The vvorkes of a young wyt trust vp with a Fardell of pretie fancies, profitable to young Poetes, preiudicial to no man, and pleasaunt to euery man to passe away idle tyme withall. Whereunto is ioyned an odde kynde of wooing, with a Banquet of Comfettes, to make an ende withall. Done by N. B. Gentleman |
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[Oh wretched wight, what fates doe frowne on thee?] |
 | The vvorkes of a young wyt |  |
[Oh wretched wight, what fates doe frowne on thee?]
[_]
My Muse somewhat melancholy with the reading of this pitifull parting of this poore Gentleman, standing a while in a great dumpe, suddaynly can call to mynde a dolefull discourse of a very sorrowfull shroue Sondayes Supper, which a luckelesse louer not long agoe was at. Who sytting at boord with his maliciyous Mistres, receyued of her such vndeserued frownes, and vncurteous speaches, as being returned home to his lodging after supper, sitting in his chamber all alone, and calling to minde the perylles he had past for her sake, and the coyne he had spent in her seruice, repenting him selfe, as well of his labour as cost, both lost, Wrote in rage a fewe Verses of his yll happe: which waylfull woordes my Muse gaue me thus to write.
Oh
wretched wight, what fates doe frowne on thee?
haue destenies decreed thee such distresse?
Shalt thou none end of this thy sorrowes see?
and canst thou tell no where to seeke redresse?
Then sit, and sigh, and sobbe, and though long furst,
at last, thy hart with bitter payne will burst.
haue destenies decreed thee such distresse?
Shalt thou none end of this thy sorrowes see?
and canst thou tell no where to seeke redresse?
Then sit, and sigh, and sobbe, and though long furst,
at last, thy hart with bitter payne will burst.
Looke luckeles wretch, behold the pleasaunt sport,
the liuely lookes that twixt sweete louers passe:
In ioyfull wise how friendes to friendes resort,
to make good cheere, and thou poore wretch (alas)
Mayst sit alone, and find no mery mate,
to comfort thee, in this thy wretched state.
the liuely lookes that twixt sweete louers passe:
In ioyfull wise how friendes to friendes resort,
to make good cheere, and thou poore wretch (alas)
Mayst sit alone, and find no mery mate,
to comfort thee, in this thy wretched state.
13
Where other feede on fine and deinty fare,
and fil their eares, with Musickes heauenly sounde,
And haue their harts, almoste deuoide of care,
and feele no woe, to worke their secret wounde:
I selly wretche, a thousande torments finde,
eche daye by daye, for to molest my minde.
and fil their eares, with Musickes heauenly sounde,
And haue their harts, almoste deuoide of care,
and feele no woe, to worke their secret wounde:
I selly wretche, a thousande torments finde,
eche daye by daye, for to molest my minde.
And for my cheere, firste messe, is myserie,
serude in the dishe of foule and deepe despighte:
Then, sorrowes Sallet, so vnsauorie:
as, (God he knowes) in taste yeelds small delighte:
Repentance roote, then haue I laste of all,
whose taste I finde, as bitter is as gall.
serude in the dishe of foule and deepe despighte:
Then, sorrowes Sallet, so vnsauorie:
as, (God he knowes) in taste yeelds small delighte:
Repentance roote, then haue I laste of all,
whose taste I finde, as bitter is as gall.
Then fruites of folly, serued in at laste,
and for sweete comfits, sondry kinds of care,
Which, God he knowes, doe yeelde suche bitter taste,
as wretched he, that feedeth on suche fare:
Yit, so feede I, which when that I haue eate,
comes churlishe lookes, for to disgest my meate.
and for sweete comfits, sondry kinds of care,
Which, God he knowes, doe yeelde suche bitter taste,
as wretched he, that feedeth on suche fare:
Yit, so feede I, which when that I haue eate,
comes churlishe lookes, for to disgest my meate.
My Musicke now, is beating on my breste,
and sobbing sighes, which yeelde a heauy sounde,
My harte with panges of paine is ouerpreste,
which daily grow, by woe his deadly wounde:
For company, in steede of louing freinde,
I finde a foe, a fury, and a fiende.
and sobbing sighes, which yeelde a heauy sounde,
My harte with panges of paine is ouerpreste,
which daily grow, by woe his deadly wounde:
For company, in steede of louing freinde,
I finde a foe, a fury, and a fiende.
And for delights, in dumpes I passe my dayes,
I weepe for woe, when other sing for Ioie,
I stand perplexte, a thousande sundry wayes,
and know no meane, to ridde me of anoye,
But muste (aye me) perforce stil stande contente,
to dwell in dole, vntill my dayes be spente.
I weepe for woe, when other sing for Ioie,
I stand perplexte, a thousande sundry wayes,
and know no meane, to ridde me of anoye,
But muste (aye me) perforce stil stande contente,
to dwell in dole, vntill my dayes be spente.
Finis.
| The vvorkes of a young wyt | |