University of Virginia Library

Search this document 

collapse sectionI. 
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A. W. In commendation of Gascoigne and his Posies.
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse sectionII. 
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
 1. 
 2. 
 3. 
 4. 
collapse section 
  
  
  
  

A. W. In commendation of Gascoigne and his Posies.

I praysed once a booke (whereby I purchast blame)
And venturde for to write a verse, before I knewe the same.
So that I was deceyvde, for when it came to light,
The booke deserved no such worde, as I therein did wright.

26

Thus lept I ere I lookt, and wandred ere I wist,
Which gives (me haggard) warning since, to trust no falkners fist.
And yet the booke was good, (by hap and not my skill)
But not a Booke of such contentes, as might my wordes fulfill.
Well now I neede not feare, these Posies here to prayse,
Bicause I knew them every flower, and where they grew alwayes.
And sure for my conceyt, even when they bloomed first,
Me thought they smelt not much amisse, no not the very worst.
Perhappes some daintie nose, no Batchlers button lykes,
And some at Pimpernell and Pinkes, a slender quarell pykes.
Some thinke that Gillyflowers, do yeeld a gelous smell,
And some (which like none herbe but Sage) say Finkell tastes not well.
Yet Finkell is of force, and Gillyflowers are good,
And Pinks please some, and Pimpernell doth serve to steynch the blood:
And Batchlers buttons be, the bravest to beholde,
But sure that flower were best not grow, which can abide no colde.
For slaunder blowes so shrill, with easterne envious windes,
And frosts of frumps so nip the rootes, of vertuous meaning minds
That few good flowers can thrive, unlesse they be protected,
Or garded from suspitious blastes, or with some proppes erected.
So seemeth by the wight, which gardened this grounde,
And set such flowers on every bed, that Posies here abounde.
Yet some tongues cannot well, affoorde him worthie prayse,
And by our Lorde they do him wrong, for I have sene his wayes,
And marked all his moodes, and have had proofe likewise,
That he can do as well in field, as pen can here devise.
Not many Monthes yet past, I saw his doughtie deedes,
And since (to heare what slaunder sayes) my heavie hart it bleedes.
Yet Reader graunt but this, to trie before thou trust,
So shalt thou find his flowers and him, both gallant, good and just.