The Complete Works of George Gascoigne In Two Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
|
|
| 1. |
The greeves or discommodities of lustie yowth.
|
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
 | The Complete Works of George Gascoigne |  |
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/
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,
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/
“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/
But slily slydes, and never maketh noyse,
And much bewrayes; with verie little voyce./
31
Som̄e coūpt that lyfe, ascendethe stylle in youtheWhiche 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.
| The Complete Works of George Gascoigne | |