A Feast full of sad cheere [by Thomas Churchyard] |
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The vnhappy mans deere adewe, that findes nothing good cheape but sorrowe. |
 | A Feast full of sad cheere |  |
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The vnhappy mans deere adewe, that findes nothing good cheape but sorrowe.
If
Scipio said, hys Countrey was ingrate,
And would not haue, his bones be buried there:
If Tullie found, a most vnthankfull state,
Whose foule rebukes, no manly minde might beare;
Then I may walke, like Pilgrim eu'ry where.
As one compeld, to shunne from natiue soyle:
Where labour long, reapt nought but losse and toyle.
And would not haue, his bones be buried there:
If Tullie found, a most vnthankfull state,
Whose foule rebukes, no manly minde might beare;
Then I may walke, like Pilgrim eu'ry where.
As one compeld, to shunne from natiue soyle:
Where labour long, reapt nought but losse and toyle.
Youth first beguilde, in Court with hope forlorne,
Than middle age, all wearied with sharp war:
And nowe olde eld, to liue in lack and scorne,
Whose wounded limbs, showes many a wofull skar;
And sundry waies, consum'd with trauaile far.
These open plagues, and inward griefes of mind:
Cryes out and saith, my Country is vnkinde.
Than middle age, all wearied with sharp war:
And nowe olde eld, to liue in lack and scorne,
Whose wounded limbs, showes many a wofull skar;
And sundry waies, consum'd with trauaile far.
These open plagues, and inward griefes of mind:
Cryes out and saith, my Country is vnkinde.
I seru'd in field, foure Princes of greate fame,
Borne vnder those, an humble subiect true:
Three other Kings, of great renowne and name,
In faithfull sort, I seru'd for wages due;
But heere liege Lords, I doe appeale from you,
That neuer did, aduaunce my loyall hart,
For treble toile, for paines, nor iust desart.
Borne vnder those, an humble subiect true:
Three other Kings, of great renowne and name,
In faithfull sort, I seru'd for wages due;
But heere liege Lords, I doe appeale from you,
That neuer did, aduaunce my loyall hart,
For treble toile, for paines, nor iust desart.
Ten thousand haue found Fortunes fauour good,
Since I began to tread the steps of time:
And thousands rose, that in meane places stoode,
And to the top of Fortunes wheele did clime;
Since I possest one dram of worldly slime.
Yea, eu'ry Waspe, and hatefull Homble-bee,
Sucks vp the sap, of my poore Cyper tree.
Since I began to tread the steps of time:
And thousands rose, that in meane places stoode,
And to the top of Fortunes wheele did clime;
Since I possest one dram of worldly slime.
Yea, eu'ry Waspe, and hatefull Homble-bee,
Sucks vp the sap, of my poore Cyper tree.
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Like Tantalus I feede, and faint for foode,
No better fare at Fortunes hands I finde:
Still neere good hap, yet farre from quiet moode,
Tost vp and downe, like fether in the winde;
Neuer thought on, but euer out of minde.
As world should thrust a man from credite quite,
So seemes to die, and yet must liue in spite.
No better fare at Fortunes hands I finde:
Still neere good hap, yet farre from quiet moode,
Tost vp and downe, like fether in the winde;
Neuer thought on, but euer out of minde.
As world should thrust a man from credite quite,
So seemes to die, and yet must liue in spite.
If any one that stands at VVell-head still,
Had freely fild my empty bucket bare:
Or of himselfe, had show'd me such good will,
To leaue some drops of water to my share;
That I had beene refresht as others are,
My thirstye throate or skalded hart had felt,
Some sucker sweet that now with heate doth swelt.
Had freely fild my empty bucket bare:
Or of himselfe, had show'd me such good will,
To leaue some drops of water to my share;
That I had beene refresht as others are,
My thirstye throate or skalded hart had felt,
Some sucker sweet that now with heate doth swelt.
Or if good mindes of men had broke the yce,
That keepes by cold the fountaine frozen hard:
Or turnd the cock, the conduit or the vice,
That vnder locke is long shut vp and bard;
Or to the Prince my simple sute prefard.
I silly man had sure possest some place,
That should make glad my selfe and all my race.
That keepes by cold the fountaine frozen hard:
Or turnd the cock, the conduit or the vice,
That vnder locke is long shut vp and bard;
Or to the Prince my simple sute prefard.
I silly man had sure possest some place,
That should make glad my selfe and all my race.
No Butter cleaues nor sticks vpon my bread,
No Honny-combes will breede in my bare hyue:
My gold but glasse, my siluer worse then lead,
My luck as bad as any man alyue;
My feeble chaunce, wants force with fate to striue.
That dest'ny strange that brings no ioyfull day,
That life but death, that findes no staffe of stay.
No Honny-combes will breede in my bare hyue:
My gold but glasse, my siluer worse then lead,
My luck as bad as any man alyue;
My feeble chaunce, wants force with fate to striue.
That dest'ny strange that brings no ioyfull day,
That life but death, that findes no staffe of stay.
What course or trade that honest men may hold,
But hath beene sought and say'd with sweat of brow:
What arte or drift can any head vnfold,
But hath with wit been tryde and searched throw;
What can be namde a grace or vertue now,
But in some sort it hath beene put in proofe,
For publique state, or priuate mans behoofe.
But hath beene sought and say'd with sweat of brow:
What arte or drift can any head vnfold,
But hath with wit been tryde and searched throw;
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But in some sort it hath beene put in proofe,
For publique state, or priuate mans behoofe.
All these good parts, rare gifts and graces great,
Are spurnd at heere, where duety seemes disdaind:
But necke in yoke once free from fortunes threat,
When bondage hath abroade sweet freedome gaind;
May laugh to scorne at home good credite staind.
Than those rebukes, that bites before my face,
Behind my backe, shall showe their own disgrace.
Are spurnd at heere, where duety seemes disdaind:
But necke in yoke once free from fortunes threat,
When bondage hath abroade sweet freedome gaind;
May laugh to scorne at home good credite staind.
Than those rebukes, that bites before my face,
Behind my backe, shall showe their own disgrace.
Heere lose I time that for good turnes doth gape,
No tarrying where deserts are troden downe:
Nor dwelling with wild Wolues in humane shape,
That still deuours men of their true renowne;
Tweare better liue with Corridon the Clowne,
Then come to Court, where tauntes & gyrds abounde,
And gaine growes small, and no great hap is found.
No tarrying where deserts are troden downe:
Nor dwelling with wild Wolues in humane shape,
That still deuours men of their true renowne;
Tweare better liue with Corridon the Clowne,
Then come to Court, where tauntes & gyrds abounde,
And gaine growes small, and no great hap is found.
For fifty yeeres and fiue I plide it well,
And burthens bore as backe and bones would breake:
Still fedde with shales, yet sometimes crackt the shell,
And kyrnell found to comfort humour weake.
But when lame age hath greatest cause to speake,
They put me off from post to piller still,
As though they whypt a horse about a Myll.
And burthens bore as backe and bones would breake:
Still fedde with shales, yet sometimes crackt the shell,
And kyrnell found to comfort humour weake.
But when lame age hath greatest cause to speake,
They put me off from post to piller still,
As though they whypt a horse about a Myll.
O wilie world, thou art become too fine,
O cunning Court, thou shufflest Cardes too fast:
O hungry age, when Souldiours starue and pine,
O cruell dayes, thy date too loong doth last;
O faire sweet words, you proue a bittter blast.
O haplesse hope, thou breedst but deepe dispaire,
Whose heauy thoughts breathes out but fuming ayre.
O cunning Court, thou shufflest Cardes too fast:
O hungry age, when Souldiours starue and pine,
O cruell dayes, thy date too loong doth last;
O faire sweet words, you proue a bittter blast.
O haplesse hope, thou breedst but deepe dispaire,
Whose heauy thoughts breathes out but fuming ayre.
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O seede ill sowne, that bringes no haruest home,
O time ill spent, that gets no thanks nor gaine:
O blasted tree, whose boughes will neuer blome,
O sencelesse sute that breakes both sleepe and braine;
O curelesse griefe, ô carefull endlesse paine.
O kanckred wound, ô gnawing corsie vile,
That eates vp hart, and driues me in exile.
O time ill spent, that gets no thanks nor gaine:
O blasted tree, whose boughes will neuer blome,
O sencelesse sute that breakes both sleepe and braine;
O curelesse griefe, ô carefull endlesse paine.
O kanckred wound, ô gnawing corsie vile,
That eates vp hart, and driues me in exile.
Now must I leaue the Land I like so well,
And creepe awaie to forraine Countrey strange,
Now must stiffe ioynts among strange people dwell,
Now for hard beds I shall soft lodging change;
Now from sweet peace, in war shall body range.
Nowe shot and sword, and heauy coate of steele,
In most weake plite, my wearie bones shall feele.
And creepe awaie to forraine Countrey strange,
Now must stiffe ioynts among strange people dwell,
Now for hard beds I shall soft lodging change;
Now from sweet peace, in war shall body range.
Nowe shot and sword, and heauy coate of steele,
In most weake plite, my wearie bones shall feele.
And now good Lord, the Prince I honor most,
In hart, in soule, in feare and conscience cleere:
To whom next God, I would bequeath my ghost,
And all good gifts that God hath sent me heere,
For her I hold ne life nor blood too deere.
But from her face, of force now must I goe,
And to what place, the Lord himselfe doth knoe.
In hart, in soule, in feare and conscience cleere:
To whom next God, I would bequeath my ghost,
And all good gifts that God hath sent me heere,
For her I hold ne life nor blood too deere.
But from her face, of force now must I goe,
And to what place, the Lord himselfe doth knoe.
To begge at home, or borrow is too bad,
To steale or starue, or not esteemd is worse:
To liue by losse, or looke like empty swad,
Would make world think I thirst for thred-bare purse,
To want and waile, to ban, to cry and curse,
Were great offence, great folly, sin and shame,
For one foule fault, a man may lose good name.
To steale or starue, or not esteemd is worse:
To liue by losse, or looke like empty swad,
Would make world think I thirst for thred-bare purse,
To want and waile, to ban, to cry and curse,
Were great offence, great folly, sin and shame,
For one foule fault, a man may lose good name.
Then freendes and foes farewell, God mend you all,
The one bewitcht me daily with faire words:
The other sought, with quarrell or lewde brall,
To conquer him, that neuer feard your swords.
To seeke sweete meate vpon your bitter bordes,
Is seruage such, as few free mindes would wish,
Grosse fare exceedes so deere a dainty dish.
The one bewitcht me daily with faire words:
The other sought, with quarrell or lewde brall,
To conquer him, that neuer feard your swords.
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Is seruage such, as few free mindes would wish,
Grosse fare exceedes so deere a dainty dish.
So plainely passe, in Pilgrims habite poore,
Eate what thou find'st, in Cottage thacht with straw,
Leaue those that lacke, for almes at Princes doore,
Where thou hast beene, a subiect vnder Law.
But tell not how, in yoke thy youth did draw,
Like Oxe that goade pricks forward to his paine,
To plowe the ground for wealthy Farmers gaine.
Eate what thou find'st, in Cottage thacht with straw,
Leaue those that lacke, for almes at Princes doore,
Where thou hast beene, a subiect vnder Law.
But tell not how, in yoke thy youth did draw,
Like Oxe that goade pricks forward to his paine,
To plowe the ground for wealthy Farmers gaine.
Much like the Bee, that flyes to eu'ry flowre,
To bring home sap, to make sweet honney still:
And when he hath doone all lyes in his powre,
To show the loue or fruite of his good will.
In steed of thanks, when he doth meane no ill,
Then is he burnt, or flung in flaming fire,
Because new Bees contents fine worlds desire.
To bring home sap, to make sweet honney still:
And when he hath doone all lyes in his powre,
To show the loue or fruite of his good will.
In steed of thanks, when he doth meane no ill,
Then is he burnt, or flung in flaming fire,
Because new Bees contents fine worlds desire.
Yea, as the Horse, that many yeeres and daies,
Hath labred long, and serud his Maisters neede:
And borne him well, through many deep foule waies,
And on good Corne and hay was wont to feede.
Yet waxen old, and cannot doe the deede,
He is cast off, and faine to play the part
Of Hackney Iade, or els must draw the Cart.
Hath labred long, and serud his Maisters neede:
And borne him well, through many deep foule waies,
And on good Corne and hay was wont to feede.
Yet waxen old, and cannot doe the deede,
He is cast off, and faine to play the part
Of Hackney Iade, or els must draw the Cart.
A cold reward, for labour toyle and sweate,
As small regard is made of many men:
Why then his wit and wisedome is as weake
As Waltams-calfe, that plaies the fondling then,
To weare out life, and serue with sword and pen.
Where Horses hap, is founde in worse degree,
Then Oxe in yoke, or in the hiue the Bee.
As small regard is made of many men:
Why then his wit and wisedome is as weake
As Waltams-calfe, that plaies the fondling then,
To weare out life, and serue with sword and pen.
Where Horses hap, is founde in worse degree,
Then Oxe in yoke, or in the hiue the Bee.
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I vvaste but vvordes, to waile or tell my wrong,
Their eares are stopt that should redresse the same:
Vnto the dead I sing a dolefull song,
I seeke for fire, where vvater quencheth flame;
I svvim on seas, yet sinck in open shame.
I thirst and faint for drinke at fountaines head,
I starue for foode, where thousands eate their bread.
Their eares are stopt that should redresse the same:
Vnto the dead I sing a dolefull song,
I seeke for fire, where vvater quencheth flame;
I svvim on seas, yet sinck in open shame.
I thirst and faint for drinke at fountaines head,
I starue for foode, where thousands eate their bread.
Well, vvelcome vvant, I feele thee not alone,
My fellowes dwels in stately Court perhaps,
That doth for want of flesh gnavv neere the bone,
Who seldome sucks sweet milke from Fortunes paps,
Yet plyes the Court, vvith curtsies, knees, & caps.
A thraldome fit, for such as loues faire shoe,
But hath no wit, nor knowes not vvhere to goe.
My fellowes dwels in stately Court perhaps,
That doth for want of flesh gnavv neere the bone,
Who seldome sucks sweet milke from Fortunes paps,
Yet plyes the Court, vvith curtsies, knees, & caps.
A thraldome fit, for such as loues faire shoe,
But hath no wit, nor knowes not vvhere to goe.
The Lord be blest, some beare a better braine,
And soone can shovv, the blot that seruage brings:
Haue vvit enough to keepe them out of raine,
And knowes full wel, vvhere shoe or saddle wrings;
In silence so, I knit vp all these things.
Farevvell fine Court, my plainnes is vnfit,
Among the flock of gallant guests to sit.
And soone can shovv, the blot that seruage brings:
Haue vvit enough to keepe them out of raine,
And knowes full wel, vvhere shoe or saddle wrings;
In silence so, I knit vp all these things.
Farevvell fine Court, my plainnes is vnfit,
Among the flock of gallant guests to sit.
Poore, plaine and true, and sure of right good race,
Takes leaue of you, and therof makes no vauntes:
Yet eu'ry where, will show plaine true mans face,
For that in vvorld, his deedes and dest'nies graunts.
No force though Court yeelds him but open taunts.
God and good Prince, in time can vvay that vvell,
And make sad man, at length in quiet dwell.
Takes leaue of you, and therof makes no vauntes:
Yet eu'ry where, will show plaine true mans face,
For that in vvorld, his deedes and dest'nies graunts.
No force though Court yeelds him but open taunts.
God and good Prince, in time can vvay that vvell,
And make sad man, at length in quiet dwell.
FINIS.
| A Feast full of sad cheere | |