The Works of William Fowler :: :: University of Virginia Library

This statelie, brawe, and weill disposed, this gallant, glorious Dame,
that is a naked spreit and peace of earth within the same,
Who sometymes was the Pillar heigh, the fortrest full of store
of Valeur, and of worthines, returned bak with glore
Moist Ioyfullie from these hir wayes, triumphing over hir foe,
that all the world dois with his craft and his desait ourthroe;
And not with other armes or strenght this foe she hes subvert
than with a visage fair and mylde, and with a chaistly hart,
With thoughts most poore, with speache most wyse, with langage most discr[eit],
that ay wer freindis to honestie, with shamefastnes repleit.

A wounder great it wes to sie, a thing bothe strange and rare,
the armes, the bow, the shafts of lowe for to ly brokned thair,
And round about him to aspye sa manie thair lye slane,
with manye captiwed presoners that did in lyfe remane,
This ladie with hir chosen folk bak makking thair retrait
from hir Triumphant victorie marche vnder clothe of stait;
In number few hir people were, this is no strange to heir,
becaus that trew and solide glore is seildome sene appeir;

Yit everie one who wes with hir deserued worthie praise
in historie, in loftye verse, in statelie style and phraise.

At that tyme was thair Enseingȝie, within a feild of grene
ane Ermind whyte depainted was, all lyllie whyte and clene,
Whose nek did beare a Topas chane insert with fynest gold,
To witnes weill that Puritie which they did alwayes hold.
No humane pace nor earthlie stepps thair walking was & trace,
bot hevinlie all, and all thair wordis wer full of hevinlie grace.
O blist be these! weill be these blist! and happie thryse agane
that to suche destine creat be and such good fate sustane!
As Twinkling starris they all appered in midst a Sun of light,
decoring thame evin with these beames which daisled not thair sight;
Thair headis with garlandis wer bedect of reid incarnat rose,
with violes of brawest hewis, and flouers of brawest chose;
And as a noble gentle hart great glorie dois obteane,
so did this Ioyfull cumpanie with Ioy eache fitsteppe trane.

Quhen then I saw, evin suddanelie, a banner borne of blak,
and in the same, of that same hew, a furious woman shak;
Sad, paill, obscure, and sensles shee appeared, alace, to me,
with fureis wrapt and fureis worne at that tyme seamed shee;
The sight heirof so hideous was as skairslye I can tell
gif suche a sight at Phlegia was when that The Giantis fell.
Than did this greiȝelie, ghaislie ghaist addres hir to me dame,
with trotting trace and haistie voyce did call hir by hir name:
“O ladie fair, that so dois go decord with youthe and grace,
and dois not knaw of this thy lyfe the fixed terme and space,
I she am she that importune and Cruell cald by yow,
who ar a people deafe and Blind, and makis all creaturis bow,
Who fearfullye dois all arrest evin be my force and might,
that shortis the day, and haistis before or evening come the night;

I she am she that hes conwoyed the Greikis vnto thair end,
The Troians and the Romans to I haif maid to discend
Within thair dreidfull grawe and tombe be this my fatall brand,
That sheares and slayes, that prikis and cuttis, and killeth owt of hand,
With manye other people moe, both Barbar, gross, and strange,
arryving first before they know thair lyfe for death to change,
Ransakking all thair pansiwe thoughts long ludged in thair mynde,
and brakking doun thair vane conceattis to death they haif declynde.
And now to yow, when yow must list to liwe in lyfe so long,
I do adres my deidlie course with deadlie Dart and strong,
Before dame fortoun with hir wheill in sum vnhappie houer
with luckles happ ourcross your hope, and mixt your sweit with souer.”

Than answered she who was within this world onlye one,
“thow hes not in these cumpaneis no right nor reasoun none;
Thow may in me far less pretend, bot gif that thow wilt haiff,
The onelye spoyle is that thow shalt my corss conwoy to graiff.
Bot thair is one who sall hawe more displeasour be my deathe,
For in my weilfair and my helth depends his lyfe and breathe.
It sall to me most thankfull be from this world to goe,
which is the Port of Miserie, and harbrough for our woe.”
Than as a man who bendis his eyes on vncouthe things & new,
and seing thame more than first he spyeth far vtherwayes ensew,
With wounder is astonished, and than him self dois blame,
so dois this ferse and cruell death with wounder pause for shame;
And as be chance she mused awhyle these words at lenth she spak,
“I know the tyme wherin my teith ar drest to spoyle and sak.”
So afterwart with calmie face, less vglie than before,
she thus began to speik: “o dame, adorned so with glore,

That dois conduct this chaistlye band, yit though thow hes not knowen
my poysned shafts and deidlie dartis which many hes ourthrowen,
if to my counsell at this tyme thow bothe gif trust and eare,
what I enforce is for the best, and so it sall appeare.
Ould, harie, lothesom, crooked age I far from the sall chase,
with all the cairis and fashereis that dois with age recrease;
I am resolwed and purposed now suche honour the to doe,
Sawe the to none was never before such fauour shawin vnto;
Thou shalt exchange thy lyiff for death, thy spreit sal part but feare,
no sorrow thairby sall thow feill, Nor dollour sall the deir.”
This earthlie Sant this spak agane: “evin as it pleass the lord
that standis in heavin to rewll from thence all thingis in gude accord,
Who gowerneth all this vniuerss, and reullis this massiue round,
do he to me and in suche sort as other folkes hes found.”

Thus as she spak: then suddanlie behold the spacious place
was quiklye with deid bodeis filled whom death did so deface;
The number was so hudge and greit as none culd hawe tham pend,
suppose he shuld in prose and verse thame prease to comprehend;
Of India, Cataia, with Marracos, and of Spane,
of all these people wes the midst replenisht with the plane;
The lowest partis and hollow place the multitude vpfilled,
whom death with longer tract of tyme had cruellie so killed.

Thair was these men whom men most cald most happie & most blist,
Triumphant kingis and empreouris, and Popes whose feit men kist,

Who now lyes spoyled of thair Pompe and skant dois plague þair pryd,
and poorer ar then beggaris be who oft for crommes hes cryed.
Now tell me than, whair is thair welth, whear is thair glorie great?
Whair ar thair Gems and pretious stones, and Sceptaris of estait?
Whair ar they now? whair ar they gone? whair ar thair princelie crownis?
whair ar thair forked myters now? whair are thair purple gownis?
O wretched he, and Miser more, that fixis so his trust
on mortall things to which all men that mortall be hawe lust!
But who is he that dois not so? yit they salbe in end
with reasoun iustlye scorned and scuft that to that course did tend.
O blinded folk to toss yow so! what Ioy can yow befall?
vnto your mother ould yow must returne bothe one and all,
And than your titillis and your stylis sall so obscured lye,
that yow sall all forgotten be, none sall yow hawe thairbye.
Than tell me now for what effect do yow youre cair intend,
although one gane for thousand panis do to yow ryse in end;
Who dois not sie [that] all is vane, a folye flatt exprest?
Or what awaillis that be your force suche countreyis be posest
Which ar not yours, and Tributare to mak the strangeris sole,
with dommage of your corpss and soule that for your sinnis sall thole?
Or after perrellous interpryse, bothe bloodye, vane, and wrong,
To purchess land be loss of bloode that dois yow not belong?
Or yit to muk and gather gold, and so your handis defyle?
It better for your soules had bene to liwed with breid this whyle,
And water more had yow beseamed, rough treis, and brittill glass
had more besett than Gems and gould in which your glorie wass.

Bot now will I draw in my saillis and to my purpose Turne,
which is the subiect of my woe that makis me so to murne.

So when I say the houer was come, Alace, that latter houer
of that hir short and glorious lyfe which death did so dewouer,
Wherein she must that doubtfull pace and passage than assey,
whereof the fearfull world standis in dreid and in a fray,
Thair cam a troupe of valerus dames, a band so chaist and fair,
To sie if this fair ladie lewed, or deathe hir lyfe would spair;
About hir bed they gathered thame to mark and vew the end
To which bot ones, bot no more oft, must all inclyne and tend.
As all hir freindis and nighbouris neir hir bewtie did behould,
death rooted wp and did dissolue hir hair as fyne as gould,
So that the choisen fairest flouer that in this world did sprout,
death fouly to the worldis disgrace did rywe and pull it owt,
Nor for to hate nor yit Envye that he to it did beare,
but that in thingis most excellent his pouer might appeare.
Sore sad laments, and sparpled teares, deip sighs, and reuthfull cryes
was thair amongs these wemen all that rave to reuth the skyes.
O what a hart brek was it to see these eyes so fair and bright
for which I manye a Sonet maid to lose thair lucent light!
Betuix sa manye scalding sighs and havie layes of woe,
betuix sa manye shrilling shouts and sobbis in number moe,
That hevinlie Dame, that Ladie fair, did peacelye sit but bruit,
and of hir vertewis deidis did rype the glorious gane & fruit.

“O mortall goddes, go thow hence! in peace dois thow depairt!”
so said the people who wer thair with sad and murnfull hart.
“Quhat sall be cum or yit befall to others, mortall wights,
sen suche a dame hes brunt and fresed, and past in such few nights?”

Thair speache forsuith deserwed praise, bot it not muche awaild
against that death that in hir rage so roughlye hir assaild.
O Trustles hope of humane thingis! O hope bothe blind & vane!
Incerten ar thow in thye course, and so sall ay remane.

If that for pittie of hir death the earth was washt with teares,
as he best knowest who saw it so, so lat him think that heares.
It wes the sex day of Appryle, thairof the Primal houer,
in whiche my fervent flam began be cupids puissant pouer;
And looke what houer she did me in her loyall lowe insnair,
The self same tyme now by hir death renewed hes my cair;
Att that same day that hes me bound the same hes sett me frie,
As fortoun in hir fickill course hir style dois change we sie.

None evir yit did so complane, none ever so bewaild
his fredome lost, or dreidfull death that over him prewaild,
Than I of this my libertie brought by hir loss of lyfe,
whose threid by gretar richt suld bene first cutt by fatall knyfe:
For thow suld first, o death, me kild, my debt by age wes dew,
that formast stood vpoun that front from which hir glorye grew.
Who can beleif my doolefull woe, my dollour, and my cair,
my sadnes, and my loude lamentis, my sorrow, and dispair?
No none thair is Imagine may the greatnes of the same;
how than can I in prose and verse them bouldlye furth proclame?

These ladeis fair that stoode about that ladeis chaistlie bed,
with wofull woe, with murning mone, and cheikis with teares ourspred,

Began to crye, “now, now, alace! Dame vertew is decayid,
fair Beutye now hes lost hir lampe, and courtsie is astrayed.
Woe! woe! alace! who sall ws sawe? what sal be come of ws?
since she is deid what sall we hope, who sall this doubt discus?
Who evir saw in suche a dame suche perfyte proofes of praise?
who evir hard so sweit a speache so full of wit alwayes?
Who evir hard, or yit did sie, though he suld liwe to long,
from suche ane Angell Angellis voyce so Angelic a song?”

Her spreit before it did depairt from bosome of hir rest,
and from that place which to toe short it shortlie had possest,
With all his vertewis and his giftis conioyned vnto one,
did light the air in euerie part, and cleir the heavinis anone;
Nor none of all the furious Spreittis durst than ones vndertak
for to compeir before that dame with visage foule and blak,
Before, alace, that dreidfull death, that dame but blame or fault,
vpone hir chaistlye cumelie corss had finisht his assault.
Bot after they had end thair plaintis and left thair lowde lament,
and by dispair war maid seceur, they had thair eyes all bent
Vpon hir visage meik and myild, and markt hir angellis face,
Most bewtifull, most angelik, and full of hevinlie grace.

Not as a fyre of flamming flame blawen owt by busling blast,
bot as a spark that through hir self consumis and deith last,
And as we sie a sweit cleir light that cummeth to decay,
whose nurishing by peice and pece dois softlye weir away,
And to the end hir ancient vse and custumes keipis eache on,
So to hir fading deing lyfe hir deing day drew on.
And so but pane so dyed my Dame, hir lyfe so past and went,
hir hevinlie soule to hevinlie rest in peace did pairt content.
Not Paill that lowely ladie lay, bot whytar than the snow
which gathered is in flokkis but winde, and dois togeather row;

And as a man through Trawell long and exercise is faint,
in suche a sort my ladie lay when deathe did hir attaint.
Her soule than being parted so, that which maid foolish men
Callis vglie death a plesant Sleip did in hir eyes seme then,
So that that deidlie Monster wyld, that dois all folk disgrace,
did than appeir most bewtifull within my Ladeis face.

Finis .i. cap.

ii. The Secounde chapter of the Triumphe of Deathe.

The night that after did ensew this wofull vglie chance,
that deathe my dame so suddanlie did to hir grawe adwanse,
That night in maner maid the Sun his lucent light to lose,
and sped him from the earth in haist in heavin to repose.
So being left I knew not weill whose fitstepps for to trane,
I lost my guyde, and I did lyke a blinded man remane.

Quhen that the sweit and sommer frost was sparpled by the air,
and quhill Aurora did begin agane to earth repair,
That dois despoyle and tak away evin by hir wholesome streames
the coverture and mantle braid of fals confused dreames,
Evin at that tyme a ladie fair did to my sight appeir,
resembling right on euerie point the season of the yeir.
Sche was bedect with precious pearle, and crouned with orient stones,
yea, crowned she was with thousand crownes of Iewellis brawe at ones,
Who, moweing softlye in hir self, she towardis me did walk,
and lowinglye besydis my syd did sett hir doun to talk,
And streatching owt hir plesant hand, that hand so long desyrd,
she sighing, speiking, yeild it furth, and me to speik requyrd:
From whense his rissen the pleasant Ioy & that eternal bliss
that in my woefull havie hart so long so ludged Is.

“Knowst thow not hir,” thus spak my dame, “who first thy wandring pace
hes turnd asyid from vulgar way and from the vulgar race?
Knowst thow not hir who the withheld from that which youth did rage,
whose chastlie hart both caused thy lowe and als thy lust did swage?”
This pansiwe dame, in deids most wyse, and in hir actis discreit,
satt doun quhair meiklie she did me to sit with hir intreit:
It was a pleasing bank that place whairon we than reposed,
with laurell grene and branchely beach ourshadowed all and closed.

Than answered I euen as a man who speiking shedds his teares,
and through the greitnes of his greiff his toung from talk forbeares:
“O Laura, thow! O Ladye fair! O goddes of my mynd!
my eyes dois knaw the verie weill, o glore of womankynd!
Tell me, my Dame, tell, hevinlie soule, from whense my grace dois grow,
if thow be leving or yit deid becaus I long to know.”
“I am in lyfe, not deid,” sayis she, “I liwe, and thow is deid,
and salbe whill the later houer that death to earth the leid.
And now, for that the tyme is short our will is alwayes long,
I counsell that thow [OMITTED] It that so thow go not wrong;
Lose not the brydill to the same, thy speache to goode employ,
before the day that draweth neir the to thy grawe conwoy.”
Than I in end replyed thus: “tell me, my hevinlie dame,
that now of lyfe and death hes prowin the practise of the same,
And knowst the proofe what is to liwe and what to die agane,
if death a thing so feirfull be, or yit so full of pane.”
Than answered she: “so long as thow with vulgar folk will hould,
whose iudgement is ay wauering, and to thair will Inthrauld,

And thair opinionis so embrace that blinde ar, hard, and auld,
thow nevir happie salbe named nor blissed salbe cald.

To noble spreittis and gentle myndis death is the end of cair,
of presoun strong, of Dungeonis dark, of dollour and dispair;
Bot vnto these who hes thair thoughts so fixt on earthlie things,
to suche eternall noy and sturt and sorrow death inbringis.
And this my woefull doolefull death for which thow hes lament,
for whiche thow hes sae manie teares so vanelie shed and spent,
I am assured suld confort the, and quyte efface thy noy,
if that thow felt the thousand part of this my hevinlie ioy.”

Quhen thus she spak she cwist hir eyes vnto the highest heavin,
and then her roselye lipps war closed, and I to purpose dreavin,
“O dame,” said I, “these tyrantis strong that rewld that last empyre,
as Sylla, Marius, nero vyld, that sett all Rome in fyre,
Calligula, Maxentius, with murder so acquent,
that daylie so to torture men all Tormentis did Invent,
The burning boyling feaveris whote, the seiknes in the breist,
the sorenes in the Lim̄s and nervis that so dois men molest,
Makis death for to accounted be with euerie one and all
abhorred be, and so estemed more bitter than the gall.”

“I can not weill denye,” sayis she, “but that the pane and woe
that goeth before or death dois come dois mak ws think it soe;
Bot that which greweth most of all, it is that dreidfull feare
To loss our long and lasting lyfe, this is that most ws deare;

Bot to the spreit that dois in god his confort all repose,
And to that hart that for his sinnis his waiknes dois disclose,
Vnto that hart, and to that spreit, What death can vther be
than evin a short and litill sigh, as men dois breath we sie?
The proofe thairof evin be my self most planelie may be prowen,
who nerest was my latest course or death had me ourthrowen:
When fleshe was frayle and bodie seik, & spreit more prompe agane,
I hard with heavie sound a voyce most heavelie complane,
‘O wretched he and miserable that rekneth Lauras dayes,
to whome eache one a thousand yeares appeares to him alwayes!
He euerie houer hes suche desyre to visie hir and sie,
and, if he sie hir not euerie hour, he can not happie be;
He seikis for hir through all the earth, bot yit can not hir finde,
and euerie hour and moment small he hes hir in his mynde;
He seikis for hir the fomeing seis, and searcheth all the bankis,
the bayes, the brayes, the brookes, the floods, the deip and watrie stankis,
Whair euerie he walkt or holdis his stepps, ay holding still one style
to think on hir, to speik on hir, and verse of hir compyle.’
Than hearing thus, my fanting ee I turned to that syde
from which that heavie sounding sound I hard and had espyde,
And thair persaweth that Gentle dame that long thy passionis knew,
that thrust me fordwart in thy lowe, and bakwart the with drew;
The sugred wordis owt from hir mouth did mak hir knowen to me,
hir visage and hir countenance did shaw the same wes she
That oftentymes my wofull hart reconforted and glad,
when heavines did it assayle, or sorrow made it sad;

Sche was acquent with our effaires, with witt she was repleit,
and fayithfull was she in our lowe, and at my deathe discreit.

And planelie now I will the tell, Evin in my brawest state,
and in my grene and growing yeares to the both brawe and feate,
Which caused hes the thoughts and toungs of men to talk and think
in praise of that which was the chaine that did in lowe ws link,
That lyfe which I that tyme than ledd more bittar wes to me,
and swetar than my gentle death that hes me maid to die;
A thing most rare to mortall men, and strange it is to heir,
that death to me more better semed than bitter did appeir;
Becaus to me that passage wes more ioyfull and content
than he that from exyle is cummed and to his countrye went;
The thing that onlye dois me vex, and most my mynde dois grewe,
Is that thow in this wicked world so long, alace, sall lewe.”

Than answered I and spak agane: “O pretious pearle of praise,
I the adjeur by that same fayth that all the world dois blaise,
Whiche tyme I trow hes manifest and oppinlie dois proclame,
and now the more in sight of him that liwis in lasting fame
Dois more appeir, whose eyes dois perse and seis in euerie part,
than tell me if thow ever had ones pittie on my smart,
Or one the panis that lowe hes ludgt within my macered breist,
or of the thoughts that in suche hudge did long my heade molest,
Not leving of your chaistlye wayes nor honest interpryse,
whiche yow wer wont for to oppone aganis my rauthfull cryes;
For that your pleasant gratious Ire and these your sweit disdanes,
So mixt with lowe and than with heate redoubling so my panes,

Togeather with the platt of peace imprented in your eyes,
the Seales of grace, the nest of bliss that all my sorrow seis,
Did holde so long my whote desyris in such incertan sort,
as ay my mynde dois stand in doubt disparing of support.”
I skarslie had my wofull wordis owt from my mouth declaird,
when as I saw a smyrcling smyle with douce and sweit regaird
Pass from the passage of hir eyes, which sometymes of my Ioy
was both the salve and medicine for to abaitt my noy.

So afterhend she sighing said: “O Petrark, iust and trew,
mark weill my wordis and credeit giwe to that which dois ensew:
My hart nor yit my lasting lowe did euer from the depart,
Nor yit that lowe my hart had ones death euer sall subwert;
Bot warlye I prowydid so To temper so thy flame,
with coy regaird to mitigat the fearsnes of the same,
Becaus they wer no other way to keip in honest fame
my chastetie and thye renoun of ewill bruit and blame;
And so thow ought not for to think that Laura not the loved,
or had not pittie on thy plaints or yit to reuth not mowed.
For looke how that a mother deir dois chastise so hir sonne,
correctis him for amendiment to frame in better toone,
Evin so did I so vse my selff, and to my self oft said,
‘Petrarcha lowis not but dois burne, this fyre must than be stayd.’
It is my part for to foirsee these ewillis before they grow,
less commoun bruit vnto our shame our Infamie furth blow;
Bot so to do It is verie hard: for how can they prowyde
against these things for which they feare and ernistlie abyde?
Fame would ay evin as I did the to my lowe reclame,
but slaunder maid me ay mistrust and feare a gretar shame;
And to my selff I oft hawe said, ‘he markis but owtward thingis,
yit Inwardlie he seis it not that so me woundis and stingis;’

I vsed this craft to draw the bak and spur the thick agane,
Evin as a brydle backwart beares the Wantonn horss and vane;
And yit this more I will confes, a thousand tymes hes Ire
depanted in my face what lowe within had sett on fyre,
And thousand tymes my face hes showen, and thousand tymes exprest,
the sore conflictis and Inwart flamms that brunt my hart & breist.
And looke how muche thye lowe appeird so swirlie greit wes myne,
bot Will did not my Reasoun rewll nor maid from right repyne;
And after when I the beheld ourcome by lowe his rage,
Than sweitlie wold I cast my eyes thy sorrowis to assuage,
With purpose and with full intent, and with a cairfull cair,
To sawe thy honour with my lyfe that languisht by dispair;
And when the passionis that the paind so panefull did appeir,
I purposed then to confort the with visage calme and cleir,
So that my forrett and my voyce did for thy saiftye mowe,
now full of woe, than full of Ioy, and dreid full mixt with lowe:
This was the practise of my hart, these war my honest wayes,
That I through honour with the vsed vntill my deing dayes,
Now shawen furth a blythe aspect all gathered full of grace,
And than agane a coy disdane, and than a sourer face.
Thow knowst that all these thingis be trew, thy Sonettis this reveillis,
and all thy songs proclames the same which of thy woe bewaillis.
In end I vsed such sindrie salwes to salwe thy sore diseis,
that bothe my cair and studie was how the to pane and pleis:
For when I saw thy watrye eyes so full of streames of teares,
which trickling doun in suche a pace did wash thy cheaks and eares,
Than would I say, ‘this man dois rin a course vnto his deathe,
I sie things thairfoir must help prolong his lyfelie breathe;’

And Thairfore than I did prowyde some help and honest ayde
To eiss thy woes, redress thy soares, aud mak thye state be stayde;
Then when I saw sa manie spurris so fordwart in thy syde,
than would I say, ‘an harder bitt must mak this man abyde;’
And thus when then I so espyde how thow had hope of gane,
‘convenient is,’ said I, ‘this hope be drowned with disdane;’
So that amidst these contrareis, sometymes both whote and coulde,
Now whyte, now reid, now blythe, now sad, I haif evin as I woulde
Conducted the now to this point, though I now weryed be,
Whair through I leid a glorious lyfe, and so sall all men see.”

Than I replyed with face besprent and visage wak with teares,
and tremblinglye with Trembling voyce all faint with thousand feares,
“O glorious dame, of this my fayithe greit gane thow suld me giwe,
gif that I could thy loveing words so steidfastlie beliwe.”
“O man, o man of litill faythe,” she answerd in disdane,
“gif thow not knowst which that I speik to be both trew and plane;
Quhat reasoun is suld me induce to tell these thingis to yow,
and thow no wayes that which I speik will credeit yit or trow?
I wer vniust, o Petrark myne, gif I the treuth suld hyde:
whils as I liwed thow in my hart and in my eyes did byde;
In treuth, that sweit and loving knot most plesant was to me
be which thow preast by fervent lowe with me to coupled be;
That brawe renoun (if trew I heir) which through the world dois perse,
which far and nar thow hes me wun by thy Immortall verse,
Dois pleis me muche, for that I knew thow had no other suit
than by a lawfull honest meanes to reape thy wished fruit.

And this was it that onely faild, this onely did inlake,
for to perfyte that perfyte lowe which did not thyne forsake:
For whils that thow in havie act thy sadnes did bewray,
thow maid thye flams to publisht be through all the world, I say;
Hence came my zeale to mollifie, and so thye flame to soft;
bot yit in all suche other thingis such concord than was wrought
As loyall lowe with honestie dois temper and Immixt,
so in my lowe bothe honestie and shamefastnes was fixt:
This difference was tuixt thame bothe, thow publisht furth thy flame,
when secreitlie I in my hart had buried wp the same;

And when that thow for mercie cryed, so that thye voyce was hoarse,
I held my toung, yit in my hart I had on the remorse.
For shamefastnes vpone the one, on other syde a feare,
did make my many whote desyrs far fewer more appeare;
For nather is that doole the less that dois a nother vex,
nor yit be Moning mone growis more that men dois so perplex,
As nather thingis that ar of treuthe, and hes by treuthe thair stay,
by feinȝeit fortoun dois incress, or yit by It decay.

Yit did not I dissolue these doubts when I with the did sing
thy sugred songs that with my panis thy praises all did ring.
And this muche more I will the tell: my hart wes ay with the,
suppose my eyes wer turned asyde, and seemed not the to see;
Off which thow verie oft complaind, as of these partis vniust,
That quainsht thy hope and esperance and raised thy mistrust;
Yit so to doe thow had no cause, for that of me the best
vnto thy handis I did it yeild so that the worst bot rest.

And know when that my eyes sumtymes war turnd from vewing the,
that they a thousand tymes agane with mercie did the see;
And in this same persuade thy self they on the ay had lookt,
wer not I fear that through thair flammes they had rekendled thy smok.

Now sumquhat more I am to say afore that I mak end,
that may the pleis or I depart or I to go intend:
It is that I in euerie point sufficientlie am blist,
and yit in one thing (to my greiff) this happines I mist;
It dois me greiff my natiwe soyle and birth place is so bass,
from whiche I had my levinge lyfe, in which I gendred wass;
And one thing more augmentis my woe, I was not borne besyde
that floorish nest, fair Florence toun, in which thow did abyde;
and yit my countrye soyle & ground contentit much thy mynde,
if not the place perhapps my lowe it was that maid the kynde.

I wisht this change becaus I feared that thy trew constant hart
through change to some vnknowen face and vncowthe be conwert,
And so that glorious famous praise, which thow to me procured,
suld darkned be so of les fame and bruit it had indured.”

To this I said, “not so, O Dame, suche change culd never chanse;”
and than the thrid fair hevinlie spheir did so me far adwanse,
Evin with hir whirling circled wheill to suche a sort of lowe,
as Venus stoode Immoveable and I might not remowe.

Than answered she: “sen so it is suche glore I haif by the,
that yit Immortall thow dois lest, and so sall follow me,

Grawe thairfoir this within thy mynde, and in thy hart imprent,
The tyme dois slipp, and through thy Ioy thow knowst not how is spent.”

Alreddie I Aurora saw Ryse from hir golden bed,
rebringing bak the day to men, and all the cluddis to shed,
Alreddie than fair Phebus was mount in his golden cairt,
and owt from the bosome wyde of Neptune to depairt,
When that my ladie, Laura fair, from me was to resort,
whose going than renewed my woe, and prayed me to be short,
And with the tyme to distribut and all my speache dewyde,
becaus she was not long to stay nor with me to abyde.

Thus answered I: “O thow, my Dame, thy goodlie wordis and sweitt,
so lowelie, chaist, and pitifull, so wyse, and so discreit,
They mak me tak my panefull panis, my martirdome, and smart,
my lingring lyfe, and havie loss, far in a better part;
Bot this, alace, dois most me grewe, and this dois most me pane,
that yow no more in Lyfe sall liwe, and I but yow remane;
Now one thing thairfoir to me shaw, sall I thy futstepps trace,
or sall a longer space of tyme my lingring yeares increase?”
Than did my lowe, my Iem, and Ioy, speik so, as I belewe,
“thow sall but me drywe furth thy dayes and long in earth sall liwe.”

Finis Triumphi Mortis.