A pleasaunte Laborinth called Churchyardes Chance framed on Fancies, uttered with verses, and writtee[n] to giue solace to eury well disposed mynde: wherein not withstanding are many heauie Epitaphes, sad and sorowfull discourses and sutche a multitude of other honest pastymes for the season (and passages of witte) that the reader therein maie thinke his tyme well bestowed. All whiche workes for the pleasure of the worlde, and recreation of the worthie, and dedicated to the right honourable sir Thomas Bromley, Knight, Lorde Chancelour of Englande [by Thomas Churchyard] |
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A touche stone to trie an error from a trothe.
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 | A pleasaunte Laborinth called Churchyardes Chance |  |
A touche stone to trie an error from a trothe.
If I maie aske, and you maie tell, I praie you let me knowe,Why are so fewe, prefarde in Court, yet thether still we goe:
Why wanders worlde, where charge is greate, and chance is hardly wonne,
The ritche and wise, exchaunge their wealthe, for shadowes in the Sonne.
Why spend thei heaps of weightie wealth, for toies and trifles light,
Where times and howres doe alter still, and daie is tournd to night:
Good diet changde to basest chere, good tourns to badd disgrace,
Good words to taūts, good works to wiles, & plainnes finds no place
Come men to gase, and not to get, to spende and not to spare,
To rise with pompe and fall in debt, and ruine ere thei beware:
That bagge & bare reward can court, thee giue to keepe thoe warme,
But vnder that cold courtly knacke, there lyes a further harme.
To countrey in thine youth or age, thou must retourne againe,
Where lands are sold, & rents are shronk, in seams of garmēts vaine:
Then tell me what good happ in court, thou founds or left behinde,
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For whiche the world shall point at thee, whē scarce well worth a pin
Yong maister is for all his pompe, and braury he was in:
In court if Cocke be tournd from thee, the spring will ron awrie,
Admit at Well thou wilt not drawe, thou goest to please thine eye.
What are the sports and pleasures there, is waityng sutche an ease,
Is staryng on the twinklyng starrs, a thing that maie thee please:
Is Flattrie to be followd so, is Finenesse sutthe a saint,
That Plainnesse must from coūtrey go, and learne in court to paint.
O blinde beleef, and boldnesse greate, that thinks gaie golden hall,
The gladsome seate of sweete content, and worldly glories all:
Who sailes the Seas, and sees the waw's, and surges rise a loft,
Will wishe amid those striuyng streams, his feete on lande full oft.
But when bigge bounsyng bellowe beats, against bare rotten barke,
(And ship is tost with tomblyng tides, in Winter nights full darke:)
Farewell freshe water soldiour streight, thy harte or gaule is broke,
Thy bodie would be in a moode, at home by chimneis smoke.
The Court to Sea I doe compare, where calme aperes long while,
(And frēds that tourns wt fortunes whele, in face will laugh & smile:)
But let them once but see the lacke, the calmie clouds will lowre,
And brauest speeche, and sweetest words, will turne to bitter sowre.
He seru's not one, but waites on all, that there would placed bee,
And bounde he is at becke and call, to hye and loe degree:
Now trudge and trott at one mans heeles, then to an other streight,
Not that good happ is got with witt, and fauour comes by sleight.
But for one man, hath but one voice, and seldome speake he will,
To doe thee good except sutche speeche, proceeds of deeper skill:
But my demaund is why doest thou, that maiest frō court liue well,
Desire to chaunge thy heauens blis, to feele the paines of hell.
First all thy sailes must be a flant, that ship full winde maie haue,
Is that no paine to clap on clouts, and make free minde a slaue:
Next must thou waite, & stande full still, or turne like wether cocke,
Where eury thing that thou doest craue, is vnder double locke.
Then for thy foode thou must make shifte, or thrust amid the throng,
Where alwaies those that best deserue, doe suffer greatest wrong:
On fastyng daies, thy purse is plaegde, when triumphs comes adue,
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When strangers come, the people swarme, like Bees about ye hiue,
Then maiest thou not in Court be bold, nor yet with stranger striue:
To tablyng houses hye thee then, so purse doeth neuer reste,
And he is at no lettle charge, in Court that speedeth beste.
Then tell what brings thee thether thus, perharps faire goodly shose
Whose beauties passeth as a flowre, and withers like a Rose:
Naie Tom will be a lustie boye, and knowne for credite sake,
Emong the beste that of hye harts, a good a count maie make.
Why Court makes not but a fewe, and those I saie are thei,
That holds wt Hare, and hunts with hound, & goes with game a wey
If that but fewe in Court doe thriue, why doe sutche nombers flock,
Where fortune borrows all thei haue, and paies them with a mocke.
If ten within one Princes raigne, the Court doeth well aduaunce,
Ten score comes home by weping crosse, or finds but croked chance:
A yere or twoo might well suffice, to trie what grace will growe,
A longer tyme but breeds an ebbe, where Fortunes flood should flow.
To tarry till our tyme ronnes out, that none can call againe,
Is losse of wealthe, and spoile of witt, and breake of slepe and braine:
Some happly for thy shape or sence, in Court maie make the staie,
But bite not at those baited hookes, whose net fine fishe betraie.
Some offers helpe that lou's greate trains, and would be waited on,
Sutche feede themselfs with newe consaits, when old deuice is gon:
And leads poore yonglyngs like the lambs, yt must go suck the eawes
Seeke not in Court for suche fine frends, but shrine suche saincts for shreaus.
Some neither tells what thei will doe, nor will doe aught at all,
Yet giueth hope to haplesse men, and so letts fauour fall:
Emong them catche it who that can, as good take smoke from fire,
(Or shadowe from the shinyng Sonne,) as by that waie aspire.
Some are not to be spoken with, but those haue cunnyng shifts,
To driue out tyme, and lengthen suits, with long delaies and drifts:
Some speake thee faire to sucke out sapp, frō goodly blouming tree,
So traps the sillie hongrie Mouse, whose haste no harmes can see.
When thou hast spied these sorts of men, and found muche labor lost,
Why dost thou by thy courtyng thus, with suche great charge & cost:
I aske where many are vndoen, why doe the rest repaire,
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Nor common plot to feede vpon, if nagge be leane before,
Court rather is a presious place, that still maintaines the store.
A priuate soile to fatte a fewe, that happ hath hedged in,
A ground for those that from their birthe, hath alwaies happie bin:
The greatest nomber haue great skoupe, and roulm enough at will,
Where thei maie grosly pike vp cromes, or feede on grasse their fill.
A dishe and daintie of the Court, no meate for mowers is,
Then why to court doeth come suche preace, I praie you tel me this:
Greate nombers haue been spoiled there, and fewe in deede prefard,
But suche as worlde thought best vpon, and Gods thē selues regard.
Full fortie yeres by tourne and tymes, the Court I haunted haue,
And still in hope of doyng well, I thought desarts should craue:
Now wrote I Rimes, then made I bokes, then song before the best
Made plaies in peace, and for the warres, a soldiour ready prest.
In eury Prograsse nere the Prince, with some newe odde deuice,
A merrie Christmas man at home, not stately, strange, nor nice:
But glad to please and purchace freends, and yet for all these things,
My bells are of, and I abroad, maie flie if I had wings:
O gallants gaie when your ritche robes, begins to change their hue,
The Court will hang the hed a side, and bidde you all adue.
Youth lasts not long, age sone decaies, and goes like candell out,
To fall of leafe eche fruite shall yeeld, that earst in spring did sprout:
But as newe parts and plaiers still, stepps vp vpon the stage,
So gallants to the Court will come, and did in eury age.
But I mutche muse, why people swarme, where suretie is vnsound,
And few are helpt, & thousadns haue, muche sharpe misfortune found.
FINIS.
| A pleasaunte Laborinth called Churchyardes Chance | |