 | The Complete Works of George Gascoigne |  |
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/
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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/
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,
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
The wynde satt West, whē I this verse did write.
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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/
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/
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
Burrowe saythe byde, and let me have a blowe,And so saith Vere, that bloome of noble bloode
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
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/
Huntingdon, Warwick, Oxforde, & the Bell,
Of Rutlande: com̄e, (attones) wth heavenly grace
And meane (poore muse) thy doyngs to deface.
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15
A bewtye rare, I spye amonst the rest,Which graciously, dothe shyne in worthy wyse/
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)
Fowre daughters deare? but yet of sondry race/
First of her owne, two daughters, and no moe,
Then of her lordes, (whose ofspring long ago,
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/
As eke ye spouse of many an hardie knight,
And coomly Squyre: prepare ye force they have,
Thy worthles verse, in skorne for to deprave/
18
Drewry desires, some sharpe revenge to makeAnd Thynn thynks longe, to see thyne ovrthrow
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.
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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.
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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/
Another hight, The Bridge with stony Arche/
Another Oxe (right leane) god her amend/
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/
Now for my lyfe, it is my Petronell./
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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
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./
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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/
“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 describeThe 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/
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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,
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.
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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?/
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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./
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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 careWee 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./
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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/
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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.
| The Complete Works of George Gascoigne | |