The Complete Works of George Gascoigne :: :: University of Virginia Library

TO THE highe and mightie pryncesse, Elizabeth, by ye grace of god Queene of England, France, and Ireland, defendor of the faithe, &c: George Gascoigne esquier one of her Maties most humble and faithfull Servants, wishethe longe lyfe, wth trew felicitie nowe and ever.

516

THE Preface.

Mownt mynd & muze, you come before a Queene
before a Queene, whose Bewtye skornes compare/
for yett on earth hath selde (or nott) bene seene,
A Queene so fraught with gyfts & graces rare
then (that your words, her worthy wyll may pearce)
mount mynde and muze, the Queene shall reade yr verse.

And in your verse, be bolld to tell her playne,
that in my lyfe (one onely Joye except)
I never fownd delighte that could remayne,
styll permanent/ nor free from dole be kept
A thowsand Joyes, my Jollye yowth hath tryed
yett none but one, could styll with me abyde.

One sweete there ys, which never yett seemd sowre
one Joye of Joyes, whom never gryef disgraste,
one worlde of myrth, withowt one mowrnfull howre,
one happy thoughte, which (yett) no dowbt defast
what is ytt? speake! (my mynde & muze) be bolld
ytt is butt this: my Queene for to behold.

L'envoie.

Queene by your leave, hath bene (yn olden dayes)
A pretye playe/ wheryn the prynce gave chardge,
(So that the pale, were styll kept hole allwayes)
to take the best, and leave the rest att large./
Queene, by your leave: my muze the best hath fownde,
and yett I hope, the pale ys safe and sownde./

Tam Marti Quam Mercurio.

517

The greeves or discommodities of lustie yowth.

[THE FIRST SONGE.]

[1]

The griefe of joye, in worthie wise to write,
That by the vice, the vertue might be founde,
Requireth skyll, and cunning to endight./
First: skill to judge, of everie griefe the grounde,
Then arte to tell, wherein menns joyes abownde./
My muse therefore (not causelesse) dreadeth blame,
Whose arte and skill, (God knowes) long since were lame.

2

The wandring waies, of reckles ranging youth,
Made will forgett, the little skill I had,/
And wanton rimes, whereof no frewte ensewth,
Have made my style, (whiche never good was) badde/
Well maie I then, accompted be but madd,
To take in hande, a worke so greate and grave,
Withe those fewe tooles, which yet untoucht I have./

3

But as the man, whiche serves his prentishoode,
With Artisanes, whose cunning doth excell.
Although his skill, be never halfe so good,
As theirs hathe bene, whose brute did beare the bell:
Yet will the worlde, expect he shulde doe well,
And partely graunt, that he deserveth fame,
Because his masters, were of worthie name;

4

EVEN so my selfe, (who sometyme bare the bookes,
Of suche as weere, greate Clerkes and men of skill)
Presume to thinke, that everie bodie lookes,
I shulde be lyke, unto my teachers still
And thereupon I venter my good will
Yn barreyne verse, to doe the best I can,
Lyke Chaucers boye, and Petrarks jorneyman.

518

5

You then: who reade, and rifle in my rimes,
To seeke the rose, where nothing growes but thornes,
Of curtesie, yet pardone hym which clymes,
To purchase praise, although, he fynd but skornes/

non cuivis contigit adire Corinthum

Full well wott you, that Corynth shoyng hornes
Maie not be made, like everie noddies nose,
No Buckler serves, to beare all kynde of blowes./

6

But if some Englishe woorde, herein seme sweet,
Let Chaucers name, exalted be therefore,/
Yf any verse, doe passe on plesānt feet,
The praise thereof, redownd to Petrarks lore/
Few words to use, yf either lesse or more,
Be fownde herei[n], which seeme to merite fame,
The lawde thereof, be to my Sovereigns name./

7

Reproofe myne owne, for all that is amysse:
And faults must swarme where little skill doth reigne./
Yet for my selfe, I can alledge but this:
The mazed man, whome bewties blaze hath slaine,
Dothe goe in greife, and yet perceyves no payne
And they whome love hathe daunted withe delight,
Fynd seldome fault, but thinke that all goeth right./

8

My Seasicke braynes, are giddie with the gaze,
Whiche fancie cast, at lovely lookes long since/
And forward still, I wander in the maze,
Where sweete deceipt, my reason dothe convince/
Yet as I maie, (you see) my muze must mynce,/
Suche nyce conceiptes, as toomble in my hedd
To please her minde, who knowes what life I ledde.

9

Such pottherbes growe, where fancie diggs ye soyle,
And hott desire, bestowes the willing seede./
But what for that? more frewtles were his toyle,
Whome any griefe, could make repent the deede,
Which once (withe joye) his jolly thoughts did feede./
One sight of heaven, might make my mynde to dwell,
Seven yeares (content) yn depth of darkesome hell.

519

10

There is a griefe, in everie kind of joye,
That is my theame, and that I meane to prove./
And who were he, wch woulde not drinck anoye,
To tast thereby, the lightest drāme of love?
But whiles I dreame, yt better shall behove,
To wake a brayde and take my woorke in hande
Least Will be shent, when toyes (by trewth) are skande.

11

Then let me saie, that lyfe to man is lent,
To dwell on earthe, in jollitie and joye./
But therewithall, yt seemes that god was bent,
To visite man (in myrthe) withe much anoye./
Thes contraries, are trewthe/ and like no toye.
For looke who list, and doubtles he shall finde,
Some grudge of griefe in everie joyfull mynde./

12

To passe with penn, the terror of the Twygg,
Which maie torment, the blythest babe that lyves.
Consider we, when youthe is waxen bigg,
What lustie life, in deepe delight he drives./
Lett see the joyes, wch God to yoonkers geves./
And first of all (from whence the rest enseweth)
Beholde wee well, the joyes of lustie youthe.

13

Of lustie youthe, then lustily to treate,
Yt is the very Mayemoone of delight/
When boldest bloodes, are full of wilfull heate,
And joye to thinke, how longe they have to fight,
In fancies feelde, before their lyfe take flight./
Synce he which latest, did the game begynne,
Dothe longest hope, to lynger styll therein./

14

“O greevous joy/ O neast of needeles myrthe,/
“Full little knowes, the yongest yet that was,
“How neare his death, approcheth to hys byrth/
“Suche wyngs hath tyme, wch all things brings to passe./
“Her surest grounde, is slipperie as glasse./
“Nothing moore vayne, nor movable then youth,
“Moore wylie none, then age: wch still enseweth./

520

15

For youthe cannot, stande still in one estate,
But flieth us from, when most thereof is made/
And age steales on, unto our privy gate,
And in ye darke, doth (silently) invade,
Youthes fortte unwares: wch never knewe yt trade./
So: when we thincke, age furthest from our lyfe,
Youthes doore breakes up, and yt steppes in by strife.

16

This is one Griefe, yet (God he knowes) not greate,
Compared to those, which follow youthfull joyes,
“The reckles rage/ the rashe unbridled heate/
“The thirst of luste, to taste unlawfull toyes/
“The subtile snares, to catche content by coyes/
“The love/ the hate/ and all wch lyfe dothe use,
“Breeds griefe in joy, there is no choyse to chuse./

17

I see not I: whereof yong men shoulde bost,
Synce hee that is, nor fonde nor madd owtright,
Dothe knowe yt adge, will come at last like frost,
And nipp the flowere, of all his vaine delight,/
Where findes he then, the pleasure of his plight,
“Alas alas, even whyles I write thes lynes,
“Som̄e parte of youthe, to crooked age enclynes/

18

Unlesse (percase) of two condempnd to death,
The ladd wch last, dothe clyme the gallow tree,
(Because a while, he hath prolonged breath)
Maie seeme (to som̄e) the happier to be/
And yet who lyst, to harken unto me,
I saie hee seemes, moore paine for to endure
Which lyngers lyfe, and is to dye most sure./

19

Yet this is not, an even comparisone./
For (here) that one, maie chance some waie to scape/
Where nought but death, when all delaies ar done,
Can keepe olde age, from reaching youth by rape/
His hungrie Jawes, continually doe gape,
To swallow youth: and yf death parte them not,
Ytt needes at last must light unto his lott.

521

20

But som̄e triumphe, asthough ye bounds were sett,
How longe mans lyfe, might heere on earthe endure/
Put case it were, allowed wthowt lett,
Full seventie yeares, to sojorne here full sure/
And then conclude/ that he (whiche hathe the cure,
Of his owne Cource) might joye in youth full fast,
And care in age, when lusty youthe were past./

21

But therewthall, yt woulde be markt likewise,
That as the Colt, which never knewe the bytt,
Dothe soner catche, a knocke in wilfull wise,
Then dothe the horsse, wch flyngeth never a fytt,
But is content, to let his rider sitt;
Even so that age, wch lavishe is of breath,
Shall sonest light, upon the darte of deathe.

22

“For deathe is he, wch rides and breakes us all/
“Some yong, some olde, some full of witt, some fonde/
“And such as strive, and thinck to make hȳ fall
“He swylles them first, in depthe of surfeyts ponde,
“And after tyes, them fast in agewes bonde./
“Untyll at last, he wȳne the wyldest wyll,
“To lye alonge, and let hym spurre his fill.

23

Weighe well my woordes, no nearer neighbours be,
Then lyfe and deathe, whose walls alwaies do touche
For yf that one, for feare doe chaunce to flee,
That other (straight) dothe never seme to gruch,
But followes fast, and thinkes no paine to muche/
Yea when they seme, in sonder quite divorst
They meete (unseene) althoughe they be not forst./

24

“And what gaynes, he that dothe prolonge his daies,
“But sorrowe, payne, care, Contecke, and unquiett?
“As sorowe first, the saulce of woorldely waies./
“And payne, the price of roonnyng after riott./
“Care keepes the booke, wherein man writes his diett./
“Contecke comptrolles, his howshold everie howre,
“And much unrest, Doth holde his strongest towre./

522

25

Thes greeves ensue, the lymityng of lyfe/
Which (being weyed, in equall ballance to)
Must needes be cause, of muche debate and strife,

One man woulde lyve as fayne as another.

Synce He loves lyfe/ as well as He can doe/
Saye one lyves longe: another asketh Who?
And why not I (sayth he) unequall kynde,
Who longe therefore, and yet in paynes am pyned?

26

So that (in deede) their vaunting is but vayne,
Who thinke in youth; to carroll voyde of care/
No, no (God knowes) eche pleasure hathe his payne/
And frolicke youthe, must meete wth sory fare/

Alwaies Dole is tied fast with Delight.

“For thoughe delight, were formed in a gare,
“Yet kynde (whiche knewe what worke she had in hand)
“Tyed Dole thereto, withe everlasting band.

27

One thinks in yowthe, to floorishe evermore,
Because olde age, is furdest from his heele/
And whyles therewith, he comforteth ye core
The flower doth fade, whiche he dothe never feele/
And drowpingly, yt downe apace dothe reele/
Oh brittle Joy, withe sodaine griefe disgrast,
Which soner partes, then yt can be embrast.

28

Another thinkes, his age to be unbroken,
Because in youth, his glasse beginnes to roone/
Who never marks, that whiles yt worde was spoken,
Some parte therof, is now bothe past and done/
“The strongest thryd, yt ever yet was sponne,
“(Although it never come, in clothe nor list)
“Is nockthrowen yet, even with ye spindles twyst.

29

“The heavens on highe perpetually doe move/
“By mynutes meale, the howre dothe steale awaie/
“By howres, the daie, by daies, the monethes remove/
“And then by monethes, the yeares as fast decaie/
“Yea, Virgills verse, and Tully, truth do saie,
“That tyme flieth on, and never claps her wings,
“But rides on clowdes, & forward still she flinges.

523

30

Muche lyke to them, who (sitting in a shipp)
Are borne forthright, and feele no footing sturr./
In silent sleepes, the tyme awaie dothe slipp./
Yt neither bawlethe (like a contrie curre)
Nor standeth styll, to byde a hasty spurre/

tyme dothe discover all things

But slily slydes, and never maketh noyse,
And much bewrayes; with verie little voyce./

31

Som̄e coūpt that lyfe, ascendethe stylle in youthe
Whiche dothe (indeede) unto the pytt descend/
And oh that men, could see howe sone enseweth,
The fatall clapp, which brings them to their ende/
For then: this lyfe, which God to them dothe lende,
Woulde skarcely seme, so many wynters daies,
As earst seemd yeares, to ende theire wantō waies/

32

What said I? daies? nay not so manie howres/
Not howres? no no/ soe many mynuts nott/
The bravest yowth, wch floorisheth lyke flowres,
Woulde thinck his hew, to be as sone forgott,
As tender herbes, cut up to serve the pott./
“And then this lyfe, which he so thougt to clyme,
“Woulde shew yt selfe, but toomblyng under tyme/

33

Well: yett deceȳpt, by lusty yowthe is spied,
When as it cannot well avoyded be./
For vaine it were, with grave advise to guyde,
The wilfull blynde, wch wyll no danger see/
And though I be not olde, yet trust to me,
“Youthe skornes the reade, of them wch have best skill
“Though (by defect) yt needeth councell still./

34

Harde of beleefe/ and unexpert withall/
Rashe/ blynde/ yett bolde/ and setteth dangr light/
Soe that mee seemes, no teacher of them all,
Maie better serve, to handle youthe aright,
Then crooked age: wch settith in theire sight,
(Although they wynke, dissembling not to see)
Bothe what they are, and what they ought to be./

524

35

To tell a trewth, yf any yong man woulde,
Geve eare to age, and harken sounde advise,
That youthe might shine, & glister bright as golde/
For then might he, eschew the toyes wch tyse,
To vaine delight, and perills of little price/
Yea then should he, eskape ye sandes hymselfe,
And helpe his pheares, who grounded sit on shelfe/

36

But youth is it, wch many hathe beguyld,
By setting joye, in vayne delightes to sale/
Whereas in deede, most comfort is compiled,
In things wch seeme, to be but bytter bale/
Marke well my woordes and trust unto my tale,
“All is not golde, wch glistereth faire and bright,
“Nor all things good, wch fairest seeme in sight.

37

“Trew joye cannot, in trifleng toyes consist/
“Nor happines, in joyes wch soone decaie/
“Then looke on yowthe, and marke yt he yt list/
“Somtymes both borne and buried in a daye/
“Yea thoughe yt should, contynew (greene) alwaie,
“I cannot finde, what joy therein doth grow,
“Which is not staynd, wth undertwiggs of wo./

38

How many tymes, have I beheld the race,
Of reckles youth, wth sondrie greeves disgrast?
How many Joyes have I seene fade apace,
When in theire roomes, repentan̄ce hathe byn plast?
Howe oft have I, ben wytnes of ye wast,
Whiche wilfull yowth, hath spent on worthles toyes?
To tyre the Jade, wch beares his posting Joyes?

39

“Yf waste of wealth, be cause of privie care,
“Then youthe maie bost, to care asmuche as one./
“Yf lacke of healthe, be cause of sorie fare,
“Then crooked age shall never weepe aloone,
“Synce youth (oftymes) doth gnawe the selfe same boone/
“Yea surfayting, and many a sodeyne sore,
“Breede most in yowthe, wch hunteth still therefore./

525

40

“Yf tyme mispent, deserve a just reproofe,
“What youthe is that, wch can it selfe excuse?
“Yf grave exploytes, be most for mans behoofe,
“What youth can bost, that he the like doth use?
“Yf syn̄e to sew, and vertue to refuse,
“Be frewtes and flowres, wch tempt the skourge of god,
“What youth hath hope (all free) to skape his rodd?

41

I leave to lan̄che, or largely to reprove,
The curious cares, the great (though graceles) giftes,
Which wanton youth, bestowes on luckles love/
I shame to shewe, the deepe deceiptfull driftes,
Whiche lovers use, and yet such subtill shyftes,
Doe dwell withe youth, or where he lyst to lott them/
Age knowes them not (at least) he hath forgot them./

42

Well: som̄e will saie, I have not soonge of all,
The gallant Joyes, wch joyned are to youthe/
As Bewtye, streng[t]h, Activity with all,/
And many a sweete, wch yowthfull yeares ensewth
Who so doth saie, he telleth but a treweth/
But byde a while, my synging is not done,
Although with yowth, I fyrst ye game begone./

43

Of Bewties blaze I have a song to sing/
Of strength lykewise, and Active quallities/
But synce my lute, hath broke the treble string,
Let pawse a whyle, untyll I maie devise,
Some newfownd notes, to chānt in cherefull wise./
My playnesong tunes, (I feare) to long have bene,
And I wax hoarce, to sing before a Queene.

An ende of the first songe.

Tam Marti quam Mercurio.

526

The vanities of Bewtie.

[THE SECONDE SONGE.]

[1]

Muse: plaie thy parte/ & fend thy head frō blowes/
I see a swarme, wch coome thee to assayle,
Ne canst thow well, defend so many foes,
Yf harte wax feynt, or courage seme to quayle/
Behold, beholde, they come, as thyck as hayle,
And threat to pluck the tongue owt of thy jawes,
Which darest presume, to clapp on such a clawse/

2

Darest thow attempt, to find a newfound griefe,
Where Joye of Joyes, continually doth dwell?
Darest thou affirme that Cheare holds not in chiefe,
Of Bewtyes baronye, wch beares the bell?
Or darest thou (Muse) ones take in hand to tell,
That Bewty breedes, a griefe in greatest joyes,
Alas this trowpe, will coūpt thy trewth but toyes./

3

My Queene her self, coōmes formost of them all/
And best deserves, that place in eche degree/
Whose presence now must needs thy sprytes apall,
She is so faire, and Angell lyke to see/
Beholde her well (my Muse) for this is she,
Whose bewties beames, do spredd themselves full wyde,
Bothe in this Realme, and all the worlde beside./

4

This is the Queene whose onely looke subdewed,
Her prowdest foes, withowten speare or sheeld/
This is the Queene, whome never eye yet viewed,
But streight the hart, was forst thereby to yeelde/
This Queene it is, who (had she satt in feeld,
When Paris judged, that Venus bare the bell,)
The prize were hers, for she deserves it well/

527

5

And this is she, that bends her mightie mace,
To breake and bruse, thy prowde presumpteous mynde,
Which dares attempt, (with griefe) for to disgrace,
The joye wherein, most men theire pleasure finde,/
Me-thinkes She smyles, and saies thine eies are blynd,
Or dazled els, with mists of much mistake,
Synce thow dost seeme, of faire so fowle to make/

6

But Princes mindes (somtymes) mistake ye right./
So meanest thou then, thy theame for to defende/
Well well (my muse) yf thou resolve to fight,
I the advise, some better weapons bend,
Which right reliefe, in thy distresse maie lende./
For why? my Queene (not wont to woork by wyll)
Dothe crave consent, of right and reason styll./

7

And whereas doūbtes (engendred by debate)
Make questions rise, in any cause of weight,
My Queene then calles, the pyllors of her state,
And symply sowndes, the treuth from all deceipt
So that her Justice (clymyng styll on height,
As lothe by powre, in perilles to decyde)
She grauntes free voyce, that verditt maye be tryde./

8

For proofe: beholld, my Ladie per a mount,
Whose frowne dothe seeme (o seemely Seynt) to smyle/
Beholde ye starre, whome cowrtiers do accompt,
Theire joye in griefe: (not griefe of joy) therewhile/

E. K.

Behold, behold, how She accompts the vile,
Which hast forgott, the greene moonks dyrge so sone,
Ah Slave (sayth She) is dewty so soone doone?

9

Of selfe same lyne, a Coūtesse doth appeare,
Whose lovely lookes, withe stately porte & grace,

C: of Ess.

Can hardly byde, to be compared here/
And for encrease, of honor to this race,
By west one workes, to wyn̄e the heighest place/
Forgeve me youe, wch thinke her no suche wight

A. W.

The wynde satt West, whē I this verse did write.

528

10

Next after thes, the Crowde so thycke doth throng,
As now I nott, whose name I first shoulde note/
But well I wott, that all ye rest among,
I see one Sowle, which weares a tawny cote,
And stowtly sayes, thow lyest in thy throte,
Yf thow affirme, that Bewtye breeds anoye,
Whiche is indeede, one cheefest cause of Joye./

11

To tell her name, yt were bothe fonde and vayne,
She knowes her selfe, that (next The hollow tree)
I alwaies thought, greate right in her did reigne,
Yf she should clayme, a Paragone to bee/

M. H.

Ones Bewtie flowed, in suche extreeme degree,
That Bridges buylt, for bownties ease were plast,
And she poore wenche, Hopt on: though not in hast/

12

But why do I, streyne curtesey to tell,
The proper names, of such as fame deserve?
Three worthie dames, next these I see full well,
Whiche threalten sore, thy carping tongue to carve/

K. F. & M. H.

Yf gentle words, for warning maie not serve/
Howardes they be/ but wch dothe shine most bright,
Were needeles (now) in makebate verse to wryte.

13

M. B.

Burrowe saythe byde, and let me have a blowe,

L. M. V.

And so saith Vere, that bloome of noble bloode

M. S.

Sydney saieth staie/ and let me bende my bowe,/
So wrathe they are, or rather raging woode
And sure they be, bothe gallant all and good,
Three fragrant flowres, of princely grace & porte,
For Marigoldes (of late) smelt swete in cowrte.

14

L. S. B.

Of Bowrchers lyne, A Susan̄e eke I see,
Which cannot brooke, to beare thy rymyng well/
Then followe next fowre dames of heighe degree,
Whose noble names, I meane lykewyse to tell/

Cs: of Hūt. War. Ox: & Rut.

Huntingdon, Warwick, Oxforde, & the Bell,
Of Rutlande: com̄e, (attones) wth heavenly grace
And meane (poore muse) thy doyngs to deface.

529

15

A bewtye rare, I spye amonst the rest,
Which graciously, dothe shyne in worthy wyse/

C: of Bed

Bedforde: whose hew, compareth wth the best,
Yf right respect, (her age well weyed) suffyse/
And who so saies I moore then trewthe devise,
Let her but lyve, as many yeares as Shee,
And (for my lyfe) She shall no fairer bee.

16

Wth her there coome, (for why: they keepe their place,
As Dames that love, in dew degree to goe)

L. Gr.

Fowre daughters deare? but yet of sondry race/

L. E. R.

First of her owne, two daughters, and no moe,

L. M. R.

Then of her lordes, (whose ofspring long ago,

E. M.

Dyd prayse deserve) two other Impes ther be,
Who all yfere, do seeme to menace the./

17

Russell and Audley, Sheffeld, Shandose, Sands,
(All Barons wyves, of bewtie rare & bright)
Make wondrows hast, withe halberts in their hands
To strike ye (muse) withe verie maine & might/

L. R. A.

As eke ye spouse of many an hardie knight,

Sh. Ch et S.

And coomly Squyre: prepare ye force they have,
Thy worthles verse, in skorne for to deprave/

18

Drewry desires, some sharpe revenge to make

E. D.

And Thynn thynks longe, to see thyne ovrthrow

L. Th.

What should I speake, of all yt weapons take,
To wrecke the wrathe, wch made theire grudge to growe?
Alas (my Muse) they are in nomber mo,
Then my poore penn, is able (well) to wryte,
Or tongue, or breathe, have leysure to resite.

19

And thyncke not stran̄ge, although I recken thes,
Disordred[l]y: (considryng theire degrees)/
My meaning is not, flatteringly to please,
All Dames in Cowrte, and crave a pyckthanks fees/
For synce I see them, swarme as thycke as bees,
And strive (for hast) whose hand maie (first) ye lame,
I thyncke no Syn̄e, to name them as they came.

530

20

And surely (Muse) Although my Queene be here,
(Besides her place) no place can now prevayle/
Withowt respect, they cluster every where,
And (but to her) they doe no bon̄et vayle/
All roone attones/ and all attones assaile/
That makes my Seynt (for hast) come next her Queene,
Whose bewties heate (pchan̄ce) enflamed her spleene.

21

The selfe same humor, feedeth mo then her/
For all afarre, I spy a troupe of Dames,
Who come in hast, and meane to keepe a sturre/
I see them well, yet knowe I not their names/
But sure yt seemes, some Choller them enflames/
What be they? ha? oh what a beast am I?
Thes Starres of Cowrte, had bleard my better eye./

22

My Sweetest sowre, my Joy of all my griefe,
My Frendly foe, myne ofte Reviving death,
My first Regreate, my right and last Reliefe,
My frewtfull cropp, and yet my Barreyne heath,
My store and stocke, wch spares & spends my breathe/
My Hope forlorne, my Heyght of all my Happe,
My Love first lulled, in golden fancies lappe.

23

My Hollow tree/ my banishment to Bathe,
Ferenda Shee, who eke, Natura hight,
My Ground of Greene, wch (myxt wth black) is rathe,
My Porte of Peace, whose warres yet dubd me knight,
My Livia, my love, and my delight,
Myne A per se, my All, myne onely Sum,
Before this heape, in hasty heate dothe com̄e/

24

O Bartholmew, (saithe Shee) where bee thy wytts,
And where the skyll, wch wont to guyde thy penn?
Shall world conclude, that fancy comes by fytts?
Wilt thow be founde, as fonde as other menn,
Who dotingly, do dally nowe and then?
Can light conceipt (in thy mynd) reasone chase,
From thate which proofe, hathe often put in place.

531

25

And wth that woord (in stede of force to fight,)
Shee turnes her face, and weepes wth woofull cheare/
Whiche blowe (unseene) amazeth more my spright
Then all the threates, wch I rehearced here/
Forgeve me (dames) and with my passion beare/
Her teares (my Queene except) doe greeve me more,
Then yf all you, should weepe youre eies full sore/

26

O ladie per a mownt, you are to wyse,
To frett hereatt/ for this is shee, in deede,
By whome my muse, hath mownted (earst) to skyes/
Whose onely fayre, my fancie long did feede/
This is loves mynte, wch onely gave me meede/
I played wth som̄e, theire pacience for to prove,
But Livia (in earnest) had my love/

27

And worthy well, since kinde wth all her crafte,
Yet never framed, her pheare in all respects,
Blynd Cupide, nedethe not to spende a shafte,
Her only looke, eche lyving mynde enfects/
She is esteemd, of all estates and Sects/
Menn make her roome, and women give her place,
Love bends her bowe, and mallice beares her mace./

28

Her playfellowes, and those wch withe her marche,
Must not be named/ but one dwells at Townes ende/

J. T.

Another hight, The Bridge with stony Arche/

F. P.

Another Oxe (right leane) god her amend/

C. of L.

Thes three (not Shee) theire angry browes do bende,
Whiles Livia (meane while) amazeth more,
Then all they three, and all that went before/

29

And yet I see, a Dame in strange attire,
With dooblett dect, as flemysh fashion is/
Who in the Ayre, dothe fly lyke flamyng fyre,
As though the worlde, and all things, went amysse
Shee seemeth sure, som̄e lampe of lovely blysse/
Who shoulde yt be? let me advise her well/

Petronella de Alquemade.

Now for my lyfe, it is my Petronell./

532

30

Nay then (my muse) make hast and arme apace,
The coūtrie coomes/ naye Coūtries mo then one/
Yf Pernyll ones, vouchesafe to byd the base,
Lysken will sweare, Shee shall not roone alone/
And Tanyken, woulde melt her selfe in mone,
Yf others wreckt, their mallice to their mynde,
And She (for slowthe) shoulde seeme to sitt behinde.

31

Yea! shall I saye? yf ones the droome should sownde,
And strike allarme, when ladies list to fight,
Voisgeānt from Fraunce, woulde (all to soone) be founde,
From Skotland Flemyng, woulde appeare in sight

Petronella van Sconhoven.

From Holland: Egmont/ and one other light,
Of Petronells; from Utrecht should wee see/
Bothe: Dames of pryce, though myne the better be.

32

Bella Symona, shoulde be quickly seene,
Yf newes were brought, to Antwerp of thes warres/
And from soome landes, where I have never ben,
Hole bands woulde com̄e, of blysfull blasing starres/
Wherefore (my Muse) before thow make such jarres,
Lett see what Captens, and what crew thow hast,
Before the rest, let Reason (styll) be plaste/

33

I herde the saie (erewhyle) that everie joye,
Hathe galles of griefe, in all ye myrthe wee make/
Saie quickly then, what cannons of anoy,
Dare be so bolde, as ones to undertake,
Dame Bewties bowre, wth Sorowes shott to shake?
Speake quicke (my muse) before these worthies all/
A womans wytt, is best at sodeyne call.

34

The subtyle Slyme (sayest thow) of false suspect,
The lyme of lust, the wormes of wonton wyll,
Doe Bewties bones, withe sicknes styll enfect/
So that when fancie meanes to feede his fyll,
Som̄e chipp of chaunce, dothe all his pottage spyll/
And he maie rise, all hungrie as he came,
“Bewtie fatts few, She is a deyntie Dame./

533

35

Indeede Suspect, keepes watche bothe daie & night,
So strēight that Bewtie, maie her blaze repent/
For what prevayles, a cand[l]e burning bright,
Yf under Busshell, yt be allwaies pent:
The fairest face, most com̄onlye is shent,
When fowle and, blacke, maie laūghe & leape at large!
Fyne Byrds be caged/ but who of crowes take charge?/

36

The lyme of lust, ofte lights on Bewties wynges/
For Harde to keepe, what many mynds desire/
And wanton will, can seldome sett her flyngs,
Unlesse selfelove, do blowe Dame Bewties fyre/
(This question answerd) I no more require/
Who lusteth more, then doth ye fairest face?
Nones fancye skudds, when Bewtie bids the base./

37

And reasone good/ but tell me yet a trothe,
What fault poore fancie dothe com̄ytt thereby?
All owgly thyngs, (by very kynde) wee lothe/
All thinges (againe) which seme to please the eye,
Wee love and lyke, as fast as wee them spye/
Yt seemes to me, that God in heaven above,
Did make them faire, because men shuld thē love/

38

The perfecter, that any thing appeare,
Alyve, or deade, by nature or by arte,
The greater love, unto the same wee beare
Ne can owre mynds, that fancy well astarte/

An objection/

“A man shuld make, a verie thriftles marte,
“Which most would geve, for things wch worst doe seeme,
“His gaynes should never quite his cost I deeme/

39

And thoughe no tongue, nor pen̄e can well describe
The face of God, whome never man beheld,
Yet unto yt, all Scriptures do ascribe,
The palme of praise/ his bewty wyn̄es the feelde/
Yt blaseth brighter, then owre wytts can weelde/
The nearer then, that things unto hym drawe,
The more wee ought to love them by his lawe/

534

40

His Angells eke, are bewtifull and bright/
The glorie of, his heavens consistes therein/
And who were he (wch seing suche a sight)
Could chuse a lyttle, love for to begynne?
For my parte (oft) in presence have I ben/
When such sweete Seyntes, did blaze before myne eyes,
As made the chamber, heaven above the Skyes/

41

But by youre leave, when I had slepte (alight)
And fett a sighe, and me bethought withall,
That by ye same, I had forgotten quyte,

Aunswere.

Myne owne affaires, my wytts, my selfe, and all:
My heaven seemd hell/ my mell was turnd to gall
“For all to trewe it is: that Gallant things,
“Make fancie flye, and help to ympe his wings.

42

Not I allone, but noombers infinyte,
Of toward yowthes, have roone theire race awrye,
By glan̄ce and gasing, at things apposite,
Which helde them fast, and would not let thē flye,
To perfect poyntes, wch placed are on heighe/
“Thes whites and markes, wch glister here by lowe,
“Are shootes (for shyft) but for a baser bowe./

43

The gyfts of grace, by God are never gyven,
To be employd, in vents of vaine delight/
And yet wee see, soome studie morne and even,
To prynke, to pranke, to deck, and eke to dight,
Owre flesh and Skyn̄e wch seemeth faire and bright/
“Whyles (in meane tyme) owre mynds are layd asyde
“Skarce coomly tyred, and yet pufte up wth pryde.

44

Shew me but one, that can be well content,
To spende the forenoone, prayeng on his knees/
But I can shewe, hole thowsands vainely bent,
Which all the day, seeme stynged styll wth bees,
For feare they should, the praiese of Bewtie leese/
They set their ruffes, thei ruffle up theire heare
They talke farre of, theire myndes are otherwhere.

535

45

They course the glasse, and lett yt take no rest/
They peepe and spye, who gazethe on theire face/
They darkely aske, whose Bewtie semethe best/
They harke and mark, who marketh (most) their grace/
They stay theire steppes, and stalk a stately pace/
They gellows are, of every sight they see/
They strive to seeme, but never care to be./

46

Thes be the frewtes, wch Bewtyes bloomes do bring/
Thes properties, the fairest folke reteyne/
Not Dames alone of men (likwise) I sing/
I never yet, coulde woman see more vayne,
Then many men, which passe in Courtly trayne/
“The worlde is changd, (but pardon yet my penn),
“For men are maydes, and wemen marche like men/

47

And yet for all theire prynkyng, and theire cost,
No sooner fades, the flower of freshest hew,
Then they (lykewyse) their Bownties blaze have lost/
And then good night, they maie byd Courte adieu/
Nay welcome (skarce) unto the Coūtrye Crewe/
“For homely folke, who live by dayly deedes,
“Woulde fayne keepe corne, from such vaine worthles weedes.

48

“The coolest Soōne, can parche theire pleasan̄t cheekes,
“The weakest wynde, can shake theire bravest bloomes/
“The myldest frost, theire secrete shadow seekes/
“The foemānes fyst, or lightest blowe that coōmes/
“Can make a crust, of all theire tender crōmes/
“The fayntest fever, and the least disease,
“Can turne to pale, the redd that (most) did please/

49

What grudge & griefe, or Joyes maye then suppresse?
To see owre heares, wch yellow were as golld,
Now gray as glasse? to feele and finde them lesse?
To skrape the bald skull, wch was woont to holde,
Oure lovely locks, wth curlyng stycks controld?
To looke in glasse, and spye Sr wrynckles chayre,
Sett fast on froonts, wch erst were slycke & fayre?/

536

50

What Joye to gaze, with graceles hollowe eyes,
Which lately lookt, lyke sparks of flamyng fyre:
What comfort comes, when every body spyes,
The tootheles mowth! what dynt of vayne desire,
Can con̄trevayle, ye cost, which yeares require,
To keepe oure teethe, from roughe and rugged plight,
Which late (like pearles) did shew both faire & white/

51

Oure Ivery necks, must needs to yellow change/
Owre showlders stowpe, wch erst stood bolt upright/
Owre pleasant voyce, (although we thinke it strange)/
Wilbe bothe hoarce, and harshe wthowt delight/
Beholde owre hands, in weake and withered plight.
Owre foomblyng feete, wch nymble were of late,
And then weighe well, the staye of owre estate./

52

Fewe wordes to make, wee shall not thinke yt owres,
Which (but erewhile) we did esteeme somuch/
And all the blaze, of Bewties bravest bowres
Shall fall adowne, as thoughe there were none such/
When Trewth (Tymes daughter) doth owr triall touch,
Then take the Glasse and wee shall hardly knowe,
Owreselves therein/ we shalbe changed so./

53

And yet all this (in tyme) will come to passe/
Whiche tyme flyes fast, as I (of late) did singe/
Yf wee would then, continew yt wch was,
Stay tyme (in tyme) before away shee flyng/
But yf wee cannot, tyme (past) backward bring,
Then never hope, that Bewtie can remayne,
Yt came wth tyme, and goeth withe tyme agayne./

54

Yea whyles yt bydes, yt is of smale avayle/
For though yt please oure appetytes awhyle,
Yt dothe (likewyse) owre sences all assaile,
And all oure wytts, dothe wylily beguyle/
Yt breeds repentaunce though yt seeme to smyle/
Yt muffleth up, owr mynds wch (els) might see
Such works of worthe, as profitable bee./

537

55

Yt hangethe fast (like fetters) on oure feete,
Whiche (els) might treade, some tracke of better trade/
Lyke loompes of lyme, owr wyngs therwth doe meete/
Whereby owr myndes, so vyle and vayne are made,
That from the sonne, we shrug into the shade/
And drowping sitt, like hawkes surcharged wth bells,
Which proyne themselves, and can do nothing ells./

56

Yt coomes by kynde, yet is it kepte withe care
Wee bowght yt cheape, and sell yt all to deare/
Yt turnes our Joy, right soone to sory fare/
Yt makes the bolde to blush/ the stowt to feare/
Yt is a choyce that quickly changeth cheare
And seldome brings, (at coonnyng) such content,
As it procures (at parting) deepe repent.

57

A frendy foe, whiche shewes a flattering face/
A stellthe of tyme, wch were more worth then gold/
A restles worme, tormenting myndes apace/
A proofe of payne, and passions manyfold/
A cause of strife, muche more then can be tolde
A heate which heapes (for hastie love) great hate,
Thes be the staies, of Bewties brave estate./

58

How muche were better (then) to decke the mynde,
And make that fayre, whose light might alwaies last?
Eternall fame, to wysdome is assignd/
And modesty, dothe purchase praise as fast/
“It hathe ben̄e seene, in many yeares now past,
“That greater glorye gatt some sory grace
“Then Absolon for all his lovely face.

59

And yet my meaning, is not to condempne,
The gallant glosse, which nature lendeth us/
Ne dare my Muse, dame Bewties blaze condempne/
I cam̄ not now, such questions to discusse/
But marke my wordes, and understande me thus:
“Dame Bewtie drest, wth garments made of grace,
“Deserves such fame, as Tyme cannot deface./

538

60

If Dames demaund, howe they the same might deeme?
I an̄swere thus: the fayre which is content,
Withe natures gyftes/ and neither dothe esteeme,
Yt selfe to muche: nor is to lightnes bent,
Nor woulde be loved, but with a true entent:
And strives in goodnes, likewise to excell,
I say thatt Bewtie, beares awaie the bell./

61

And suche a Bewtie will so well become,
Such modest myndes, that bothe shall shew ye better
For Vertue seemes, the gallan̄ter to soome,
When Bewties beames, full seemly have besett her/
Bewtie and Bowntie begin̄e with a letter/
The first is good, the second lacks no grace,
Where bothe concurre, that body is not base./

62

But take the first aloone, and by it selfe,
And tell me then, how (best) I might it call?
“A stately Toye/ a preciows peece of pellfe/
“A gorgeous gong/ a worthles painted wall/
“A flower (full freshe,) yet redye styll to fall/
“A sore unseene/ A sweete entysing Sowre,
“A pearle skarce worthe the pryce/ worse worth ye powre/

63

And now (deare dames) what saye you to my muse?
How like you Reason, in her foremost ranke?
My gracious Queene (I trust) will not refuse,
To weighe my wordes: and then to coone me thanke,
Yt seemes to mee, the same in her so sanke?
That Shee hathe layde, her mighty mace aside
And strookes my heade/ and byddeth God me guyde.

64

For Shee is wise, and can full well consider,
That everie Best, maie quickly be abused/
“Use and Abuse, are lynked so together,
“That good for badd, is many tymes accused/
Yea thoughe the good, right graciously be used,
Yet everie lyfe, beares wth hym his dysese,
And none so perfect every mynde to please/

539

65

Well: synce my Muse, hathe quite her selfe so well,
And satisfied (wth Reason) everie Dame,
I will addresse my tongue lykewise to tell,
An other griefe, owt of another game./
I meane to write of mightie strength by name/
And thoughe yt seeme, but seldome reprehended,
Yet will I shewe, wherein it maie be mended./

66

Of Strength (qd one?) naye Gascoigne thē go trudge/
Thy muse is madde, suche theames to take in hande/
For thoughe her penne, appeased these ladies grudge,
Yet Menn be Menn/ beware of suche a bande/
Well (Master Menn) when you my woords have skande,
Youe will confesse, how griefe of joye is founde,
In strongest weightes, that go upon ye grounde.

67

And for youre threatts, I sett but light thereby,
Yf Dames ones deigne, my Reasons to allowe,
Say what you list/ and what (thereof) passe I?
I honor them, I tell you playnely nowe/
As for youre bragges, my muse shall never bowe/
I have ben stronge (my selfe) and yet my force,
Hathe ben one cause, wch much consumed my corps./

68

My lovely ladyes (you whose names I past)
Forgive my guylt/ you came so thicke I feare,
I coulde not com̄pte all faire/ you rāne so fast/
A payre of Pagetts, I remember there,
And many mo, whose bewtie brute dothe beare/
Well: thoughe my sylence, seemde to do you wronge,
Forgive mee (good), and marke my nexter songe.

Finis.

Tam Marti quam Mercurio.

540

The faults of force and strength.

[THE THIRDE SONGE.]

[1]

Ytt hathe byn sayd, long synce (now) many a day,
And wilbe said, when I am deade and rott.
Come one to one, and that makes prety playe/
But two to one, can be no equall lott/
For why? the latten, proverbe saith you wott,
Sit quisque similis inter suos,
Ne Hercules enim contra duos./

2

Then how shall I, my selly selfe defende,
Whiche take in hande, this weary woorke to write?
You sawe (erwhylle) how womankynd did bende,
Yt selfe against my muze, wth mayne and might/
You sawe how fast, they flocked for to fight,
Because I said yt Bewty breedeth griefe,
Which is (thinke they) of all oure joyes the chiefe.

3

And now beholde, how men (yea men of might)
Prepare likewise, to beare my muse adowne,
Because yt dares, presume for to endight,
That might (whiche weares of manhood styll ye crowne)
Shoulde subject bee, to fortunes greevous frowne/
Or for I dare, avowe that force and strengthe,
Begynne wth Joy, and ende wth griefe at lengthe.

4

For hast: you herde, was one could skarcely byde,
Tyll I had soong, my laster songe full owt/
You harde how lowde, in Pilatts voyce he cried,
As though his threatts, might dant my muze wth doubt/
You knowe he said, that thoughe I went abowt,
Weake womankynd, with wylines and wordes,
Yet Men are Men, and will abyde no boordes./

541

5

Yea haselwood: for Men are Men indeede/
But shall I saie this one thinge learne of mee,
Soome doughty Dames (beleeve yt as youre creede)
Can be as stowte, as many men can bee/
Nay stowter oft, as men by proofe maye see/
By Jysse I woulde the stowtest man yt wyst,
They mayster all, let us saie what wee lyst.

6

And why should I, (then) feare to tell a truthe,
Who have the mayster of the fielde my frende?
I never shroonke, to shake up lusty youthe/
And youthe is he, whiche strengthe to man must lend/
No no I vowe, though all ye worlde should bend,
Their angry browes, to blott my verse wth blame,
Playne trewthe is that, whiche never yet had shame/

7

And that same treuth, dothe bydd me to demaūde,
Wherefore it is, that men doe boast somuch,
Of strengthe and force? asthough they might com̄aund,
The woorlde thereby, to geve them knee & cruch/
Alas alas, who tryes them by the tuch,
“Shall fynd that when, their might prvayleth moste,
“Yet rewle they not, them selves: for all their boast/

8

And howe should he (then) governe other men,
Who cannot reyne his owne unrewly wyll?
So falles the horse: which never feares the fen̄e,
But neyes and brayes, and rooneth hedlong styll,
Untyll at last, hym selfe in myre hee swyll/
And so fall men, whiche truste unto their strength,
In dangers deepe (in deathe it selfe) at lengthe./

9

“The mighty bones, but heave the harte to highe/
“The harte ons up, the mynde can be but madde/
“And madde mens myndes (by force) from reason fly/
“No sownde advice, nor councell can be had,
“But leave the good, and leane unto the badd,
“This griefe (withe mo) the joyfull force must fynd,
“To coūtercheck, a prowde tryumphyng mynde./

542

10

Withe blades embrewed they woorke theire will sometyms,
Whiche buye that bloode wth doompes of deepe repent/
For Choller cannot, cover wylfull crimes/
Yt roomes forthright where witles will is bent/
But when such will, by wiser wytts is shent,
Att leysure then, yt maye confesse withe mee,
Were better weake, then so (to) stronge to be.

11

“For strongest wightes, attempt the greatest thinges/
“And greatest things, breede deepest danger styll/
“And deepest dangers, be the very springes,
“Where deathe dothe lurke, to woorke his crewell wyll/
“So that owre stronge men, hoppe against the hyll,/
“Whiche hope (by force) from deathe away to gett
“When force (indeed) doth drive them to his nett./

12

I have bene stronge (I thanke my God therefore)
And did therein, rejoyce as most men dyd/
I lept, I ran̄e, I toylde and travailde soore,
My might and mayne, didd covett to be kidd/
But lo: beholde; my mery daies amydd,
One heady deede, my haughty harte did breake,
And since (full oft) I wisht I had bene weake./

13

Abundaunce breedes the Sooreyn of excesse,
And of excesse youe knowe that vice ensewes/
Soe that Mens force, were better to be lesse,
Then by suche force, theire bodies to abuse.
I am (my selfe) to gyllty to accuse,/
“But sure the force, of marow and of might,
“Dothe cause oure fleshe, (oft) sett oure sowles but light/

14

The weakling hee: sitts buzzing at his booke,
Or keepes full close, and loves to lyve in quyett
For lacke of force, hee warely dothe looke,
In every dishe whiche may dysturbe his dyett/
Hee neyther fights, nor roonethe after riott./
But staies his steppes, by meane & measure to,
And longer lyves, then many stronge men do./

543

15

Mylo was stronge, and few men stronger founde
But many wyser, and, muche more esteemdd/
For every greate thing going on the grownde,
Ys nott therefore, the better alwaies deemd./
Thes Oliphants (in tyme past) peereles seemd,
Because theire sturdy joyntes did seldome bowe,
But smaller beastes can overcome them nowe./

16

And what greate good, gott Milo by his strengthe,
Although in games, he gayned somtymes a gawde?
A smalle clefte oke, gan holde hym fast at lengthe,
Untyll wth beasts, hee were bothe champt & chawed/
Yea Hercules, whose might was never awed,
By womans wyles (yet) weakely lost his lyfe/
“Suche toyes (to tame the strongest men) are ryfe.

17

“For fortune fights not as thes fencers doe,
“Withe equall blades, or weapones of assise/
“But markes her tyme, and takes her vaūtage to,
“And in awaite, full waryly Shee lyees/
“Yea when Shee lyst, Shee can suche blowes devise,
“As (unawares) doe give some sodeyne patt,
“And overthrowe, a Gyant wth a gnatt./

18

Greate laboure doth, deminish greatest force,
And darke dysease, decreasethe strength as fast/
When bothe thes fayle, the mightiest massy corps,
Ys daūnted downe, wth Ages Axe at last/
So that when wightest wrastlyng tricks be past,
Coomes crooked Eldd, and geves a selly trypp,
Tyll from deathes foote, no stowrdy strong can skypp/

19

But I am strong (saythe one of Mylos mates)
Yea stronge (so strong) as never yet had peare/
Yes yes forsothe/ who so the trewthe debates,
Shall finde that (who dothe most surpasse his pheare,
And of mankynd is strongest deemed here)
To many beasts, inferior yet shalbe/
What glory then, by all his force getts hee?/

544

20

Ytt were a boast, muche meeter for thes bulls,
Thes Beares, thes bores, and such like boystrows beasts/
“For vertue keepes, her closett in owre skulles,
“And coomes but seldome in great noddyes nests/
“Shee leves greate loompes of fleshe, for follyes feasts/
“And shrowdes her selfe, full close within ye mynde,
“Yn bloode and bones, Shee lyttle place dothe fynde./

21

A pondrows packe, of to muche fleshe dothe clogge/
A nemble mynde, wch (els) might leape full light./
Or at the least, yt setts the harte on gogg,
And makes the body headlong rōne owtright,
Untill all vertue vanishe owt of sight/
“Trew tale is this: who trusts to clyme by bones
“Shall seldome sitt, aloft by lofty ones./

22

Then take wee heede, that (trusting to this stay)
The staffe breake nott, and so wee catche a fall/
For Surcuydrie can drowne in deepe decaye,
The highest harte, that ever yet seemd tall/
Oftymes men take in hande to tosse a ball,
Which withe a bownde, dothe lende thēselves a blowe,
And makes the lofty crowche and lye full lowe./

23

Tell mee but this, what mighty man hathe powre,
To drive Sr deathe, one furlong from his doore?
What yowthe so strong, as to prolong his hower?
Or who can salve, Sr surfetts festring soore?
Ys yt not trewe, that moyling more and more,
Awake, on sleepe, att ease, or bating breathe,
Wee steale (by steppes) unto the gates of deathe?

24

Yf this be so, thē strengthe maye well delaye,
The daies of payment, but the debte remaynes/
And crookednes, oure creditor will stay,
Tyll att the lengthe, he have his owne withe gaynes/
Yea shall I saye? he will (for brokers paynes)
Make might and mayne, paye feblenes & fayle,
Yea lyfe at last, when quycke & queaving quayle./

545

25

For as the tree that straighte & tallest growes,
Is soonest soūght, and felde to buylde the bowre,
So strongest wyghtes, doe gett the greatest blowes,
And soonest learne, repentaunce of theire power/
“All thinges on earthe, must learne to knowe one howre/
“(I meane one ende), but soome come sooner to yt,
“And some delaye, though yet at last they do yt/

26

“At last they dye, who thought longe tyme to lyve,
“At last they fade, whiche seemed freshe and fayre,
“At last they yeelde, wch (withe their strengthe) did strive
“And downe they fall, owt of theire stately chayre/
“They must descende, (but by unequall stayre)
“For he that clombe, as soft as snayles can slyde,
“Com̄es headlong downe, and maye no longer byde.

27

Man̄es mynde except, I see no sure acoūpt,
(Nor all mennes mynds, I recken in this ranke)
Whiche maie presume, in height of Joyes to moūt/
For all things els, maye quickly breake theire banke/
They take muche paynes, and yet deserve small thanke/
“But sure man̄es mynde, yf yt be just and good,
“Ys muche more worthe, then mighty bones and bloode./

28

Yet trust who list, in puysaūce or in power,
I cannot force, all fancies to my mynde/
The sweete it selfe, shall teache them what is sowre,
When least shall lacke, as muche as most would fynde/
The best, or worst, bydes ever styll behynde/
Then lett the strongest (ere his force be past)
Remember styll but Miloes end at last./

29

And let hym thynke, that right against hym stand
Bothe Age and deathe, withe weapons redy bent/
For Age before comes leading on her hande,
A thowsand sores wch deathe to her hathe lent/
And deathe hymselfe, (when all those speares are spent)
Comes creping on alonely withe a darte,
And therewith styckes the strongest striving harte.

546

30

Yea in meane while, volupteows toyes do fight,
Withe staves as strong, as age or death almost
And though they beare not weapons in or sight,
But florishe fayre, and make a gallant boast,
Yet when owr strength dothe trust upon them most,
And least regardes, to fend yt selfe therefro,
They turne owre Joyes, into a worlde of wo.

31

To glorye then, in thinges so lyttle worthe
Ys (peacocklyke) to prinke in strangers plumes/
Synce all the force, that nature bringeth forthe,
Ys not owre owne, (for all owre freakes and fumes)
Yt coomes withe tyme, and eke withe tyme consumes/
And he (in tyme) wch dyd the same us lende,
At all tymes woulde, yt shoulde for his be kende.

32

Well: make an ende, and marke what erst I sayed,
Of yowthe and Bewtye, eche in theire degree,
The same might here in order well be layd,
To prove howe frayle, the freutes of forces bee/
For where thyngs lyke, (in every poynt) wee see,
There lyke (lykewise) the sequell and effect,
Must followe needes, in every right respect.

33

And for advyse, I saye no more but soe,
Who bostethe most, of body styffe and strong,
Lett hym fooresee, that in his mynde eke growe,
A manly thought to marche the rest among/
“For (lett mee crave a pardon for my song)
“A cowards harte is never playner spyed,
“Then when it dothe, in strongest bones abyde.

34

This verse I venter thoughe I herde one vaunt,
As men were Gyants and woulde beare no jest/
But yett you see, his threatnyngs could not daūt,
My manly Muze, nor make my penn to rest/
My selfe am bygg, and therefore thought I best,
To shewe some lofty cowrage in my writt,
Ells some might say my bowlts my selfe dyd hytt.

547

35

Be as be maye, the matter is not greate,
A glancyng blowe, can make no greevous wounde/
But let me yett this sentence ones repeate,
“Inconstaunt Joyes, withowte grief are not fownde
Yf that be soe, was never force so sownde,
But sodeyne chaūce coulde chopp yt quytt in sonder!/
Yf stryfe breake strengthe (then) who can coūpt yt wonder?/

36

Now he that loves mee, lett hym give me drinke,
I am so dry, that I can sing no more/
And in the cupp I will my selfe bethinke,
What force and strengthe are surest evermore/
I have yt, I/ lett syng yt owt therefore/
“The harts and love, of people more & lesse,
“Are powre (Saūs peere) who so the same posesse.

37

Nay then coōme Queene & clayme your dew indeede/
For then the greatest, strongest, stowtest mann,
That ever yet, sprong owt of Adames seede,
Cannot compare, as my good Pryncesse can/
Synce Shee it is, whose might and mercie wāne,
The love longe synce, of all bothe highe and lowe,
And holdes them styll, and wyll not lett them go./

38

Thus whyle I dranke, I lyfte the cupp so highe,
That in the bottome sawe I wrytten fayre,
Gascoigne thi Muze is taken withe a lye,
Synce force of love, no fortune can empayre,
And since thy Queene dothe sitt in Trewloves chayre/
No force: I coūpt yt neyther Synne nor shame,
To lye (alight) for love of suche a Dame.

Finis.

TAM Marti quam Mercurio.

548

The vanities of Activityes.

[THE FOURTHE SONGE.]

[1]

Ones in my lyfe, I saw a Bakers boye,
Whiche went unto his Masters Fagott reeke,
(Beare withe me Queene for telling suche a toye)
Some sticks (by lyke) for Masters fyre to seeke/
One stycke he cutt, another sticke he breeke,
Som̄e long, some shorte, som̄e greate he tooke, som̄e small,
Tyll on his hedd the reeke fell downe and all./

2

And there the Boye, lay grovlyng on the grownd,
Withe many fagotts rownde abowt his backe/
But when he felt hymselfe wthowten wounde,
He gan againe, some fagott sticks to cracke/
Att last his Master (doubting som̄e such wracke)
Came angrie owt, and chidd his boye awhyle,
But afterwards, he turnd his frowne to smyle./

3

My Boye (qd he) who badd the be so bolde,
As for to plucke an olde howse on thy hedd?
Thou showldest foresee, that fagott sticks do hold,
Together fast, and seldome list to shedd/
Thow mightest have chanst, to bring a foole to bed,
By jesting so withe suche well joyned geare,
Touch one, styrr all, they lye so close yfeare./

4

But since it was, in service of my selfe,
And since thow soughtest, but fewell for my fyre,
Bestirr thee now, packe up againe this pelfe/
None other penaunce, I of thee requyre/
The Boye was blythe, and had his deepe desire,
For so his Master laught and were well pleased,
His harme (thought he) was quyckly to be eased./

549

5

So (peereles prynce) my selfe maye be the Boye,
Whiche sought for styckes, amydd youre fagott reeke/
I thought to proyne some griefe from everie Joye,
And for the same, I curiously dyd seeke/
But whiles at large, unpercially I speeke,
Behold your Cowrte, comes headlong on a heape,
And on my Muse, withe might and mayne they leape/

6

In deede I shoulde have marked in my mynde,
That vertues marche, in mydest betweene extreames/
And harde yt were the fall of faults to fynde,
Withowt some shake, to fortunes better beames/
But laugh (good Queene) and (by those glistering gleames
Of your bright eies) I vowe to sing so long,
Tyll all youre cowrte be pleased withe my song.

7

To serve youre selfe, I tooke this woorke in hand,
And ment to make, butt fewell for youre fyre/
I meane, I ment, to make abuses skand,
That use of good, (therby) might clyme the higher/
And though my woords, maie move some mynds to Ire,
Forgive me (Queene) and I will worke amayne,
Tyll fancies fagotts, piled be agayne./

8

Thus much I syng, because my playnesong note,
Must yett be herd, much lowder then before,
And I must cleare, my hoarce unpleasant throate,
To make yow view, som̄e vanities yet moore/
I must be bolde, (thoughe rudely) for to roore,
That in all active quallityes, wee use,
Some griefe unseene, the smoothest Joye ensewes./

9

Now as the Captayne (wch at one fyeld fought,
Hathe happely ones gott the upper hande)
Wyll at the next conflict, conduct in doubt,
Least fortune turne, and overthrow his band,
Even so my Muze dothe dread to come on sande,
Although Shee ones, have sayled by the same/
“Tydes turne, wynds wane, and grudge comes aftr game.

550

10

For now my woords waxe generall and large,
So large as leave, no pleasure free from payne/
A harde attempt, and yett an easie charge,
To prove a trewth, whereas the case is playne/
And yf my Queene free hearing do me deigne,
I hoope herselfe, will soone confesse withe me,
That griefe maie growe, in all the joyes that be.

11

I graunt yong mynds, maye yowthfully delight,
Yn sondrie sortes, of exercyse and sporte/
I graunt the meane, to heale a heavy spright,
Ys myrthe and glee, where jolly guests resort/
I graunt that pastyme ys the lowly porte,
Wherein mans mynde, maie shrewd yt selfe full oft,
Whyle crewell cares, bestowe theire blasts alloft./

12

But as the Bell, can hardly holde the hawke,
From soaring sometymes when Shee list to gadd,
Even so the mynde (whiche woontedly dothe walke,
In fancies fields, most lyke a lusty ladd)
Can seldome be, so bridled from the badd,
But that delight, maie drawe one foote tofarre,
Whils vayne excesse, the mery meane dothe marre./

13

To prove this trew, who shall the game begynne?
Must musicke first, bewraye her vayne delight?

Musicke.

And must she saye, that as the fowlers gynne,
Dothe lye full close in depthe of dangers dight,
Whiles yet his pype, dothe playe in pleasaunt plight:
Even soe, her sweete consents beguyle sometymes,
The highest harte, in harmonye that clymes?/

14

Alas alas, who sooner dothe deceave,
Then doe the Cirenes wth theire sugred songes?
Of all the wooes, that wanton worldlyngs weave,
I finde not one more thrall to guylefull throngs
Then is the moane, to Musicke that belongs
“Synce mellyshe mowthes, can worst awaye wth gall,
“As highest clymes are most afearde to fall./

551

15

Yn deede suche dynne appeasethe angrye mynds,
And Melancholye, ys removed thereby/
Somtymes removed, somtymes encrease yt fynds,
When madnes leades, the mowrnefulst moode awrye/
For Musicke waytes, and where yt can espye,
Or moane, or myrthe, yt dothe theire hewmore feede,
And what they dreamt, yt makes them doe yn deede./

16

Sett me asyde, and harke to holly Syres,
Whose dyverse doomes, maye skarce discusse ye doubt/
For Ambrose first the use thereof requires,
Yn everie churche, and all the worlde abowt/
But Athanase, forbadd the same throughowt/
Att last came Austine, like a dreamyng Dadd,
And dyed in doubt, yf it were good or badd./

17

Yt is a trewth, and cannott be denyed,
That Musicke styrres, som̄e mynds to godly thought./
Yt is as trew, and hathe byn often tryed,
That Musicke styrres, moe mynds to be but nought/
Yt maie be fownde, yf it be rightly sought,
That Musicke makes mo mery myndes starke madd,
Then secrete prayer sufferethe to be sadd./

18

The Serpent tickleth whome she list to sting/
The Surgeon stroketh whome he meanes to strike,/
The fowler whistleth whome he fayne would wryng,
The Polipus (with colling) drawes in dike,
The dazled wyghts whome she (to drowne) doth like/
And Musycke mufflethe many men withe Joye,
Whose myrthe excesse, turnes quickly to anoy.

19

Amongst the vaynes, of variable Joyes,
I must confesse, that Musicke pleasd me ones
But whiles I searcht, the semyquaver toyes,
The glāncing sharpes, the halfe notes for the nones;
And all that serves, to grace owre gladsome grones;
I founde a flatt, of follye owt of frame,
Whiche made me graunt my Musicke was but lame.

552

20

I meane I fownde, that (ravished thereby)
My wandring mynde, sometyme forgott yt selfe/
And reason ranne, his cowrce so farr awrye,
That ere I wyst, my wytts were sett on shelfe
Of trothe my braynes, so full were of suche pelfe,
That som̄e reporte, contynually dyd ryng
Within myne eares, and made me seeme to singe.

21

I coulde not reade, but I must tune my words/
I coulde not speake, but as yt were by note/
I coulde not muze[, but] that I thought some byrds,
With[in] my brest did rellease all by rote/
I coulde not praye, but eare there past my throte,
Fyve faithefull boones to God for my request,
I soonge the Syxth, and quyte forgott the rest./

22

Laughe nott (sweete Queene) for I shall not be founde,
The onely man, whiche (sleping in delight,)
Hathe alwaies dreamt, on Musickes silver sownde
Some singe soe longe, tyll they bee madde owtright/
And thoughe the wise come seldome in suche plight/
“Yet Plato pleasd, in Musicke so to dreame,
“He thought yt helpt, the rulyng of a realme.

23

And wonderfull, it is that Neroes mynde
Which all the worlde (and more) coulde not suffize
Was never seene, so playnely to be pynde,
As Musicke set, the same before owre eyes/
Soe greate a kyng, to dye in hastie wyse,
Ytt greeved hym nott: but that so sweete a synger,
Shoulde dye so sone: that sorrowe seemde a stynger./

24

And lyke the Swanne, he soong before his deathe/
Whiche maie suffise, to prove the tyckell trust,
That can be buylt, upon our fading breathe/
Yt maye suffise to shewe that all oure lust,
At last will leave us, yn the depthe of dust/
Yt serves to prove, that no man synges so sweete,
As can eschewe, withe bytter deathe to meete./

553

25

Som̄e spende muche tyme, in learning sweete consents
On lute, on harpe, Cythren, and virginalls/
And som̄e take paynes withe wyndy Instruments,
As Fyfes and flutes, cornetts and such like calles/
Of whome the last, to follye more be thralles/
The first but wringe, theire fyngers owt of frame,
But thes make mowthes, and shew a seemely shame./

26

Att everye spowte, that stands abowt a Towre,
Men maye beholde suche Gorgons in theire grace/
When paynters please, to make a thing seeme sowre,
They portraye then, the forme of some suche face/
And yet owre owne, blynde judgements be so base,
Wee thinke that Joye, to lende us some reliefe,
Whiche we beholde, exprest and done wth griefe./

27

I dwell to longe, in Musickes copye holde,
For nowe the dawncers come and call for rome/

Daūcyng.

But had they bells, then might they be so bolde,
To keepe the fyelde, and challenge all that com̄e,
Synce bells and babells, are alike to som̄e,/
And sure I see, no neighbours any where,
That were so meete, to lyve and dwell so neare./

28

For daūce allone, (I meane wthowt some noyse,)
And that woulde seeme, a very madd mans parte/
But instruments, or Musycke of the voyce,
Doe cover many suche fonde crymes by arte/
Soe that me thynks, they best maie make a marte./
Musicke yt selfe, a mery madbraynd toy,
And dan̄cing sure, a madder kynde of joye./

29

What shoulde I coūpt, oure tossings and oure turnes,
Owre frysks, oure flyngs, and all owr motions made/
Butt fewell geven, unto the fyre whiche burnes,
Within owr brests; whose flame can never fade?
For when Dame nature yn mans mynde did wade/
And sawe fonde fancye occupye the place,
She fury sent, to byd that Dame a base./

554

30

And thence proceede, the movings wch we make,
As forward, backward, lefte hande turne, and right/
Upwards, and downewards, tyll owre hartes do quake/
And last of all, (to shew owre selves owtright)
A turne on toe, must grace owre giddy spright,
Untyll sometymes, we stoomble in the same,
And fall downeright, to geve the gazers game./

31

Dancyng delights, are like a whyrlyng wheele,
Which turnethe mylls, or suche lyke frames abowt/
Yt takes no rest, as they doe restles reele/
Yt weares it selfe, as they doe owt of doubt/
And (yf my Muse be bolld to tell trewth mought)
Thes tryppers strive, to throwe theire braynes awaye,
As wheeles voyde water to the Dam̄es decaye./

32

But dyd yt hurte theire owne myndes and no moe,
The losse were light, and easie to be borne/
The gazers eyes, are ofte mysguyded soe,
As makes a hornepype to begett a horne/
The mery night begetts a madder morne/
For he that (over night) did (syngle) trace,
Can (shortely after) dan̄ce a dooble pace./

33

The Matrones mynde leaves of her coomly looke,
The mayde must mynce, and strive to streyne her feete,/
The bryde her selfe, forgetts her marriage booke,
And learnes that daye, some lessons muche unmeete/
She learnes sometymes, to dan̄ce and turne in streete,
When her brydgroome, had rather have her home,
For bett nor worse, She shoulde (from hym) so rome./

34

Were I commaunded, to defyne in fewe,
What daūcyng is, and what consysts therein
I should be bolde, my logycke thus to shew/
Daūcyng is first, a pors[u]yvaūt for Synne,
To tempt the best, that ever yet hathe bene/
A clenly clooke, to cover (often tymes)
The slye pretence, of many subtyle crymes./

555

35

Yn daūce the hande, hathe libertye to touche,
The eye to gaze, the arme for to embrace,
Whiche (otherwhere) might gyve greate cause of gruch/
The exercyse, acquytts a blushing face,
And lends muche leave, wth much more tyme & place/
The darksome nyght, sharpe enemye to shame,
By candles light, betrayethe many a dame./

36

But wherefore stand I thus upon this text?
Whoso can daūce as Scipio seemd to doe,
Not wantonly, nor as his witts were vext,
Nor mynsing fyne, like such as meane to woe,
But withe suche grace, as love and malyce to,
Might bothe com̄end, and be afeard to blame,
I saie dan̄ce so, and dan̄ce in Christ his name./

37

But every Byrde, hathe not an Eagles eye,
Nor all yt clyme, the Martren maie ensew/
My Queene (I graunt) dothe every vice defye,
Her Dames lykewise offences do eschewe/
Theire dan̄cyng bydds all Idle thoughts adieu./
I ment not them, I meane but such as seeke,
To breake my backe, wth fancies fagott reeke.

38

And synce I must, leape lightly and away,
Before the force, of all those fagotts fall,
Amongst the leapers let me take my waye,

Leaping, roonyng vaultyng &c. &c.

And see whatt faults I fynde amongst them all/
Beleve me (Queene) what ever me befall,
I will tell trewth, the devyll hymselfe to shame,
Although therby I seeme to purchase blame./

39

I wyll not spare to speake as Petrark spake,
Who sayd that leapers (leape they never so well)
Cannott withe Squyrells full compare (yett) make/
Nor he whose roon̄yng alwaies wȳnes the bell,
Shall therein seeme, a hare (yet) to excell/
Nor he that vaults, or gambolds best in shape,
Can coome abowt (yet) nymbly lyke an Ape./

556

40

A lambe can leape, full lightly in his yowthe,
Which afterwards, proves heavie heelde and slowe,
For loompyshe age, the lightest lym̄es ensewth,/
And (at an ynche) doth, followe where they goe/
Then he that roōnes so fast, or leapeth so,
Where wyll he light, but in the lappe of death?
And (streynyng force) he seemes to shorten breath./

41

For yf we coūpt, those pleasures worthy price,
Whiche (in them selves) do purchase privy payne,
Then might we prayse (as well) bothe cards and dyse,
Whiche lyve by losse, and few (god knowes) yt gayne/
Thexample not unlyke: for bothe be vayne,
That one playes pownds, and lacketh pence at length,
That other streynes, and styll decreasethe strength./

42

To see som̄e one, sitt scratching of his hedde
(Yea teare his bearde sometymes), when he hathe lost,
Another chafing, tyll his cheekes be redd,
And bothe waxe warme to co[ū]tervayle theire cost/
To see the cardes and dyse abowt howse tost/
Tyll anger vex bothe father, kȳne, and brother:
Ys it not madnes? sure it is none other./

43

But lacke of other actyve quallyties,
Ys cause that this shoulde be in place profest/
Then lett my Muse bestyrre her to devyse,
The best that be, and lett thes others rest/

Wrastlyng.

Wrastlyng is thought, meete for a martiall guest,
And therefore seemes, defended from the blames,
Which grow wth griefe in other Joyfull games/

44

Yet hee thatt marks what I have sayed before,
Of leaping, roōnyng, vaultyng, and suche lyke
The same of this maie well be sayed and more,
For here of two, that one must lye in dyke/
And yf therewithe he doe his fall dyslyke,
From wrastlyng trycks, they fall to warlyke blowes,
Suche earnest oft, in deepest dalliaunce growes/

557

45

But ryding is, of nobles muche desired,

Rydinge.

And what can be brought in agaynst the same?
Alas alas, my Muze must needes by tyred,
To recken griefe in every kynde of game/
But trust me (Queene) I am not yet so lame,
But that I can in ryding finde some fault,
As earst I dyd in them which leape and vault./

46

For sett asyde, the danger of a fall,
(Which so maye chan̄ce, that (woulde wee ride or no,)
Agaynst owre wylles, at last wee must or shall,
When withe a broken legg wee cannott goe)
I can rehearce yett many myschieves mo,
And sundry greeves, thatt &c. &c.

Left. unperfect for feare of Horsmen/

TAm Marti quam Mercurio.