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TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE Robert Deverevx Earle of Essex and Eire, Vicount of Hereford, Lord Ferrer of Chartley, Borcher and Louaine, Master of the Queenes Maiesties horse, Knight of the noble order of the garter, and one of hir Maiesties honorable priuie Counsell: Thomas Churchyard nisheth increase of all wished honor, happines of life, worlds good will, and euerlasting fame.

AN EVERLASTING MEMORIE OF CHRISTIAN comfort to the Queenes most excellent Maiestie.

O grashous dame, in whose graue iudgment great
The heauens hie, lies open plaine to sight
The earth belowe, takes from thy regall seat
(In darkest daies) his hope and cleerest light.
For at thy feet, a world of woorthies fall
Elizabeth, a monarke to them all.
An Empresse heere, three kingdoms showes vs plaine
On which three realms, our Queen may rightly raine.
O treble Queen, the sweete and highest part
That we like best, and shrillest voice doth sound
The onely meane, to shew deepe musicks art
Where all the skill; of well set song is found.
Grant silly man, a grace that meanes to sing
Of heaunly loue, and of none other thing.
He sings of peace, a song should lull asleepe
The fellest feends, and fearfull bugs below
Peace charms with words, the wolfe that wearies sheep
That neither lambe, nor kid astraie shall goe.
For as the hen, hir chickens keepes from kite
So charitie, doth saue hir children all
From common plagues, and wicked worlds despite

And all the wrath, that from the clouds can fall.
She spreds hir wings, to keepe hir birds from cold
And learns poore chicks, to picke vp graines of gold.
This charitie, so checkles ore hir broode
She scrapes the earth, to make hir yoong ones feed
And freely from, hir selfe doth spare them foode
She takes in hart, such care for those that neede.
If charitie, were not the onely nurse
To nourish vp, each thing that life doth beare
This backward world, would grow from ill to woorse
And brutish folke, would banish loue and feare.
Warme Christian loue, as long as life doth last
Doth bide the shocke, and brunt of eurie blast.
And kindled once, in any princely hart
It burnes and flames, as hot as Æthna hill
Creepes throw the vains, and nerues in euerie part
Cannot be quencht, with water, wit nor skill.
A heaunly grace, maintains a heaunly loue
Each thing diuine, diuinely is set foorth
Planted like rocke, that nothing may remoue
Garnisht like gold, or perle of greatest woorth.
The charitie, I meane is garded so
And for hir faith, through fire and aire may goe.
But what is that, to him that sings a song
Of twenty parts, when he one voice must sound
Presumes to tell, a tale perchance too long

To sacred eares, whose iudgement is profound
Sing hie or lowe, how ere the tune he takes
For one smalliar, the song begins againe
No shift may serue, for concord musicke makes
Most harmonie, consists in pricksong plaine.
Diuision doth, but teare in peeces small
The minnems long, and little crotchets all.
Full softly blowes, a quiet calmie winde
A still milde voice, doth please the hearers well
No note nor ring, so much contents the mind
As solemne sound, of cleere sweet siluer bell.
O that my muse, might get so great a grace
As credit win, throw any sound it shoes
I die to see, one fearfull frowne of face
VVhere these meeke words, and humble verses goes.
Now mirthles song, begin thy new found note
As strange a straine, as any eare hath hard
If world would learne, to sing the same by rote
Good charitie, should grow in more regard.
Play well thy part, so shall the greatest smile
And meanest sort, of force be pleasd the while.
Your Maiesties most humble seruant, Thomas Churchyard.

[VVhat song should please, a sacred princes eares]

VVhat song should please, a sacred princes eares
Which likes no tunes, but musick sweet & sound
Weake were my muse, to offer sighes and teares
Where ioyfull mirth, and gladnes doth abound
But troubled mind, that rowles on restles ground
In sorrow sings, the secrets of the hart
Because sad man, can sing no sweeter part.
O charitie helpe.
Of charitie, that makes a solemne noies
A strange consort, I hope well tunde I bring
Of heauenlie loue, that passeth earthlie Ioies
In formall wise, a true set song I sing
Would God the sound, through al the world might ring
That charitie, which ech one ought to keepe
Might waken now, that long hath laine a sleepe.
O charitie helpe.
Shee hath bin brought, in slumber sundrie waies
With lullabie, as nurse doth rocke hir childe
The cradle gaie, of pleasant nights and daies
With too much ease, hath charitie beguilde
And now God wot, the world is waxt so wilde
That charitie, must needs make ech thing tame
That wilde discord, hath brought cleane out of frame.
O charitie helpe.
Pity and ruth, are fled or banisht quite
And in their place, comes rigor rudelie cled
Godlie remorse, is drownd in worlds delite
Good conshence feares, that charitie is dead
Loue looketh downe, and hate holds vp the head
Troth barelie liues, and tretchrie thriues apace
Deserts doth starue, and meanewell hides his face.
O charitie helpe.

Franknes is blinde, affection dims his sight
Larges is lost, hardnes supplies his place
Wrong runs so swift, it ouer-gallops right
Goodnes limps downe, and halts in many a case
Do well doth droupe, or walks with muffled face
Vertue and vice, now wrastles for a fall
And so the strong, will thrust the weake to wall.
O charitie helpe.
Stoutnes with strength, strikes flat the feeble force
Downe is kept downe, and neuer like to rise
Malice and might, rides both vpon one horse
(Sir Packolets nagge, that gallops through the skies)
Iudgement growes grosse, ore weening wanteth eies
Will is a wagge, waste hath the wager woon
For all the date, of our redresse is done.
O charitie helpe.
Loyaltie weeps, and flattrie laughes and smiles
Goodwill is scornd, and puts vp many a taunt
Pouertie is plagude, or ouermatcht with wiles
Plainnes complaines, but pride bids him auaunt
Crueltie the curre, with crie of hounds will chaunt
But bandog bites, full sore before he barke
And craft the carle, still iuggles in the darke.
O charitie helpe.
Friendship lookes pale, it hath an ague fit
Fauour is faint, and lame it cannot go
Finenes is false, and full of subtill wit
Faith giues faire words, and breaketh promis so
Constancie reeles, and staggers to and fro
Charitie must needs, reforme these follies strange
That by abuse, doth noble nature change.
O charitie helpe.

Dutie doth die, to driue on diuelish drifts
Stubbornes striues, to wrangle for a strawe
Cunning long liues, by cusnage and by shifts
Disorder thriues, with neither rule nor lawe
People growes proud, without true feare or awe
If suffrance see, these prancks and hold his peace
Goodnes decaies, and badnes shall encrease.
O charitie helpe.
If charitie be, the foode or fruite of faith
Where bloomes that tree, where doth those branches bud
True charitie sure, as wisest people saith
Is working still, and euer dooing good
Loue helpes our health, as life maintaines the blood
But where no helpe, nor succour we may finde
There charitie, is almost out of minde.
O charitie helpe.
If through my faith, great mountaines I may moue
And can raise vp, to life the dead from graue
That withred faith, brings foorth no fruite of loue
It gaines no grace, what euer hope I haue
If charitie be, the thing which good men craue
God graunt that I, and all that heares the same
May sing that song, like Sidrack in the flame.
O charitie helpe.
My humble hart, hopes now but for dispatch
Of life that wastes, away like candle blase
The clocke will stricke, in haste I heare the watch
That sounds the bell, whereon the people gase
My forces faile, my wits are in a mase
My corps consumes, my skin and bones doth shew
The soule is glad, the bodie hence shall go.
O charitie helpe.

Truth waited long, on your sweete sacred raigne
To catch some crums, that from your table fals
I sowe in teares, and reaps but bitter paine
That makes sicke soule, lie groning by the wals
Where hands a crosse, for helpe to heauen cals
So sucks vp sighes, and sorrow of the minde
As boyling brest, blowes fast for aire and winde.
O charitie helpe.
My muse doth muse, how labour lost his time
And seruice great, doth get so small regarde
I neuer thriude, by prose nor pleasant rime
Nor could in world, be any way prefard
An open signe, my thankles hap is hard
Yet numbers of, my verie name and race
By prince in court, were cald to woorthie place.
O charitie helpe.
I am the Drone, that bees beats from the hiue
The vglie Oule, that kites and crowes do hate
The drawing oxe, that clounes do daily driue
The haples hinde, that hath the hatefull fate
(That weares all sutes, and seasons out of date)
If destny so, alots men such hard chance
They passe the pikes, that fortune will aduance.
O charitie helpe.
My passage is, like one that rides in post
Through water, fire, and all the hazards heere
And so draws home, a weary grisly ghost
Whose losse of youth, buies loathsome age too deere
Now coms account, of daies, of houres and yeere
My debts are stald, as oft bare bankrouts be
The graue paies all, and sets my bondage free.
O charitie helpe.

The wo of wars, and pride and pompe of peace
The toile of world, and troubles here and there
And churlish checks, of fortune I release
Their heauie crosse, I can no longer beare
In peeces small, my scribbled scrowles I teare
So flinging verse, and bookes before your feet
I craue some crownes, to bie my shrouding sheet.
O charitie helpe.
All hope is gone, of any earthly hap
The axe is come, to giue the falling blow
Downe flies the bowes, the tree hath lost his sap
Vp to the clouds, like smoke the breath shall go
A sillie puffe, of winde ends all this wo
O grashous Queene, then some compassion take
Before my soule, this combrous caue forsake.
O charitie helpe.
If nothing come, of seruice, sute and troth
True man must trudge, and leaue his natiue soile
Abroad the world, to see how fortune goth
In any place, where faith is free from foyle
Heere with vaine hope, my selfe and life I spoile
First lost my youth, so time and all is gone
Age sindes no friends, nor helpe of any one.
O charitie helpe.
Of charitie, a great discourse is made
Vnto an Earle, I honor in this land
It is not hid, nor sits in silent shade
Would God it were, in your faire blessed hand
There lies the notes, as thicke as is the sand
And there I sing, three parts in one at lest
And in sweete sound, true musicke is exprest.
O charitie helpe, or else adue the pen
For I must march, againe with marshall men.
FINIS.

To the generall Readers.

I fought amisse, you finde good Reader heere,
His fault it is, that sings ne sweete nor loud:
When he caught cold, and voice could not be cleere,
Because ech note, is cloked vnder cloud,
He craud no helpe, nor stole from no mans song,
One peece nor part, of musicke any waie:
Ne sembreeffe, breefe, nor yet ne larke nor long,
For he hath skill, in deskant some men saie,
And on the base, can make three parts in one,
And set new songs, when all the old are gone.
Though some beleeue, but hardly that he makes,
These things or that, which seemes far past his reach,
Tush though old head, and hand with paulsie shakes,
Let no ill will, plaine writers pen appeach:
If you do loue, no wrong giue ech man right:
Rob not the iust, of any praise well won,
Way not mens worth, with waights in ballance light,
For truth is truth, when all is saide and don:
You may as well, say white and red is blacke,
And Sun and Moone, are steele and marble stone:
As say or thinke, behinde a writers backe.
He borrowed that, which he claimes as his owne:
O giue men leaue, to father their owne childe:
Let it be foule, or faire as babies are,
A stubborne boye, a cracke-rope tame or wilde,
Begot in haste, and brought vp poore and bare:
How ere they be, blinde, lame, or shapt awrie,
Vglie to sight, bigge, boulchons lowe or hie,
Those yoonglings all, the Dad can not denie,
Are his that sent, those babes abroad to nurse,
(Like orphants weake, that knowes not what to do)
With blessings great, and not with parents curse,
That shortens life, and gets Gods anger to:
Children were woont, to beare their fathers name,
Not one durst say, in earnest iest or skorne,

(To hinder childe, of spotlesse birth and fame)
A lawfull sonne, was but a bastard borne.
Both beast and bird, their yoong ones do defend,
So shall my Muse, maintaine that I haue pend,
Then bring Shores wife, in question now no more,
I set hir foorth, in colours as she goes,
Sir Rafe Bowser a worshipfull knight witnesseth where and when I penned that.
And as she went, like gallant lasse before,
So other gyrls, as gaie and fresh as rose,
With verse haue I, set foorth in sundrie sorts,
As braue as she, what ere disdaine reports,
That humor now, declines for age drawes on,
The full tide is, of fine inuention gon:
Ebbe followes floud, when vitall vaines waxe dead,
Wit weares and wastes, as torch consumes with winde,
When water turnes, drie growes a flowing head:
In age ech thing, decaies by course of kinde:
Yet whiles the oyle, in lampe may make a blaze,
Or candell in, the socket shewes a light,
On sparkling flame, the cleerest eies will gaze,
And comfort finde, thereby in darkest night:
I yeeld to time, that like a sit be cuts cleane,
All that doth grow, in spring or fall of leafe,
And wish in world, my treble were a meane,
That I might sing, to eares that are not deafe,
A note should sinke, as deepe in iugging brest,
As euer yet, in sea did ancker rest:
Songs are but like, as fancies giues them leaue,
Both well and ill, as sounds of trumpets are,
Though Syrens voice, the hearers doth deceaue,
Mine hath no charme, but open plaine and bare,
As I was borne, so speake I English still,
To lose my paines, and win the worlds good will,
No losse so much, as credit crackt with pen,
Nor gaine so great, as loue of honest men.
Fare you well.

The Author to his booke.

Go now plaine booke, where thou maist welcom find,
Walke throw the world, till frinds do thee embrace:
Let foes alone, obay thy masters mind,
For fear nor threat, hide not a fautlesse face.
Win courts good will, the countries loue is gaind,
With wise men stay, from froward wits beware:
At plow and cart, plaine speech is not disdaind:
Sit downe with those, that feeds on hungrie fare,
For they haue time, to note what thou dost saie,
Let gallants go, they will but giue a gibe:
Or take thee vp, and fling thee straight awaie,
Touch not smooth hands, that vse to take a bribe,
They better like, full bags than busie bookes,
Shun from the sight, of glorious peacocks proud:
Their onlie pomp, stands all on statelie lookes,
They glowm and skoull, as tweare a raynie cloud.
Giue babling toongs, good leaue to taunt and talke,
Their taste is gone, they oft take chese for chalke.
Bid scornfull heads, let true-plaint lines alone,
That harmles are, and came from lowlie hart:
Passe not in haste, to people strange vnknowne,
Least iudgment swift, do take on thee the start.
And run beyond, thy reach full many a skore,
Go slowlie foorth, with thanks come quickly howe:
Bring no rebuke, for that nips near and sore,
Twere better far, abroad thou shouldst not rome.
Though thou be blind, yet those that well can see,
If thou offend, will find great fault with mee.
Behaue thy selfe, as mildly as thou maist,
Like messenger, that doth his armd aright:
Thy master must, affirme each thing thou saist.
The darkest word, at length must come to light,
Like pilgrim go, and passe throw perils all,
Take well in worth, what hap doth thee befall.

Returne no more, to me till newes thou bring,
Of praise or thankes, or of some better thing:
If none of these, this waiward world will yeeld,
Trudge from fine towne, flie to the open feild,
Where thou must passe, through thickets full of thorns,
Where pricking briers, and croked brambles grose:
And neuer none, scapt free from scrath or scornes,
Or scratted hands, or tearing of his close.
Where eluish apes, and marmsets mockes and mose,
And thistles are, seen sooner than a rose.
Yea thou shalt come, where nettles are good store,
Whose angrie sting, will blisters raise apace,
Slip from those weedes, and come near them no more:
For fear vnwares, good words do get disgrace.
The goodlie floures, of court thou needs not feare,
For they are sweete, and meeke of nature throw,
There wisedome will, with writers humor beare:
If humbly stil, thou canst behaue thee now,
Thy masters pen, hath purchast fauour there,
Among the Dames, of faire Dianas traine,
Where beautie shines, like siluer drops of raine.
In sunnie day: O booke thou happy art
If with those Nimphes, thou maist be entertaind,
If any one, of them take in good part,
A verse or word, thou hast a garland gaind,
Of glorie great, for fame hir selfe must sound,
Out of their voice, looke what they do pronounce:
Like tennis ball, aloft it doth rebound,
And yeelds great weight, but not by dram nor ounce,
But heauie as, a massie pound of lead,
They wey mens worth, with praises quicke or dead.
Yea what they say, of Poets fond or wise,
Of prose or verse, that ripe inuenshon shoes:
As twere a lawe, the fame there of shall rise,
And through the world, like coin it currant goes.

From hand to hand, and so doth passage take,
Preasse thou to them, for they may mend my hap:
If that of thee, some good account they make,
And that in sport, they laie thee in their lap,
Vntill they list, to read thee eurie line,
Then at welhead, some water drawe I may:
For fountaine springs, may run cleere claret wine,
Whose pleasant sap, giues moisture eurie way.
The nimble Nimphs, that with Diana dwell,
Can quicklie turne, the cock and flowing spout:
That thousands shall, bring buckets to the well
And watch their times, till comfort commeth out.
Now booke trudge hence, bestow thy labour right
Set spurs to horse, that flies in aeir with wings
Mount ore the hils, and rest ne day nor night
Till thou do come, before great Queens and Kings
Then flat on face, fall prostrate at their feet
That may from graue, call vp thy masters spreet
Keepe thou these rules, this course and compasse hold
So may thy grace, conuert my lead to gold.
1

CHVRCHYARDES CHARITIE.

When labring minde, and weary body both
Is cloid with world, & hart wold shake off toile
Before the ghost, to highest heauens goeth
And death of life, shall make a wretched spoile

A well disposed name, cals many good things to memorie.


(And man must needs, forsake this loathsome soile)
He takes some care, to make his conshence cleere
Of all he thinks, or may imagine heere.
First lookes he vp, where soule desires to be

Good men haue many sweet imaginations.


Of life to come, to know what hope we haue
And where we rest, in ioie from bondage free
So soone as cold, dead bodie lies in graue
Than ere man leaues, this cruell cumbrous caue
In charitie, he waies this world aright
As far as wades, wise iudgement, skill and sight.
But finding world, full fraught with fond desires

Blinde world is fraught with fond desires.


(A mightie masse, of matter therein lies)
That burns out time, and kindleth many fires
Whereon foule flames, and smothring smoke doth rise,
He lookes thereon, with heauie rufull eies,
As though some zeale, might mooue a musing minde
To pity plagues, that man must leaue behinde.
2

The poore estate of people is to be pitied.

Who doth not sigh, to see the poore opprest
By rich mens reach, that wrests awry the right
Who will not waile, the woe of troubled brest
Or sore lament, the state of wronged wight
When broad day brings, darke dealings vnto light
Who will not rue, our wretched race on earth
That keepes till death, no rule from day of birth.

The wealth hardly won is easilie lost.

The goods we win, are woorse to keepe than get
The wealth we lose, robs some of rest and sleepe
Our daily gaine, will answere scarce our det
We couet more, than wit can warely keepe
We slip from hence, as rich as new shorne sheepe
And that we leaue, in world that well was won
Is soone consumde, and spent with riotous son.
Who parts from world, would wish that were not so

Graceles time runs on rowling wheeles.

His charitie, commands him so to thinke
But graceles time, on rowling wheeles doth go
At whose abuse, our flyring world can winke
Vice cares no whit, if vertue swim or sinke
Ambishous mind, and malice meetes in one
So that true loue, and charitie is gone.
Loue bids men looke, to all things vnder Sun
Beast fish, and foule, and all we see with eie
But charitie, a greater course doth run
Because it doth, in quiet conscience lie
She lookes ech where, as she had wings to flie
And houer ore, our doings on this mould
That bridle takes, and will not be contrould.
3

O then to loue, and charitie I pas
Whose zeale is great, and charge is nothing small

Zeale is the glas that shewes the spots of face.


That cleerely sees, (as in a christall glas)
The spots of face, and inward cankers all
And can in haste, vnto remembrance call
Old farn yeers past, and present things of late,
Whereof a world, of wits may well debate.
Who can hold toong, to see bad worlds abuce

Abuse runs ouer the brim.


Run ore the brim, where vertue neuer floes
As hauocke had, hald vp the water sluce
Where out at large, great skuls of fishes goes
Poore pashence must, be pleasd with painted shoes
Alms deeds are dead, no pitty now is laft
For all the world, is set on sleight and craft.
If pouertie, be pincht with plague or sore
He starues for food, adue the man is dead
The sound we seeke, the sicke we do abore
Full paunch eats all, the hungrie is not fed

Full paunch eats vp all.


For greedy guts, keeps needy mouth from bred
True charitie, and good deuoshon old
By frost and snow, are almost kild with cold.
Would God good works, with faithfull honest deeds
Reformd this vice, that spreds too far I feare
And faire sweete flowrs, were planted for those weeds

Faire wordes make fooles fame.


That doth with fraud, infect sweet soyles ech where
Fine words doth but, betraie the simple eare
As fowlers pipe, the harmles bird disseaues
That lights on lyme, amid greene birchen leaues.
4

If meere deceit, were banisht from our viewe

Deceit deceaues millions of men.

False dealing then, would blush to shew his face
If wisdome did, disdaine vaine follies newe
Old troth in world, would claime his woonted place
But cunning wits, doth finenes so embrace
That plainnes walkes, like pilgrim to and fro
In wandring wise, and knowes not where to go.

Wealths thirst drinks riuers dry.

Wealth hath desire, to drinke great riuers drie
His scalding thirst, cannot be quenched well
Want pines awaie, and comfortles doth lie
And water tasts, like Tantalus in hell
The needy sort, in dolour daily dwell
The hautie head, thinks skorne to turne his face
And rue the state, of naked wretches case.
The fields and lanes, are full of sicke and lame,
Who beg and craue, as loud as voice can crie

A sauing world spares nothing to the poore.

But sauing world, is grown so far from frame
No great remorse, remains in passers by
Hardnes holds backe, both bag and bounties eie
So that no ruth, regard nor pittie comes
From sparing hands, and graceles griping thombs.
Our prisons all, are pestred with poore soules
Whose yelling noise, a tyrants hart may mooue
At grates they stand, and looke through peeping holes

Prisoners perish for want of comfort.

To purchase alms, and trie good peoples loue
But penurie, doth so their pashence prooue,
With emptie wombe, and hungrie meatles mawe
They lay them downe, on boords or wads of strawe.
5

The silly folke, in towne or cottage rude

Many silly soules goes a hungrie to bed.


With belly full, do seldome go to bed
And lookes as leane, as haukes that ill are mude
Which often be, with crowes or carraine fed
How should men giue, when charitie is dead
For money, meat, and clothing now is bard
From those that need, the world is waxt so hard.
How can full purse, supplie the poore mans went

Full purse follows many pleasures.


When trull at home, from sheepe lookes for a fleece
And master must, be sometimes all a flant
And prettie pus, my deere must haue a peece
Whose beautie staines, the faire Helen of Greece
These things are large, and long to looke vpon
By which cold cause, warme charitie is gon.
More reasons rise, to make men hold and keepe
The crums they catch, from Fortunes table still
For purchesars, do walke when plow men sleepe

The purchesars plucks all from the poore.


Their sacks of corne, is seldome from the mill
They take no rest, till thrift bare budget fill
Then locke they vp, in chest their golden bags
When beggers trudge, and iet about in rags.
Cold parts men plaie, much like old plain bopeepe

Craftie catchers can play bopeep.


Or counterfait, in dock out-nettle still
And for their game, there is such hold and keepe
That nothing can, escape their reaching skill
Much haue yee won, when got is their good will
Tis lost againe, for one small graine of gold
Their charitie, is growne so extreme cold.
6

Cunning raiseth the price of euery thing.

They raise the price, of euery thing is bought
On tenter hookes, their ware is stretched out
Seekes all the waies, for wealth that may be sought
As for the winde, a ship is swaid about
And at a trice, they turne the water spout
So from our purse, both pence and pounds they draw
By hooke or crooke, by wrest or reach of law.

Vittles made deere seldome comes downe againe.

The rate of things, rackt vp doth fall no more
Colde conshence takes, all fish that coms to net
To make corne deere, they hoord much graine in store
So they may win, some care not how they get
For eu'ry bird, they do such lime-twigs set
That no bird scapes, if it be flidge to flie
Except foresight, the suddaine danger spie.
No rain nor curb, nor bridle holds them in
No lawe nor rule, nor order will they keepe
Sets all abroch, to feede and nourish sin

Wicked wolues deuoures the lambs.

And plaies the wolues, with lambs when yonglings sleep
Makes old folks whine, and babes in cradle weepe
And makes the rate, of eu'ry thing so scant
That some cries out, that neuer thought of want.

A diuelish dearth destroies thousands.

A diuelish dearth, is come from darke hell gate
To kill cold harts, as hands can crush a crab
That blow fals not, vpon the proud mans pate
But giues the meeke, and mildest minde the stab
Now tell I all, the secrets like a blab
As good to shew, a sore whiles wound is greene
As let men starue, before the greefe be seene.
7

The loue of wealth, forgets both God and man

The loue of wealth forgets all goodnes.


And who growes rich, sets little by renowne
To catch and hold, the world doth what it can
With endles care, in court, in field and towne
Craft keepeth vp, plaine honestie fals downe
Charitie is dead, and goodnes growes full sicke
Wisedome doth drowp, and follie is too quicke.
Wealth like a worme, eats vp sweete kernels all
As cankers rust, runs into iron and steele
Hard closed hands, that will let nothing fall
Wants eares to heare, yet fingers hath to feele

Hard hands will part from nothing.


Well all is right, when world runs like a wheele
Round as a top, that scourging can abide
Swims vp and downe, and followes time and tide.
On present time and muck mans mind is bent

Foolish world thinks but our present time.


On world to come, no care nor eie they cast
What coms with ease, is often rashlie spent
And what doth hap, in hands we hold full fast
As though our pomp, and pride should alwaies last
Yea thinking all, is ours that we can scrape
And still for more, do greedie gluttons gape.
The many yeers, and winters past and gone

Many yeers and maners alters the kinde of man.


Hath changde the kind, of grace and goodnes quite
Our bodies beares, in flesh a hart of stone
That ioined is, with faintie liuer white
Which neuer breeds, in breast one good delite
Our noughtie minds, may be the cause of this
That hath transformd, all Adams babes amisse.
8

A golden age is turnd to copper and brasse.

The golden age, of our forefathers wise,
Is copper now, or worse than any brasse,
We quickly can, clap on a new found gise
And weare a maske, seeme shadow in a glasse
But bring no worke, nor great good thing to passe
Make shew of much, as art sets trifles forth
That proues a puffe, in substance little worth.

Words is the worn ware that euer was sold.

Words are the ware, that each man sets to sale
With phrases fine, bedeckt to blinde poore sight
Faire promise first, steps forth and tels a tale
Of bad deuice, that weies in ballance light
For at your need, performance taketh flight
And leaues in lake, the foole that words hath won
Who paies great paines, for shadowes in the sun.
Wit did prefer, good people well of yore

Wealth weighs downe euery thing.

Welth now with weights, doth wey the ballance down
Words and fine talke, leads world the dance before
But neither wealth, nor words wins true renown
For when the trumpe, doth giue vncertaine sown
Men will not then, prepare them for the fight
But rather seeke, to saue themselues by flight.

Words are waues tossed with wind.

Words are the waues, that welters on the seas
And works a froth, in colour white as snoe
Makes thousands sicke, and breedes a cold disease
To those that with, such swelling surges goe
Inconstant words, with tide will ebbe and floe
But fruitfull deeds, stands firme and fast as rocke
That bides the brunt, of eurie blast and shocke
9

Fine Macheuill, is now from Florence flown

Matcheuill is now made an English man.


To England where, his welcome is too great,
His busie books, are heere so red and known
That charitie, thereby hath lost hir heat

Want of charitie hath made me loose my pattent.


Poore prisners doe, in Ludgate die for meat
Who doth for det, in danger long remaine
Must fall down flat, and seldom rise againe.
Wit takes his toll, as milner at the mill

The milner will be sure of his toule.


Powl feakes the bags, of meale as he doth please
Thrusts thousands backe, till tricksie tanker fill
Like prentise fine, that faine would take some ease
In deed there is, no fishing to the seas
But what is caught, in conshence should be sold
In market place, that men might credit hold.
No charitie, is found when fisher feeds

A fine fisher would catch all himselfe.


On all himselfe, and giues his fellowes none
Alas poore soules, we angle in the reeds
And catch a frog, when all the fish is gone
Bullhead and loch, lies vnder little stone
But stones and sticks, will breake our nets I dout
Before we bring, a dish of gudgins out.
The great good turnes, in court that thousands felt

Good turnes are turnd to faire holy water.


Is turnd to cleer, faire holie water there
The scraps are small, that hungrie hands haue delt
Spoile cannot spare, the paring of a peare
For snatch crust robs, almes baskets eury where
The poore so starues, or knowes not what to do
And so I feare, shall sillie suters to.
10

The father scarse, will speake for his owne son

The father will scarse speake for his sonne.

World waxeth mute, when men should do some good
The streame is stopt, where water ought to run
We cast our nets, where fish creepes in the mud
And clime those trees, where bowes will neuer bud
We take great paine, yet no good fruit enioies
For words are wind, and fils our eares with noies.

The soldier consumes himselfe with griefe.

The soldier sits, and sighes to shake off greefe
Whose wounds in war, of right claimes great reward
Waits hard at heele, but findeth small releefe
Who least deserues, is alwaies most prefard
Who brags and boasts, blind world doth best regard
But some that lost, their blood in countries right
May kisse the post, and bid vs all good night.
What charitie, is that iudge you that can
Who sees these things, so far past all redresse

A lip wise world cares little for a man.

When lip-wise world, sets little by a man
What may fall out, of that a foole may gesse
Each one shall haue, his lot yea more or lesse
But charitie, and fortune differ far
Between them two, we find a mortall war.
The one helps all, and loues a number still

Charitie and fortune differ far.

The other hurts, or else prefers a few
And wise men find, no hold in hir good will
For she is cald, a most inconstant shrew
That with the sun, will waste away like dew
A sommer flowre, that withers in the frost
Coms softly on, and rides away in post.
11

As blind of sight, as euer Cupid was
For she lookes not, on vertue any way
Nor wisdoms worth, but fauors many an asse

Fortune fauors many an asse.


For his smooth face, and peacocks feathers gay
But charitie is, the only staffe and stay
To all estates, for where she stoutly stands
She sets all free, and breaketh bondage bands.
Forgiues great faults, and suffers many a wrong
She giues a badge, that eury christian weares
And in all worlds, hir liurey lasteth long

Charitie forgiues and forgets iniuries.


It garded is, all round about with teares
And she hir selfe, a branch of oliue beares
In signe of peace, and mercie mixt with grace
That pitie takes, of eurie rufull case.
This charitie giues, as much as men may craue
And soone forgets, the bountie she bestowes

Charitie hath no end of his bountie.


Takes great delight, the life of man to saue
By vertue of, good turnes that from hir floes
Whose is sent like, the white and sweet red rose
For all hir gifts, and graces beares such flowres
That makes poore men, to laugh when fortune lowres.
On charitie, the hungrie dailie feeds

Charitie giues few words but doth many good deeds.


As lambs and sheepe, in fruitfull pasture liue
Shee giues few words, where shee bestoes good deeds
The more we neede, the sooner will shee giue
As corne from chaffe, is sifred through the siue
So shee tries out, from dust and drosse the gold
As wisdome doth, the worth of men vnfold.
12

Charitie is the first and last shall be blessed.

This charitie, is first that fauour findes
And shall be last, that wins our worlds good will
Begot by grace, and nurst in noble mindes
That staies and stands, vpon their honor still
Tis seen far off, as torch is on an hill
Felt near at hand, and found out by the light
Which in darke daies, doth glad ech good mans sight.
When fortunes wrath, hath wounded many a wight
She brings a boxe, of balm to heale ech sore
That makes sad mind, and heauie hart so light
It neuer thinks, on wretched chance no more

Charitie conquers euery where like a victor.

If charitie, like victor goes before
Come after hir, proud world with all thy braues
Like conqueror, she triumphs on hir slaues.
But well awaie, and woe God wot the while
True charitie, is faintly felt or found
Shee is of late, halfe-driuen in exile

Bad life would driue charitie in exile.

Because bad life, lets crueltie abound
The world is full, of hollow harts vnsound
And mercie meets, with ruth scarce once a yeere
For rigors rage, doth show such churlish cheere.

Men go transformed now a dais

Men walke abroad, transformd in sundry shapes
More monster like, than babes of Adams brood
Fearfull to sight, like vglie owls and apes
That hath of kind, no ciuill humane mood
Tigers in proofe, nurst vp with woluish food
For sillie lambs, that doth no butcher fear
They do deuour, and in small peeces tear.
13

Greedy as guls, and gapes for garbedge still,

Some people are as greedy as guls.


Rauening like woolues, that murthers sheepe in folde
Suttle as foxe, that neuer hath his fill
Hedstrong and proud, and will not be controld
Curtish as kite, ne gentle yoong nor old
Such cruell tricks, doth alter so mans minde
That long they liue, by craft and dies vnkind.
Quarrels encrease, and combats haue no end

Quarrels breeds mischiefe and bloudshed.


Till bloud be shed, and life and land be lost
Some thinks the bow, were better breake than bend
On that consait, stands mightie manhood most
But charitie, rides then away in post
And leaues in lash, behinde hir in some part
A heape of harmes, and many a heauie hart.
Lust liues by spoyle, like theefe that robs true men

Lust is a theefe and robs vs of life.


Desires to eate, the hen and chickens all
Rauine and rage, prouls fast for profite then
So gets some cheate, though it be near so small
But lust is like, an image on a wall
Strike out the cole, that is but blacke of hue
Faire white and cleane, appeers blurd wall to you.
Ore weening runs, beyond the course of wit
Presumpshon then, doth set best foote before
And boldnes knowes, not where to stand nor sit
His loftie lookes, prouokes his pride so sore

Pride and presumption is bold as blinde bayard.


But when threed-bare, his bad spun cloth is wore
The world but laughs, to see bald bayard blinde
With painted robes, patch vp a stately minde.
14

In cloud vnseene, new fanglenes would walke

New fanglenes is easily found out.

But he is spide, by old deepe serching sight
Fine filed toongs, like parrets prate and talke
And wonder makes, of trifling matters light
This glorious crew, triumphes in moone shine night
But when cleere day, such idols doth disclose
World will point out, where eurie shadow goes.

Wilfull heads hates good counsell.

Wilde wilfull heads, that all sound counsell hates
A careles course, of borrowed life doth lead
Whose retchles race, still argues and debates
They soone forget, good lessons that they read
But when the foot, awrie the shue doth tread
Downe goes the heele, yea seam the sole and all
And so vnwares, a man in mire may fall.
And stumbling oft, makes some to snapper still

Ill custome Breedes abuse.

Vse mastrie breedes, and custome pleads a law
Let bridle goe, the horse will haue his will
Much water scarse, will quench hot fire in straw
A stubborne childe, that still doth backward draw
Must needes be whipt, to make him feare the rod
So we are plagud, when we forget our God.
Three sundrie plagues, the wrath of God doth show

Two plagues past threatens a third.

The first is past, the second you may see
The third ye wot, the world too well doth know
For that cuts downe, corne, grasse, and highest tree
The angrie cloudes will neuer calmie bee
Till better life, seaise all our showres of raine
And Gods great grace, brings sommer home againe
15

Shame followes pride, and death comes after sin

Shame followes pride, and dearth nipped sore.


Then famine kils, vp thousands where it flies
They will take heed, that hath well scourged bin
And fall to mend, their liues if they be wise
But in our world, such new found fashons rise
All frames not well, looke into ech mans waies
Small charitie, is seen in these bad daies.
When charitie, proud painted posts plucks downe
To God and prince, great honor shall arise

Proud painted posts are rotten in the middle.


When plainnes thriues, in court and ciuill towne
Old troth will bid, farewell our newfound gise
Goodnes will come, and so aduance the wise
Dunses and dolts, shall stand beneath the bar
And pride shall blush, that doth presume too far.
The least of most, makes most of his bad stuffe
So leers and looks, as frighted were his wits

Pride alubberly lout, lookes like a monarke.


Is neuer well, till pride be in his ruffe
Than monarke like, on loftie seat he sits
(Whose scornfull hart, is full of froward fits)
But speaks no word, for feare that bayard blinde
Should plunge before, and yearke at him behinde.
The woorst with best, compares and striues for place

The woorst wid hie hart, compares with the best.


As gold and glas, in woorth weare all alike
Beares out his brags, with scowling brazen face
That cannot blush, no more than can blacke tike
He frowns so sore, he lookes as he would strike
The crabbish carle, so curst and cumbrous is
Then when he speakes, in schoole the schollers hisse.
16

A surly sire swels like a toad.

The surly sire, sits swelling like a toad
That venom casts, on goodly herbs and floures
Not pleased well, in house nor yet abroad
Nor seemes to haue, ne quiet daies nor houres
When cheerefull folke, doth smile this churle he loures
A swarme of such, checkmates a man may see
If stagers come, where fresh fine fellowes bee.

A stately stalke thinks none like himselfe.

The stately stalks, that will ne stoup nor bend
Will speake no word, till first yee them salute
Holds head aloft, but downe no looke will lend
Faire blossomd trees, that brings foorth no good fruit
Nay sickles sharpe, that reaps vp many a sute
Their haruest hath, cut downe the corne so cleane
They leaue in field, the poore no graine to gleane.

A craftie crue are wilier than the foxe.

The craftie crue, more wily than old Foxe
Runs flocking on, as sheepe to fold doth flie
Takes what they may, and giues but scornes & mocks
They want no wiles, within the winde to lie
Drains riuers vp, and drinks great fountaines drie
At first rebound, strikes backe the tennis ball
(From those that plaies) as though they would haue al.

Cunning lads are as quicke as a Bee.

The cunning lads, that creepes through auger holes
As quicke as Bee, seekes honie eury where
Feeds body fat, but cares not for their soles
Their snatching shewes, what greedy minds they beare
Who lends the poore, ne louing looke nor eare
Brings emptie paunch, to mouth vp all alone
Skornes and disdaine, to fling a dog a bone.
17

Preferments were, the marks whereat we shot

Preferments are not got with shooting too short.


But past our aime; and reach those marks do stand
For ere we draw, the bow the game is got
Or else the string, doth breake within our hand
Our plaine prick-shafts, were wont to cleaue a wand
But now so blunt, and flat the heads are worne
When archer shoots, leud world laughs him to scorne.
They hit the white, that neuer shot before

They hit the white that haue good hap.


No marke men sure, nay bunglars in their kind
A sort of swads, that scarce can shoot twelue score
Nor hath no skill, to know where blowes the winde
Lo thus you see, that fortune is but blinde
To giue them hap, whose knowledge is so bace
They scarce deserue, a simple pedlars place.
Ech man prefers, his friends and seruants both

Ech man prefers his seruants and friends.


The Queenes poore men, findes few to help their hap
I praie you who, doth speake for plaine Tom-troth
Which plies them all, with curchie, knee and cap
His old crab tree, is burnd with thunder clap
Blacke are the bowes, that once grew greene and gaie
The rune of time, doth threaten his decaie.
How should men liue, that haue no chinks to spend
Steele now lacks strength, to strike out fire from flint
Hold fast the gnoff, will neither giue nor lend
Hope-well can get, no money from the mint

Hope well can get no money from the mint.


All things we haue, are set now at a stint
Nip-crust the carle, hath crept so neere the crums
That nothing scapes, from hungrie hucksters thumbs.
18

Serue long spends much and gets little.

Serue long waite well, spend much and little get
May be compard, to walking horse for nought
Brings many men, in danger and in det
For wit and time, thereby is deerlie bought
As when a drudge, all daie hath trulie wrought
And goes to bed, vnpleasd or paid aright
He thinks daies toile, brings beggrie home at night.

VVho makes haste to amend any misse.

I pray you who, makes haste to mend this misse
The man in the moone, as soone as any one
By which cold signe, true loue and charities
Growne now more cold, than ice or marble stone
As dogs do striue, and snarre about a bone
So for good turnes, the people throng and thrust
So thicke God wot, we know not who to trust.

New natures alters good old conditions.

These natures new, doth argue plagues most strange
To come if now, No famine heere were had
For as we do, our old good maners change
So world I feare, hencefoorth will be too bad
When sober men, growes sauage wilde and mad
Looke for small rule, and order heere belowe
Our Iudgement daie, thereby drawes neere I trowe.

Not one doth right, search and you shall see.

Not one doth right, with weights when we are waid
All are as light, in ballance as a flie
For out of frame. are all when all is said
Both they below, and those that would sit hie
But chieflie such, as vse to sell and bie
All sciences, yea all of eury art
Are stept on stage, and coms to play their part.
19

Search eury art, artificers and all

Artificers and all are light in the ballance.


In charitie, behold them as they are
And you shall see, their conshence is so small
That nere a one, for charitie doth care
Do neither church, queer, court, nor country spare
And tell me plaine, what charitie is there
God grant these daies, true loue be any where.
Can plagues cease then, whan eury liuing wight

Plagues will not cease till bad life be reformed


His neighbour plagues, as far as powre may stretch
In ballance iust, not one man waies aright
All vse desait, and ly on gard and watch
He liues not now, that can not scrat and snatch
Men are no saints, world is a world to thend
So folly doth, his wilfull faults defend.
The man of Ind, can neuer change his skin
Nor yet the cat, of mountaine change hir hue
So those wilde buds, that euer bad haue bin

Wild buds brings foorth no good fruit.


Can neuer beare, good fruit nor blossome nue
A bitter taste, will neuer go from rue
A wicked life, can shew no vertous deed
No more than may, a floure spring from a weed.
What keepes good course, the weather alters oft

Neither world nor weather keeps good course.


The heauens seeme, to shew some sodaine change
The winds waxe shrill, and loud they blow aloft
Familiar friends, for trifles gro full strange
Wit waxeth wilde, whose wont was not to range
So out of tune, ech thing is wrested now
Because abuse, corrupts good nature throw.
20

If sommer once, in twentie yeers growes hot
(Whose warmth reuiues, both fruit & floures ech where)
Cold winters blast, bites near the bones ye wot
Cold pleaseth few, for cold ech one doth feare
Why world growes cold, and cold is hard to beare

Neither world nor weather keeps good course.

Cold weather makes, warme conshence cold I troe
So charitie, and goodnes cold doth growe.

Cold weather or world pleaseth none.

Cold is the aire, the open field and towne
Then court must needs, wax colder than it was
It seems wise world, cares not for vaine renowne
As world doth come, a Gods name let it passe
Though charitie, growe thrise as cold as glasse
A warmer time, in better tune may bring
This hard cold age, when comes a sommer spring.

Cold aire kils sometime sound and sicke.

Cold snow is not, so good as luke warme milke
Hot sun doth melt, cold frost and cakes of ice
Thicke frise surmounts, a thin cloke linde with silke
Furde gowne exceeds, cold cloth of preshous price
Warme loue lasts long, cold fauour growes full nice
With warme good will, we win great wordlie good
The fire burns best, where most ye clap on wood.

Cold loue quicklie takes leaue.

Both flame and fire, goes out in weather cold
Where neither coles, nor wood mantaines the heat
And heat is that, contents both yoong and old
For in the same, our sweete delight is great
Most men feeds best, with good warme drinke or meat
Cold breeds worst blod, and hardlie doth digest
Bicause cold things, lies belching long in brest.
21

Cold fortune kils, the strongest man that liues

Cold fortune kils any man liuing.


Cold countnance cuts, the throte ere we be ware
Cold poison dronke, a quicke dispatch it giues
Cold cramps dries vp, the sences where they are
Cold lims waxe lame, and breeds diseases rare
Thus cold mars all, then warmth God send vs now
That eurie part, of man feele comfort throw.
Cold food is faint, vnto weake stomacks still

Cold foode is comfortles and hard to digest.


Warme broths keeps health, in perfect sound estate
Warme daies we wish, cold bitter aire is ill
Cold blasts be nought, sharpe blustring storms we hate
Sweetly sun shines, in world earlie or late
Cold quicklie caught, goes seldome soone away
And long cold nights, kils some before the day.
Cold drie hard frost, makes thousands seeke for fire
Warme meate giues spreet, to either sicke or sound
Cold hungrie baites, makes many a horse to tire

Cold hungrie baites may kill a horse.


Warme clouts and clothes, doth comfort eurie wound
No fruit thriues well, where cold doth much abound
The warmth doth ioy, both spring and fall of leafe
Makes dead things quicke, delights both dum & deafe
Yea blind and lame, and all that life doth beare
Are glad of heate, then cold is out of grace
Cold words God wot, when meaning scarce is there

Cold words makes a man desperate.


Kils many a man, in court or any place
O wold to God, warme deeds did show his face
That charitie, hir whole effect may show
On those that needs, which knows not where to goe
22

A colder season in all sorts was neuer seene.

A colder time, in world was neuer seene
The skies do lowre, the sun and moone waxe dim
Sommer scarce knowne, but that the leaues are greene
The winters waste, driues water ore the brim
Vpon the land, great flotes of wood may swim
Nature thinks scorne, to do hir dutie right
Because we haue, displeasde the Lord of light.

Cold words and workes makes many a heauy hart.

Cold works, cold words, cold world and al things cold
Showes death drawes neer, and then a deep cold graue
Such hard cold hap, may make a yoong man old
Or old gray beard, become a gallie slaue
Well let them loose, that can ne win nor saue
The state of man, on strange hap hazard lies
As one fals downe, so doth another rise.
If charitie, would once bespread hir raies
As Phœbus showes, abroad his shining beames

Cold winter may bring some sommer daies.

Or winter cold, would bring some sommer daies
And rid vs soone, from all these great extreames
Then shee dies not, but haplie sleeps and dreames
Now waken hir, that haue most powre to speake
I haue tane cold, and so my voice growes weake.
You whose cleer speech, doth loud as trumpet sound
And may command, the world, the skies and stars
And rules at beck, the massie earth so round
Sets orders downe, and can make peace and wars
And hath the force, to breake big iron bars

Warme loue may awaken charitie againe.

Call charitie, fot loue once home againe
That shee may heare, hir people poore complaine.
23

My breath but bores, a hole within the aire

The authors breath is on cold to do any good.


My date neer don, cals for a shrouding sheet
My darke dim daies, lookes for no weather faire
Mine eies can scarce, look to my stumbling feet
My wounted muse, forsakes my drowping spreet
My books and scroules, and all that I haue wrot
Hides now their heads, as I were cleane forgot.
When aged yeers, showes death amid my face

Aged yeers showes death it at hand.


My words are of, small credit in this plite
My hap and hope, is in a better place
Wherefore of world, I plainly speake and write
And ere I goe, discharge my conshence quite
To win the wise, and loose the fonder sort
That vnto quicke, nor dead yeelds good report.
The wise well won, waies ech thing as it ought

Labor is well bestowed when wise men are won.


Mistakes no terme, nor sentence wrests awrie
The fond will read, awhile but cares for nought
Yet casts on ech, mans works a frowning eie
This neither treats, of matters lowe nor hie
But finds a meane, that ech good meaning might
In all true meanes, take charitie aright.
FINIS.
 

Christian loue lookes to euerie thing.

27

A praise of Poetrie,

some notes therof drawen out of the Apologie, the noble minded Knight, sir Phillip Sidney wrate.

[_]

Sidney's notes have been omitted.

When world was at the very woorst
And vice did much abound
And for offence the earth was curst
Yet charitie was found.
Among the wise and woorthie sort
Who euer had good chance
with treble fame, by their report
True vertue did aduance.
The Poets and Philosophers
Stept first on stately stage
And plaid their parts with hazards great
In euery world and age.
In eury age while wits of men
Could iudge the good from bad
Who gat the gift of toong or pen
Of world great honor had.
Good Poets were in hie esteeme,
When learning grew in price
Their vertue and their verse did seeme
A great rebuke to vice.
With blunt base people of small sence
They fall now in disdaine
But Sydneyes booke in their defence
Doth raise them vp againe.
28

And sets them next Diuines in ranke
As members meete and fit
To strike the worlds blinde boldnes blanke
And whet the bluntest wit.
Heere followes Histories good store
That much thereof shall tell
If paines may purchase thanks therefore
My hope is answerd well.
Amphyons gift and grace was great
In Thebes old stories saie
And beasts and birds would leaue their meats
To heare Orpheus plaie.
In Rome were three of peereles fame
That florisht in their daies
Which three did beare the onely name
Of knowledge, skill and praise.
In Italy of yore did dwell
Three men of spechall spreete
Whose gallant stiles did sure excell
Their verses were so sweete.
In France three more of fame we finde
Whose bookes do well declare
They beautifide their stately minde
With inward vertues rare.
In England liued three great men
Did Poetrie aduance
And all they with the gift of pen
Gaue glorious world a glance.
29

In Scotland finde we other twaine
Were writers of good woorth
Whose studies through their Poets vaine
Brought many verses foorth.
In Ireland to this present time
Where learning is not mich
With Poetrie in verse or rime
Their language they inrich.
In Wales the very remnant yet
Of Brittaine bloud and race
They honor men of speshall wit
And giues a Poet grace.
Albinus long that rained heere
Made verses in his youth
And in his age as doth appeere
With verse auancst the truth.
Among the sauage Indians still
(Who knowes no ciuill thing)
They honor writers of some skill
Their parents liues to sing.
Among the anshent noble Danes
And Saxsons long ago
We read of many Poets names
Whose woorthy wits did flo.
The graue wise learned men of Greece
Durst neuer shew their art
Till those Philosophers presumd
To plaie the Poets part.
30

Some sang in verse, their naturall
Philosophie we finde
And in sweete songs heroicall
Exprest their secret minde.
So morall counsels vttred were
In that same selfe sweete sort
Thus Poets flourisht eury where
As stories makes report.
And marshall matters in those daies
Were song and set aloft
So some the art of warre did raise
Vnto the skies full oft.
Sibillas prophesies in verse
Were alwaies vttred well
The oracels of Delphos to
In verse would woonders tell.
In pollicies wise Solon plaid
The Poet sundrie waies
Good things were better soong than said
Which gaind immortall praise.
Plato tooke Solons works in hand
And plaid the Poet right
And set that Atlantike Iland
Full plaine before our sight.
The Booke of Herodotus bore
A famous title fine
(Yea such as none did giue before)
Of all the muses nine.
31

Domician was a Poet rare
And did therein excell
So many princes now there are
That loueth Poetrie well.
Three conquerours of mightie powre
Gaue Poets such a grace
That they would neuer frowne nor lowre
On them in any case.
As Plutarke saith, a tyrant wept
A tragedie to heare
Who sawe his murthring minde thereby
As in a glas full cleere.
Amid a great reuolt in Rome
A woorthie Poet stood
And told of bodie and the minde
A tale that did much good.
Two Poets turnd a tyrants hart
From rigour vnto ruth
And wrought him with their wits and art
To fauour right and truth.
Nathan did faine a tale indeed
To Dauid when he fell
Whereon the king tooke such great heed
He saw his follie well.
In Dauids Psalms true miter floes
(And songs of Sallomon)
Where great delite and pleasure groes
Are woorthie looking on.
32

A dialogue that Plato made
Giues Poets great renowne
Brings ech rare wit to sun from shade
To weare the laurell crowne.
True stories old with new delite
Shall fill your harts and eares
For they of Poets praises write
Their books good witnes beares.
If aunshent authors and great kings
No credit gets herein
Darke-sight sees not no stately things
That doth great glory win.
Plucke vp cleere iudgement from the pit
Of poore espreet and sence
And wipe the slime from slubbred wit
And looke on this defence.
That Sydney makes, a matchles worke
A matter fresh and new
That did long while in silence lurke
And seldome came to view.
He cals them Poets that embrace
True vertue in hir kinde
And do not run with rimes at bace
With wanton blotted minde.
All idle verse he counts but vaine
Like cracks of thorns in fire
Or summer showrs of sleete or raine
That turns drie dust to mire.
33

These rurall rymes are but the scum
And froth that flies from seas
Or doth from some sharpe humor come
That breeds a new disease.
In braine that beats about the skull
And so brings foorth a toye
(When musse or moone is at the full)
Of paines or pleasing ioye.
Like long wingd hauke, doth Poet sore
Ore mountaine or hie trees
And loud as cannon can he rore
At ech vice that he sees.
His scope as hie as reasons reach
May clime in order due
Not to giue counsell nor to teach
But to write fancies new.
Of this or that as matter mooues
A well disposed minde
That vice doth hate and vertue loues
And he good cause doth finde.
So ruling pen as duties bounds
Be kept in eury part
For when the Poet trumpet sounds
It must be done by art.
As though a sweete consort should plaie
On instruments most fine
And shew their musicke eury waie
With daintie notes diuine.
34

Ech string in tune as concord were
The guide of all the glee
Whose harmonie must please the eare
With musicke franke and free.
The Poets Lyra must be strung
With wire of siluer sound
That all his verses may be sung
With maidens in a round.
So chaste and harmles should they be
As words from preachers voice
With spiced speech in ech degree
Wherein good men reioice.
Not farsed full of sollies light
That beares ne poies nor weight
But flying cleere in aire like flight
Whose force mounts vp an height.
And seems to pearce the cloudie skies
Such poets Sidney likes
Whose gentle wind makes dust arise
As hie as morice pikes.
That lifts aloft the soldiers hart
Who doth aduance the same
And bends his bodie in ech part
Thereby to purchase fame.
The sword and lance of marshall men
Their Lions courage showes
The poets with their wit and pen
Tels where their furie flowes.
35

They both are knowne as soone as seene
As things of great import
The one may verie far ore weene
The other in some sort.
Stands on his honor sundrie waies
And offreth life therefore
The poet seekes no more but praise
As poets did of yore.
Whose words strooke dead the stoutest groomes
That euer were in place
And sweeped cleane like new made broomes.
The foulest cause or case.
As water washeth ech thing white
And sope might scoure with all
The canker of foule worlds delite
(More sharpe than bitter gall.)
So poets with plaine terms makes cleane
The foulest conshence liues
And by good words from vice doth weane
(Through councell that it giues.)
The childest wit and churlisht mind
Lo then how poets may
Both alter maners and bad kind
To frame a better way.
Of heauens and the highest throne
Where God himselfe doth sit
Good poets still should treat alone
To showe their slowing wit.
36

As by their muse they caried were
Beyond our sight or vew
Into a fine and purer aire
Or speshall climat new.
Where all things are as cleane as gold
From furnace to the stamp
So poets should this world behold
And shine as cleer as lamp.
That light doth giue to eury eie
Which doth in darknes dwell
And glorie show of heauens hie
To damned spreets of hell.
Which darknes in a dungeon keeps
From sight of vertues lore
Where ignorance in slumber sleeps
Like dunse for euermore.
Sir Philip Sydney praiseth those
Whose waking wits doth see
The depth and ground of verse or prose
And speakes with iudgement free.
Of all the matters vnder sun
Both secrets hie and lowe
And ouer them with pen can run
As far as skill can goe.
Sift eurie word and sentence well
And cast away the bran
To show the kernell, crack the shell
In peeces now and than.
37

That eurie one shall taste the nut
Or see where worme hath fed
And shoot an arrowe at the but
And drawe it to the head.
Like archer that can hit the white
And win the wager straight
With cunning knowledge and delite
And suttle sence and slaight.
Which looks into the world so round
And searcheth eury place
To see what may be easlie found
Or spoke of ech mans case.
To rime and roue in retchles sort
He counted reuell rash
As whip doth make a horse to snort
When carter giues a lash.
So ballet makers doth with wind
Stir vp a hiue of bees
And of the abundance of vaine mind
With words in aire he flees.
As though it were a thunder crack
That neuer brings foorth raine
But dailie threatens rune and wrack
With ratling rumors vaine.
Vaine commedies that stirs vp vice
He did condemne and hate
He holds that babble of no price
That doth infect a state.
38

Corrupts with words good maners still
Offends both eie and eare
Brings in loose life by customs ill
And takes away true feare
Of God and man, such Poets leud
Were banisht and exilde
Because with foule condishons shreud
Their country they defilde.
Good Poets were in eury age
Made of and nourisht well
They were the floures of gardens gaie
That gaue the goodly smell.
The true forewarners of great things
That after did befall
The ioy of godly vertuous kings
And honest subiects all.
Our age and former fathers daies
(Leaue Goore and Chauser out)
Hath brought foorth heere but few to praise
Search all our soyle about.
Yet of all those that newly wrate
In prose or verse of late
Let Sydney weare (for stile of state)
The garland lawreate.
His bookes makes many bookes to blush
They shew such sence and wit
Our dribbers shoots not woorth a rush
When he the marke doth hit.
39

His phrase is sifted like fine floure
That maketh manchet bread
Sweet eury where and nothing soure
That flowes from Sydneyes head.
Sweete dewe dropt out of Sydneyes quill
As raine great moysture shoes
And from his muse there did distill
A liquor sweete as rose.
Aquintesence, a spirit of wine
Naie Nectar better namde
A breuage for the Gods deuine
Of compounds made and framde.
That whosoeuer drinks thereon
Immortall shall be made
His books he left to looke vpon
When we in worldly shade
Sits mumping eury houre of daie
And scarce knows where we are
Our braines like bucke doth stande at baie
Beset about with care.
Of this or that when Sydneyes books
Cals vp a drowping ghost
For whosoeuer thereon looks
(With worldly troubles tost)
He shall finde quietnes thereby
And Christian comfort great
Woorth all the treasure vnder skie
It climes to Ioues hie seat.
40

And sits among the Angels sweet
Where psalmes and himnes are sung
And all base humors vnder feet
Are out of fauor flung.
The poets that can clime the cloudes
Like ship boy to the top
When sharpest stormes do shake the shroudes
Sets ware to sale in shop.
Of heauenly things that earthly men
Can scarcely vnderstand
Did not our Chausers golden pen
(That beautifide this land.)
Reach to the sunne and highest star
And toucht the heauens all
A poets knowledge goes so far
That it to mind can call.
Each wonder since this world began
And what was seene in skies
A poet is no common man
He lookes with Argoes eies.
Like Linx throw steele or stonie wals
No secret scapes his sight
Of future time and what befals
In world by day or night.
He sees and somtimes writes thereof
When scornfull people scowle
And makes of earnest words a scoffe
Or cals faire speeches fowle.
41

Our countrie breeds vp Poets still
As grasse springs from good ground
For there doth flourish learned skill
Where knowledge doth abound.
Looke what our elders wits did sowe
Or left behinde in heapes
Our age and haruest people mowe
Or with sharpe sickle reapes.
The seede of sence, faire fruit brings foorth
In feeld a thousand fold
And is in value price and woorth
More preshous than the gold.
What can be counted foule or cleane
But Poets thereon talke
Yet thousands knowes not what they meane
When they in cloud will walke.
As from the fountaine water floes
(Conuaid by gushing pipe)
So from the pen of Poet goes
Fine words and sentence ripe.
That ech good minde may well digest
As sweete as honie sure
His termes are taken with the best
If verse be neate and pure.
As riders whisking wand doth feare
The horse whereon he sits
So wrangling people eurie where
At verses vex their wits.
42

If any writer touch the gall
In pastime be it sed
Then downe coms tressels house and all
Vpon the poore mans head.
Yet wise men will good words embrace
And take each thing in worth
And giue each word and line a grace
That poets do set forth.
Diuine du Bartas merits praise
Most excellent verse he wrate
So sundrie writers in our daies
Haue done full well of late.
In Spensers morall fairie Queene
And Daniels rosie mound
If they be throwly waid and seen
Much matter may be found.
One Barnes that Petrarks scholler is
May march with them in ranke
A learned Templers name I mis
Whose pen deserues great thanke.
A number more writs well indeed
They spring vp newly now
As gazing world their works shall reed
So shall world praise them throw.
But sure my noble Sidneies skill
I neuer can forget
To him my seruice and good will
Shall euer dwell in det.
43

Of learned lore the onely light
Which blazde like lampe most cleere
And as a star in moone shine night
Could vnder cloud appeer.
Seemd dim and darke to dazled eies
But faire and bright to those
That vnderstood the stately gise
Of learned verse or prose.
Could crack the nut of [illeg.] shell
And shew the kernell plaine
For by his works who notes them well
In world he liues againe.
The booke that doth of poets treat
In golden robes so shines
It triumphes still with honor great
Among the best diuines.
Which booke deckt vp in trim attire
Of authors wise and graue
In matters of mine owne desire
Great light to poetrie gaue.
And made me write of poets praise
Thus so to starrie skie
My Sidneies honor heere I raise
As far as fame can flie.
FINIS.
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