Tyros Roring Megge Planted against the walles of Melancholy. One Booke cut into two Decads [by T. Tyro] |
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 | Tyros Roring Megge |  |
Epig. 1.
The Sunnes proude coursers, hauing rest their fill,Curuetted stately vp the Easterne hill.
VVith motly coate, and goodly blandishment.
The cheerefull larke sang prick-song in the aire,
And yonger sheepe skipt on the face of care.
Wel mought I walke, for why me thought it sinne,
Not to perke forth my head, but keepe it in.
Strange thing: scarce had I well a furlong gone,
When as, mee seemd, I heard a pitteous mone:
Ay me, t'was one wrapt in a bead mans gowne,
Whose gesture shewd him freshely come to towne.
Small labour lost, quoth I, to list a while
To this poore gowne-mans lamentable stile.
He spake: I listen'd. Lucklesse lad, said he,
That am inforst this dismall day to see:
Shall I that wont to make my bellie cracke,
Stay here and loose the flesh from of my backe?
Rather then Tyro such a change will brooke,
Out at the Ropers window will he looke.
I inly greeude to heare him plaine his harmes,
When he infolded Dawes-crosse in his armes:
And, the warme humor drizling downe his face.
Bade it adew and soorthwith trudg'd apace.
I like a thiese that had in ambush line,
Did bid him Stand, and go with me and dine.
Such dinner was lesse easie to disgest,
Then greasie brew is swimming in the brest.
He thought, poore soule, no harme: I, like a king,
Strait led him to his Tutor in a string:
VVhere the graue Agent did his part so play,
That since his Patient neuer ranne away.
Had he escapte, he had felt mickle losse.
For Tumbling stone nere gathers cleauing mosse.
He is a friend, albe he seeme a foe,
That serues all nimble footed fresh-men so.
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