 | The Complete Works of George Gascoigne |  |
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./
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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.
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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?
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./
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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.
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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 myndeWhich 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 consentsOn 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/
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./
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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./
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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,
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./
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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 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/
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45
But ryding is, of nobles muche desired,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.
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