath wonne.

Mye servise due
And herte so true
On her I ded bestowe;

206

I never ment
For to repente
Yn welthe nor yet in woo.

Love ded asyen
Her to be myn
And nat to love non new;
But who can bynd
Ther ffeckell kynd
That never wyll be tru?

The westerne winde
Hath turnid her minde
And blowen it clene awaye;
Therebye my welthe,
My mirth and helthe
Are dryven to grete dekaye.

Ffortune ded smyle
A right shorte while
And never saide me naye,
With plesaunte plaes
And joyfull dayes
My tyme to passe awaye.

Alas! ah las!
The tyme so was,
So never shall it be,
Sins she is gone,
And I alone
Armeles as ye maye see.

Where is the othe,
Where is the trothe
That she to me ded gyve?
Such fayned wordes
Withe silie boordes
Lett no wise man beleve.

207

Ffor even as I
Thus wofullye
Vnto my self complaine,
Yf ye then truste
Nedes lerne ye muste
To sing my song in vayne:

How shulde I
Be so plesunte
In my semblaunt
As my fellowes be?

CXCVII

[Ffull well yt maye be sene]

Ffull well yt maye be sene
To suche as vnderstand
How some there be that wene
They haue theyre welthe at hand
Throughe loves abusyd band;
But lytyll do they see
Th'abuse wherin they be.

Of loue there ys a kynd
Whyche kyndlythe by abuse,
As in a feble mynd
Whome fansy may enduce
By loues dysceatfull vse
To folowe the fond lust
And profe of a vayne trust.

As I my self may saye
By tryall of the same
No wyght can well bewraye
The falshed loue can frame;
I saye twyxt grefe and game
Ther ys no lyvyng man
That knows the crafte loue can.

208

Ffor loue so well can fayne
To favour for the whyle
That suche as sekes the gayne
Ar servyd with the gyle;
And some can thys concyle
To gyue the symple leave
Them sellffes for to dysceave.

What thyng may more declare
Of loue the craftye kynd?
Then se the wyse, so ware,
In loue to be so blynd,
Yf so yt be assynd
Let them enjoye the gayn,
That thynkes yt worthe the payn.

CXCVIII

[Synes loue ys suche that, as ye wott]

Synes loue ys suche that, as ye wott,
Cannot allways be wysely vsyd,
I say therfore then blame me nott,
Tho I therin haue ben abusyd;
Ffor as with cause I am accusyd.
Gyllty I graunt, suche was my lott;
And tho yt cannot be excusyd,
Yet let suche folye be forgott.

Ffor in my yeres of Rekles youthe
Me thought the power of loue so gret
That to her lawes I bound my treuthe
And to my wyll there was no lett.
Me lyst nomore so farr to fett
Suche frute, lo, as of loue ensewthe;
The gayn was small that was to gett,
And of the losse the lesse the reuthe.

And few there ys but fyrst or last
A tyme in loue ones shall they haue
And glad I am my tyme ys past,
Henceforthe my fredome to withsaue.

209

Now in my hart there shall I grave
The groundyd grace that now I tast;
Thankyd be fortune that me gave
So fayre a gyfft, so sure and fast.

Now suche as haue me sene or thys,
Whan youthe in me sett forthe hys kynd,
And foly framd my thought amys,
The faute wherof now well I ffynd,
Loo, syns that so yt ys assynd
That vnto eche a tyme there ys,
Then blame the lott that led my mynd
Sometyme to lyue in loves blys.

But frome henceforth I do protest
By proffe of that that I haue past
Shall neuer ceace within my brest
The power of loue so late owt cast;
The knott therof ys knytt ffull fast,
And I therto so sure proffest,
Ffor euermore with me to last
The power wherin I am possest.

CXCIX

[Lo! how I seke and sew to haue]

Lo! how I seke and sew to haue
That no man hathe and maye be had.
There ys no more but synk or saue,
And bryng thys doute to good or bad.
To lyue in sorows allways sad,
I lyke not so to lynger fforthe;
Hap evyll or good I shall be glad
To take that comes as well in worthe.

Shold I sustayne thys gret dystres,
Styll wandryng forthe thus to and froo,
In dredfull hope to hold my pese,
And fede my sellff with secret woo?
Nay, nay, certayne I wyll not soo,
But sure I shall my self aply

210

To put in profe thys doute to knoo
And Rydd thys daunger Redely.

I shall assay by secret sute
To show the mynd of myn entent
And my desertes shall gyue suche frute
As with my hart my wordes be ment.
So by the profe of thys consent
Sone owt of doute I shall be sure;
For to rejoyce or to Repent
In joye or payne for to endure

CC

[My loue ys lyke vnto th'eternall fyre]

My loue ys lyke vnto th'eternall fyre,
And I as those whyche therin do remayne
Whose grevous paynes ys but theyre gret desyre
To se the syght whyche they may not attayne.
So in helles heate my self I fele to be,
That am restraynd by gret extremyte
The syght of her whyche ys so dere to me.
O puissant loue and power of gret avayle,
By whome hell may be fellt or dethe assayle!

CCI

[Synes so ye please to here me playn]

Synes so ye please to here me playn,
And that ye do reioyce my smart,
My lyst no lenger to Remayne
To suche as be so overthwart.
But cursyd be that cruell hart
Whyche hathe procuryd a careles mynd
Ffor me and myne vnfaynyd smart,
And forcythe me suche fautes to fynd.
More than to muche I am assuryd
Of thyne entent wherto to trust:
A spedles proffe I haue enduryd,
And now I leve yt to them that lust.

211

CCII

[Now must I lerne to lyue at rest]

Now must I lerne to lyue at rest
And weyne me of my wyll,
Ffor I repent where I was prest
My fansy to ffullfyll.

I may no lenger more endure
My wontyd lyf to lede,
But I must lerne to put in vre
The change of womanhede.

I may not se my seruys long
Rewardyd in suche wyse,
Nor I may not sustayne suche wrong
That ye my loue dyspyce.

I may not syghe in sorows depe,
Nor wayle the wante of loue
Nor I may nother cruche nor crepe,
Where hyt dothe not behoue.

But I of force must nedes forsake
My faythe so fondly sett
And frome henceforthe must vndertake
Suche foly to fforgett.

Now must I seke some otherways
My self for to withsaue,
And as I trust by myne assays
Some Remedy to haue.

I aske none other Remedy
To recompence my wrong,
But ones to haue the lyberty
That I haue lakt so long.

CCIII

[Fforget not yet the tryde entent]

Fforget not yet the tryde entent
Of suche a truthe as I haue ment,
My gret travayle so gladly spent
Fforget not yet.

212

Fforget not yet when fyrst began
The wery lyffe ye know syns whan,
The sute, the seruys none tell can,
Fforgett not yet.

Fforget not yet the gret assays,
The cruell wrong, the skornfull ways,
The paynfull pacyence in denays,
Fforgett not yet.

Fforget not yet, forget not thys,
How long ago hathe bene and ys
The mynd that neuer ment amys,
Fforget not yet.

Fforget not then thyn owne aprovyd
The whyche so long hathe the so louyd,
Whose stedfast faythe yet neuer movyd,
Fforget not thys.

CCIV

[O myserable sorow withowten cure!]

O myserable sorow withowten cure!
Yf it plese the, lo, to haue me thus suffir,
At lest yet let her know what I endure,
And this my last voyse cary thou thether
Wher lyved my hope now ded for euer;
For as ill grevus is my banyshement
As was my plesur when she was present.

CCV

[Blame not my lute, for he must sownd]

Blame not my lute, for he must sownd
Of thes or that as liketh me;
For lake of wytt the lutte is bownd
To gyve suche tunes as plesithe me;
Tho my songes be sume what strange
And spekes such words as toche thy change,
Blame not my lutte.

213

My lutte, alas, doth not ofend
Tho that perfors he must agre
To sownd such teunes as I entend
To sing to them that hereth me;
Then tho my songes be some what plain,
And tocheth some that vse to fayn,
Blame not my lutte.

My lute and strynges may not deny
But as I strike they must obay;
Brake not them than soo wrongfully,
But wryeke thy selffe some wyser way;
And tho the songes whiche I endight
To qwytt thy chainge with Rightfull spight,
Blame not my lute.

Spyght askyth spight and changing change,
And falsyd faith must nedes be knowne,
The faute so grett, the case so strange,
Of Right it must abrod be blown:
Then sins that by thyn own desartte
My soinges do tell how trew thou artt,
Blame not my lute.

Blame but thy selffe that hast mysdown
And well desaruid to haue blame;
Change thou thy way so evyll bygown
And then my lute shall sownd that same;
But if tyll then my fyngeres play
By thy desartt their wontyd way,
Blame not my lutte.

Farewell, vnknowne, for tho thow brake
My strynges in spight with grett desdayn
Yet haue I fownd owt for thy sake
Stringes for to strynge my lute agayne;
And yf perchance this folysh Ryme
Do make the blush at any tyme
Blame nott my lutte.

214

CCVI

[All yn thi sight my lif doth hole depende]

All yn thi sight my lif doth hole depende,
Thou hidist thyself and I must dye therefore;
But sins thou maiste so easelye saue thy frende
Whye doste thou styk to heale that thou madist sore?
Whye doo I dye sins thou maist me diffende?
For if I dye then maiste thou lyve no more,
Sins ton bye tother dothe lyve and fede thy herte,
I with thye sight, thou also with my smerte.

CCVII

[The fructe of all the seruise that I serue]

The fructe of all the seruise that I serue
Dispaire doth repe, such haples hap have I;
But tho he hath no powre to make me swarve
Yet bye the fire for colde I fele I dye;
In paradis for hunger still I sterve
And in the flowde for thurste to deth I drye;
So Tantalus ame I and yn worse payne
Amydes my helpe, and helples doth remayne.

CCVIII

[Yf with complaint the paine might be exprest]

Yf with complaint the paine might be exprest
That inwardelye dothe cause me sigh and grone,
Your harde herte and your cruell brest
Shulde sighe and playne for my vnreste;
And tho yt ware of stone
Yet shulde Remorse cause yt relent and mone.

But sins yt ys so farre out of mesure
That with my wordes I can yt not contayne,
My ouerlye truste, my hertes tresure,
Alas, whye doo I still indure
This restles smerte and payne,
Sins yf ye list ye maye my woo restraine?

215

CCIX

[Sins you will nedes that I shall sing]

Sins you will nedes that I shall sing,
Take yt in worth siche as I have,
Plentye of plaint, mone and morning,
Yn depe dispaire and dedlye payne,
Boteles for bote, crying to crave,
To crave yn vayne.

Such hammers worke within my hed
That sounde nought els vnto my eris
But faste at borde and wake abed:
Suche tune the tempre to my song
To waile my wrong, that I wante teris
To waile my wrong.

Dethe and dispaire afore my face,
My dayes dekaes, my grefe doth gro;
The cause thereof is in this place,
Whom crueltye dothe still constraine
For to reioise, tho yt be wo
To here me plaine.

A brokin lute, vntunid stringes
With such a song maye well bere parte,
That nether pleasith him that singes
Nor theim that here, but her alone
That with her herte wold straine my herte
To here yt grone.

Yf it greve you to here this same
That you do fele but in my voyse,
Considre then what plesaunt game
I do sustaine in everye parte
To cause me sing or to reioyse
Within my herte.

CCX

[Me list no more to sing]

Me list no more to sing
Of love nor of suche thing,

216

Howe sore that yt me wring;
For what I song or spake
Men dede my songis mistake.

My songes ware to defuse,
Theye made folke to muse;
Therefore, me to excuse,
Theye shall be song more plaine,
Nother of joye nor payne.

What vailith then to skippe
At fructe over the lippe?
For frute withouten taste
Dothe noght but rott and waste.

What vailith vndre kaye
To kepe treasure alwaye.
That never shall se daye?
Yf yt be not vsid
Yt ys but abusid.

What vayleth the flowre
To stond still and wither?
Yf no man yt savour
Yt servis onlye for sight
And fadith towardes night.

Therefore fere not t'assaye
To gadre ye that maye
The flower that this daye
Is fresher than the next:
Marke well, I saye, this text.

Let not the frute be lost
That is desired moste;
Delight shall quite the coste.
Yf hit be tane in tyme,
Small labour is to clyme.

And as for siche treasure
That makithe the the Richer,

217

And no dele the poorer,
When it is gyven or lente
Me thinckes yt ware well spente.

Yf this be undre miste,
And not well playnlye wyste,
Vndrestonde me who lyste;
For I reke not a bene,
I wott what I doo meane.

CCXI

[To Rayle or geste ye kno I vse it not]

To Rayle or geste ye kno I vse it not
Though that such cause some tyme in folkes I finde:
And tho to chaung ye list to sett your minde,
Love yt who liste, in faithe I like yt not.
And if ye ware to me as ye are not,
I wolde be lothe to se you so unkinde;
But sins your faithe muste nedes be so be kinde,
Tho I hate yt, I praye you leve yt not.
Thinges of grete waight I neuer thought to crave:
This is but small—of right denye yt not.
Your fayning wayis as yet forget them not,
But like rewarde let other lovers have:
That is to saye, for seruis true and faste,
To long delaies and changing at the laste.

CCXII

[The Joye so short, alas, the paine so nere]

The Joye so short, alas, the paine so nere,
The waye so long, the departure so smarte,
The furst sight, alas, I bought to dere,
That so sodainelye now from hens must parte;
The bodye gone, yet remaine shall the herte
With her, wiche for me salte teris ded Raine,
And shall not chaunge till that we mete againe.

Tho tyme doth passe, yet shall not my love;
Tho I be farre, alwayes my hert is nere;
Tho other chaunge, yet will not I remove;

218

Tho other care not, yet love I will and fere;
Tho other hate, yet will I love my dere;
Tho other woll of lightnes saye adewe,
Yet woll I be founde stedefast and trewe.

When other laughe, alas, then do I wepe;
When other sing, then do I waile and crye;
When other runne, perforcyd I am to crepe;
When other daunce, in sorro I do lye;
When other Joye, for paine welnere I dye;
Thus brought from welthe, alas, to endles paine,
That undeseruid, causeles to remayne.

CCXIII

[Payne of all payne, the most grevous paine]

Payne of all payne, the most grevous paine
Ys to loue hartelye and cannot be loued againe.

Love with vnkindenesse is causer of hevenis,
Of inwarde sorro and sighis painefull.
Whereas I love is no redresse
To no manner of pastime, the sprites so dull
With prive morninges and lookes Rufull:
The boddye all werishe, the collor pale and wan,
More like a gost then lyk a lyving man.

Whan Cupido hath inflamid the hertes desires
To love there as ys disdayne,
Of good or ill the minde obliuyous,
Nothing regarding but love t'attaine;
Alwais imagining by what meane or traine
Yt may be at rest; thus in a momente
Now here, now there, being never contente.

Tossing and torning, whan the body wold rest
With dreamis opprest and visions fantastycall,
Sleping or waking love is ever preste,
Some tyme to wepe, some tyme to crye and call,
Bewayling his fortune and lif bestiall;
Nowe in hope of recure and now in dispaire,
This ys a sorye lyf to lyve alwaye in care!

219

Recorde of Therence in his commedis poeticall
Yn love ys Jelosye and iniuris mannye one
Angre and debate with mynde sensuall
Nowe warre, nowe peace, musing all alone,
Some tyme all morte and colde as enye stonne
This causith unkindenesse of siche as cannot skill
Of trewe love assurde with herte and good will.

Lucrese the Romaine for love of her lord
And bye cause perforce she had commit advowtrye
With Tarquinus, as the storye doth recorde
Her silf ded slee with a knif most pituoslye
Among her nigh frindes bye cause that she
So falslye was betrayed, lo this was the guardon,
Where as true love hathe no domynyon.

To make rehersall of old antiqitye
What nedith it? We see by experience
Among lovers yt chaunsith daylye
Displeasour and variaunce for none offens;
But if true love might gyve sentens
That vnkindenes and disdayne shuld have no place
But true harte for true love yt ware a grete grace.

O Venus, ladye, of love the goddesse
Help all true lovers to have love againe!
Bannishe from thye presens disdayne and vnkindnesse,
Kyndnesse and pytie to thy seruice Retayne;
For true love, ons fixid in the cordiall vayne,
Can never be revoulsid bye no manner of arte,
Vnto the sowle from the boddye departe.

CCXIV

[Lament my losse, my labor, and my payne]

Lament my losse, my labor, and my payne,
All ye that here mye wofull playnte and crye,
Yf ever man might ons your herte constrayne
To pytie wordes of right, yt shulde bee I;
That sins the time that youthe yn me ded rayne
My plesaunte yeris to bondage ded aplye,

220

Whiche as yt was I pourpose to declare,
Wherebye my frindes hereafter maye be ware.

And if perchaunce some redres list to muse
What menith me so playnlye for to wright
My good entente the fawte of yt shall skuse,
Whiche meane nothing but trulye t'endyght
The crafte and care, the greef and long abuse
Of lovers lawe and eke her puisshaunte might,
Wiche though that menn oft tymes bye paynis doth kno,
Lyttle theye wot wiche wayes the gylis doth growe.

Yet well ye know yt will renue my smarte
Thus to reherse the paynes that I have past;
My hand doth shake, my penn skant dothe his parte,
My boddye quakes, my wyttis begynne to waste;
Twixt heate and colde in fere I fele my herte
Panting for paine, and thus as all agaste
I do remayne skant wotting what I wryte:
Perdon me then rudelye tho I indyte.

And patientelye, o Redre, I the praye
Take in good parte this worke as yt ys mente,
And greve the not with ought that I shall saye,
Sins with good will this boke abrode ys sent
To tell men how in youthe I ded assaye
What love ded mene and nowe I yt repente:
That musing me my frindes might well be ware,
And kepe them fre from all soche payne and care.

CCXV

[What shulde I saye]

What shulde I saye
Sins faithe is dede
And truthe awaye
From you ys fled?
Shulde I be led
With doblenesse?
Naye, naye, mistresse!

221

I promisid you
And you promisid me
To be as true
As I wolde bee,
But sins I se
Your doble herte
Farewell, my perte.

Thought for to take
Yt ys not my minde
But to forsake
One so unkind
And as I finde
So will I truste.
Farewell, uniuste!

Can ye saye naye?
But you saide
That I allwaye
Shulde be obeide;
And thus betraide
Or that I wiste,
Fare well, unkiste!

CCXVI

[Gyve place all ye that doth reioise]

Gyve place all ye that doth reioise
And loves panges dothe clene forgett;
Let them drawe nere and here my voyse
Whom love dothe force in paynes to frett.
For all of playnte my song is sett
Wiche long hathe seruid and nought can gett.

A faithefull herte so trulye mente
Rewardid is full slenderelye,
A stedfaste faithe with good entente
Ys recompensid craftelye
Such happe dothe happe vnhappelye
To them that mene but honestelye.

222

With humble sute I have assayde
To tourne her cruell-hertid minde
But for rewarde I am delaide
And to mye welthe her eyes be blinde
Lo thus bye chaunse I am assignid
With stedfaste love to serue the vnkinde.

What vaylithe trothe or stedfastness
Or still to serue without repreffe?
What vaylith faithe or gentilnesse,
Where crueltie dothe raine as chefe?
Alas there is no greter greef
Then for to love and lake releffe.

Care dothe constraine me to complaine
Of love and her vncertaintye,
Wich grauntith nought but grete disdayne
For losse of all my libretye;
Alas, this is extremytye,
For love to finde suche crueltye!

For hertye love to finde suche hate,
Alas, it is a carefull lott
And for to voide so fowle a mate
There is no waye but slipp the knott;
The gayne so colde, the paine so hott
Prayse yt who list, I like yt not.

CCXVII

[Dyvers dothe vse as I have hard and kno]

Dyvers dothe vse as I have hard and kno,
Whan that to chaunge ther ladies do beginne
To mourne and waile and neuer for to lynne
Hoping therbye to pease ther painefull woe.
And some therbe that whan it chansith soo
That women change and hate where love hath bene,
Thei call them fals and think with woordes to wynne
The hartes of them wich otherwhere dothe gro.

223

But as for me though that by chaunse indede
Change hath outworne the favour that I had,
I will not wayle, lament, nor yet be sad,
Nor call her fals that falsley ded me fede,
But let it passe and think it is of kinde
That often chaunge doth plese a womans minde.

CCXVIII

[The losse is small to lese such one]

The losse is small to lese such one
That shrynckith for a slendr naye;
And wyt thei lak that wolde mak mone
Tho all suche peakes ware wipid awaye.

CCXIX

[Spight hath no powre to make me sadde]

Spight hath no powre to make me sadde,
Nor scornefulnesse to make me playne
Yt doth suffise that ons I had,
And so to leve yt is no payne.

Let theim frowne on that leste doth gaine
Who ded reioise must nedes be gladd
And tho with wordis thou wenist to rayne,
Yt doth suffise that ons I had.

Sins that in chekes thus overthwarte
And coylye lookis thou doste delight,
Yt doth suffise that myne thou wart;
Tho change hathe put thye faith to flight.

Alas it is a pevishe spight
To yelde thi silf and then to parte;
But sins thou settst thie faithe so light,
Yt doth suffise that myne thou warte.

And sins thy love dothe thus declyne
And in thye herte suche hate dothe grow
Yt dothe suffise that thou warte myne
And with good will I quite yt soo.

224

Some tyme my frinde, fare well my fooe
Sins thou change I am not thyne,
But for relef of all my woo
Yt doth suffise that thou warte myne.

Prayeng you all that heris this song
To iudge no wight, nor none to blame;
Yt dothe suffise she dothe me wrong,
And that herself doth kno the same.

And tho she change, it is no shame;
Theire kinde it is, and hath bene long;
Yet I proteste she hathe no name:
Yt dothe suffise she dothe me wrong.

CCXX

[Grudge on who list, this ys my lott]

Grudge on who list, this ys my lott,
No thing to want if it ware not.
My yeris be yong even as ye see;
All thinges thereto doth well agre;
Yn feithe, in face, in eche degre,
No thing doth want as semith me,
If yt ware not.

Some men dothe saye that frindes be skace,
But I have founde as in this cace
A frinde wiche gyvith to no man place
But makis me happiest that euer was,
Yf yt ware not.

Groudge on who list, this is my lot,
No thing to want if yt ware not.
A hart I have besides all this
That hathe my herte and I have his;
If he dothe well yt is my blis
And when we mete no lak there is,
Yf yt ware not.

225

Yf he can finde that can me please
A thinckes he dois his owne hertes ease,
And likewise I coulde well apease
The chefest cause of his misease
Yf yt ware not.

Groudge on who list, this is my lot,
No thing to want if yt ware not.
A master eke god hath me sente
To whom my will is hollye bente
To serue and love for that intente
That bothe we might be well contente,
Yf yt ware not.

And here an ende that dothe suffise
To speke few wordes among the wise;
Yet take this note before your eyes,
My mirthe shulde doble ons or twise,
Yf yt were not.

Groudge on who liste, this is my lot
No thing to want if it ware not.

CCXXI

[Ffortune dothe frowne]

Ffortune dothe frowne:
What remedye?
I am downe
Bye destenye.

CCXXII

[Greting to you bothe yn hertye wyse]

Greting to you bothe yn hertye wyse
As vnknowen I sende, and this mye entente
As I do here, you to aduertyse,
Lest that perchaunce your deades you do repente.
The unknowen man dredes not to be shente,
But sayes as he thinckes: so fares yt bye me
That nother ffere nor hope in no degree.

226

The bodye and the sowle to holde togiddre,
Yt is but right and resone woll the same,
And ffryndelie the one to love the other
Yt incresith your brute and also your fame.
But marke well my wordes, for I fere no blame:
Truste well your selves but ware ye trust no mo,
For such as ye think your frinde maye fortune be your ffoe.

Beware hardelye ere ye have enye nede,
And to frindes reconsilide trust not greatelye;
Ffor theye that ons with hasty spede
Exilid them selves out of your companye,
Though theye torne againe and speke swetlye,
Fayning them selves to be your frindes faste,
Beware of them for theye will disseyeve you at laste.

Fayre wordes makis ffoolys fayne,
And bering in hande causith moche woo,
For tyme tryeth trothe, therefore refrayne:
And from suche as be redye to doo—
None doo I name but this I kno,
That bye this faute cause causith moche,
Therefore beware if ye do kno anye suche.

‘To wise folkes fewe wordes’ is an old sayeng;
Therefore at this tyme I will write nomore,
But this short lesson take fore a warninge:
Bye soche light frindes sett littill store;
Yf ye do othere wise ye will repent yt sore.
And thus of this lettre making an ende,
To the boddye and sowle I me commend.

Wryting lyfles at the manner place
Of him that hathe no chave nore no were dothe dwell,
But wandering in the wilde worlde, wanting that he hase,
And nother hopis nor ffearis heven nor hell;
But lyvith at adventure, ye kno him full well,
The twentie daye of marche he wrote yt yn his house,
And hathe him recommendyd to the kat and the mowse.

227

CCXXIII

[Mye love toke skorne my servise to retaine]

Mye love toke skorne my servise to retaine
Wherein me thought she vsid crueltie:
Sins with good will I lost my libretye
To follow her wiche causith all my payne.
Might never care cause me for to refrayne
But onlye this wiche is extremytie,
Gyving me nought, alas, not to agree
That as I was, her man I might remayne.
But sins that thus ye list to ordre me
That wolde have bene your seruaunte true and faste,
Displese the not, my doting dayes bee paste,
And with my losse to leve I must agre;
For as there is a certeyne tyme to rage,
So ys there tyme suche madnes to asswage.

CCXXIV

[Tanglid I was yn loves snare]

Tanglid I was yn loves snare,
Opprest with payne, tormente with care,
Of grefe right sure, of Joye full bare,
Clene in dispaire bye crueltye;
But ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am now at libretye.

The wofull dayes so full of paine,
The werye night all spent in vayne,
The labor lost for so small gayne,
To wryt them all yt will not bee;
But ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am now at libretye.

Everye thing that faire doth sho,
When prof is made yt provithe not soo,
But tournith mirthe to bittre woo,

228

Wiche in this case full well I see;
But ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am now at libretye.

To grete desire was my guide,
And wanton will went bye my syde;
Hope rulid still and made me byde
Of loves craft th'extremitye.
But ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am now at libretye.

With faynid wordes wich ware but winde
To long delayes I was assind;
Her wylye lokes my wyttes ded blinde;
Thus as she wolde I ded agree.
But ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am now at libretye.

Was never birde tanglid yn lyme,
That brake awaye yn bettre tyme,
Then I that rotten bowes ded clyme,
And had no hurte, but scaped fre.
Now ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am nowe at libretye.

CCXXV

[Lengre to muse]

Lengre to muse
On this refuse
I will not vse,
But studye to forget;
Letting all goo,
Sins well I kno
To be my foo
Her herte is fermelye sett.

Sins my entent
So trulye mente
Cannot contente
Her minde as I doo see,

229

To tell you playne
Yt ware yn vayne
For so small gaine
To lese my libretie.

For if he thryve
That will goo stryve
A shippe to dryve
Againste the streme and winde,
Vndoutedlye
Then thryve shuld I
To love trulye
A cruell-hertid mynde.

But sithe that so
The worlde dothe goo
That everye woo
Bye yelding doth incresse,
As I have tolde
I wilbe bolde
Therebye my paynis to cese.

Prayeng you all
That after shall
Bye fortune fall
Ynto this folishe trade,
Have yn your minde,
As I do finde,
That oft be kinde
All womens love do fade.

Wherefore apace,
Come, take my place,
Some man that hase
A lust to berne the fete;
For sins that she
Refusith me,
I must agre
And studye to forgett.

230

CCXXVI

[Now all of chaunge]

Now all of chaunge
Must be my songe
And from mye bonde nowe must I breke,
Sins she so strange
Vnto my wrong
Doth stopp her eris to here me speke.

Yet none doth kno
So well as she
My greefe wiche can have no restrainte;
That faine wolde follo
Nowe nedes must fle
For faute of ere vnto my playnte.

I am not he
Bye fals assayes
Nor faynid faith can bere in hande,
Tho most I see
That such alwaies
Are best for to be vndrestonde.

But I that truth
Hath alwaies ment
Dothe still procede to serue in vayne;
Desire pursuithe
My tyme mispent,
And doth not passe vppon my payne.

O fortunes might
That eche compellis,
And me the most yt dothe suffise,
Now for my right
To aske nought ells
But to withdrawe this entreprise.

And for the gaine
Of that good howre,
Wiche of my woo shalbe relefe,

231

I shall refrayne
Bye paynefull powre
The thing that most hathe bene my grefe.

I shall not misse
To exersyse
The helpe therof wich doth me teche,
That after this
In any wise
To kepe right within my reche.

And she vniuste
Wich ferithe not,
Yn this her fame to be defilyd,
Yett ons I truste
Shalbe my lott,
To quite the crafte that me begild.

CCXXVII

[I abide and abide and better abide]

I abide and abide and better abide,
And after the olde prouerbe the happie daye;
And ever my ladye to me dothe saye
‘Let me alone and I will prouyde’.
I abide and abide and tarrye the tyde
And with abiding spede well ye maye;
Thus do I abide I wott allwaye,
Nother obtayning nor yet denied.
Aye me! this long abidyng
Semithe to me as who sayethe
A prolonging of a dieng dethe
Or a refusing of a desyrid thing:
Moche ware it bettre for to be playne,
Then to saye abide and yet shall not obtayne.

CCXXVIII

[Absens absenting causithe me to complaine]

Absens absenting causithe me to complaine;
My sorofull complayntes abiding in distresse
And departing most pryvie increasithe my paine;
Thus lyve I vncomfortid, wrappid all in hevines.

232

In hevenes I am wrapid, devoyde of all solace,
Nother pastyme nor plesure can revyve my dull wytt;
My sprites be all taken, and dethe dothe me manace,
With his fatall knif the thrid for to kitt.

Ffor to kit the thrid of this wretchid lif
And shortelye bring me owt of this cace;
I se yt avaylith not, yet must I be pensif,
Sins fortune from me hathe turnid her face.

Her face she hathe turnid with cowntenance contrarious,
And clene from her presens she hathe exilid me,
Yn sorrowe remayning as a man most dolorous,
Exempte from all pleasure and worldelye felicitie.

All worldely felicitye nowe am I pryvate,
And left in deserte moste solitarilye,
Wandring all about, as one withowt mate:
My dethe aprochithe—what remedye?

What remedye, alas, to reioise my wofull herte,
With sighis suspiring most rufullie?
Nowe wellcome! I am redye to deperte.
Fare well all plesure, welcome paine and smerte!

CCXXIX

[Patiens, for I have wrong]

Patiens, for I have wrong
And dare not shew whereyn;
Patiens shalbe, my song,
Sins truthe can no thing wynne;
Patiens then for this fytt,
Hereafter comis not yett.

CCXXX

[Whan that I call vnto my mynde]

Whan that I call vnto my mynde
The tyme of hope that ons I hade,
The grete abuse that ded me blinde
Dothe force me allwaies to be sad;

233

Yet of my greef I fayne me glad
But am assurid I was to bolde
To truste to such a slipper holde.

I thought yt well that I had wrought
Willing forthewith so to ensue,
But he that sekis as I have sought
Shall finde most trust oft tymes vntrue;
For lest I reckte that most I rue,
Of that I thought my silf most sure
Ys nowe the wante of all mye cure.

Amiddes my welthe I dede not reke
But sone alas or that I wiste
The tyme was come that all to weake
I had no powre for to resiste.
Nowe am I prof to theim that liste
To flee such woo and wrongfull paine
As in my herte I doo sustayne.

Ffor faynid faithe is alwaies free
And dothe inclyne to bee oniuste,
That sure I thinck there can none bee
To muche assurid without mistruste,
But happe what maye, to theim that muste
Sustaine suche cruell destenye
Wythe patiens for remedye.

As I am on wich bye restrainte
Abides the tyme of my retourne
Yn hope that fortune by my playnte
Wyll slake the fire wherewith I bourne
Sins no waies els may serue my tourne
Yet for the dowt of this distresse
I aske but right for my redresse.

CCXXXI

[To make an ende of all this strif]

To make an ende of all this strif,
No lenger tyme for to sustaine,
But now withe dethe to chaung the lif

234

Of him that lyves alwaies in payne;
Dispaire suche powre hathe yn his hande,
That helpith most I kno certeyne
Maye not withstonde.

May not withstande that is electe
Bye fortunis most extremytie;
But all in worthe to be excepte
Withouten lawe or libretye;
What vaylithe then vnto my thought?
Yf right can have no remedie,
There vaylith nought.

There vaylithe nought, but all in vaine;
The fawte thereof maye none amende,
But onlie dethe, for to constraine
This spightfull happe to have an ende:
So grete disdaine dothe me provoke
That drede of deth cannot deffende
This dedelye stroke.

This dedelie stroke, wherebye shall seace
The harborid sighis within my herte,
And for the gifte of this relese
My hand in haste shall playe his parte,
To doo this cure againste his kinde,
For chaunge of lif from long deserte
To place assignid.

To place assignid for ever more,
Nowe bye constrainte I do agre
To loose the bonde of my restore,
Wherein is bounde my liberte;
Dethe and dispaire doth vndretake
From all mishappe now hardelye
This ende to make.

CCXXXII

[Wyll ye se what wonders love hathe wrought?]

Wyll ye se what wonders love hathe wrought?
Then come and loke at me;

235

There nede no where els to be sought,
Yn me ye maye theim see.

Ffor vnto that that men maye see
Most monstruous thing of kinde
My self maye beste compared bee:
Love hathe me soo assignid.

There is a Rok in the salte floode,
A Rok of suche nature
That drawithe the yron from the woode
And levithe the shippe vnsure.

She is the Rok, the shippe ame I.
That Rok my dedelie ffoo,
That drawithe me there, where I muste die
And Robbithe my harte me ffroo.

A burde there fliethe and that but one,
Of her this thing enswethe,
That when her dayes be spent and gone,
Withe fyre she renewithe.

And I withe her may well compare
My love that is alone
The flame whereof doth aye repare
My lif when yt is gone.

CCXXXIII

[Deme as ye list vpon goode cause]

Deme as ye list vpon goode cause
I maye and think of this or that,
But what or whye my self best knowes,
Wherebye I thinck and fere not;
But there vnto I maye well link
The doubtefull sentence of this clause:
I wolde yt ware not as I think,
I wolde I thought yt ware not.

236

Ffor if I thought yt ware not soo,
Though yt ware so yt greved me not;
Vnto my thought yt ware as tho
I harkenid tho I here not.
At that I see I cannot wynk,
Nor from mye thought so let it goo:
I wolde yt ware not as I think,
I wolde I thought yt ware not.

Lo how my thought might make me free
Of that perchaunce that nedeth nott;
Perchaunce none doubte the drede I see,
I shrink at that I bere not;
But in my harte this worde shall sink
Vnto the proffe maye better be:
I wolde yt ware not as I think,
I wolde I thought yt ware not.

Yf yt be not, shewe no cause whye
I shoulde so think, then care I not;
For I shall soo my self applie
To bee that I apere not;
That is as one that shall not shrink
To be your owne vntill I dye:
And if yt be not as I think,
Lyke wyse to think yt is not.

237

VI
Poems from the Arundel Manuscript

CCXXXIV

[Hart oppressyd with desp'rat thought]

Hart oppressyd with desp'rat thought
Ys forced ever to lament,
Whiche now in me so sore hath wrought
That needes to it I must consent:
Whearfore all ioy I must refuse,
And crewell will thearof accuse.

Yf crewell will had not been guyde
Dispayre in me had had no place;
Ffor my trew meaning she well espied
And for all that wold give no grace;
Thearfore all ioye I must refuse
And crewell will thearof accuse.

Shee well moght see and yet wolde not,
And may daylye, if that shee will,
How paynfull is my haples lott
Ioyn'de with dispayre me for to spill;
Whearby all ioye I must refuse
Sence Crewell will doth me so vse.

CCXXXV

[What thing is that, that I both have and lack]

What thing is that, that I both have and lack
With good will grawnted and yet is denyde?
How may I be receav'd and putt aback,

238

Alway doing and yet vnoccupy'de,
Moste slow in that I have moste applyde?
Thus may I say I leese all that I wynne,
And that was readye is new to begynne.

In wilfull Riches I have found povertie,
And in great pleasure I lyved in heavynes;
In too moche freedome I lacked libertie;
Nothing but plentie caused my scarsenes:
Thus was I both in ioye and in distresse;
And in few woordes if I shuld be playne,
In a Paradyse I suffred all this payne.

CCXXXVI

[The piller pearisht is whearto I Lent]

The piller pearisht is whearto I Lent
The strongest staye of myne vnquyet mynde;
The lyke of it no man agayne can fynde
From East to west still seking though he went.
To myne vnhappe, for happe away hath rent
Of all my ioye the vearye bark and rynde;
And I (alas) by chaunce am thus assynde
Dearlye to moorne till death do it relent.
But syns that thus it is by destenye
What can I more but have a wofull hart,
My penne in playnt, my voyce in wofull crye,
My mynde in woe, my bodye full of smart,
And I my self my self alwayes to hate
Till dreadfull death do ease my dolefull state?

CCXXXVII

[A ladye gave me a gyfte she had not]

A ladye gave me a gyfte she had not
And I receyvid her guifte I toke not.

239

She gave it me willinglye, and yet she wold not,
And I receyvid it, albeit I coulde not.
If she geve it me, I force not;
And, yf she take it agayne, she cares not.
Conster what this is and tell not,
Ffor I am fast sworne, I maye not.

CCXXXVIII

[The flaming Sighes that boile within my brest]

The flaming Sighes that boile within my brest
Somtyme brake forthe and they can well declare
The hartes vnrest and how that it doth fare,
The payne thearof, the greef and all the rest.
The watrid eyes from whence the teares do fall
Do feele some force or ells they wolde be drye;
The wasted flesshe of cowlour dead can trye
And Some thing tell what Sweetnes is in gall;
And he that list to see and to discerne
How care can force within a weried mynd
Come hee to me, I am that place assynd.
But for all this no force; it dothe no harme
The wound, alas, happ in some other place
Ffrom whence no toole away the skarr can race.
But you that of suche like have had your part
Can best be iudge, whearfore, my frend so deare,
I thought it good my state shuld now appeare
To you, and that there is no great desert;
And whear as you in weightie matters great
Of ffortune saw the shadow that you know,
Ffor trifling thinges I now am stryken soo
That thoughe I feele my hart doth wound and beat,
I sitt alone, save on the second day
My ffeaver comes with whome I spend the tyme
In burning heat whyle that she list assigne;
And whoe hath health and libertie alwaye,
Let hym thanck god and lett hym not provoke
To have the lyke of this my paynefull stroke.

240

CCXXXIX
Th' Argument

Somtyme the pryde of mye assured trothe
Contemned all helpp of good and eke of man:
But when I saw man blyndlye how goi'the
In demyng hartes, whiche none but god there can,
And his domes hyd wheareby mans Malyce growth,
Myne Earle, this doute my hart did humble than
Ffor errour so might murder Innocence.
Then sang I thus in god my confydence.

CCXL

[Stond who so list vpon the Slipper toppe]

Stond who so list vpon the Slipper toppe
Of courtes estates, and lett me heare reioyce;
And vse me quyet without lett or stoppe,
Vnknowen in courte, that hath suche brackish ioyes.
In hidden place, so lett my dayes forthe passe,
That when my yeares be done, withouten noyse,
I may dye aged after the common trace.
For hym death greep'the right hard by the croppe
That is moche knowen of other, and of him self alas,
Doth dye vnknowen, dazed with dreadfull face.

241

VII
Poems from Minor Manuscripts

CCXLI

[Luckes, my faire falcon, and your fellowes all]

Luckes, my faire falcon, and your fellowes all,
How well pleasaunt yt were your libertie!
Ye not forsake me that faire might ye befall.
But they that somtyme lykt my companye
Like lyse awaye from ded bodies thei crall:
Loe what a profe in light adversytie!
But ye my birdes, I swear by all your belles,
Ye be my fryndes, and so be but few elles.

CCXLII

[Playn ye, myn eyes, accompany my hart]

Playn ye, myn eyes, accompany my hart
For, by your fault, Loe! here is death at hand.
Ye brought him first into this bytter band,
And of his harme as yet ye felt no part;
But now ye shall: Loe! here begyns your smart,
Wet shall ye be—ye shall yt not withstand—
With weeping teares that shall make dymm your sight,
And mistie clowdes shall hang still in your light.
Blame but your selves that kyndyld have this brand,
Withe such desire to straine that past your might.
But synce by yow the hart hathe cawght his harme,
His flamed heate shall sometyme make ye warme.

242

CCXLIII

[I see my plaint with open eares]

I see my plaint with open eares
Ys heard, alas, and lawghing eyes;
I see that scorne beholds my teares,
And all the harme hap can devyse;
I se my lyfe away so weares
That I my self my self dispyse;
And most of all wherewith I stryve
Ys that I see my self alyve.

CCXLIV

[Syghes ar my foode, drynke are my teares]

Syghes ar my foode, drynke are my teares;
Clynkinge of fetters suche musycke wolde crave;
Stynke and close ayer away my lyf wears;
Innocencie is all the hope I have.
Rayne, wynde, or wether I iudge by myne eares.
Mallice assaulteth that rightiousnes should have.
Sure I am, Brian, this wounde shall heale agayne,
But yet, alas, the scarre shall styll remayne.

CCXLV

[Lyke as the wynde with raginge blaste]

Lyke as the wynde with raginge blaste
Dothe cawse eche tree to bowe and bende,
Even so do I spende my tyme in wast,
My lyff consumynge vnto an ende.

Ffor as the flame by force dothe quenche the fier
And runnynge streames consume the rayne,
Even so do I my self desyer
To augment my greff and deadly payne.

Whear as I fynde that hot is hot,
And colde is colde by course of kynde,
So shall I knet an endeles knott;
Suche fructe in love, alas, I fynde.

243

When I forsaw those Christall streames
Whose bewtie dothe cawse my mortall wounde
I lyttyll thought within those beames
So swete a venim for to have founde.

I fele and se my owne decaye
As on that bearethe flame in his brest
Forgetfull thought to put away
The thynge that breadethe my vnrest.

Lyke as the flye dothe seke the flame
And afterwarde playethe in the fyer,
Who fyndethe her woe and sekethe her game
Whose greffe dothe growe of her owne desyer:

Lyke as the spider dothe drawe her lyne,
As labor lost so is my sute,
The gayne is hers, the lose is myne,
Of euell sowne seade suche is the frute.

CCXLVI

[Like as the byrde in the cage enclosed]

Like as the byrde in the cage enclosed,
The dore vnsparred and the hawke without,
Twixte deth and prison piteously oppressed
Whether for to chose standith in dowt.
Certes so do I, wyche do syeke to bring about
Wyche shuld be best by determination,
By losse off liefe libertye or liefe by preson.

Oh myscheffe by myschieffe to be redressed,
Wher payne is the best their lieth litell pleasure,
By schort deth out off daunger yet to be delyuered
Rather then with paynfull lieffe thraldome and doloure,
Ffor small plesure moche payne to suffer
Soner therfore to chuse me thincketh it wysdome
By losse off life lybertye then liefe by preson.

244

By leynght off liefe yet shulde I suffer,
Adwayting time and fortunes chaunce;
Manye thinges happen within an hower;
That wyche me oppressed may me avaunce;
In time is trust wyche by deathes greuaunce
Is vtterlye lost, then were it not reson
By deathe to chuse libertye, and not lieffe by preson.

But deathe were deliueraunce and liefe lengthe off payne:
Off two ylles, let see nowe chuse the lest:
This birde to deliuer youe that here her playne,
Your aduise, yowe louers, wyche shalbe best
In cage thraldome, or by the hauke to be opprest
And which for to chuse? Make playne conclusyon
By losse off liefe libertye or liefe by prison.

245

VIII
Poems from Tottel's Songes and Sonettes

CCXLVII

[Within my brest I neuer thought it gain]

Within 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.

CCXLVIII

[For want of will, in wo I playne]

For want of will, in wo I playne
Vnder colour of sobernesse,
Renewyng with my sute my payne,
My wanhope with your stedfastnesse.
Awake therfore of gentlenesse.
Regard at length, I you require,
The sweltyng paynes of my desire.

Betimes who geueth willingly,
Redoubled thankes aye doth deserue.
And I that sue vnfaynedly,
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?

246

As hounde that hath his keper lost,
Seke I your presence to obtayne:
In which my hart deliteth most,
And shall delight though I be slayne.
You may release my band of payne.
Lose then the care that makes me crye
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 wyll denye.
Wherfore cease of such crueltye:
And take me wholy in your grace:
Which lacketh will to change his place.

CCXLIX

[If euer man might him auaunt]

If euer man might him auaunt
Of fortunes frendly chere,
It was my selfe I must it graunt,
For I haue bought it dere.
And derely haue I helde also
The glory of her name:
In yelding her such tribute, lo,
As did set forth her fame.

Some tyme I stode so in her grace:
That as I would require,
Ech ioy I thought did me imbrace,
That furdered my desire.
And all those pleasures (lo) had I,
That fansy might support:
And nothing she did me denye,
That was to my comfort.

I had (what would you more perdee?)
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,

247

She built on such a ground:
In little space, to great a guyle
In her now haue I found.

For she hath turned so her whele:
That I vnhappy man
May waile the time that I did fele
Wherwith she fedde me than.
For broken now are her behestes,
And pleasant lokes 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 ben to dere
To merite such reward.
Sith fortunes will is now so bent
To plage me thus, pore man,
I must my selfe therwith content:
And beare it as I can.

CCL

[Such is the course, that natures kinde hath wrought]

Such is the course, that natures kinde hath wrought,
That snakes haue time to cast away their stynges.
Ainst chainde prisoners what nede defence be sought?
The fierce lyon will hurt no yelden thinges.
Why shoulde such spite be nursed then in thy thought?
Sith all these powers are prest vnder thy winges:
And eke thou seest, and reason thee hath taught
What mischief malice many waies it bringes.
Consider eke, that spight auaileth naught,
Therfore this song thy fault to thee it singes:
Displease thee not, for saiyng thus my 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.

248

CCLI

[Suffised not (madame) that you did teare]

Suffised not (madame) that you did teare
My wofull 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 then the stele,
But new and new must to my lot arise?
Vse 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 shalt thou gain thereby.

CCLII

[When first mine eyes did view, and marke]

When first mine eyes did view, and marke,
Thy faire beawtie to beholde:
And when mine eares listned to hark
The pleasant wordes, that thou me tolde:
I would as then, I had been free
From eares to heare, 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 fete haue gone and sought
To finde and geat thy company:
I would eche hand a foote had bene,
And I eche foote a hand had sene.

And when in mynde I did consent
To folow this my fansies will:
And when my hart did first relent,

249

To tast such bayt, my life to spyll:
I would my hart had bene as thyne:
Or els thy hart had bene as mine.

CCLIII

[Synce loue wyll nedes that I shall loue]

Synce loue wyll nedes that I shall loue,
Of very force I must agree;
And since no chance may it remoue,
In welth, and in aduersitie,
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 a wretched state
Should pine my dayes vnto the last:
Yet I professe it willingly
To serue, and suffer paciently.

For since my hart is bound to serue,
And I not ruler of mine owne,
What so befall, tyll that I sterue,
By proofe full well it shall be knowne:
That I shall still my selfe apply
To serue and suffer paciently.

Yea 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 face,
Should shew, to set me vp a loft:
And streight, my wealth for to deface,
Should writhe away, as she doth oft:
Yet would I styll my self apply
To serue and suffer paciently.

250

There is no grief, no smart, no wo,
That yet I fele, or after shall,
That from this mynde may make me go;
And whatsoeuer me befall,
I do professe it willingly,
To serue and suffer paciently.

CCLIV

[Mystrustfull mindes be moued]

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 doute
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.

CCLV

[It burneth yet, alas, my hartes desire. ]

Louer.
It burneth yet, alas, my hartes desire.

Lady.
What is the thing that hath inflamde thy hert?

Louer.
A certain point, as feruent as the fyre.

Lady.
The heate shall cease, if that thou wilt conuert.

Louer.
I cannot stoppe the feruent raging yre.

Lady.
What may I do, if thy self cause thy smart?

Louer.
Heare my request, and rew my weeping chere.

Lady.
With right good wyll, say on: lo, I thee here.

Louer.
That thing would I, that maketh two content.

Lady.
Thou sekest, perchance, of me, that I may not.

Louer.
Would god thou wouldst, as thou maist, well assent.

Lady.
That I may not, thy grief is mine, God wot.

Louer.
But I it fele, what so thy wordes haue ment.

251

Lady.
Suspect me not: my wordes be not forgot.

Louer.
Then say, alas, shall I haue help, or no?

Lady.
I see no time to answer yea, but no.

Louer.
Say ye, dere hert, and stand no more in dout.

Lady.
I may not grant a thing that is so dere.

Louer.
Lo, with delayes thou drieues me still about.

Lady.
Thou wouldest my death: it plainly doth appere.

Louer.
First may my hart his bloode and life blede out.

Lady.
Then for my sake, alas, thy will forbere.

Louer.
From day to day, thus wastes my life away.

Lady.
Yet, for the best, suffer some small delay.

Louer.
Now good, say yea: do once so good a dede.

Lady.
If I sayd yea, what should therof ensue?

Louer.
An hart in pain of succour so should spede;
Twist yea and nay, my doute shall styll renew.
My swete, say yea and do away this drede.

Lady.
Thou wilt nedes so; be it so; but then be trew.

Louer.
Nought would I els, nor other treasure none.
Thus hartes be wonne by loue, request, and mone.

CCLVI

[I see that chance hath chosen me]

I see that chance hath chosen me
That secretely to liue in paine;
And to an other geuen the fee
Of all my losse, to haue the gayn.
By chance assinde, thus do I serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.

Vnto my self sometime alone
I do lament my wofull case.
But what auaileth me to mone?
Since troth and pitie 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

252

Once to refrain, but still agree
As bounde 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 lest;
And to my pain to seke and craue
The thing that other haue possest.
So thus in vain alway I serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.

And till I may apease the heate,
If that my happe will happe so well,
To waile my wo my hart shall freate,
Whose pensif pain my tong can tell.
Yet thus vnhappy must I serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.

CCLVII

[For shamefast harm of great and hatefull nede]

For shamefast harm of great and hatefull nede,
In depe despayre, as did a wretch go
With ready corde out of his life to spede,
His stumbling foote did finde an hoorde, lo,
Of golde, I say, where he preparde this dede:
And, in eschange, he left the corde tho.
He that had hidde the golde and founde it not,
Of that he founde he shapte his neck a knot.

CCLVIII

[Through out the world, if it wer sought]

Through out the world, if it wer sought,
Faire wordes ynough 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.

CCLIX

[In court to serue decked with freshe aray]

In court to serue decked with freshe aray,
Of sugred meates felyng the swete repast,
The life in bankets, and sundry kindes of play

253

Amid the presse of lordly lokes to waste
Hath with it ioynde oft times such bitter taste,
That who so ioyes such kinde of life to holde,
In prison ioyes, fettred with cheines of gold.

CCLX

[Speake thou and spede where will or power ought helpthe]

Speake thou and spede where will or power ought helpthe,
Where power dothe want will must be wonne by welth.
For nede will spede, where will workes not his kinde,
And gayne, 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.

CCLXI

[If thou wilt mighty be, flee from the rage]

If thou wilt mighty be, flee from the rage
Of cruell wyll, and see thou kepe thee free
From the foule yoke of sensuall bondage,
For though thy empyre stretche to Indian sea,
And for thy feare trembleth the fardest Thylee,
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 grounde and thy beginnyng,
For he that hath eche starre in heauen fixed,
And geues the Moone her hornes and her eclipsyng:
Alike hath made the noble in his workyng,
So that wretched no way thou may bee
Except foule lust and vice do conquere thee.

All were it so thou had a flood of golde,
Vnto thy thirst yet should it not suffice.
And though with Indian stones a thousande folde,
More precious then can thy selfe deuise,
Ycharged were thy backe: thy couitise
And busye bytyng yet should neuer let
Thy wretchid life, ne do thy death profet.

254

IX
Poems from The Court of Venus and A Boke of Balettes

CCLXII

[Dryuen by dissyr to set affection]

Dryuen by dissyr to set affection
A great way, alas, above my degre,
Chosen I am, I thinke by election
To couet that thing that will not be.

I serue in loue, not lyke to sped;
I loke, alas, a lytell to hye;
Agaynst my will I do in ded
Couet that thing that will not be.

My fanzy, alas, doth me so bynd
That I can se no remedy,
But styll to folow my folych mind,
And couet that thing that wyll not be.

I hopyd well whan I began;
And, sens the proue is contrary,
Why shold I any longer than
Couet that thing that wyll not be?

But rather to leaue now at the last
Then styll to folowe fantasy,
Content with the payn that is past
And not couet that thing that will not be.

255

CCLXIII

[Loue whom you lyst and spare not]

Loue whom you lyst and spare not
Therwyth I am content;
Hate whom you lyst and spare not,
For I am indifferent.

Do what you lyst and dread not
After your owne fantasye,
Thynke what you lyst and feare not
For al is one to me.

But as for me I am not
Wauering as the wind,
But euen as one that reketh not
Whych way you turne your mind.

For in your loue I doubt not,
But as one that reketh not,
Whether you hate or hate not
Is least charge of my thought.

Wherfore I pray you forget not
But that I am wel content
To loue whom you list and spare not,
For I am indyfferent.

CCLXIV

[Shall she neuer out of my mynde]

Shall she neuer out of my mynde,
Nor shall I neuer out of this payn,
Alas her loue doth me so blinde,
Except her helpe I am now slayne.

I neuer told her of my mynde
What payne I suffer for her sake:

256

Alas! what meanes might I now find
That no displeasure with me she take.

Yf I speake fayre, she sayth I flatter,
And if I dare not I shall not spede,
Yf I to her do wryte a letter,
Then wyll she say she can not rede.

Shall I despayre yet for all this?
Nay, nay, my hart wyll not do so.
I wold ones my swete hart kys,
A thousand times to bynd more wo.

I am abashed when I shuld speake
Alas! I can not my mind expresse.
Yt maketh my hart in peces breake
To se her louing gentelnes.

CCLXV

[To whom should I sue to ease my payne?]

To whom should I sue to ease my payne?
To my mystres? Nay, nay, certayne!
For feare she should me then disdayne
I dare not sue, I dare not sue.

When I should speake to my mystres
In hope for to get redres
[OMITTED]
When I should speake, when I shold speake.

What hap had I that suffereth payne
And if I myght her grace attayne?
Or els she would here me complayne:
What hap had I, what hap had I?

I fly for feare to be espyed
Or of euil wil to be destroyed

257

The place wher I would faynest abyde
I fly for feare, I fly for feare.

Though I wer bold who should me blame?
Loue caused me to do the same;
Wyth honesty it were no shame,
Though I were bold, though I were bold.

And here an end, wyth ful glad wyl,
In purpose for to serue her styl,
And for to part I thinke none yl
And here an end, and here an end.

CCLXVI

[Dysdaine me not without desert]

Dysdaine me not without desert
Nor leaue me not so sodeynly
Sence wel ye wot that in my hart
I meane nothing but honestly.
Dysdayne me not.

Refuse me not without cause why,
Nor thynke me not to be vniust;
Synce that by lot of fantasye
The carefull knot nedes knyt I must,
Refuse me not.

Mystrust me not though some there be
That fayne would spot my stedfastnes;
Beleue them not, sins that ye se
The profe is not as they expresse.
Mystrust me not.

Forsake me not til I deserue,
Nor hate me not, tyll I offend,

258

Destroy me not, tyll that I swerue;
But sins ye know what I intend,
Forsake me not.

Dysdayne me not that am your owne;
Refuse me not that am so true;
Mystrust me not til al be knowen;
Forsake me neuer for no new:
Disdayne me not.

CCLXVII

[I may by no meanes surmyse]

I may by no meanes surmyse
My fantasy to resyst,
But after the old gyse
To call on had I wyst
And thought it to suffyce
That agayne I shall haue none.
Yet can I not deuyse
To get agayne myne owne.

It is my hart that I haue lost:
God send it me againe.
I should it haue what euer it cost,
Or else I am but slaine. [OMITTED]

I study day and night
And loud I cry and cal
To be deliuered quyte
From her that I am thral.
And yet agaynst al right
Of force I must stil mone,
For it doth passe my might
To get agayne myne owne.

259

In tormentes I am torne
That no rest find I can,
None so vnhappye borne
Sence that the world began;
I aske but such corne
And suche sede that was sowne;
And yet though I had sworne,
I cannot get my owne.

But seyng that I cannot
Attayne my true desyre
Nor by no meanes may not
Crepe out of the fyre, [OMITTED]
Geue ought of your owne
By reason that you should not
Let me to haue myne owne.

CCLXVIII

[Now must I lern to faine]

Now must I lern to faine
And do as other do,
Seing no truth doth raine
That I may trust vnto;
I was both true and playne
To one and to no mo,
And vnto me againe
Alas! she was not so.

Vnknowen againe my hart
Into my foes hand,
And euer I could astart
Out of that careful band.
All the wyt I had
Could scace the knot vndo,
This careful lyfe I had
For one that was not so.

260

The nights right long and heuy,
The dayes of my torment,
The sighes continually
That thorow my hart went,
My colour pale and wan
To her dyd playnly shewe
That I was her true man,
And yet she thought not so.

Out of her sight no pleasure
But to my hart gret paine,
And teares out of measure
That out of mine eies did raine;
Her absence was my death,
For to depart her fro,
And yet alas her fayth
Was fayned and not so.

Not the feuer quartayne
Dothe halfe a man so shake
As dyd the wo and payne
That dayly dyd me take.
No slepe could I nor rest,
But tossyng to and fro,
And wheras I loued best,
Alas! she did not so.

And seing it is my chaunce
My loue in vaine to wast,
I am not in that daunce
The first nor yet the last;
But wise he is by once
That can his foly know,
To reuoke at once
Seyng she wyl not so.