[The Courte of Vertu contaynynge many holy songes, Sonettes, psalmes and ballettes] [by John Hall] |
A complaint against euel tunges |
[The Courte of Vertu | ||
A complaint against euel tunges
Well
may the wyse deteste
The frutes of tongues vntrue:
Whiche neuer cease but styll prouyde
Their malyce to renewe
The frutes of tongues vntrue:
Whiche neuer cease but styll prouyde
Their malyce to renewe
[96]
There is no tyme nor place,
That may them ones refrayne,
No vertuous mynde nor exercise,
That may their vice restrayne.
That may them ones refrayne,
No vertuous mynde nor exercise,
That may their vice restrayne.
To sclaunder and detract
And blab the same about:
A wycked thyng when they conceyue,
They streyght waye put it out.
And blab the same about:
A wycked thyng when they conceyue,
They streyght waye put it out.
As Socrates hath sayd,
No worse thyng can be found,
Then wycked tongues, from whō deceyt
And falshode doth redound.
No worse thyng can be found,
Then wycked tongues, from whō deceyt
And falshode doth redound.
What wyckednes is there,
That maye compared bee:
Unto the false and fylthy tongue,
In any one degree?
That maye compared bee:
Unto the false and fylthy tongue,
In any one degree?
For where all other hurtes
By death are vanquisht quite:
Euen after death the wycked tongues
Doo vtter theyr despite?
By death are vanquisht quite:
Euen after death the wycked tongues
Doo vtter theyr despite?
Whych causeth me to thynke
As Chilon dyd yer whyle:
No sworde that cutteth halfe so kene,
As wycked tongues and vyle.
As Chilon dyd yer whyle:
No sworde that cutteth halfe so kene,
As wycked tongues and vyle.
Of which most wycked vyce,
I neuer yet could fynd:
Not halfe so muche in any wyght,
As in the female kynde.
I neuer yet could fynd:
Not halfe so muche in any wyght,
As in the female kynde.
97
In whom it doth abounde,
With detestable rage:
That no deuice nor yet constraynte
May cause it to aswage.
With detestable rage:
That no deuice nor yet constraynte
May cause it to aswage.
O detestable tongues,
O fylthy sinkes of hell,
O wycked vyce whose hatefulnes
All other doth excell.
O fylthy sinkes of hell,
O wycked vyce whose hatefulnes
All other doth excell.
Ryght aptly was it calde,
A world of wickednes:
Syth nothyng in this lyfe so muche
Doth innocentes oppres.
A world of wickednes:
Syth nothyng in this lyfe so muche
Doth innocentes oppres.
By paynfull profe I founde
Suche frute, that wrought me wo:
For wycked tongues haue caused me
My playnt to vtter so.
Suche frute, that wrought me wo:
For wycked tongues haue caused me
My playnt to vtter so.
Do me not blame therefore,
That I on them complayne:
The simple worme when ye him treade,
Wyll turne his tayle agayne.
That I on them complayne:
The simple worme when ye him treade,
Wyll turne his tayle agayne.
[The Courte of Vertu | ||