A gorgious Gallery, of gallant Inuentions Garnished and decked with diuers dayntie deuises, right delicate and delightfull, to recreate eche modest minde withall. First framed and fashioned in sundrie formes, by diuers worthy workemen of late dayes: and now, ioyned together and builded up: By T. P. [i.e. Thomas Procter] |
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The lamentacion of a Gentilwoman
vpon the death of her late deceased frend
William Gruffith Gent.
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 | A gorgious Gallery, of gallant Inuentions |  |
The lamentacion of a Gentilwoman vpon the death of her late deceased frend William Gruffith Gent.
A doutfull, dying, dolefull, Dame,
Not fearing death, nor forcing life:
Nor caring ought for flitting fame,
Emongst such sturdy stormes of strife:
Here doth shee mourne and write her will,
Vpon her liked Louers ende:
Graunt (Muses nyne) your sacred skill,
Helpe to assist your mournfull freend:
Embouldned with your Nimphish ayde,
Shee will not cease, but seeke to singe:
And eke employ her willing head,
Her Gruffithes prayse, with ruthe to ringe.
With
Poets pen, I doo not preace to write,
Not fearing death, nor forcing life:
Nor caring ought for flitting fame,
Emongst such sturdy stormes of strife:
Here doth shee mourne and write her will,
Vpon her liked Louers ende:
Graunt (Muses nyne) your sacred skill,
Helpe to assist your mournfull freend:
Embouldned with your Nimphish ayde,
Shee will not cease, but seeke to singe:
And eke employ her willing head,
Her Gruffithes prayse, with ruthe to ringe.
Mineruæs mate, I doo not boast to bee:
Parnassus Mount (I speake it for no spite)
Can cure my cursed cares, I playnly see:
For why? my hart contaynes as many woes
As euer Hector did amongst his foes.
And paynt them out, as well as wits doo serue:
But I, a Mayde, am forst to vse my head,
To wayle my freend (whose fayth) did prayse deserue:
Wit wants to will: alas? no skill I haue,
Yet must I needes deplore my Gruffithes graue:
For William, white: for Gruffith, greene: I wore,
And red, longe since did serue to please my minde:
Now, blacke, I weare, of mee, not vs'd before,
In liew of loue, alas? this losse I finde:
Now must I leaue, both, White, and Greene, and Red,
And wayle my freend, who is but lately dead.
Yet hurtfull eyes, doo bid mee cast away,
In open show, this carefull blacke attyre:
Because it would, my secret loue bewray,
And pay my pate, with hatred for my hyre:
Though outwardly, I dare not weare the same,
Yet in my hart, a web of blacke I frame.
You Ladyes all, that passe not for no payne,
But haue your louers lodged in your laps:
I craue your aydes, to helpe mee mourne amayne,
Perhaps your selues, shall feele such carefull claps:
Which (God forbid) that any Lady taste,
Who shall by mee but only learne to waste.
My wits be weake an Epitaphe to write,
Because it doth require a grauer stile:
My phrase doth serue but rudely to recite,
How Louers losse doth pinch mee all this while:
Who was as prest to dye for Gruffithes sake,
As Damon, did for Pithias vndertake.
But William had a worldly freend in store,
Who writ his end to small effect (God knowes)
But I. and H. his name did show no more,
Rime Ruffe it is, the common sentence goes,
It hangs at Pawles as euery man goes by,
One ryme too low, an other rampes too hye.
And vttered all the skill that God had sent:
But I? am shee that neuer will refuse,
But as I am, so will I still bee bent:
No blastes shall blow, my lincked loue awry,
Oh? would the Gods, with Gruffith I might dye.
Then had it been that I poore silly Dame,
Had, had no neede to blot this scratched scroule:
Then Uirgins fist, had not set forth the fame,
How God hath gripte, my Gruffithes sacred soule:
But woe is mee, I liue in pinching payne,
No wight doth know, what sorowes I sustayne.
Unhappy may that drowsie day bee nam'd,
Wherin I first, possest my vitall breath:
And eke I wish, that day that I was fram'd,
In stead of life I had receiued death:
Then with these woes, I needed not to waste,
Which now (alas) in euery vayne I taste.
Some Zoylus sot, will thinke it lightly doone,
Because I mone, my mate, and louer, so
Some Momus match, this scroule will ouerronne,
But loue is lawlesse, euery wight doth know:
Sith loue doth lend mee such a freendly scope,
Disdaynfull dogs I may despise (I hope)
Wherfore I doo, attempt so much the more,
By this good hope, to shew my slender arte:
And mourne I must (who) neuer marckt before,
What fretting force doo holde eche heauy hart:
But now I see that Gruffithes greedy graue,
Doth make mee feele, the fits which louers haue.
My mournfull Muse, (good Ladyes) take in worth,
And spare to speake the worst, but iudge the best:
For this is all, that I dare publish forth,
The rest recorded is, within my brest:
And there is lodg'd, for euer to remayne,
Till God doth graunt (by death) to ease my payne.
With all the paynes, that shee can well inuent:
Yet to my Gruffith, will I still be true,
Hap death, holde life, my minde is fully bent:
Before I will our secret loue disclose,
To Tantals paynes, my body I dispose.
So liue I shall, when death hath spit her spight,
And Lady (Fame) will spread my prayse I know:
And Cupids Knights, will neuer cease to write,
And cause my name, through (Europe) for to flow:
And they that know what (Cupid) can preuayle,
Will blesse the ship, that floates with such a sayle.
If I had part of Pallas learned skill,
Or if (Caliope) would lend her ayde:
By tracte of time, great volumes I would fill,
My Gruffithes prayse in wayling verse to spread:
But (I poore I) as I haue sayd before,
Doo wayle, to want, Mineruæs learned lore.
By helpe (I hope) these ragged rymes shall goe,
Entituled as louers lyues should bee:
And scape the chyding chaps of euery foe,
To prayse that man, who was best likte of mee:
Though death hath shapte, his most vntimely end,
Yet for his prayse, my tristiue tunes I send.
In hope, the Gods who guide the heauens aboue,
His buryed corps, aliue agayne will make:
And haue remorce of Ladyes lincked loue,
As once they did for good Admetus sake:
Or change him els, into some flower to weare,
As erst they did, transforme Narcissus fayre.
So should I then, possesse my former freend,
Restor'd to lyfe, as Alcest was from Hell,
Or els the Gods, some flagrant flower would send,
Which for his sake, I might both weare and smell:
Which flower, out of my hand shall neuer passe,
But in my harte, shall haue a sticking place.
Adue delight? come, crooked cursed care:
To bluntish blockes (I see) I doo complayne,
And reape but onely sorrow for my share:
For wel I know that Gods nor sprites can cure,
The paynes that I for Gruffith doo endure.
Since wayling, no way can remedy mee,
To make an ende, I therfore iudge it best:
And drinke vp all, my sorrow secretly,
And as I can, I will abide the rest:
And sith I dare not mourne, to open showe,
With secret sighes and teares, my hart shall flow.
Some busie brayne, perhaps will aske my name,
Disposed much, some tidings for to marke:
That dare I not? for feare of flying fame,
And eke I feare least byting bugs will barke:
Therfore farewell, and aske no more of mee,
For (as I am) a Louer will I dye.
FINIS.
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