Flovvers of Epigrammes Ovt of sundrie the moste singular authours selected, as well auncient as late writers. Pleasant and profitable to the expert readers of quicke capacitie: By Timothe Kendall |
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| OVT OF THE POEMES of M. Gvalter Haddon. |
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 | Flovvers of Epigrammes |  |
OVT OF THE POEMES of M. Gvalter Haddon.
The way to liue well.
If thou wilt leade a godly life,and not from vertue swerue:
Be wary wise, and alwaies these
sixe thinges in minde obserue.
[90]
whiche thee of nought did make:
2 Next mind thou Sathan serpent slye,
that seekes thy soule to take.
3 Next mind the shortnes of this life,
that fadeth like a flower:
4 Next mynd thy graue, continually
which galpes thee to deuour.
5 Next mind thou gladsome Ioyes of heauen:
next lastyng plagues of hell:
6 And so an ende: minde these, and thou
canst neuer liue but well.
Precepts of wedlocke.
The husbands requests.
My wife, if thou regard mine ease:Praye to the Lord: hym praise & please.
Displease not mee (for any thyng)
Care how thy children vp to bring:
Let still thyne house be neat and fine:
Alwaies prouide for children thine:
Be merry, but with modestie,
Lest some men blame thine honestie:
Let manners thine be pleasant still:
With Iackes yet doe not play the gyll.
Go in thy garments soberly,
Let no spot be thereon to spie.
Be merry when that I am merry:
91
The man that lyked is of mee,
Let hym likewise be likt of thee.
That which I say in company,
See thou refell not openly.
If ought I speake that likes not thee,
Thereof in secret monish mee.
What so in secret I thee tell
Reueale not, but conceale it well.
Thinke not straunge Wiues doe make mee warme
When I thee hurt, shew mee thy harme.
Confesse when so thou dost offend:
Chide not to bedward when we wend.
Sleep slightly: rise betyme, and praye:
When thou art drest, to woork away.
Beleue not all thing that is saide:
Speake little (as beseemes a mayde)
In presence mine dispute thou not:
Reply not: chat must be forgot.
The honest do associate still:
Loth liuyng with the lewd and ill.
Let lewdnes none thy life affoord:
Be alwaies true of tongue and woord:
Let shamefastnes thy mistres bee:
Do these, and wife come cull with mee.
The wiues aunswere.
Husband , if thou wilt pure appeare,(Euen as thy self) then holde mee dear.
[91]
So shalt thou make mee norrishe mine.
See that our house wherein we dwell
Be hansome, holsome, walled well.
And let vs haue what vse requires:
Make seruantes sweat at woorke, not fires.
See that thy speech be mild and meeke.
Of froward frumps be still to seeke.
If thou wilt haue mee do for thee,
Then see thou likewise do for mee.
If thou on thy frends do bestowe,
Be liberall to my frends also.
For seruants thine keepe tauntyngs tart,
Admonishe gently mee aparte.
And when in sport some tyme I spend,
Do thou not sharply reprehend.
And when I ioy with thee to iest,
In angrie moode, do not molest.
Tis not enuffe, that I loue thee:
But sometime thou must make of mee.
If I shall not of thee be ielowes,
See thou cleaue not to many fellowes.
Though thou hast toyled out the daye
At night be merry yet alwaye.
Use neuer muche abroad to rome:
But still keepe close with mee at home.
Thou saidst muche, when thou wast an woer,
Now (we are coupled) be a doer.
92
Then be Vlisses vnto me.
Desire not to obtaine, that whiche thou canst not gaine.
He that will choose a wretch to be,A very wretche indeed is he:
Then he that goods desires to gaine
Which by no meanes he may obtaine
A very wretch indeede is he:
For he doth choose a wretche to be.
By vertve not vigovr.
Winne euen the wayward Vertue will,and Vertue maketh willyng still.
Force furious fomyng fighteth fearce:
But Vertue doth with reson pearce.
In body Force his seate doth finde,
Vertue triumpheth still in minde.
Force maketh men like beasts to be,
But Vertue maketh men we see.
Wherefore rude boysterous Force fare well,
For Vertue braue shall beare the bell.
Let Force to Vertue bow and bend:
Or Mistres on the Mayde attende.
How euery age is enclined.
The Babe (deuoyde of wit and sence)In Cradle still doth crie:
[92]
his tyme, and runnes awrye.
From 12. to 21. Youth
runnes rashly on his race:
The Lustie Youth to lawles luste
and riot runnes apace.
The Man still hunts for honours hie:
the Senior serious seekes
For wealth and coyne: glad when into
his pragged purse he peekes.
A noble dame: I hide her name.
For visage thou art Venus right:Pallas for flowing braine:
To finger fine the Harp or Lute
Apollo thou dost staine.
Mercurius rules thy filed speache,
thy manners Cynthia chast:
O gallant goddesse: Iuno meet
with Ioue for to be plast.
Of the Queenes Picture.
O pitty great alas to see,that Vertue shinyng so
With Bewtie braue, must forced be
at last away to go.
93
Of the picture of Thomas Cranmer, somtyme Archbishop of Canterbury.
Well learned, and well liued too,good Cranmer wast thou sure:
Faire lucky times and lowryng both,
God made thee to endure.
Of his owne picture.
( Foole as thou art) what dost thou mean,thy fadyng forme to drawe?
A newe face, or els no face, thou
shalt haue to morrow, daw.
Of the picture of the most excellent Dame A. H.
For prudencie, a precious pearle:for face, a famous dame:
In fine this peece in euery pointe,
deserueth laude and fame.
To his Bed.
My bed, the rest of all my cares,the ende of toilyng paine:
Whiche bryngest ease and sollace sweete,
while darknesse doeth remaine.
My bedde, yelde to me slumber swete,
and triflyng dreames repell:
Cause carkyng care from sobbyng breast
to part, where it doeth dwell.
All mockeries of this wretched worlde,
put cleane from out my mynde:
Doe these my bedde: and then by thee,
[93]
An Aunswere.
That I maie be a rest of cares,an ende of toylyng paine:
See stomacke thyne be not surchargde,
when slepe thou wouldest gaine.
If sugred slepe (deuoide of dreames)
thou likest to enioye:
Then liue with little: and beware,
no cares thy hedde anoye.
And lastly deme thy fethered bedde,
alwaies thy graspyng graue:
So rest by me thou shalt obtaine,
and eke muche comfort haue.
An Epitapthe vpon the death of Sir Ihon Cheke.
The maister of good maners milde,the glisteryng lampe of skill:
Dame Natures golden workehouse rare,
now death hath rid from ill.
Ah noble sir Ihon Cheke is dedde,
whiche stedfast still did stande
Not one to many, but to all:
the lanterne of this lande.
The gem of this our Englishe soile:
fell death that riddeth all
So riche a iewell neuer tooke,
nor take hereafter shall.
| Flovvers of Epigrammes | |