 | A Feast full of sad cheere |  |
1
The Epitaphe of the Right honorable the Earle of Worster that last died, Knight of the most honorable order of the Garter.
No day so cleere, but brings at length darke night,
Faire flowers doe fade, as fast as they doe groe:
No torch nor lampe, but burnes away their light,
Sunne shines awhile, then vnder clowde doth goe;
The lyfe of man, is heere compared so.
It lasts a space, till borrowed breath be paid:
And then cold corse, in Tombe or graue is laid.
No honor, wealth, nor force, nor wisedomes lore,
Nor famous praise
Prolongs our daies,
VVhen Death drawes neere, and man may liue no more.
Faire flowers doe fade, as fast as they doe groe:
No torch nor lampe, but burnes away their light,
Sunne shines awhile, then vnder clowde doth goe;
The lyfe of man, is heere compared so.
It lasts a space, till borrowed breath be paid:
And then cold corse, in Tombe or graue is laid.
No honor, wealth, nor force, nor wisedomes lore,
Nor famous praise
Prolongs our daies,
VVhen Death drawes neere, and man may liue no more.
The greatest Kings, are onely borne to die,
Like poorest men, their passage hence they take:
And noble Earles, that sits in honor hie,
And all estates, of life an end must make;
Yet waile I will, for worthy Worsters sake,
His loyall loue, to Prince and Country such:
As in our age, can not be praisd too much.
In Wales well likt, in England honord still
For lordly minde,
And hart most kinde
To all his friendes: which wan the worlds good will.
Like poorest men, their passage hence they take:
And noble Earles, that sits in honor hie,
And all estates, of life an end must make;
Yet waile I will, for worthy Worsters sake,
His loyall loue, to Prince and Country such:
As in our age, can not be praisd too much.
In Wales well likt, in England honord still
For lordly minde,
And hart most kinde
To all his friendes: which wan the worlds good will.
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Brought vp in Court, among the Princely sort,
Of manner milde, as his estate might forde:
Held stately house, with traine and princely port,
Right spare of speech, yet wise and waer in word;
Most glad of guestes, and pleasant at his boord.
Full franck and free, where things were nobly spent:
To each degree, of nature throw-well bent.
As though a spring in Ragland Castle were,
To pleasure those
That bounty knowes,
And had desire to draw sweet water there.
Of manner milde, as his estate might forde:
Held stately house, with traine and princely port,
Right spare of speech, yet wise and waer in word;
Most glad of guestes, and pleasant at his boord.
Full franck and free, where things were nobly spent:
To each degree, of nature throw-well bent.
As though a spring in Ragland Castle were,
To pleasure those
That bounty knowes,
And had desire to draw sweet water there.
This Earle had ioy, to haue his stable fild,
With faire great Horse, that were for seruice fit:
And was himselfe, in ryding as well skild,
As any man, that myght in saddle sit;
Could vse the Horse, with euery kinde of bit.
On horse and hound, had much desire to looke:
In building to, a great delight he tooke.
In all good gifts, and artes had sure some sight,
Like noble man,
That now and than
Could passe off time, with matters graue or light.
With faire great Horse, that were for seruice fit:
And was himselfe, in ryding as well skild,
As any man, that myght in saddle sit;
Could vse the Horse, with euery kinde of bit.
On horse and hound, had much desire to looke:
In building to, a great delight he tooke.
In all good gifts, and artes had sure some sight,
Like noble man,
That now and than
Could passe off time, with matters graue or light.
And whan best proofe, of him good people had,
A sicknes came, and tooke him hence in hast:
The newes whereof, makes friendes & neighbors sad,
Who hopes his soule, the heauens haue imbrast;
Loe Lordings all, how heere our time we waste.
Our daies are short, our race is quickly run:
We slip away, like shadow in the Sun.
To day on foote, to morrow downe in graue,
From world we goe
Both hie and loe,
All Adams seede no better surety haue.
A sicknes came, and tooke him hence in hast:
The newes whereof, makes friendes & neighbors sad,
Who hopes his soule, the heauens haue imbrast;
Loe Lordings all, how heere our time we waste.
Our daies are short, our race is quickly run:
We slip away, like shadow in the Sun.
To day on foote, to morrow downe in graue,
From world we goe
Both hie and loe,
All Adams seede no better surety haue.
FINIS.
3
THE EPITAPH OF the Right honorable Sir James Acrofft, late Controller of the Queenes Maiesties Housholde.
If world were waxt vnkind, and would forget what heere is done:And cleane weare out of mind, the doubtful race that men do run,
True writers should reuiue, time past for feare old age would rust,
And some young heads aliue, would burie vertue in the dust.
VVhere are our famous Kings, the shepheards of our English heard,
That conquerd many things, and made our enemies all affeard,
Our world remembers none, with princely Tombes, or blast of praise,
They are no sooner gone, but their renowne in world decayes.
Their Counsellers likewise, whose wisedome held vp tottring state,
Once dead we doe despise, we beare in breast such hart borne hate.
Thus world is worse then nought, his care and iudgement is so small,
It neuer takes no thought, for nothing heere that may befall.
But God that all doth see, and giues man grace and gift of pen,
Of late hath moued mee, with verse to honour worthy men.
Than come Syr James Acrofft, a Knight who serud 4 princes great,
Who Fortune fauourd oft, and who sate long in Senate seate.
(Who was a while vizroy, and then of Wales vizpresdent to,
Did many roomes enioy, which none aliue may easily doe.)
Come take the Crowne Ciuicque, that Cæsar gaue for true renowne,
Not one may weare the like, in warlike fielde or walled Towne.
But those that beares in brest, to Country such great loue and zeale,
As still they doe their best, to serue both Prince & Common-weale.
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His duety and his troth, bid all those Realmes yeeld true report.
And tell me who can say, now borne in this our Brittish soyle,
He passed cleere this day, through such great roomes without some foyle.
And last in Court of all, Sir Iames Acroffts Controller was,
That credite is not small, that place through many perrils passe.
Yet that and all the rest, of honors he possessed heere,
Fild neyther purse nor chest, for he bought all those honors deere.
VVith losse of time and wealth, and dreadfull dangers day and night,
To hazard life and health, and all he had for Countryes right.
Yea in his brauest boast, when he in greatest fauour stood,
And profits deserud most, the Princes died should doe him good.
Saue one, a Queene most rare, (to whom great God great grace dooth send
Tooke of his case som care, & thought to help him in the end.
But ere the comfort came, his blaze and candle cleane went out,
And meeke & milde as lambe, (that doth no death nor danger doubt)
He tooke his last farewell: and so lost life, lands, goods and all,
To her he serued well, so long as he was at her call.
Loe what mishaps men haue, to rise, and rule, and gouerne mych:
Yet going to their graue, the world may see they die not rych.
A signe they had no hord, but had their hope in Prince and troth:
By seruice and by sword, to purchase fame and treasure both.
Now lowe in earth he lies, (that hie did sit and beare great sway:)
Tyll he and wee shall rise, and heare our doome at Iudgement day.
FINIS.
5
Sir William Winter, Knight, his Epitaphe.
What mourning verse or careful cries, shal serue where sadnes floes:Where soking sighes and blobred eyes, a world of sorrowe shoes.
Be still and mute, ô house of ioy, giue groning griefe some place:
Turne sollace sweet to sowre annoy, that soone is seene in face.
Let gladsome mirth goe where it please, make woe a welcome guest:
Bid each delight and wished ease, dislodge from troubled brest.
Let sports and pleasures silent be, and name no earthly blis:
For heauy harts doe best agree, where death and dollor is.
So if you shape your selues to heare, what did by death befall:
This verse may chaunce to change your cheare, & make you mourne withall.
A knight here lies but late aliue, who purchast pereles praise:
Who nobly long for fame did striue, by seruise sundry waise.
On sea and land a happy man, that bore a Lyons hart:
Who honor wealth & worship wan, throw sword and due desart.
His skill and councell gaue great grace, where martial people were:
And where he shewd his manly face, he put his foes in scare.
A victor that brought conquest home, from many a fight and field:
A Champion that in hard attempts, had rather die then yield.
A chieftain oft that might commaund, both ships & men good store:
A gallant guide that throw would goe, and leade them all before.
His presence promisd good successe of all he tooke in hand:
A cheerefull comfort in distresse, a lode-star of our Lande.
A worthy that had great regard, of charge and liues of men:
A wight in world right well preferd, by sword but not by pen.
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Not turnd like weltring waues with wind, nor sturd by storme or blast.
A targe of proofe to publique state, of iudgement deepe and great:
That could of Countries weale debate, like Sage in Senate seate.
A sparke of Mars by speech & lookes, wherein the world might spy:
A warlike mind a worthy head, a hart and courage hye.
His seruice last on sea declard, what kinde of man he was:
Whose worth is of as great regard, as gold is from the glasse.
VVhat want of him haue we the while, to leese this Iewell now:
VVhose valour showne amid this Ile, lyke pearle in princely brow.
Come Souldiours then with drum and fife, and sound his deere adue:
Lament the losse of Winters life, in black sad mourning hue.
Come Captaines all both rich and poore, with shot & Armor bright.
And traile your Collours on the flowre, in honor of this Knight.
Come wofull babes, come sun and ayre, cast off your garments gay:
And clap on robes of deepe dispaire, to waile this dismall day.
Cold death hath doone vs all this wrong, by griefe that body bred:
For Winter might haue liued long, and had not now beene dead:
If Death gaue not consent thereto, that lyes like priuie watch:
But loe, what Cannon could not doe, Death made thereof dispatch.
Yet at the brūt of all this broyle, whē conscience cast account:
How soone the life should leaue this soile, and where the soule should mount.
He held vp hands with staied thought, to highest clowdes aboue:
And so set all the world at nought, and died as meeke as Doue.
We hope the heauens haue embrast, the soule we could not keepe:
And that by grace is Winter plast, in Abrams brest to sleepe.
FINIS.
The good Maister VVilliam Holstocks Epitaph, Controller of the Queenes Maiesties Nauie.
Mvse not to see this man in Tombe, all flesh to graue must goe,Death calls for life (ere day of doome) to pay the debt we owe.
[illeg.] went from world when worlds good wil, embrast him eu'ry where,
For whom his friends sits wayling still, and sheds full many a teare.
What taketh breath and life must die, the best and worst takes leaue,
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Then worldlings waile the dead no more, he liues & dwels in skye,
For Holstocke did but goe before, to learne vs all to die.
In youth this forward Martiall man, was still in seruice great,
Where he much fame and credite wan, through many a warlike feate.
In age his care of Country such, as he lou'd nothing more,
Whereon he could not talke too much, if cause fel out therefore.
Hys courage alwaies him prefard, (whiles he in world did hue,
To worthy place of great regard, which Prince did freely giue,
As he increast to wished wealth, or worship through desart,
He shewd in sicknes and in health, a cheerefull librall hart.
Held house and plentious table still, full long and many a yeere,
Did welcome guests with great good wil, that came to tast his cheere.
Made much of all good vertuous men, and what so ere befell,
Was glad and pleasant now and then, with those he liked well.
Full wise in deede and waer of word, and carefull of his charge,
And alwaies free and francke at boord, where his expence was large.
Belou'd and praisd of poore and rich, and prayd for sundry waies,
Good Holstocke shall be missed much, in these hard needy daies.
A conscience cleere, a fayth most fearme, a currant stampe of truth,
Kept touch and promise, time and tearme, fearde God in age & youth.
A mighty minde in stature meane, that ventred life full oft,
On sea or land among the best, that looked most aloft.
Good writers haue in seueral bookes, set forth his value throw,
That those which on the seruice lookes, should honor Holstocke now.
As lyfe got laude, so he at death, to friends and children said,
O babes before I yeeld vp breath, and Pilgrims part be plaid,
I blesse you all, and giue my goods among you as I may,
Then in the bed shrunke downe his head, and went like blaze away.
The good he did in his accounts, where soule now pleading is,
He feeles, where heauenly ioy surmounts, all kind of earthly blis.
FINIS.
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The Epitaphe of Doctor Underhill latelie B. of Oxforde.
What helpeth hap or due deserts to bee in fauour here,Whē life is mixt with such orethwarts, we buy our fortunes dere.
Gay gold or pearle brought home from farre, at end consumes away,
Great fame attainde by peace or warre, doth quickly heere decay.
The loue of friends and fauour won, of wise and worthy wights,
Steales hence like shadow of the sun, or stars in moonshine nights.
Sate I not safely Vnderhill, (in calmie vale below,)
From bitter blasts and tempests still, how ere the winde did blow.
What suddaine storme then troubles me, that had so sure a seate,
Hath winters wast blown down my tree, that feard no summers heat.
O tell harde Destnies why you did, enuy my happy state?
Infury now, O God forbid I should cry out on fate.
Or braule & chide with churlish Death, for when we hence must goe,
What beareth life or draweth breath, are borne to die I knoe.
My friend is gone, the passing bell hath rung his {rufull} end,
The graue God wote we see full well, doth for his corse attende.
Now Vnderhill lyes vnder ground, knit vp in sheete full short,
Whose wit and learning did abound, as Oxford makes report.
He Bishop was of that faire seate, where floods of wisdome floes,
To whose sweet springs and Fountaine great, a world of people goes.
O would to God he had beene there, when he his time did waste,
And caught conceit some other where, that halde him hence in haste.
His lyfe was such that none could staine, with any blot or crime,
Vnmatcht alone he did remaine, and so spent all his time.
In chaste content and single wise, a good report to gaine,
As one that did this world despise, and held all pleasure vaine.
Held house and table in such rate, as though his rent had bin,
As great as any hie estate, whose wealth comes flowing in.
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To schollers shewd a cheerefull face, relieu'd them eu'ry where.
His bounty and large librall minde, did daily so exceede,
That he was glad some cause to finde, to helpe all those that neede.
His words were of so great a waight, to ballance eu'rie case,
That who so heard his iudgement straight, would giue his wisedome place.
His sensure made the sentence cleere, & so shut vp the dout,
That sure a ioy it was to heare, him canuase questions out.
His loue and zeale to Prince and state, in Pulpit was exprest,
And what thereof he did debate, surmounted all the rest.
His hauiour was so sweet and meeke, that men might easely know,
No vertue was in him to seeke, he made so full a showe.
For friendship, faith, and dealings iust, he past the greater sort,
An vpright man of speciall trust, with passing comely port.
A thunder-bolt to forraine foes, a skurge to each new Sect,
And one the Lord aboue had chose, to be his owne elect.
Full long before his leaue he tooke, and life made his last end,
Vnto the heauens did he looke, and praied with a frend.
And when the pangs of death arose, as sicknes did increase,
He held vp hands and eyes did close, and went away in peace.
O England hadst thou many such, to be thy Iewels now,
Thou could'st not praise those men too much, if thou wilt way them throw.
Not I alone lament the losse, for many more there be,
A liue to beare this heauy crosse, of sorrow now with me.
FINIS.
[The quick I fawne not on, the dead may none dispise]
The quick I fawne not on, the dead may none dispise,Speake well of those are gone, is likt among the wise.
The quick must die or droope, as fairest flowre in field,
Vnto the strongest troope, the weakest force doth yield.
So to the vertuous sort, that leaues good name behinde,
I yeeld but true report, to call the dead to minde.
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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.
14
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.
15
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 Short Prayer.
From fiue extreames God me presarue,Which common plagues all harts doe hate:
To beg, to borrow, steale, or starue,
Or not esteemd in publique state.
| A Feast full of sad cheere | |