University of Virginia Library

COMMENDATORY VERSES

T. B. In prayse of Gasco[ig]nes Posies.

We prayse the plough, that makes the fruitelesse soyle
To bring forth corne, (through helpe of heavenly might)
And eke esteeme the simple wretches toyle,
Whose painefull handes doe labour day and night.
We prayse the ground, whereon the herbes do grow,
Which heale or helpe, our greeves and mortall paine,
Yea weedes have worth, wherein we vertue know,
For natures Art, nothing hath made in vaine.
We prayse those floures which please the secrete sense,
And do content, the tast or smell of man,
The Gardners paynes and worke we recompence,
That skilfull is, or aught in cunning can.
But much more prayse to Gascoignes penne is due,
Whose learned hande doth here to thee present,
A Posie full of Hearbes, and Flowers newe,
To please all braynes, to wit or learning bent.
Howe much the minde doth passe the sense or smell,
So much these Floures all other do excell.

E. C. In prayse of Gascoignes Posies.

In gladsome Spring, when sweete and pleasant shoures
Have well renued, what winters wrath hath torne,
And that we see, the wholesome smelling Floures,
Begin to laugh rough winters wracke to scorne:
If then by chaunce, or choyce of owners will,
We roame and walke in place of rare delightes,
And therein finde, what Arte or natures skill
Can well set forth, to feede our hungrie sightes:
Yea more, if then the owner of the soyle,
Doth licence yeelde to use all as our owne,
And gladly thinkes, the fruites of all his toyle,
To our behoofe to be well set and sowne.
It cannot be, but this so great desart
In basest breast doth breede this due regarde,
With worlde of thankes, to prayse this friendly part,
And wish that woorth mought pay a just rewarde.
Good Reader then, beholde what gallant spring
This booke brings forth, of fruites of finest sortes,
Be bolde to take, thy list of everie thing,
For so is ment. And for thy glad disportes
The paine was tane: therefore lo this I crave,
In his behalfe, that wrote this pleasant worke,
With care and cost, (and then most freely gave
His labours great, wherein great treasures lurke:
To thine avayle) let his desartes now binde thee,
In woorde and deede, he may still thankfull finde thee.

M. C. commending the correction of Gascoignes Posies.

The Beares blinde whelpes, which lacke both nayles and heare,
And lie like lumpes, in filthie farrowed wise,
Do (for a time) most ougly beastes appeare,
Till dammes deare tongue, do cleare their clozed eyes.
The gadde of steele, is likewise blunt and blacke,
Till file and fire, do frame it sharpe and bright:
Yea precious stones, their glorious grace do lacke,
Till curious hand do make them please the sight.
And so these floures, although the grounde were gay,
Whereon they grew, and they of gallant hew,
Yet till the badde were cullde and cast away,
The best became the worse by such a crew.
(For my part) then: I lyked not their smell,
But as they be, I like them pretly well.

R. S. In prayse of Gascoignes Posies.

T. Ch. In prayse of Gascoignes Posies.

Though goodnesse of the gold, needes no mans praise ye know,
(And every coyne is judgde and found, by weight, by stamp, or show)
Yet doth the prayse of men, give gold a double grace,
And makes both pearls and Jewels rich desirde in every place.
The horse full finely formde, whose pace and traine is true,
Is more esteemde for good report, than likte for shape and view.
Yea sure, ech man himselfe, for all his wit and skill,
(If world bestow no lawde on him) may sleepe in silence still.
Fame shewes the value first, of everie precious thing,
And winnes with lyking all the brute, that doth the credit bring.
And fame makes way before, to workes that are unknowne,
And peoples love is caried ther, where fame hir trump hath blown.
A cunning workman fine, in Cloyster close may sit,
And carve or paint a thousand things, and use both art and wit,
Yet wanting worldes renowne, may scape unsought or seene:
It is but fame that outruns all, and gets the goall I weene.
The learned Doctors lawd, that heales where other harmes,
By cōmon prayse of peoples voyce, brings pacients in by swarmes.
A goodly stately house, hath seldome any fame,
Till world behold the buildings through, and people see the same.
The Flowers and Posies sweete, in better price are held,
When those have praysde their vertues rare, that have their odor smeld.
So by these foresayd proofes, I have a pardon free,
To speake, to write, and make discourse, of any worke I see,
That worthie is of prayse: for prayse is all we get.
Present the worlde with labors great, the world is in your det,
It never yeeldes rewarde, nor scarce just prayse will give:
Then studie out to stand on fame, and strive by fame to live.
Our olde forefathers wise, saw long before these dayes,
How sone faint world would fail deserts, and cold would wax our prayse.
And knowing that disdeyne, for toyle did rather rise,
Than right renowne (whose goldē buds, growes up to starry skies)
Betooke their labors long, and every act they did,
Unto the Gods, from whose deepe sight, no secret can be hid.
And these good gracious Gods, sent downe from heavens hie,
(For noble minds) an endlesse fame, that throw the world doth flie.
Which fame is due to those, that seeke by new device,
To honor learning every way, and Vertue bring in price.
From Knowledge gardeyn gay, where science sowes hir seedes,
A pretie Posie gathered is, of Flowers, Hearbes, and Weedes.
The Flowers by smel are found, the hearbs their goodnes showes,
The Weedes amid both hearbs & flowers, in decēt order growes.
The soft and tender nose, that can no weedes abide,
May make his choise of holesome hearbes, whose vertues well are tride.
The fine and flowing wittes, that feede on straunge delites,
May tast (for seasning daintie mouthes) the bitter weede that bites:
The well disposed minde, and honest meaning man,
Shall finde (in floures) proude Peacoks plumes, and feathers of the Swan.
The curst and crabbed Carle, that Posies flings away,
By this (perhaps) may find some cause, with prettie floures to play.
The kinde and loving worme, that woulde his ladie please,
M[a]y light on some such medcin here, shal do them both much ease.
The Lad that lykes the schoole, and will good warning take:
May snatch some rules oute of this booke, that may him doctor make.
The hastie travayling head, that flies to foreyne place,
May wey by this what home is woorth, and stay his roving race.
The manly courage stoute, that seeketh fame full farre,
Shall find by this how sweete is peace, and see how soure is warre.
This Posie is so pickt, and choysely sorted throw,
There is no Flower, Herbe, nor Weede, but serves some purpose now.
Then since it freely comes, to you for little cost,
Take well in worth these paynes of him, that thinkes no labor lost:
To do his countrie good, as many others have,
Who for their toyles a good report, of worlde did onely crave.
Grudge not to yeeld some fame, for fruites that you receyve,
Make some exchaunge for franke good will, some signe or token leave,
To shew your thankfull harts. For if you love to take,
And have a conscience growne so great, you can no gift forsake,
And cannot give againe, that men deserve to reape,
Adieu we leave you in the hedge, and ore the stile we leape.
And yet some stile or verse, we after shape in ryme,
That may by arte shewe you a Glasse, to see your selves in tyme.
Thus wish I men their right: and you that judge amisse,
To mend your minds, or frame your Muse, to make the like of this.

G. W. In prayse of Gascoigne, and his Posies.

Reader rewarde nought else, but onely good report,
For all these pleasant Posies here, bound up in sundrie sort.
The flowers fayre and fresh, were set with painefull toyle,
Of late in Gascoignes Garden plot, a passing pleasant soyle.
Now weedes of little worth, are culde from out the rest,
Which he with double paine, did work, to gleane the bad frō best.
The state is very straunge, and fortune rare in use,
Whose heavie happe he neither helpes, nor blazeth their abuse.
In thundring verse he wrayes, where highest mindes be thrall,
Where mischeefe seekes to rayse it selfe, by force of others fall.
He pluckes the visour of, from maskes of peevish pride,
And wrayes what sowre (in sweet pretēce) the coustly corts cā hide.
In everie gallant flower, he setteth forth to show,
Of Venus thralles, the hap, the harme, the want, the weale, the woe.
He finely findes their faultes, whose welth doth foster wrong,
Who toucheth sinne (without offence) must plainly sing his song.
His loftie vaine in verse, his stately stile in prose,
Foretelles that Pallas ment by him, for to defende hir foes.
Wherwith to Mars his might, his lustie limmes are knit,
(A sight most rare) that Hectors mind, should match with Pallas wit.
By proofe of late appeared (how so reportes here ran)
That he in field was formost still, in spoyle the hynmost man.
No backward blastes could bruse the valour of his thought,
Although slie hap, forestoode his hope, in that he credite sought.
In fortunes spight he strave, by vertues to aspire,
Resolvde when due deserts might mount, then he should have his hire.
Thus late with Mars in field, a lustie Souldiour shewde,
And now with peace in Pallas schoole, he freendly hath bestowde,
On thee this heape of flowers, the fruites of all his toyle,
Whereof if some but simple seeme, consider well the soyle.
They grew not all at home, some came from forreyne fieldes,
The which (percase) set here againe, no pleasant savour yeeldes.
Yet who mislyketh most, the worst will hardly mend,
And he were best not write at all, which no man will offend.

P. B. to such as have heretofore found fault with Gascoignes Posies.

A. W. In commendation of Gascoigne and his Posies.

I praysed once a booke (whereby I purchast blame)
And venturde for to write a verse, before I knewe the same.
So that I was deceyvde, for when it came to light,
The booke deserved no such worde, as I therein did wright.
Thus lept I ere I lookt, and wandred ere I wist,
Which gives (me haggard) warning since, to trust no falkners fist.
And yet the booke was good, (by hap and not my skill)
But not a Booke of such contentes, as might my wordes fulfill.
Well now I neede not feare, these Posies here to prayse,
Bicause I knew them every flower, and where they grew alwayes.
And sure for my conceyt, even when they bloomed first,
Me thought they smelt not much amisse, no not the very worst.
Perhappes some daintie nose, no Batchlers button lykes,
And some at Pimpernell and Pinkes, a slender quarell pykes.
Some thinke that Gillyflowers, do yeeld a gelous smell,
And some (which like none herbe but Sage) say Finkell tastes not well.
Yet Finkell is of force, and Gillyflowers are good,
And Pinks please some, and Pimpernell doth serve to steynch the blood:
And Batchlers buttons be, the bravest to beholde,
But sure that flower were best not grow, which can abide no colde.
For slaunder blowes so shrill, with easterne envious windes,
And frosts of frumps so nip the rootes, of vertuous meaning minds
That few good flowers can thrive, unlesse they be protected,
Or garded from suspitious blastes, or with some proppes erected.
So seemeth by the wight, which gardened this grounde,
And set such flowers on every bed, that Posies here abounde.
Yet some tongues cannot well, affoorde him worthie prayse,
And by our Lorde they do him wrong, for I have sene his wayes,
And marked all his moodes, and have had proofe likewise,
That he can do as well in field, as pen can here devise.
Not many Monthes yet past, I saw his doughtie deedes,
And since (to heare what slaunder sayes) my heavie hart it bleedes.
Yet Reader graunt but this, to trie before thou trust,
So shalt thou find his flowers and him, both gallant, good and just.

I. B. In commendation of Gascoignes Posies.

I. D. In prayse of Gascoigne and his Posies.

If Virgill how to till the Earth, to every man doth tell,
And Galen he in Phisicks arte doth many men excell,
If Poets olde deserven prayse, by paynting out aright,
The frutes of vice, as Ovid doth, and many mo that wright,
By learned skill of many things: If such exalt their name,
And for their hyre, deserved prayse by trumpe of Ladie Fame:
Why should the Authour of this booke then leese his due desart,
Sith he so freendly here to us, hath shewed his skilfull arte?
The healthsome herbs and flowers sweet, frō weedes he hath divided,
The fruits of Gives in prison strōg he hath right wel decided.
Of warres also, and warriours to, even like a Martiall knight,
He hath discourst, and shewed the lottes, that thereupon do light:
Virgill is dead, and Galen gone, with Poets many more:
Yet workes of theirs be still alive, and with us kept in store.
This Authour lives, and Gascoigne hights, yet once to die most sure,
Alas the while that worthie wightes may not alwayes endure,
But workes of his among the best, for ever more shall rest,
When he in heaven shall take a place prepared for the blest.

The Printer in commendation of Gascoigne and his workes.

Chawcer by writing purchast fame,
And Gower got a worthie name:
Sweete Surrey, suckt Pernassus springs,
And Wiat wrote of wondrous things:
Olde Rochfort clambe the stately Throne,
Which Muses holde, in Hellicone.
Then thither let, good Gascoigne go,
For sure his verse, deserveth so.

The opinion of the aucthor himself after all these commendations.

What neede I speake my self, since other say so much?
Who seme to praise these poesies so, as if ther wer none such?
But sure my silly self, do find therein no smell,
Which may deserve such passing prayse, or seeme to taste so well.
This boone I onely crave, that Readers yet will deigne
(If any weede herein do seeme, his fellow flowres to stayne)
Then reade but others workes, and marke if that they finde,
No toyes therein which may dislike, some modest readers minde?
Reade Virgills Pryapus, or Ovids wanton verse,
Which he about Corinnaes couche, so clerkly can rehearse.
Reade Faustoes filthy tale, in Ariostoes ryme,
And let not Marots Alyx passe, without impeach of crime.
These things considred well, I trust they will excuse
This muze of mine, although she seem, such toyes somtimes to use.
Beleeve me Lordings all, it is a Poetes parte,
To handle eche thing in his kinde, for therein lieth his arte:
Lucillius ledde the daunce, and Horace made the lawe,
That poetes by Aucthoritie, may call (A dawe) A Dawe,
And eke (a hore) A Hore, but yet in cleanly wordes,
So that the vice may be rebukt, as though it were in bourdes:
This phrase sometimes I use, which (if it be a faute)
Condempne not all the rest therfore, that here in verse is taught,
Smell every poesie right, and you therein shall finde,
Fresh flowres, good hearbes, & holsome weedes, to please a skilfull minde.

His ultimum vale to Amorous verse.

Kinde Erato, and wanton Thalia,
(Whose name my muze, devoutly did invoke)
Adieu deare dames, Caliope sings alia,
Which are more worth, and smell not of the smoke.
And if blinde Cupide, chaunce to stryke a stroke,
I vowe my verse, Apocrypha shalbe,
In silence shutte, that none (but you) may see.