A prayse and reporte of Maister Martyne Forboishers voyage to Meta Incognita (A name given by a mightie and most great personage) in which praise and reporte is written divers discourses never published by any man as yet. Now spoken of by Thomas Churchyarde, and dedicated to the right honorable M. Secretarie Wilson, one of the Queenes Maiesties most honorable Priuie Counsell |
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 | A prayse and reporte of Maister Martyne Forboishers voyage to Meta Incognita |  |
The partyng of frendes.
With shaking hands & heauy hart, true frends their leaue do takeAnd one the other wisheth well, and some for frendships sake,
Shed teares good store, & sadly sighes: whē they frō frends depart.
[illeg.] lippe of loue, a solemne {shoe}, a profe of frendly hart,
Who bydes at home, doth way abroad, what perills men do passe:
And knowes the course of mortall life, is like a running Glasse
That neuer rests, but still holds on, his houres as clock and chyme,
Whose minets tels vs pilgrimes all, we waste and weare with tyme,
And such as way in Balance well the woe that trau'lars finde,
Bids frends fare well as oft as cause, can call the man to mynde.
Yea when some sit at Bankets sweet, and taste on daintie fare,
They think on euery hongry meall, they feele that feedes on care.
Than with they part of each good dishe, amids the hands of those,
That in strange lands, ful far from home: for countreis profit goes.
The wife that wāts the husbāds vieue: bursts out in blubbring stil,
The children finde a sudain chaunge: of Fathers warme good will.
The neighbours soen can misse their frend: & all the Parish throw,
At Church or market in some sort: will talke of trau'lar now.
But those that bear vnfained loue: are neuer well at eas,
Vntill they hear how hee hath sped: that wanders Land and Seas.
And where two mindes are knit in one and bodies sondred bee,
The lampe of loue with liuely Oyll still feedes the blase you see.
So God and all good lucke they say: be with my fellow than,
But if that none of these good signes: be freely found in man.
And that thei part with poultīg looks: that loues like clouds in ayr,
(which with black stormes hath clean orecast: the pleasant weather fair.)
Be sure that scorne and deep disdain: in hatefull brest is hid
And weery world or wyly wit, would of a mate be rid.
Then churlish chat, and crabbed spech: like thonder bolt in flyes
Strikes doune good men, teares vp renoume: & ratleth throwe the skies
A monster to good nature sure: a worme to kernell sweet,
O lothsome birdes that hatcheth hate: O Snakish Serpents brood,
To wicked humours giuing place: and hath no noble mood.
To bid adue to wandring wights: that bids farewell God wot,
To all the earth, and seekes in Seas, Sometymes a luckles lot.
Well frends for that my hart is free to wish and thinke you well,
My tongue is Trumpet of your fame: my pen like Latuir bell,
Shal sound your prais & salue the sores, that sle Malbouche shal make
A clapping mill that grinds bad grain, & doth good corne forsake
Farewell deer frends from deepth of brest: could seas and I agree
In such old gyes of shaking hands, you should not part from mee
I stay to put their woorkes in Print: whose merites claym reward.
And forto make my fortune mend, would haue my frends prefard.
quoth Tho. Churchyard. Gent.
FINIS.
| A prayse and reporte of Maister Martyne Forboishers voyage to Meta Incognita | |