 | The Complete Works of George Gascoigne |  |
The Reporter.
To tell a tale without authoritye,
Or fayne a Fable by invencion,
That one proceedes of quicke capacitye,
That other proves but small discretion,
Yet have both one and other oft bene done.
And if I were a Poet as some be,
You might perhappes here some such tale of me.
Or fayne a Fable by invencion,
That one proceedes of quicke capacitye,
That other proves but small discretion,
Yet have both one and other oft bene done.
And if I were a Poet as some be,
You might perhappes here some such tale of me.
But far I fynde my feeble skyll to faynt,
To faine in figurs as the learned can,
And yet my tongue is tyde by due constraint,
To tell nothing but trueth of every man:
I will assay even as I first began,
To tell you nowe a tale and that of truth,
Which I my selfe sawe proved in my youth.
To faine in figurs as the learned can,
And yet my tongue is tyde by due constraint,
To tell nothing but trueth of every man:
I will assay even as I first began,
To tell you nowe a tale and that of truth,
Which I my selfe sawe proved in my youth.
I neede not seeke so farre in costes abrode,
As some men do, which write strange historyes,
For whiles at home I made my cheife abode
And sawe our lovers plaie their Tragedyes,
I found enough which seemed to suffice,
To set on worke farre finer wittes than mine,
In paynting out the pangs which make them pine.
As some men do, which write strange historyes,
For whiles at home I made my cheife abode
And sawe our lovers plaie their Tragedyes,
I found enough which seemed to suffice,
To set on worke farre finer wittes than mine,
In paynting out the pangs which make them pine.
Amongst the rest I most remember one
Which was to me a deere familyar friend,
Whose doting dayes since they be paste and gone,
And his annoye (neare) come unto an ende,
Although he seeme his angry brow to bend,
I wyll be bold (by his leave) for to tell,
The restlesse state wherein he long dyd dwell.
Which was to me a deere familyar friend,
Whose doting dayes since they be paste and gone,
And his annoye (neare) come unto an ende,
Although he seeme his angry brow to bend,
I wyll be bold (by his leave) for to tell,
The restlesse state wherein he long dyd dwell.
97
Learned he was, and that became him best,
For though by birth he came of worthy race,
Yet beutie, byrth, brave personage, and the rest,
In every choyce, must needes give learning place:
And as for him he had so hard a grace,
That by aspect he seemde a simple man,
And yet by learning much renowne he wan.
For though by birth he came of worthy race,
Yet beutie, byrth, brave personage, and the rest,
In every choyce, must needes give learning place:
And as for him he had so hard a grace,
That by aspect he seemde a simple man,
And yet by learning much renowne he wan.
His name I hide, and yet for this discourse,
Let call his name Dan Bartholmew of Bathe,
Since in the ende he thither had recourse,
And (as he sayd) dyd skamble there in skathe:
In deede the rage which wrong him there, was rathe,
As by this tale I thinke your selfe will gesse,
And then (with me) his lothsome lyfe confesse.
Let call his name Dan Bartholmew of Bathe,
Since in the ende he thither had recourse,
And (as he sayd) dyd skamble there in skathe:
In deede the rage which wrong him there, was rathe,
As by this tale I thinke your selfe will gesse,
And then (with me) his lothsome lyfe confesse.
For though he had in all his learned lore,
Both redde good rules to bridle fantasie,
And all good authours taugh[t] him evermore,
To love the meane, and leave extremitie,
Yet kind hath lent him such a qualitie,
That at the last he quite forgat his bookes,
And fastned fansie with the fairest lookes.
Both redde good rules to bridle fantasie,
And all good authours taugh[t] him evermore,
To love the meane, and leave extremitie,
Yet kind hath lent him such a qualitie,
That at the last he quite forgat his bookes,
And fastned fansie with the fairest lookes.
For proofe, when greene youth lept out of his eye,
And left him now a man of middle age,
His happe was yet with wandring lookes to spie,
A fayre yong impe of proper personage,
Eke borne (as he) of honest parentage:
And truth to tell, my skill it cannot serve,
To praise hir bewtie as it dyd deserve.
And left him now a man of middle age,
His happe was yet with wandring lookes to spie,
A fayre yong impe of proper personage,
Eke borne (as he) of honest parentage:
And truth to tell, my skill it cannot serve,
To praise hir bewtie as it dyd deserve.
First for hir head, the heeres were not of Gold,
But of some other metall farre more fine,
Whereof eache crinet seemed to behold,
Like glistring wiers against the Sunne that shine,
And therewithall the blazing of hir eyne,
Was like the beames of Titan, truth to tell,
Which glads us all that in this world do dwell.
But of some other metall farre more fine,
Whereof eache crinet seemed to behold,
Like glistring wiers against the Sunne that shine,
And therewithall the blazing of hir eyne,
Was like the beames of Titan, truth to tell,
Which glads us all that in this world do dwell.
98
Upon hir cheekes the Lillie and the Rose,
Did entremeete, with equall change of hewe,
And in hir giftes no lacke I can suppose,
But that at last (alas) she was untrue,
Which flinging fault, bicause it is not new,
Nor seldome seene in kits of Cressides kind,
I marvaile not, nor beare it much in mind.
Did entremeete, with equall change of hewe,
And in hir giftes no lacke I can suppose,
But that at last (alas) she was untrue,
Which flinging fault, bicause it is not new,
Nor seldome seene in kits of Cressides kind,
I marvaile not, nor beare it much in mind.
Dame Natures fruits, wherewith hir face was fraught,
Were so frost bitten with the cold of craft,
That all (save such as Cupides snares had caught)
Might soone espie the fethers of his shaft:
But Bartholmew his wits had so bedaft,
That all seemd good which might of hir be gotten,
Although it provde no sooner ripe than rotten.
Were so frost bitten with the cold of craft,
That all (save such as Cupides snares had caught)
Might soone espie the fethers of his shaft:
But Bartholmew his wits had so bedaft,
That all seemd good which might of hir be gotten,
Although it provde no sooner ripe than rotten.
That mouth of hirs which seemde to flowe with mell,
In speeche, in voice, in tender touch, in tast,
That dympled chin wherein delight dyd dwell,
That ruddy lippe wherein was pleasure plast,
Those well shapt hands, fine armes and slender wast,
With al the giftes which gave hir any grace,
Were smiling baites which caught fond fooles apace.
In speeche, in voice, in tender touch, in tast,
That dympled chin wherein delight dyd dwell,
That ruddy lippe wherein was pleasure plast,
Those well shapt hands, fine armes and slender wast,
With al the giftes which gave hir any grace,
Were smiling baites which caught fond fooles apace.
Why strive I then to paint hir name with praise?
Since forme and fruites were found so farre unlyke,
Since of hir cage Inconstance kept the keyes,
And Change had cast hir honoure downe in dike:
Since fickle kind in hir the stroke did strike,
I may no prayse unto a knife bequeath,
With rust yfret, though paynted be the sheath.
Since forme and fruites were found so farre unlyke,
Since of hir cage Inconstance kept the keyes,
And Change had cast hir honoure downe in dike:
Since fickle kind in hir the stroke did strike,
I may no prayse unto a knife bequeath,
With rust yfret, though paynted be the sheath.
But since I must a name to hir assigne,
Let call hir now Ferenda Natura,
And if thereat she seeme for to repine,
No force at all, for hereof am I sure a,
That since hir prankes were for the most unpure a,
I can appoint hir well no better name,
Than this where in dame Nature bears the blame.
Let call hir now Ferenda Natura,
And if thereat she seeme for to repine,
No force at all, for hereof am I sure a,
That since hir prankes were for the most unpure a,
I can appoint hir well no better name,
Than this where in dame Nature bears the blame.
99
And thus I say, when Bartholmew had spent
His pride of youth (untide in linkes of love)
Behold how happe contrary to intent,
(Or destenies ordained from above,
From which no wight on earth maye well remove)
Presented to his vew this fierie dame,
To kindle coles where earst had bene no flame.
His pride of youth (untide in linkes of love)
Behold how happe contrary to intent,
(Or destenies ordained from above,
From which no wight on earth maye well remove)
Presented to his vew this fierie dame,
To kindle coles where earst had bene no flame.
Whome when he sawe to shine in seemely grace,
And therewithall gan marke hir tender youth,
He thought not like, that under such a face
She could convey the treason of untruth:
Whereby he vowed (alas the more his ruth)
To serve this saynt for terme of all his life,
Lo here both roote and rind of all his strife.
And therewithall gan marke hir tender youth,
He thought not like, that under such a face
She could convey the treason of untruth:
Whereby he vowed (alas the more his ruth)
To serve this saynt for terme of all his life,
Lo here both roote and rind of all his strife.
I cannot nowe in loving termes displaye
His suite, his service, nor his sorie fare:
His observaunces, nor his queynt aray,
His skalding sighes, nor yet his cooling care,
His wayting still to snatch himselfe in snare,
I can not write what was his sweetest soure,
For I my selfe was never Paramoure.
His suite, his service, nor his sorie fare:
His observaunces, nor his queynt aray,
His skalding sighes, nor yet his cooling care,
His wayting still to snatch himselfe in snare,
I can not write what was his sweetest soure,
For I my selfe was never Paramoure.
But to conclude, much worth in litle writte,
The highest flying hauke will stoupe at laste,
The wildest beast is drawne with hungrye bitte
To eate a homlye bayte some times in hast.
The pricke of kinde can never be unplaste,
And so it seemed by this dayntye dame,
Whome he at last with labour did reclame.
The highest flying hauke will stoupe at laste,
The wildest beast is drawne with hungrye bitte
To eate a homlye bayte some times in hast.
The pricke of kinde can never be unplaste,
And so it seemed by this dayntye dame,
Whome he at last with labour did reclame.
And when he had with mickel payne procured
The calme consent of hir unweldie will,
When he had hir by faith and troth assured,
To like him beste, and aye to love him still,
When fansie had of flatterie fedde his fill,
I not discerne to tell my tale aright,
What man but he had ever such delight?
The calme consent of hir unweldie will,
When he had hir by faith and troth assured,
To like him beste, and aye to love him still,
When fansie had of flatterie fedde his fill,
I not discerne to tell my tale aright,
What man but he had ever such delight?
100
The lingring dayes he spent in trifling toyes,
To whette the tooles which carved his contente:
The poasting nightes he past in pleasing joyes,
Wearing the webbe which love to him had lente:
In such a pinfolde were his pleasures pent
That selde he could hir company eschewe,
Or leave such lookes as might his sport renewe.
To whette the tooles which carved his contente:
The poasting nightes he past in pleasing joyes,
Wearing the webbe which love to him had lente:
In such a pinfolde were his pleasures pent
That selde he could hir company eschewe,
Or leave such lookes as might his sport renewe.
But if by force he forced were to parte,
Then mighte you see howe fansie fedde his minde,
Then all alone he mused on his marte.
All company seemde then (but hirs) unkind:
Then sent he tokens true love for to bind,
Then wrote he letters, lines and loving layes,
So to beguile his absent dolefull dayes.
Then mighte you see howe fansie fedde his minde,
Then all alone he mused on his marte.
All company seemde then (but hirs) unkind:
Then sent he tokens true love for to bind,
Then wrote he letters, lines and loving layes,
So to beguile his absent dolefull dayes.
And since I know as others eake can tell,
What skyll he had, and howe he could endite,
Mee thinkes I cannot better doe than well,
To set downe here, his ditties of delyght,
For so at least I maye my selfe acquite,
And vaunt to shewe some verses yet unknowne,
Well worthy prayse though none of them myne owne.
What skyll he had, and howe he could endite,
Mee thinkes I cannot better doe than well,
To set downe here, his ditties of delyght,
For so at least I maye my selfe acquite,
And vaunt to shewe some verses yet unknowne,
Well worthy prayse though none of them myne owne.
No force for that, take you them as they be,
Since mine emprice is but to make report:
Imagine then, before you that you see
A wight bewitcht in many a subtile sort,
A Lover lodgd in pleasures princely port,
Vaunting in verse what joyes he dyd possesse,
His triumphes here I thinke wyll shewe no lesse.
Since mine emprice is but to make report:
Imagine then, before you that you see
A wight bewitcht in many a subtile sort,
A Lover lodgd in pleasures princely port,
Vaunting in verse what joyes he dyd possesse,
His triumphes here I thinke wyll shewe no lesse.
| The Complete Works of George Gascoigne | |