"Songes and Sonettes written by the ryght honorable Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other"

The longe loue, that in my thought I harber,
And in my hart doth kepe his residence,
Into my face preaseth with bold pretence,
And there campeth, displaying his banner.
She that me learns to loue, and to suffer,
And willes that my trust, and lustes negligence
Be reined by reason, shame, and reuerence,
With his hardinesse takes displeasure.
Wherwith loue to the hartes forest he fleeth,
Leauyng his enterprise with paine and crye,
And there him hideth and not appeareth.
What may I do? when my maister feareth,
But in the field with him to liue and dye,
For good is the life, endyng faithfully.

Yet was I neuer

The louer waxeth wiser, and will not die for affection

Yet was I neuer of your loue agreued,
Nor neuer shall, while that my life doth last:
But of hatyng my self, that date is past,
And teares continual sore haue me weried.
I will not yet in my graue be buried,
Nor on my tombe your name haue fixed fast,
As cruel cause, that did my sprite sone hast.
From thunhappy boones by great sighes stirred.
Then if an hart of amorous fayth and will
Content your minde withouten doyng grief:
Please it you so to this to do relief.
If otherwise you seke for to fulfill
Your wrath: you erre, and shal not as you wene,
And you your self the cause therof haue bene.

E1r

Was neuer file yet half

The abused louer seeth his foly, and entendeth to trust no more.

Was neuer file yet half so well yfiled,
To file a file for any smithes intent,
As I was made a filyng instrument,
To frame other, while that I was begiled.
But reason, loe, hath at my foly smiled,
And pardoned me, sins that I me repent
Of my lost yeres, and of my time mispent.
For youth led me, and falshod me misguided.
Yet, this trust I haue of great apparence:
Sins that disceit is ay returnable,
Of verye force it is agreable,
That therwithall be done the recompence.
Then gile begiled playnd should be neuer,
And the reward is little trust for euer.

The liuely sparkes

The louer describeth his being striken with sight of his loue.

The liuely sparkes, that issue from those eyes,
Against the which there vaileth no defence,
Haue perst my hart, and done it none offence,
With quakyng pleasure, more then once or twise.
Was neuer man could any thing deuise,
Sunne beames to turne with so great vehemence
To dase mans sight, as by their bright presence
Dased am I, much like vnto the gise
Of on striken with dint of lightenyng,
Blind with the stroke, and erryng here and there.
So call I for helpe, I not when, nor where,
The payne of my fall paciently bearyng.
For streight after the blase (as is no wonder)
Of deadly noyse heare I the fearfull thunder.

E1v

Svch vain thought

The waueryng louer wylleth, and dreadeth, to moue his desire.

Svch vain thought, as wonted to mislead me
In desert hope by well assured mone,
Makes me from company to liue alone,
In folowyng her whom reason bids me fle.
And after her my hart would faine be gone:
But armed sighes my way do stop anone,
Twixt hope and dread lockyng my libertie.
So fleeth she by gentle crueltie.
Yet as I gesse vnder disdainfull brow
One beame of ruth is in her cloudy loke:
Which comfortes the mind, that erst for fear shoke.
That bolded straight the way then seke I how
To vtter forth the smart I bide within:
But such it is, I not how to begyn.

Vnstable dreame

The louer hauing dreamed enioying of his loue, complaineth that the dreame is not either longer or truer.

Vnstable dreame, accordyng to the place,
Be stedfast ones, or els at least be true.
By tasted swetenesse, make me not to rew
The soden losse of thy false fained grace.
By good respect in such a dangerous case
Thou broughtest not her into these tossing seas,
But madest my sprite to liue my care tencrease,
My body in tempest her delight timbrace.
The body dead, the sprite had his desire.
Painelesse was thone, the other in delight.
Why then alas did it not kepe it right,
But thus return to leape in to the fire:
And where it was at wishe, could not remayne?
Such mockes of dreames do turne to deadly payne.

E2r

Ye that in loue finde luck

The louer vnhappy biddeth happy louers reioice in Maie, while he waileth that moneth to him most vnlucky.

Ye that in loue finde luck and swete abundance,
And lyue in lust of ioyfull iolitie,
Aryse for shame, doway

[_]

do way

your sluggardy:
Arise I say, do May some obseruance:
Let me in bed lye, dreamyng of mischance.
Let me remember my missehappes vnhappy,
That me betide in May most commonly:
As one whom loue list little to aduance.
Stephan said true, that my natiuitie
Mischanced was with the ruler of May.
He gest (I proue) of that the veritie.
In May my wealth, and eke my wittes, I say,
Haue stand so oft in such perplexitie.
Ioye: let me dreame of your felicitie.

If waker care

The louer confesseth him in loue with Phillis.

If waker care: if sodayn pale colour:
If many sighes, with litle speach to plaine:
Now ioye, now wo: if they my chere distayne:
For hope of small, if much to fear therfore,
To haste, or slack: my pace to lesse, or more:
Be signe of loue: then do I loue agayne.
If thou aske whom: sure sins I did refrayne
Brunet, that set my welth in such a rore,
Thunfayned chere of Phillis hath the place,
That Brunet had: she hath, and euer shall:
She from my self now hath me in her grace:
She hath in hand my wit, my will, and all:
My hart alone welworthy she doth stay,
Without whose helpe skant do I liue a day.

E2v

Cesar, when that the

Of others fained sorrow, and the louers fained mirth.

Cesar, when that the traytour of Egypt
With thonorable hed did him present,
Coueryng his hartes gladnesse, did represent
Plaint with his teares outward, as it is writ.
Eke Hannibal, when fortune him outshyt
Clene from his reigne, and from all his entent,
Laught to his folke, whom sorow did torment,
His cruel despite for to disgorge and quit.
So chanceth me, that euery passion
The minde hideth by colour contrary,
With fayned visage, now sad, now mery.
Wherby, if that I laugh at any season:
It is because I haue none other way
To cloke my care, but vnder sport and play.

Eche man me telth

Of change in minde.

Eche man me telth, I change most my deuise:
And, on my faith, me thinke it good reason
To change purpose, like after the season.
For in ech case to kepe still one guise
Is mete for them, that would be taken wise.
And I am not of such maner condicion:
But treated after a diuers fashion:
And therupon my diuersnesse doth rise.
But you, this diuersnesse that blamen most,
Change you no more, but still after one rate
Treat you me well: and kepe you in that state.
And while with me doth dwell this weried gost,
My word nor I shall not be variable,
But alwaies one, your owne both firme and stable.

Some fowles there be

How the louer perisheth in his delight, as the flie in the fire.

E3r

Some fowles there be, that haue so perfit sight
Against the sunne their eies for to defend:
And some, because the light doth them offend,
Neuer appeare, but in the darke, or night.
Other reioyce, to se the fire so bryght,
And wene to play in it, as they pretend:
But find contrary of it, that they intend.
Alas, of that sort may I be, by right.
For to withstand her loke I am not able:
Yet can I not hide me in no dark place:
So foloweth me remembrance of that face:
That with my teary eyn, swolne, and vnstable,
My desteny to beholde her doth me lead:
And yet I knowe, I runne into the glead.

Because I still kept thee

Against his tong that failed to vtter his sutes.

Because I still kept thee fro lyes, and blame,
And to my power alwayes thee honoured,
Vnkind tongue, to yll hast thou me rendred,
For such desert to do me wreke and shame.
In nede of succour most when that I am,
To aske reward: thou standst like one afraied,
Alway most cold: and if one word be sayd,
As in a dreame, vnperfit is the same.
And ye salt teares, agaynst my wyll eche nyght,
That are wyth me, when I would be alone:
Then are ye gone, when I should make my mone.
And ye so ready sighes, to make me shright,
Then are ye slacke, when that ye should outstart.
And onely doth my loke declare my hart.

I find no peace

Description of the contrarious passions in a louer.

I Find no peace, and all my warre is done:
I feare, and hope: I burne, and frese like yse:

E3v

I flye aloft, yet can I not arise:
And nought I haue, and all the worlde I season.
That lockes nor loseth, holdeth me in pryson,
And holdes me not, yet can I scape no wise:
Nor lettes me lyue, nor dye, at my deuise,
And yet of death it geueth me occasion.
Without eye I se, without tong I playne:
I wish to perysh, yet I aske for helth:
I loue another, and thus I hate my selfe.
I fede me in sorow, and laugh in all my payne.
Lo, thus displeaseth me both death and life.
And my delight is causer of this strife.

My galley charged

The louer compareth his state to a shippe in perilous storme tossed on the sea.

My galley charged with forgetfulnesse,
Through sharpe seas, in winter nightes doth passe,
Twene rocke, and rocke: and eke my fo (alas)
That is my lord, stereth with cruelnesse:
And euery houre, a thought in readinesse,
As though that death were light, in such a case.
An endlesse wynd doth teare the sayle apace
Of forced sighes, and trusty fearfulnesse.
A rayne of teares, a clowde of darke disdayne
Haue done the weried coardes great hinderance,
Wrethed with errour, and wyth ignorance.
The starres be hidde, that leade me to this payne.
Drownde is reason that should be my comfort:
And I remayne, dispearyng of the port.

Avisyng the bright beames

Of douteous loue.

Avisyng the bright beames of those fayre eyes,
Where he abides that mine oft moistes and washeth:
The weried mynd streight from the hart departeth,
To rest within hys worldly Paradise,

E4r

And bitter findes the swete, vnder this gyse.
What webbes there he hath wrought, well he perceaueth
Wherby then with him self on loue he playneth,
That spurs wyth fire, and brydleth eke with yse.
In such extremity thus is he brought:
Frosen now cold, and now he standes in flame:
Twixt wo, and welth: betwixt earnest, and game:
With seldome glad, and many a diuers thought:
In sore repentance of hys hardinesse.
Of such a roote lo cometh frute frutelesse.

They flee from me

The louer sheweth how he is forsaken of such as he somtime enioyed.

They flee from me, that somtime did me seke
With naked fote stalkyng within my chamber.
Once haue I seen them gentle, tame, and meke,
That now are wild, and do not once remember
That sometyme they haue put them selues in danger,
To take bread at my hand, and now they range,
Busily sekyng in continuall change.
Thanked be fortune, it hath bene otherwise
Twenty tymes better: but once especiall,
In thinne aray, after a pleasant gyse,
When her loose gowne did from her shoulders fall,
And she me caught in her armes long and small,
And therwithall, so swetely did me kysse,
And softly sayd: deare hart, how like you this?
It was no dreame: for I lay broade awakyng.
But all is turnde now through my gentlenesse.
Into a bitter fashion of forsakyng:
And I haue leaue to go of her goodnesse,
And she also to vse newfanglenesse.
But, sins that I vnkyndly so am serued:
How like you this, what hath she now deserued?

Madame, withouten many wordes

To a ladie to answere directly with yea or nay.

E4v

Madame, withouten many wordes:
Once I am sure, you will, or no.
And if you will: then leaue your boordes,
And vse your wit, and shew it so:
For with a beck you shall me call.
And if of one, that burns alway,
Ye haue pity or ruth at all:
Answer hym fayer with yea, or nay.
If it be yea: I shall be faine.
Yf it be nay: frendes, as before.
You shall another man obtayn:
And I mine owne, and yours nomore.

[_]

no more

Alas, Madame

To his loue whom he had kissed against her will.

Alas, Madame, for stealing of a kisse,
Haue I so much your mynde therin offended?
Or haue I done so greuously amisse:
That by no meanes, it may not be amended?
Reuenge you then, the rediest way is this:
Another kisse my life it shall haue ended.
For, to my mouth the first my hart did suck:
The next shall clene out of my brest it pluck.

The wandring gadling

Of the Ielous man that loued the same woman and espied this other sitting with her.

The wandring gadling, in the sommer tyde,
That findes the Adder with his rechlesse foote
Startes not dismaid so sodeinly aside,
As iealous despite did, though there were no boote,
When that he saw me sitting by her syde,
That of my health is very crop, and roote.

F1r

It pleased me then to haue so fayre a grace,
To styng the hart, that would haue had my place.

What nedes these threatnyng woordes

To his loue from whom he hadd her gloues.

What nedes these threatnyng woordes, and wasted wynd?
All this can not make me restore my pray,
To robbe your good ywis is not my minde:
Nor causelesse your faire hand did I display.
Let loue be iudge: or els whom next we finde:
That may both hear, what you and I can say.
She reft my hart: and I a gloue from her:
Let vs se then if one be worth the other.

Right true it is

Of the fained frend.

Right true it is, and sayd full yore ago:
Take hede of him, that by the backe thee claweth.
For, none is worse, then is a frendly fo.
Thought he seme good, all thing that thee deliteth,
Yet know it well, that in thy bosome crepeth.
For, many a man such fire oft times he kindleth:
That with the blase his berd him self he singeth.

It may be good

The louer taught, mistrusteth allurementes.

It may be good like it who list:
But I do dout, who can me blame?
For oft assured, yet haue I mist:
And now againe I fear the same.
The wordes, that from your mouth last came,
Of sodayn change make me agast.
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.
Alas I tread an endlesse mase:
That seke taccord two contraries:
And hope thus styll, and nothing hase:

F1v

Imprisoned in liberties,
As one vnheard, and styll that cryes:
Alwayes thirsty, and naught doth taste,
For dreade to fall, I stand not fast.
Assured I dout I be not sure,
Should I then trust vnto such suretie?
That oft haue put the proufe in vre,
And neuer yet haue found it trustie?
Nay syr in fayth, it were great folly.
And yet my life thus do I waste,
For dreade to fall I stand not fast.

Resownde my voyce ye woodes

The louer complayneth that his loue doth not pitie him.

Resownde my voyce ye woodes, that heare me plaine:
Both hilles and vales causyng reflexion
And riuers eke, record ye of my paine:
Which haue oft forced ye by compassion,
As iudges lo to heare my exclamacion.
Amonge whom, such (I finde) yet doth remaine.
Where I it seke, alas, there is disdaine.
Oft ye riuers, to hear my wofull sounde,
Haue stopt your cours, and plainely to expresse,
Many a teare by moisture of the grounde
The earth hath wept to hear my heauinesse:
Which causelesse I endure without redresse.
The hugy okes haue rored in the winde,
Ech thing me thought complayning in their kinde.
Why then alas doth not she on me rew,
Or is her hart so hard that no pitie
May in it sinke, my ioye for to renew?
O stony hart who hath thus framed thee
So cruell? that art cloked with beauty,
That from thee may no grace to me procede,
But as reward death for to be my mede.

In fayth I wot not what to say

The louer reioyseth against fortune that by hindering his sute had happily made him forsake his folly.

F2r

In fayth I wot not what to say,
Thy chaunces ben so wonderous,
Thou fortune with thy diuers play
That makst the ioyfull dolourous,
And eke the same right ioyous.
Yet though thy chayne hath me enwrapt,
Spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt.
Though thou hast set me for a wonder,
And sekest by change to do me payne:
Mens mindes yet mayst thou not so order,
For honestie if it remayne,
Shall shine for all thy cloudy rayne.
In vayne thou sekest to haue me trapt,
Spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt.
In hindryng me, me didst thou further,
And made a gap where was a style.
Cruell willes ben oft put vnder,
Wenyng to lower, then didst thou smile.
Lord, how thy selfe thou didst begyle,
That in thy cares wouldst me haue wrapt?
But spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt.

Farewell the hart of crueltie

A renouncing of hardly escaped loue.

Farewell the hart of crueltie.
Though that with payne my libertie
Deare haue I bought, and wofully
Finisht my fearfull tragedy.
Of force I must forsake such pleasure:
A good cause iust, sins I endure
Therby my wo, whiche be ye sure,
Shall therwith go me to recure.
I fare as one escapt that fleeth,
Glad he is gone, and yet styll feareth
Spied to be caught, and so dredeth
That he for nought his paine leseth.
In ioyfull payne reioyce my hart,
Thus to sustaine of ech a part.

F2v

Let not this song from thee astart.
Welcome among my pleasant smart.

The restfull place

The louer to his bed, with describing of his vnquiet state.

The restfull place, renewer of my smart:
The labours salue, encreasyng my sorow:
The bodyes ease, and troubler of my hart:
Quieter of minde, myne vnquiet fo:
Forgetter of payne, remembrer of my wo:
The place of slepe, wherin I do but wake:
Besprent with teares, my bed, I thee forsake.
The frosty snowes may not redresse my heat:
Nor heat of sunne abate my feruent cold.
I know nothing to ease my paynes so great.
Ech cure causeth encrease by twenty fold,
Renewyng cares vpon my sorowes old.
Such ouerthwart effectes in me they make.
Besprent with teares my bedde for to forsake.
But all for nought: I finde no better ease
In bed, or out. This most causeth my paine:
Where I do seke how best that I may please,
My lost labour (alas) is all in vaine.
My hart once set, I can not it refrayne.
No place from me my grief away can take.
Wherfore with teares, my bed, I thee forsake.

From these hie hilles

Comparison of loue to a streame falling from the Alpes.

From these hie hilles as when a spring doth fall,
It trilleth downe with still and suttle course,
Of this and that it gathers ay and shall,
Till it haue iust downflowed to streame and force:
Then at the fote it rageth ouer all.
So fareth loue, when he hath tane a sourse.
Rage is his raine. Resistance vayleth none.
The first eschue is remedy alone.

F3r

Myne olde dere enmy

wiates complaint vpon Loue, to Reason: with Loues answer.

Myne olde dere enmy, my froward maister,
Afore that Quene, I causde to be accited,
Which holdeth the diuine part of our nature,
That, like as golde, in fire he mought be tryed.
Charged with dolour, there I me presented
With horrible feare, as one that greatly dredeth
A wrongfull death, and iustice alway seketh.
And thus I sayd: once my left foote, Madame,
When I was yong, I set within his reigne:
Wherby other than fierly burning flame
I neuer felt, but many a greuous pain.
Torment I suffred, angre, and disdain:
That mine oppressed pacience was past,
And I mine owne life hated, at the last.
Thus hitherto haue I my time passed
In pain and smart. What wayes profitable:
How many pleasant dayes haue me escaped,
In seruing this false lyer so deceauable?
What wit haue wordes so prest, and forceable,
That may conteyn my great mishappinesse,
And iust complaintes of his vngentlenesse?
So small hony, much aloes, and gall,
In bitternesse, my blinde life hath ytasted.
His false semblance, that turneth as a ball:
With fair and amorous daunce, made me be traced,
And, where I had my thought, and mynde araced,
From earthly frailnesse, and from vayn pleasure,
Me from my rest he toke, and set in errour:
God made he me regard lesse, than I ought,
And to my self to take right litle hede:
And for a woman haue I set at nought
All other thoughtes: in this onely to spede.
And he was onely counseler of this dede:
Whettyng alwayes my youthly frayle desire
On cruell whetston, tempered with fire.
But (Oh alas) where, had I euer wit?

F3v

Or other gift, geuen to me of nature?
That sooner shalbe changed my weried sprite:
Then the obstinate wyll, that is my ruler.
So robbeth he my fredom with displeasure,
This wicked traytour, whom I thus accuse:
That bitter life hath turned in pleasant vse.
He hath me hasted, thorough diuers regions:
Through desert wodes, and sharp hye mountaines:
Through froward people, and through bitter passions:
Through rocky seas, and ouer hilles and plaines:
With wery trauell, and with laborous paynes:
Alwayes in trouble and in tediousnesse:
All in errour, and dangerous distresse,
But nother he, nor she, my tother fo,
For all my flight, dyd euer me forsake:
That though my timely death hath been to slow
That me as yet, it hath not ouertake:
The heauenly goddes of pity doe it slake.
And, note they this his cruell tiranny,
That fedes him, with my care, and misery.
Since I was his, hower rested I neuer,
Nor loke to do: and eke the waky nightes
The banished slepe may in no wise recouer.
By guile, and force, ouer my thralled sprites,
He is ruler: since which bel neuer strikes,
That I heare not as sounding to renue
My plaintes. Himself, he knoweth, that I say true.
For, neuer wormes olde rotten stocke haue eaten:
As he my hart, where he is resident,
And doth thesame

[_]

the same

with death dayly threaten.
Thence come the teares, and thence the bitter torment:
The sighes: the wordes, and eke the languishment:
That noy both me, and parauenture other.
Iudge thou: that knowest the one, and eke the tother.
Mine aduersair, with such greuous reproofe,
Thus he began. Heare Lady, thother part:
That the plain troth, from which he draweth aloofe,
This vnkinde man may shew, ere that I part.
In his yong age, I toke him from that art,
That selleth wordes, and makes a clatteryng Knight:
And of my wealth I gaue him the delight.
Now shames he not on me for to complain,

F4r

That held him euermore in pleasant gain,
From his desyre, that might haue been his payn.
Yet therby alone I brought him to some frame:
Which now, as wretchednes, he doth so blame:
And towarde honor quickned I his wit:
Where:as a daskard els he mought haue sit.
He knoweth, how grete Atride that made Troy freat,
And Hanniball, to Rome so troubelous:
Whom Homer honored, Achilles that great,
And Thaffricane Scipion the famous:
And many other, by much nurture glorious:
Whose fame, and honor did bring them aboue:
I did let fall in base dishonest loue.
And vnto him, though he vnworthy were:
I chose the best of many a Milion:
That, vnder sonne yet neuer was her pere,
Of wisdom, womanhod, and of discrecion:
And of my grace I gaue her such a facion,
And eke such way I taught her for to teache,
That neuer base thought his hart so hye might reche,
Euermore thus to content his maistresse,
That was his onely frame of honesty,
I stirred him still, toward gentlenesse:
And causde him to regard fidelity.
Pacience I taught him in aduersity.
Such vertues learned, he in my great schole:
Wherof repenteth, now the ignorant foole.
These, were the same deceites, and bitter gall,
That I haue vsed, the torment, and the anger:
Sweter, then euer dyd to other fall,
Of right good sede yll frute loe thus I gather.
And so shall he, that the vnkinde dothe further.
A Serpent nourish I vnder my wing:
And now of nature, ginneth he to styng.
And for to tell, at last, my great seruise.
From thousand dishonesties haue I him drawen:
That, by my meanes, him in no maner wyse.
Neuer vile pleasure once hath ouerthrowen.
Where, in his dede, shame hath him alwaies gnawen:
Doutyng report, that should come to her eare:
Whom now he blames, her wonted he to feare.
What euer he hath of any honest custome:

F4v

Of her, and me: that holdes he euerywhit,
But, lo, yet neuer was there nightly fantome
So farre in errour, as he is from his wit.
To plain on vs, he striueth with the bit,
Which may rule him, and do him ease, and pain:
And in one hower, make all his grief his gayn.
But, one thing yet there is, aboue all other:
I gaue him winges, wherwith he might vpflie
To honor, and fame: and if he would to higher
Than mortall thinges, aboue the starry skie:
Considering the pleasure, that an eye
Might geue in earth, by reason of the loue:
What should that be that lasteth still aboue?
And he the same himself hath sayd, ere this.
But, now, forgotten is both that and I,
That gaue her him, his onely wealth and blisse.
And, at this word, with dedly shreke and cry:
Thou gaue her once: quod I, but by and by,
Thou toke her ayen from me: that wo worth the.
Not I but price: more worth than thou (quod he.)
At last: eche other for himself, concluded:
I, trembling still: but he, with small reuerence.
Lo, thus, as we eche other haue accused:
Dere Lady: now we waite thyne onely sentence.
She smiling, at the whisted audience:
It liketh me (quod she) to haue hard your question:
But, lenger time doth ask a resolucion.

Maruell no more altho

The louers sorowfull state maketh him write sorowfull songes, but Souche his loue may change thesame.

[_]

the same

Maruell nomore

[_]

no more

altho
The songes, I sing do mone:
For other lyfe then wo,
I neuer proued none.
And in my hart, also,
Is grauen with letters depe
A thousand sighes and mo:
A flood of teares to wepe.

G1r

How may a man in smart
Finde matter to reioyce?
How may a moornyng hart
Set foorth a pleasant voice.
Play who so can, that part:
Nedes must in me appere:
How fortune ouerthwart
Doth cause my moorning chere.
Perdy there is no man,
If he saw neuer sight:
That perfitly tell can
The nature of the light.
Alas: how should I than,
That neuer taste but sowre:
But do, as I began,
Continually to lowre.
But yet, perchance some chance
May chance to change my tune:
And, when (Souch) chance doth chance:
Then, shall I thank fortune?
And if I haue (Souch) chance:
Perchance ere it be long:
For (Souch) a pleasant chance,
To sing some pleasant song.

Where shall I haue

The louer complaineth himself forsaken.

Where shall I haue, at myne owne wyll,
Teares to complain? Where shall I fet
Such sighes? that I may sigh my fyll:
And then agayne my plaintes repete.
For, though my plaint shall haue none end:
My teares cannot suffise my wo.
To mone my harm, haue I no frend.
For fortunes frend is mishaps fo.
Comfort (God wot) els haue I none:
But in the winde to wast my wordes,
Nought moueth you my dedly mone:
But stil you turne it into bordes.

G1v

I speake not, now, to moue your hart,
That you should rue vpon my payn:
The sentence geuen may not reuert:
I know, such labour were but vayn.
But since that I for you (my dere)
Haue lost that thyng, that was my best:
A right small losse it must appere,
To lese these wordes, and all the rest.
But, though they sparcle in the winde:
Yet, shall they shew your falsed faith:
Which is returned to his kynde:
For lyke to like: the prouerb sayeth,
Fortune, and you did me auance.
Me thought, I swam, and could not drowne:
Happiest of all, but my mischance
Did lift me vp, to throw me downe.
And you, with her, of cruelnesse,
Dyd set your foote vpon my neck,
Me, and my welfare to oppresse:
Without offence, your hart to wreck,
Where are your pleasant wordes? alas:
Where is your faith? your stedfastnesse?
There is no more: but all doth passe:
And I am left all comfortlesse.
But since so much it doth you greue,
And also me my wretched life:
Haue here my troth: Nought shall releue,
But death alone my wretched strife.
Therfore, farewell my life, my death,
My gayn, my losse: my salue, my sore:
Farewell also, with you my breath:
For, I am gone for euermore.

She sat, and sowed

Of his loue that pricked her finger with a nedle.

She sat, and sowed: that hath done me the wrong:
Wherof I plain, and haue done many a day:
And, whilst she herd my plaint, in piteous song:

G2r

She wisht my hart the samplar, that it lay.
The blinde maister, whom I haue serued so long:
Grudgyng to heare, that he did heare her say:
Made her owne weapon do her finger blede:
To fele, if pricking wer so good in dede.

What man hath hard such cruelty

Of thesame.

[_]

the same

What man hath hard such cruelty before?
That, when my plaint remembred her my wo,
That caused it: she cruell more, and more,
Wished eche stitche, as she did sit, and sow,
Had prickt my hart, for to encrease my sore.
And, as I think, she thought, it had bene so.
For as she thought, this is his hart in dede:
She pricked hard: and made her self to blede.

Behold, Loue, thy power

Request to Cupide, for reuenge of his vnkinde loue.

Behold, Loue, thy power how she despiseth:
My greuous payn how litle she regardeth,
The solemne othe, wherof she takes no cure,
Broken she hath: and yet, she bydeth sure,
Right at her ease, and litle thee she dredeth.
Weaponed thou art, and she vnarmed sitteth:
To the disdainful, all her life she leadeth:
To me spitefull, without iust cause, or measure.
Behold Loue, how proudly she triumpheth,
I am in hold, but if thee pitie meueth:
Go, bend thy bow, that stony hartes breaketh:
And with some stroke reuenge the great displeasure
Of thee, and himthat

[_]

him that

sorow doth endure,
And as his Lord thee lowly here entreateth.

What vaileth troth?

Complaint for true loue vnrequited.

G2v

What vaileth troth? or by it, to take payn?
To striue by stedfastnesse, for to attayn
How to be iust: and flee from doublenesse?
Since all alyke, where ruleth craftinesse,
Rewarded is both crafty false, and plain.
Soonest he spedes, that most can lye and fayn.
True meaning hart is had in hye disdain.
Against deceyt, and cloked doublenesse,
What vaileth troth, or parfit stedfastnesse.
Deceaud is he, by false and crafty trayn,
That meanes no gyle, and faithfull doth remayn
Within the trap, without help or redresse.
But for to loue (lo) such a sterne maistresse,
Where cruelty dwelles, alas it were in vain.

Somtime I fled the fire

The louer that fled loue now folowes it with his harme.

Somtime I fled the fire, that me so brent,
By sea, by land, by water, and by wynde:
And now, the coales I folow, that be quent,
From Douer to Calais, with willing minde,
Lo, how desire is both furth sprong, and spent:
And he may see, that whilom was so blinde:
And all his labour, laughes he now to scorne,
Meashed in the breers, that erst was onely torne.

He is not dead

The louer hopeth of better chance.

He is not dead, that somtime had a fall.
The Sonne returnes, that hid was vnder clowd.
And when Fortune hath spit out all her gall,
I trust, good luck to me shall be alowd.
For, I haue seen a ship in hauen fall,
After that storme hath broke both maste, and shroude.
The willowe eke, that stoupeth with the winde,
Doth rise againe, and greater wood doth binde.

G3r

The furious goonne

The louer compareth his hart to the ouercharged gonne.

The furious goonne, in his most ragyng yre,
When that the boule is rammed in to sore:
And that the flame cannot part from the fire,
Crackes in sunder: and in the ayer doe rore
The sheuered peces. So doth my desyre,
Whose flame encreaseth ay from more to more.
Which to let out, I dare not loke, nor speake:
So inward force my hart doth all to breake.

Accused though I be

The louer suspected of change praieth that it be not beleued against him.

Accused though I be, without desert:
Sith none can proue, beleue it not for true.
For neuer yet, since that you had my hert,
Intended I to false, or be vntrue.
Sooner I would of death sustayn the smart,
Than breake one word of that I promised you.
Accept therfore my seruice in good part.
None is alyue, that can yll tonges eschew.
Hold them as false: and let not vs depart
Our frendship olde, in hope of any new.
Put not thy trust in such as vse to fayn,
Except thou mynde to put thy frend to payn.

My loue to skorne

The louer abused renownseth loue.

My loue to skorne, my seruice to retayne,
Therin (me thought) you vsed crueltie.

G3v

Since with good will I lost my libertie,
Might neuer wo yet cause me to refrain,
But onely this, which is extremitie,
To geue me nought (alas) nor to agree,
That as I was, your man I might remain.
But synce that thus ye list to order me,
That would haue bene your seruant true, and fast:
Displease you not: my doting time is past.
And with my losse to leaue I must agree.
For as there is a certayn time to rage:
So is there time such madnes to aswage.

Within my brest

The louer professeth himself constant.

Within my brest I neuer thought it gain,
Of gentle mynde the fredom for to lose.
Nor in my hart sanck neuer such disdain,
To be a forger, faultes for to disclose.
Nor I can not endure the truth to glose,
To set a glosse vpon an earnest pain.
Nor I am not in nomber one of those,
That list to blow retrete to euery train.

Passe forth my wonted cryes

The louer sendeth his complaintes and teares to sue for grace.

Passe forth my wonted cryes,
Those cruell eares to pearce,
Which in most hatefull wyse
Doe styll my plaintes reuerse.
Doe you, my teares, also
So wet her barrein hart:
That pitye there may grow,
And crueltie depart.
For though hard rockes among

G4r

She semes to haue bene bred:
And of the Tigre long
Bene nourished, and fed.
Yet shall that nature change,
If pitie once win place.
Whom as vnknowen, and strange,
She now away doth chase.
And as the water soft,
Without forcyng or strength,
Where that it falleth oft,
Hard stones doth perse at length:
So in her stony hart
My plaintes at last shall graue,
And, rygour set apart,
Winne grant of that I craue.
Wherfore my plaintes, present
Styll so to her my sute,
As ye, through her assent,
May bring to me some frute.
And as she shall me proue,
So bid her me regarde,
And render loue for loue:
Which is a iust reward.

Your lokes so often cast

The louers case can not be hidden how euer he dissemble.

Your lokes so often cast,
Your eyes so frendly rolde,
Your sight fixed so fast,
Alwayes one to behold.
Though hyde it fayn ye would:
It plainly doth declare,
Who hath your hart in hold,
And where good will ye bare,
Fayn would ye finde a cloke
Your brennyng fire to hyde:
Yet both the flame, and smoke
Breakes out on euery syde.

G4v

Yee can not loue so guide,
That it no issue winne.
Abrode nedes must it glide,
That brens so hote within.
For cause your self do wink,
Ye iudge all other blinde:
And secret it you think,
Which euery man doth finde.
In wast oft spend ye winde
Your self in loue to quit:
For agues of that kinde
Will show, who hath the fit.
Your sighes yow fet from farre,
And all to wry your wo:
Yet are ye nere the narre,
Men ar not blinded so.
Depely oft swere ye no:
But all those othes ar vaine.
So well your eye doth showe,
Who puttes your hert to paine.
Thinke not therfore to hide,
That still it selfe betrayes:
Nor seke meanes to prouide
To darke the sunny daies.
Forget those wonted waies:
Leaue of such frowning chere:
There will be found no stayes
To stoppe a thing so clere.

Disdaine me not without desert

The louer praieth not to be disdained, refused, mistrusted, nor forsaken.

Disdaine me not without desert:
Nor leaue me not so sodenly:
Sins well ye wot, that in my hert
I meane ye not but honestly.
Refuse me not without cause why:
Nor think me not to be vniust:

H1r

Sins that by lotte of fantasy,
This carefull knot neades knit I must.
Mistrust me not, though some there be,
That faine would spot my stedfastnesse:
Beleue them not, sins that ye se,
The profe is not, as they expresse.
Forsake me not, till I deserue:
Nor hate me not, tyll I offend.
Destroy me not, tyll that I swerue.
But sins ye know what I intend:
Disdaine me not that am your owne:
Refuse me not that am so true:
Mistrust me not till all be knowne:
Forsake me not, ne for no new.

For want of will

The louer lamenteth his estate with sute for grace.

For want of will, in wo I playne:
Vnder colour of sobernesse.
Renewyng with my sute my payne,
My wanhope with your stedfastnesse.
Awake therfore of gentlenesse.
Regard at length, I you require,
The sweltyng paynes of my desire.
Betimes who geueth willingly,
Redoubled thankes aye doth deserue.
And I that sue vnfaynedly,
In frutelesse hope (alas) do sterue.
How great my cause is for to swerue:
And yet how stedfast is my sute:
Lo, here ye see, where is the frute?
As hounde that hath his keper lost,
Seke I your presence to obtayne:
In which my hart deliteth most,
And shall delight though I be slayne.
You may release my band of payne.
Lose then the care that makes me crye,
For want of helpe or els I dye.

H1v

I dye, though not incontinent,
By processe yet consumingly
As waste of fire, which doth relent.
If you as wilfull wyll denye.
Wherfore cease of such crueltye:
And take me wholy in your grace:
Which lacketh will to change his place.

If euer man might him auaunt

The louer waileth his changed ioyes.

If euer man might him auaunt
Of fortunes frendly chere:
It was my selfe I must it graunt,
For I haue bought it dere.
And derely haue I helde also
The glory of her name:
In yelding her such tribute, lo,
As did set forth her fame.
Sometyme I stode so in her grace:
That as I would require,
Ech ioy I thought did me imbrace,
That furdered my desire.
And all those pleasures (lo) had I,
That fansy might support:
And nothing she did me denye,
That was to my comfort.
I had (what would you more perdee?)
Ech grace that I did craue.
Thus fortunes will was vnto me
All thing that I would haue.
But all to rathe alas the while,
She built on such a ground:
In little space, to great a guyle
In her now haue I found.
For she hath turned so her whele:
That I vnhappy man
May waile the time that I did fele
Wherwith she fedde me than.
For broken now are her behestes:
And pleasant lokes she gaue:

H2r

And therfore now all my requestes,
From perill can not saue.
Yet would I well it might appere
To her my chiefe regard:
Though my desertes haue ben to dere
To merite such reward.
Sith fortunes will is now so bent
To plage me thus pore man:
I must my selfe therwith content:
And beare it as I can.

Some men would thinke of right

The louer lamenteth other to haue the frutes of his seruice.

Some men would thinke of right to haue
For their true meaning some reward.
But while that I do crye and craue:
I se that other be preferd.
I gape for that I am debard.
I fare as doth the hounde at hatch:
The worse I spede, the lenger I watch.
My wastefull will is tried by trust:
My fond fansie is mine abuse.
For that I would refrayne my lust:
For mine auayle I can not chuse,
A will, and yet no power to vse.
A will, no will by reason iust,
Sins my will is at others lust.
They eat the hony, I hold the hyue.
I sowe the sede, they reape the corne.
I waste, they winne, I draw, they driue.
Theirs is the thanke, mine is the skorne.
I seke, they spede, in waste my winde is worne.
I gape, they get, and gredely I snatch:
Till wurse I spede, the lenger I watch.
I fast, they fede: they drynke, I thurst.
They laugh, I wayle: they ioye, I mourne.
They gayne, I lose: I haue the worst.
They whole, I sicke: they cold, I burne.

H2v

They leape, I lye: they slepe, I tosse and turne,
I would, they may: I craue, they haue at will.
That helpeth them, lo, cruelty doth me kyll.

The answere that ye made

To his loue that had geuen him answere of refusell.

The answere that ye made to me my deare,
When I did sue for my pore hartes redresse:
Hath so appalde my countenance and my chere:
That in this case, I am all comfortlesse:
Sins I of blame no cause can well expresse.
I haue no wrong, where I can clayme no right.
Nought tane me fro, where I haue nothing had.
Yet of my wo, I can not so be quite.
Namely, sins that another may be glad
With that, that thus in sorow makes me sad.
Yet none can claime (I saie) by former graunt,
That knoweth not of any graunt at all.
And by desert, I dare well make auaunt,
Of faithfull will, there is no where that shall
Bear you more trouth, more ready at your call.
Now good then, call againe that bitter word:
That toucht your frende so nere with panges of paine:
And saie my dere that it was sayd in bord.
Late, or tosone,

[_]

to sone

let it not rule the gaine,
Wherwith free will doth true desert retayne.

Svch is the course

To his ladie cruel ouer her yelden louer.

Svch is the course, that natures kinde hath wrought,
That snakes haue time to cast away their stynges.
Ainst chainde prisoners what nede defence be sought:
The fierce lyon will hurt no yelden thinges:
Why shoulde such spite be nursed then in thy thought?
Sith all these powers are prest vnder thy winges:

H3r

And eke thou seest, and reason thee hath taught:
What mischief malice many waies it bringes.
Consider eke, that spight auaileth naught,
Therfore this song thy fault to thee it singes:
Displease thee not, for saiyng thus (me thought.)
Nor hate thou him from whom no hate forth springes,
Nor furies, that in hell be execrable,
For that they hate, are made most miserable.

The enmy of life

The louer complaineth that deadlie sicknesse can not helpe his affeccion.

The enmy of life, decayer of all kinde,
That with his cold wythers away the grene:
This other night, me in my bed did finde:
And offerd me to ryd my feuer clene.
And I did graunt: so did dispayre me blinde.
He drew his bow, with arrowes sharpe and kene:
And strake the place, where loue had hit before:
And draue the first dart deper more and more.

Once as me thought

The louer reioiceth the enioying of his loue.

Once as me thought, fortune me kist:
And bade me aske, what I thought best:
And I should haue it as me list,
Therewith to set my hart in rest.
I asked but my ladies hart
To haue for euermore myne owne:
Then at an end were all my smart:
Then should I nede no more to mone.
Yet for all that a stormy blast
Had ouerturnde this goodly day:
And fortune semed at the last,
That to her promise she said nay.
But like as one out of dispayre
To sodain hope reuiued I.

H3v

Now fortune sheweth her selfe so fayre,
That I content me wondersly.
My most desire my hand may reach:
My will is alway at my hand.
Me nede not long for to beseche
Her, that hath power me to commaunde.
What earthly thing more can I craue?
What would I wishe more at my will?
Nothing on earth more would I haue,
Saue that I haue, to haue it styll.
For fortune hath kept her promesse,
In grauntyng me my most desire.
Of my soueraigne I haue redresse,
And I content me with my hire.

My lute awake

The louer complayneth the vnkindnes of his loue.

My lute awake performe the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste:
And end that I haue now begonne:
And when this song is song and past:
My lute be styll for I haue done.
As to be heard where eare is none:
As lead to graue in marble stone:
My song may pearse her hart as sone.
Should we then sigh? or singe, or mone?
No, no, my lute for I haue done.
The rockes do not so cruelly
Repulse the waues continually,
As she my sute and affection:
So that I am past remedy,
Wherby my lute and I haue done.
Proude of the spoile that thou hast gotte
Of simple hartes through loues shot:
By whom vnkinde thou hast them wonne,
Thinke not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I haue done.
Vengeaunce shall fall on thy disdaine
That makest but game on earnest payne.

H4r

Thinke not alone vnder the sunne
Vnquit to cause thy louers plaine:
Although my lute and I haue done.
May chance thee lie witherd and olde,
In winter nightes that are so colde,
Playning in vaine vnto the mone:
Thy wishes then dare not be tolde.
Care then who list, for I haue done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent
To cause thy louers sigh and swowne.
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I haue done.
Now cease my lute this is the last,
Labour that thou and I shall wast,
And ended is that we begonne.
Now is this song both song and past,
My lute be still for I haue done.

Nature that gaue the Bee

How by a kisse he found both his life and death.

Nature that gaue the Bee so feat a grace,
To finde hony of so wondrous fashion:
Hath taught the spider out of the same place
To fetch poyson by strange alteracion.
Though this be strange, it is a stranger case,
With one kisse by secrete operacion,
Both these at once in those your lippes to finde,
In change wherof, I leaue my hart behinde.

Vnwarely so was neuer

The louer describeth his being taken with sight of his loue.

Vnwarely so was neuer no man caught,
With stedfast loke vpon a goodly face:
As I of late: for sodainely me thought,
My hart was torne out of his proper place.
Thorow mine eye the stroke from hers did slide,
Directly downe into my hart it ranne:

H4v

In helpe wherof the blood therto did glide,
And left my face both pale and wanne.
Then was I like a man for wo amased:
Or like the fowle that fleeth into the fire.
For while that I vpon her beauty gased:
The more I burnde in my desire.
Anone the bloud start in my face agayne,
Inflamde with heat, that it had at my hart.
And brought therwith through out in euery vaine,
A quakyng heat with pleasant smart.
Then was I like the straw, when that the flame
Is driuen therin, by force, and rage of winde.
I can not tell, alas, what I shall blame:
Nor what to seke, nor what to finde.
But well I wot: the griefe doth hold me sore
In heat and cold, betwixt both hope and dreade:
That, but her helpe to health do me restore:
This restlesse life I may not lead.

Al in thy loke my life

To his louer to loke vpon him.

Al in thy loke my life doth whole depende.
Thou hydest thy self, and I must dye therfore.
But sins thou mayst so easily helpe thy frend:
Why doest thou stick to salue that thou madest sore?
Why do I dye? sins thou mayst me defend?
And if I dye, thy life may last no more.
For ech by other doth liue and haue reliefe,
I in thy loke, and thou most in my griefe.

Perdy I sayd it not

The louer excuseth him of wordes wherwith he was vniustly charged.

Perdy I sayd it not:
Nor neuer thought to do.

I1r

As well as I ye wot:
I haue no power therto,
And if I did, the lot,
That first did me enchayne:
May neuer slake the knot,
But strayght it to my payne.
And if I did ech thing,
That may do harme or wo:
Continually may wring
My hart where so I go.
Report may alwayes ring
Of shame on me for aye:
If in my hart did spring
The wordes that you do say
And if I did ech starre,
That is in heauen aboue,
May frowne on me to marre
The hope I haue in loue.
And if I did such warre,
As they brought vnto Troye,
Bring all my life as farre
From all his lust and ioye.
And if I did so say:
The beautie that me bounde,
Encrease from day to day
More cruell to my wounde:
With all the mone that may,
To plaint may turne my song:
My life may sone decay,
Without redresse by wrong.
If I be cleare from thought,
Why do you then complayne?
Then is this thing but sought.
To turne my hart to payne,
Then this that you haue wrought,
You must it now redresse,
Of right therfore you ought
Such rigour to represse.
And as I haue deserued:
So graunt me now my hire:
You know I neuer swerued,
You neuer founde me lyer.

I1v

For Rachel haue I serued,
For Lea cared I neuer:
And her I haue reserued
Within my hart for euer.

Lvx, my faire fawlcon

Of such as had forsaken him.

Lvx, my faire fawlcon, and thy felowes all:
How wel pleasant it were your libertie:
Ye not forsake me, that faire mought you fall.
But they that sometime liked my company:
Like lice away from dead bodies they crall.
Loe, what a proufe in light aduersitie?
But ye my birdes, I sweare by all your belles,
Ye be my frendes, and very few elles.

A face that should content

A description of such a one as he would loue.

A Face that should content me wonderous well,
Should not be faire, but louely to beholde:
Of liuely loke, all griefe for to repell:
With right good grace, so would I that it should
Speake without word, such wordes as none can tell.
The tresse also should be of crisped gold.
With wit, and these perchance I might be tryde,
And knit againe with knot, that should not slide.

Ever my hap is slack

How vnpossible it is to finde quiet in his loue.

Ever my hap is slack and slowe in commyng
Desire encreasyng ay my hope vncertaine:
That loue or wait it, alike doth me payne.
And Tygre like so swift it is in partyng.
Alas the snow black shal it be and scalding,
The sea waterles, and fishe vpon the mountaine:
The Temis shal backe returne into his fountaine:
And where he rose the sunne shall take his lodgyng.

I2r

Ere I in this finde peace or quietnesse.
Or that loue or my lady rightwisely
Leaue to conspire against me wrongfully.
And if I haue after such bitternesse,
Any thing swete, my mouth is out of taste:
That all my trust and trauell is but waste.

Loue, Fortune, and my minde

Of Loue, Fortune, and the louers minde.

Loue, Fortune, and my minde which do remember
Eke that is now, and that that once hath bene:
Torment my hart so sore that very often
I hate and enuy them beyonde all measure.
Loue sleeth my hart while Fortune is depriuer
Of all my comfort: the folishe minde than:
Burneth and playneth: as one that sildam
Liueth in rest. Still in dispeasure

[_]

displeasure

My pleasant daies they flete away and passe.
And dayly doth myne yll change to the worse.
While more then halfe is runne now of my course.
Alas not of stele, but of brittle glasse,
I se that from my hand falleth my trust:
And all my thoughtes are dasshed into dust.

How oft haue I

The louer prayeth his offred hart to be receiued.

How oft haue I, my deare and cruell fo:
With my great pain to get som peace or truce,
Geuen you my hart? but you do not vse,
In so hie thinges, to cast your minde so low.
If any other loke for it, as you trow,
Their vaine weake hope doth greatly them abuse.
And that thus I disdayne, that you refuse.
It was once mine, it can no more be so.
If you it chase, that it in you can finde,
In this exile, no maner of comfort:
Nor liue alone, nor where he is calde, resort,
He may wander from his naturall kinde.

I2v

So shall it be great hurt vnto vs twayne,
And yours the losse, and mine the deadly payne.

Lyke vnto these

The louers life compared to the Alpes.

Lyke vnto these vnmesurable mountaines,
So is my painefull life, the burden of yre.
For hye be they, and hye is my desire.
And I of teares, and they be full of fountaines.
Vnder craggy rockes they haue barren plaines,
Hard thoughtes in me my wofull minde doth tyre,
Small frute and many leaues their toppes do attire,
With small effect great trust in me remaines.
The boystous windes oft their hye boughes do blast:
Hote sighes in me continually be shed.
Wilde beastes in them, fierce loue in me is fed.
Vnmoueable am I: and they stedfast.
Of singing birdes they haue the tune and note:
And I alwaies plaintes passing through my throte.

If amourous fayth

Charging of his loue as vnpiteous and louing other.

If amourous fayth, or if an hart vnfained
A swete languor, a great louely desire:
If honest will, kindled in gentle fire:
If long errour in a blinde mase chained,
If in my visage ech thought distayned:
Or if my sparkelyng voyce, lower, or hier,
Which fear and shame, so wofully doth tyre:
If pale colour, which loue alas hath stayned:
If to haue another then my self more dere,
If wailyng or sighyng continually,
With sorowfull anger fedyng busily,
If burnyng a farre of, and fre syng

[_]

fresyng

nere,
Are cause that by loue my selfe I stroy:
Yours is the fault, and mine the great annoy.

I3r

Farewell, Loue

A renouncing of loue.

Farewell, Loue, and all thy lawes for euer.
Thy bayted hokes shall tangle me no more.
Senec, and Plato call me from thy lore:
To parfit wealth my wit for to endeuer.
In blinde errour when I dyd parseuer:
Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore:
Taught me in trifles that I set no store:
But scape forth thence: since libertie is leuer.
Therfore, farewell: go trouble yonger hartes:
And in me claime no more auctoritie.
With ydle youth go vse thy propartie:
And theron spend thy many brittle dartes.
For, hytherto though I haue lost my tyme:
Me lyst no lenger rotten bowes to clime.

My hart I gaue thee

The louer forsaketh his vnkinde loue,

My hart I gaue thee, not to do it pain:
But, to preserue, lo it to thee was taken.
I serued thee not that I should be forsaken:
But, that I should receiue reward again,
I was content thy seruant to remain:
And, not to be repayd after this fashion.
Now, since in thee is there none nother reason:
Displease thee not, if that I do refrain.
Vnsaciat of my wo, and thy desyre.
Assured by craft for to excuse thy fault.
But, since it pleaseth thee to fain defaut:
Farewell, I say, departing from the fire.
For, he, that doth beleue bearyng in hand:
Ploweth in the water: and soweth in the sand.

The flaming sighes

The louer describeth his restlesse state.

I3v

The flaming sighes that boyle within my brest
Sometime breake forth and they can well declare
The hartes vnrest and how that it doth fare,
The pain therof the grief and all the rest.
The watred eyen from whence the teares doe fall,
Do fele some force or els they would be drye:
The wasted flesh of colour ded can trye,
and somthing tell what swetenesse is in gall.
And he that lust to see and to disarne,
How care can force within a weried minde:
Come he to me I am that place assinde.
But for all this no force it doth no harme.
The wound alas happe in some other place:
From whence no toole away the skar can race.
But you that of such like haue had your part,
Can best be iudge wherfore my frend so deare:
I thought it good my state should now appeare,
To you and that there is no great desart.
And wheras you in weighty matters great:
Of fortune saw the shadow that you know,
For trifling thinges I now am striken so
That though I fele my hart doth wound and beat:
I sit alone saue on the second day:
My feuer comes with whom I spend my time,
In burning heat while that she list assigne.
And who hath helth and libertie alway:
Let him thank god and let him not prouoke,
To haue the like of this my painfull stroke.

The piller perisht

The louer lamentes the death of his loue.

The piller perisht is wherto I lent,
The strongest stay of mine vnquiet minde:
The like of it no man again can finde:
From East to West still seking though he went,
To mine vnhappe for happe away hath rent,
Of all my ioy the very bark and rynde:
And I (alas) by chance am thus assinde.
Daily to moorne till death do it relent,
But since that thus it is by desteny,

I4r

What can I more but haue a wofull hart,
My penne, in plaint, my voyce in carefull crye:
My minde in wo, my body full of smart.
And I my self, my selfe alwayes to hate,
Till dreadfull death do ease my dolefull state.

Go burning sighes

The louer sendeth sighes to mone his sute.

Go burning sighes vnto the frosen hart,
Go breake the yse which pities painfull dart.
Myght neuer perce and yf that mortall prayer,
In heauen be herd, at lest yet I desire.
That death or mercy end my wofull smart.
Take with thee payn, wherof I haue my part,
And eke the flame from which I cannot start,
And leaue me then in rest, I you require:
Go burning sighes fulfil that I desire.
I must go worke I see by craft and art,
For truth and faith in her is laid apart:
Alas, I can not therfore assaile her,
With pitefull complaint and scalding fier,
That from my brest disceiuably doth start.

So feble is the threde

Complaint of the absence of his loue.

So feble is the threde, that doth the burden stay,
Of my poore life: in heauy plight, that falleth in decay:
That, but it haue elswhere some ayde or some succours:
The running spindle of my fate anone shall end his course.
For since thunhappy hower, that dyd me to depart,
From my swete weale: one onely hope hath stayed my life, apart:
Which doth perswade such wordes vnto my sored minde:
Maintain thy self, O wofull wight, some better luck to finde.
For though thou be depriued from thy desired sight:
Who can thee tell, if thy returne be for thy more delight?

I4v

Or, who can tell, thy losse if thou mayst once recouer?
Some pleasant hower thy wo may wrappe: & thee defend, & couer.
Thus in this trust as yet it hath my life sustained:
But now (alas) I see it faint: and I, by trust, am trayned.
The tyme doth flete, and I se how the howers, do bend
So fast: that I haue scant the space to mark my commyng end.
Westward the sonne from out the East scant shewes his light:
When in the West he hides him strayt, within the dark of nyght.
And comes as fast, where he began, his path awry.
From Fast to West, from West to East so doth his iourney ly.
The life so short, so fraile, that mortall men liue here:
So great a weight, so heauy charge the bodies, that we bere:
That, when I think vpon the distaunce, and the space:
That doth so farre deuide me from my dere desired face:
I know not, how tattain the winges, that I require,
To lift me vp: that I might flie, to folow my desyre.
Thus of that hope, that doth my life somethyng sustayne,
Alas: I feare, and partly fele: full litle doth remain.
Eche place doth bring me griefe: where I do not behold
Those liuely eyes: which of my thoughts wer wont [the] keys to hold
Those thoughtes were pleasa[n]t swete: whilst I enioyed that grace:
My pleasure past, my present pain, when I might well embrace.
And, for because my want should more my wo encrease:
In watch, and slepe, both day, and night, my will doth neuer cease
That thing to wish: wherof since I did leese the sight:
Was neuer thing that mought in ought my woful hart delight,
Thunesy lyfe, I lead, doth teach me for to mete
The floodes, the seas, the land, the hylles: that doth the[m] entermete
Twene me, and those shene lightes: that wonted for to clere
My darked panges of cloudy thoughts, as bright as Pheb[es] spere,
It teacheth me, also, what was my pleasant state:
The more to fele, by such record, how that my wealth doth bate.
If such record (alas) prouoke thenflamed mynde:
Which sprong that day, that I did leaue the best of me behynde:
If loue forget himself, by length of absence, let:
Who doth me guyde (O wofull wretch) vnto this bayted net?
Where doth encrease my care: much better wer for me,
As dumme, as stone, all thyng forgot, still absent for to be.
Alas: the clere cristall, the bright transplendant glasse
Doth not bewray the colours hidde, which vnderneth it hase:
As doth thaccumbred sprite the thoughtfull throwes discouer,
Of feares delite, of feruent loue: that in our hartes we couer.
Out by these eyes, it sheweth that euermore delight.

K1r

In plaint, and teares to seke redresse: and eke both day and night.
These kindes of pleasures most wherein men so reioyce,
To me they do redubble still of stormy sighes the voyce.
For, I am one of them, whom playnt doth well content:
It sits me well: myne absent wealth me semes for to lament:
And with my teares, tassay to charge myne eies twayn:
Lyke as my hart aboue the brink is fraughted full of payn.
And forbecause, therto, of those fair eyes to treate
Do me prouoke: I wyll returne, my plaint thus to repeate.
For, there is nothing els, that toucheth me so within:
Where they rule all: and I alone nought but the case, or skin.
Wherefore, I shall returne to them, as well, or spring:
From whom descendes my mortall wo, aboue all other thing.
So shall myne eyes in pain accompany my hart:
That were the guides, that did it lead of loue to fele the smart.
The crisped golde, that doth surmount Apollos pride:
The liuely streames of pleasant starres that vnder it doth glyde:
Wherein the beames of loue doe styll encrease theyr heate:
Which yet so farre touch me so nere, in colde to make me sweate.
The wyse and pleasant talk, so rare, orels

[_]

or els

alone:
That gaue to me the curteis gift, that erst had neuer none:
Be farre from me, alas: and euery other thyng
I might forbeare with better wyll: then this that dyd me bryng,
With pleasant worde and chere, redresse of lingred pain:
And wonted oft in kindled will to vertue me to trayn.
Thus, am I forst to heare, and harken after newes.
My comfort scant my large desire in doutfull trust renewes.
And yet with more delite to mone my wofull case:
I must complain those handes, those armes: [that] firmely do embrace
Me from my self: and rule the sterne of my poore lyfe:
The swete disdaines, the pleasant wrathes, and eke [the] louely strife:
That wonted well to tune in temper iust, and mete,
The rage: that oft dyd make me erre, by furour vndiscrete.
All this is hydde me fro, with sharp, and ragged hylles:
At others will, my long abode my depe dispaire fullfils.
And if my hope sometime ryse vp, by some redresse:
It stumbleth straite, for feble faint: my feare hath such excesse.
Such is the sort of hope: the lesse for more desyre:
And yet I trust ere that I dye to see that I require:
The restyng place of loue: where vertue dwelles and growes
There I desire, my wery life, somtime, may take repose.
My song: thou shalt attain to finde that pleasant place:

K1v

Where she doth lyue, by who[m] I liue: may chance, to haue this grace
When she hath red, and sene the grief, wherin I serue:
Betwene her brestes she shall thee put: there, shall she thee reserue
Then, tell her, that I cumme: she shall me shortly see:
And if for waighte the body fayle, the soule shall to her flee.

Svffised not (madame)

The louer blameth his loue for renting of the letter he sent her.

Svffised not (madame) that you did teare,
My wofull hart, but thus also to rent:
The weping paper that to you I sent.
Wherof eche letter was written with a teare.
Could not my present paines, alas suffise,
Your gredy hart? and that my hart doth fele,
Tormentes that prick more sharper then the stele,
But new and new must to my lot arise.
Vse then my death. So shal your cruelty:
Spite of your spite rid me from all my smart,
And I no more such tormentes of the hart:
Fele as I do. This shalt thou gain thereby.

When first mine eyes

The louer curseth the tyme when first he fell in loue.

When first mine eyes did view, and marke,
Thy faire beawtie to beholde:
And when mine eares listned to hark:
The pleasant wordes, that thou me tolde:
I would as then, I had been free,
From eares to heare, and eyes to see.
And when my lips gan first to moue,
Wherby my hart to thee was knowne:
And when my tong did talk of loue,
To thee that hast true loue down throwne:
I would, my lips, and tong also:

K2r

Had then bene dum, no deale to go.
And when my handes haue handled ought,
That thee hath kept in memorie:
And when my fete haue gone, and sought
To finde and geat thy company:
I would, eche hand a foote had bene,
And I eche foote a hand had sene.
And when in mynde I did consent
To folow this my fansies will:
And when my hart did first relent,
To tast such bayt, my life to spyll:
I would, my hart had bene as thyne:
Orels

[_]

or els

thy hart had bene, as mine.

Synce loue wyll nedes

The louer determineth to serue faithfully.

Synce loue wyll nedes, that I shall loue:
Of very force I must agree.
And since no chance may it remoue:
In welth, and in aduersitie,
I shall alway my self apply
To serue, and suffer paciently.
Though for good will I finde but hate:
And cruelty my life to wast:
And though that still a wretched state
Should pine my dayes vnto the last:
Yet I professe it willingly.
To serue, and suffer paciently.
For since my hart is bound to serue:
And I not ruler of mine owne:
What so befall, tyll that I sterue.
By proofe full well it shall be knowne:
That I shall still my selfe apply
To serue, and suffer paciently.
Yea though my grief finde no redresse:
But still increase before mine eyes:
Though my reward be cruelnesse,
With all the harme, happe can deuise:
Yet I professe it willingly

K2v

To serue, and suffer paciently.
Yea though fortune her pleasant face
Should shew, to set me vp a loft:
And streight, my wealth for to deface,
Should writhe away, as she doth oft:
Yet would I styll my self apply
To serue and suffer paciently.
There is no grief, no smart, no wo:
That yet I fele, or after shall:
That from this mynde may make me go,
And whatsoeuer me befall:
I do professe it willingly
To serue and suffer paciently.

Mystrustfull mindes be moued

The louer suspected blameth yll tonges.

Mystrustfull mindes be moued
To haue me in suspect.
The troth it shalbe proued:
Which time shall once detect.
Though falshed go about
Of crime me to accuse:
At length I do not doute,
But truth shall me excuse.
Such sawce, as they haue serued
To me without desart:
Euen as they haue deserued:
Therof god send them part.

It burneth yet

The louer complaineth and his lady comforteth.

[_]

Part assignment on first 5 lines are handwritten in margin

[Lo:] It burneth yet, alas, my hartes desire.
[La:] What is the thing, that hath inflamde thy hert?
[Lo:] A certain point, as feruent, as the fyre.
[La:] The heate shall cease, if that thou wilt conuert.
[Lo:] I cannot stoppe the feruent raging yre.

K3r

La. What may I do, if thy self cause thy smart?
Lo. Heare my request, alas, with weping chere.
La. With right good wyll, say on: lo, I thee here.
Lo. That thing would I, that maketh two content.
La. Thou sekest, perchance, of me, that I may not.
Lo. Would god, thou wouldst, as thou maist, well assent.
La. That I may not, thy grief is mine: God wot.
Lo. But I it fele, what so thy wordes haue ment.
La. Suspect me not: my wordes be not forgot.

[_]

period in superscript

Lo. Then say, alas: shall I haue help? or no.
La. I see no time to answer, yea, but no.
Lo. Say ye, dere hart: and stand no more in dout.
La. I may not grant a thing, that is so dere.
Lo. Lo, with delayes thou drieues me still about.
La. Thou wouldest my death: it plainly doth appere.
Lo. First, may my hart his bloode, and life blede out.
La. Then for my sake, alas, thy will forbere.
Lo. From day to day, thus wastes my life away.
La. Yet, for the best, suffer some small delay.
Lo. Now, good, say yea: do once so good a dede.
La. If I sayd yea: what should therof ensue?
Lo. An hart in pain of succour so should spede,
Twixt yea, and nay, my doute shall styll renew.
My swete, say yea: and do away this drede.
La. Thou wilt nedes so: be it so: but then be trew.
Lo. Nought would I els, nor other treasure none.
Thus, hartes be wonne, by loue, request and mone.

Of purpose, loue chose first

why loue is blinde.

Of purpose, loue chose first for to be blinde:
For, he with sight of that, that I beholde,
Vanquisht had been, against all godly kinde.
His bow your hand, and trusse should haue vnfolde.
And he with me to serue had bene assinde.
But, for he blinde, and recklesse would him holde:
And still, by chance, his dedly strokes bestowe:
With such, as see, I serue, and suffer wo.

What rage is this?

To his vnkinde loue.

K3v

What rage is this? what furor? of what kinde?
What power, what plage doth wery thus my minde:
Within my bones to rankle is assinde
What poyson pleasant swete?
Lo, see, myne eyes flow with continuall teares:
The body still away slepelesse it weares:
My foode nothing my fainting strength repayres,
Nor doth my limmes sustain.
In depe wide wound, the dedly stroke doth turne:
To cureles skarre that neuer shall returne.
Go to: triumph: reioyce thy goodly turne:
Thy frend thou doest oppresse.
Oppresse thou doest: and hast of him no cure:
Nor yet my plaint no pitie can procure.
Fierce Tigre, fell, hard rock without recure:
Cruell rebell to Loue,
Once may thou loue, neuer beloued again:
So loue thou styll, and not thy loue obtain:
So wrathfull loue, with spites of iust disdain,
May thret thy cruell hart.

Desire (alas) my master

The louer blameth hs

[_]

his

instant desyre.

Desire (alas) my master, and my fo:
So sore altred thy self how mayst thou see?
Sometime thou sekest, that drieues me to and fro
Sometime, thou leadst, that leadeth thee, and me.
What reason is to rule thy subiectes so?
By forced law, and mutabilitie.
For where by thee I douted to haue blame:
Euen now by hate again I dout thesame.

[_]

the same

I see, that chance

The louer complayneth his estate.

I see, that chance hath chosen me
Thus secretely to liue in paine:
And to an other geuen the fee

K4r

Of all my losse to haue the gayn.
By chance assinde thus do I serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.
Vnto my self sometime alone
I do lament my wofull case.
But what auaileth me to mone?
Since troth, and pitie hath no place
In them: to whom I sue and serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.
To seke by meane to change this minde:
Alas, I proue, it will not be.
For in my hart I cannot finde
Once to refrain, but still agree,
As bounde by force, alway to serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.
Such is the fortune, that I haue
To loue them most, that loue me lest:
And to my pain to seke, and craue
The thing, that other haue possest.
So thus in vain alway I serue.
And other haue, that I deserue.
And till I may apease the heate:
If that my happe will happe so well:
To waile my wo my hart shall freate:
Whose pensif pain my tong can tell.
Yet thus vnhappy must I serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.

For shamefast harm of great

Against hourders of money.

For shamefast harm of great, and hatefull nede:
In depe despayre, as did a wretch go,
With ready corde, out of his life to spede:
His stumbling foote did finde an hoorde, lo,
Of golde, I say: where he preparde this dede:
And in eschange, he left the corde, tho.
He, that had hidde the golde, and founde it not:
Of that, he founde, he shapte his neck a knot.

Vvlcane begat me

Discripcion of a gonne.

K4v

Vvulcane

[_]

Vulcane

begat me: Minerua me taught:
Nature, my mother: Craft nourisht me yere by yere:
Three bodyes are my foode: my strength is in naught:
Angre, wrath, wast, and noyce are my children dere.
Gesse, frend, what I am: and how I am wraught:
Monster of sea, or of land, or of els where.
Know me, and vse me: and I may thee defend:
And if I be thine enmy, I may thy life end.

Syghes are my foode

wiat being in prison, to Brian.

Syghes are my foode: my drink are my teares.
Clinkyng of fetrers would such Musick craue,
Stink, and close ayer away my life it weares.
Pore innocence is all the hope, I haue.
Rayn, winde, or wether iudge I by mine eares.
Malice assaultes, that righteousnesse should haue.
Sure am I, Brian, this wound shall heale again:
But yet alas, the skarre shall still remayn.

Through out the world

Of dissembling wordes.

Through out the world if it wer sought,
Faire wordes ynough a man shall finde:
They be good chepe they cost right nought.
Their substance is but onely winde:
But well to say and so to mene,
That swete acord is seldom sene.

Stond who so list

Of the meane and sure estate.

Stond who so list vpon the slipper whele,
Of hye astate and let me here reioyce.
And vse my life in quietnesse eche dele,
Vnknowen in court that hath the wanton toyes.

L1r

In hidden place my time shall slowly passe
And when my yeres be past withouten noyce
Let me dye olde after the common trace
For gripes of death doth he to hardly passe
That knowen is to all: but to him selfe alas,
He dyeth vnknowen, dased with dreadfull face.

In court to serue

The courtiers life.

In court to serue decked with freshe aray,
Of sugred meates felyng the swete repast:
The life in bankets, and sundry kindes of play,
Amid the presse of lordly lokes to waste,
Hath with it ioynde oft times such bitter taste.
That who so ioyes such kinde of life to holde,
In prison ioyes fettred with cheines of gold.

Of Carthage he

Of disapointed purpose by negligence.

Of Carthage he that worthy warriour
Could ouercome, but could not vse his chaunce
And I likewise of all my long endeuour
The sharpe conquest though fortune did aduance,
Ne could I vse. The holde that is geuen ouer,
I vnpossest. so hangeth in balance
Of warre, my peace, reward of all my paine,
At Mountzon thus I restlesse rest in Spaine.

Tagus farewel

Of his returne from Spaine.

Tagus farewel that westward with thy stremes
Turnes vp the graines of gold already tried,
For I with spurre and saile go seke the temmes,
Gaineward the sunne that sheweth her welthy pride,
And to the towne that Brutus sought by dreames,
Like bended mone that leanes her lusty side.
My king, my countrey, I seke for whom I liue,
O mighty Ioue the windes for this me geue.

L1v

Driuen by desire

Of sodaine trustyng.

Driuen by desire I did this dede
To danger my self without cause why:
To trust thuntrue not like to spede,
To speake and promise faythfully:
But now the proufe doth verifie,
That who so trusteth ere he know.
Doth hurt him self and please his foe.

In doubtfull breast

Of the mother that eat her childe at the siege of Ierusalem.

In doubtfull breast whiles motherly pity
With furious famine standeth at debate,
The mother sayth: O childe vnhappy
Returne thy bloud where thou hadst milke of late
Yeld me those lymmes that I made vnto thee,
And enter there where thou were generate.
For of one body agaynst all nature,
To an other must I make sepulture.

My mothers maides

Of the meane and sure estate written to Iohn Poins.

My mothers maides when they do sowe and spinne:
They sing a song made of the feldishe mouse:
That forbicause her liuelod was but thinne,
Would nedes go se her townish sisters house,
She thought, her selfe endured to greuous payne,
The stormy blastes her caue so sore did sowse:
That when the furrowes swimmed with the rayne:
She must lie colde, and wet in sory plight.
And worse then that, bare meat there did remaine
To comfort her, when she her house had dight:
Sometime a barly corne: sometime a beane:

L2r

For which she laboured hard both day and night,
In haruest tyme, while she might go and gleane.
And when her store was stroyed with the floode:
Then weleaway for she vndone was cleane.
Then was she faine to take in stede of fode,
Slepe if she might, her honger to begyle.
My sister (quod she) hath a liuyng good:
And hence from me she dwelleth not a myle.
In colde and storme, she lieth warme and dry,
In bed of downe: the durt doth not defile
Her tender fote, she labours not as I,
Richely she fedes, and at the richemans cost:
And for her meat she nedes not craue nor cry.
By sea, by land, of delicates the most
Her cater sekes, and spareth for no perill:
She fedes on boyle meat, bake meat, and on rost:
And hath therfore no whit of charge nor trauell.
And when she list the licour of the grape
Doth glad her hart, till that her belly swell.
And at this iourney makes she but a iape:
So forth she goes, trusting of all this wealth,
With her sister her part so for to shape:
That if she might there kepe her self in health:
To liue a Lady while her life doth last.
And to the dore now is she come by stealth:
And with her fote anone she scrapes full fast.
Thother for fear, durst not well scarse appere:
Of euery noyse so was the wretch agast.
At last, she asked softly who was there.
And in her language as well as she could,
Pepe (quod the other) sister I am here.
Peace (quod the towne mouse) why speakest thou so loude?
And by the hand she toke her fayre and well.
Welcome (quod she) my sister by the rode.
She feasted her that ioye it was to tell
The fare they hadde, they dranke the wine so clere:
And as to purpose now and then it fell:
She chered her, with how sister what chere?
Amid this ioye be fell a sory chance:
That (weleaway) the stranger bought full dere
The fare she had. For as she lookt a scance:
Vnder a stole she spied two stemyng eyes.

L2v

In a rounde head, with sharpe eares: in Fraunce
Was neuer mouse so ferde, for the vnwise
Had not ysene such a beast before.
Yet had nature taught her after her gise,
To know her fo: and dread him euermore.
The townemouse fled: she knew whither to go:
The other had no shift, but wonders sore
Ferde of her life, at home she wisht her tho:
And to the dore (alas) as she did skippe:
The heauen it would, lo: and eke her chance was so:
At the threshold her sely fote did trippe:
And ere she might recouer it agayne:
The traytour cat had caught her by the hippe:
And made her there against hir will remayne:
That had forgot her power, surety and rest,
For semyng welth, wherin she thought to raine.
Alas (my Poyns) how men do seke the best,
And finde the worst, by errour as they stray,
And no maruell, when sight is so opprest,
And blindes the guide, anone out of the way
Goeth guide and all in seking quiet life.
O wretched mindes, there is no golde that may
Graunt that you seke, no warre, no peace, no strife.
No, no, although thy head were hoopt with golde,
Sergeant with mace, with hawbart, sword, nor knife,
Can not repulse the care that folow should.
Ech kinde of life hath with him his disease.
Liue in delite, euen as thy lust would:
And thou shalt finde, when lust doth most thee please:
It irketh straight, and by it selfe doth fade.
A small thing is it, that may thy minde appease.
None of you al there is, that is so madde,
To seke for grapes on brambles, or on bryers:
Nor none I trow that hath his witte so badde,
To set his haye for conies ouer riuers:
Nor ye set not a dragge net for an hare.
And yet the thing, that most is your desire,
You do misseke, with more trauell and care.
Make plaine thine hart, that it be not knotted
With hope or dreade, and se thy will be bare
From all affectes, whom vice hath euer spotted.
Thy selfe content with that is thee assinde:

L3r

And vse it well that is to thee alotted.
Then seke no more out of thy selfe to finde
The thing that thou hast sought so long before.
For thou shalt feele it stickyng in thy minde,
Madde if ye list to continue your sore.
Let present passe, and gape on time to come:
And depe your selfe in trauell more and more.
Henceforth (my Poins) this shalbe all and summe
These wretched foles shall haue nought els of me:
But, to the great God and to his dome,
None other paine pray I for them to be:
But when the rage doth leade them from the right:
That lokyng backward, Vertue they may se,
Euen as she is, so goodly fayre and bright.
And whilst they claspe their lustes in armes a crosse:
Graunt them good Lord, as thou maist of thy might,
To freate inward, for losyng such a losse.

Myne owne Iohn Poyns

Of the Courtiers life written to Iohn Poins.

Myne owne Iohn Poyns: sins ye delite to know
The causes why that homeward I me draw,
And fle the prease of courtes, where so they go:
Rather then to liue thrall vnder the awe,
Of lordly lokes, wrapped within my cloke,
To will and lust learnyng to set a law:
It is not, because I scorne or mocke
The power of them: whom fortune here hath lent
Charge ouer vs, of ryght to strike the stroke.
But true it is that I haue alwayes ment
Lesse to esteme them, then the common sort
Of outward thinges: that iudge in their entent,
Without regard, what inward doth resort.
I graunt, sometime of glory that the fire
Doth touch my hart. Me list not to report
Blame by honour, and honour to desire.
But how may I this honour now attaine?
That can not dye the colour blacke a lyer.
My Poyns, I can not frame my tune to fayne:
To cloke the truth, for prayse without desert,
Of them that list all nice for to retaine.

L3v

I can not honour them, that set their part
With Venus, and Bacchus, all their life long:
Nor holde my peace of them, although I smart.
I can not crouch nor knele to such a wrong:
To worship them like God on earth alone:
That are as wolues these sely lambes among.
I can not with my wordes complaine and mone,
And suffer nought: nor smart without complaynt:
Nor turne the worde that from my mouth is gone.
I can not speake and loke like as a saynt:
Vse wiles for wit, and make disceyt a pleasure:
Call craft counsaile, for lucre still to paint.
I can not wrest the law to fill the coffer:
With innocent bloud to fede my selfe fatte:
And do most hurt: where that most helpe I offer.
I am not he, that can alowe the state
Of hye Ceasar, and damne Cato to dye:
That with his death did scape out of the gate,
From Ceasars handes, if Liuye doth not lye:
And would not liue, where libertie was lost,
So did his hart the common wealth apply.
I am not he, such eloquence to bost:
To make the crow in singyng, as the swanne:
Nor call the lyon of coward beastes the most.
That can not take a mouse, as the cat can.
And he that dieth for honger of the golde,
Call him Alexander, and say that Pan
Passeth Appollo in musike manifold:
Praise syr Topas for a noble tale,
And scorne the story that the knight tolde:
Prayse him for counsell, that is dronke of ale:
Grinne when he laughes, that beareth all the sway:
Frowne, when he frownes: and grone when he is pale:
On others lust to hang both night and day.
None of these poyntes would euer frame in me.
My wit is nought, I can not learne the way.
And much the lesse of thinges that greater be,
That asken helpe of colours to deuise
To ioyne the meane with ech extremitie:
With nearest vertue ay to cloke the vice.
And as to purpose likewise it shall fall:
To presse the vertue that it may not rise.

L4r

And as to purpose likewise it shall fall,
To presse the vertue that it may not rise.
As dronkennesse good felowship to call:
The frendly foe, with his faire double face,
Say he is gentle and curties therewithall.
Affirme that fauell hath a goodly grace,
In eloquence: And cruelty to name
Zeale of Iustice: And change in time and place.
And he that suffreth offence withoutt blame:
Call him pitifull, and him true and plaine,
That rayleth rechlesse vnto ech mans shame.
Say he is rude, that can not lye and faine:
The letcher a louer, and tyranny
To be the right of a Prynces rayghne.
I can not, I no, no, it will not be.
This is the cause that I could neuer yet
Hang on their sleues, that weygh (as thou mayst se)
A chippe of chance more then a pounde of wit.
This maketh me at home to hunt and hauke:
And in fowle wether at my boke to sit:
In frost and snow, then with my bow to stalke.
No man doth marke where so I ride or go.
In lusty leas at libertie I walke:
And of these newes I fele nor weale nor wo:
Saue that a clogge doth hang yet at my heele.
No force for that, for it is ordred so:
That I may leape both hedge and dike full wele,
I am not now in Fraunce, to iudge the wine:
With savry sauce those delicates to fele.
Nor yet in Spaine where one must him incline,
Rather then to be, outwardly to seme.
I meddle not with wyttes that be so fine,
Nor Flaunders chere lettes not my syght to deme
Of blacke and white, nor takes my wittes away
With beastlinesse: such do those beastes esteme.
Nor I am not, where truth is geuen in pray,
For money, poyson, and treason: of some
A common practise, vsed nyght and day.
But I am here in kent and christendome:
Among the Muses, where I reade and ryme,
Where if thou list myne owne Iohn Poyns to come:
Thou shalt be iudge, how I do spende my time.

L4v

A spendyng hand

How to vse the court and him selfe therin, written to syr Fraunces Bryan.

A Spendyng hand that alway powreth out,
Had nede to haue a bringer in as fast.
And on the stone that styll doth turne about,
There groweth no mosse. These prouerbes yet do last:
Reason hath set them in so sure a place:
That length of yeres their force can neuer waste.
When I remember this, and eke the case,
Wherin thou standst: I thought forthwith to write
(Brian) to thee? who knowes how great a grace
In writyng is to counsaile man the right.
To thee therfore that trottes still vp and downe:
And neuer restes, but runnyng day and night,
From realme to realme, from citye strete, and towne.
Why doest thou weare thy body to the bones?
And mightest at home slepe in thy bedde of downe:
And drinke good ale so noppy for the nones:
Fede thy selfe fatte, and heape vp pounde by pounde.
Likest thou not this? No. Why? For swine so groines
In stye, and chaw dung moulded on the ground.
And driuell on pearles with head styll in the manger,
So of the harpe the asse doth heare the sound.
So sackes of durt be filde. The neate courtier
So serues for lesse, then do these fatted swine.
Though I seme leane and drye, withouten moysture:
Yet will I serue my prince, my lord and thine.
And let them liue to fede the paunch that lyst:
So I may liue to fede both me and myne.
By God well said. But what and if thou wist
How to bring in, as fast as thou doest spend.
That would I learne. And it shall not be mist,
To tell thee how. Now harke what I intende.
Thou knowest well first, who so can seke to please,
Shall purchase frendes: where trouth, shall but offend.
Flee therefore truth, it is both welth and ease.
For though that trouth of euery man hath prayse:
Full neare that winde goeth trouth in great misease.

M1r

Vse vertue, as it goeth now a dayes:
In worde alone to make thy language swete:
And of the dede, yet do not as thou saies.
Els be thou sure: thou shalt be farre vnmete
To get thy bread, ech thing is now so skant.
Seke still thy profite vpon thy bare fete.
Lende in no wise: for feare that thou do want:
Vnlesse it be, as to a calfe a chese:
By which returne be sure to winne a cant
Of halfe at least. It is not good to leese.
Learne at the ladde, that in a long white cote,
From vnder the stall, withouten landes or feese,
Hath lept into the shoppe: who knowes by rote
This rule that I haue told thee here before.
Sometime also riche age beginnes to dote,
Se thou when there thy gaine may be the more.
Stay him by the arme, whele so he walke or go:
Be nere alway, and if he coughe to sore:
What he hath spit treade out, and please him so.
A diligent knaue that pikes his masters purse,
May please him so, that he withouten mo
Executour is. And what is he the wurs?
But if so chance, thou get nought of the man:
The wydow may for all thy charge deburs.
A riueld skynne, a stinkyng breath, what than?
A tothelesse mouth shall do thy lippes no harme.
The golde is good, and though she curse or banne:
Yet where thee list, thou mayest lye good and warme.
Let the olde mule bite vpon the bridle:
Whilst there do lye a sweter in thine arme.
In this also se thou be not idle:
Thy nece, thy cosyn, thy sister, or thy daughter,
If she bee faire: if handsome be her middle:
If thy better hath her loue besought her:
Auaunce his cause, and he shall helpe thy nede.
It is but loue, turne it to a laughter.
But ware I say, so gold thee helpe and spede:
That in this case thou be not so vnwise,
As Pandar was in such a like dede.
For he the fole of conscience was so nice:
That he no gaine would haue for all his payne.
Be next thy selfe for frendshyp beares no price.

M1v

Laughest thou at me, why? do I speake in vaine?
No not at thee, but at thy thrifty iest.
Wouldest thou, I should for any losse or gayne,
Change that for golde, that I haue tane for best
Next godly thinges: to haue an honest name?
Should I leaue that? then take me for a beast.
Nay then farewell, and if thou care for shame:
Content thee then with honest pouertie:
With free tong, what thee mislikes, to blame.
And for thy trouth sometime aduersitie.
And therwithall this thing I shall thee giue,
In this world now litle prosperitie:
And coyne to kepe, as water in a siue.

When Dido feasted first

The song of Iopas vnfinished.

When Dido feasted first the wanderyng Troian knight:
who[m] Iunos wrath w[ith] stormes did force in Libyk sa[n]ds to light
That mighty Atlas taught, the supper lastyng long,
With crisped lockes on golden harpe, Iopas sang in song.
That same (quod he) that we the world do call and name:
Of heauen and earth with all contents, it is the very frame.
Or thus, of heauenly powers by more power kept in one
Repungnant kindes, in mids of who[m] the earth hath place alone:
Firme, round, of liuing thinges, the mother place and nourse:
Without the which in egal weight, this heuen doth hold his course
And it is callde by name, the first and mouyng heauen,
The firmament is placed next, conteinyng other seuen,
Of heauenly powers that same is planted full and thicke:
As shinyng lightes which we call stars, that therin cleue & sticke.
With great swift sway, the first, & with his restlesse sours,
Carieth it self, and al those eyght, in euen continuall cours.
And of this world so round within that rollyng case,
Two points there be that neuer moue, but firmely kepe their place
The tone we see alway, the tother standes obiect
Against the same, deuidyng iust the grounde by line direct.
Which by imaginacion, drawen from the one to thother
Toucheth the centre of the earth, for way there is none other.
And these be callde the Poles, discriyde by starres not bright.
Artike the one northward we see: Antartike thother hyght.

M2r

The line, that we deuise from thone to thother so:
As axel is, vpon the which the heauens about do go
Which of water nor earth, of ayre nor fire haue kinde.
Therfore the substance of those same were harde for man to finde.
But they bene vncorrupt, simple and pure vnmixt:
And so we say been all those starres, that in those same be fixt.
And eke those erryng seuen, in circle as they stray:
So calld, because agaynst that first they haue repungnant way:
And smaller bywayes to, skant sensible to man:
To busy worke for my pore harpe: let sing them he, that can.
The wydest saue the first, of all these nine aboue
One hundred yere doth aske of space, for one degree to moue.
Of which degrees we make, in the first moouyng heauen,
Three hundred and threscore in partes iustly deuided euen.
And yet there is another betwene those heauens two:
Whose mouyng is so sly so slack: I name it not for now.
The seuenth heauen or the shell, next to the starry sky,
All those degrees that gatherth vp, with aged pase so sly:
And doth performe the same, as elders count hath bene,
In nine and twenty yeres complete, and daies almost sixtene:
Doth cary in his bowt the starre of Saturne old:
A threatner of all liuyng things, with drought & with his cold.
The sixt whom this conteyns, doth stalke with yoonger pase:
And in twelue yere doth somwhat more then thothers viage was.
And this in it doth bear the starre of Ioue benigne,
Twene Saturns malice and vs men, frendly defendyng signe.
The fift bears bloudy Mars, that in three hundred daies,
And twise eleuen with one full yere, hath finisht all those wayes.
A yere doth aske the fourth, and howers therto sixe,
And in the same the dayes eie the sunne, therin her styckes.
The third, that gouernd is by that, that gouerns mee:
And loue for loue, and for no loue prouokes: as oft we see:
In like space doth performe that course, that did the tother.
So dothe the next vnto the same, that second is in order.
But it doth bear the starre, that calld is Mercury:
That many a crafty secrete steppe doth tread, as Calcars try.
That sky is last, and fixt next vs, those wayes hath gone,
In seuen and twenty co[m]mon dayes, and eke the third of one:
And beareth with his sway, the diuers Moone about:
Now bright, now brown, now be[n]t, now ful, & now her light is out
Thus haue they of their owne two mouynges al these seuen
One, wherin they be caried still, ech in his seueral heuen.

M2v

An other of them selues, where their bodyes be layed
In bywayes, and in lesser rowndes, as I afore haue sayd.
Saue of them all the sunne doth stray lest from the straight,
The starry sky hath but one cours, that we haue calde the eight.
And all these moouynges eight are ment from west to the east:
Although they seme to clime aloft, I say from east to west.
But that is but by force of the first mouyng sky:
In twise twelue houres fro[m] east to east [that] carieth the[m] by and by.
But marke we well also, these mouinges of these seuen,
Be not about the axell tree of the first mouyng heuen.
For they haue their two poles directly tone tothe

[_]

to the

tother. &c.

T. VVYATE the elder.

M3r

University of Virginia Library

Tottel — Songes and Sonettes — 1557

Songes.

Thomas Wyatt

The longe loue

Yet was I neuer

Was neuer file yet half

The liuely sparkes

Svch vain thought

Vnstable dreame

Ye that in loue finde luck

If waker care

Cesar, when that the

Eche man me telth

Some fowles there be

Because I still kept thee

I find no peace

My galley charged

Avisyng the bright beames

They flee from me

Madame, withouten many wordes

Alas, Madame

The wandring gadling

What nedes these threatnyng woordes

Right true it is

It may be good

Resownde my voyce ye woodes

In fayth I wot not what to say

Farewell the hart of crueltie

The restfull place

From these hie hilles

Myne olde dere enmy

Maruell no more altho

Where shall I haue

She sat, and sowed

What man hath hard such cruelty

Behold, Loue, thy power

What vaileth troth?

Somtime I fled the fire

He is not dead

The furious goonne

Accused though I be

My loue to skorne

Within my brest

Passe forth my wonted cryes

Your lokes so often cast

Disdaine me not without desert

For want of will

If euer man might him auaunt

Some men would thinke of right

The answere that ye made

Svch is the course

The enmy of life

Once as me thought

My lute awake

Nature that gaue the Bee

Vnwarely so was neuer

Al in thy loke my life

Perdy I sayd it not

Lvx, my faire fawlcon

A face that should content

Ever my hap is slack

Loue, Fortune, and my minde

How oft haue I

Lyke vnto these

If amourous fayth

Farewell, Loue

My hart I gaue thee

The flaming sighes

The piller perisht

Go burning sighes

So feble is the threde

Svffised not (madame)

When first mine eyes

Synce loue wyll nedes

Mystrustfull mindes be moued

It burneth yet

Of purpose, loue chose first

What rage is this?

Desire (alas) my master