A pleasaunte Laborinth called Churchyardes Chance ::

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]

Churchyard, Thomas (1520?-1604)

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My Ladie of Lennoyes graces Epitaphe.

An Epitaphe of sir Nicholas Bacon Knight, late Lorde Keeper.

Sir Hugh Pauletts Epitaphe.

Sir VVillyam Courtneis Epitaphe.

Sir VVillyam Pickryngrs Epitaphe.

Maister Hampdens Epitaphe.

My Ladie Baggnalles Epitaphe who died at the Nuerie.

An Epitaphe of one maistres Blunt, The Ladie Pauletts sister.

Maister VValter Archer his Epitaphe, an auncient Borgis of Kilkenie

The Lorde Braies Epitaphe.

Sir Jhon Constables Epitaphe.

The phantasticall Monarkes Epitaphe.

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Of the fickle faithe of men.

Of a Flatterer and a Backbiter.

A good description of a freende.

A warnyng from Courte.

Of a Courtiers life, and how the worst sorte findes beste Fortune.

Of woordes spoken by a greate personage.

A description of Desire.

Of a vicious woman.

Of vnsounde freendes.

A matter of fonde Cupid, and vain Venus.

This showes the vanitie of some hopes.

The meetyng of twoo noble knightes of the Garter (sir Henry Sidney, and the Erle of Essex) in Irelande, twoo miles beyond Dradath the xxj, of September, and 17 yere in the raigne of our souerain ladie Quene Elizabeth.

Of my Lorde cheef Baron that was.

Of a noble personage.

A letter in Maie, sent to Maister Henry Knowles house at Gobbyns.

Of the want of will.

Of twoo vertuous sisters.

Translated out of Latine.

A discription of the goodnesse that growes in Cicilia.

A matter of repulce, goyng to the Sea.

Of one that for vertues sake honored a freend.

VVritten from the Countrey twentie yere agoe, to one that poorely remaines at the Courte yet.

Of an iniurie by faunyng freendes.

Of the quietnesse that plaine Countrey bryngeth.

Of a fearfull Dreame.

Of a harde worlde.

Made against Idell and vain Rimes.

Of the vanitie of youth.

VVritten of a gentleman, whose name is in the verses.

Non est fides super terram.

Of a disdainfull persone.

A letter to maister Cressie.

A speciall trifle on a fickle woman.

Uerses written on the Muster that was made by the Pensioners before the Queene.

VVritten of the Queene, when her highnesse was in trouble.

Verses giuen the Quenes highnesse at windsor.

A Newe yeres gift to the Erle of Ormond, giuen at Kilkennie, when the Erle of Essex was in Irelande.

A touche stone to trie an error from a trothe.

For the losse of a mightie and noble mannes fauour.

Verses that were giuen to the Quenes maiestie.

A rebuke to vaine louers.

Of fained frendshippe.

Uerses that weare giuen to a moste mightie personage.

The louers of the worlde.

Of a noble mynde.

Of doubtfull hope.

Of the flantyng worlde.

Of a fantasticall dreame taken out of Petrarke.

A fancie as an answere to that dreame.

A fantasie on fifteene woordes, endyng all in one letter.

Of the strong and the weake.

Of Youth and Age.

Of the short estate of man.

The praise of mistres Mabell Browne, wherein vertue is honoured.

Of wandryng and gaddyng abroad.

Of faire thynges and foule, where in a vertuous Ladie is sette out.

Of an enemie.

VVritten in the beginnyng of Kyng Edwardes raigne, whiche verses are called Dauie Dicars Dreame.

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Sir VVillyam Courtneis Epitaphe.

By death eche life is knowen, as darkenesse tries out light,
By life is man made like the Gods, where life is ledde a right.
Whiles Courtneis life did laste, his glorie hid remainde:
But now he hath sutche rare renowne, as fewe or none attainde.
The worlde setts forthe his fame, in sutche a liuely sorte:
That to the Angells eares aboue, is blowen thereof reporte.

Whiche newes is lickte so well, the heauens holde them bleste:
Whē God shall bid vnlocke the gates, embrace this newe come gest.
But though the heauens ioye, the yearth with teares is filde:
And kinde hath cause to curse her self, that suche a tree hath spilde.
By sicknesse sent in spight, to spoile the spraise and all:
And made grene leaues forsake their bowes, ere fruit wer ripe to fall.
Me thinke I heare hym saie, would God had been my chance:
To hitte on death in open feeld, by chardge of enemies Lance.
Lament ye Courtlike Lordes, a plaie feere loste you haue:
Sende forthe some sighes a long the seas, to sobb vpon his graue.
That buried is at Hawne, with warlike pompe and shotte:
Whiche range his knell as is the gise, alas to sone God wotte.
Well, worthie goe thy waie, how many of thy name:
Are lefte behinde to tread thy stepps, and winne but halfe thy fame.
How should sutche gifts be graft, without some power deuine:
Sutche vertues dwell in one mans breast, as harbred were in thine.
A Courtney by thy name, a Courtier kindly borne:
A perfite peece not painted out, a coine vnclippte or worne.
One of so right a stampe, that streight did currant passe.
In euery place of his repaire, where sondrie golds were glasse.
His face bewraied at first, what hope of hym to haue:
His works performde that tonge brought forth, his hand full largely gaue.
A hedde that ofte had paste, dame Prudens mustere books:
A countnance as his courage was, no forsed Lyons looks.
A harte, storehouse of trothe, a minde no ire might moue:
An eare that watcht for well coucht words, a grace that gatt mutche loue.
His liberall Nature shewed, full ofte to eche degree:
Where bountie wants (set birthe a side,) ye can not noble bee.
Now better kisse his steppes, then at his praise to kicke:
Well maie men roue about his marke, but none shall hit the pricke.
What mournyng makes his wife, that sutche a housbande loste:
His babes, his men, his neighbours eke, and all the Westerne coste.
Well geasts, your Hoste is gone, turne horse an other waie:
The shrine is robbde, the saincte is fled, where ye were wont to staie.
The sacred godds receiue, emong them where thei are:
With as muche mirth as maie be made) the sprite ye Courtney bare.

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

Sir VVillyam Courtneis Epitaphe.