University of Virginia Library

Churchyardes farewell from the Courte, the seconde yere of the Queenes Maiesties raigne.

Though Fortune casts me at her heele,
And lifts you vp vpon her wheele:
You ought not ioye in my ill happe,
Nor at my harms, your hands to clapp.
For calmes maie come, and skies maie cleare,
And I maie chaunge, this mournyng cheare:
To gladsome thoughts, and merrie looks,
Although you fishe, with golden hooks.
And make the worlde, bite at your baits,
And feede your selues, with sweete consaits:
Myne anglyng maie, at length amende,
My rodde it can, bothe bowe and bende.
As causes falls, for my behoofe,
I leaue you Courtiers in your ruffe:
I will goe liue, with plainer menne,
And vse my booke, and plie my penne.
Perhapps that I, asmutche haue seen,
As thei that braues, it on the Spleen:
Where Cannon roard, and Dromme did sounde,
I did not learne, to daunce a rounde:
And vaunte I maie, my happe the woorse,
I haue with many, a threede bare pursse.
Been glad to serue, in Countries cause,
When you at home, were pickyng strawes:
Since you did spite, my doynges all,
And tosse from me, the tennis ball.
By woords and woorks, and priuie nipps,
A man maie saie, beshrewe your lipps:
And vse a kinde, of ridyng Rime,
To sutche as wooll, not let me clime.
Where euery one, would Apples sheake,
Though at the hiest, the bowes are weake:
The Crowe bilds there, full saffe ye wotte,
And neare the topp, the fruite is gotte:
Well I full lowe, must beare my sailes,
In climyng often, footyng failes.
Watche you the ball, at first rebounde,
So I maie stande, on euen grounde:
And plaie at pleasure, when I please,
I am not greeued at your ease.
Although that you, with shiftyng braine,
Doe reape the profite of my paine:
And thrusts your hedds, tweene hap and me,
Whose hands doe plucke, the barke from tree.
So greate and greedie is your gripe,
You eate the fruite, ere it be ripe:
And none maie feede, but you a lone,
You can not spare, a dogge a bone.
Ye cleaue together, so like Burres,
Perhapps in winnyng of the Spurres:
You maie the horse, and saddle lose,
When that her hedde, whose vertue flowes.
Shall see the deepnesse of your sleight,
And sette your crooked dealyngs streight:
And all your painted sheathes espie,
And waie what stuffe, in shadowes lye.
Thinke you she smiles not once a daie,
To see how many vices plaie:
Uppon the stage, where matter lacks,
You doe no soner tourne your backs,
But greater laughying riseth there,
Then at the baityng of a Beare:
Me thinke you chuse, your shopp not well,
In Court your follies for to sell.
That shopp stands full, within the winde,
Or els so muche in peoples minde:
That if one fault be in your ware,
Tenne thousande eyes, thereon doe stare.
And when thei finde, a counterfeite,
Or see, fine Merchaunts vse a deseite:
Thei crie a loude, wee smell a Ratte,
Some haue more witte, within their hatte.
Then in their hedde, that sells suche stuffe,
Well euery man, vnto his ruffe:
And I into, my coate of Frees,
For I in Courte, can hiue no Bees:
The Honie there, is bought so deare,
I were as good, with countrey cheare.
Sitte free in mynde, and farre from stats,
And daiely matche, me with my mats:
As waite emong, the hautie breede,
Whose humourss are, full hard to feede.
Where small is wonne, and mutche is spent,
And needlesse hands, doe stoppe the vent:
That well might serue, a thousands tourne,
Tushe at the pricke, to kicke and spourne.
I should but hurte, my shinnes ye knowe,
From Court to Countrey will I goe:
With mutche ill happ, and losse with all,
Now maie my boule, to byas fall.
In alleys smothe, where it maie ronne,
I see in Court, shines not the Sonne:
But on a fewe, that Fortune liks,
And there a man, shall passe the Piks.
Care he maie purchace that he craues,
As one doeth poole, an other shaues:
And marquesotts, the beard full trimme,
Yet nothyng runneth ore the brimme.
Till pursse be full, and then perhapps,
When strings doe breake, there falles some strapps:
Into your hands, watche that who liste,
A birde is better sure in fiste.
Then flue in feeld, keepe that thou haste,
Where wealth and witte, and tyme doeth waste:
Looke not to dwell, what drawes thee there,
But gaine or glorie, loue, or feare.
If gaine to Courte, doeth make thee goe,
Thou art no freend, but flatteryng foe:
That daiely seeks, thy self to helpe,
And couchest like the faunyng whelpe.
Till Prince hath filde, thy purse with pence,
And then sim subtill getts hym thence:
If thou in Courte, for glorie iette,
As vizard vaunseth in a nette:
The worlde shall thee, rewarde with praise,
Was neuer Courtier in our daies.
So braue as he, then will thei saie,
And all not worthe, a trusse of haye:
At home thy loue, as well is seen,
And better, then in Courte I wene.
If like a subiecte, there thou liue,
And often good example giue:
To suche as stands thereof in neede,
If feare drawe thee, to Courte in deede.
The Prince can finde sutche quakyng soals,
She knowes whose harte is full of hoals:
And seeth what lucks in hollowe stocks,
And treads vpon sutche tremblyng blocks.
From sutche is bounties larges bard,
And then is bountie laced hard:
From suche the well hedde stopped is,
A volume could I write of this.
As large as any Chequer rowle,
But I the plaine, and sellie soule:
Must thinke and wishe the beste I maie,
And little of these matters saie.
Yet he that stands, and giueth ame,
Maie iudge what shott doeth lose the game:
What shooter beats the marke in vaine,
Who shooteth faire, who shooteth plaine.
At little hoales, the daie is seen,
Some in this cace, maie ouer ween:
And thinke thei see in Milstones farre.
And take a Candle for a Starre.
Passe ore sutche toyes, and aunswere me,
What cause hast thou in Court to be:
If gaine ne glorie, feare nor loue,
To Courtyng doeth thy fancie moue.
What drawes thee thether hedlong now,
Giue eare, and I shall shewe thee how:
Thei sitte and stare in Courte some while,
Yea on the other doeth beguile.
With fairest semblaunce that is sure,
And euery craft, is put in vre:
To snatche or compasse that thei seeke,
Although it be not worthe a Leeke.
The finest hedds, haue furthest fatche,
The deepest sight, doeth neerest watche:
To trapp the vpright meanyng man,
And eche one doeth the beste he can.
To helpe hym self, by others harme,
These Courtiers haue so fine a charme:
I graunt there is honour wonne,
And thether ought the subiects ronne.
To shewe their dueties by some meane,
But why haue some consumed cleane:
Their liues and lands in this desire,
Ye knowe a man maie loue the fire.
Full well, and leape not in the flame,
Some thinke thei winne a goodly name:
When thei at home are Courtiers calde,
It is full gaie, if he be stalde.
An almes knight ere that all begon,
His happ is hard, that hopes thereon:
Yet sith I fauour Courtyng well,
Would God I had more lands to sell.
To be at their commaundement still,
If that a man haue their good will:
He hath enough, what needeth more,
Old ladds maie shifte vpon the score.
And let their garments ly and sweate,
Or with their Ostes woorke a feate:
To sette the horse in stable free.
But now the wiues so hongrie bee.
And housbands looke so nere their gaine,
A man as sone on Salsbrie plaine:
Shall haue a cheate, as by that trade,
The daie hath bin, who could with blade.
And Buckler square it in the streets,
Had bin a minion fine for sheets:
But now the pence doe make the place,
And worlde is in an other cace.
Well let the matter passe a while,
And heare my tale, but doe not smile:
I hapt in Courte (as newe Brome maie,
That sweepeth trimely for a daie.)
To be desierd to plaie and syng,
And was full glad in euery thyng:
To please the Lordes, and lordely sorte,
For that ye knowe with chaunge of sporte.
These Courtiars humours should be fedde,
And glad I was to bende my hedde:
And be at becke when thei did call,
In hope that somme good happ would fall.
To me for that apt will of myne,
Although my doyngs were not fine:
A Tabber with a Pipe full loude,
To better noyse is but a cloude.)
Well as the Hackney is desierd,
And ridden till the Iade betierd:
I did continewe long me thought,
And still I spent the small I brought.
And neuer got I one denere,
Then thought I to beginne the yere:
On Newe yeres daie with some deuice,
And though that many men be nice.
And blushe to make an honest shifte,
I sent eche Lorde a Newe yeres gifte:
Suche treasure as I had that tyme,
A laughyng verse, a merrie ryme.
Some thinke this is a crauyng guise,
Tushe holde your peace, world waxeth wise
A dulled horse that will not sturre,
Must be remembred with a spurre:
And where there serues ne spurre nor wand,
A man must needs lead horse in hande.
So I was forste on causes greate,
To see in fire where laye the heate:
And warme their witts that cold did waxe,
But thrust the fire into the Flax:
It will not burne if flaxe be wette,
The fishe these daies can shonne the nette.
And hide them in the weeds full ofte,
Thou knowest that waxe is tempered softe:
Against the fire, so frosen minds,
Must be assaied by many kinds.
To bryng them to a kindely thawe,
Who thrusts a candle in the strawe:
Shall make a blase, and raise a smoke,
An honest meane there is by cloke.
To sturre the noble harts from sleepe,
Whose coffers, custome makes to keepe:
Faste lockt, that should be opened wide,
To helpe the poore at euery tide.
Thei saie that knewe our elders well,
That often tymes thei hard them tell:
That larges linketh loue full faste,
And hardnesse loseth harts at laste.
And honour leanes on liberall waies,
And fame and honour nere decaies:
Till hoorde in horie mucke doeth holde,
The free and worthie vse of golde.
Oh sentence hye of Fathers wise,
I sweare by all the gods in Skies:
These woords deserue immortall fame,
And nothyng is so mutche to blame.
As pintchyng hands that should be franke,
Admit the taker yeelds no thanke:
To hym that giues, the gifte doeth binde,
Eche vertuous man and honest minde.
As captiue in all good respects,
To be a freende in full effects:
As farre as powre maie stretche vnto,
And thei that haue in warres to doo.
Can saie, what bountie bryngs about,
Where that is not, the fire goeth out:
And dyes as coale to ashes falls,
As Fouler taks the birde by calls.
In strawyng corne and chaffe by heapes,
So bountie as a sickle reapes:
The harts and all within the brest,
No perfect loue can be possest.
Where francknesse makes no place before,
Though force of earnest loue is more:
And looks not on the gifte a whit,
If man in neede and daunger sit.
And finde their freends bothe cold and drye,
Then loue will shewe a lowryng eve:
And halte with you, as you with hym,
Although that some can cloke it trim.
I tell you loue is easly loste,
If you on loue bestowe no coste:
Thus as before I did rehearse,
I sent eche Lorde a merrie vearse
A iollie libell long and large,
And therein did good will discharge:
But nothyng did retourne to me,
That I could either feele or se.
Saue from a brooke, set penne before,
Ranne dropps of gold, what will ye more:
Thus in this withred age of ours,
The smell is gone from goodly flowrs.
And golden worlde is tournd to brasse,
Or hardnesse dwells where bountie was:
There is no waie to gaine nor saue,
Then learne to keepe the thyngs we haue.
For he that wants shall hardly gette,
Except he fishe with finer nette:
Then either rime or reason knitts,
This worlde yeelds not to pleasaunt witts,
To basest mynds sometymes it bends,
For all the happs blinde Fortune sends:
Doeth light on those she fauours mitche,
Some man you see can nere be ritche.
Though twentie yere he toyle and tosse,
For he is borne to liue by losse:
And some that neuer taketh paine,
In worldly wealthe doeth still remaine.
Ne Court nor Countrey seru's some man,
To thriue in, doe the best he can:
Then finde thou faut with none of bothe,
With blinde affection eche thyng gothe.
Happ lyes not in mans ronnyng still,
Nor Fortune follows finest skill:
Nor he doeth not the wager win,
That in the race hath formoste bin.
In Iudges mouthe the sentence lyes,
So whether men doeth fall or ryes:
Looke vp to hym that ruels the Skies,
The ritche the poore, the foole the wise.
And thei shall finde my woords are true,
Thus for a while, now Courte adue.