The Complete Works of George Gascoigne | ||
FLOWERS.
The Anatomye of a Lover.
To make a Lover knowne, by plaine Anatomie,You lovers all that list beware, loe here behold you me.
Who though mine onely lookes, your pittie wel might move,
Yet every part shall playe his part, to paint the panges of love.
If first my feeble head, have so much matter left,
If fansies raging force have not, his feeble skill bereft.
These lockes that hang unkempt, these hollowe dazled eyes,
These chattering teeth, this trēbling tongue, well tewed with carefull cries.
These wan and wrinkled cheekes, wel washt with waves of woe,
Maye stand for patterne of a ghost, where so this carkasse goe.
These shoulders they sustaine, the yoake of heavy care,
And on my brused broken backe, the burden must I beare.
These armes quite braunfalne are, with beating on my brest,
This right hand weary is to write, this left hand craveth rest:
These sides enclose the forge, where sorrowe playes the smith,
And hote desire, hath kindled fire, to worke this mettall with.
The Anvile is my heart, my thoughtes they strike the stroake,
My lights and lunges like bellowes blow, & sighes ascend for smoake.
My secreete partes are so with secreete sorrowe soken,
As for the secreete shame thereof, deserves not to be spoken,
My thighes, my knees, my legges, and last of all my feete,
To serve a lovers turne, are so unable and unmeete,
That scarce they sustaine up, this restlesse body well,
Unlesse it be to see the boure, wherein my love doth dwell,
And there by sight eftsoone, to feede my gazing eye,
And so content my hungrie corps, tyll dollours doe me dye:
Yet for a just reward of love so dearely bought,
I pray you saye, loe this was he, whome love had worne to nought.
The arraig[n]ment of a Lover.
When false suspect accused mee,
George (quod the Judge) holde up thy hande,
Thou art arraignde of Flatterye:
Tell therefore howe thou wylt bee tryde?
Whose judgement here wylt thou abyde?
Whome I esteeme above the rest,
Doth knowe my guilte if any were:
Wherefore hir doome shall please me best,
Let hir bee Judge and Jurour boathe,
To trye mee guiltlesse by myne oathe.
A Prince hir selfe to judge the cause:
Wyll is our Justice well you wot,
Appointed to discusse our Lawes:
If you wyll guiltlesse seeme to goe,
God and your countrey quitte you so.
Of whome was falshoode formost feere,
A packe of pickethankes were the rest,
Which came false witnesse for to beare,
The Jurye suche, the Judge unjust,
Sentence was sayde I should be trust.
To heare the verdite of the byll,
George (quod the Judge) nowe thou art cast,
Thou must goe hence to heavie hill,
And there be hangde all but the head,
God rest thy soule when thou art dead.
All flatte before Dame Beauties face,
And cryed, good Ladye pardon mee,
Which here appeale unto your grace,
You knowe if I have beene untrue,
It was in too much praysing you.
To shead with shame my guiltlesse blood:
Yet let your pittie first bee plaste,
To save the man that meant you good,
So shall you shewe your selfe a Queene,
And I maye bee your servaunt seene.
What thou dost meane hencefoorth to bee,
Although thy faultes deserve no lesse,
Than Justice here hath judged thee,
Wylt thou be bounde to stynt all strife,
And be true prisoner all thy lyfe?
Loe fayth and trueth my suerties:
Why then (quod shee) come when I call,
I aske no better warrantise.
Thus am I Beauties bounden thrall,
At hir commaunde when shee doth call.
The passion of a Lover.
To heare and see these lovers paint their paine,
And how they can in pleasaunt rimes repeate,
The passing pangs, which they in fancies faine.
But if I had such skyll to frame a verse,
I could more paine than all their panges rehearse.
Which seemeth strange: but stranger is my state:
I dwell in dole, yet sojorne with delight,
Reposde in rest, yet weryed with debate.
For flatte repulse, might well appease my wyll,
But fancie fightes, to trye my fortune styll.
They friese, they flame, they flie aloft, they fall,
But I nor hope with happe to rayse my head,
Nor feare to stoupe, for why my gate is small.
Nor can I friese, with cold to kyll my heart,
Nor yet so flame, as might consume my smart.
Or tell me howe, I found this fever first?
What fits I feele? what distance? what delayes?
What griefe? what ease? what lyke I best? what worst?
These thinges they tell, which seeke redresse of paine,
And so wyll I, although I coumpt it vaine.
(Oh happie state, twise happie he that findes it)
But love to life this cognisance doth geve,
This badge this marke, to every man that mindes it,
Love lendeth life, which (dying) cannot dye,
Nor lyving live: and such a life leade I.
Yet never shine to cleare my misty moone:
No quiet sleepe, amidde the mooneshine nightes,
Can close mine eyes, when I am woe begone.
Into such shades my peevishe sorrowe shrowdes,
That Sunne and Moone, are styll to me in clowdes.
With such repast, as most empaires my health,
Which fever first I caught by wanton wyll,
When coles of kind dyd stirre my blood by stealth:
And gazing eyes, in bewtie put such trust,
That love enflamd my liver al with lust.
Which one daye quakes within and burnes without,
The next day heate within the boosoms sits,
And shiviring colde the body goes about.
So is my heart most hote when hope is colde,
And quaketh most when I most heate behold.
All wayes in one and evermore shalbe,
In greatest griefe when helpe is nearest hand,
And best at ease if death might make me free:
Delighting most in that which hurtes my heart,
And hating change which might relieve my smart.
Devise by times some drammes for my disease,
A noble name shall be your greatest gaines,
Whereof be sure, if you wyll worke mine ease.
And though fond fooles set forth their fittes as fast,
Yet graunt with me that my straunge passion past.
A straunge passion of a Lover.
I swim in heaven, I sinke in hell:
I find amends for every misse,
And yet my moane no tongue can tell.
I live and love, what wold you more:
As never lover liv'd before.
So jest I oft and feele no joye:
Myne ease is builded all on trust:
And yit mistrust breedes myne anoye.
I live and lacke, I lacke and have:
I have and misse the thing I crave.
Beleeve me sweete my state is such,
One pleasure which I wold eschew,
Both slakes my grief and breedes my grutch.
So doth one paine which I would shoon,
Renew my joyes where grief begoon.
In heavy sleepe with cares opprest:
Yit when shee spies the pleasaunt light,
She sends sweete notes from out hir brest.
So sing I now because I thinke
How joyes approch, when sorrowes shrinke.
Can watch and singe when other sleepe:
And taketh pleasure in hir payne,
To wray the woo that makes hir weepe.
So sing I now for to bewray
The lothsome life I lead alway.
That know'st my mirth, but not my moane:
I praye God graunt thee deepe delight,
To live in joyes when I am gone.
I cannot live, it wyll not bee:
I dye to thinke to part from thee.
The Divorce of a Lover.
Divorce me nowe good death, from love and lingring life,That one hath pene my concubine, that other was my wife.
In youth I lived with love, she had my lustye dayes,
In age I thought with lingering life to stay my wādering wais,
But now abusde by both, I come for to complaine,
To thee good death, in whom my helpe doth wholy now remain,
The processe of my plaint is true, in which my griefe doth rest.
First love my concubine (whome I have kept so trimme,
Even she for whome I seemd of yore, in seas of joy to swimme:
To whome I dare avowe, that I have served as well,
And played my part as gallantly, as he that beares the bell)
She cast me of long since, and holdes me in disdaine,
I cannot pranke to please hir nowe, my vaunting is but vaine.
My writhled cheekes bewraye, that pride of heate is past,
My stagring steppes eke tell the trueth, that nature fadeth fast,
My quaking crooked joyntes, are combred with the crampe,
The boxe of oyle is wasted wel, which once dyd feede my lampe.
The greenesse of my yeares, doth wyther now so sore,
That lusty love leapes quite awaye, and lyketh me no more,
And love my lemman gone, what lyking can I take?
In lothsome lyfe that croked croane, although she be my make?
Shee cloyes me with the cough, hir comfort is but cold,
She bids me give mine age for almes, wher first my youth was sold.
No day can passe my head, but she beginnes to brall,
No mery thoughts conceived so fast, but she confounds them al.
When I pretend to please, she overthwarts me still,
When I wou[l]d faynest part with hir, she overwayes my will.
Be judge then gentle death, and take my cause in hand,
Consider every circumstaunce, marke how the case doth stand.
Percase thou wilte aledge, that cause thou canst none see,
But that I like not of that one, that other likes not me:
Yes gentle judge give eare, and thou shalt see me prove,
My concubine incontinent, a common whore is love.
And in my wyfe I find, such discord and debate,
As no man living can endure the tormentes of my state.
Wherefore thy sentence say, devorce me from them both,
Since only thou mayst right my wronges, good death nowe be not loath.
But cast thy pearcing dart, into my panting brest,
That I may leave both love and life, & thereby purchase rest.
The Lullabie of a Lover.
Wherewith they bring their babes to rest,
And lullaby can I sing to,
As womanly as can the best.
With lullaby they still the childe,
And if I be not much beguild,
Full many wanton babes have I,
Which must be stild with lullabie.
It is nowe time to go to bed,
For croocked age and hoary heares,
Have wone the haven [within] my head:
With Lullaby then youth be still,
With Lullaby content thy will,
Since courage quayles, and commes behind,
Go sleepe, and so beguile thy minde.
Which wonted were to glaunce apace.
For every Glasse maye nowe suffise,
To shewe the furrowes in my face:
With Lullabye then winke awhile,
With Lullabye your lookes beguile:
Lette no fayre face, nor beautie brighte,
Entice you efte with vayne delighte.
Lette reasons rule, nowe reigne thy thought,
Since all to late I finde by skyll,
Howe deare I have thy fansies bought:
With Lullaby nowe tak thyne ease,
With Lullaby thy doubtes appease:
For trust to this, if thou be styll,
My body shall obey thy will.
My little Robyn take thy rest,
Since age is colde, and nothing coye,
Keepe close thy coyne, for so is best:
With Lullaby thy lustes relente,
Lette others pay which hath mo pence,
Thou art to pore for such expence.
My will, my ware, and all that was,
I can no mo delayes devise,
But welcome payne, let pleasure passe:
With Lullaby now take your leave,
With Lullaby your dreames deceive,
And when you rise with waking eye,
Remember then this Lullabye.
The lamentation of a lover.
Now have I found the waie, to weepe & wayle my fill,Now can I ende my dolfull dayes, & so content my will.
The way to weepe inough, for such as list to wayle,
Is this: to go abord ye ship, where pleasure beareth sayle.
And there to marke the jestes, of every joyfull wight,
And with what winde and wave they fleet, to nourish their delight.
For as the striken Deare, that seeth his fellowes feede,
Amid the lustie [heard] (unhurt), & feeles himselfe to bleede
Or as the seely byrd, that with the Bolte is brusd,
And lieth aloofe among the leaves, of al hir pheares refusd,
And heares them sing full shrill, yet cannot she rejoyce,
Nor frame one warbling note to passe, out of hir mournfull voyce.
Even so I finde by proofe, that pleasure dubleth payne,
Unto a wretched wounded hart, which doth in woe, remaine.
I passe where pleasure is, I heare some sing for joye,
I see som laugh, som other daūce, in spight of darke anoy.
But out alas my mind, amends not by their myrth,
I deeme al pleasurs to be paine, that dwell above ye earth.
Such heavy humors feede, ye bloud that lendes me breath,
As mery medcins cannot serve, to keepe my corps from death.
[Thou with thy lookes on whom I loke full ofte]
Certaine verses written to a Gentlewoman whome hee liked very wel, and yet had never any oportunity to discover his affection, being alwayes bridled by jelouse lookes which attended them both, and therefore gessing by hir lokes, that she partly also liked him: he wrote in a booke of hirs as foloweth, being termed with the rest that follow the lokes of a lover enamoured.
And find there in great cause of deepe delight:
Thy face is fayre, thy skin is smoth and softe,
Thy lippes are sweet, thine eyes are cleere and bright,
And every part seemes pleasant in my sight.
Yet wote thou well, those lokes have wrought my wo,
Bicause I love to looke upon them so.
And strayght mine eye stird up my hart to love:
And cruell love with deepe deceitfull hooke,
Chokt up my mind whom fancie cannot move,
Nor hope releeve, nor other helpe behove:
But still to loke, and though I loke to much,
Needes must I loke bicause I see none such.
And with such life my death drawes on a pace:
And for such death no medcine can be told,
But loking still upon thy lovely face,
Wherin are painted pitie, peace, and grace,
Then though thy lokes should cause me for to dye,
Needes must I looke, bicause I live therby.
As I can like none other lookes but thine:
Lo here I yeelde my lyfe, my love, and all
Into thy hands, and all things else resigne,
But libertie to gaze upon thyne eyen.
Which when I doe, then think it were thy part,
To looke again, and linke with me in hart.
With these verses you shall judge the quicke capacitie of the Lady: for she wrote thereunder this short aunswere.
Looke as long as you lyst, but surely if I take you looking, I will looke with you.
[I cast mine eye and sawe ten eyes at once]
And for a further proofe of this Dames quicke understanding, you shall now understande, that sone after this aunswere of hirs, the same Aucthour chansed to be at a supper in hir company, where were also hir brother, hir husband, and an old lover of hirs by whom shee had bene long suspected. Nowe, although there wanted no delicate viandes to content them, yet their chiefe repast was by entreglancing of lokes. For the Aucthour being stong with hotte affection, coulde none otherwyse relieve his passion but by gazing. And the Dame of a curteous enclination deigned (nowe and then) to requite the same with glancing at him. Hir olde lover occupied his eyes with watching: and her brother perceiving all this coulde not abstaine from winking, whereby hee might putte his Syster in remembraunce, least she shoulde too much forget hir selfe. But most of all her husbande beholding the first, and being evyll pleased with the seconde, scarce contented with the thirde, and misconstruing the fourth, was constrayned to playe the fifth part in frowarde frowning. This royall banquet thus passed over, the Aucthor knowing that after supper they should passe the tyme in propounding of Ryddles, and making of purposes: contrived all this conceipt in a Riddle as followeth. The which was no soner pronoūced, but shee coulde perfectly perceive his intent, and drave out one nayle with another, as also enseweth.
His Ryddle.
I cast mine eye and sawe ten eyes at once,All seemelye set uppon one lovely face:
Twoo gaz'd, twoo glanc'd, twoo watched for the nonce,
Twoo winked wiles, twoo fround with froward grace.
Thus everye eye was pitched in his place.
Saide to it selfe, alas why lookt I so?
And everye eye for jelousie did pine,
And sigh'd and sayde, I would that eye were mine.
[What thing is that which swimmes in blisse]
In all this lovelie company was not one that coulde and would expound the meaning hereof. At last the Dame hir selfe aunswered on this wise. Syr, quod she, because your darke speach is much to curious for this simple company, I wyl bee so bolde as to quit one question with another. And when you have aunswered mine, it maye fall out per-adventure, that I shall somewhat the better judge of yours.
Hir Question.
What thing is that which swimmes in blisse,And yet consumes in burning griefe:
Which being plaste where pleasure is,
Can yet recover no reliefe.
Which sees to sighe, and sighes to see,
All this is one, what maye it bee?
[I grooped in thy pocket pretty peate]
He held him selfe herewith contented: and afterwardes when they were better acquainted, he chaunsed once (groping in hir pocket) to find a letter of hir olde lovers: and thynking it were better to wincke than utterlye to put out his eyes, seemed not to understande this first offence: but soone after finding a lemman (the which he thought he sawe hir olde lemman put there) he devised therof thus, and delivered it unto hir in writing.
And found a Lemman which I looked not:
So founde I once (which nowe I must repeate)
Both leaves and letters which I lyked not.
Such hap have I to finde and seeke it not,
But since I see no faster meanes to bind them,
I wyll (hencefoorth) take Lemmans as I finde them.
[A lymone (but no Lemmane) Syr you found]
The Dame within verie short space dyd aunswere it thus.
For Lemmans beare their name to broade before:
The which since it hath given you such a wound,
That you seeme now offended very sore:
Content your selfe you shall find (there) no more.
But take your Lemmans henceforth where you lust,
For I wyll shewe my letters where I trust.
The lookes of a lover forsaken: written by a gentlewoman who passed by him with hir armes set bragging by hir sides, and lefte it unfinished as followeth.
Were my hart set on hoygh as thine is bent,Or in my brest so brave and stout a will:
Then (long ere this) I coulde have bene content,
With sharpe reveng thy carelesse corpes to kill.
For why thou knowest (although thou know not all)
What rule, what raygne, what power, what segnory,
Thy melting minde did yeeld to me (as thrall)
When first I pleasd thy wandring fantisie.
What lingring lookes bewray'd thyne inward thought,
What panges were publisht by perplexcitie,
Such reakes the rage of love in thee had wrought
And no gramercie for thy curtesie.
I list not vaunt, but yet I dare avowe
(Had bene my harmelesse hart as harde as thine)
I coulde have bounde thee then for starting nowe,
In bondes of bale, in pangs of deadly pyne.
For why by profe the field is eath to win,
Where as the chiefteynes yeeld them selves in chaynes:
The port or passage plaine to enter in,
Where porters list to leave the key for gaynes.
But did I then devise with crueltie,
(As tyrants do) to kill the yeelding pray?
Or did I bragge and boast triumphauntly,
As who should saye the field were mine that daye?
To beat afresh the bulwarkes of thy brest?
Or did my mind in choyce of change delight,
And render thee as reffuse with the rest?
No Tygre no, the lyon is not lewd,
He shewes no force on seely wounded sheepe, &c.
[Howe long she lookt that lookt at me of late]
Whiles he sat at the dore of his lodging, devising these verses above rehersed, the same Gentlewoman passed by againe, and cast a longe looke towardes him, whereby he left his former invention and wrote thus.
As who would say, hir lookes were all for love:
When God he knowes they came from deadly hate,
To pinch me yit with pangs which I must prove.
But since my lokes hir liking maye not move,
Looke where she likes, for lo this looke was cast,
Not for my love, but even to see my last.
An other Sonet written by the same Gentlewoman, uppon the same occasion.
I lookt of late and sawe thee loke askance,Upon my dore, to see if I satte there.
As who should say: If he be there by chance,
Yet maye he thinke I loke him every where,
No cruell, no, thou knowest and I can tell,
How for thy love I layd my lokes a side:
Though thou (par case) hast lookt and liked wel,
Some newe founde lookes amide this world so wide.
But since thy lookes my love have so in chaynd
That to my lokes, thy liking now is past:
Loke where thou likest, and let thy hands be staynd,
In true loves bloud, which thou shalt lack at last,
So looke, so lack, for in these toyes thus tost,
My lookes thy love, thy lookes my life have lost.
To the same gentlewoman because she challenged the Aucthour for holding downe his head alwaies, and for that hee looked not uppon hir in wonted manner.
You must not wonder though you thinke it straunge,To see me holde my lowring head so lowe:
And that myne eyes take no delyght to raunge,
About the gleames which on your face doe growe.
The mouse which once hath broken out of trappe,
Is sildome tysed with the trustlesse bayte,
But lyes aloofe for feare of more mishappe,
And feedeth styll in doubte of deepe deceipte.
The skorched flye which once hath scapt the flame,
Wyll hardlye come to playe againe with fyre.
Whereby I learne that greevous is the game,
Which followes fansie dazled by desire.
So that I wynke or else holde downe my head,
Because your blazing eyes my bale have bred.
The Recantacion of a Lover.
Now must I needes recant the wordes which once I spoke,Fond fansie fumes so nie my noose, I nedes must smel ye smoke:
And better were to beare a Faggot from the fire,
Than wylfully to burne and blaze, in flames of vaine desire.
You Judges then give eare, you people marke me well,
I saye, both heaven and earth record the tale which I shall tell
And knowe that dread of death, nor hope of better hap,
Have forced or perswaded me to take my turning cap,
But even that mightye Jove, of his great clemencie,
Hath given me grace at last to judge, the trueth from heresie:
I saye then and professe, with free and faithfull heart,
That womēs vowes are nothing els, but snares of secret smart:
But who devoures the hidden hooke, eates poyson for repast:
Their smyling is deceipt, their faire wordes traines of treason,
Their wit alwaies so full of wyles, it skorneth rules of reason.
Percase some present here, have heard my selfe of yore,
Both teach & preach the contrary, my fault was then the more:
I graunt my workes were these, first one Anatomie,
Wherein I painted every pang of [loves] perplexitye:
Next that I was araignde, with George holde up thy hand,
Wherein I yeelded Bewties thrall, at hir commaund to stand:
Myne eyes so blinded were, (good people marke my tale)
That once I song, I Bathe in Blisse, amidde my weary Bale:
And many a frantike verse, then from my penne dyd passe,
In waves of wicked heresie, so deepe I drowned was.
All which I now recant, and here before you burne
Those trifling bookes, from whose lewde lore my tippet here I turne.
And hencefoorth wyl I write, howe mad is that mans minde,
Which is entist by any traine to trust in womankind.
I spare not wedlocke I, who lyst that state advance,
Aske Astolfe king of Lumbardie, howe trim his dwarfe coulde daunce.
Wherefore fayre Ladies you, that heare me what I saye,
If you hereafter see me slippe, or seeme to goe astraye:
Or if my tongue revolte from that which nowe it sayth,
Then plague me thus, Beleeve it not, for this is nowe my faith.
In prayse of Bridges, nowe Lady Sandes.
In Court who so demaundes what Dame doth most excell,For my conceyt I must needes say, faire Bridges beares ye bell:
Upon whose lively cheeke, to proove my judgement true,
The Rose and Lillie seeme to strive for equall change of hewe:
And therewithall so well her graces all agree,
No frowning cheere dare once presume in hir sweete face to bee.
Wyll saye the blemishe on hir browe disgraceth all the rest.
Thereto I thus replie, God wotte they litle know,
The hidden cause of that mishap, nor how the harme dyd grow.
For when Dame nature first had framde hir heavenly face,
And thoroughly bedecked it, with goodly gleames of grace:
It lyked hir so well: Lo here (quod shee) a peece,
For perfect shape that passeth all Apelles worke in Greece.
This bayte may chaunce to catche the greatest God of love,
Or mighty thundring Jove himself that rules the roast above.
But out, alas, those wordes were vaunted all in vaine,
And some unsene were present there (poore Bridges) to thy pain.
For Cupide craftie boye, close in a corner stoode,
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir, I gesse it dyd him good.
Yet when he felt the flame gan kindle in his brest,
And hard dame nature boast by hir, to breake him of his rest,
His hote newe chosen love, he chaunged into hate,
And sodainly with mighty mace, gan rap hir on the pate.
It grieved Nature much to see the cruell deede:
Me seemes I see hir how she wept, to see hir dearling blede.
Well yet (quod she) this hurt shall have some helpe I trowe,
And quicke with skin she covered it, that whiter is than snowe.
Wherewith Dan Cupid fled, for feare of further flame,
Whē angel like he saw hir shine, whom he had smit with shame.
Lo thus was Bridges hurt, in cradel of hir kind,
The coward Cupid brake hir brow, to wreke his woūded mind,
The skar styll there remaines, no force, there let it be,
There is no clowde that can eclipse, so bright a sunne as she.
In prayse of Zouche late the Lady Greye of Wilton whome the auctor found in a homely house.
These rustie walles whome cankred yeares deface,The comely corps of seemely Zouche enclose,
Whose auncient stocke derivde from worthy race,
Procures hir praise, where so the carkas goes:
Hyr lovely lokes the gazing eyes allure,
Hyr deedes deserve some endlesse prayse to finde,
To blaze suche brute as ever might endure.
Wherfore my penne in trembling feare shall staye,
To write the thing that doth surmount my skill,
And I will wish of God both night and daye,
Some worthier place to guide hir worthy will.
Where princes peeres hir due desertes maye see,
And I content hir servaunt there to bee.
Gascoignes praise of his mistres.
The hap which Paris had, as due for his desert,Who favord Venus for hir face, & skornde Menervas art:
May serve to warne the wise that they no more esteme,
The glistering glosse of bewties blaze, than reason should it deme.
Dan Priams yonger son, found out ye fairest dame,
That ever trode on Troyane mold, what folowed of ye same?
I list not brut hir bale, let others spread it forth,
But for his parte to speake my minde his choice was little worth,
My meaning is but this, who markes the outward shewe,
And never grops for graftes of grace which in ye mind should grow:
May chance upon such choise as trusty Troilus had,
And dwel in dole as Paris did, when he would faine be glad.
How happie then am I whose happe hath bene to finde,
A mistresse first that doth excell in vertues of the mind.
And yet therewith hath joynd, such favoure and suche grace,
As Pandars niece (if she wer here) would quickly give hir place.
With in whose worthy brest, Dame Bounty seekes to dwel,
And saith to beawty, yeeld to me, since I doe thee excell.
Betwene whose heavenly eyes, doth right remorse appeare,
And pitie placed by the same, doth muche amende hir cheere.
Who did relieve my heavy heart, and sought to save my blood.
Who first encreast my friendes, and overthrew my fooes,
Who loved al them that wisht me wel, & liked none but those.
O Ladies give me leave, I prayse not hir to farre,
Since she doth pas you al, as much, as Titan staines a starre.
You hold such servauntes deare, as able are to serve.
She held me deare, when I poore soule, could no good thing deserve.
You set by them that swim in all prosperitie,
She set by me when as I was in great calamitie.
You best esteeme the brave, and let the poorest passe,
Shee best esteemde my poore good wyll, all naked as it was.
But whether am I went? what humor guides my braine?
I seeke to wey ye woolsack down, with one poore pepper grain.
I seeme to penne hir praise, that doth surpasse my skill,
I strive to rowe against the tide, I hoppe against the hill.
Then let these fewe suffise, shee Helene staines for hewe,
Dydo for grace, Cressyde for cheere, and is as Thisbye true.
Yet if you furder crave, to have hir name displaide,
Dame Favor is my mistres name, dame Fortune is hir maid.
Gascoignes good morrow.
In sleepe and quiet rest,
And joye to see the cheerefull lyght
That ryseth in the East:
Now cleare your voyce, now chere your hart,
Come helpe me nowe to sing:
Eche willing wight come beare a part,
To prayse the heavenly King.
Or sickenes doth suppresse,
Or secret sorowe breakes your sleepes,
Or dolours doe distresse:
Yea thinke it good accorde,
And [ac]ceptable sacrifice,
Eche sprite to prayse the lorde.
Had over spread the light,
And sluggish sleepe with drowsynesse,
Had over prest our might:
A glasse wherin you may beholde,
Eche storme that stopes our breath,
Our bed the grave, our clothes lyke molde,
And sleepe like dreadfull death.
But for a little space,
And heavenly daye nowe night is past,
Doth shewe his pleasaunt face:
So must we hope to see Gods face,
At last in heaven on hie,
When we have chang'd this mortall place,
For Immortalitie.
As then we hope to holde,
All earthly sightes and wor[l]dly toyes,
Are tokens to beholde.
The daye is like the daye of doome,
The sunne, the Sonne of man,
The skyes the heavens, the earth the tombe
Wherein we rest till than.
Bedeckte with sundrye hewes,
Is like the seate of God on hye,
And seemes to tell these newes:
That as thereby he promised,
To drowne the world no more,
So by the bloud which Christ hath shead,
He will our helth restore.
And overcast the skyes,
Are like to troubles of our time,
Which do but dymme our eyes:
But as suche dewes are dryed up quite,
When Phœbus shewes his face,
So are such fansies put to flighte,
Where God doth guide by grace.
Which cryes agaynst the rayne,
Both for hir hewe and for the rest,
The Devill resembleth playne:
And as with gonnes we kill the Crowe,
For spoyling our releefe,
The Devill so must we overthrowe,
With gonshote of beleefe.
Are like the angelles voyce,
Which render God his prayses meete,
And teache us to rejoyce:
And as they more esteeme that myrth,
Than dread the nights anoy,
So mu[ste] we deeme our days on earth,
But hell to heavenly joye.
God graunt us all his grace,
And sende us after worldly payne,
In heaven to have a place.
Where wee maye still enjoy that light,
Which never shall decaye:
Lorde for thy mercy lend us might,
To see that joyfull daye.
Gascoygnes good night.
When thou hast spent the lingring day in pleasure and delight,Or after toyle and wearie waye, dost seeke to rest at nighte:
Unto thy paynes or pleasures past, adde this one labour yet,
Ere sleepe close up thyne eye to fast, do not thy God forget,
But searche within thy secret thoughts, what deeds did thee befal:
And if thou find amisse in ought, to God for mercy call.
Yea though thou find nothing amisse, which thou canst cal to mind,
Yet ever more remember this, there is the more behind:
And thinke how well so ever it be, that thou hast spent the daye,
It came of God, and not of thee, so to direct thy waye.
Thus if thou trie thy dayly deedes, and pleasure in this payne,
Thy life shall clense thy corne from weeds, & thine shal be ye gaine:
But if thy sinfull sluggishe eye, will venter for to winke,
Before thy wading will may trye, how far thy soule maye sinke,
Beware and wake, for else thy bed, which soft & smoth is made,
May heape more harm upō thy head, than blowes of enmies blade.
Thus if this paine procure thine ease, in bed as thou doest lye,
Perhaps it shall not God displease, to sing thus soberly:
I see that sleepe is lent me here, to ease my wearye bones,
As death at laste shall eke appeere, to ease my greevous grones.
My dayly sportes, my panch full fed, have causde my drousie eye,
As carelesse life in quiet led, might cause my soule to dye:
The stretching armes, ye yauning breath, which I to bedward use,
Are patternes of the pangs of death, when life will me refuse:
And of my bed eche sundrye part in shaddowes doth resemble,
The sūdry shapes of deth, whose dart shal make my flesh to trēble.
My clothes the mould which I must have, to cover me most meete:
The hungry fleas which friske so freshe, to wormes I can cōpare,
Which greedily shall gnaw my fleshe, & leave the bones ful bare:
The waking Cock that early crowes to weare the night awaye,
Puts in my minde the trumpe that blowes before the latter day.
And as I ryse up lustily, when sluggish sleepe is past,
So hope I to rise joyfully, to Judgement at the last.
Thus wyll I wake, thus wyll I sleepe, thus wyl I hope to ryse,
Thus wyll I neither waile nor weepe, but sing in godly wyse.
My bones shall in this bed remaine, my soule in God shall trust,
By whome I hope to ryse againe from death and earthly dust.
The introduction to the Psalme of De profundis.
The Skies gan scowle, orecast with misty clowdes,When (as I rode alone by London waye,
Cloakelesse, unclad) thus did I sing and say:
Behold quoth I, bright Titan how he shroudes
His head abacke, and yelds the raine his reach,
Till in his wrath, Dan Jove have soust the soile,
And washt me wretch which in his travaile toile.
But holla (here) doth rudenesse me appeach,
Since Jove is Lord and king of mighty power,
Which can commaund the Sunne to shewe his face,
And (when him lyst) to give the raine his place.
Why doe not I my wery muses frame,
(Although I bee well soused in this showre,)
To write some verse in honour of his name?
Gascoignes De profundis.
From heavy heart which harbours in my brest,
From troubled sprite which sildome taketh rest.
From hope of heaven, from dreade of darkesome hell.
O gracious God, to thee I crye and yell.
My God, my Lorde, my lovely Lord aloane,
To thee I call, to thee I make my moane.
And thou (good God) vouchsafe in gree to take,
This woefull plaint,
Wherein I faint.
Oh heare me then for thy great mercies sake.
Oh turne thine eyes, behold me how I wayle,
O hearken Lord, give eare for mine availe,
O marke in minde the burdens that I beare:
See howe I sinke in sorrowes everye where.
Beholde and see what dollors I endure,
Give eare and marke what plaintes I put in ure.
Bende wylling eare: and pittie therewithall,
My wayling voyce,
Which hath no choyce.
But evermore upon thy name to call.
If thou regard what sinnes are daylye done,
If thou take holde where wee our workes begone,
If thou decree in Judgement for to stande,
And be extreame to see our scuses skande,
If thou take note of every thing amysse,
And wryte in rowles howe frayle our nature is,
O gloryous God, O King, O Prince of power,
What mortall wight,
Maye then have lyght,
To feele thy frowne, if thou have lyst to lowre?
Thou not delygh[t]st to see a sinner fall,
Thou hearknest first, before we come to call.
Thine eares are set wyde open evermore,
Before we knocke thou commest to the doore.
Thou art more prest to heare a sinner crye,
Then he is quicke to climbe to thee on hye.
Thy mighty name bee praysed then alwaye,
Let fayth and feare,
True witnesse beare.
Howe fast they stand which on thy mercy staye.
For thee I wayte for thee I tarrye styll,
Myne eyes doe long to gaze on thee my fyll.
For thee I watche, for thee I prye and pore.
My Soule for thee attendeth evermore.
My Soule doth thyrst to take of thee a taste,
My Soule desires with thee for to bee plaste.
And to thy worde (which can no man deceyve)
Myne onely trust,
My love and lust
In co[n]fidence contin[u]allye shall cleave.
Before the lyght be seene in loftye Skyes,
Before the Sunne appeare in pleasaunt wyse,
Before the watche (before the watche I saye)
Before the warde that waytes therefore alwaye:
My soule, my sense, my secreete thought, my sprite,
My wyll, my wishe, my joye, and my delight:
Unto the Lord that sittes in heaven on highe,
With hastye wing,
From me doeth fling,
And stryveth styll, unto the Lorde to flye.
O Abrahams Brattes, O broode of blessed seede,
O chosen sheepe that love the Lord in deede:
O hungrye heartes, feede styll upon his worde,
And put your trust in him with one accorde.
His fountaines flowe, his springes doe never stande.
And plenteouslye hee loveth to redeeme,
Such sinners all,
As on him call,
And faithfully his mercies most esteeme.
He wyll bring home the sheepe that goe astraye,
He wyll helpe them that hope in him alwaye:
He wyll appease our discorde and debate,
He wyll soone save, though we repent us late.
He wyll be ours if we continewe his,
He wyll bring bale to joye and perfect blisse.
He wyll redeeme the flocke of his electe,
From all that is,
Or was amisse.
Since Abrahams heyres dyd first his Lawes reject.
Gascoignes Memories, written upon this occasion.
Hee had (in myddest of his youth) determined to abandone all vaine delightes and to returne unto Greyes Inne, there to undertake againe the studdie of the common Lawes. And being required by five sundry Gentlemen to write in verse somewhat worthye to bee remembred, before he entered into their fellowshippe, hee compiled these five sundrie sortes of metre uppon five sundrye theames, whiche they delivered unto him, and the first was at request of Frauncis Kinwelmarshe who delivered him this theame. Audaces fortuna juvat. And thereuppon hee wrote this Sonnette following.
In Cæsars haughtie heart had tane the charge,
The walles of Rome had not bene rearde so hye,
Nor yet the mightye Empire left so large.
If Menelaus could have ruld his wyll,
With fowle reproche to loose his faire delight,
And Greekes with grudge had dronke their owne despight.
If dread of drenching waves or feare of fire,
Had stayde the wandring Prince amydde his race,
Ascanius then, the fruite of his desire,
In Lavine Lande had not possessed place.
But true it is, where lottes doe lyght by chaunce,
There Fortune helpes the boldest to advaunce.
The nexte was at request of Antony Kinwelmarshe, who delivered him this theame, Satis sufficit, and thereupon he wrote as foloweth.
Envenometh the minde with vanitye,
And beates the restelesse braine with endlesse driftes,
To staye the staffe of worldly dignitie:
The begger standes in like extremitie.
Wherfore to lacke the moste, and leave the least,
I coumpt enough as good as any feast.
And bought with bloud the price of glittering gold,
By too too litle many one lackes breath
And sterves in stretes a mirroure to beholde:
So pride for heate, and povertye pynes for colde.
Wherefore to lacke the most, and leave the least
I coumpt enough as good as any feast.
And mo the merier is a Proverbe eke,
But store of sores maye make a maladye,
And one to many maketh some to seeke,
When two be mette that bankette with a leeke:
Wherfore to lacke the most and leave the least,
I coumpt enough as good as any feast.
Which feedeth still, and never standes content,
The poore agayne he pines for penurye,
Which lives with lacke when all and more is spente:
So to much and to little bothe bee shente.
Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leave the least,
I coumpt enough as good as any feast.
Doth rayse up rebelles by his avarice,
The recreaunt dothe yeeld himselfe a praye,
To forraine spoyle by slouth and cowardyce:
So too much and to little both be vyce.
Wherefore to lacke the most, and leave the least,
I coumpt enough as good as any feast.
It drawes one gest too many to thine inne:
If she be fowle, and foyled with disgrace,
In other pillowes prickst thou many a pinne:
So fowle [prove] fooles, and fayrer fall to sinne.
Wherfore to lacke the moste, and leave the least
I coumpt enough as good as any feast.
Bycause my braynes no better can devise,
When thinges be badde, a small summe maketh store,
So of suche verse a fewe maye soone suffice:
Yet still to this my weary penne replyes.
That I sayde last, and though you like it least,
It is enough and as good as a feast.
John Vaughan delivered him this theame. Magnum vectigal parcimonia, where uppon he wrote thus.
The common speech is, spend and God will send,But what sendes he? a bottell and a bagge,
A staffe a wallet and a wofull ende,
For such as list in bravery so to bragge.
Learne first to spare thy budget at the brinke,
So shall the bottome be the faster bound:
But he that list with lavish hand to linke,
(In like expence) a pennye with a pound,
May chaunce at last to sitte a side and shrinke
His harbraind head with out dame dainties dore.
Hick, [H]obbe, and Dick, with clouts upon their knee,
Have many times more goonhole grotes in store
And change of crownes more quicke at cal then he,
Which let their lease and take their rent before.
For he that rappes a royall on his cappe,
Before he put one penny in his pursse,
Had neede turne quicke and broch a better tappe,
Or els his drinke may chance go downe the wursse.
I not denie but some men have good hap,
To climbe a lofte by scales of courtly grace,
And winne the world with liberalitye:
Yet he that yerks old angells out apace,
And hath no newe to purchase dignitye,
When orders fall, may chaunce to lacke his grace.
For haggard hawkes mislike an emptie hand:
So stiffely some sticke to the mercers stall,
Till sutes of silke have swet out all their land.
So ofte thy neighbours banquet in thy hall,
Till Davie Debet in thy parler stand,
And bids the welcome to thine owne decay.
I like a Lions lookes not worth a leeke
When every Foxe beguiles him of his praye:
What sauce but sorrow serveth him a weeke,
Which all his cates consumeth in one daye?
First use thy stomacke to a stand of ale,
Before thy Malmesey come in Marchantes bookes,
And rather were (for shifte) thy shirte of male,
Than teare thy silken sleves with teynter hokes,
Put feathers in thy pillowes great and small,
Let them be princkt with plumes, that gape for plummes,
Heape up bothe golde and silver safe in hooches,
Catche, snatche, and scratche for scrapings and for crommes
Before thou decke thy hatte (on high) with brooches.
Before that other learne his letting flie:
Remember still that soft fire makes sweet malte,
No haste but good (who meanes to multiplye:)
Bought witte is deare, and drest with sower salte,
Repentaunce commes to late, and then saye I,
Who spares the first and keepes the last unspent,
Shall finde that sparing yeeldes a goodly rent.
Alexander Nevile delivered him this theame, Sat cito, si sat bene, whereupon hee compiled these seven Sonets in seq[u]ence, therin bewraying his owne Nimis cito: and therwith his Vix bene, as foloweth.
[1]
In haste poste haste, when first my wandring minde,Behelde the glistring Courte with gazing eye,
Suche deepe delightes I seemde therin to finde,
As might beguile a graver guest than I.
The stately pompe of Princes and their peeres,
Did seeme to swimme in flouddes of beaten goulde,
The wanton world of yong delightfull yeeres,
Was not unlyke a heaven for to behoulde.
Wherin dyd swarme (for every saint) a Dame,
So faire of hue, so freshe of their attire,
As might excell dame Cinthia for Fame,
Or conquer Cupid with his owne desire.
These and suche lyke were baytes that blazed still
Before myne eye to feede my greedy will.
2
Before mine eye to feede my greedy will,Gan muster eke mine olde acquainted mates,
Who helpt the dish (of vayne delighte) to fill
My empty mouth with dayntye delicates:
And folishe boldenesse toke the whippe in hande,
To lashe my life into this trustlesse trace,
Til all in haste I leapte a loofe from lande,
And hoyste up soyle to catche a Courtly grace:
Till in that haplesse haven my head was brought:
Waves of wanhope so tost me to and fro,
In deepe dispayre to drowne my dreadfull thought:
Eche houre a day eche day a yeare did seeme,
And every yeare a worlde my will did deeme.
3
And every yeare a worlde my will did deeme,Till lo, at last, to Court nowe am I come,
A seemely swayne, that might the place beseeme,
A gladsome guest embraste of all and some:
Not there contente with common dignitie,
My wandring eye in haste, (yea poste poste haste)
Behelde the blazing badge of braverie,
For wante wherof, I thought my selfe disgraste:
Then peevishe pride puffte up my swelling harte,
To further foorth so hotte an enterprise:
And comely cost beganne to playe his parte,
In praysing patternes of mine owne devise.
Thus all was good that might be got in haste,
To princke me up, and make me higher plaste.
4
To prinke me up and make me higher plaste,All came to late that taryed any time,
Pilles of provision pleased not my taste,
They made my heeles to heavie for to clime:
Mee thought it best that boughes of boystrous oake,
Should first be shread to make my feathers gaye.
Tyll at the last a deadly dinting stroake,
Brought downe the bulke with edgetooles of decaye:
Of every farme I then let flye a lease,
To feede the purse that payde for peevishnesse,
Till rente and all were falne in suche disease,
As scarse coulde serve to mayntayne cleanlynesse:
They bought, the bodie, fine, ferme, lease, and lande,
All were to little for the merchauntes hande.
5
All were to little for the merchauntes hande,And yet my braverye bigger than his booke:
But when this hotte accompte was coldly scande,
I thought highe time about me for to looke:
To see the fountaine of my furious race.
Comparde my losse, my living, and my lacke,
In equall balance with my jolye grace.
And sawe expences grating on the grounde
Like lumpes of lead to presse my pursse full ofte,
When light rewarde and recompence were founde,
Fleeting like feathers in the winde alofte:
These thus comparde, I left the Courte at large,
For why? the gaines doth seeldome quitte the charge.
6
For why? the gaines doth seldome quitte ye charge,And so saye I, by proofe too dearely bought,
My haste mad wast, my brave and brainsicke barge,
Did float to fast, to catch a thing of nought:
With leasure, measure, meane, and many mo,
I mought have kept a chayre of quiet state,
But hastie heads can not bee setled so,
Till croked Fortune give a crabbed mate:
As busie braynes muste beate on tickle toyes,
As rashe invention breedes a rawe devise,
So sodayne falles doe hinder hastie joyes,
And as swifte baytes doe fleetest fyshe entice.
So haste makes waste, and therefore nowe I saye,
No haste but good, where wisdome makes the waye.
7
No haste but good, where wisdome makes the waye,For profe whereof, behold the simple snayle,
(Who sees the souldiers carcasse caste a waye,
With hotte assaulte the Castle to assayle,)
By line and leysure clymes the loftye wall,
And winnes the turrettes toppe more conningly,
Than doughtye Dick, who loste his life and all,
With hoysting up his head to hastilye.
The swiftest bitche brings foorth the blyndest whelpes,
The hottest Fevers coldest crampes ensue,
The nakedst neede hathe over latest helpes:
With Nevyle then I finde this proverbe true,
That haste makes waste, and therefore still I saye,
No haste but good, where wisdome makes the waye.
Richarde Courtop (the last of the five) gave him this theame, Durum æneum & miserabile ævum, and thereupon hee wrote in this wise.
When peerelesse Princes courtes were free from flatterie,The Justice from unequal doome, the quest from perjurie,
The pillers of the state, from proude presumption,
The clearkes from heresie, the commones from rebellion:
Then right rewardes were given, by swaye of dewe desarte,
Then vertues derlinges might be plaste aloft to play their part:
Then might they coumpt it true, that hath beene sayde of olde,
The children of those happie dayes, were borne in beds of golde,
And swadled in the same: the Nurse that gave them sucke,
Was wife to liberallitie, and lemman to good lucke.
When Cæsar woon the fielde, his captaines caught the Townes,
And every painful souldiours purse was crammed ful of crownes.
Licurgus for good Lawes, lost his owne libertie,
And thought it better to preferre common commoditie.
But nowe the times are turnde, it is not as it was,
The golde is gone, the silver sunke, and nothing left but brasse.
To see a King encroache, what wonder should it seeme,
When commons cannot be content, with countrie Dyadeeme?
The Prince maye dye a babe, trust up by trecherie,
Where vaine ambition doth move trustlesse nobillitye.
Errours in pulpit preache, where faith in priesthood failes,
Promotion (not devotion) is cause why cleargie quailes.
Thus is the stage stakt out, where all these partes be plaide,
And I the prologue should pronounce, but that I am afraide.
First Cayphas playes the Priest, and Herode sits as king,
Pylate the Judge, Judas the Jurour verdict in doth bring,
Vaine tatling plaies the vice, well cladde in ritche aray,
And poore Tom Trooth is laught to skorn, with garments nothing gay.
The woman wantonnesse, shee commes with ticing traine,
Pride in hir pocket plaies bo peepe, and bawdry in hir braine.
Hir handmaides be deceipte, daunger, and dalliaunce,
Riot and Revell follow hir, they be of hir alliaunce:
Next these commes in Sim Swashe, to see what sturre they keepe.
Clim of the Clough then takes his heeles, tis time for him to creepe:
He say[s] these jestes can get no grotes, & al this geare goth wrong:
Fyrst pride without cause why, he singes the treble parte,
The meane hee mumbles out of tune, for lacke of life and hart:
Cost lost, the counter Tenor chanteth on apace,
Thus all in discords stands the cliffe, and beggrie singes the base.
The players loose their paines, where so fewe pence are sturring,
Their garmēts weare for lacke of gains, & fret for lack of furring.
When all is done and past, was no part plaide but one,
For everye player plaide the foole, tyll all be spent and gone.
And thus this foolishe jest, I put in dogrell rime,
Because a crosier staffe is best, for such a crooked time.
And thus an ende of these five Theames, admounting to the number of .CCLVIII. verses, devised ryding by the way, writing none of them untill he came at the ende of his Journey, the which was no longer than one day in ryding, one daye in tarying with his friend, and the thirde in returning to Greyes Inne: and therefore called Gascoignes memories.
My recklesse race is runne, greene youth and pride be past,My riper mellowed yeeres beginne to follow on as fast.
My glancing lookes are gone, which wonted were to prie,
In everie gorgious garishe glasse, that glistred in mine eie.
My sight is now so dimme, it can behold none such,
No mirrour but the merrie meane, can please my fansie much.
And in that noble glasse, I take delight to vewe,
The fashions of the wonted world, compared by the newe.
For marke who lyst to looke, eche man is for him selfe.
And beates his braine to hord & heape, this trashe & worldly pelfe.
Fewe men wyll lende a locke of heye, but for to gaine a loade.
Give Gave is a good man, what neede we lashe it out,
The world is wondrous feareful now, for danger bids men doubt.
And aske how chaunceth this? or what meanes all this meede?
Forsoothe the common aunswere is, because the Lord hath neede.
A noble jest by gisse, I finde it in my glasse,
The same freeholde our saviour Christ, conveyed to his asse.
A texte to trie the trueth, and for this time full fitte,
Fo[r] where should we our lessons learne, but out of holy writte?
First marke our onely God, which ruleth all the rost,
He sets a side all pompe and pride, wherein fond wordlings boast.
His trayne is not so great, as filthy Sathans band,
A smaller heard maye serve to feede, at our great masters hand.
Next marke the heathens Gods, and by them shall we see,
They be not now so good fellowes, as they were wonte to be.
Jove, Mars, and Mercurie, Dame Venus and the rest,
They bāquet not as they were wont, they know it were not best.
So kinges and princes both, have left their halles at large,
Their privie chambers cost enough, they cut off every charge.
And when an office falles, as chaunce somtimes maye bee,
First kepe it close a yere or twayne, then geld it by the fee.
And give it out at last, but yet with this proviso,
(A bridle for a brainsicke Jade) durante bene placito.
Some thinke these ladders low, to climbe alofte with speede:
Well let them creepe at leisure thē, for sure the Lord hath neede.
Dukes Earles and Barons bold, have learnt like lesson nowe,
They breake up house & come to courte, they live not by ye plowe.
Percase their roomes be skant, not like their stately boure,
A field bed in a corner coucht, a pallad on the floure.
But what for that? no force, they make thereof no boast,
They feede them selves with delycates, and at the princes cost.
And as for all their men, their pages and their swaynes,
They choke thē up with chynes of beefe, to multiply their gaines.
Themselves lie neere to looke, when any leafe doth fall,
Such cromes were wont to feede pore gromes, but nowe ye Lords licke al.
I mocke not I, my text is true, beleeve it as your creede.
Our Prelates and our Priests, can tell this text with mee,
They can hold fast their fattest fermes, and let no lease go free.
They have both wife and childe, which maye not be forgot,
The scriptures say the Lord hath neede, and therfore blame them not.
Then come a little lower, unto the contrye knight,
The squire and the gentleman, they leave the countrye quite,
Their Halles were all to large, their tables were to long,
The clouted shoes came in so faste, they kepte to great a throng,
And at the porters lodge, where lubbers wonte to feede,
The porter learnes to answere now, hence hence the Lord hath neede.
His gestes came in to thicke, their diet was to great,
Their horses eate up all the hey, which should have fed his neate:
Their teeth were farre to fine, to feede on porke and souse,
Fyve flocks of sheepe could scarce maintaine good mutten for his house.
And when this count was cast, it was no biding here,
Unto the good towne is he gonne, to make his frends good cheere.
And welcome there that will, but shall I tell you howe:
At his owne dish he feedeth them, that is the fashion nowe,
Side bords be layed aside, the tables ende is gonne,
His cooke shall make you noble cheere, but hostler hath he none.
The chargers now be changde, wherein he wont to eate,
An olde frutedish is bigge ynough to hold a joynte of meate.
A sallad or a sauce, to tast your cates with all,
Som strāg devise to feede mēs eies, mēs stomacks now be small.
And when the tenauntes come to paie their quarters rent,
They bringe some fowle at Midsommer, a dish of Fish in Lent,
At Christmasse a capon, at Mighelmasse a goose:
And somewhat else at Newyeres tide, for feare their lease flie loose.
Good reason by my troth, when Gentlemen lacke groates,
Let Plowmen pinche it out for pence, & patch their russet coates:
For better Fermers fast, than Manner houses fall,
Well lowest nowe at last, let see the contrye loute,
And marke how he doth swink & sweat, to bring this geare about:
His feastinges be but fewe, cast whipstockes clout his shoone,
The wheaten loafe is locked up as sone as dinners doone:
And where he wonte to kepe a lubber, two or three,
Now hath he learnd to kepe no more, but Sim his sonne and he,
His wife and Mawde his mayd, a boye to pitch the carte,
And turne him up at Hollontide, to feele the winter smarte:
Dame Alyson his wife doth knowe the price of meale,
Hir bride cakes be not halfe so bigge as she was wont to steale:
She weares no silver hookes, she is content with worsse,
Hir pendantes and hir silver pinnes she putteth in hir pursse.
Thus learne I by my glasse, that merrie meane is best,
And he most wise that finds the meane, to keepe himselfe at rest.
Perchaunce some open mouth will mutter now and than,
And at the market tell his mate, our landlordes a zore man:
He racketh up our rentes, and keepes the best in hand,
He makes a wōdrous deale of good out of his own measne land:
Yea let suche pelters prate, saint Needam be their speede,
We neede no text to answer them, but this, The Lord hath nede.
An Epitaph upon Captaine Bourcher late slaine in the warres in Zelande, the which hath bene termed the tale of a stone as foloweth.
Your Souldiours eke by silence purchase shame:
Can no man penne in meetre nor in prose,
The lyfe, the death, the valliaunt actes, the fame,
The birth, behaviour, nor the noble name,
Of such a feere as you in fight have lost:
Alas such paines would quickly quite the cost.
Yet no man writes one worde to paint his praise,
His sprite on highe, his carkasse here belowe,
Doth both condemne your doting ydle dayes:
Yet ceasse they not to sounde his worthy wayes,
Who lived to dye, and dyed againe to live,
With death deere bought, he dyd his death forgive.
Yet were his manners meeke and alwayes milde,
Who gave a gesse by gazing on his face,
And judgde thereby, might quickly be beguilde,
In fielde a Lion, and in Towne a Childe,
Fierce to his foe, but courteouse to his friende.
Alas the while, his life so soone should ende?
To serve his God, his death he thought but dew,
In all attempts as foreward as the best,
And all to forewardes, which we all may rew,
His life so shewed, his death eke tried it true:
For where his foes in thickest prease dyd stande,
Bourcher caught bane with bloodie sworde in hande.
When he in bed laye wounded wondrous sore,
And heard allarme, he soone forgot his smart,
And calde for armes to shewe his service more:
I wyll to fielde (quod he) and God before.
Which sayde, he sailde into more quiet coast,
Styll praysing God, and so gave up the ghost.
Or write sometimes the deedes of worthy ones,
I could not holde although my heart should breake,
(Because here by me buryed are his bones,)
But I must tell this tale thus for the nones
When men crye mumme and keepe such silence long,
Then stones must speake, els dead men shall have wrong.
A devise of a Maske for the right honorable Viscount Mountacute
written upon this occasion, when the sayde L. had prepared to solemnize twoo marriages betweene his sonne and heyre, and the Daughter of syr William Dormer Knight, and betweene the sonne and heyre of syr William Dormer, and the Daughter of the said L. Mountacute: there were eight Gentlemen (all of blood or alliaunce to the sayd L. Mountacute) which had determined to present a Maske at the daye appointed for the sayd marriages, and so farre they had proceeded therein, that they had alreadye bought furniture of Silkes, &c, and had caused their garmentes to bee cut of the Venetian fashion. Nowe then they began to imagine that (without some speciall demonstration) it would seeme somewhat obscure to have Venetians presented rather than other countrey men. Whereupon they entreated the Aucthour to devise some verses to bee uttered by an Actor wherein might be some discourse convenient to render a good cause of the Venetians presence. The Aucthour calling to minde that there is a noble house of the Mountacutes in Italie, and therwithall that the L. Mountacute here doth quarter the coate of an auncient English Gentleman called Mounthermer, and hath the inheritaunce of the sayde house, dyd thereupon devise to bring in a Boye of the age of twelve or .xiiii. yeeres, who should faine that he was a Mounthermer by the fathers side, and a Mountacute by the mothers side, and that his father being slaine at the last warres against the Turke, and he there taken, hee was recovered by the Venetians in their last victorie, and with them sayling towardes Venice, they were driven by tempest upon these coastes, and so came to the marriage upon report as followeth, and the sayde Boye pronounced the devise in this sort.
And wherefore marvaile you Mez Dames, I praye you tell mee then?
Is it so rare a sight, or yet so straunge a toye,
Amongst so many nooble peeres, to see one Pouer Boye?
As Ganymede that pretye boye, in Heaven is Jove his page.
Cupid that mighty God although his force be fearse,
Yet is he but a naked Boye, as Poets doe rehearse.
And many a preetye boye a mightye man hath proved,
And served his Prince at all assayes deserving to bee loved.
Percase my strange attire my glittering golden gite,
Doth eyther make you marvaile thus, or move you with delite.
Yet wonder not my Lordes for if your honours please,
But even to give me eare a while, I wyll your doubtes appease.
And you shall knowe the cause, wherefore these roabes are worne,
And why I goe outlandishe lyke, yet being Englishe borne.
And why I thus presume to presse into this place,
And why I (simple boye) am bolde to looke such men in face.
Fyrst then you must perstande, I am no straunger I,
But English boye, in England borne, and bred but even hereby.
My father was a Knight, Mount Hermer was his name,
My mother of the Mountacutes, a house of worthy fame.
My father from his youth was trained up in field,
And alwayes toke his chiefe delight, in helmet speare and shielde.
Soldado for his life, and in his happie dayes,
Soldado like hath lost his life, to his immortall prayse.
The thundering fame which blewe about the worlde so wyde,
Howe that the Christian enemye, the Turke that Prince of pride,
Addressed had his power, to swarme uppon the Seas,
With Gallies, foists, and such lik[e] ships, well armde at al assaies.
And that he made his vaunt, the greedy fishe to glut,
With gobs of Christian carkasses, in cruell peeces cut.
These newes of this report, did pearce my fathers eares,
But never touched his noble heart, with any sparke of feares.
For well he knewe the trade of all the Turkishe warres,
And had amongst them shed his blood, at many cruell jarres.
In Rhodes his race begonne, a slender tal[l] yong man,
Where he by many martiall feats, his spurres of knighthood wan.
Yea though the peece was lost, yet won he honour styll,
And evermore against the Turkes he warred by his wyll.
At Chios many knowe, how hardily he fought,
And howe with streames of stryving blood, his honoure deare hee bought.
He bought his libertie with Landes, and let his goodes ago.
Zechines of glistering golde, two thousand was his price,
The which to paye his landes must leape, for else he were unwise.
Beleeve me nowe my Lordes although the losse be mine,
Yet I confesse them better solde, than lyke a slave to pine.
“For landes maye come againe, but lybertie once lost,
“Can never finde such recompence, as countervailes the cost.
My selfe now know the case, who lyke my fathers lot,
Was lyke of late for to have lost my libertie God wot.
My father (as I saye) enforste to leave his lande,
In mortgage to my mothers kinne, for ready coyne in hande,
Gan nowe upon these newes, which earst I dyd rehearse,]
Prepare himselfe to save his pawne, or else to leese his phearce.
And first his raunsome payde, with that which dyd remaine,
He rigged up a proper Barke, was called Leffort Brittaine.
And lyke a venturer (besides him seemely selfe)
Determined for to venture me and all his worldly pelfe.
Perhappes some hope of gaine perswaded so his minde,
For sure his hauty heart was bent, some greate exploite to finde.
Howe so it were, the windes nowe hoysted up our sailes,
Wee furrowing in the foming flooddes, to take our best availes.
Now hearken to my wordes, and marke you well the same,
For nowe I wyll declare the cause, wherefore I hyther came.
My father (as I saye) had set up all his rest,
And tost on seas both daye and night, disdayning ydle rest,
We left our forelandes ende, we past the coast of Fraunce,
We reacht the cape of Finis Terre our course for to advaunce.
We past Marrocchus streightes, and at the last descried,
The fertile coastes of Cyprus soile, which I my selfe first spyed.
My selfe (a foreward boye) on highest top was plast,
And there I saw the Cyprian shoare, whereto we sayld in haste.
Which when I had declared unto the masters mate,
He lepte for joye and thanked God, of that our happy state.
“But what remaines to man, that can continue long?
“What sunne can shine so cleare & bright but cloudes may ryse among?
Which sentence soone was proved, by our unhappy hap,
We thought our selves full neere our friendes, & light in enemies lap.
Of famous Famagosta then and sought to make them thralles.
And as he laye by lande, in strong and stately trenche,
So was his power prest by Sea, his Christian foes to drenche.
Upon the waltring waves, his Foistes and Gallies fleete,
More forrest like than orderly, for such a man most meete.
This heavy sight once seene, we turnde our course apace,
And set up al our sailes in haste, to give suche furie place.
But out alas, our willes, and windes were contrarie,
For raging blastes did blowe us still uppon our enimie.
My father seeing then, whereto he needes must go,
And that the mighty hand of God, had it appointed so,
Most like a worthy knight (though certaine of his death)
Gan cleane forget all wayling wordes, as lavishe of his breath.
And to his Christian crewe, this (too shorte) tale he told,
To comfort them which seemde to faint, & make the coward bold,
“Fellowes in armes, quod hee, although I beare the charge,
“And take upon mee chieftaines name, of this unhappy barge,
“Yet are you all my pheares, and as one companie,
“Wee must like true companions, togeather live and die,
“You see quod hee our foes, with furious force at hand,
“And in whose handes our handfull heere, unable is to stand,
“What resteth then to doe, should we unto them yeeld?
“And wi[l]fully receive that yoke, which Christians cannot weld.
“No sure, hereof be sure, our lives were so unsure,
“And though we live, yet so to live, as better death endure.
“To heare those hellishe fiendes in raging blasphemie,
“Defye our onely Saviour, were this no miserie?
“To see the fowle abuse of boyes in tender yeeres,
“The which I knowe must needes abhorre all honest Christians eares.
“To see maides ravished, Wives, Women forst by feare,
“And much more mischiefe than this time can let me utter here.
“Alas, quod he, I tell not all, my tongue is tyde,
“But all the slaveries on the earth, we should with them abide.
“How much were better than, to dye in worthy wise,
“And so to make our carkasses, a wylling Sacrifice?
“So shall we paye the debt, which unto God is due,
“And who with hardy hand, most Turkish tikes can quell,
“Let him accompt in conscience, to please his maker well.
“You see, quod he, my sonne, wherewith hee lookt on mee,
“Whome but a babe, yet have I brought, my partner here to bee.
“For him, I must confesse, my heart is pensive nowe,
“To leave him lyving thus in youth, to die I know not how.
“But since it pleaseth God, I may not murmure I,
“If God had pleased we both should live, and as God wyll we dye.
Thus with a braying sigh, his noble tongue he stayde,
Commaunding all the ordinaunce, in order to be laide.
And placing all his men in order for to fight,
Fell groveling styll upon his face, before them all in sight.
And when in secreete so, he whispered had a while,
He raisde his head with cheerefull looke, his sorrowes to beguile:
And with the rest he prayde, to God in heaven on hie,
Which ended thus, Thou onely Lord, canst helpe in miserie.
This sayd (behold) the Turkes enclosde us round about,
And seemde to wonder that we durst resist so great a rout.
Wherat they doubt not long, for though our power was slender,
We sent them signes by Canon shot, that we ment not to render.
Then might we see them chafe, then might we heare them rage,
And all at once they bent their force, about our silly cage.
Our ordinaunce bestowed, our men them selves defend,
On every side so thicke beset, they might not long contend.
But as their captaine wilde, eche man his force did strayne,
To send a Turke (some two or three) unto the hellishe trayne,
And he himselfe which sawe, he might no more abide,
Did thrust amide the thickest throng, and so with honour died.
With him there dyed like wise, his best aproved men,
The rest did yeeld as men amazd, they had no courage then.
Amongest the which my selfe, was tane by Turkes alas,
And with the Turkes a turkish life, in Turkie must I passe.
I was not done to death for so I often cravde,
But like a slave before the Gattes, of Famagosta savde.
That peece once put to sacke, I thither was conveyed,
There dyd I see such sightes, as yet my heart do pricke,
I sawe the noble Bragadine, when he was fleyd quicke.
First like a slave enforst to beare to every breach,
Two baskets laden full with earth Mustaffa dyd him teach.
By whome he might not passe before he kyst the grounde,
These cruell tormentes (yet with mo) that worthy souldior found.
His eares cut from his head, they set him in a chayre,
And from a maine yard hoisted him aloft into the ayre,
That so he might be shewed with crueltie and spight,
Unto us all, whose weeping eyes dyd much abhorre the sight.
Alas why do I thus with woefull wordes rehearse,
These werye newes which all our heartes with pittie needes must pearce?
Well then to tell you forth, I styll a slave remaind,
To one, which Prelybassa hight, who held me styll enchaind.
With him I went to Seas into the gulfe of Pant,
With many christians captives mo, which dyd their freedom wāt.
There with the Turkishe traine we were enforst to staye,
With waltring styll upon the waves, dyd waite for furder praye.
For why? they had advise, that the Venetian fleete,
Dyd floote in Argostelly then, with whome they hopte to meete.
And as they waltered thus with tides and billowes tost,
Their hope had hap, for at the last they met them to their cost.
As in October last uppon the seventh daye,
They found the force of christian knightes addrest in good aray.
And shall I trie my tong to tell the whole discourse,
And howe they did encounter first, and howe they joynd in force?
Then harken nowe my lords, for sure my memorye,
Doth yet recorde the very plot of all this victorye,
The christian crew came on, in forme of battayle pight,
And like a cressent cast them selves preparing for to fight.
On other side the Turkes, which trusted power to much,
Disorderly did spread their force, the will of God was such.
Well at the last they met, and first with cannones thunder,
Eache other sought with furious force to slit their ships in sunder.
The hulks are hit, and every man must stand unto his lot.
The powder sendes his smoke into the cruddy skies,
The smoulder stops our nose with stench, the fume offends our eies.
The pots of lime unsleakt, from highest top are cast,
The parched pease are not for got to make them slip as fast.
The wilde fire works are wrought and cast in foemens face,
The grappling hooks are stretched foorth, ye pikes are pusht a pace.
The halbert[s] hewe on hed, the browne billes bruse the bones,
The harquebush doth spit his spight, with prety persing stones.
The drummes crie dub a dub, the braying trumpets blow,
The whistling fifes are seldom herd, these sounds do drowne thē so.
The voyce of warlike wights, to comfort them that faynt,
The pitious plaints of golden harts, which were with feares attaint.
The groning of such ghosts as gasped nowe for breath,
The praiers of the better sort, prepared unto death.
And to be short, eache griefe which on the earth maye growe,
Was eath and easie to be found, upon these floudes to flowe.
If any sight on earth, maye unto hell resemble,
Then sure this was a hellishe sighte, it makes me yet to tremble:
And in this bloudie fight, when halfe the daye was spent,
It pleazed God to helpe his flocke, which thus in poūd was pent.
The generall of Spayne, gan gald that galley sore,
Where in my Prely Bassa was, and grievde it more and more:
Upon that other side, with force of sworde and flame,
The good Venetian Generall dyd charge upon the same.
At leength they came aboorde, and in his raging pride,
Stroke of this Turkish captains head, which blasphemd as it dide:
Oh howe I feele the bloud now trickle in my brest,
To thinke what joye then pierst my heart, and how I thought me blest.
To see that cruell Turke which held me as his slave,
By happie hand of Christians, his paiment thus to have:
The which Don John of Austrye, helde in his triumphant hand.
The boldest Bassa then, that dyd in life remaine,
Gan tremble at the sight hereof, for privy griefe and paine.
Thus when these fierce had fought, from morning untyl night,
Christ gave his flocke the victory, and put his foes to flight:
And of the Turkishe traine, were eyght score Galleys tane,
Fifteene sunke, five and twenty burnt, & brought unto their bane,
Of Christians set at large were foureteene thousand soules,
Turkes twentie thousand registred in Belzebub his rolles.
Thus have you nowe my Lordes, the summe of all their fight,
And trust it all for true I tell, for I was styll in sight:
But when the Seas were calme, and skies began to cleare,
When foes were all or dead or fled, and victors dyd appeare.
Then every Christian sought amongst us for his friende,
His kinsman or companion, some succour them to lende:
And as they ransakte so, loe God his wyll it was,
A noble wise Venetian, by me dyd chaunce to passe:
Who gazing on my face, dyd seeme to lyke me well,
And what my name, and whence I was, commaunded me to tel:
I now which waxed bolde, as one that scaped had,
From deepest hell to highest heaven, began for to be glad:
And with a lively sprite, began to pleade my case,
And hid not from this worthy man, myne auntient worthy race:
And tolde my fathers name, and howe I dyd descende,
From Mountacutes by Mothers side, nor there my tale dyd ende.
But furthermore I tolde my Fathers late exployte,
And how he left [landes,] goodes & life, to pay son Dieu son droit.
Nor of my selfe I craved so credited to bee,
For lo there were remaining yet, These foure whom here you see.
Which all were Englishe borne, and knewe I had not lyed,
And were my Fathers souldiors eke, and sawe him how he dyed.
This grave Venetian who heard the famous name,
Of Mountacutes rehersed there, which long had bene of fame
In Italy, and he of selfe same worthy race,
And kyssed me on cheeke, and bad me make good cheere,
And thank the mighty hand of God, for that which hapned there,
Confessing that he was him selfe a Mountacute,
And bare the selfe same armes that I dyd quarter in my scute:
And for a further proofe, he shewed in his hat,
This token which the Mountacutes dyd beare alwaies, for that
They covet to be knowne from Capels where they passe,
For auncient grutch which lōg ago, twene these two houses was.
Then tooke me by the hand, and ledde me so aboorde,
His Galley: where there were yfeere, full many a comely Lorde:
Of whome eyght Mountacutes dyd sitte in highest place,
To whom this first declared first my name, and then my race:
Lo Lordings here (quod he) a babe of our owne bloods,
Whō Turks had tane, his father slaine, with losse of lands & goods:
See how God favours us, that I should find him nowe,
I straunge to him, he straunge to mee, we met I know not howe.
But sure when I him saw, and gazed in his face,
Me thought he was a Mountacute, I chose him by his grace.
Herewith he dyd rehearse my Fathers valiaunt deede,
For losse of whome eche Mountacute, did seeme in heart to bleede.
They all embrast me then, and straight as you may see,
In comely garments trimde me up, as brave as brave may bee:
I was in sackcloath I, nowe am I cladde in Golde,
And weare such roabes, as I my selfe take pleasure to beholde.
Amongst their other giftes, this token they me gave,
And bad me lyke a Mountacute, my selfe alway behave.
Nowe hearken then my Lordes, I staying on the Seas
In consort of these lovely Lordes, with comfort and with ease,
Determined with them in Italie to dwell,
And there by traine of youthfull yeeres in knowledge to excell.
That so I might at last reedifye the walles,
Which my good father had decaide by tossing fortunes balles.
And while they slice the Seas to their desired shore,
At last with raging blast, which from Southeast dyd blowe,
Gan sende our sailes upon these shores, which I ful wel did know.
I spyed the Chalkie Clyves upon the Kentishe coast,
Whereby our Lande hight Albyon, as Brutus once dyd boast.
Which I no sooner sawe, but to the rest I sayde,
Siate di buona voglia, My Lordes be well apaide:
I see by certaine signes these Tempestes have us cast,
Upon my native countrey coastes with happy hap at last:
And if your honours please this honour me to doo,
In Englishe havens to harbour you, and see our Citties too:
Lo London is not farre, whereas my friendes would bee,
Right glad, with favour to requite your favour shewed to mee:
Vouchsafe my Lordes (quod I) to stay upon this strand,
And whiles your Barks be rigged new, remaine with me on land.
Who though I bee a Boye, my Father dead and slaine,
Yet shall you see I have some friendes which wyll you entertaine.
These Noble men which are, the flowre of curtesie,
Dyd not disdaine this my request, but tooke it thankfullie.
And from their battered Barkes commaunded to be cast,
Some Gondalaes, wherin upon our pleasant streames they past.
Into the mo[u]th of Thames, thus dyd I them transport,
And to London at the last, whereas I heard report,
Even as we landed first, of this twise happie day,
To thinke whereon I leapt for joye, as I both must and may.
And to these lovely Lordes, which are Magnificoes,
I dyd declare the whole discourse in order as it rose:
That you my Lorde who are the chiefest Mountacute,
And he whome Englishe Mountacutes their onely staye impute,
Had found the meanes this daye to match your sonne and heire,
In marriage with a worthy dame, which is both fresh and faire,
And (as reportes are spread) of goodly quallyties,
A virgin trayned from hir youth in godly exercise,
Whose brother had like wise your daughter tane to wife,
And so by double lynkes enchaynde themselves in lovers life:
These noble Mountacutes which were from Venice droven,
By tempest (as I tolde before) wherewith they long had stroven,
To see such honours of their kinne in such a happie day.
And straight they mee intreat, whom they might wel commaund,
That I should come to you my Lord, first them to recommaund,
And then this boone to crave, that under your protection,
They might be bolde to enter here, devoyd of all suspection,
And so in friendly wise for to conselebrate,
This happie match solemnized, according to your state.
Lo this is all they crave, the which I can not doubt,
But that your Lordship soone will graunt, with more, if more ye mought:
Yea were it for no more, but for the Curtesie,
Which as I saye they shewde to me in greate extremitye:
They are Venetians, and though from Venice reft,
They come in such Venecian robes, as they on seas had left:
And since they be your friendes, and kinsmen too by blood,
I trust your entretainement will be to them right good:
They will not tarry long, to nowe I heare their drumme,
Behold, lo nowe I see them here, in order howe they come,
Receive them well my lord, so shall I praye all wayes,
That God vouchsafe to blesse this house with many happie days.
After the maske was done, the Actor tooke master Tho. Bro. by the hand an[d] brought him to the Venetians, with these words
Guardate Signori my lovely Lords behold,This is another Mountacute, hereof you may bee bold.
Of such our patrone here, The viscont Mountacute,
Hath many comely sequences, well sorted all in sute.
But as I spied him first, I could not let him passe,
I tooke the carde that likt me best, in order as it was.
And here to you my lords, I do present the same,
Make much of him, I pray you then, for he is of your name.
For whome I dare advante, he may your Trounchman bee,
Your herald and ambassadour, let him play all for me.
Then the Venetians embraced and received the same maister Tho. Browne, and after they had a while whispered with him, he torned to the Bridegroomes and Brides, saying thus.
Brother, these noblemen to you nowe have me sent,As for their Trounchman to expound the effect of their intent.
They bid me tell you then, they like your worthy choyce,
And that they cannot choose therin but triumph and rejoyce.
As farre as gesse may give, they seeme to praise it well,
They saye betweene your Ladyes eyes, doth Gentilezza dwell.
I terme it as they doo, their english is but weake,
And I (God knowes) am al to yong, beyond sea speach to speake.
And you my sister eke they seeme for to commend,
With such good wor[d]es as may beseeme a cosin and a friend.
They lyke your chosen pheare, so praye they for your sake,
That he maye alwayes be to you, a faythfull loving make.
This in effect is all, but that they crave a boone,
That you will give them licence yet, to come and see you soone.
Then will they speake them selves, such english as they can,
I feare much better then I speake, that am an english man.
Lo nowe they take their leaves of you and of your dames,
Here after shal you see their face and knowe them by their nam[e]s.
Then when they had taken their leaves the Actor did make an ende thus.
And I your Servidore, vi bascio le mani,These wordes I learnt amongst them yet, although I learnt not many.
The refusal of a lover, writen to a gentlewoman who had refused him and chosen a husband (as he thought) much inferior to himselfe, both in knowledge, birth, and parsonage, wherin he bewraieth both their names in clowdes, and how she was won from him with swete gloves, and broken ringes.
I cannot wish thy griefe, although thou worke my wooe,Since I profest to be thy friend, I cannot be thy foe:
But if thinges done and past, might well be cald agayne,
Then would I wishe the wasted wordes, which I have spent in vayne:
Were yet untold to thee, in earnest or in game,
And that my doubtfull musing mind, had never thought ye same.
For whiles I thee beheld, in carefull thoughtes I spent,
My liking lust, my luckelesse love which ever truely ment.
And whiles I sought a meane, by pittie to procure,
Too latte I found that gorged haukes, do not esteme the lure.
This vauntage hast thou then, thou mayest wel brag and boast.
Thou mightest have had a lustye lad of stature with the most,
And eke of noble mind: his vertues nothing base,
Do well declare that he desends, of auncient worthy race.
Save that I not his name, and though I could it tell,
My friendly pen shall let it passe, bicause I love him well.
And thou hast chosen one of meaner parentage,
Of stature smale and therewithall, unequall for thine age.
His thewes unlike the first, yet hast thou hote desire,
To play thee in his flitting flames, God graunt they prove not fire.
Him holdest thou as deare, and he thy Lord shall bee,
(Too late alas) thou lovest him, that never loved thee.
And for just profe hereof, marke what I tell is true,
Some dismold daye shall chaunge his minde, and make him seeke a new.
Then wylt thou much repent, thy bargaine made in haste,
And much lament those perfumd Gloves, which yeeld such sower taste,
And eke the falsed faith, which lurkes in broken ringes,
Then shalt thou sing and saye, farewell my trusty Squyer,
Would God my mind had yeelded once, unto thy just desire.
Thus shalt thou wayle my want, and I thy great unrest,
Which cruel Cupid kindled hath, within thy broken brest.
Thus shalt thou find it griefe, which earst thou thoughtest game,
And I shall heare the wearie newes, by true reporting fame.
Lamenting thy mishap, in source of swelling teares,
Harding my heart with cruell care, which frosen fansie beares.
And though my just desert, thy pittie could not move,
Yet wyl I washe in wayling wordes, thy careles childishe love.
And saye as Troylus sayde, since that I can no more,
Thy wanton wyll dyd waver once, and woe is me therefore.
Pride in Court written by a Gentlewoman in Court, who (when shee was there placed) seemed to disdaine him, contrarie to a former profession.
When daunger keepes the doore, of Ladye bewties bowre,Whē jelouse toyes have chased Trust out of hir strōgest towre.
Then faith and trooth maye flye, then falshood winnes the field,
Then feeble naked fautlesse heartes, for lacke of fence must yeeld.
And then prevailes as much to hoppe against the hyll,
As seeke by suite for to appease a froward Ladies wyll.
For oathes and solempne vowes, are wasted then in vaine,
And truth is compted but a toye, when such fond fancies raigne.
The sentence sone is sayde, when will it selfe is Judge,
And quickly is the quarrell pickt, when Ladies list to grudge.
This sing I for my selfe, (which wroate this weary song)
Who justly may complaine my case, if ever man had wrong.
A Lady have I serv'd, a Lady have I lov'd,
A Ladies good wyll once I had, hir yll wyll late I prov'd.
In countrey first I knewe hir, in countrey first I caught hir,
And out of countrey nowe in Court, to my cost have I sought hir.
And well were worthy for the roome, if she were not unkinde.
There I (in wonted wise) dyd shewe my selfe of late,
And found that as the soile was chang'd, so love was turnd to hate.
But why? God knowes, not I: save as I sayde before,
Pitie is put from porters place, and daunger keepes the dore.
If courting then have skill, to chaunge good Ladies so,
God send eche wilful Dame in Court, some wound of my like wo.
That with a troubled head, she may both turne and tosse,
In restlesse bed when she should sleepe and feele of love the losse.
And I (since porters put me from my wonted place)
And deepe deceipte hath wrought a wyle to wrest me out of grace:
Wyll home againe to cart, as fitter were for mee,
Then thus in court to serve and starve, where such proude porters bee.
This question being propounded by a Dame unto the Aucthour, to witte, why he should write Spreta tamen vivunt, he aunswereth thus.
Despysed things may live, although they pine in payne:And things ofte trodden under foote, may once yet rise againe.
The stone that lieth full lowe, may clime at last full hye:
And stand a loft on stately towr's, in sight of every eye.
The cruell Axe which felles the tree that grew full straight:
Is worne with rust, when it renewes, and springeth up on height.
The rootes of rotten Reedes in swelling seas are seene:
And when eche tide hath tost his worst, they grow againe ful greene.
Thus much to please my selfe, unpleasauntly I sing.
And shrich to ease my morning minde, in spite of envies sting.
Som new foūd choise is more estemd, than yt which wel was prov'd.
Some Diomede is crept into Dame Cressides hart:
And trustie Troylus nowe is taught in vaine to playne his part.
What resteth then for me? but thus to wade in wo:
And hang in hope of better chaunce, when chaunge appointeth so.
I see no sight on earth, but it to Chaunge enclines:
As litle clowdes oft overcast, the brightest Sunne that shines.
No Flower is so freshe, but frost can it deface:
No man so sure in any seate, but he maye leese his place.
So that I stand content (though much against my mind)
To take in worth this lothsome lot, which luck to me assynd,
And trust to see the time, when they that nowe are up:
May feele the whirle of fortunes wheele, and tast of sorrowes cup.
God knoweth I wishe it not, it had bene bet for mee:
Styll to have kept my quiet chayre in hap of high degree.
But since without recure, Dame Chaunge in love must raigne:
I now wish chaunge that sought no chaūge, but constāt did remaine.
And if suche chaunge do chaunce, I vowe to clap my hands,
And laugh at them which laught at me: lo thus my fansie standes.
In trust is Treason, written by a Lover, leaning onelye to his Ladies promises, and finding them to fayle.
The straightest Tree that growes upon one onely roote:If that roote fayle, wyll quickly fade, no props can do it boote.
I am that fading plant, which on thy grace dyd growe,
Thy grace is gone wherefore I mone, and wither all in woe.
The tallest ship that sailes, if shee too Ancors trust:
When Ancors slip & Cables breake, her helpe lyes in the dust.
I am the ship my selfe, mine Ancor was thy faith:
Who climeth oft on hie, and trusts the rotten bowe:
If that bow breake may catch a fall, such state stand I in now.
Me thought I was a loft, and yet my seate full sure:
Thy heart dyd seeme to me a rock which ever might endure.
And see, it was but sand, whome seas of subtiltie:
Have soked so with wanton waves, that faith was forst to flye.
The flooddes of ficklenesse have undermined so,
The first foundation of my joy, that myrth is ebb'd to wo.
Yet at lowe water markes, I lye and wayte my time:
To mend the breach, but all in vaine, it cannot passe the prime.
For when the prime flood comes, which all this rage begoon:
Then waves of wyll do worke so fast, my piles are over roon.
Dutie and dilligence which are my workmen there,
Are glad to take up tooles in haste, and run away for feare.
For fansie hath such force, it overfloweth all,
And whispring tales do blow the blasts, that make it ryse & fall.
Thus in these tempests tost, my restles life doth stand:
Because I builded on thy wo[rd]es, as I was borne in hand.
Thou weart that only stake, wereby I ment to stay:
Alas, alas, thou stoodst so weake, the hedge is borne away.
By thee I thought to live, by thee now must I dye:
I made thee my Phisicion, thou art my mallady.
For thee I longde to live, for thee nowe welcome death:
And welcome be that happie pang, that stops my gasping breath.
Twise happie were that axe, would cut my rotes downe right:
And sacred were that swelling sea, which would consume me quight.
Blest were that bowe would breake to bring downe climing youth,
Which craks aloft, and quakes full oft, for feare of thine untruth.
The constancie of a lover hath thus sometimes bene briefly declared.
That selfe same tonge which first did thee entreatTo linke thy liking with my lucky love:
That trustie tonge must nowe these wordes repeate,
I love thee still, my fancie cannot move.
That dreadlesse hart which durst attempt the thought
To win thy will with mine for to consent,
Maintaines that vow which love in me first wrought,
I love thee still, and never shall repent.
That happie hande which hardely did touch,
Thy tender body to my deepe delight:
Shall serve with sword to prove my passion such
As loves thee still, much more than it can write.
Thus love I still with tongue, hand, hart and all,
And when I chaunge, let vengeance on me fall.
The fruite of foes written to a Gentlewoman, who blamed him for writing his friendly advise in verse unto another lover of hyrs.
The cruell hate which boyles within thy burning brest,And seekes to shape a sharpe revenge, on them yt love thee best:
May warne all faithfull friendes, in case of jeopardie,
Howe they shall put their harmelesse hands, betweene the barck & tree.
And I among the rest, which wrote this weary song,
Must nedes alledge in my defence, that thou hast done me wrong.
For if in simple verse, I chaunc'd to touch thy name,
And toucht the same without reproch, was I therefore to blame?
And if (of great good will) I gave my best advise,
Then thus to blame without cause why, me thinkes thou art not wise.
A simple soule much like my selfe, dyd once a serpent find.
Which (almost dead for colde) lay moyling in the myre,
When he for pittie tooke it up, and bro[u]ght it to the fyre.
No sooner was the Snake, recured of hir griefe,
But straight shee sought to hurt the man, that lent hir such reliefe.
Such Serpent seemest thou, such simple soule am I,
That for the weight of my good wil, am blam'd without cause why.
But as it best beseemes, the harmelesse gentle hart,
Rather to take an open wrong, than for to plaine his part:
I must and will endure, thy spite without repent,
The blame is mine, the triumph thine, and I am well content.
A Lover often warned, and once againe droven into fantasticall flames by the chase of company, doth thus bewayle his misfortunes.
Alwayes untyed, and not (but once) in thrall,
Even I which had the fieldes of freedome woon,
And liv'd at large, and playde with pleasurs ball:
Lo nowe at last am tane agayne and taught,
To tast such sorowes, as I never sought.
I crie alas but no man pityes me:
My woundes are wide, yet seme they not to bleed,
And hidden woundes are hardly heald we see.
Such is my lucke to catch a sodain clappe,
Of great mischaunce in seeking my good happe.
Sought company for solace of the same:
My cares were cold, and craved comforts coale,
To warme my will with flakes of friendly flame.
I sought and found, I crav'd and did obtaine,
I woon my wish, and yet I got no gaine.
Fayre fellowship did wonted woes revive:
And craving medcine for my maladie,
Dame pleasures plasters prov'd a corosive.
So that by myrth, I reapt no fruite but mone,
Much worse I fere, than when I was alone.
The Byrdes were flowen before I found the nest:
The steede was stollen before I shut the gate,
The cates consumd, before I smelt the feast.
And I fond foole with emptie hand must call,
The gorged Hauke, which likes no lure at all.
And grope for grappes among the bramble briers:
I strive to saile and yet I sticke on sand,
I deeme to live, yet drowne in deepe desires.
These lottes of love, are fitte for wanton will,
Which findes too much, yet must be seeking still.
The lover encouraged by former examples, determineth to make vertue of necessitie.
The noble names of wightes bewicht in love:
Such solace for my selfe therin I finde,
As nothing maye my fixed fansie move:
But paciently I will endure my wo,
Because I see the heavens ordayne it so.
In every tale I note mine owne anoye:
But whiles I marke the meanings of their mates,
I seeme to swime in such a sugred joye,
As did (parcase) entise them to delight,
Though turnd at last, to drugges of sower despite.
There shall he find the blot of Bersabe,
Wheron to thinke, my heavy hart it bleedes,
When I compare my love like hir to be:
Urias wife before mine eyes that shines,
And David I, from dutie that declines.
Did Pharaos daughter make him fall or no?
Yes, yes, perdie his wisdome coulde not shoone,
Hir subtill snares, nor from hir counsell go.
I nam (as hee) the wisest wight of all,
But well I wot, a woman holdes me thrall.
Which blasphem'd God, and all the world defied:
Yet could a woman overcome his might,
And daunt his force in all his Pompe and Pride.
I Holiferne, am dronken brought to bead,
My love lyke Judith, cutting of my head.
Whose force is like to that which Sampson had?
If I be bolde, whose courage can surmount,
The heart of Hercules, which nothing drad?
Yet Dalila, and Deyanyraes love,
Dyd teach them both, such panges as I must prove.
Whose skilfull verse dyd flowe in learned style:
Dyd hee (thinke you) not dote upon his Dame?
Corinna fayre, dyd shee not him beguile?
Yes God he knowes, for verse nor pleasaunt rymes,
Can constant keepe, the key of Cressides crimes.
I see the good, the wise, the stoute, the bolde:
The strongest champion and the learnedst man,
Have bene and bee, by lust of love controlde.
Which when [I] thinke, I hold me well content,
To live in love, and never to repent.
The delectable history of sundry adventures passed by Dan Bartholmew of Bathe.
The Reporter.
Or fayne a Fable by invencion,
That one proceedes of quicke capacitye,
That other proves but small discretion,
Yet have both one and other oft bene done.
And if I were a Poet as some be,
You might perhappes here some such tale of me.
To faine in figurs as the learned can,
And yet my tongue is tyde by due constraint,
To tell nothing but trueth of every man:
I will assay even as I first began,
To tell you nowe a tale and that of truth,
Which I my selfe sawe proved in my youth.
As some men do, which write strange historyes,
For whiles at home I made my cheife abode
And sawe our lovers plaie their Tragedyes,
I found enough which seemed to suffice,
To set on worke farre finer wittes than mine,
In paynting out the pangs which make them pine.
Which was to me a deere familyar friend,
Whose doting dayes since they be paste and gone,
And his annoye (neare) come unto an ende,
Although he seeme his angry brow to bend,
I wyll be bold (by his leave) for to tell,
The restlesse state wherein he long dyd dwell.
For though by birth he came of worthy race,
Yet beutie, byrth, brave personage, and the rest,
In every choyce, must needes give learning place:
And as for him he had so hard a grace,
That by aspect he seemde a simple man,
And yet by learning much renowne he wan.
Let call his name Dan Bartholmew of Bathe,
Since in the ende he thither had recourse,
And (as he sayd) dyd skamble there in skathe:
In deede the rage which wrong him there, was rathe,
As by this tale I thinke your selfe will gesse,
And then (with me) his lothsome lyfe confesse.
Both redde good rules to bridle fantasie,
And all good authours taugh[t] him evermore,
To love the meane, and leave extremitie,
Yet kind hath lent him such a qualitie,
That at the last he quite forgat his bookes,
And fastned fansie with the fairest lookes.
And left him now a man of middle age,
His happe was yet with wandring lookes to spie,
A fayre yong impe of proper personage,
Eke borne (as he) of honest parentage:
And truth to tell, my skill it cannot serve,
To praise hir bewtie as it dyd deserve.
But of some other metall farre more fine,
Whereof eache crinet seemed to behold,
Like glistring wiers against the Sunne that shine,
And therewithall the blazing of hir eyne,
Was like the beames of Titan, truth to tell,
Which glads us all that in this world do dwell.
Did entremeete, with equall change of hewe,
And in hir giftes no lacke I can suppose,
But that at last (alas) she was untrue,
Which flinging fault, bicause it is not new,
Nor seldome seene in kits of Cressides kind,
I marvaile not, nor beare it much in mind.
Were so frost bitten with the cold of craft,
That all (save such as Cupides snares had caught)
Might soone espie the fethers of his shaft:
But Bartholmew his wits had so bedaft,
That all seemd good which might of hir be gotten,
Although it provde no sooner ripe than rotten.
In speeche, in voice, in tender touch, in tast,
That dympled chin wherein delight dyd dwell,
That ruddy lippe wherein was pleasure plast,
Those well shapt hands, fine armes and slender wast,
With al the giftes which gave hir any grace,
Were smiling baites which caught fond fooles apace.
Since forme and fruites were found so farre unlyke,
Since of hir cage Inconstance kept the keyes,
And Change had cast hir honoure downe in dike:
Since fickle kind in hir the stroke did strike,
I may no prayse unto a knife bequeath,
With rust yfret, though paynted be the sheath.
Let call hir now Ferenda Natura,
And if thereat she seeme for to repine,
No force at all, for hereof am I sure a,
That since hir prankes were for the most unpure a,
I can appoint hir well no better name,
Than this where in dame Nature bears the blame.
His pride of youth (untide in linkes of love)
Behold how happe contrary to intent,
(Or destenies ordained from above,
From which no wight on earth maye well remove)
Presented to his vew this fierie dame,
To kindle coles where earst had bene no flame.
And therewithall gan marke hir tender youth,
He thought not like, that under such a face
She could convey the treason of untruth:
Whereby he vowed (alas the more his ruth)
To serve this saynt for terme of all his life,
Lo here both roote and rind of all his strife.
His suite, his service, nor his sorie fare:
His observaunces, nor his queynt aray,
His skalding sighes, nor yet his cooling care,
His wayting still to snatch himselfe in snare,
I can not write what was his sweetest soure,
For I my selfe was never Paramoure.
The highest flying hauke will stoupe at laste,
The wildest beast is drawne with hungrye bitte
To eate a homlye bayte some times in hast.
The pricke of kinde can never be unplaste,
And so it seemed by this dayntye dame,
Whome he at last with labour did reclame.
The calme consent of hir unweldie will,
When he had hir by faith and troth assured,
To like him beste, and aye to love him still,
When fansie had of flatterie fedde his fill,
I not discerne to tell my tale aright,
What man but he had ever such delight?
To whette the tooles which carved his contente:
The poasting nightes he past in pleasing joyes,
Wearing the webbe which love to him had lente:
In such a pinfolde were his pleasures pent
That selde he could hir company eschewe,
Or leave such lookes as might his sport renewe.
Then mighte you see howe fansie fedde his minde,
Then all alone he mused on his marte.
All company seemde then (but hirs) unkind:
Then sent he tokens true love for to bind,
Then wrote he letters, lines and loving layes,
So to beguile his absent dolefull dayes.
What skyll he had, and howe he could endite,
Mee thinkes I cannot better doe than well,
To set downe here, his ditties of delyght,
For so at least I maye my selfe acquite,
And vaunt to shewe some verses yet unknowne,
Well worthy prayse though none of them myne owne.
Since mine emprice is but to make report:
Imagine then, before you that you see
A wight bewitcht in many a subtile sort,
A Lover lodgd in pleasures princely port,
Vaunting in verse what joyes he dyd possesse,
His triumphes here I thinke wyll shewe no lesse.
Dan Bartholmew his first Triumphe.
Resigne king Priams sonnes, that princes were in Troy,Resigne to me your happy dayes, and boast no more of joy:
Syr Paris first stand forth make aunswere for thy pheare,
And if thou canst defend hir cause, whome Troy did bye so deare:
Tell truth at last, and so be sure to save thy selfe from shame.
Then gentle Sheapheard say: what madnesse dyd thee move,
To choose of all the flowers in Greece, foule Helene for thy love?
Needs must I coumpt hir foule, whose first frutes were forlorne,
Although she solde hir seconde chaffe, above the price of corne.
Alas, shee made of thee, a noddye for the nonce,
For Menelaus lost hir twise, though thou hir foundst but once.
But yet if in thine eye, shee seemde a peerelesse peece,
Aske Theseus ye mighty Duke, what towns she knew in Greece?
Aske him what made hir leave hir wofull aged sire,
And steale to Athens gyglot like: what? what but foule desire?
Alas poore Paris thou didst nothing else but gleane,
The partched eares which he cast by, when he had reaped cleane:
He slivde the gentle slippe, which could both twist and twind,
And growing left the broken braunch, for thē that came behind,
Yet hast thou fild the world with brute, (the more thy blame,)
And sayest, that Hellens bewty past each other stately dame,
For profe thou canst alledge the tast of ten years warre,
And how hir blazing beames first brought both Greece & Troy to jarre.
No no, thou art deceivde, the drugs of foule despite,
Did worke in Menelaus will, not losse of such delighte,
Not love, but lothsome hate, not dolour, but disdain,
Did make him selfe a sharpe revēge, til both his foes were slain,
Thy brother Troylus eke, that gemme of gentle deedes,
To thinke howe he abused was, alas my heart it bleedes:
He bet about the bushe, whiles other caught the birds,
Whome crafty Gresside mockt to muche, yet fede him still with words.
And god he knoweth not I, who pluckt hir first sprong rose,
Since Lollius and Chaucer both, make doubt upon that glose.
But this I knowe to well, and he to farre it felte,
How Diomede undid his knots, & caught both brooch and belt,
And how she dyed leaper like, against hir lovers will.
Content you then good knightes, your triumphe to resigne,
Confesse your starres both dimme and darke, wheras my sunne doth shine:
For this I dare avow, without vaunt be it told,
My derling is more faire than she, for whome proud Troy was solde.
More constant to conteyne, than Cresside to be coy,
No Calcas can contrive the craft, to traine hir out of Troye,
No Diomede can drawe hir setled harte to change,
No madding moode can move hir mind, nor make hir thoughtes to range.
For hir alone it is, that Cupide blindfolde goes,
And dare not looke for feare least he his libertie should loose:
At hir dame Venus chafes, and pines in jelowsie,
Least bloudy Mars should hir espie, and chang his fantasie,
Of hir the Quene of Heaven doth stand in dreadfull doubt,
Least Jove should melte in drops of gold, if once he find hir out.
Oh that my tonge had skill, to tell hir prayse aright,
Or that my pen hir due desertes, in worthy verse could write:
Or that my minde could muse, or happie heart conceive,
Some words that might resound hir worth, by high Minervas leave.
Oh how the blooming joyes, do blossome in my brest,
To think within my secret thought, how far she steines ye rest.
Me thinkes I heare hir speake, me thinkes I see hir still,
Me thinkes I feele hir feelingly, me thinkes I know hir will.
Me thinkes I see the states which sue to hir for grace,
Me thinkes I see one looke of hirs repulse them all apace.
Me thinkes that houre is yet, and evermore shall be,
Wherein my happie happe was first, hir heavenly face to see:
Wherein I spide the writte, which woond betweene hir eyne,
And sayd behold, be bold, for I, am borne to be but thine.
Me thinks I feele the joyes, which never yet were felt,
Whome flame before yet never toucht, me thinks I feele them melt.
One word & there an end, me thinks she is the sunne,
Which only shineth now a daies, she dead, ye world were done.
To comfort other carefull soules, which wander in the night.
And night God knowes it is, where other Ladies bee,
For sure my dame adornes the day, there is no sunne but shee.
Then lovers by your leave, and thinke it nothing strange,
Although I seme with calme content, in seas of joyes to range:
For why, my sailes have found both wind and waves at wyll,
And depthes of all delightes in hir, with whome I travell styll.
And ancors being wayed, I leave you all at large,
To steare this seemelye Shippe my selfe, suche is my mistresse charge.
Dan Bartholmew his second Triumphe.
Thou fylst my mouth with sweete meates overmuch,
I wallowe styll in joye both daye and night.
I deeme, I dreame, I doe, I taste, I touch:
No thing but all that smelles of perfect blisse,
Fye pleasure fye, I cannot like of this.
To drinke a draught of sower Ale (some season)
To eate browne bread with homely handes in Hall
Doth much encrease mens appetites by reason:
And makes the sweete more sugred that ensewes,
Since mindes of men do styll seeke after newes.
Whose maunger makes his greace (oftimes) to melt,
The crammed Fowle comes quickly to his death.
Such coldes they catche in hottest happes that swelt.
And I (much like) in pleasure scawled styll,
Doe feare to starve although I feede my fill.
Betwene my Ladies lively shyning eyes,
It were inough that Bewties fading flowre:
Growes ever freshe with hir in heavenly wise.
It had bene well that shee were faire of face,
And yet not robbe all other Dames of grace.
How brave, howe franke, how curteous, and how true,
My Lad[y] is: doth but inflame my blood,
With humors such, as byd my health adue.
Since happe alwaies when it is clombe on hye,
Doth fall full lowe, though earst it reachte the Skye.
That laughes for joye, and trembleth oft for dread,
Thy panges are such as call for changes knife,
To cut the twist, or else to stretch the thread,
Which holdes yfeere the bondell of my blisse,
Fye pleasure fye, I dare not trust to this.
Dan Bartholmewes his third Triumphe.
Yf ever man yet found the bathe of perfect blisse,Then swimme I now amid the seas where nought but pleasure is.
I love and am beloved, without vaunt be it tolde,
Of one more faire then she of Greece, for whome proud Troy was solde.
As bountifull and good as Cleopatra Queene,
As constant as Penelope, unto her make was seene.
What would you more? my penne, unable is to write,
The least desert that seemes to shine within this worthy wight.
So that (for nowe) I ceasse with handes helde up on hye.
And crave of God that when I chaunge, I may be forst to dye.
The Reporter.
(To his mishap) have come unto my handes,
Whereof the rest (bicause he sayled so,
In braggers boate which set it selfe on sandes,
And brought him eke fast bound in follyes bands)
Of curtesie I keepe them from your sight,
Let these suffice which of my selfe I write.
Although full fayre it florisht for a season,
Founde yet at last some fall to bring it lowe,
This olde sayd sawe is (God he knoweth) not geason:
For when things passe the reach and bounds of reason,
They fall at last, although they stand a time,
And bruse the more, the higher that they clime.
For when he thought his hap to be most hye,
And that he onely reapt the fruictes of love,
And that he swelt in all prosperitie,
His comfort chaunged to calamitie:
And though I doe him wrong to tell the same,
Yet reade it you, and let me beare the blame.
His goddesse to an Idoll seemde to chaunge,
Thus all his good transformed into evill,
And every joy to raging griefe dyd raunge:
Which Metamorphosis was marvels straunge:
Yet shall you seldome otherwise it prove,
Where wicked Lust doth beare the name of Love.
And colde suspect into his minde had crept,
He bounst and bet his head tormentingly,
And from all company him selfe he kept,
Wherby so farre in stormes of strife he stept,
That nowe he seemed an Image not a man,
His eyes so dead, his colour waxt so wan.
(Although I knew the cause of all his griefe,
And what had trainde and tysed him theretyll,
And plaine to speake, what moved his mischiefe)
Yet since I sought to ease him with reliefe:
I dyd become importunate to knowe,
The secreete cause whereon this grudge should growe.
Bewrayde theffect of his unwylling wyll,
Which here to tell since it were all to longe,
And I therewith too barren am of skyll,
And trouble you with tedious tydinges styll,
Content you now to heare himselfe rehearse,
His strange affectes in his lamenting verse.
And there I sawe him when he wrote the same,
I sawe him there with many moanes dismaide,
I sawe him there both fryse and flashe in flame,
I sawe him greev'd when others made good game:
And so appeareth by his darke discourse,
The which to reade I crave your just remorse.
Dan Bartholmewes Dolorous discourses.
I have entreated care to cut the thread,Which all to long hath held my lingring life,
And here aloofe nowe have I hyd my head,
From company thereby to stint my strife.
This solitarye place doth please me best,
Where I may weare my wylling mind with moane,
And where the sighes which boyle out of my brest,
May skald my heart, and yet the cause unknowne.
All this I doe, for thee my sweetest sowre,
For whome (of yore) I counted not of care,
For whome with hungrie jawes I dyd devoure
The secrete baite which lurked in the snare:
For whome I thought all forreine pleasures paine,
For whome againe, all paine dyd pleasure seeme,
But onely thine, I found all fansies vaine,
But onely thine, I dyd no dolours deeme.
Such was the rage, that whilome dyd possesse,
The privie corners of my mazed mind:
When hote desire, dyd compt those tormentes lesse
Which gaind the gaze that dyd my freedome bind.
And call to mind the quiet lyfe I led,
Before I first beheld thy golden rayes,
When thine untrueth yet troubled not my hed.
Remember thou, as I can not forget,
Howe I had layde, both love, and lust aside,
And howe I had my fixed fancie set,
In constant vowe, for ever to abide.
The bitter proofe of panges in pleasure past,
The costlye tast, of hony mixt with gall:
The painted heaven, which turnde to hell at last.
The freedome fainde, which brought me but to thrall.
The lingring sute, well fed with freshe delayes,
The wasted vowes which fled with every winde:
The restlesse nightes, to purchase pleasing dayes,
The toyling daies to please my restlesse minde.
All these (with mo) had brused so my brest,
And graft such grefe within my groning heart,
That had I left Dame fansie and the rest,
To greener yeeres, which might endure the smart.
My wearie bones did beare away the skarres,
Of many a wound received by disdaine:
So that I found the fruite of all those warres,
To be naught else but panges of unknowen paine.
And nowe mine eyes were shut from such delight,
My fansie faint, my hote desires were colde,
When cruell hap, presented to my sight
The maydens face, in yeeres which were not olde.
I thinke the Goddesse of revenge devisde,
So to bee wreackt on my rebelling wyll,
Bicause I had in youthfull yeeres dispisde,
To taste the baites, which tyste my fansie styll.
Howe so it were, God knowes, I cannot tell:
But if I lye, you Heavens, the plague be mine,
I sawe no sooner, how delight dyd dwell
Betweene those litle infantes eyes of thine,
But straight a sparkling cole of quicke desire,
Dyd kindle flame within my frozen heart,
And yelding fansie softly blewe the fire,
Which since hath bene the cause of all my smart.
Howe much I tendred thee in tender yeares:
Thy life was then to me (God knowes) full deare,
My life to thee is light, as nowe appeares.
I loved the first, and shall do to my last,
Thou flattredst first, and so thou wouldst do styll:
For love of thee full many paines I past,
For deadly hate thou seekest me to kyll.
I cannot nowe, with manly tongue rehearse,
How sone that melting mind of thine dyd yelde,
I shame to write, in this waymenting verse,
With howe small fight, I vanquisht thee in fielde:
But Cæsar he, which all the world subdude,
Was never yet so proude of Victorye,
Nor Hanyball, with martiall feates endude,
Dyd so much please himselfe in pollicie,
As I (poore I) dyd seeme to triumphe then,
When first I got the Bulwarkes of thy brest,
With hote Alarmes I comforted my men,
In formost ranke I stoode before the rest,
And shooke my flagge, not all to shewe my force,
But that thou mightst thereby perceive my minde:
Askaunces lo, nowe coulde I kyll thy corce,
And yet my life is unto thee resinde.
Well let this passe, and thinke uppon the joye,
The mutuall love, the confidence, the trust,
Whereby we both abandoned annoye,
And fed our mindes with fruites of lovely lust.
Thinke on the Tythe, of kysses got by stealth,
Of sweete embracinges shortened by feare.
Remember that which did maintaine our helth,
Alas alas why shoulde I name it here.
And in the midst of all those happie dayes,
Do not forget the chaunges of my chaunce,
When in the depth of many waywarde wayes,
I onely sought, what might thy state advaunce.
Thou must confesse how much I carde for thee,
When of my selfe, I carde not for my selfe,
And when my hap was in mishappes to be,
Esteemd thee more, than al the worldly pelfe.
When thou hadst found a fond and newfound choice:
For lacke of thee I sunke in endlesse mone,
When thou in chaunge didst tumble and rejoyce.
O mighty goddes needes must I honor you,
Needes must I judge your judgmentes to be just,
Bicause she did for sake him that was true,
And with false love, did cloke a fained luste.
By high decrees, you ordayned the chaunge,
To light on such, as she must needes mislike,
A meete rewarde for such as like to raunge,
When fansies force, their feeble fleshe doth strike.
But did I then give brydle to thy fall,
Thou head strong thou accuse me if thou can?
Did I not hazard love yea life and all,
To warde thy will, from that unworthy man?
And when by toyle I travayled to finde,
The secrete causes of thy madding moode,
I found naught else but tricks of Cressides kinde,
Which playnly provde, that thou weart of hir bloud.
I found that absent Troylus was forgot,
When Dyomede had got both brooch and belt,
Both glove and hand, yea harte and all god wot,
When absent Troylus did in sorowes swelt.
These tricks (with mo) thou knowst thy self I found,
Which nowe are needelesse here for to reherse,
Unlesse it were to touche a tender wound,
With corosives my panting heart to perse.
But as the Hounde is counted little worth,
Which giveth over for a losse or twaine,
And cannot find the meanes to single forth
The stricken Deare which doth in heard remaine:
Or as the kindly Spaniell which hath sprong
The prety Partriche, for the Falcons flight,
Doth never spare but thrusts the thornes among,
To bring this byrd yet once againe to sight,
And though he knowe by proofe (yea dearely bought)
That selde or never, for his owne availe,
This wearie worke of his in vaine is wrought,
Yet spares he not but labors tooth and nayle.
Which reckelesse then, was running on the rockes,
And though I saw thee seeme to hang the lyppe,
And set my great good wyll, as light as flockes:
Yet hauld I in, the mayne sheate of the minde,
And stayed thy course by ancors of advice,
I woon thy wyll into a better winde,
To save thy ware, which was of precious price.
And when I had so harbored thy Barke,
In happy haven, which saufer was than Dover,
The Admyrall, which knewe it by the marke,
Streight challengde all, and sayd thou wert a rover.
Then was I forst in thy behalfe to pleade,
Yea so I dyd, the Judge can saye no lesse,
And whiles in toyle, this lothsome life I leade,
Camest thou thy selfe the faulte for to confesse,
And downe on knee before thy cruell foe,
Dydst pardon crave, accusing me for all,
And saydst I was the cause, that thou didst so,
And that I spoone the thred of all thy thrall.
Not so content, thou furthermore didst sweare
That of thy selfe thou never ment to swerve,
For proofe wherof thou didst the colours weare,
Which might bewray, what saint thou ment to serve.
And that thy blood was sacrificed eke,
To manyfest thy stedfast martyrd mynde,
Till I perforce, constraynd thee for to seeke,
These raging seas, adventures there to finde.
Alas, alas, and out alas for me,
Who am enforced, thus for to repeate
The false reports and cloked guyles of thee,
Whereon (to oft) my restlesse thoughts do beate.
But thus it was, and thus God knowes it is.
Which when I founde by playne and perfect proofe,
My musing minde then thought it not amisse,
To shrinke aside, lamenting all aloofe,
And so to beate my simple shiftlesse brayne,
For some device, that might redeeme thy state.
Lo here the cause, for why I take this payne,
Lo how I love the wight which me doth hate:
Whereas I bathe not now in blisse pardie,
But boyle in Bale and skamble thus in skathe,
Bycause I thinke on thine unconstancie.
And wylt thou knowe howe here I spend my time,
And howe I drawe my dayes in dolours styll?
Then staye a while: give eare unto my rime,
So shalt thou know the weight of all my wyll.
When Titan is constrained to forsake,
His Lemans couche, and clymeth to his carte,
Then I begin to languishe for thy sake,
And with a sighe, which maye bewray my smarte,
I cleare mine eyes whome gumme of teares had glewed,
And up on foote I set my ghostly corse,
And when the stony walles have oft renewed
My pittious plaintes, with Ecchoes of remorce,
Then doe I crye and call upon thy name,
And thus I saye, thou curst and cruell bothe,
Beholde the man, which taketh griefe for game,
And loveth them, which most his name doe lothe.
Behold the man which ever truely ment,
And yet accusde as aucthour of thine yll,
Behold the man, which all his life hath spent
To serve thy selfe, and aye to worke thy wyll:
Behold the man, which onely for thy love,
Dyd love himselfe, whome else he set but light:
Behold the man, whose blood (for thy behove)
Was ever prest to shed it selfe outright.
And canst thou nowe condemne his loyaltie?
And canst thou craft to flatter such a friend?
And canst thou see him sincke in jeoperdie?
And canst thou seeke to bring his life to ende?
Is this the right reward for such desart?
Is this the fruite of seede so timely sowne?
Is this the price, appointed for his part?
Shall trueth be thus by treason overthrowne?
Then farewell faith, thou art no womans pheare:
And with that word I staye my tongue in time,
With rolling eyes I loke about eache where,
Least any man should heare my raving rime.
I take my sheete, my slippers and my Gowne,
And in the Bathe from whence but late I came,
I cast my selfe in dollours there to drowne.
There all alone I can my selfe conveye,
Into some corner where I sit unseene,
And to my selfe (there naked) can I saye,
Behold these braunefalne armes which once have bene
Both large and lustie, able for to fight,
Nowe are they weake, and wearishe God he knowes
Unable now to daunt the fowle despight,
Which is presented by my cruel foes.
My thighes are thin, my body lanck and leane,
It hath no bumbast now, but skin and bones:
And on mine Elbowe as I lye and leane,
I see a trustie token for the nones.
I spie a bracelet bounde about mine arme,
Which to my shaddowe seemeth thus to saye,
Beleeve not me: for I was but a Charme,
To make thee sleepe, when others went to playe.
And as I gaze thus galded all with griefe,
I finde it fazed almost quite in sunder,
Then thinke I thus: thus wasteth my reliefe,
And though I fade, yet to the world, no wonder.
For as this lace, by leysure learnes to weare,
So must I faint, even as the Candle wasteth,
These thoughts (deere sweet) within my brest I beare,
And to my long home, thus my life it hasteth.
Herewith I [f]eele the droppes of sweltring sweate,
Which trickle downe my face, enforced so,
And in my body feele I lykewise beate,
A burning heart which tosseth too and fro.
Thus all in flames I sinderlyke consume,
And were it not that wanhope lendes me wynde,
Soone might I fret my fa[n]cyes all in fume,
And lyke a Ghost my ghost his grave might finde.
But frysing hope doth blowe ful in my face,
And colde of cares becommes my cordiall,
So that I styl endure that yrksome place,
Where sorrowe seethes to skalde my skinne withal.
Or weary woes do make me change my seate,
Then in my bed my restlesse paines revives,
Until my fellowes call me downe to meate.
And when I ryse, my corpse for to araye,
I take the glasse, sometimes (but not for pride,
For God he knowes my minde is not so gaye)
But for I would in comelynesse abyde:
I take the glasse, wherein I seeme to see,
Such wythred wrinckles and so fowle disgrace,
That lytle marvaile seemeth it to mee,
Though thou so well dydst like the noble face.
The noble face was faire and freshe of hewe,
My wrinckled face is fowle and fadeth fast:
The noble face was unto thee but newe,
My wrinckled face is olde and cleane outcast:
The noble face might move thee with delight,
My wrinckled face could never please thine eye:
Loe thus of crime I covet thee to quite.
And styll accuse my selfe of Surcuydry:
As one that am unworthy to enjoye,
The lasting fruite of suche a love as thine,
Thus am I tickled styll with every toye,
And when my Fellowes call me downe to dyne,
No chaunge of meate provokes mine appetite,
Nor sauce can serve to taste my meates withall,
Then I devise the juyce of grapes to dight,
For Sugar and for Sinamon I call,
For Ginger, Graines, and for eche other spice,
Wherewith I mixe the noble Wine apace,
My Fellowes prayse the depth of my devise,
And saye it is as good as Ippocrace.
As Ippocrace saye I? and then I swelt,
My faynting lymmes straight fall into a sowne,
Before the taste of Ippocrace is felt,
The naked name in dollours doth mee drowne,
For then I call unto my troubled mynde,
That Ippocrace hath bene thy daylye drinke,
That Ippocrace hath walkt with everye winde.
In bottels that were fylled to the brinke,
With Ippocrace thou madst thy selfe full merrye,
Such cheere had set thy new love so alofte,
That olde love nowe was scarcely worth a cherry.
And then againe I fall into a traunce,
But when my breth returnes against my wyll,
Before my tongue can tell my wofull chaunce,
I heare my fellowes how they whisper still.
One sayth that Ippocrace is contrary,
Unto my nature and complexion,
Whereby they judge that all my malladye,
Was long of that by alteration.
An other sayth, no, no this man is weake,
And for such weake, so hote thinges are not best,
Then at the last I heare no lyar speake,
But one which knowes the cause of mine unrest,
And sayth, this man is (for my life) in love,
He hath received repulse, or dronke disdaine.
Alas crye I: and ere I can remove,
Into a sowne I sone returne againe.
Thus drive I foorth, my doolefull dining time,
And trouble others with my troubles styll,
But when I here, the Bell hath passed prime,
Into the Bathe I wallowe by my wyll,
That there my teares (unsene) might ease my griefe,
For though I starve yet have I fed my fill,
In privie panges I count my best relife.
And still I strive in weary woes to drench,
But when I plondge, than woe is at an ebbe,
My glowing coles are all to quicke to quenche.
And I (to warme) am wrapped in the webbe,
Which makes me swim against the wished wave,
Lo thus (deare wenche) I leade a lothsome life,
And greedely I seeke the greedy grave,
To make an ende of all these stormes and strife,
But death is deafe, and heares not my desire,
So that my dayes continewe styl in dole,
And in my nightes I feele the secrete fire,
Which close in embers, coucheth lyke a cole,
And in the daye hath bene but raked up,
Now breakes it out, and boyles the careful cuppe,
Which in my heart doth hang full heavily.
I melt in teares, I swelt in chilling sweat,
My swelling heart, breakes with delay of paine,
I freeze in hope, yet burne in haste of heate,
I wishe for death, and yet in life remaine.
And when dead sleepe doth close my dazeled eyes,
Then dreadful dreames my dolors do encrease.
Me thinkes I lie awake in wofull wise,
And see thee come, my sorrowes for to cease.
Me seemes thou saist (my good) what meaneth this?
What ayles thee thus to languish and lament?
How can it be that bathing all in blisse:
Such cause unknowne disquiets thy content?
Thou doest me wrong to keepe so close from me
The grudge or griefe, which gripeth now thy heart,
For well thou knowest, I must thy partner be
In bale, in blisse, in solace, and in smarte.
Alas, alas, these things I deeme in dreames,
But when mine eyes are open and awake,
I see not thee: where with the flowing streames,
Of brinishe teares their wonted floods do make.
Thus as thou seest I spend both nightes and dayes,
And for I find the world did judge me once,
A witlesse wryter of these lovers layes,
I take my pen and paper for the nonce,
I laye aside this foolishe ryding rime,
And as my troubled head can bring to passe,
I thus bewray the torments of my time:
Beare with my Muse, it is not as it was.
The extremitie of his Passion.
and reave my mind from quiet rest,
This one I finde, doth there remaine,
to breede debate within my brest.
When wo would work, to wound my wyl,
I cannot weepe, nor waile my fyll.
the smallest griefe which gripes my heart,
Mine eyes have not the power to swell,
into such Seas of secrete smart,
That will might melt to waves of woe,
and I might swelt in sorrowes so.
but flouddes which flowe abundauntly,
Whose fountaine first enforst by feares,
found out the gappe of jelousie.
And by that breache, it soketh so,
that all my face, is styll on flowe.
which roareth still, and never staies,
The thoughtes which tomble in my minde,
are like the wheele which whirles alwayes,
Nowe here, nowe there, nowe up, now downe,
in depth of waves, yet cannot drowne.
are not lyke those, which others use,
For lovers sighes, sometimes take rest,
and lend their mindes, a leave to muse.
But mine are like the surging Seas,
whome calme nor quiet can appeas.
my brest the fordge where furie playes,
My panting heart, yt strikes the stroke,
my fancie blowes the flame alwaies,
The coles are kindled by desire,
and Cupide warmes him by the fire.
nor burne to ashes though I waste,
Mine eyes can neyther quenche the cole,
which warmes my heart in all this haste.
Nor yet my fancie make such flame,
that I may smoulder in the same.
beseeching him of curtesie,
To cut the thread which cannot weare,
by panges of such perplexitie.
And but he graunt this boone of mine,
thus must I live and ever pine.
[Lo thus (deere heart) I force my frantike Muse]
Lo thus (deere heart) I force my frantike Muse,To frame a verse in spite of my despight,
But whiles I doo these mirthlesse meeters use,
This rashe conceite doth reve me from delight.
I call to minde howe many loving layes,
Howe many Sonets, and how many songes,
I dyd devise within those happie dayes,
When yet my wyl, had not received wronges.
All which were evermore regarded so,
That litle fruite I seemd thereby to reape,
But rather when I had bewrayed my woe,
Thy love was light, and lusted styll to leape.
The rimes which pleased thee were all in print,
And mine were ragged, hard for to be read,
Lo deere: this dagger dubbes me with this dint,
And leave this wound within my jelous head.
But since I have confessed unto Care,
That now I stand uppon his curtesie,
And that the bale, which in my brest I bare,
Hath not the skill to kyll me cunningly,
Therefore with all my whole devotion,
To Care I make this supplication.
His libell of request exhibited to Care.
And raile upon thine honourable name,
O knife that canst cut of the thread of thrall,
O sheare that shreadst the seemerent sheete of shame,
O happye ende of every greevous game:
Vouchsafe O Prince, thy vassall to behold,
Who loves thee more, than can with tongue be told.
And nowe vouchsafe to pittie this his plaint,
Whose teares bewray,
His truth alway,
Although his feeble tongue be forst to faint.
That I have beene a Rebell in my youth,
I preast alwaies in pleasures court to bee,
I fled from that, which Cupide still eschuth,
I fled from Care, lo now I tell the truth,
And in delightes, I loved so to dwell,
Thy heavenly house dyd seeme to me but hell.
Such was my rage, the which I now repent,
And pardon crave,
My soule to save,
Before the webbe of weary life be spent.
What crop dyd rise upon so rashe sowne seede,
For when I thought my selfe in heaven to bee,
In depth of hell I drowned was in deede:
Whereon to thinke my heavie hart doth bleede:
Me thought I swumme in Seas of all delight,
When as I sunke in puddles of despight,
Alas alas I thought my selfe belov'd,
When deadly hate,
Did play checke mate,
With me poore pawne, that no such prancks had prov'd.
I wept for woe, I pined all for paine,
I tare my heere, I often chaunged hewe,
I left delight, with dollours to complaine.
I shund each place where pleasure dyd remaine,
I cride, I calde on every kinde of death,
I strove eache way to stop my fainting breath.
Short tale to make, I stept so farre in strife,
That still I sought,
With all my thought,
Some happie helpe to leave my lothed life.
From quicke dispatch of all my griping griefe,
When heate of hate had burnt my will to wracke,
Then hope was colde, and lent my life reliefe,
In every choice hope challengde to be chiefe.
When coldest crampes had cleane orecome my heart,
Then hope was hote, and warnde my weary smart,
[W]hen heart was heardie, hope was still in dread,
When heart was faint,
(With feares attaint,)
Then hardie hope held up my fearefull head.
Could drowne my heart in waves of wery wo,
Nor hardy hand could overcome my feares,
To cut the sacke of all my sorrowes so,
Nor death would come, nor I to death could go.
And yet I felt great droppes of secrete smart,
Distilling styll within my dying heart:
I then perceivde that onely care was he,
Which as my friend,
Might make an end,
Of all these paines, and set my fansie free.
Oh kyll my corpse, oh quickly kyll me nowe.
Oh make an ende and bring my bones to rest,
Oh cut my thread (good Care) I care not howe,
Oh Care be kinde: and here I make a vowe,
I wyll present thee with my faithfull hart:
And send it to thee as a Sacrifice,
Bicause thou hast,
Vouchsaft at last,
To ende my furies in this friendly wise.
[What greater glory can a Keysar gaine]
What greater glory can a Keysar gaine,If madde moode move his subjectes to rebell,
Than that at last (when all the traytours traine,
Have trode the pathe, of deepe repentaunce well,
And naked neede with Cold and Hunger both,
Hath bitten them abrode in forren land,
Whereby they may their lewde devises loth.
When hairbraind haste, with cold advise is scande)
If then at last, they come upon their knee,
And pardon crave with due submission:
And for this cause, I thinke that Care of me,
Was moved most, to take compassion.
For now I find, that pittie prickes his mind,
To see me plonged still in endlesse paine,
And right remorse, his princely heart doth bind,
To rule the rage wherein I do remaine.
I feele my teares doe now begin to stay,
For Care from them their swelling springs doth soke,
I feele my sighes their labours now allaye,
For Care hath quencht the coles that made thē smoke.
I feele my panting heart begins to rest,
For Care hath staide the hammers of my head,
I feele the flame which blazed in my brest,
Is nowe with carefull ashes overspread.
And gentle Care, hath whet his karving knife,
To cut in twaine the thread of all my thrall,
Desired death nowe overcommeth life,
And wo still workes to helpe in haste with all.
But since I feele these panges approching so,
And lothed life begin to take his leave,
Such landes and goodes, as I behind me leave.
So to discharge my troubled conscience,
And eke to set an order for my heyre,
Who might (perhaps) be put to great expence,
To sue for that, which I bequeath him here.
Wherefore (deere wenche) with all my full intent,
I thus begin to make my Testament.
His last wyll and Testament.
In Jove his mighty name, this eight and twentith day,Of frosted bearded Januar, the enemy to May:
Since Adam was create, five thousand yeeres I gesse,
Five hundreth, forty more and five, as stories do expresse.
I being whole of minde, (immortall Gods have praise)
Though in my body languishing with panges of paine alwayes,
Do thus ordaine my wyll which long in woes have wepte,
Beseeching mine executours to see it duely kept.
Fyrst I bequeath my soule on Charons boate to tende,
Untill thy life (my love) at last may light on luckye ende,
That there it may awaite, to wayte upon thy ghost,
Whē thou hast quite & clene forgot what pranks now please thee most.
So shall it well be seene whose love is like to mine:
For so I meane to trye my truth, and there tyll then to pine.
My body be enbalmde, and cloased up in chest,
With oyntments and with spiceries of every sweete the best:
And so preserved styll untill the day do come,
That death divorce my love from life, & trusse hir up in tombe.
Then I bequeath my corps to couche beneathe hir bones,
And there to feede the greedy wormes that linger for the nones.
To frette uppon her fleshe, which is to fine therefore,
This service may it doe hir yet, although it do no more.
My heart (as heretofore) I must bequeathe to Care,
And God he knowes, I thinke the gift to simple for his share.
I will it shall be taken quicke, and borne him bleeding new,
As for my funerals, I leave that toye at large,
To be as mine executours wyll give thereto in charge.
Yet if my goodes will stretche unto my strange device,
Then let this order be observ'd, mine heyre shall pay the price:
First let the torche bearers be wrapte in weedes of woe,
Let all their lightes be virgin waxe, because I lov'de it so.
And care not though the twist be course that lends them light,
If fansie fume, & freewil flame, then must they needs burn bright.
Next them let come the quier, with psalmes and dolefull song,
Recording all my rough repulse and wraying all my wrong.
And when the deskant singes, in treeble tunes above,
Then let fa burden say, (by lowe) I liv'd and dyde for love:
About my heavy hearse, some mourners would I have,
Who migh[t] the same accompany and stand about the grave,
But let them be such men, as maye confesse with me,
How contrary the lots of love, to all true lovers bee.
Let Patience be the Priest, the Clarke be Close conceipt,
The Sextin be Simplicitie, which meaneth no disceipt.
Let almes of Love be delt, even at the Chaunsell doore,
And feede them there with freshe delayes, as I have bene of yore:
Then let the yongest sort, be set to ring Loves Bels,
And pay Repentance for their paines, but give thē nothing else,
Thus when the Dirge is done, let every man depart,
And learne by me what harme it is to have a faithfull hart.
Those litle landes I have, mine heyre must needes possesse,
His name is Lust, the landes be losse, few lovers scape with lesse.
The rest of all my goodes, which I not here rehearse,
Give learned Poets for their paines, to decke my Tombe with verse:
And let them write these wordes upon my carefull chest,
Lo here he lies, that was as true (in love) as is the best.
Alas I had forgot the Parsons dewe to paye,
And so my soule in Purgatorye, might remaine alway.
Then for my privie Tythes, as kysses caught by stealth,
Sweete collinges & such other knackes as multiplied my wealth:
A deintie dishe of suger soppes, but saust with sorrow stil:
And twise a weeke at least, let dight them for his dishe,
On Fridayes and on wednesdaies, to save expence of fishe.
Nowe have I much bequeathed and litle left behinde,
And others mo must yet be served or else I were unkinde.
Wet eyes and wayling wordes, Executours I make,
And for their paines ten pound of teares let either of them take.
Let sorrow at the last my Supravisor be,
And stedfastnesse my surest steade, I give him for his fee.
Yet in his pattent place this Sentence of proviso,
That he which loveth stedfastly, shall want no sauce of sorrow.
Thus now I make an ende, of this my wearie wyll,
And signe it with my simple hand, and set my seale there tyll.
And you which reade my wordes, although they be in rime,
Yet reason may perswade you eke, Thus lovers dote sometime.
The Subscription and seale.
My mansion house was Mone: from Dolours dale I came,I Fato: Non Fortuna, hight, lo now you know my name:
My seale is sorrowes sythe, within a fielde of flame,
Which cuts in twaine a carefull heart, yt sweltreth in the same.
[Alas, lo now I heare the passing Bell]
Alas, lo now I heare the passing Bell,Which Care appointeth carefullye to knoule,
And in my brest, I feele my heart now swell,
To breake the stringes which joynde it to my soule.
The Crystall yse, which lent mine eyes their light,
Doth now waxe dym, and dazeled all with dread,
My senses all, wyll now forsake me quite,
And hope of health abandoneth my head,
My wearie tongue can talke no longer now,
My trembling hand nowe leaves my penne to hold,
My joynts nowe stretch, my body cannot bowe,
My skinne lookes pale, my blood now waxeth cold.
Yes sure (sweete heart) I know them so to bee,
They be the panges, which strive to stop my breath,
They be the panges, which part my love from thee.
What sayd I? Love? Nay life: but not my love,
My life departes, my love continues styll:
My lothed lyfe may from my corpse remove,
My loving Love shall alwayes worke thy wyll.
It was thy wyll even thus to trye my truth,
Thou hast thy wyll, my truth may now be sene,
It was thy wyll, that I should dye in youth,
Thou hast thy wyll my yeares are yet but grene.
Thy penaunce was that I should pine in paine,
I have performde thy penaunce all in wo,
Thy pleasure was that I should here remaine,
I have bene glad to please thy fansie so.
Nowe since I have performed every part
Of thy commaunde: as neare as tongue can tell,
Content thee yet before my muse depart,
To take this Sonet for my last farewell.
His Farewell.
Farewell deere Love whome I have loved and shall,Both in this world, and in the world to come,
For proofe whereof my sprite is Charons thrall,
And yet my corpse attendant on thy toome.
Farewell deere sweete, whose wanton wyll to please
Eche taste of trouble seemed mell to me,
Farewell sweete deare, whose doubtes for to appease,
I was contented thus in bale to be.
Farewell my lyfe, farewell for and my death,
For thee I lyv'd for thee nowe must I dye,
Farewell from Bathe, whereas I feele my breath
Forsake my breast in great perplexitie,
Alas how welcome were this death of mine,
If I had dyde betweene those armes of thine?
The Reporters conclusion.
So to suffice the swelling of mine eyes?
How might my breast unlode the bale it beares?
Alas alas how might my tongue devise
To tell this weary tale in wofull wise?
To tell I saye these tydinges nowe of truth,
Which may provoke the craggy rockes to ruth?
Where flattering joyes might never find me out,
Or graved so within the greedy grounde,
As false delights might never breede my doubt,
Nor guilefull love hir purpose bring about:
Whose trustlesse traines in collours for to paint,
I find by proofe my wittes are all to faint.
To beare eche griefe that groweth on the mold,
I was that man which proved to my paine,
More panges at once than can with tongue be told,
I was that man (hereof you maye be bold)
Whome heaven and earth did frame to scoffe and scorne,
I, I was he which to that ende was borne.
Of sugred sowres which growe in gadding yeares,
But that I must with paine of lyke pursute,
Perceive such panges by paterne of my peares,
And feele how fansies fume could fond my pheares?
Alas I find all fates against me bent,
For nothing else I lyve but to lament.
Dyd drawe my wyll into these croked wayes,
For with my frend I went to Bathe (though loth)
To lend some comfort in his dollie dayes,
The stedfast friend stickes fast at all assayes:
Yet was I loth such time to spend in vaine,
The cause whereof, lo here I tell you playne.
That all good counsell was but worne in wast,
Such painted paines his passions did deceive,
That bitter gall was mell to him in tast,
Within his will such rootes of ruine plast,
As graffes of griefes were only given to growe,
Where youth did plant and rash conceite did sowe.
To every tale which fed him with some hope,
As fast againe I sawe him turne away
From grave advise, which might his conscience grope,
From reasons rule his fancie lightly lope,
He only gave his mind to get that gaine,
Which most he wisht and least could yet attaine.
Had found what ficklenesse his Idoll used,
And how she claimed Cressides heire to be,
And how she had his great good will abused,
And how she was of many men refused,
Who tride hir tricks and knew hir by the kinde,
Save only him she made no lover blinde.
Than he which thinkes he walketh in a net?
Or who in bale hath ever deeper beene,
Than he which thought his state might not be bet?
In such a jollitye these lovers jet,
That weale to them doeth seeme to bee but wo,
And griefe seemes joye, they feede theyr fancyes so.
And he allowed no reason but his owne,
Tell him that best were quicklye to recule,
Before all force by feares were overthrowne,
And that his bale were better overblowne,
Then thus to pine remedylesse in griefe,
And he would saye that griefe was his reliefe.
Tyll at the last he gan in deede to dye,
Beleeve me Lordes (and by him that dyed for us)
I sawe him give to close his dying eye,
I sawe him stryve and strangle passingly.
And suche a griefe I tooke, that yet I not,
If he or I had then more griefe ygot.
Which lacketh oyle to feede his lyngring lyght,
And then againe who so hath seene it made,
With oyle and weecke to last the longsome night.
Let him conceyve that I sawe such a sight.
Whereof to thinke (although I sighde erewhile)
Loe nowe I laughe my sorrowes to beguile.
Which came ful straight unto our lodging doore,
And straight therwith we heard how one enquirde,
If such a Knight (as I describde before)
Were lodged there: the Hoast withouten more,
Sayd yes forsooth, and God he knowes (quod he)
He is as sicke as any man maye bee.
But bad our hoast to bring him where he laye,
(Quod I to Bartholmew) I heare by lowe,
A voice which seemes somewhat of you to saye:
And eare that past not full a furlong waye,
Behold the man came stowping in at doore,
And truth to tell he syked wondrous sore.
A Letter sealde yfolded fayre and well,
And kyssing it (I thinke for Mistresse sake)
He sayd to Bartholmew: Syr Knight be well,
Nowe reade these lines the which I neede not tell,
From whence they come: but make an ende of mone,
For you are sicke, and she is woe begone.
(If one crye Grace: lo here a Pardon prest)
Doth dye sometimes, when most he seemde to be,
From death redeemd, such bronts may breede in brest,
Twyxt sodaine joye, and thoughts which paine opprest,
The Romaine Widdowe dyed when she beheld,
Hir Sunne (whome earst She compted slaine in field).
Laye styll in traunce, me thinkes I see him yet,
And out of doubte it gave me such anoye,
To see him so, him selfe in fancies fret,
That sure I thought his eyes in head were set.
And that he laye (as some saye) drawing on,
Untill his breath and all were past and gone.
(For his decaye) a freshe delaye of paine,
Revived him: yet from his eyes downe raind,
Such rewfull teares as moved me to plaine,
The dolefull plight wherein he dyd remaine.
For trust me now, to see him sorrowe so,
It might have made a stone to melt in wo.
And thrise (alas) it foltred in his mouth,
With stopping sobbes and skalding sighes he sought
To utter that which was to me uncouth.
So staies the streame, when furiouslie it flouth.
And filles the dikes where it had wont to swimme,
Untill by force it breakes above the brimme.
Was this: Alas, and therewithall he stayed,
His feebled Jawes and hollowe voyce could make,
None other sounde, his thoughtes were all dismayed,
His hearye head full lowe in bosome layed.
Yet when he sawe me marke what he would saye,
He cryed right out Alas and welawaye.
And with that word he gan againe to sorrowne:
The messenger which in a studdye stoode,
Awakt at last: and in mine eare dyd rowne,
Saying: those lines which I have there throwen downe.
Were written all with blood of hir owne hande,
For whome he nowe in this distresse doth stande.
To shead hir blood in witnesse of hir griefe,
Me thinkes he rather should relieve hir wo:
Then thus deny to send hir some reliefe.
Alas alas (quod he) she holdes him chiefe.
And well wote I (what ere his fansie bee)
There sittes no man so neere hir heart as hee.
Askaunces Ha? in deede and thinkst thou so?
But out alas his weake and weary sprit,
Forbad his tongue in furder termes to go.
His thought sayd Haight, his sillie speache cryed Ho.
And thus he laye in dompes and dolefull trance,
Tyll darksome night dyd somewhat change his chance.
And courtins round about his bed were drawne,
A golden slomber dyd his lymmes invade,
And held him husht tyll daye againe gan dawne,
Whereby Dame quiet put him in a pawne,
To set his thoughts (which strived earst) at one,
And bad debate be packing to be gone.
Perhaps Dame fansie rockt the Cradell too,
How so it were I take thereof no keepe,
With such conceiptes have I nothing to doo,
But when he wakt he asked plainly who,
Had brought him so from rage to quiet rest,
And who had borne the torments from his brest?
Behold it here and be all hole againe,
What man were he that wyther would in wo,
Which thus might prosper in despite of paine?
Were he not worse then mad which would complaine,
On such a friend as this to me doth seeme?
Which (for thy health) hir blood doth not esteeme?
(But what I thought that keepe I cloose in hold)
Sometimes a man must flatter with his foes,
And sometimes saye that brasse is bright as Gold:
For he that hath not all thinges as he would,
Must winke sometimes, as though he dyd not see,
And seeme to thinke thinges are not as they bee.
And brake the seale, but when he saw the blood,
Good Lord how bolt upright his heere dyd stand?
For though the friendly wordes therein were good,
Yet many a thought they moved in his moode.
As well appeared by his flecked cheekes,
Nowe cherrye redde, nowe pale and greene as leekes.
And that I laye full colde in earth and claye,
But that I was restored unto breath,
By one that seemde lyke Pellycane to playe,
Who shed his blood to give me foode alwaye,
And made me live in spite of sorrowe styll,
See how my dreame agrees now with this byll?
By whome and howe he had this letter first,
But when he spyde the man, then gan he smile,
For secreete joye his heart dyd seeme to burst,
Now thought he best that (earst) he compted worst.
And lovingly he dyd the man embrace,
And askt howe farde the roote of all his grace?
Behold how love can make his subjectes blinde,
Let all men marke hereby what guilefull baite,
Dan Cupide layeth to tyse the lovers minde:
Alacke alacke a slender thread maye binde,
That prysonor fast, which meanes to tarrye styll,
A lytle road correctes a ready wyll.
And thus it sayde: Behold howe stedfast love,
Hath made me hardy (thankes have he therefore)
To write these wordes thy doubtes for to remove,
With mine owne blood: and yf for thy behove
These bloody lynes do not thy Cares convert:
I vowe the next shall bleede out of my heart.
For Bartholmew was well appeasde hereby,
And feelingly he banished his bale,
Taking herein a tast of remedy,
By lyte and lyte his fittes away gan flye.
And in short space he dyd recover strength,
To stand on foote and take his horse at length.
And there his Goddesse tarryed tyll we came,
I am to blame to call hir Goddesse here,
Since she deservde in deede no Goddesse name,
But sure I thinke (and you may judge the same)
She was [to] him a Goddesse in his thought,
Although perhaps hir Shrines was overbought.
How teares of griefe were turnde to teares of joye,
Nor how their dole became delight at last.
Nor how they made great myrth of much anoye,
Nor how content was coyned out of coye,
But what I sawe and what I well maye write,
That (as I maye) I meane for to endite.
This blooddye Letter made it battle much,
And all the doubtes which he in fansies drew,
Were done away as there had bene none such,
(But to him selfe) he bare no body grutch.
Him selfe (he sayde) was cause of all this wo,
Withouten cause that hir suspected so.
And in the same you may your selves behold,
Beleeve me nowe not one in all your crew,
Which (where he loves) hath courage to be bold,
Your Cressides climes are alwaies uncontrold.
You dare not saye the Sunne is cleare and bright,
You dare not sweare that darkesome is the night.
Howe courage quailes where love beblinds the sence,
Though proofe of times makes lovers quarelous,
Yet small excuse serves love for just defence.
These Courtisanes have power by pretence
To make a Swan of that which was a Crowe,
As though blacke pitche were turned into Snowe.
For his decaye and to bewitche his wittes,
Made him nowe thinke him selfe was to be blamde,
Which causeles thus would fret himselfe in fittes,
Shee made him thinke that sorrowe sildome sittes,
Where trust is tyed in fast and faithfull knottes,
She sayd Mistrust was meete for simple sottes.
That she first loved although she yonger were,
She made him thinke that his distresse dyd greeve,
Hir guiltlesse minde: and (that it might appeare,
Howe these conceiptes could joyne or hang yfere)
She dyd confesse howe soone shee yeelded his,
Such force (quod she) in learned men there is.
Howe youthfull yeares (and lacke of him alone)
Had made hir once to choose out brittle glasse,
For perfect Gold: She dyd confesse (with mone)
That youthfully shee bytte a worthlesse bone.
But that therein she tasted deepe delight,
That sayde shee not, nor I presume to write.
Howe Dyomede had never Troylus place,
Shee sayd and sware (how ever sate the winde)
That Admirals dyd never know hir case,
She sayd againe that never Noble Face,
Dyd please hir eye nor moved hir to change,
She sayd her minde was never geven to range.
To hold him fast (but not to charme his thought)
She wysht therewith that she were deepely drownd,
In Ippocrace: if ever she had sought,
Or dronke, or smelt, or tane, or found, or bought,
Such Nectar droppes as she with him had dronke,
(But this were true) she wisht hir soule were sonke.
Could please hir so as his brave Triumphes dyd:
Why wander I? She cov'red all hir crimes,
With deepe disceipt, and all hir guiles she hyd,
With fained teares, and Bartholmew she ryd
With double gyrthes, she byt and whyned both,
And made him love where he had cause to loth.
These are the gaines ygot by such an art,
To late commes he that seekes to quenche the fire,
When flames possesse the house in every part,
Who lyst in peace to keepe a quiet hart.
Flye love betimes, for if he once oretake him,
Then seeld or never shall he well forsake him.
No wrytte nor force can serve to plucke him thence,
No pylles can purge his humour lyke the rest,
He bydes in bones, and there takes residence,
Against his blowes no bucklar makes defence.
And though (with paine) thou put him from thy house,
Yet lurkes hee styll in corners lyke a Mouse.
And privilye he feedeth on thy crommes,
With spoiles unseene he wasteth all thy welth,
He playes boe peepe when any body commes,
And dastardlik he seemes to dread the drommes,
Although in deede in Embushe he awaytes,
To take thee stragling yf thou passe his straites.
Who yeelded sone unto this second charge,
Accusing styll him selfe for his distresse,
And that he had so languished at large,
Short worke to make: he had none other charge
To beare loves blowes, but styll to trust hir tale,
And pardon crave because he bread hir bale.
Mistrusting most, that gave least cause of doubt,
He fledde mishappe and helde it by the haft,
He banisht bale and bare it styll about,
He let in love and thought to hold him out.
He seemde to bathe in perfect blisse againe,
When (God he knowes) he fostred privie paine.
(Although it be with propping underset)
In trackt of time to crooked course wyll twinde,
So could Ferenda never more forget,
The lease at large where she hir flinges had fet.
But rangde againe, and to hir byas fell,
Such chaunges chaunce where lust (for love) doth dwell.
Dan Bartholmew perceyvde it very plaine,
So that perforce he let his pleasures passe,
And strave no more against the streame in vaine,
But therewithall he purchased such paine,
As yet I shrinke in minde thereof to muse,
And marvaile more howe he the same could use.
In quiet chaire, with pen and paper prest,
Were armed nowe with helme and harnesse fyt,
To seeke adventures boldly with the best,
Hee went to warres that wont to live in rest.
And warres in deede he made withouten blowes,
For why his friendes were nowe become his foes.
To watche and warde at every time and tyde,
Though foes were farre yet skowted he alwaye,
And when they came he must their brontes abide.
Who ever fled he would his head not hyde.
For sure dispayre his corpse so close had armed,
That by deathes darte he could no whit be harmed.
Blacke, white, and greene, first blacke for morning mone,
Then white for chaste, because he did refuse,
(Thenceforth) to thinke but even of hir alone.
A bende of greene: for though his joyes were gone,
Yet should it seeme he hoped for a daye,
And in that bende his name he dyd displaye.
(You knowe my minde) when he was out of tune a,
When he subscribde (which may not bee forgote)
Howe that his name was Fato Non F[o]rtuna.
And as I gesse bicause his love was Una,
That played hir pranckes according to hir kinde,
He wrote these wordes hir best excuse to finde.
And happe could not have overthrowen me thus:
I constrew this because I do beleeve,
That once againe he wyll bee amorous,
I fere it muche by him that dyed for us,
And who so doubtes that causeles thus I faint
Let him but reade the greene Knights heavy plaint
Bringes in a Knight which cladde was all in greene,
That sighed sore amidde his greevous gales,
And was in hold as Bartholmew hath beene.
But (for a placke) it maye therein be seene,
That, that same Knight which there his griefes begonne,
Is Batts owne Fathers Sisters brothers Sonne.
To give a gesse what ende this man shall have,
And since he rageth not as he was woont,
Although sometimes he seeme (alite) to crave,
Yet wyll I not his doinges so deprave,
As for to judge (before I see his ende)
What harder happe his angrie starres can sende.
To take her rest: and pardon craves also,
That shee presumde to bring hir selfe in bryers,
By penning thus this true report of wo:
With sillye grace these sorye rimes maye go,
In such a rancke as Bartholmew hath plast,
So that shee feares hir cunning is disgrast.
And wayle with mee the losse of such a man:
I coumpt him lost because I see him bent,
To yeld againe where first his greefe began,
And though I cannot write as others can
Some mournefull verse to move you mone his fall,
Yet weepe (with me) you faythfull lovers all.
Lenvoye.
Peruse it well and call unto thy minde,
The pleasaunt place where thou dydst first behold
The rewfull rymes: remember how the Winde
Dyd calmelye blowe: and made me leave behinde,
Some leaves thereof: whiles I sate reading styll,
And thou then seemdst to hearken with good wyll.
The wofull wordes of Bartholmews discourse,
They should have lyen styll drowned in the dyke,
Lyke Sybylls leaves which flye with lytle force,
But for thou seemdst to take therein remorce,
I sought againe in corners of my brest,
To finde them out and place them with the rest.
My bables are as brave as any bee,
Well since it is so, let it never greeve
Thy friendly minde this worthlesse verse to see
In print at last: for trust thou unto mee,
Thine onely prayse dyd make me venture forth,
To set in shewe a thing so litle worth.
To reade, to raze, to view, and to correct,
Vouchsafe (my friend) therein for to amend
That is amisse, remember that our sect,
Is sure to bee with floutes alwayes infect.
And since most mockes wyll light uppon my muse,
Vouchsafe (my friend) hir faultes for to peruse.
The fruites of Warre,
written uppon this Theame, Dulce Bellum inexpertis, and it was written by peecemeale at sundrye tymes, as the Aucthour had vacaunt leysures from service, being begon at Delfe in Hollande, and dyrected to the ryght honourable the Lord Greye of Wylton as appeareth by the Epistle Dedicatory next following.
Dulce bellum inexpertis.
[1]
To write of Warre and wote not what it is,Nor ever yet could march where War was made,
May well be thought a worke begonne amis,
A rash attempt, in woorthlesse verse to wade,
To tell the triall, knowing not the trade:
Yet such a vaine even nowe doth feede my Muse,
That in this theame I must some labor use.
2
And herewithal I cannot but confesse,Howe unexpert I am in feates of warre:
For more than wryting doth the same expresse,
I may not boast of any cruell jarre,
Nor vaunt to see full valiant facts from farre:
I have nor bene in Turkie, Denmarke, Greece,
Ne yet in Colch, to winne a Golden fleece.
3
But nathelesse I some what reade in writte,O[f] high exploits by Martiall men ydone,
And thereupon I have presumed yet,
To take in hande this Poeme now begonne:
Wherin I meane to tell what race they ronne,
Who followe Drummes before they knowe the dubbe,
And bragge of Mars before they feele his clubbe.
4
Which talk to tell, let first with penne declareWhat thing warre is, and wherof it proceeds,
What be the fruites that fall unto their share
That gape for honor by those haughtie deeds,
What bloudie broyles in every state it breeds:
A weary worke uneths I shall it write,
Yet (as I may) I must the same endite.
5
The Poets olde in their fonde fables faine,That mightie Mars is god of Warre and Strife,
These Astronomers thinke, where Mars doth raigne,
That all [d]ebate and discorde must be rife,
Some thinke Bellona goddesse of that life:
So that some one, and some another judge,
To be the cause of every greevous grudge.
6
Among the rest that Painter had some skill,Which thus in armes did once set out the same,
A fielde of Geules, and on a Golden hill
A stately towne consumed all with flame,
On cheafe of Sable (taken from the dame)
A sucking babe (oh) borne to bide myschaunce,
Begoarde with bloud, and perced with a launce.
7
On high the Helme, I beare it well in minde,The Wreath was Silver poudred all with shot,
About the which (gouttè du sang) did twinde
A roll of Sable, blacke and foule beblot,
The Creast two handes, which may not be forgot,
For in the Right a trenchand blade did stande,
And in the Left a firie burning brande.
8
Thus Poets, Painters, and Astronomers,Have given their gesse this subject to define,
Yet are those three, and with them travellers,
Not best betrust among the Worthies nine,
Their woordes and workes are deemed not divine:
But why? God knowes (my matter not [t]o marre,)
Unlesse it be bicause they faine to farre.
9
Well then, let see what sayth the common voice,These olde sayde sawes, of warre what can they say?
Who list to harken to their whispring noise,
May heare them talke and tattle day by day,
That Princes pryde is cause of warre alway:
Plentie brings pryde, pryde plea, plea pine, pine peace,
Peace plentie, and so (say they) they never cease.
10
And though it have bene thought as true as steele,Which people prate, and preach above the rest,
Yet could I never any reason feele,
To thinke Vox populi vox Dei est,
As for my skill, I compt him but a beast,
Which trusteth truth to dwell in common speeche,
Where every lourden will become a leech.
11
Then what is warre? define it right at last,And let us set all olde sayde sawes aside,
Let Poets lie, let Painters faigne as fast,
Astronomers let marke how starres do glide,
And let these Travellers tell wonders wide:
But let us tell by trustie proufe of truth,
What thing is warre which raiseth all this ruth.
12
And for my parte my fansie for to wright,I say that warre is even the scourge of God,
Tormenting such as dwell in princelie plight,
Yet not regarde the reaching of his rodde,
Whose deedes and dueties often times are odde,
Who raunge at randon jesting at the just,
As though they raignde to do even what they lust.
13
Whome neyther plague can pull into remorse,Nor dearth can drawe to mende that is amisse,
Within whose hearts no pitie findeth force,
Nor right can rule to judge what reason is.
Whome sicknesse salveth not, nor bale brings blisse:
Yet can high Jove by waste of bloudie warre,
Sende scholemaisters to teach them what they are.
14
Then since the case so plaine by proufe doth stande,That warre is such, and such alwayes it was,
Howe chaunceth then that many take in hande
To joy in warre, whiles greater pleasures passe?
Who compt the quiet Burgher but an Asse,
That lives at ease contented with his owne,
Whiles they seeke more and yet are overthrowne.
15
If Mars moove warre, as Starcoonners can tel,And Poets eke in fables use to faine,
Or if Bellona cause mennes heartes to swell
By deadly grudge, by rancor or dysdaine,
Then what delight may in that life remaine?
Where anger, wrath, teene, mischiefe and debate,
Do still upholde the pillers of the State?
16
If Painters craft have truly warre dysplayde,Then is it woorsse (and badde it is at best)
Where townes destroyde, and fields with bloud berayde,
Yong children slaine, olde widdowes foule opprest,
Maydes ravished, both men and wives distrest:
Short tale to make, where sworde and cindring flame
Consume as much as earth and ayre may frame.
17
If pryde make warre (as common people prate)Then is it good (no doubt) as good may bee,
For pryde is roote of evill in everie state,
The sowrse of sinne, the very feend his fee,
The head of Hell, the bough, the braunch, the tree,
From which do spring and sproute such fleshlie seedes,
As nothing else but moane and myschiefe breedes.
18
But if warre be (as I have sayde before)Gods scourge, which doth both Prince and people tame,
Then warne the wiser sorte by learned lore,
To flee from that which bringeth naught but blame,
And let men compt it griefe and not a game,
To feele the burden of Gods mightie hande,
When he concludes in judgement for to stande.
19
Oh Prince be pleasde with thine owne diademe,Confine thy countries with their common boundes,
Enlarge no lande, ne stretch thou not thy streame,
Penne up thy pleasure in Repentance poundes,
Least thine owne sworde be cause of all thy woundes:
Claime nought by warre where title is not good,
It is Gods scourge, then Prince beware thy bloud.
20
Oh Dukes, oh Earls, oh Barons, Knights & squiers,Kepe you content with that which is your owne,
Let braverie never bring you in his briers,
Seeke not to mowe where you no seede have sowne,
Let not your neighbors house be overthrowne,
To make your garden straight, round, even and square,
For that is warre, (Gods scourge) then Lordes beware.
21
Oh bishops, deacons, prelates, priests and all,Strive not for tythes, for glebelande, nor for fees,
For polling Peter pens, for popish Pall,
For proud pluralities, nor newe degrees,
And though you thinke it lubberlike to leese,
Yet shoulde you lende that one halfe of your cote:
Then Priests leave warre, and learne to sing that note.
22
Oh lawlesse Lawyers, stoppe your too long nose,Wherwith you smell your needie neighbors lacke,
Which can pretende a title to suppose,
And in your rules uplandish loutes can racke,
Till you have brought their wealth unto the wracke:
This is plaine warre, although you terme it strife,
Which God will scourge, then Lawyers leave this life.
23
Oh Merchants make more conscience in an oth,Sell not your Silkes by danger nor deceyte,
Breake not your bankes with coine and credite bothe,
Heape not your hoordes by wilinesse of weyght,
Set not to sale your subtilties by sleight,
Breede no debate by bargayning for dayes,
For God will skourge such guiles tenne thousand wayes.
24
Oh countrie clownes, your closes see you keepe,With hedge, & ditche, & marke your meade with meares,
Let not dame flatterie in your bosome creepe,
To tell a fittone in your Landlordes eares,
And say the ground is his as playne appeares.
Where you but set the bounders foorth to farre:
Plie you the plough and be no cause of warre.
25
Oh common people clayme nothing but right,And ceasse to seeke that you have never lost,
Strive not for trifles: make not all your might,
To put your neighbours purse to needelesse cost,
When your owne gilte is spent, then farewell frost:
The Lawyer gaynes, and leades a Lordly lyfe,
Whiles you leese all and begge to stinte your stryfe.
26
Knew Kings and Princes what a payne it were,To winne mo realmes than any witte can weelde,
To pine in hope, to fret as fast for feare,
To see their subjects murdred in the field,
To loose at last, and then themselves to yeeld,
To breake sounde sleepe with carke and inward care,
They would love peace, and bidde warre well to fare.
27
If noble men and gentle bloodes yborne,Wist what it were to have a widdowes curse,
Knew they the skourge of God (which wrōgs doth skorne)
Who sees the poore still wronged to the worse,
Yet stayes revenge till he it list disburse:
Wist they what were to catche Gods afterclappes,
Then would they not oppresse somuch perhappes.
28
These spirituall Pastors, nay these spitefull Popes,Which ought to lende a lanterne to the rest,
Had they themselves but light to see the ropes,
And snares of Hell which for their feete are drest,
Bicause they pill and pole, bycause they wrest.
Bycause they covet more than borrell men,
(Harde be their hartes) yet would they tremble then.
29
Lawyers and Marchants put them both yfeare,Could they foresee how fast theyr heyres lashe out,
If they in minde this old Proverbe could beare,
De bonis malepartis vix (through out)
Gaudebit tertius hæres out of doubt,
They would percase more peace than plea procure,
Since goods ill got, so little time endure.
30
Whiles Pierce the Plowmā hopes to picke a thāke,By moving boundes (which got skarce graze his goose)
His Landlord lawes so long to winne that banke,
Till at the last the Ferme and all flies loose,
Then farewell Pierce the man proves but a mouse,
And seekes a cottage if he could one get,
So fayre he fisht by moving mischief yet.
31
If common people could foresee the fine,Which lights at last by lashing out at lawe,
Then who best loves this question, Myne or Thyne,
Would never grease the greedy sergeants pawe,
But sit at home and learne this old sayde sawe,
Had I revenged bene of every harme,
My coate had never kept me halfe so warme.
32
But whether now? my wittes are went awrie,I have presumde to preache to long God wote,
Where mine empryse was well to testifie
How sweet warre is to such as knowe it not,
I have but toucht their yll luck and their lot,
Which are the cause why strife and warres begin,
Nought have I sayd of such as serve therein.
33
And therwithal I termed have all strife,All quarells, contecks, and all cruell jarres,
Oppressions, bryberes, and all greedy life,
To be (in genere) no bet than warres,
Wherby my theame is stretcht beyond the starres,
And I am entred in a field so large,
As to much matter doth my Muse surcharge.
34
But as the hawke which soareth in the skie,And clymbes aloft for sollace of hir wing,
The greater gate she getteth up on highe,
The truer stoupe she makes at any thing:
So shall you see my Muse by wandering,
Finde out at last the right and ready way,
And kepe it sure though earst it went astray.
35
My promisse was, and I recorde it so,To write in verse (God wot though lyttle worth)
That warre seemes sweete to such as little knowe
What commes therby, what frutes it bringeth forth:
Who knowes none evil his minde no bad abhorth,
But such as once have fealt the skortching fire,
Will seldome (efte) to play with flame desire.
36
Then warre is badde: and so it is in deede,Yet are three sortes which therin take delight,
But who they be now herken and take heede,
For (as I may) I meane their names to wright,
The first hight Haughtie harte, a man of might,
The second Greedy minde most men do call,
And Miser (he the mome) cōmes last of all.
37
As for the first, three sparkes of mighty moodeDesire of fame, disdayne of Idlenesse,
And hope of honor, so inflame his bloud,
That he haunts warre to winne but worthinesse,
His doughty deedes alwayes declare no lesse:
For whyles most men for gaines or malice fight,
He gapes for glory setting lyfe but light.
38
O noble mind: alas and who could thinke,So good a hart so hard a happe should have?
A sweete perfume to fall into a sinke,
A costly jewell in a swelling wave,
Is happe as harde as if in greedy grave,
The lustiest lyfe should shryned be perforce,
Before dyre deathe gyve sentence of divorce.
39
And such I counte the happe of Haughty hart,Which hunts (nought els) but honor for to get,
Where treason, malyce, sicknesse, sore and smarte,
With many myschieves moe his purpose let,
And he meane while (which might have spent it bet)
But loseth time, or doth the same mispend,
Such guerdons gives the wicked warre at end.
40
I set aside to tell the restlesse toyle,The mangled corps, the lamed limbes at last,
The shortned yeares by fret of fevers foyle,
The smoothest skinne with skabbes and skarres disgrast,
The frolicke favour frounst and foule defast,
The broken sleepes, the dreadfull dreames, the woe,
Which wonne with warre and cannot from him goe.
41
I list not write (for it becommes me not)The secret wrath which God doth kindle oft,
To see the sucklings put unto the pot,
To heare their giltlesse bloode send cries alofte,
And call for vengeance unto him, but softe
The Souldiours they commit those heynous actes,
Yet Kings and Captaynes answere for such factes.
42
What neede me now at large for to rehearse,The force of Fortune, when she list to frowne?
Why should I heere display in barreyne verse,
How realmes are turned topsie turvie downe,
How Kings and Keysars loose both clayme and crowne?
Whose haughty harts to hent all honour haunte,
Till high mishaps their doughtiest deedes do daunte.
43
All these with mo my penne shall overpasse,Since Haughty harte hath fixt his fansie thus,
Let chaunce (sayeth he) be fickell as it was,
Sit bonus (in re mala) Animus,
Nam omne solum viro forti Ius.
And fie (sayeth he) for goods or filthie gaine,
I gape for glorie, all the rest is vayne.
44
Vayne is the rest, and that most vayne of all,A smouldring smoke which flieth with every winde,
A tickell treasure, like a trendlyng ball,
A passing pleasure mocking but the minde,
A fickle fee as fansie well can finde.
A sommers fruite whiche long can never last,
But ripeneth soone, and rottes againe as fast.
45
And tell me Haughty harte, confesse a truth,What man was aye so safe in Glories porte,
But traynes of treason (oh the more the ruth)
Could undermine the Bulwarkes of this forte,
And raze his ramparts downe in sundrie sorte?
Searche all thy bookes, and thou shalt finde therein,
That honour is more harde to holde than winne.
46
Aske Julius Cæsar if this tale be true,The man that conquered all the world so wide,
Whose onely worde commaunded all the crue,
Of Romayne Knights at many a time and tide,
Whose pompe was thought so great it could not glide.
At last with bodkins dubd and doust to death,
And all his glorie banisht with his breath.
47
Of malice more what should I make discource,Than thy foule fall proude Pompey by thy name,
Whose swelling harte envying Cæsars force,
Did boyle and burne in will and wicked flame,
By his downe fall thy fonder clyme to frame,
Till thine owne head bebathed with enmies teares,
Did ende thy glorie with thy youthfull yeares.
48
Alas alas how many may we reade,Whome sicknesse sithe hath cut as greene as grasse?
Whome colde in Campes hath chaungd as pale as leade?
Whose greace hath molt all caffed as it was,
With charges given, with skarmouching in chasse?
Some lamed with goute (soone gotten in the field)
Some forst by fluxe all glorie up to yeeld.
49
Of sodayne sores, or clappes caught unaware,By sworde, by shotte, by mischief, or by mine,
What neede I more examples to declare,
Then Montacute which died by doome devine?
For when he had all France defayct, in fine,
From lofty towre discovering of his foes,
A Cannons clappe did all his glorie lose.
50
I had forgot (wherein I was to blame)Of bolde brave Bourbon somewhat for to say
That Haughty hart whome never Prince could tame,
Whome neyther towne could stoppe nor wall let way,
Nor king nor Keyser could his jorney stay:
His Epitaph downe set upon his Tombe
Declares no lesse: I leave it to your doome.
51
Oh glorious title ringing out renowne,Oh Epitaph of honor and high happe,
Who reades the same as it is there set downe,
Would thinke that Borbon sate in fortunes lappe,
And could not fall by chaunce of after clappe:
Yet he that wrote this thundring flattering verse,
Left out one thing which I must needes rehearse.
52
For when he had his king by warre foredone,Enlargde the Empyre and besiegde the Pope,
Tane Rome, and Italy had overronne,
Yet was he forst, alwayes from lawes to lope,
And trudge from triall so to scape the rope:
Yea more than that a banisht man be served,
Least loved of them whose thanks he most deserved.
53
Lo lordings here a lesson for the nones,Behold this glasse and see yourselves therein,
This Epitaph was writte for worthy ones,
For Haughty harts which honor hunt to winne.
Beware beware, what broyles you do begin.
For smiling lucke hath oft times Finem duram,
And therefore thinke possit victoria Curam.
54
And yet if glory do your harts inflame,Or hote desire a haughty name to have,
Or if you thirst for high renowne or fame,
To blase such brute as time might not deprave,
You leese the labour that you might well save:
For many a prayse in that meane while you past,
Which (bet than warre) might make your name to last.
55
As first (percase) you skipt Phylosophie,That noble skill which doth surmount the rest,
Wherto if you had tied your memorie,
Then bruntes of warre had never bruzde your brest,
Yet had our name bene blazde, and you bene blest:
AskeAristotle if I speake amis,
Fewe Souldiers fame can greater be than his.
56
Next Rethorike, that hoonnie harmelesse arte,Which conquers moe than warre can well subdue,
You past it by, and therfore loose your parte
Of glories great, which thereunto are due,
And might by right your names for aye renue:
Such glory loe did Cicero attaine,
Which longer lasts, than other glories vaine.
57
Of Physike speake for me king Avicen,Who more esteemde the meane to save himselfe,
Than lessons leude of proude ambitious men,
Which make debate for mucke and worldly pelfe:
Yet was his glory never set on shelfe,
Nor never shal, whyles any worlde may stande,
Where men have minde to take good bookes in hande.
58
What shoulde I stretch into Astronomie?Or marvels make of Musikes sugred sounde?
Or beate my braynes about Geometrie?
Or in Arithmetike of artes the grounde?
Since evermore it is and hath been founde,
That who excels in any of the same,
Is sure to winne an everlasting fame.
59
My meaning is no more but to declare,That Haughtie hartes do spende their time in vaine,
Which followe warres, and bring themselves in snare,
Of sundrie ylls, and many a pinching paine,
Whiles if they list to occupie their braine,
In other feates with lesser toile ygot,
They might have fame when as they have it not.
60
Well, Greedie minde is of another moode,That man was framde out of some other molde,
He followes warres for wealth and worldlie good,
To fill his purse with grotes and glistring golde,
He hopes to buie that Haughtie harte hath solde:
He is as hote as any man at spoile,
But at a breach he keepeth no such coyle.
61
Alas good Greedie minde, and canst thou findeNo better trade, to fill thy boystrous baggs?
Is wittte nowe wente so wandring from thy minde?
Are all thy points so voide of Reasons taggs?
Well so mayst thou come roysting home in raggs,
And lose thy time as Haughtie harte doth eke,
Whiles like a dolt thou wealth in warre dost seke.
62
O bleareyde foole, are both thine eyes beblast?Canst thou not see? looke up (what man?) God mend thee,
Looke at these Lawyers howe they purchase fast,
Marke wel these Marchants (better minde God send thee)
See howe the sutes of silke that they woulde lende thee,
And many mo so fine in fashion stande,
Till at the last they pay for unthriftes lande.
63
The Grasier gets by feeding fatte his neate,The Clothier coynes by carding locks of wooll,
The Butcher buildes by cutting out of meate,
The Tanners hydes do fill his budget full,
The Sheep maister his olde cast croanes can cull,
The Shoomaker can shift by shaping shooes,
The Craftie bawde can live by keeping stewes.
64
The gorgeous Goldesmith getts the Divell and all,The Haberdasher heapeth wealth by hattes,
The Barber lives by handling of his ball,
The Coupers house is heelde by hooping fattes,
The Roge rubbes out by poysoning of Rattes,
The Chanell raker liveth by his fee,
Yet compt I him more worthie prayse than thee.
65
To rake up rytches evermore by wrong,To multiplie by mooving of myschiefe,
To live by spoile which seeldome lasteth long,
To hoorde up heapes whiles others lacke reliefe,
To winne all wealth by playing of the theefe,
Is not so good a gaine I dare avowe,
As his that lives by toyling at the plowe.
66
And yet the drudge that delveth in the grounde,The poorest pesant and the homeliest hinde,
The meanest man that ever yet was founde,
To get a gaine by any trade or kinde,
Lives more at rest and hath more ease of minde,
More sure to winne, much lesser dread to leese,
Than any page that lives by Mars his fees.
67
Ne will I yet affray the doubtfull hartesOf such as seeke for welth in warre to fal,
By thundring out the sundrie sodaine smartes
Which daily chaunce as fortune trilles the ball:
Suffiseth this to proove my theame withall,
That every bullet hath a lighting place,
Though Greedie minde forseeth not that disgrace.
68
The myst of More would have, doth bleare his eyes,So is he armde with avarice alway,
And as he covets more than may suffise,
So is he blinde and dazled day by day,
For whiles he ventures for a double pay,
He quite forgets the pay that payes for all,
Til Leade (for Golde) do glut his greedie gal.
69
Yea though he gaine & cram his purse with crounes,And therewith scape the foemens force in fielde,
He nought foreseeth what treasons dwells in Townes,
Ne what mishappes his yll got goods may yeelde:
For so may chaunce (and seene it is not seelde)
His owne companions can contrive a meane,
To cutte his throate and rinse his budgets cleane.
70
But if he wist, or had the witte to knowe,What dangers dwell, where might beares right adowne,
What inwarde griefes to quiet mindes may growe
By greedie thyrst of ryches or renowne,
Where wrong of warre oft times erects the crowne,
He would percase confesse among the rest,
That Dulce bellum inexpertis est.
71
So that I say as earst I sayde before,That even as Haughtie harte doth hunt in vaine,
Which seekes to winne most honor evermore,
By haunting warres: so can I see no gaine,
(With calme content) to feede that others vaine:
Wherfore my worde is still (I change it not)
That Warre seemes sweete to such as raunge it not.
72
Well then, let see what reason or what ruleCan Miser move, to march among the rest:
I meane not Miser he that sterves his Mule
For lacke of meate: no that were but a jest:
My Miser is as brave (sometimes) as best,
Where if he were a snudge to spare a groate,
Then Greedie minde and he might weare one coate.
73
But I by Miser meane the very man,Which is enforst by chip of any chaunce,
To steppe aside and wander nowe and than,
Till lowring lucke may pipe some other daunce,
And in meane while yet hopeth to advaunce
His staylesse state, by sworde, by speare, by shielde,
Such bulwarkes (loe) my Misers braine doth builde.
74
The forlorne hope, which have set up their restBy rash expence, and knowe not howe to live,
The busie braine that medleth with the best,
And gets dysgrace his rashnesse to repreeve,
The man that slewe the wight that thought to theeve,
Such and such moe which flee the Catchpols fist,
I compt them Misers, though the Queene it wist.
75
And yet forsooth these love to live in warre,When (God he knowes) they wote not what it meanes,
Where if they sawe how much deceyved they are,
Whiles they be brought into mine uncles beanes,
And hoppe in hazarde by their headie meanes:
Then woulde they learne and love to live at home,
Much rather yet than wide in warres to rome.
76
The unthrift he that selles a roode of lande,For Flemish stickes of Silkes and such like wares,
Weenes yet at last to make a happie hande
By bloudie warre, and hopes to shredde such shares,
In goods yll got to countervaile his cares,
That he may once recover his estate,
To royst againe in spite of Catchpolles pate.
77
The restlesse tong [that] tattleth still at large,Till just correction cause it to be still,
Is banisht oft, and sitts in Misers barge,
To brydle so the wandring of his will:
Yet when he heares a trumpet sounding shrill,
He followes fast, and to himselfe he sayes,
Nowe can I keepe me out of Catchpols wayes.
78
The bloudie murdrer and the craftie theefe,Which have by force or fraude done what offence,
To creepe in corners, oh they thinke it leefe,
Though Miser there do pay for their expence:
But when they heare a pay proclaimde for pence,
Loe then they trudge, and gape to get such wealth,
As may discharge their heads from hangmans health.
79
Of these thre sortes full many have I seene,Some hate the streates, bicause the stones were hot,
Some shunde the Court (& though they lovde our Queene)
Yet in the Counsellors wayes they stumbled not,
Some might not drinke of Justice Griffyns pot:
But all and some had rather fight with foes,
Than once to light within the lappes of those.
80
As for the first what neede I much to wright?Since now adayes the Sunne so hote doth shine,
That fewe yong blouds (unlesse it be by night)
Can byde the streates: no, narrowe lanes be fine,
Where every shade may serve them for a shrine:
But in Cheapside the Sunne so scaldes the streete,
That every paving stone would partch their feete.
81
So of the seconde somwhat coulde I say,Howe tattling tungs and busie byting pennes,
Have fledde from Court long sithens many a day,
And bene full gladde to lurke in Misers dennes,
Some for their owne speech, some for other mennes,
Some for their bookes bicause they wrote too much,
Yea some for rymes, but sure I knowe none such.
82
And for the thirde, I cannot blame them I,If they at barre have once helde up their hande,
And smelt the smoke which might have made them frie,
Or learnde the leape out of their native lande,
Me thinke if then their cause be rightly scande,
That they should more delight to follow drummes,
Than byde at home to come in hangmans thumbes.
83
But holla yet, and lay a strawe thereby,For whyles they scape for one offence or twaine,
They goe so long to schole with fellonie,
And learne such lessons in the Soldiers traine,
That all delayes are dalied but in vaine:
For commonly at their home come they pay,
The debt which hangman claimde earst many a day.
84
How much were better then, with contrite harteFirst to repent, and then to make amendes?
And therwithall to learne by troubles smarte,
What sweete repose the lawfull life us lendes:
For when such plagues the mightie God us sendes,
They come aswell to scourge offences past,
As eke to teach a better trade at last.
85
And eke how much were better for the first,To beare lowe sayle, beginne the worlde anewe,
And stande content to muster with the worst,
Till God convey them to some better crewe,
It better were to bydde all pryde adieu,
And stoupe betimes in hope to ryse againe,
Than still to strive against the streame in vaine.
86
So were more meete for mealy mouthed men,And busie medlers with their Princes mates,
Wryters and rimers for to turne their penne
In humble style unto the loftie states,
And eke with tongue attending at their gates,
In lowly wise their favour to beseeche,
Than still to stande in stoute and sturdie speech.
87
But mighty Mars hath many men in store,Which wayte alwayes to keepe his kingdome up,
Of whome no one doth shewe his service more,
Than lingring Hope which still doth beare his cuppe,
And flatteringly lendes every man a suppe,
Which haunts his courte or in his progresse passe.
Hope brings the bolle whereon they all must quasse.
88
Th'ambitious Prince doth hope to conquer all,The Dukes, Earles, Lords, & Knights hope to be kings,
The Prelates hope to pushe for Popish pall,
The Lawyers hope to purchase wonderous things,
The Merchaunts hope for no lesse reckenings,
The peasant hopes to get a Ferme at least,
All men are guestes where Hope doth holde the feast.
89
Amongst the rest poore Miser is so drie,And thristeth so to taste of some good chaunge
That he in haste to Hope runnes by and by.
And drinkes so deepe (although the taste be straunge,)
That madding moode doth make his wittes to raunge,
And he runnes on w[h]ere Hope doth leade the way,
Most commonly (God knowes) to his decaye.
90
So that for companie he sings the same,Which Haughty harte and Greedy minde do sing
He saieth that Bellum breedeth grief of game:
And though at first it seeme a pleasant thing
At last (sayeth he) it striketh with a sting,
And leaves a skarre although the wound be heald,
Which gives disgrace and cannot be conceald.
91
To prove this true how many in my dayes,(And I for one) might be rehearced here,
Who after proofe of divers wandring wayes,
Have bene constreynd to sit with sorie cheere,
Close in a corner fumbled up for feare?
Till frō such dennes, drummes dubbe hath calld thē forth,
To chaunge their chaunce for lottes (ofte) little worth.
92
But here (me thinks) I heare some carping tong,That barkes apace and killes me with his crie,
[M]e thinkes he sayes that all this geare goeth wrong,
When workes of warre are wrotte by such as I,
Me thinkes I heare him still this text applie,
That evill may those presume to teache a trade,
Which nay themselves in Schollers roome did wade.
93
And for bycause my selfe confessed have,That (more than might by writte expressed be)
I may not seeme above my skill to brave,
Since yet mine eyes the warres did never see:
Therefore (say some) how fonde a foole is he,
That takes in hande to write of worthy warre,
Which never yet hath come in any jarre?
94
No jarre (good sir) yes yes and many jarres,For though my penne of curtesie did putte,
A difference twixt broyles and bloudie warres,
Yet have I shot at maister Bellums butte,
And throwen his ball although I toucht no tutte:
I have percase as deepely dealt the dole,
As he that hit the marke and gat the gole.
95
For I have seene full many a Flushyng fraye,And fleest in Flaunders eke among the rest,
The bragge of Bruges, where was I that daye?
Before the walles good sir as brave as best,
And though I marcht all armde withouten rest,
From Aerdenburgh and back againe that night,
Yet madde were he that would have made me knight.
96
So was I one forsooth that kept the towne,Of Aerdenburgh (withouten any walles)
From all the force that could be dressed downe,
By Alba Duke for all his cries and calles,
A high exployte. Wee held the Flemings thralles,
Seven dayes and more without or bragges or blowes,
For all that while we never herd of foes.
97
I was againe in trench before Tergoes,(I dare not say in siege for bothe mine eares)
For looke as oft as ever Hell brake lose,
I meane as often as the Spainish peares,
Made salie foorth (I speake this to my pheares)
It was no more but which Cock for a groate,
Such troupes we were to keepe them up in coate.
98
Yet surely this withouten bragge or boast,Our English bloudes did there full many a deede,
Which may be Chronicled in every coaste,
For bolde attempts, and well it was agreed,
That had their heades bene rulde by warie heede,
Some other feate had bene attempted then,
To shew their force like worthie English men.
99
Since that siege raysde I romed have about,In Zeeland, Holland, Waterland, and all,
By sea, by land, by ayre, and all throughout,
As leaping lottes, and chance did seeme to call,
Now here, now there, as fortune trilde the ball,
Where good Guyllam of Nassau badde me be,
There needed I none other guyde but he.
100
Percase sometimes S. Gyptians pilgrymage,Did carie me a moneth (yea sometimes more)
To brake the Bowres, and racke them in a rage,
Bicause they had no better cheere in store,
Beefe, Mutton, Capon, Plover, Pigeons, Bore,
All this was naught, and for no Souldiours toothe,
Were these no jarres? (speake now Sir) yes forsoothe.
101
And by my troth to speake even as it is,Such prankes were playde by Souldiours dayly there,
And though my self did not therein amisse,
(As God he knowes and men can witnesse beare,)
Yet since I had a charge, I am not cleare,
For seldome climes that Captaine to renowne,
Whose Souldiours faults so plucke his honour downe.
102
Well let that passe. I was in rolling trench,At Ramykins, where little shotte was spent,
For gold and groates their matches still did quenche,
Which kept the Forte, and forth at last they went,
So pinde for hunger (almost tenne dayes pent)
That men could see no wrincles in their faces,
Their pouder packt in caves and privie places.
103
Next that I servde by night and eke by daie,By Sea, by lande, at every time and tide,
Against Mountdragon whiles he did assaie,
To lande his men along the salt sea side,
For well he wist that Ramykins went wide,
And therfore sought with victuall to supplie,
Poore Myddleburgh which then in suddes did lie.
104
And there I sawe full many a bold attempt,By seelie soules best executed aye,
And bravest bragges (the foemens force to tempt)
Accomplished but coldely many a daye,
The Souldiour charge, the leader lope away,
The willing drumme a lustie marche to sounde,
Whiles ranke retyrers gave their enimies ground.
105
Againe at Sea the Souldiour forward still,When Mariners had little lust to fight,
And whiles we staie twixt faynte and forward will,
Our enemies prepare themselves to flight.
They hoyste up sayle (o wearie woorde to wri[gh]t)
They hoyste up saile that lacke both streame and windes,
And we stand still so forst by frowarde mindes.
106
O victorie: (whome Haughty hartes do hunte)O spoyle and praye (which greedy mindes desire)
O golden heapes (for whom these Misers wonte
To follow Hope which settes all hartes on fire)
O gayne, O golde, who list to you aspyre,
And glorie eke, by bolde attempts to winne,
There was a day to take your prisoners in.
107
The shippes retyre with riches full yfraught,The Souldiours marche (meane while) into the towne,
The tide skarce good, the winde starke staring naught,
The haste so hoate that (eare they sinke the sowne)
They came on ground, and strike all sayles adowne:
While we (ay me) by backward saylers ledde,
Take up the worst when all the best are fledde.
108
Such triūphs chance where such Lieutenāts rule,Where will commaundes when skill is out of towne,
Where boldest bloudes are forced to recule,
By Simme the boteswayne when he list to frowne,
Where Captaynes crouch, and fishers weare the Crowne.
Such happes which happen in such haplesse warres,
Make me to tearme them broyles and beastly jarres.
109
And in these broyles (a beastly broyle to wryte,)My Colonell, and I fell at debate,
So that I left both charge and office quite,
A Captaynes charge and eke a Martials state,
Whereby I proved (perhaps though all to late)
How soone they fall whiche leane to rotten bowes,
Such faith finde they, that trust to some mens vowes.
110
My harte was high, I could not seeme to serve,In regiment where no good rules remayne,
Where officers and such as well deserve,
Shall be abusde by every page and swayne,
Where discipline shall be but deemed vayne,
Where blockes are stridde by stumblers at a strawe,
And where selfe will must stand for martiall lawe.
111
These things (with mo) I could not seeme to beare,And thereupon I crackt my staffe in two,
Yet stayde I still though out of pay I were,
And learne to live as private Souldiours do,
I lived yet, by God and lacked too:
Till at the last when Beavois fledde amayne,
Our campe removde to streine the lande van Strayne.
112
When Beavois fledde, Mountdragon came to towne,And like a Souldiour Myddelburgh he kept,
But courage now was coldly come adowne,
On either side: and quietly they slept,
So that my self from Zeland lightly lept,
With full entent to taste our English ale,
Yet first I ment to tell the Prince my tale.
113
For though the warres waxt colde in every place,And small experience was there to be seene,
Yet thought I not to parte in such disgrace,
Although I longed much to see our Queene:
For he that once a hyred man hath bene,
Must take his Maisters leave before he goe,
Unlesse he meane to make his freend his foe.
114
Then went I straight to Delfe, a pleasant towne,Unto that Prince, whose passing vertues shine,
And unto him I came on knees adowne,
Beseeching that his excellence in fine,
Would graunt me leave to see this countrey mine:
Not that I wearie was in warres to serve,
Nor that I lackt what so I did deserve.
115
But for I found some contecke and debate,In regiment where I was woont to rule,
And for I founde the staie of their estate,
Was forced now in townes for to recule,
I craved leave no longer but till Yewle,
And promist then to come againe Sans fayle,
To spende my bloud where it might him avayle.
116
The noble Prince gave graunt to my request,And made me passeporte signed with his seale,
But when I was with baggs and baggage prest,
The Prince began to ring another peale,
And sent for me, (desiring for my weale)
That I woulde stay a day or two, to see,
What was the cause he sent againe for mee.
117
My Colonell was nowe come to the Courte,With whome the Prince had many things to treate,
And for he hoapte, in good and godlie sorte,
Tweene him and me to worke a friendlie feate,
He like a gracious Prince his braines did beate,
To set accorde betweene us if he might,
Such paynes he toke to bring the wrong to right.
118
O noble Prince, there are too fewe like thee,If Vertue wake, she watcheth in thy will,
If Justice live, then surely thou art hee,
If Grace do growe, it groweth with thee still,
O worthy Prince would God I had the skill,
To write thy worth that men thereby might see,
How much they erre that speake amisse of thee.
119
The simple Sottes do coumpt thee simple too,Whose like for witte our age hath seldome bredde,
The rayling roges mistrust thou darest not do,
As Hector did for whom the Grecians fledde,
Although thou yet werte never seene to dredde,
The slandrous tongues do say thou drinkst to much,
When God he knowes thy custome is not such.
120
But why do I in worthlesse verse devise,To write his prayse that doth excell so farre?
He heard our greeves himself in gratious wise,
And mildly ment to joyne our angry jarre,
He ment to make that we beganne to marre:
But wicked wrath had some so farre enraged,
As by no meanes theyr malice could be swaged.
121
In this meane while the Spainiards came so neareThat Delfe was girte with siege on every side,
And though men might take shippyng every where,
And so be gone at any time or tide,
Yet truth to tell (I speake it for no pryde)
I could not leave that Prince in such distresse,
Which cared for me and yet the cause much lesse.
122
But see mishappe how craftely it creepes,Whiles fawning fortune fleareth full in face,
My heavie harte within my bellie weepes,
To recken here a droppe of darke disgrace,
Which fell upon my pleasant plight apace,
And brought a packe of doubts and dumps to passe,
Whiles I with Prince in love and favour was.
123
A worthie dame whose prayse my penne shal write(My sworde shall eke hir honour still defende)
A loving letter to me did endight,
And from the Campe the same to me did sende,
I meane from Campe where foes their force did bende:
She sent a brief unto me by hir mayde,
Which at the gates of Delfe was stoutely stayde.
124
This letter tane, I was mistrusted much,And thought a man that were not for to truste,
The Burghers streight began to beare me grutche,
And cast a snare to make my necke be trust,
For when they had this letter well discust:
They sent it me by hir that brought it so,
To trie if I would keepe it close or no.
125
I redde the lines, and knowing whence they came,My harmelesse harte began to pant apace,
Wel to be playne, I thought that never Dame,
Should make me deale in any doubtfull case,
Or do the thing might make me hide my face:
So that unto the Prince I went forthwith,
And shewed to him of all this packe the pith.
126
The thing God knowes was of no great emport,Some freendly lines the vertuous Lady wrote
To me hir freend: and for my safe passeporte,
The Camepomaster Valdes his hand was gotte,
And seale therewith, that I might safely trotte,
Unto the Haghe a stately pleasaunt place,
Whereas remaynd this worthy womans grace.
127
And here I set in open verse to showe,The whole effect wherfore this work was wrought,
She had of mine (whereof few folkes did knowe)
A counterfayte, a thing to me deare bought,
Which thing to have I many time had sought
And when shee knew how much I did esteeme it
Shee vowde that none but I should thence redeeme it.
128
Lo here the cause of all this secrete sleight,I sweare by Jove that nothing els was ment,
The noble Prince (who sawe that no deceipt
Was practised) gave trust to mine entent:
And leave to write from whence the same was sent,
But still the Bowgers (Burghers should I saye)
Encreast their doubtes and watcht me day by day.
129
At every porte it was (forsoth) belast,That I (die groene Hopman) might not go out,
But when their foes came skirmishing full fast,
Then with the rest the Greene knight for them fought,
Then might he go without mistrust or doubt:
O drunken plompes, I playne without cause why,
For all cardes tolde there was no foole but I.
130
I was the foole to fight in your defence,Which know no freende, nor yet your selves full well,
Yet thus you see how paye proclaymde for pence,
Pulles needie soules in steade of heaven to hell,
And makes men hope to beare away the bell.
Whereas they hang in ropes that never rotte,
Yet warre seemes sweete to such as know it not.
131
Well thus I dwelt in Delfe a winters tyde,In Delfe (I say) without one pennie pay:
My men and I did colde and hunger bide,
To shew our truth, and yet was never day,
Wherein the Spanyard came to make us play,
But that the Greene knight was amongst the rest,
Like John Greyes birde that ventred with the best.
132
At last the Prince to Zeland came himselfe,To hunger Middle[b]urgh, or make it yeeld,
And I that never yet was set on shelf,
When any sayld, or winde, or waves could weeld,
Went after him to shew my selfe in field.
The selfe same man which earst I vowed to be,
A trustie man to such a Prince as he.
133
The force of Flaunders, Brabant, Geldres, Fryze,Henault, Artoys, Lyegeland, and Luxembrough,
Were all ybent, to bryng in new supplies
To Myddleburgh: and little all enough,
For why the Gæulx would neyther bend nor bough.
But one of force must breake and come to nought,
All Walkers theirs, or Flushyng dearly bought.
134
There once agayne I served upon seas,And for to tell the cause and how it fell,
It did one day the Prince (my chieftayne) please,
To aske me thus: Gascoigne (quoth he) you dwell
Amongst us still: and thereby seemeth well,
That to our side you beare a faithfull harte,
For else long since we should have seene you starte.
135
But are (sayde he) your Souldiours by your side?O Prince (quoth I) full many dayes be past,
Since that my charge did with my Cronell glyde.
Yet byde I here, and meane to be with last:
And for full proofe that this is not a blast
Of glorious talke: I crave some fisher boate,
To shew my force among this furious floate.
136
The Prince gan like my fayth and forward will,Equyppt a Hoye and set hir under sayle,
Wherein I served according to my skill,
My minde was such, my cunning could not quayle,
Withouten bragge of those that did assayle
The foemens fleete which came in good aray,
I put my selfe in formost ranke alway.
137
Three dayes wee fought, as long as water served,And came to ancor neyghbourlike yfeere,
The Prince himselfe to see who best deserved,
Stoode every day attending on the peere,
And might behold what barke went formost there:
Ill harte had he that would not stoutely fight,
When as his Prince is present still in sight.
138
At last our foes had tidings over lande,That neare to Bergh their fellowes went to wracke,
On Scheld they mette by Rymerswaell a bande
Of Edellbloets, who put their force abacke,
Lewes de Boyzott did put them there to sacke,
And lost an eye, bicause he would resemble
Dan Juliane, whome (there) he made to tremble.
139
When this was knowen Sancio de Avila,Who had the charge of those that fought with us,
Went up the Hont and tooke the ready way,
To Anwerpe towne: leaving in daunger thus,
Poore Myddelburgh which now waxt dolorous,
To see all hope of succour shrinke away,
Whiles they lackt bread and had done many a day.
140
And when Mountdragon might no more endure,He came to talke and rendred all at last,
With whome I was within the Cittie sure,
Before he went, and on his promisse past,
Such trust I had to thinke his fayth was fast:
I dinde, and supt, and laye within the towne,
A daye before he was from thence ybowne.
141
Thus Middleburgh, Armew, and all the rest,Of Walkers Ile became the Princes pray,
Who gave to me bycause I was so prest,
At such a pinche, and on a dismall day,
Three hundreth gilderns good above my pay.
And bad me bide till his abilitie,
Might better gwerdon my fidelitie.
142
I will not lie, these Gilderns pleasd me well,And much the more bycause they came uncraved,
Though not unneeded as my fortune fell,
But yet thereby my credite still was saved,
My skores were payde, and with the best I braved,
Till (lo) at last, an English newe relief,
Came over seas, and Chester was their chief.
143
Of these the Prince perswaded me to take,A band in charge with Coronels consent,
At whose requests I there did undertake,
To make mine ensigne once againe full bent,
And sooth to say, it was my full entent,
To loose the sadle or the horse to winne,
Such haplesse hope the Prince had brought me in.
144
Souldiours behold and Captaynes marke it well,How hope is harbenger of all mishappe,
Some hope in honour for to beare the bell.
Some hope for gaine and venture many a clappe,
Some hope for trust and light in treasons lappe.
Hope leades the way our lodging to prepare,
Where high mishap (ofte) keepes an Inne of care.
145
I hoapt to shew such force agaynst our foes,That those of Delf might see how true I was,
I hopt in deede for to be one of those
Whome fame should follow, where my feete should passe,
I hoapt for gaynes and founde great losse alas:
I hoapt to winne a worthy Souldiours name,
And light on lucke which brought me still to blame.
146
In Valkenburgh (a fort but new begonne)With others moe I was ordeynde to be,
And farre beforne the worke were half way done,
Our foes set forth our sorie seate to see,
They came in time, but cursed time for mee,
They came before the courtine raysed were,
One onely foote above the trenches there.
147
What should we do, foure ensignes lately prest,Five hundreth men were all the bulke we bare,
Our enimies three thousand at the least,
And somuch more they might alwayes prepare:
But that most was, the truth for to declare,
We had no store of pouder, nor of pence,
Nor meate to eate, nor meane to make defence.
148
Here some may say that we were much to blame,Which would presume in such a place to byde,
And not foresee (how ever went the game)
Of meate and shotte our souldiours to provide:
Who so do say have reason on their side,
Yet proves it still (though ours may be the blot)
That warre seemes sweete to such as know it not.
149
For had our forte bene fully fortified,Two thousand men had bene but few enow,
To man it once, and had the truth bene tried,
We could not see by any reason how,
The Prince could send us any succour now,
Which was constreynd in townes himself to shield,
And had no power to shew his force in field.
150
Herewith we had nor powder packt in store,Nor flesh, nor fishe, in poudring tubbes yput,
Nor meale, nor malt, nor meane (what would you more?)
To get such geare if once we should be shut.
And God he knowes, the English Souldiours gut,
Must have his fill of victualles once a day,
Or els he will but homely earne his pay.
151
To scuse ourselves, and Coronell withall,We did foretell the Prince of all these needes,
Who promised alwayes to be our wall,
And badde us trust as truely as our creedes,
That all good wordes should be performd with deedes,
And that before our foes could come so neare,
He would both send us men and merrie cheare.
152
Yea Robyn Hoode, our foes came downe apace,And first they chargde another Forte likewise,
Alphen I meane, which was a stronger place,
And yet to weake to keepe in warlike wise:
Five other bandes of English Fanteries,
Were therein set for to defend the same,
And them they chargde for to beginne the game.
153
This Forte fro ours was distant ten good miles,I meane such myles as English measure makes,
Betweene us both stoode Leyden towne therewhiles,
Which everie day with fayre wordes undertakes,
To feede us fat and cramme us up with cakes:
It made us hope it would supplie our neede,
For we (to it) two Bulwarkes were in deede.
154
But when it came unto the very pinche,Leyden farewell, we might for Leyden sterve,
I like him well that promiseth an inche,
And payes an ell, but what may he deserve
That flatters much and can no fayth observe?
[An]d old sayd sawe, that fayre wordes make fooles fayne,
Which proverbe true we proved to our payne.
155
A conference among our selves we cald,Of Officers and Captaynes all yfeere,
For truth (to tell) the Souldiours were apald,
And when we askt, nowe mates what merie cheere?
Their aunswere was: it is no bidyng here.
So that perforce we must from thence be gone,
Unlesse we ment to keepe the place alone.
156
Herewith we thought that if in time we went,Before all streights were stopt and taken up,
We might (perhaps) our enimies prevent,
And teach them eke to taste of sorowes cuppe:
At Maesland Sluyse, wee hoped for to suppe,
A place whereas we might good service do,
To keepe them out which tooke it after too.
157
Whiles thus we talke, a messenger behold,From Alphen came, and told us heavy newes,
Captaynes (quoth he) hereof you may be bolde,
Not one poore soule of all your fellowes crewes,
Can scape alive, they have no choyse to chuse:
They sent me thus to bidde you shifte in time,
Els looke (like them) to sticke in Spainish lime.
158
This tale once tolde, none other speech prevaylde,But packe and trudge, al leysure was to long,
To mende the marte, our watche (which never faylde)
Descried our foes which marched all along,
And towards us began in hast to throng,
So that before our laste could passe the porte,
The foremost foes were now within the Forte.
159
I promest once and did performe it too,To bide therein as long as any would,
What booted that? or what could Captaynes doo,
When common sorte would tarie for no gould?
To speake a troth, the good did what they could,
To keepe the badde in rankes and good araye,
But labour lost to hold that will away.
160
It needelesse were to tell what deedes were donne,Nor who did best, nor who did worst that day,
Nor who made head, nor who began to runne,
Nor in retreate what chief was last alway,
But Souldiour like we held our enimies play:
And every Captayne strave to do his best,
To stay his owne and so to stay the rest.
161
In this retyre three English miles we trodde,With face to foes and shot as thicke as hayle,
Of whose choyce men full fiftie soules and odde,
We layed on ground, this is withouten fayle,
Yet of our owne, we lost but three by tale:
Our foes themselves confest they bought full deere,
The hote pursute whiche they attempted there.
162
Thus came we late at last to Leyden walles,Too late, too soone, and so may we well say,
For notwithstanding all our cries and calles,
They shut their gates and turnd their eares away:
In fine they did forsake us every way,
And badde us shifte to save ourselves apace,
For unto them were fonde to trust for grace.
163
They neither gave us meate to feede upon,Nor drinke, nor powder, pickax, toole nor spade,
So might we sterve, like misers woe begone,
And fend our foes, with blowes of English blade,
For shotte was shronke, and shift could none be made:
Yea more than this, wee stoode in open fielde,
Without defense from shotte our selves to shielde.
164
This thus wel weyed, whē weary night was past,And day gan peepe, wee heard the Spainish drommes,
Which stroke a marche about us round to cast,
And foorth withall their Ensignes quickly cōmes,
At sight whereof, our Souldiours bitte their thōmes:
For well they wist it was no boote to flie,
And biding there, there was no boote but die.
165
So that we sent a drumme to summone talke,And came to Parlee middle way betweene,
Monsieur de Licques, and Mario did walke,
From foemens side, and from our side were seene,
My self, that matche for Mario might bene:
And Captayne Sheffeld borne of noble race,
To matche de Licques, which there was chief in place.
166
Thus met we talkt, and stoode upon our toes,With great demaundes whome little might content,
We craved not onely freedome from our foes,
But shippyng eke with sayles and all full bent,
To come againe from whence we first were went:
I meane to come, into our English coast,
Which soyle was sure, and might content us most.
167
An old sayde sawe, (and ofte seene) that whereas,Thou comste to crave, and doubtst for to obtayne,
Iniquum pete (then) ut æquum feras,
This had I heard, and sure I was full fayne,
To prove what profite we thereby might gayne:
But at the last when time was stolen away,
We were full gladde to play another play.
168
We rendred then with safetie for our lives,Our Ensignes splayed, and manyging our armes,
With furder fayth, that from all kinde of gives,
Our souldiours should remayne withouten harmes:
And sooth to say, these were no false allarmes,
For why? they were within twelve dayes discharged,
And sent away from pryson quite enlarged.
169
They were sent home, and we remayned still,In pryson pent, but yet right gently used,
To take our lives, it was not Licques will,
(That noble blood, which never man abused,)
Nor ever yet was for his faith accused,
Would God I had the skill to write his prayse,
Which lent me comfort in my dolefull dayes.
170
We bode behind, foure moneths or little lesse,But whereupon that God he knowes not I,
Yet if I might be bolde to give a gesse,
Then would I say it was for to espie,
What raunsome we would pay contentedly:
Or els to know how much we were esteemde,
In England here, and for what men ydeemde.
171
How so it were, at last we were dispatcht,And home we came as children come form schoole,
As gladde, as fishe which were but lately catcht,
And straight againe were cast into the poole:
For by my fay I coumpt him but a foole,
Which would not rather poorely live at large,
Than rest in pryson fedde with costly charge.
172
Now have I tolde a tedious tale in rime,Of my mishappes, and what ill lucke I had,
Yet some may say, that all to lowde I chime,
Since that in warres my fortune was not badde,
And many a man in pryson would be gladde,
To fare no worse, and lodge no worse than wee,
And eke at last to scape and go so free.
173
I must confesse that both we were well used,And promise kept according to contract,
And that nor wee, nor Souldiours were abused,
No rigour shewed, nor lovely dealing lackt:
I must confesse that we were never rackt,
Nor forst to do, nor speake agaynst our will,
And yet I coumpt it froward fortune still.
174
A truth it is (since warres are ledde by chaunce,And none so stoute but that sometimes may fall,)
No man on earth his honour might advaunce,
To render better (if he once were thrall)
Why who could wishe more comforte at his call,
Than for to yeeld with ensigne full displayde,
And all armes borne in warlike wise for ayde?
175
Or who could wishe dispatche with greater speede,Than souldiours had which taried so few dayes?
Or who could wishe, more succour at his neede,
Than used was to them at all assayes?
Bread, meate, and drinke, yea wagons in their wayes,
To ease the sicke and hurte which could not go,
All tane in warres, are seldome used so.
176
Or who could wishe (to ease his captive dayes)More libertie than on his fayth to rest?
To eate and drinke at Barons borde alwayes,
To lie on downe, to banquet with the best,
To have all things, at every just request,
To borowe coyne, when any seemde to lacke,
To have his owne, away with him to packe?
177
All this and more I must confesse we had,God save (say I) our noble Queene therfore,
Hinc illæ lachrimæ, there laye the padde,
Which made the strawe suspected be the more,
For trust me true, they coveted full sore,
To keepe our Queene and countrie fast their friendes,
Till all their warres might grow to luckie endes.
178
But were that once to happy ende ybrought,And all stray sheepe come home agayne to folde,
Then looke to dore: and thinke the cat is nought,
Although she let the mouse from out hir holde:
Beleve me now, me thinkes I dare be bolde,
To thinke that if they once were freendes againe,
We might soone sell, all freendship found in Spaine.
179
Well these are woordes and farre beyōd my reach,Yet by the way receyve them well in worth,
And by the way, let never Licques appeach
My rayling penne, for thoughe my minde abhorrth,
All Spainish prankes: yet must I thunder forth
His worthy prayse, who held his fayth unstayned,
And evermore to us a freend remayned.
180
Why sayed I then, that warre is full of woes?Or sowre of taste, to them that know it best?
Who so demaundes, I will my minde disclose,
And then judge you the burdens of my brest:
Marke well my wordes and you shall finde him blest,
That medleth least with warres in any wise,
But quiet lives, and all debate defies.
181
For though we did with truth and honour yeeld,Yet yeelding is alwayes a great disgrace,
And though we made a brave retyre in field,
Yet who retyres, doth alwayes yeeld his place:
And though we never did our selves embase,
But were alwayes at Barons table fedde,
Yet better were at home with Barlie breade.
182
I leave to tell what losse we did sustaine,In pens, in pay, in wares, and readie wealth,
Since all such trash may gotten be againe,
Or wasted well at home by privie stelth:
Small losse hath he which all his living selth,
To save his life, when other helpe is none,
Cast up the saddle when the horse is gone.
183
But what I sayde, I say and sweare againe,For first we were in Hollande sore suspect,
The states did thinke, that with some filthie gaine
The Spainish peeres us Captaines had infect,
They thought we ment our ensignes to erect
In Kings behalfe: and eke the common sorte,
Thought privy pay had made us leave our forte.
184
Againe, the Kings men (onely Licques except,And good Verdugo) thought we were too well,
And that we were but playde with in respect,
When as their men in great distresse did dwell:
So that with hate their burning hartes did swell,
And bad hang up or drowne us everychone,
These bones we had alway to byte upon.
185
This sause we had unto our costly fare,And every day we threatned were in deede,
So that on both sides we must byde the care,
And be mistrust of every wicked deede,
And be revilde, and must our selves yet feede
With lingring Hope, to get away at last,
That selfe same Hope whiche tyed us there so fast.
186
To make up all, our owne men playde their parte,And rang a peale to make us more mystrust,
For when they should away from us departe,
And sawe us byde, they thought we stayed for lust,
And sent them so in secrete to be trust:
They thought and sayde, thus have our Captaines solde
Us silly soules, for groates and glistring golde.
187
Yea, when they were to England safely brought,Yet talkte they still even as they did before:
For slaundrous tongues, if once they tattle ought,
With mickell payne will chaunge their wicked lore:
It hath bene proved full many dayes of yore,
That he which once in slander takes delight,
Will seldome frame his woordes to sounde aright.
188
Straunge tale to tell, we that had set them free,And set ourselves on sandes for their expence,
We that remaynd in daunger of the tree,
When they were safe, we that were their defence,
With armes, with cost, with deedes, with eloquence:
We that saved such, as knew not where to flie,
Were now by them accusde of trecherie.
189
These fruits (I say) in wicked warres I founde,Which make me wryte much more than else I would,
For losse of life, or dread of deadly wounde,
Shall never make me blame it though I could,
Since death doth dwell on everie kinde of mould:
And who in warre hath caught a fatall clappe,
Might chaunce at home to have no better happe.
190
So losse of goodes shall never trouble me,Since God which gives can take when pleaseth him,
But losse of fame or slaundred so to be,
That makes my wittes to breake above their brimme,
And frettes my harte, and lames me every limme:
For Noble minds their honour more esteeme,
Than worldly wights, or wealth, or life can deeme.
191
And yet in warres, such graffes of grudge do growe,Such lewdnesse lurkes, such malice makes mischief,
Such envie boyles, such falshood fire doth blowe,
That Bountie burnes, and truth is called thief,
And good desertes are brought into such brief,
That Saunder snuffe which sweares the matter out,
Brings oftentimes the noblest names in doubt.
192
Then whether I be one of Haughty harte,Or Greedy minde, or Miser in decay,
I sayde and say that for mine owne poore parte,
I may confesse that Bellum every way,
Is Sweete: but how? (beare well my woordes away)
Forsooth, to such as never did it trie,
This is my Theame I cannot chaunge it I.
Peroratio.
193
O noble Queene, whose high foresight provides,That wast of warre, your realmes doth not destroye,
But pleasaunt peace, and quiet concord glydes,
In every coast, to drive out darke anoye,
O vertuous dame, I say Pardonez moy,
That I presume in worthlesse verse to warne,
Thambitious Prince, his dueties to descerne.
194
Your skilfull minde (O Queene without compare)Can soone conceyve that cause constraynes me so,
Since wicked warres have bredde such cruell care,
In Flaunders, Fraunce, in Spaine and many mo,
Which reape thereby none other worth but wo:
Whiles you (meane while) enjoy the fruites of peace,
Still praysing God, whose bounties never cease.
195
If you (my liege) vouchsafe in gratious wise,To pardon that which passeth from my Muse,
Then care I not what other kings devise,
In warres defense: nor though they me accuse,
And say that I their bloudie deedes abuse:
Your onely grace my soveraigne Lady be,
Let other Kings thinke what they list of me.
196
And you my Lordes to whome I dueties owe,And beare such love as best becommeth me,
First Earle of Bedford, whome I right well know,
To honour armes: and woorthie Warwyke he,
In whose good grace I covet sore to be:
Then Leyster next, (Sussex not set behinde)
And worthy Essex men of noble minde.
197
Yong Oxenford as toward as the best,Northumberland, and Ormount woorthy prayse,
Lyncolne, Kildare, and Worster with the rest
Of noble Earles, which hold your happy dayes
In high renowme, as men of warre alwayes:
With others mo to many to recite,
Vouchsafe my Lordes to pardone that I write.
198
Of Wilton Grey (to whome these rimes I wrote)With all the Barons bold of English soyle,
I humbly crave that it may be forgotte,
Although my Muze have seemde to keepe a coyle
With mighty men which put the weake to foyle:
I ment not you since, by your deedes appeares,
You rule with right, like wise and worthy peares.
199
Right reverend, of Canterbury chiefe,London, and Lincoln, Bishoppes by your name,
Good Deane of Pawles (which lend a great relief,
To naked neede) and all the rest of fame,
In pastors place: with whome I were too blame,
If Nevynsone my maister were not plaste,
Since by his helpe I learning first embraste.
200
Beare with my verse, and thinke I ment not you,Whereas I spake of pride in Prelacie,
But let it bide even there where first it grew,
Till God vouchsafe to quench hipocrisie,
Which by pretence to punish heresie,
Doth conquere realmes, and common concords breake,
You know my mind, I neede no playner speake.
201
You gemmes of Justice, chiefe of either bench,And he that keepes hir Majesties great seale,
Good Queenes attorney, he whose pitties quench
(I say sometimes) the rigour of his zeale,
When miserie, to mercy must apeale,
And Sergeant Lovelace, many ways my friend,
As I have found (yet let me there not end,)
[202]
But hold my tale to Rugge and all the restOf good Grayes Inne, where honest Yelverton,
And I Per se sometimes yfeere did rest,
When amitie first in our brests begonne,
Which shall endure as long as any Sunne
May shine on earth, or water swimme in Seas,
Let not my verse your lawlike minds displease,
203
For well wot you, our master Christ himselfe,Which had but twelve Apostles in his trayne,
Had Judas yet, which solde for worldly pelfe
Our Saviour: this text is true and playne:
And where so many Lawyers do remayne,
There may be some although that you be none,
Which breede debate and love to cast a bone.
204
In Chancerie I neede no man suspect,Since conscience, in that court beareth sway,
Yet in the same I may no wayes neglect,
Nor worthy Powle, nor Cordell by the way,
Of whome that one, is of my keepe the keye,
That other once did lende me such advise,
As was both sounde and good, had I bene wise.
205
He tolde me once, (I beare it well in minde,And shall it nay forget whyles lyfe doth last)
That harde it is a noble name to finde,
In such attempts as then in service past:
Beleve me now I founde his wordes no blast,
Wherfore I pray both him and his compeere,
To beare with that which I have written heere.
206
And as for Merchants, though I finde the mostHard harted men and compting cunningly,
Yet Albany shall thinke I do not boast
In rayling wise: for sure his curtesie,
Constreynes me now to prayse him worthely.
And gentle Rowe with Luntley make me say,
That many Merchaunts beare even what they may.
207
But to conclude, I meane no more but thus,In all estates some one may treade awrye,
And he that list my verses to discusse,
Shall see I ment no more, but modestly
To warne the wise, that they such faults do flie
As put downe peace by covine or debate,
Since warre and strife bryng wo to every state.
L'envoié.
Go little Booke, God graunt thou none offende,For so meant hee which sought to set thee foorth,
And when thou commest where Soldiers seeme to wend,
Submit thy selfe as writte but little woorth:
Confesse withall, that thou hast bene too bolde,
To speake so plaine of Haughtie hartes in place,
And say that he which wrote thee coulde have tolde
Full many a tale, of blouds that were not base:
He coulde have writte Dan Dudleyes noble deedes,
Whose like hath since bene harde on earth to finde,
Although his Vertue shewes it selfe in Seedes,
Which treade his tracks, and come not farre behinde.
He might have sung of Grey the woorthie prayse,
Whose ofspring holdes the honor of his sire:
He coulde declare what Wallop was alwayes,
What Awdelie seemde, what Randell did require.
He coulde say what desertes in Drewrie be,
In Reade, in Bryckwell, and a meany moe:
But bashfulnesse did make him blush, least he
Should but eclypse their fames by singing so.
Suffiseth this, that still he honors those
Which wade in warres to get a woorthie name,
And least esteemes the greedie snudge, which goes
To gayne good golde, witho[u]t respecte of fame.
And for the thirde sorte, those that in dystresse
Do drive their dayes, till drummes do draw them out,
He coumpts him selfe to bee nor more nor lesse,
But even the same: for sure withouten doubt,
If drummes once sounde a lustie martch in deede,
Then farewell bookes, for he will trudge with speede.
The Complete Works of George Gascoigne | ||