University of Virginia Library

His last wyll and Testament.

In Jove his mighty name, this eight and twentith day,
Of frosted bearded Januar, the enemy to May:
Since Adam was create, five thousand yeeres I gesse,
Five hundreth, forty more and five, as stories do expresse.
I being whole of minde, (immortall Gods have praise)
Though in my body languishing with panges of paine alwayes,
Do thus ordaine my wyll which long in woes have wepte,
Beseeching mine executours to see it duely kept.
Fyrst I bequeath my soule on Charons boate to tende,
Untill thy life (my love) at last may light on luckye ende,
That there it may awaite, to wayte upon thy ghost,
Whē thou hast quite & clene forgot what pranks now please thee most.
So shall it well be seene whose love is like to mine:
For so I meane to trye my truth, and there tyll then to pine.
My body be enbalmde, and cloased up in chest,
With oyntments and with spiceries of every sweete the best:
And so preserved styll untill the day do come,
That death divorce my love from life, & trusse hir up in tombe.
Then I bequeath my corps to couche beneathe hir bones,
And there to feede the greedy wormes that linger for the nones.
To frette uppon her fleshe, which is to fine therefore,
This service may it doe hir yet, although it do no more.
My heart (as heretofore) I must bequeathe to Care,
And God he knowes, I thinke the gift to simple for his share.
But that he may perceive, I meane to pay my dew,
I will it shall be taken quicke, and borne him bleeding new,
As for my funerals, I leave that toye at large,
To be as mine executours wyll give thereto in charge.
Yet if my goodes will stretche unto my strange device,
Then let this order be observ'd, mine heyre shall pay the price:
First let the torche bearers be wrapte in weedes of woe,
Let all their lightes be virgin waxe, because I lov'de it so.
And care not though the twist be course that lends them light,
If fansie fume, & freewil flame, then must they needs burn bright.
Next them let come the quier, with psalmes and dolefull song,
Recording all my rough repulse and wraying all my wrong.
And when the deskant singes, in treeble tunes above,
Then let fa burden say, (by lowe) I liv'd and dyde for love:
About my heavy hearse, some mourners would I have,
Who migh[t] the same accompany and stand about the grave,
But let them be such men, as maye confesse with me,
How contrary the lots of love, to all true lovers bee.
Let Patience be the Priest, the Clarke be Close conceipt,
The Sextin be Simplicitie, which meaneth no disceipt.
Let almes of Love be delt, even at the Chaunsell doore,
And feede them there with freshe delayes, as I have bene of yore:
Then let the yongest sort, be set to ring Loves Bels,
And pay Repentance for their paines, but give thē nothing else,
Thus when the Dirge is done, let every man depart,
And learne by me what harme it is to have a faithfull hart.
Those litle landes I have, mine heyre must needes possesse,
His name is Lust, the landes be losse, few lovers scape with lesse.
The rest of all my goodes, which I not here rehearse,
Give learned Poets for their paines, to decke my Tombe with verse:
And let them write these wordes upon my carefull chest,
Lo here he lies, that was as true (in love) as is the best.
Alas I had forgot the Parsons dewe to paye,
And so my soule in Purgatorye, might remaine alway.
Then for my privie Tythes, as kysses caught by stealth,
Sweete collinges & such other knackes as multiplied my wealth:
I give the Vickar here, to please his greedie wyll,
A deintie dishe of suger soppes, but saust with sorrow stil:
And twise a weeke at least, let dight them for his dishe,
On Fridayes and on wednesdaies, to save expence of fishe.
Nowe have I much bequeathed and litle left behinde,
And others mo must yet be served or else I were unkinde.
Wet eyes and wayling wordes, Executours I make,
And for their paines ten pound of teares let either of them take.
Let sorrow at the last my Supravisor be,
And stedfastnesse my surest steade, I give him for his fee.
Yet in his pattent place this Sentence of proviso,
That he which loveth stedfastly, shall want no sauce of sorrow.
Thus now I make an ende, of this my wearie wyll,
And signe it with my simple hand, and set my seale there tyll.
And you which reade my wordes, although they be in rime,
Yet reason may perswade you eke, Thus lovers dote sometime.