The Arbor of Amitie wherin is comprised pleasant Pohems and pretie Poesies, set foorth by Thomas Howell |
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Being betweene two doubtes, he taketh aduisement.
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 | The Arbor of Amitie |  |
Being betweene two doubtes, he taketh aduisement.
My pen now plie thy pase,thy maisters paines to paint:
For hart now set in doubtfull case,
begins to fall and faint.
Now wyt declare thy might,
now hands and learning shoe:
What best for me a wofull wight,
that weepes and wayles in woe.
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than clime and take no holde:
And rashly graunt by deadly lure,
vnto hir loue so colde.
For where two mindes are matchte,
and thone no loue will beare:
There is nought else but sorrowes hatcht,
Thy restlesse life to weare.
What vailes the glittring Golde,
when loue is forcde to flee:
And match with hir that others holde,
and nought regardeth thee.
And she thy eyes so blacks,
by wile of subtile kinde:
That though thou see hir craftie knacks,
yet will she make thee blinde.
Though thousands thou possest,
and harte doth holde in hate:
All shall decay by wretchednesse,
for yll will breedeth bate.
But where as loue remaines,
and discord put to flight:
There springs the fount of ioyes and gaines,
and concord stands in might.
There is the Paradise,
and Pallace eke of peace:
Where things but small of simple prise,
to valoures great encrease.
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a wretch in daungerous doubt:
I see that death before mine eie,
hath siedgde me round about.
For hart that loues me best,
I cannot loue againe:
And she who causeth mine vnrest,
considereth not my paine.
Loe howe can I escape?
Alas what remedie:
The Gods haue sure, sworne my mishap,
betweene these golfes to die.
To bruse my baned bones,
betwixt these raging rocks:
In doubt of life I make my mones,
and beare the cruell strokes.
But hart thy selfe content,
to frie and freese a while:
Though fickle fate be froward bent,
yet fortune once maye smile.
| The Arbor of Amitie | |