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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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Of a noble mynde.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


35

Of a noble mynde.

The noble minde that scornes to stoupe, at base and wretched things,
As quicke as thought, mountes vp the Skies, with swifte aspiryng wings:
Not lookyng doune, to dedde delits, that drounds the witts in drosse,
(And carries weake and simple brains, about with mucke and mosse.)
But bearyng harte and hedde so hie, as iudgement well maie goe,
The hautie sprit climes through the clouds, & leau's vain world beloe
I meane the manly courage greate, that stoutly striues for state,
Disdains the doltishe donghill Kites, and flies the Fancons greate.
And commyng once to mountain topp, from whence men se the vale,
A loft it keepes like gallant Barke, that hath a bouncyng gale:
Then clap on cloutes and sea roume seeke, adue the doubtfull shore,
In shallowe streame, or riuers small, we harbour ship no more.
To loftie seas whose wawes do worke, with eche small wind ye bloes
Set course and Barke, that Pilotes sage, maie se how fortune goes:
The minde is base that diggs and delues, where Deastnie scorns to dwel
In highest soiles are heauēs sought, on earth is nought but hel.
Who holds doune hed & hangs the groine, a cowards hart he bears,
He dares not looke on shinyng Sonne, that eury shadowe fears:
His combe is cutte his courage gon, that droupes or takes disgrace,
The medson for a greate mischaunce, is merrie chearfull face.
The swetest nutts and fairest fruites, from topps of trees we take,
On highest rocks or stately bowes, gaie birds their neasts thei make
And nere the ground tame dawes do breed, & simple doues you finde,
The carrain Crowe flies here beloe, when hauke doeth soer ye winde,
Wherefore let noble mindes alone, their course doeth passe our skill:
Their harts are fild with pleasant hops, that feeds their fancies still.
FINIS.