University of Virginia Library

A. M. Vnto all yong Gentilmen, in commendacion of this Gallery and workemen therof.

See Gallaunts, see, this Gallery of delightes,
With buyldings braue, imbost of variant hue:
With daynties deckt, deuisde by worthy wights,
(Which) as time serude, vnto perfection grew.
By studies toyle with phrases fine they fraught:
This peereles peece, filde full, of pretty pith:
And trimde it, (with) what skill, and learning taught,
In hope to please your longing mindes therwith.
Which workemanship, by worthy workemen wrought,
(Perusde) least in obliuion it should ly:
A willing minde, eche part togeather fought,
And termde (the whole) A gorgious Gallerye:
Wherin you may, to recreate the minde,
Such fyne Inuentions finde, for your delight:
That, for desart, their dooings will you binde,
To yeelde them prayse, so well a worke to wright.

Owen Roydon to the curious company of Sycophantes.

To a Gentilwoman that sayd: All men be false, they thinke not what they say.

Some women fayne that Paris was,
The falsest louer that could bee:
Who for his (life) did nothing passe,
As all the world might playnly see:
But ventred life and limmes and all,
To keepe his freend from Greekish thrall:
With many a broyle hee dearely bought,
His (Hellen) whom hee long had sought.
For first (Dame Venus) graunted him,
A gallant gifte of Beauties fleece:
Which boldely for to seeke to win,
By surging Seas hee sayld to Greece:
And when hee was arriued theare,
By earnest sute to win his Deare:
No greater paynes might man endure,
Then Paris did, for Hellen sure.
Besides all this when they were well,
Both hee, and shee, arryu'd at Troy:
Kinge Menelaus wrath did swell,
And swore, by sword, to rid their ioyes:
And so hee did for ten yeres space,
Hee lay before the Troyans face:
With all the hoste that hee could make,
To bee reueng'd for Hellens sake.
Loe? thus much did poore Paris bide,
Who is accounted most vntrue:
All men bee false it hath bin sayd,
They thinke not what they speake (say you)
Yes Paris spoke, and sped with speede,
As all the heauenly Gods decreed:
And proou'd himselfe a Louer iust,
Till stately Troy was turnd to dust:
I doo not reade of any man,
That so much was vnfaythfull found:
You did vs wrong, t'accuse vs than,
And say our freendship is not sound:
If any fault bee found at all,
To womens lot it needes must fall:
If (Hellen) had not bin so light,
Sir Paris had not died in fight.
The falsest men I can excuse,
That euer you in stories reade:
Therfore all men for to accuse,
Mee thinkes it was not well decreede:
It is a signe you haue not tride,
What stedfastnesse in men doth bide:
But when your time shal try them true,
This iudgment then, you must renue.
I know not euery mans deuise,
But commonly they stedfast are:
Though you doo make them of no price,
They breake their vowes but very rare:
They will performe theyr promis well,
And specially where loue doth dwell:
Where freendship doth not iustly frame,
Then men (forsooth) must beare the blame.

The lamentable louer abiding in the bitter bale of direfull doubts towards his Ladyes loyalty, writeth vnto her as followeth.

Health I thee send, if hee may giue, yt which himself doth misse:
For thy sweet brest, doth harbor whole, my bloody bale or blisse,
I neede no scribe, to scry my care, in restlesse rigor spread:
They that behold, my chaunged cheare, already iudge mee dead.
My baned limmes, haue yeelded vp, their woonted ioy to dye:
My healthles hand, doth nought but wring, & dry my dropping eye,
The deadly day, in dole I passe, a thousand times I craue
The noysome night: agayne I wish, the dolefull day to haue.
Eche howre to mee, most hatefull is, eche place doth vrge my wo:
No foode mee feedes, close vp mine eyes, to gastly graue I go.
No Phisickes art, can giue the salue, to heale my paynfull part:
Saue only thou, the salue and sore, of this my captiue hart,
Thou art the branch yt sweetly springs, whose hart is sound & true
Can only cheare mee wofull wight, or force my want to rue.
Then giue to mee, the sap I thirste, which gift may giue mee ioy,
I mean thy firme, & faythful loue, whose want breeds mine annoy,
Remember yet sure freendship had, ypast betweene vs twayne
Forget him not, for loue of thee, who sighes in secret payne.
I oft doo seeme in company, a gladsome face to beare,
But God thou knowst my inward woes, & cares yt rent mee there:
And that I may, gush out my greefe, in secret place alone,
I bid my freends farewell in haste, I say I must be gone.
Then haste I fast, with heauy hart, in this my dolefull case:
Where walkes no wight, but I alone, in drowsie desart place,
And there I empt, my laden hart, that sweld in fretting mone:
My sighes and playnts, and panges I tell, vnto my selfe alone.
What shall I say? doo aske mee once, why all these sorowes bee?
I answere true, O foe or freend, they all are made for thee,
Once knit the lynck, that loue may last, then shal my dollors cease
It lyes in thee, and wilt thou not, the yeelding wight release?
O would to God, it lay in mee, to cure such greefe of thine:
Thou shouldst not long, be voyd of helpe, if twere in power of mine,
But I would run, & range in stormes, a thousand miles in payne:
Not fearing foyle, of freends to haue, my coūtenance whole agayn
And wilt thou then, all mercylesse, more longer torment mee?
In drawing backe, sith my good helpe, is only whole in thee?
Then send mee close, ye hewing knife, my wider wound to stratch:
And thou shalt see, by wofull greefe, of life a cleane dispatch.
When thou shalt say, and prooue it true, my hart entirely lou'd,
Which lost the life, for countnance sweet frō whō hee neuer mou'd
Write then vpon my wofull Tombe, these verses grauen aboue,
Heere lyes the hart, his truth to trie, that lost his life in loue.
Loe, saue or spill, thou mayst mee now, thou sitst in iudgment hie,
Where I poore man, at Bar doo stand, and lowd, for life doo cry.
Thou wilt not bee, so mercylesse, to slea a louing hart:
Small prayse it is to conquer him, that durst no where to start,
Thou hast the sword, that cut the wound, of my vnholpen payne:
Thou canst and art, the only helpe, to heale the same agayne.
Then heale the hart, that loues thee well, vntill the day hee dye:
And firmely fast thy loue on him, thats true continually,
In thee my wealth, in thee my woe, in thee too saue or spill:
In thee mee lyfe, in thee my death, doth rest to worke thy will.
Let vertue myxt, with pitty great, and louing mercy saue
Him, who without thy salue, so sicke, that hee must yeeld to graue,
O salue thou then, my secret sore, sith health in thee dooth stay:
And graūt wt speed, my iust request, whose want works my decay
Then shal I blesse, the pleasāt place, where once I tooke thy gloue,
And thanke ye God, who giues thee grace, to graūt me loue for loue.

A louing Epistle, written by Ruphilus a yonge Gentilman, to his best beloued Lady Elriza, as followeth.

NARSETVS a wofull youth, in his exile writeth to Rosana his beloued mistresse, to assure her of his faithfull constancie, requiring the like of her.

To stay thy musinge minde: hee did this pistle frame,
That holds the deere, & loues thee most: Narsetus is his name
Would God thy frend had brought: ye health yt here he sendes
I should haue seene my lacking ioy, and heale that hart that rendes.
And redy is eche hower: to sunder still in twaine,
Saue now this pistle that I write: doth lessen wel my paine,
And helpes mee to vpholde a lingring lothsome life,
Awaiting still the blisfull hower, when death shall stinte the strife.
What dooth it mee preuaile: to haue king Cresus wealth,
Or who doth ioy in golden Giues, imprisoned with his health,
I sweare by Ioue to thee, whose godhead is aye iust,
These wordes I write are not vntrue: then do mee not mist rust.
Thy selfe shalbe the iudge: and if thou list to vewe,
The bared bones, the hollow lookes, the pale and ledy hew,
The stealing strides I draw: the wo and dreadfull feares
The boyling brest with bitter brine, the eyes be sprent with teares
The skant and hungry meales: the seldome slepe I take,
The dainty dames that others ioy, no iest to mee do make
These hated hatefull harmes: when I them feele to greeue mee
Remembrance of thy beuty bright, doth straight again releeue mee
And then I cal to minde, thy shape and cumly grace,
Thy heauenly hew thy sugred words, thy sweet entising face
The pleasant passed sportes: that spent the day to ende,
The lothsom loekes that liked not to leue so soone thy freend.
Sith froward fortune hath, my Mystresse thus bereft mee,
Perforce I yeeld and am content, to like the lot is left mee.
If Pyramus were sad, when hee found Thisby slayne,
If Cresseds craft and falsing fayth: did Troylus turne to payne,
Eneas traytor false: oh treason that hee did,
With bloody woundes and murdering sword, Queene Didos lyfe hath rid
If these haue won by death and end of pyning payne,
And I aliue with torments great in dying deathes remaine.
The sound of instruments: or musickes pleasant noyce,
Or riches rule, or proude estate, doth cause mee to reioyce
Or Venus damsels deere, do please mee euen as well,
As dying bodies ioy to here, for them a passing bell.
The greefes that gripe my hart, and dayly do mee slay
It lessen would much of the smart, if thou vouchsafe to say:
God graunt his weary life: and sorrowes to asswage,
God yeeld him health and happy dayes with honor in his age.
These wordes would win my life, dispaired now to death,
Thou should but saue that is thine own, while I haue liuing breath
What heapes of haples hopes, on me shall chance to fall,
So thou doo liue in blisfull state: no force for mee at all.
Amid my greatest greefe, the greatest care I haue,
Is how to wish and will thee good: and most thy honor saue.
Bee faythfull found therfore, bee constant true and iust
If thou betray thy louing freend, whom hensforth shall I trust?
When shal I speake with thee? when shal I thee imbrace?
When will the gods appease their wrath? when shal I haue sutch grace?
Hath Ioue forgotten dame Lede for loue: and how hee prayed her,
Transformed like a swan at length: the seely soule hee trayde her.
When faire fresh Danae was closed vp in tower:
Did hee not raine himselfe a drop, amidst the golden shower
And fell into her lap: from top of chimney hie?
The great delight of his long loue: hee did attaine thereby,
What cruell gods be these? what trespasse haue I doone?
That I am banisht thus from thee, what conquest haue they woon?
I know their power deuine: can for a while remooue mee,
But whilste I liue, and after death, my soule shall likewise loue thee
Not Alcumena shee, for whom the treble night
Was shaped first, can well compare with thee for bewty bright
Not Troylus sister too, whom cruell Pirrhus slew,
Nor shee, the price of ten yeres wars, whom yet the Grekes do rew
Nor shee Penelope, whose chastnes wan her fame,
Can match with thee Rosina chaste: I see her blush for shame.
The childe of mighty Ioue, that bred within his braine
Shall yeeld the palme of filed speche, to thee that doth her staine.
And euery wight on earth: that liuing breath do draw,
Lo here your queene sent from aboue, to kepe you all in awe
But nowe I fine my talke, I finde my wits to dull,
There liueth none that can set forth thy vertues at the ful.
Yet this I dare well say, and dare it to auowe,
The Gods do feare Rosinas shape: and bewty doth alowe.
In Tantalus toyle I liue: and want that most I would,
With wishing vowes I speake, I pray: yet lacke the thing I should
I see that I do want: I reach, it runnes mee fro:
I haue and lacke, that I loue most, and lothest to forgo.
But oh Rosanna dere: since time of my exile
How hast thou done? and doost thou liue: how hast thou spent the while
How standeth health with thee? and art thou glad of chere?
God graunt those happy restful dayes, increase may still each yere.
If any greefe or care, do vex thy wofull hart,
Then God I pray to giue thee ease, and swagement of thy smart.
Yet this I doo desire, that thou be found to abide
A freend: euen such as shal mislike, with sodaine change to slide.
If pleasure now thou hast, to spend the dreiry day,
Read then this pistle of my hande, to driue the time away.
If all thy freendes aliue: would from thy frendship swarue,
A thousand deathes I do desire, in wretched state to starue.
If I amongst the rest, should alter so my minde,
Or thou shouldest charge I promise brake, or els am found vnkinde
Though Argus ielus eyes: that daily on vs tend,
Forbid vs meat and speech also, or message for to send.
A time will come to passe, and thinke it not to long
That thou and I shall ioyne in ioy, and wreake vs of our wrong.
Which time I would abide: though time too long doth try mee
In hope againe when time shal serue, thou wilt not then deny mee
Thus hope doth mee vpholde: for hope of after blisse,
And lose therby my present ioy, in hoping still for this.
I doo commend to thee: my life and all I haue,
Commaund them both as thee best likes: to lose or els to saue.
I am no more mine owne, but thine to vse at will
The same is thine without desert, if thou mee seke to kill.
Bee glad thou litle quere, my mystresse shall thee see
Fall flat to ground before her face: and at her feet doo lie:
Haste not to rise againe, nor doo her not withstand
If of her bounty shee vouchsafe, to rayse thee with her hand.
Say thy maister sent thee, and humbly for mee greete her,
Thou knowest my selfe doth wish full ofte: to be in place to meete her.
If any worde in this, hath scapte and doo her greeue,
A pardon craue vpon thy knee, and pray her to forgeue
A giltles hand it wrote, thou mayst be bolde to tell:
No minde of malice did mee moue, her self doth know it well.
Thou canst and I deserue: make glad my wofull sprite,
I craue no answer to thy payne: nor force thee for to write.
It should suffise if thou: voutchsafe to reade the same,
This pistle then if thou mislyke, condemne it to the flame.
But now there needes no more, I will this pistle ende,
Esteeme Narsetus alwayes well: that is thy faythfull freend,

The Louer forsaken, writeth to his Lady a desperate Farwell.

Euen hee that whilome was: thy faithful freend most iust,
That thrise three yeeres hath spent & past, reposing all his trust
In thy bewayling words, that seemed sugar sweet
The selfsame man vnwillingly: doth with these lines thee greet.
I can not speake with thee: and speaking is but paine,
To speake and pray and not to speede: too fruitles were the gayne.
Inforste therfore I write, and now vnfolde my minde,
I loue, and like as earst I did, I am not yet declinde.
Though time that trieth all, hath turnde the loue you ought,
No changing time could alter mee: or wrest awry my thought.
And sure I doo mislyke, that wemen choose to change,
Ungratefull folkes I do detest, as monsters foule and strange.
Sith first I did you know: I neuer spake the thing
That did intend you to beguile, or might repentance bring.
Thrise hath my pen falne downe: vpon this paper pale,
And scantly can my hart consent: to write to thee this tale.
Least hasty Iudgmentes might, misdeeme my giltles minde,
To charge that malice moues my speech, or some new frend to finde
The gods I vouch to ayd: who knowes the troth I ment,
To swarue or fleet from that I vowed, was neuer my intent.
But as the Courser fearce, by pearcing spur doth run,
So thy desertes enforce mee now: to see this worke begun.
Would God I had no cause to leaue that I did loue,
Or lothe the thing that likt mee so: nor this mishap to proue.
But sith no thing in earth: in one estate can bide,
Why striue I then against the streame, or toyle against the tide?
And haue you now forgot, how many yeeres I sought,
To get your grace with whot good will: how dearly I it bought.
There is no one aliue, that nature euer made
That hath such giftes of vertues race, and such vntroth doth shade.
If fayth might haue bin found, within a womans brest,
I did beleeue within thy hart, shee chose her place to rest.
Unskilful though I bee, and cannot best deserne,
Where craft for troth doth preace in place, yet am I not to learne.
And I did thinke you such: that litle knew of guile,
But seemings now be plaste for deedes, and please fulwel the while
Why doo I wunder thus? to thinke this same so strange,
Who hath assayed and knoweth not? that wemen choose to change.
Haue you thus sone forgot, the doutes and dreades you made,
Of yongmens loue how litle holde, how sone away they fade.
How hardly you beleeued: how often would you say,
My wordes were spoken of the splene: and I as oft denay.
How oft did you protest with handes vpstretcht to skyes?
How oft with othes vnto the Gods? how oft with weeping eyes?
Did you beseech them all, to rid your spending dayes?
When that you thought to leaue your freend: to dy without delayes
Mee thought in heauen I saw: how Ioue did laughe to skorne.
To see you sweare so solemly, and ment to be forsworne.
But as the Sirens singe, when treason they procure,
So smyling baytes the harmles soules: vnto their bane alure.
Thy fawning flattering wordes, which now full falce I finde,
Perswades mee to content my selfe, and turne from Cressids kinde.
And all the sorte of those: that vse such craft I wish
A speedy end, or lothsome life, to liue with Lasars dish.
Yet pardon I do pray: and if my wordes offend,
A crased ship amid the streame, the Marriner must mende.
And I thus tost and turnd: whose life to shipwracke goes
Complaynes of wrongs thou hast mee don, and all my greefe forth showes.
And could your hart consent? and could you gree therto?
Thus to betray your faythful freend, and promis to vndo?
If nought your wordes could binde, to holde your suer behest,
Nor ought my loue ne othes you sware, could bide within your brest
Yet for the worldly shame, that by this facte might rise,
Or for the losse of your good name, for dealing in this wise.
Or thus to see mee greeu'd: tormented still in payne,
Thy gentil hart should haue bin pleasde such murder to refrayne.
But through thy cruell deede: if that vntamed death,
With speedy dart shall rid my life, or leaue my lyuing breath.
The gods then can and will: requite thy bloddy acte,
And them I pray with lowly sute, for to reuenge thy facte.
God graunt the earth may bring: nought forth to thy auayle,
Nor any thing thou takest in hand, to purpose may preuayle.
Thy most desired freend, I wish may bee most coy,
Wherin thou doost thee most delite: and takest the greatest ioy.
That same I would might turne: vnto thy most mischeefe,
That in thy life thy hart may feele, the smart of others greefe.
But sith no good can come: of thy mishap to mee,
I graunt some blame I doo deserue, that thus desire to see
Thy blisfull life so changde, from weale to wretched state,
When freendes do breake the bonde of loue, then is their greatest hate.
Thy deedes do sure deserue, much more reuenging spight,
Then hart can thinke or tongue can tel, or this my pen can wright.
Thy bewty bright is sutch, that well it would inuade,
A hart more hard then Tigar wilde: and more it can perswade.
Then Tullyes cunning tongue: or Ouids louing tale,
Well may I curse and ban them both, that so haue brewed my bale.
I feare to praise to far: least haply I begin,
To kindle fier that well is quencht, and burne mee all within.
For well I may compare: and boldly dare it say,
Thou art the Queene of women kinde, and all they ought obay.
And all for shame doo blush, when thou doost come in place,
They curse ech thing that gaue thee life, and more disdain thy face.
Then any liuyng wight: doth hate the Serpent foule,
Or birdes that singe and flies by day, abhors the shrikyng Owle.
Oh that a constant minde: had guided forth thy dayes,
I had not then assayd myshap: nor pen spoke thy disprayse.
Decreed sith that thou art, for euer to forsake mee,
In sorrows sweete I wil mee shrine: till death shall list to take mee,
Bewayle O woful eyes, with fluds of flowing teares,
This great mischaunce thy lothsome life, that all ill hap vp beares,
Since parted is your ioy, resigne likewise your sight,
I neuer will agree to like, or looke on other wight.
Nor neuer shall my mouth consent to pleasant sound,
But pale and leane with hollow lookes: till death I will bee found.
And you vnhappy handes: with lyking foode that fed mee,
Leaue of to labor more for mee: since sorrow thus hath sped mee.
Lament vnlustie legges: bee lame for euer more,
Sith shee is gone for whom you kept: your willing pace in store.
O hatefull heauy hart: bewayle thy great vnrest,
Consume thy selfe or part in twaine: within my blouddy brest.
And yee my sences all: whose helpe was aye at hand,
To length the life that lingreth now, and lothsomely doth stand.
Yee sonne, ye moone and starres: that gyues the gladsome light
Forbeare to show your force a while: let all bee irkesome night.
Let neuer soyle bringe forth, agayn the lusty greene
Nor trees that new dispoyled are, with leafe be euer seene.
Let neither birde nor beast: posses their wonted minde
Let all the thinges that liues on earth, be turned from their kinde.
Let all the furies forth, that pine in Hell with payne,
Let all their torments come abroad: with lyuing wightes to rayne.
Let peace be turnd to war, let all consume with fier,
Sith I must dye that once did ioy, and lose that I desier.
I hate my life and breath, I hate delighting food,
I hate my greefe I hate my death: I hate that doth mee good.
I hate the gentill hart: that rueth on my payne,
I hate the cruell stubborn sorte, that doth my life disdayne.
I hate al sortes of men, that haue their life in price,
And those I hate that folow death, esteeming them vnwise
I hate those carefull thoughtes that thinke on my sweet fo,
I hate my selfe then twice as much: if I forget her so.
I hate, what would you more, I wot not what I hate,
I wish her dead and layed in graue: I wish her better state.
Come wilde and sauadge beastes, stretch forth your cruell pawes,
Dismember mee, consume my flesh: imbrew your greedy iawes.
Within your entrayles: see a coffin ye prepare,
To tombe this carefull corpes that now, vnwillingly I bare.
Come lingringe slothful death: that doost the wretch deny
To show thy force and ridst the riche, that list not for to dye.
Is this the recompence? is this the due reward?
Doth loue thus pay his seruants hier? and doth hee thus regard?
And doth hee vse to set, the harmles soules on fier,
With faire sweet intisinge lookes: to kindle their desier?
Fye false loue that hast so decte, with bewty bright,
A Lady faire with such vntroth, to worke such cruell spight.
And ye that doo pursue blinde loue with speedy pace,
Restraine your steps example take, of this my wofull case.
Let this alone suffise, that in few wordes I say,
Who can beware by others harmes, thrice blest and happy they.
Beleeue this to bee true: that now too true I proue,
But litle troth in womens breast: and fleeting in their loue.
God graunt each wight on earth, that serues with faythfull minde,
A better hap and that hee may, a truer Mystrisse finde.

The Louer in distresse exclaymeth agaynst Fortune.

How can the criple get, in running race the game?
Or hee in fight defend himselfe, whose armes are broken lame?
How can th' imprisoned man whose legs be wrapt in chaynes,
Thinke this his life a pleasant time, who knoweth nothing but paines?
So how can I reioyse, that haue no pleasant thing,
That may reuiue my doulfull sprits, or cause mee for to singe.
My legs be lame to goe, mine armes cannot embrace,
My hart is sore, mine eyes bee blinde, for lacke of Fortunes grace.
All this is Fortunes fault, that keepes these sences so,
Shee may aduaunce them if shee list, and rid them of this wo.
It is her cruell will, alwayes on mee to lower,
To kepe frō mee her pleasant giftes, to make mee know her power
Alas, alas, fie Fortune, fie: why art thou so vnkinde,
To mee that fayne would bee thy sonne, and euer in thy minde?
Now doo I thee beseech, with pleasures mee to frayght,
To temper this my wofull life, or els to kill mee strayght.

An other complaint on Fortune.

In doubtful dreading thoughts, as I gan call to minde,
This world, and eke the pleasures al, that Adams children finde,
A place of pleasant hew appeared to my thought
Where I might see the wonderous works which nature for us wrought.
All things of any price, approched to my sight,
And still me thought that each man had, that was his most delight.
The riche man hath his ioy: his riches to imbrace,
So hath the huntesman his desire, to haue the Hart in chace.
And other haue their sporte to see the Falcon flee,
And some also in Princes court: in fauor for to bee.
The warring Knight at will, an horse doth run his race,
And eke the louer, in his armes, his Lady doth embrace.
When that I see eche man enioy his whole delite,
Saue I alas poore cursed man whom Fortune doth so spite.
I fall straight to the ground, amazed with much griefe,
With blouddy strokes vpon my brest, I striue to rid my lief.
And thus I thinke, how can fayre pictures those delight:
Whom nature from their tender age, defrauded of their sight.

The louer beeing newly cought in Cupids snares, complayneth on the Gods of loue, and compareth his greefe as followeth.

The Louer extolleth, aswell the rare vertues of his Lady beloued, as also her incomparable beautie.

The Louers farewell, at his departure, perswadeth his beloued to constancie in his absence.

A propper Dittie.

The Louer perswadeth his beloued, to beware the deceites and allurements of strange suters.

The Lady beloued exclaymeth of the great vntruth of her louer.

The Louer declareth his paynfull plight for his beloued sake.

The Louer hauing his beloued in suspition declareth his doutfull minde.

An exellent Sonet, Wherin the Louer exclaymeth agaynst Detraction, beeing the principall cause of all his care.

Passe forth in doulfull dumpes my verse,
Thy Masters heauy haps vnfolde:
His grisled greefe eache hart well perce,
Display his woes, feare not, bee bould
Hid hole in heapes of heauinesse
His dismale dayes are almost spent,
For fate, which forgde this ficklenesse
My youthly yeares with teares hath sprent.
I lothe the lingring life I led:
O wished death why stayest thy hand,
Sith gladsome Ioyes away bee fled:
And linkte I am in Dollors bande.
In weltring waues my ship is tost
My shattering sayles away bee shorne,
My Anker from the Stearne is lost
And Tacklings from the Maynyard storne.
Thus driuen with euery gale of winde
My weather beaten Barke doth sayle,
Still hoping harbor once to finde
Which may these passinge perrils quayle.
But out alas, in vayne I hope
Sith Billowes prowd, assault mee still
And skill doth want with Seas to cope
And licour salte my Keele doth fill.
Yet storme doth cease: but lo at hand
A ship with warlike wightes addrest,
Which seemes to bee some Pyrates band:
With Powder and with Pellets prest.
To sinke or spoyle my brused Barke
Which dangers dread could not a daunt,
And now the shot the ayre doth darke:
And Captayne on the Deke him vaunt.
Then Ignorance the ouerseear proude
Cryes to Suspicion, spare no shot:
And Enuy yelleth out aloude,
Yeeld to Detraction this thy Boate:
And as it is now Sea mens trade
When might to coole the foe doth lacke,
By vayling foretop signe I made
That to their lee I mee did take.
Then gathering winde to mee they make,
And Treason first on borde doth come
Then followes Fraud like wily Snake:
And swift amongst them takes his rome.
These binde mee Captiue, tane with band
Of carkinge care and fell annoy,
While vnder Hatches yet I stand
Therby quight to abandon ioye.
Then hoysting sayles they homeward hye
And mee present vnto Disdayne,
Who mee beheld with scorning eye
The more for to encrease my payne.
As Lady shee commaunded strayght
That to Dispayre they mee conuay,
And bid with skilfull heed bee wayght,
That Truth bee bard from mee away.
Madam (quoth I) let due desart
Yet finde remorse for these my woes,
Of pitty graunt some ease to smart
Let Troth draw neare to quayle my foes.
But all for nought I doo complayne
For why the deafe can mone no noyse,
No more can they which doo disdayne:
But will in harte therat reioyce.
Wherfore twixt life and death I stay
Til time with daughter his drawe nye
Which may these furious foes dismay:
Or els in ruthfull plight I dye.

The Louer in bondage looketh for releasement and longeth for the releefe of his wedding day.

When shall reliefe release my wo?
When shall desert, disdayne digest?
When shall my hap, hap to mee so?
That my poore hart may come too rest.
When shall it so? when shall it so?
When shall longe loue bee looked vpon?
When shall tried truth bee homeliest?
When shall hope haue that hope hangeth on?
That my poore hart may come to rest.
When shall it so? &c.
When shall I see shee seethe right?
When shall I heare shee heareth mee best?
When shall I feele, shee feeleth delight?
That my poore harte may come to rest.
When shall it so. &c.
When stinte all stormes that thus agreeue?
When stinte all stayes that wrong hath wrest?
When stinte all strifes right to releeue?
That my poore hart may come to rest.
When shall it so? &c.
When right shall see right time to boste?
When right shall aright vnright oppresse?
When right shall raigne and rule the roste?
Then my poore harte shall come to rest.
Then shall it so, &c.
When shall I watch the time to see?
Now shall I wish the time possest,
Now shall I thinke each day yeeres three
That my poore harte may come to rest.
When shall it so? &c
Now farewell hart, most smooth most smart,
Now farewell hart with hart hartiest,
And farewell harte, till hart in harte:
By harty harte may come to rest.
God graunt it so. &c.

A fine and freendly Letter, of the Louer to his beloued.

Like as the Hauke is led by lure, to draw from tree to tree,
So is my hart through force of loue, where euer my body bee
The Hauke to pray doth double wing, her flight is fled in vayne
I make my flight in waste of winde, my hope receyueth no gayne.
Haukes that be high it hurtes to light, two flightes wtout reward
My flight is two, and three againe, alas Mistresse regarde:
The Hauke brought low, is soone made high, by feeding on warme foode
Your mouthes breath settes mee aloft, there is nothing so good.
Good Lady then strain forth ye strings, whose tune may mee reuiue
And with straūg tongue do not prolong, my ioyes thus to depriue.
Within your brest my hart is hid, your will and it is one,
Regard my smart, the cure is yours, and losse, when I am gone.
Thus all your owne, I recommend mee wholly to your grace,
As seemeth you best for to reward, my plight and wofull case.
Which plight if you do counterpaise, with ioyes, as doth belonge,
My hart for ioy would tune accorde, to singe some pleasant songe.

The Louers fata farewell at his death.

Al wealth I must forsake, and pleasure eke forgo,
My life to ende in wo and greefe, my desteny is so
For where I had perfixt, with sute to win my ioy,
I found I had right speedy death, al welth for to distroy.
Whose Image lo I am, though lyuing I appeare,
Both body and soule be seperate, my heauen is is not here.
My harte I haue bestowed, wheras it is not found
Thou body thē depart thou hence, why pleasurest thou the grounde
And Death draw thou mee neare, O Death my dearest freend,
Then with thy dart, shoot through my hart, my sorrows so to ende.
And when that death did hears the thing that I did craue,
Hee weighed mee, euen as I was, a man fit for the graue.
Come follow mee sayth hee, thou man bee not agast,
Hee that delighteth in earthly things, shal feele these panges at last
All yee then that list to loue, this lesson learne by mee,
Or yee begin, noate well, the ende, is payne and misery.

The Louer complayneth of his Ladies vnconstancy to the Tune of I lothe that I did loue.

The Louer, hauing sustayned ouermuch wrong at his Ladyes hande wisheth speedy death.

The Louer exhorteth his Lady to bee constant.

The Louer wounded with his Ladies beauty craueth mercy.

A Caueat yongmen to shun the snares of Cupids crafty sleightes.

The aged Louers noate, at length to learne to dye.

The desperate Louer exclaymeth his Ladyes cruelty and threatneth to kill himselfe.

The Louer beeing blinded with the faythlesse loue of his Lady is contented to remit her fault vpon promis of amendment.

A worthy comparison of Vertue agaynst all wordly pompe.

Of a happy wished time.

Eche thing must haue a time, and tyme doth try mens troth,
And troth deserues a special trust, on trust great frenship groth:
And freendship is full fast, where faythfulnesse is found
And faythfull thinges be ful of fruicte, and fruitful things be sound
The sound is good in proofe, and proofe is Prince of prayse,
And woorthy prayse is such a pearle, as lightly not decayes.
All this doth time bring forth, which time I must abide,
How should I boldely credit craue? till time my truth haue tried.
And as a time I found, to fall in Fancies frame,
So doo I wish an happy time, at large to shew the same.
If Fortune aunswer hope, and hope may haue her hire,
Then shall my hart possesse in peace, the time that I desire.

The Louer perswadeth him selfe to pacience agaynst Enuie and slanderous tongues.

If only sight suffise, my hart to loose or binde,
What cause haue I to mooue debate, wherby no peace I finde?
If that my restlesse will, by payne doth still renue,
What force haue I? but shee consent, my fo for to subdue?
To yeeld and suffer then, I thinke it for the best,
And by desert as time shall serue, to purchase quiet rest.
Let ielous enuy lowre with browes, and visage bent,
I know the worst, no shameles tongue, shall alter myne intent.
The Dice of Loue are throwen, god speede the doubtfull chaunce
Misdeeme who lyst, so shee at last, my seruice will aduaunce.
To aske and to obtayne, that Fortune were so swifte,
Sith trauaill is the ready way, vnto eche noble gyfte.
And feeble is the ioy, that lightly is begonne,
As tender Flaxe can beare no stresse, before that it bee sponne.
Wherfore with sad aduice, in hope my harte shall dwell,
And all the tale that I confesse, in silence will I tell
Unto her selfe alone, whose fauour I require,
None els shall know her name for mee, to constre my desire.

The Louer greeuously complayneth agaynst the vniust dealing of his Lady beloued.

The Louer in great distresse comforteth himselfe with hope.

In the commendacion of faythfull loue.

The faithful cannot flye, nor wander to nor fro,
Fayth only they holde them bye, though that the fickle go.
A Piller of more force, then Marble layd with hand,
With Pickaxe may deuorce, and lay it flat on land.
Th' other so deuine, that no arte can remoue,
Once layd cannot decline, th' only Piller loue,

The Louer wisheth himselfe an Harte in the Foreste, (as Acteon was) for his Ladyes sake.

An Epytaph vpon the death of Arthur Fletchar of Bangor Gent.

Ye grisly ghostes which walke below in black Cocistus Lakes,
Mids Ditis dennes, Erebus Dames, with heare of vgly Snakes
Medusa with thy monstrous mates, assist mee now a while,
In dyre wamenting verse to shew, and drierie dolefull stile,
The fayre vntimely fatall ende of Fletcher, now by death,
Unto the Ayre his soule with Ioue, resignde his latest breath:
Whose life full due wee must commend, as it deserues the same,
And conuersation to eche one, did seldome meryt blame.
A faythfull freend to eche hee was, to none an oppen foe,
Unto his Prince a subiect true, till fates had lodgd him loe.
His actes did tend to no mans harmes, no Parasite to prayse,
For greedy gayne but still the troth, mayntaynd at all assayes.
His time hee spent in Uertues lore, as seemd his state full wel,
By serious study what hee could, hee sought for to excel.
But what of al this same? the fates no wight in time wyll spare,
Whē gastly death hath pearst in earth, thē must our bodyes weare
In age aswell in youthes, in youthes as well in age,
No certayne time wee haue to bide, when death with vs will wage.
No thing can still abide, but comes to nought in ende,
The craggy Rocks the sturdiest okes: starke rotten once is rend.
And so hath Fletcher, now to death payd his due,
What hee is now wee must bee all, his Funerall then vew.

A Lady writeth vnto her Louer wherin shee most earnestly chargeth him with Ingratitude.

The Louer vnto his Lady beloued, of her disdaynfulnesse toward him.

For beauties sake though loue doth dread thy might,
And Venus thinks, by sute to proue thy dame:
Though Pallas striues, by hope of equall right,
For Wisdoms watch, as daughter thee to claime.
Though Mercury would entitled be thy Syre,
For thy sweet talke, so sweetly blazed forth:
Though all the Gods, do burne in like desire,
Thy graces rare, in heauen so much worth:
Yet lo, thy proofe I know, the trussy waight,
Of Tygars milke, thou fostred wert from molde,
And Cipres Well with dainful chaung of fraight.
Gaue thee to drinke infected poyson colde.
But yet beware, least loue renew in thee,
The dreadfull flame Narcissus whylom felt,
With eger moode, and sight to feede thine eye.
Of thine owne, from others flame to swell:
For loue doth loue with hot reuenge to wreake,
The ruthles Iron hart, that will not breake.

The Louer in the prayse of his beloued and comparison of her beauty.

Not shee for whom prowde Troy did fall and burne,
The Greekes eke slaine, that bluddy race did runne:
Nor shee for spight that did Acteon turne,
Into an Hart her beauty coye did shunne:
Nor shee whose blud vpon Achilles Tombe,
Whose face would tame a Tygars harte:
Nor shee that wan by wise of Paris dome.
Th' apple of Golde for Beauty to her parte:
Nor shee whose eyes did pearce true Troylus brest,
And made him yeeld, that knew in loue no law,
Might bee compared to the fayrest and the best,
Whom Nature made to keepe the rest in awe:
For Beauties sake, sent downe from Ioue aboue,
Thrise happy is hee, that can attayne her loue.

In the prayse of a beautifull and vertuous Virgin, whose name begins with M.

Behold you Dames yt raigne in fames, whose lookes mens harts do leade
And triumph in the spoyle of those, vpō whose brests you trede.
A myrror make of M, whose molde, Dame Nature in disdayne,
To please her self, & spight her foes, in beauty raysd to raigne:
Whose sunny beames & starry eyes, presents a heauenlyke face,
And shewes the world a wonderous worke, sutch are her giftes of grace
In forhed, feature beareth, brunt in face doth fauor guyde,
In lookes is life, in shape is shame, in cheekes doth coulor hyde:
In boddy seemelynesse doth shew, in wordes doth wisdome shade,
All partes of her doth prayse deserue, in temprance is her trade.
In humble porte is honor plaste, in face is maydens smyles
Her life is grafte with Golden giftes, her deedes deuoyd of gyles.
And as the Star to Marriners, is guyde vnto the Port,
So is this M, a heauenly ioy, to Louers that resort:
Who run and rome with inward wounds, & folded armes acrosse,
And hide their harms with clokes of care, & feed their hope wt losse.
Her lookes doth lift aboue the skyes, her frowns to Hel doth throw
All sues to her, shee seekes on none, that daily proofe doth show:
Wherfore her saying late set forth, shee burnt and could not flee,
Though ment in prayse, yet far amis, I take it written bee.
Shee is none such as if shee would, that any would disdayne:
But for the smartes of others greefes, of pitty shee did playne,
As one most lothe of any lyfe, for loue of her bee loste,
Or that with blud or cruell deedes, men write her beauties boste:
For mercy is in M, her brest, and modest is her life,
A courtuous mayd, and like to prooue, a constant worthy wife.

The Louer deceyued by his Ladyes vnconstancy, writeth vnto her as foloweth.

A true description of Loue.

Aske what loue is? it is a passion,
Begun with rest, and pampred vp in play:
Planted on sight, and nourished day by day,
With talke at large, for hope to graze vpon,
It is a short ioy, long sought, and soone gon:
An endles maze, wherin our willes doo stray:
A gylefull gaine, repentance is the pay.
A great fier bred of small occasion,
A plague to make, our fraylty to vs knowen,
Where wee therby, are subiecte to their lay:
Whose fraylty ought, to leaue vntill our stay,
In case our selues, this custome had not knowen.
Of hope and health, such creatures for to pray,
Whose glory resteth cheefly on denaye.

The Louer to his beloued, by the name of fayre, and false.

O cruell hart with falsehood infecte, of force I must complayne,
Whose poyson hid, I may detect, as cause doth mee constrayn:
Thy name I shryne within my brest, thy deedes though I doo tell,
No minde of malice I protest, thy selfe doth know it well.
If thy deserts then bids mee write, I cannot well reuoke it,
I shall not spare to shew thy spite, I will no longer cloake it:
As Troylus truth shall bee my sheeld, to kepe my pen from blame,
So Cressids crafte shall kepe the feeld, for to resound thy shame.
Vlisses wife shall mate the sore, whose wishly troth doth shine,
Well Fayre and False, I can no more, thou art of Helens lyne:
And daughter to Diana eke, with pale and deadly cheare,
Whose often chaunge I may well like, two moonthes within the yeare.

The Louer describeth his paynfull plight, and requireth speedy redresse, or present death.

The slaue of seruile sort, that borne is bond by kinde,
Doth not remayne in hope, wt such vnquiet minde:
Ne tossed crasid Ship, with yrksome surging seas,
So greedely the quiet Port, doth thirst to ride at ease.
As I thy short returne, with wishing vowes require,
In hope that of my hatefull harmes, the date will then expire:
But time with stealing steps, and driery dayes doth driue,
And thou remaynst then bound to come, if that thou bee aliue.
O cruell Tygars whelpe, who had thy hand in holde?
When yt with flattering pen thou wrotst, thy help at hand behold?
Beleeue it to bee true, I come without delay,
A foole and silly simple soule, yet doost thou still betray:
Whose mooueles loue and trust, doth reason far surmount,
Whom Cupids trumpe, to fatall death hath sommond to accompt
My fayth and former life: fed with such frendly fier,
Haue not of thee by iust reward, deserued such falts hyer:
I promisse thee not mine, but thy case I bewayle,
What infamy may greater bee, then of thy fayth to fayle?
How ofte with humble sute? haue I besought the sonne,
That hee would spur his Coursers fearce, their race more swifte to ronne?
To th' end with quicker speed, might come the promised day,
The day which I with louing lookes, and weary will did pray.
But thou art sure disposde to glory in my death,
Wherfore to feede thy fancy fond, loe, here I ende my breath.
I can not sighe nor sob, away by playnt I pine:
I see my fatall fainting file, ye Sisters doo vntwine,
The Feriman I finde, prest at the Riuer side:
To take mee in his restles Boate, therin with him to ride.
And yet although I sterue, through thy dispitous fault:
Yet craue I not in my reuenge, that harme should thee assault,
But rather that thy fame, eternally may shine:
And that eche to thine auayle, aboundantly encline.
That eche thine enterprise, hath luckye lot and chaunce,
And stable fortune, thine estate, from day to day aduaunce,
That Sun, that Moone, that starres, and eke the plannets all,
The fier, the water, and the earth, may freendly to thee fal.
That many quiet yeres, thou number may with rest:
Uoyd of all annoyes and greeues, as may content thee best,
And if that foraine loue, torment and vexe thy harte:
God yeeld thy weary wanting wish, and swagement of thy smart.
With froward flearing face, at mee if Fortune frowne,
Thou doost reioyce and I not so, but ioy thy good renowne:
And if I thee offend, for that I doo thee loue,
Forgiue it mee: for force it is, I can it not remoue.
For I in secret sort, these lines to thee did I write,
My weakned wearied hand hensforth, shall sease for to endyte:
That letters to receiue from mee, thou neede not muse:
The messenger that next of all, of mee shal bring the newes.
Dissolued from the corps, shalbe my dolefull spright:
That first (vnsheathd) shal passe to thee, when hee hath vewd thy sight,
Contented hee shall go vnto the heauens aboue,
In case that ioyed rested place, may gayne it any loue.
And now for that my death, thy name may spot and stayne:
If that the flying fame therof, to others eares attayne,
I will not it were red, or knowen by other wayes:
That thou art only cause, I thus in ruthe doo ende my dayes.
Wherfore this Letter red, condemne it to the flame:
And if thou doo thy honnor forse, I know thou wilt the same,
And if in lingring time, vnwares they chaunce to come:
Wherin the entrayles of the earth, shall hap to bee my tombe.
At least yet graunt mee this, it is a small request:
O happy wythered pyned corps, God send thy soule good rest.

The Lady beloued, assureth her Louer to bee his owne, and not to change, while life doth last.

In the prayse of the rare beauty, and manifolde vertues of Mistres D. as followeth.

If Chawcer yet did lyue, whose English tongue did passe,
Who sucked dry Pernassus spring, and raste the Iuice there was:
If Surrey had not scalde, the height of Ioue his Throne,
Unto whose head a pillow softe, became Mount Helycon:
They with their Muses could, not haue pronounst the fame,
Of D. faire Dame, lo, a flaming stock, the cheefe of natures frame.
They would but haue eclipsed, her beauties golden blast,
Nor Ouid yet of Poets Prince, whose wits all others past.
Olde Nestor with his tongue, and flowing dew so sweete,
Would rather haue berefte her right, then pend her praises meete
In Helens heauenly face, whose grace the Greekes bought deare,
For whose defence prowd Troy did fal, such forme did not appeare.
In Hectors sister loe: who Pirhus Father rapte,
Did not abound sutch beauty bright, as now to D, hath hapt:
For D, doth passe as far, Dame Venus with her prise,
As Venus did the other two, by doome of Paris wise.
If shee had present been, within the walles of Ide,
They would not had such discord then, nor Paris iudgd that side.
In minde all voyd of doubt, they straight agreed would,
That D, should of good right, the Aple haue of Golde.
Whom as I must beleeue, that nature did create,
To rob the hartes of noble Kings, and courage stoute to mate:
Her forhead seemely spaste, wherin doo shine her eyes,
No whit vnlike to starres by night, or beame when Phebus ryse.
Her haire that shines like golde, her shoulders couer whight.
To which no snow on Mountayne highe, may be compared right:
Her mouth well compast small, in smylings vtters forth
A treasure riche of Orient Pearle, therto no Golde more worth,
I feare much Promethius fall, dare no further wade,
Whom loue embraced with the shape, that hee so finely made:
Yet this I dare presume, one thought of her may draw,
A harte of Iron, and it subdue, vnto blinde Cupids law.
I sorrow to recite, the bitter teares that flow:
Within the eyes of other Dames, that beauty know.
I weepe to wayle in minde, the burning slights that flame:
In troubled hartes of Natures case in spreading of her fame,
They all doo curse themselues, of Nature makes complaynt,
That shee on them had smal regard, that did her thus depaynt.
Of her doth nobles spring, and sutors sue for grace,
And Fountaines eke of sugred speech, where voice can take no place,
Here Pallas should haue lost her prayse, for wisdome great,
Who gendred was of Ioue his braines, wher wisdom toke his seat.
Here wise Vlisses wyfe, whose chastnesse brued her fame:
Should matched bee, ye mated eke, in ventring of the same.
Prowde Tarquin with his force, which Lucresse did defile:
Could not haue spoyled faire D. so, with neither sound nor gyle.
This Dame I thinke bee such, that heauen can vndermine,
And lifte the earth vnto the skyes, eche stone a star to shine.
If passed time (alas) might now returne agayne,
And all the wittes that euer was, would herein take the payne:
They could not at the ful, no due giftes expresse,
A wight vnfit to bee in earth, in heauen no such goddesse.
Whose name shall floorish still, though Atropos with spight:
In running from her deuelish Den, bereaue vs of this light,
Though Thesiphon do cut, her time of life a way:
Her cankred Swoord cannot assayle, her fame for to decay.
For wee in these our dayes, our selues may better quight:
To geue to her the cheefest prayse, then Paris which did right.
Lesse hatred cannot want, though power for to reuenge:
Our stately house as they did Troy, their force doth faile to senge.
Their might if it were like, these verses wee should rew,
With no lesse payne then Ouid did, whose greefe by Muses grew.

Prety parables, and Prouerbes of Loue.

I spake when I ment not, in speeding to gayne,
I sought, when I sped not, but trauaild in vayne:
I found where I feard not, would writh wt the wind,
I loste where I lou'd not, nor forlid to finde.
Nothing in which, truth is not trustie,
But double is such, and beauty but rustie:
I coole with the colde, I leue that I like not,
I know not the olde, that rotteth and ripes not.
I sauor no such, that fondly doth fauor,
I care not to much, for such sory sauor:
I taste or I try, in parte or in all,
I care not a flye, the losse is but small.
I labor at leasure, I pricke without payne,
In vsing for pleasure, beates in my brayne:
I spare not in byrding, to beat well the bush,
Nor leaue not in stryking, as long as they rush.
I try ere I trust, nought wasting but winde,
Before I finde iust, they know not my minde:
I iet not with Geminie, nor tarry not with Tawre
In bluttring who bleares mee? I leaue them with Lawre.
For fier who fyndeth, in burning to bight,
The wise man hee warneth, to leape from the light:
Forseeing the weede, and losing from bandes,
The plowing in Sea, and sowing in Sandes.

Of patience.

A soueraygne salue there is for eche disease:
The cheefe reuenge for cruell ire
Is pacience, the cheefe and present ease,
For to delay eche yll desire.

Of lawlesse lust.

An euerlasting bondage doth hee choose,
That can not tell a litle how to vse:
Hee scant ynough for shame puruayes,
That all alone to lust obayes.

Of will, and reason.

I count this conquest great,
That can by reasons skill:
Subdue affectious heate,
And vanquish wanton will.

Of three things to be shunned.

Three thinges, who seekes for prayse, must flye,
To please the taste with wine.
Is one: another, for to lye
Full softe on fethers fine.
The thirde and hardest for to shunne,
And cheefest to eschew,
Is lickerous lust, which once begun,
Repentance doth ensue.

Of beauty, and chastity.

Chastity a vertue rare,
Is seldome knowen to run her race:
Where cumly shape and beauty faire,
Are seene to haue a byding place.

Of wisdome.

Who seeketh the renowne to haue,
And eke the prayse of Uertues name:
Of Wisdome rare hee ought to craue,
With gladsome will to worke the same.

Of a pure conscience.

A conscience pure withouten spot,
That knoweth it selfe for to bee free:
Of slaunders lothsome reketh not,
A brazen wall full well may bee.

Of frendship founde by chaunce.

The frendship found by chaunce is such,
As often chaunce is seene to chaunge:
And therfore trust it not to much,
Ne make therof a gaine to straunge:
For proofe hath taught by hap is had,
Sometime as well the good as bad.

Of good will got by due desert.

But I suppose the same good will,
That once by good desart is got:
That fancy findes by reasons skill,
And time shall try withouten spot,
Is such as harde is to bee gayned,
And woorthy got to bee retayned.

Of flatterers and faythfull friendes.

The finest tongue can tel the smoothest tale,
The hottest fiers haue ofte the highest smoke:
The hardiest knightes the soonest will assaile,
The strongest armes can giue the sturdest stroke
The wysest men be thought of greatest skill,
And poorest freendes be found of most goodwill.

Of a vertuous, life, age, and death.

God wot my freend our life full soone decayes,
And vertue voydes and wrinkels from the face:
Approching age by no entreatie stayes,
And death vntamed, will graunt no man grace.

A proper Posie for a Handkercher.

Fancy is fearce, Desire is bolde,
Will is wilfull, but Reason is colde.

The Louer beeing ouermuch weryed with seruile lyfe, compareth it to a Laborinth.

How to choose a faythfull freende.

Though that my yeares, full far doo stande aloofe,
From counsell sage, or Wisdomes good aduice:
What I doo know by soone repenting proofe,
I shall you tell, and learne if you be wise.
From fined wits, that telles the smoothest tale,
Beware, their tongues doo flatter oft a wry:
A modest loke shall well set forth your sale,
Trust not to much, before somewhat you try:
So guyde your selfe in worde, and eke in deede,
As bad and good may prayse your sober name:
Assay your freend, before your greatest neede,
And to conclude, when I may doo that same,
That may you please, and best content your minde,
Assure your selfe, a faythfull freend to finde.

The Louer beeing accused of suspicion of flattery, pleadeth not gyltie, and yet is wrongfully condemned.

To seeme for to reuenge, eche wrong in hastie wise,
By proofe wee see of gyltlesse men, it hath not bin the guise:
In slaunders lothsome brute, when they condemned bee,
With rageles moodes they suffer wronge, when truth shall try them free:
These are the pacient panges, yt pas within the brest
Of those that feele their case by mine, where wrong hath right opprest:
I know how by suspect, I haue been iudged away,
And graunted gyltie in the thing, that clearly I denye.
My fayth may mee defende, if I might leuid bee,
God iudge mee so, as from that gylte I know mee to bee free:
I wrought but for my freend, the greefe was all mine owne,
As if the troth were truely tryde, by prooft it might be knowne.
Yet are there such that say, they can my meaning deeme,
Without respect to this olde troth: things proue not as they seeme:
Wherby it may befall, in iudgment to bee quicke,
To make them be suspecte therwith, that needeth not to kicke:
Yet in resisting wrong, I would not haue it thought,
I doo accuse as though I knew, by whom it may be wrought:
If any such there bee, that herewithall be vext,
It were their vertue to beware, and deeme mee better nexte.

The Louer describeth the daungerous state of Ambition.

Beholde these high and mighty men,
Their chaunging state and tell mee then:
Where they or wee, best dayes doo see,
Though wee seeme not and they to bee
In wealth.
Their pleasant course straung traces hath,
On tops of trees that groundles path:
Full waueringly.
For bee it calme they tread not fast,
Blow roughe, blow soft, all helpe is past:
Appearingly.
With vs, ye see, it is not so,
That clime not vp, but kepe below:
In calmes our course is faire and playne,
Huge hilles defendes from stormy rayne:
For why?
The raging winde and stormy shower,
On mountaynes high it hath most power
Naturally.
But wee that in lowe valleis lye,
Beholde may such as wander hye:
So slydingly:
Then what is hee that will aspire,
To heape such woe to please desire:
That may in wealth by staying still,
Spend well his dayes and fly from yll:
To good.
By hauing his recourse to God
To loue his lawes to feare his rod:
Unfaynedly.
To doo that in his worde wee finde,
To helpe the poore, the sicke, the blinde:
Accordingly.
But though gaynsayd this can not bee,
Deeme men by deedes, and yee shall see:
That these low valleies they can not bide,
But vp will clyme, though downe they slyde:
Agayne.
The poore the riche mans place doth craue,
The riche would fayne hyer places haue:
Ambiciously.
The Squyre, the Knight, a Lorde would bee,
The Lorde, the Erle would hyer then hee:
Full dangerously.
When these attayne to their desire,
Then meaner men are set on fire:
To haue the roomes which they in were,
So that ye see all times some there:
In hart.
When one is gon, another is come,
The third catching the secondes roome:
Full speedely.
Thus clyming one to others tayle,
The bowes either breake, or footing fayle:
Full totteringly.
For when the top they haue attaynd,
And got is all they would haue gaynd:
Then downe they come wit sodayne fail,
In doubtfull case of life and all.
And thus.
Ambition reapeth worthy hyre,
Because hee would such sporte aspyre
Unequally.
And there his bragge is layd full low,
That thought on hie, himself to show.
Deseruedly.

The paynfull plight of a Louer remayning in doubtfull hope of his Ladyes fauour.

The Louer recounteth his faythfull diligence towarde his beloued, with the rewardes that hee reapeth therof.

A Letter written by a yonge gentilwoman and sent to her husband vnawares (by a freend of hers) into Italy.

Imagine when these blurred lines, thus scribled out of frame,
Shall come before thy careles eyes, for thee to read the same:
To bee through no default of pen, or els through prowd disdayne,
But only through surpassing greefe, which did the Author payne
Whose quiuring hand could haue no stay, this carful bil to write
Through flushing teares distilling fast, whilst shee did it indite:
Which teares perhaps may haue some force (if thou no tigre bee,
And mollifie thy stony hart, to haue remorse on mee.
Ah periurde wight reclaime thy selfe, and saue thy louing mate,
Whom thou hast left beclogged now, in most vnhappy state:
(Ay mee poore wench) what luckles star? what frowning god aboue
What hellish hag? what furious fate hath changd our former loue?
Are wee debard our wonted ioyes? shall wee no more embrace?
Wilt thou my deare in country strang, ensue Eneas race:
Italians send my louer home, hee is no Germayne borne,
Unles ye welcome him because hee leaues mee thus forlorne.
As earst ye did Anchises sonne, the founder of your soyle,
Who falsely fled from Carthage Queene, releeuer of his toyle:
Oh send him to Bryttannia Coastes, vnto his trusty feere,
That shee may vew his cumly corps, whom shee estemes so deere:
Where wee may once againe renue, our late surpassed dayes,
Which then were spent with kisses sweet, & other wanton playes:
But all in vayne (forgiue thy thrall, if shee do iudge awrong)
Thou canst not want of dainty Trulles Italian Dames among.
This only now I speake by gesse, but if it happen true,
Suppose that thou hast seene the sword, that mee thy Louer flue:
Perchance through time so merrily with dallying damsels spent,
Thou standst in doubt & wilte enquire frō whom these lines were sent:
If so, remember first of all, if thou hast any spowse,
Remember when, to whom and why, thou earst hast plited vowes,
Remember who esteemes thee best, and who bewayles thy flight,
Minde her to whom for loyalty thou falshood doost requight.
Remember Heauen, forget not Hell, and way thyne owne estate,
Reuoke to minde whom thou hast left, in shamefull blame & hate:
Yea minde her well who did submit, into thine onely powre,
Both hart and life, and therwithall, a ritch and wealthy dowre:
And last of all which greeues mee most, that I was so begylde,
Remember most forgetfull man, thy pretty tatling childe:
The least of these surnamed things, I hope may well suffice,
To shew to thee wretched Dame, that did this bill deuise.
I speake in vayne, thou hast thy will, and now sayth Aesons sonne,
Medea may packe vp her pypes, the golden Fleese is wonne:
If so, be sure Medea I will, shew forth my selfe in deede,
Yet gods defend though death I taste, I should distroy thy seede:
Agayne, if that I should enquire, wherfore thou doost soiurne,
No answere fitly mayst thou make, I know to serue thy turne:
Thou canst not say but that I haue, obseru'd my loue to thee,
Thou canst not say, but that I haue, of life vnchast bin free.
Thou canst not cloak (through want) thy flight, since riches did abound
Thou needes not shame of mee thy spouse, whose byrth not low is found,
As for my beauty, thou thy self, earwhile didst it commend
And to conclude I know no thing, wherin I dyd offend:
Retier with speed, I long to see, thy barke in wished bay,
The Seas are calmer to returne, then earst to fly away.
Beholde the gentill windes doo serue, so that a frendly gayle,
Would soone conuay to happy Porte, thy most desired sayle:
Return would make amends for all, and bannish former wronge,
Oh that I had for to entice, a Scyrens flattering songe.
But out alas, I haue no shift, or cunning to entreat,
It may suffise for absence thine, that I my grieefes repeate
Demaund not how I did disgest, at first thy sodayne flight,
For ten dayes space I tooke no rest, by day nor yet by night:
But like to Baccus beldame Nonne, I sent and rangde apace,
To see if that I mought thee finde, in some frequented place:
Now here, now there, now vp, now down, my fancy so was fed,
Untill at length I knew of troth, that thou from mee wert fled.
Then was I fully bent with blade, to stab my vexed harte,
Yet hope that thou wouldst come agayn, my purpose did conuart:
And so ere since I liu'd in hope bemixt with dreadful feare,
My smeared face through endles teares, vnpleasant doth appeare:
My slepes vnsound with vgly dreams, my meats are vayn of taste
My gorgious rayment is dispisde, my tresses rudly plaste.
And to bee breefe: I bouldly speake, there doth remayne no care:
But that therof in amplest wise, I doo possesse a share:
Lyke as the tender sprig doth bend, with euery blast of winde,
Or as the guidelesse Ship on Seas, no certaine Porte may finde.
So I now subiecte vnto hope, now thrall to carefull dread,
Amids the Rocks, tween hope and feare, as fancy mooues, am led:
Alas returne, my deare returne, returne and take thy rest,
God graunt my wordes may haue the force, to penytrat thy brest.
What doost thou thinke in Italy, some great exployt to win?
No, no, it is not Italy, as sometimes it hath bin:
Or doost thou loue to gad abroad, the forrain costes to vew,
If so, thou hadst not doone amisse, to bid mee first a dew:
But what hath bin the cause, I neede not descant longe,
For sure I am, meane while poore wench, I only suffer wrong.
Wel thus I leaue, yet more could say: but least thou shouldst refuse,
Through tediousnesse to reede my lines, the rest I will excuse:
Untill such time as mighty Ioue doth send such luckye grace,
As wee therof in freendly wise, may reason face to face.
Till then farwell, and hee thee keepe, who only knowes my smart
And with this bill I send to thee, a trusty Louers harte.

A Letter sent from beyond the Seaes to his Louer, perswading her to continew her loue towardes him.

An other louing Letter.

Because my hart is not mine owne, but resteth now with thee,
I greet thee well of hartinesse, thy selfe mayst Caruer bee:
Muse not hereat but like hereof, first read and then excuse,
I wish to you a plyant hart, when you these lines peruse.
Hope bids me speak, fear stayes my tongue, but Cupid makes mee boulde,
And Fancy harps of good successe, when that my playnt is tould:
Thus Hope doth prick, & feare doth kicke, & fancy feeds my brayn,
In you alone doth now consist, the salue to ease my payne.
You are my Paradice of ioy, the heauen of my delight,
And therwithall (which thing is strang) the worker of my spight:
Which spight I seeke not to reuenge, but meekely to subdue,
Not as a foe, but as a freend, I do your loue pursue.
I yeeld my selfe vnto your power, and will not you relente?
In humble wise I mercy craue, and is your mercy spente?
No sure, as nature outwardly, hath shewde in you her skill,
I doubt not but that inwardly, the like shee doth fulfill.
So good a face, so trim a grace, as doth in you remayne:
A Cressids cruell stony harte, I know may not retayne:
Wherfore to ratefie my wordes, let deedes apparant bee:
Then may you vaunt and proue it true, you freedom gaue to mee.
Consider of my restles care, and way blinde Cupids ire:
Then shal you finde my paynful loue, doth claym but earned hire.
Requite not this my curtesy, and freendship with disdaine,
But as I loue vnfainedly, so yeeld like loue againe.
Allow hereof as for the rest, that doth belong to loue:
My selfe therof will take the care, as time, in time shall proue.
Meane while, I wish a Thisbies hart, in you there may endure:
Then doubt not, but a Pyramus, of mee you shall procure.

Pretie pamphlets, by T. Proctor.

Proctors Precepts.

Leaue vading plumes, no more vaunt, gallant youth,
Thy masking weeds forsake, take collours sage:
Shun vicious steps, consider what ensueth,
Time lewdly spent, when on coms crooked age.
When beauty braue shall vade, as doth the flower,
When manly might, shall yeeld to auncient time:
When yonge delightes shall dye, and ages bower,
Shall lodge thy corps, bemoning idle prime.
Learne of the Ant, for stormy blastes to get
Prouision, least vntimely want do cum,
And mooues thee mone such time, so lewd neglect
From vertues lore, where worthy honors wun.
Thinke how vncertayne here, thou liust a guest,
Amid such vice, thats irksome to beholde:
Thinke whence thou camst, and where thy corps shall rest,
When breathing breath, shall leaue thy carkasse colde.
When dreadfull death, shall daunt thy hauty minde,
When fearfull flesh, shall shrowd in clammy clay:
When pamperd plumes shall vade, and dreads shall finde,
Deseruings due, for erring lewd astray.
Run not to rash, least triall make the mone,
In auncient yeres thy greene vnbridled time:
Olde Age is lothd, with folly ouer grown,
Yonge yeres dispisde, cut of in sprowting prime.
Experience learne, let elder lyues thee lead,
In lyuely yeres, thy fickle steps to guide:
Least vnawares, such vncoth paths thou tread,
Which filthy be thought, pleasant to be eyde.
In calmest Seas, the deepest Whorepooles bee,
In greenest Grasse, the lurking Adder lyes:
With eger sting, the sugerest sap wee see,
Smooth wordes deceiue, learne therfore to bee wise.

Inuidus alterius rebus macrescit opimis.

The greedy man, whose hart with hate doth swell,
Because hee sees his neyghbors good estate:
Liues vncontent, with what might serue him well,
And eftsoones seemes to blame sufficient fate:
This grudging gluton glut, with goulden gayne,
To serue his vse, although hee hath enough:
Repines at that, which others get with payne,
So that himselfe therby, hee doth abuse:
Hee thinkes that much, which passeth by his claw,
And findes a fault for it through luckles hap:
Although the matter valueth scarce a straw,
Hee deemes it small of gaine, that giues no sap.
Hee thinkes his store, shall serue his senclesse corse,
Or that no death at all, hee deemes there bee:
Els would hee to his conscience haue remorse,
And seeke to liue content with his degree:
For what auayles, to horde vp heapes of drosse,
Or seeke to please vnsaciate fond desire:
Considering that, tis subiect vnto losse,
And wee (therby yll got) deserues Hell fire:
From which O Lord conduct vs with thy hand,
And giue vs grace to liue vnto thy prayse:
Preserue our Queene his subiects and her land,
And graunt in peace, shee raigne here Nestors dayes.

The reward of Whoredome by the fall of Helen.

From Limbo Lake, where dismall feendes do lye,
Where Pluto raignes, perpend Helenas cry:
Where firy flames, where pittious howlings bee,
Where bodyes burne: from thence giue eare to mee.
I am Helena shee, for whose vilde filthy fact,
The stately Towers of Troy, the hauty Grecians sacte:
High Troy, whose pompe, throughout the world did sound,
In Cinders low, through mee was layd on ground.
Kinge Priamus through mee, did end his life:
And Troians all almost, I was the cause of strife.
I am that Dame, whose beauty passing braue,
Dame Venus praysde, the golden Pome to haue:
Whose feature forste, Sir Paris boyling brest,
To leaue his land, and seeke to be my guest.
That trull which tost, the surging Seas a maine,
From Grecian shoare, to Troy vnto my paine.
That flurt, whose gallant sproutinge prime,
Through vilde abuse, was scorcht ere auncient time:
I vertue shund, I lothd a modest mynde,
I wayd not fame, my beauty made mee blinde.
Each braue delight, my masking minde allurde,
My fancy deemed, my beauties gloze assurde:
Such worthy fame, did sound of Helens hue,
Although my deedes, reapt shame, and guerdon due.
In gorgious plumes, I maskt, puft vp with pride,
In braue delights I liu'd, my fancy was my guide:
But fie of filth, your world is all but vayne,
Your pomp cousumes, your deeds shall guerdon gaine:
See here by mee, whose beauty might haue boast,
For splendaut hue, throughout each forrain coast.
But what preuayles, to vaunt of beauties glose,
Or brag of pride, wheron dishonor growes:
If I had vsde my gifts in vertues lore,
And modest liud, my prayse had bin the more.
Where now too late, I lothe my life lewd spent,
And wish I had, with vertue bin content.

A Louers lyfe.

The tedious toyle, the cares which Louers taste,
The troubled thoughts, which moues their mindes to feare:
The pinching pangs, the dole which seemes to waste,
Their lothsome life, deepe plungd in gulfes of care:
Would mooue ech shun, such snares of vayne delight,
Which irksome be, though pleasant to the sight.
The minde full fraught, with care enioyes no ease,
A boyling brest, desires vnlawfull lust:
The hart would haue, what best the minde doth please,
And fancy craues, the thing which is vniust.
Beside eche frown, which eftsoones moues them deeme,
They abiect are, if sad their Louers seeme.
Or if occasion shun, their vsuall sight,
Not seene, they thinke themselues vnminded bee:
And then in dumps, as mazd they leaue delight,
And yeeld to greefe, till one, eche others see:
So that with feare, their mindes are alwayes fraught,
That liue in loue, experience some hath taught.
Eche lowring frown, from mirth doth moue the minde,
One iesting worde, procures a thousand woes:
So that lyke greefe or more, through sight they finde,
Then absence sure, such cares fro fancy flowes:
Such goring gripes, such heapes of hideous harmes,
Such sorowing sobs, from daunted louers swarmes.
Rosamond a spowsed Dame, her husbands death procurde,
For speaking but a worde in iest:
Itrascus too, full thyrty yeares indurde,
The panges of loue, within his boyling brest:
So that in greefe they harbor, still their mindes are cloyd with care,
They diue in dole, they plunge in payne, & liue in cruell feare.
And diuers moe, as Axeres whose beauty passing faire,
So Iphis hart, and boyling brest allurde:
That for her sake, hee liude in extreame care,
And cruell greefe, while breathing breath indurde:
But at the length, disdayne vpon a tree,
Hee honge himselfe, where shee his corps might see.

[A Louer approuing his Lady vnkinde.]

A gloze of fawning freendship.

Now cease to sing your Syren songes, I leaue ech braue delight
Attempt no more the wounded corps, which late felt fortunes spight:
But rather helpe to rue, with sorowing sobs come mone,
My lucklesse losse from wealth to woe, by fickle fortune throwne.
I once had freends good store, for loue, (no drosse I tryde)
For hauing lost my goods on Seas, my freends would not abide,
Yet hauing neede I went to one, of all I trusted moste:
To get releefe, hee answerd thus, go packe thou peuish poste.
His wordes did pearce my tender brest, and I as mazde did stand
Requesting him with pitteous plaints, to giue his helping hand:
Content thy selfe (quoth hee) to serue my owne estate,
I haue not I, yet am I greeu'd to see thy lucklesse fate.
Ah fie of fawning freends, whose eyes attentiue bee,
To watch and warde for lukers sake, with cap and bended knee:
Would God I had not knowne, their sweet and sugered speach,
Then had my greefe the lesser bin, experience mee doth teach.

A Maze of Maydens.

A short Epistle written in the behalfe of N.B. to M.H.

A vew of vayn glory.

What motion more, may mooue a man to minde
His owne estate, then proofe, whose dayes vnsure,
Accounted are vnto a puffe of winde,
A breathing blast, whose force can not endure:
Whose lyuely showes consumes, whose pompe decayes,
Whose glory dyes, whose pleasures soone be spent:
Whose stoutest strength, to weakenes subiect stayes,
Whose thoughts bee vaine, and vade as though vnment.
What haue wee then to vaunt, or glory in?
Sith all is vayne, wherin wee take delight:
Why should wee boast or brag, sith nought wee win
In fine, but death? to whom yeeldes euery wight.
To equall state, hee bringeth each degree,
Hee feareth none, all subiects yeeldes to death:
To dankish dust, hee driueth all wee see,
Which in the world, enioyeth any breath:
Why vaunt wee then, in that wee see is vayne,
Or take delight, in that wee proue but drosse?
Why glory wee, or seeke for golden gayne?
Sith at the length, wee reape therof but losse.
Wee lothe to leaue, our hutches filde with golde:
Our annual rents, it greeues vs to forgo,
Our buildings braue, which glads vs to beholde:
Our pleasant sport, it greeues vs to forgo.
Wee nothing brought, ne ought shall carry hence,
Lyfe lost, behinde goods, mony, land, wee leaue:
And naked shall returne, assured whence
Before wee came, when death doth life bereaue:
Liue then, to leaue thy life in euery hower,
Learne how to lead thy minde, from vayne desire,
Of filthy drosse, whose sugerest sweet is sower,
When dreadfull death, shall yeeld our earthly hire.
What is our world but vayne, fraught full of vice,
Wherin wee liue, allured by disceat:
Which vs in youth, to error doth entice,
And sturs vs vp, in flamed by follyes heat.
Our mindes are mooued, with euery fond desire,
Wee gloze in that, the which wee see vnsure:
Wee vsuall seeke great honor to aspire,
Whose greatest pompe, doth but a while endure:
For proofe the flower, bedect with gorgious hew,
As soone with heate, of scorching sun doth fade:
As doth the weede, the which vnseemly grew,
And showes it selfe, vncouerd with the shade.
The stately ship, which floates on foming fluds,
With waue is tost, as soone to surging Seas:
Doth yeeld his pompe, though fraught with store of goods,
As vessell weake, whose force the streame assayes:
Our selues may show, the state of eche degree,
As Sampson stout, whose force Philistians felt:
For wealth, let Diues, glut with golde our Mirror bee,
Marke Nemrods fall, whose hart with pride was swelt.
And diuers mo, whose preter pathes may learne,
Our future steps, our vayn vnsteady stay:
Whose elder lyues, already past may warne,
Us shun such snares, which leades vs to decay.

The fall of folly, exampled by needy Age.

A proper Sonet, how time consumeth all earthly thinges.

A Mirror of Mortallity.

Ssall clammy clay, shrowd such a gallant gloze,
Must beauty braue, be shrinde in dankish earth:
Shall crawling wormes, deuoure such liuely showes, of yong delights.
When valyant corps, shall yeeld the latter breath,
Shall pleasure vade, must puffing pride decay:
Shall flesh consume, must thought resigne to clay.
Shall haughty hart, haue hire to his desart,
Must deepe desire die, drenchd in direfull dread:
Shall deeds lewd dun, in fine reape bitter smart,
Must each vade, when life shall leaue vs dead:
Shall Lands remayne? must wealth be left behinde?
Is sence depriu'd? when flesh in earth is shrinde.
Seeke then to shun, the snares of vayne delight,
Which moues the minde, in youth from vertues lore:
Leaue of the vaunt of pride, and manly might,
Sith all must yeeld, when death the flesh shall gore:
And way these wordes, as soone for to be solde,
To Market cums, the yonge sheepe as the olde.
No trust in time, our dayes vncertayne bee,
Like as the flower, bedect with splendant hue:
Whose gallant show, soone dride with heat wee see,
Of scorching beames, though late it brauely grew:
Wee all must yeeld, the best shall not denye,
Unsure is death, yet certayn wee shall dye.
Although a while, we vaunt in youthful yeares,
In yonge delightes, wee seeme to liue at rest:
Wee subiect bee, to griefe eche horror feares,
The valiaunst harts, when death doth daunt the brest:
Then vse thy talent here vnto thee lent,
That thou mayst well account how it is spent.

A briefe dialogue between sicknesse and worldly desire.

Sicknesse.
To darkesome caue, where crawling wormes remayn,
Thou worldly wretch, resigne thy boasting breath:
Yeeld vp thy pompe, thy corps must passe agayn,
From whence it came, compeld by dreadfull death.

Worldly desire.
Oh sicknesse sore, thy paines doo pearce my hart,
Thou messenger of death, whose goryng gripes mee greue:
Permit a while, mee loth yet to depart
From freends and goods, which I behinde must leaue.

Sicknesse.
Ah silly soule, entis'de with worldly vayne,
As well as thou, thy freends must yeeld to death:
Though after thee, a while they doo remayne,
They shall not still, continue on the earth.

Worldly desire.
What must I then neede, shrine in gastly graue?
And leaue what long, I got with tedious toyle:
Prolong mee yet, and let mee licence haue,
Till elder yeeres, to put your Brutes to foyle.

Sicknesse.
O foolish man, allurde by lewd delight,
Thy labors lost, these goods they are not thine:
But as (thou hadst) so others haue like right,
(Of them) when thou, shalt vp thy breath resigne.

Worldly desire.
Then farewell world, the Nurse of wicked vice,
Adue vile drosse which mooues mens mindes to ill:
Farewell delights, which did my youth entice,
To serue as slaue, vnto vnsatiate will.

Aeger Diues habet Nummos, sed non habet ipsum.

Win fame, and keepe it.

Who sees the yll, and seekes to shun the same,
Shall doutlesse win at length immortal fame:
For wisdome, vice and vertue doth perceaue,
Shee vertue takes, but vice shee seekes to leaue.
A wise man knowes the state of each degree,
The good be praysde, the euill dishonord bee:
Hee sees the good, the euill hee doth espye,
Hee takes the good, the euill hee doth denye:
Hee folowes good, the euill hee dooth eschue,
Hee leapes the lake, when others stay to vew.
His honor stands, his fame doth euer last,
Upon the earth when breathing breath is past:
As Solomon whose wisdome recht vnto the lofty skye,
And Dauid King, theyr prayses liue (though bodies tombed lye)
They saw the good, the euill they did eschue,
Their honor liues, the proofe affirmes it true:
Then sithe examples playnly, showes the same,
Their prayses liue, who seekes to merit fame.

Respice finem.

Lo here the state of euery mortall wight,
See here, the fine, of all their gallant ioyes:
Beholde their pompe, their beauty and delight,
Wherof they vaunt, as safe from all annoyes:
To earth the stout, the prowd, the ritch shall yeeld,
The weake, the meeke, the poore, shall shrowded lye
In dampish mould, the stout with Speare and Sheeld
Cannot defend, himselfe when hee shal dye.
The prowdest wight, for all his lyuely showes,
Shall leaue his pompe, cut of by dreadfull death:
The ritch, whose Hutch, with golden Ruddocks flowes,
At lenght shall rest, vncoynd in dampish earth:
By Natures law, wee all are borne to dye,
But where or when, the best vncertayne bee:
No time prefixt, no goods our life shall buye,
Of dreadfull death, no freends shall set vs free.
Wee subiect bee, a thousand wayes to death,
Small sicknesse moues the valiaunts hart to feare:
A litle push bereaues your breathing breath,
Of braue delights, wherto you subiect are:
Your world is vayne, no trust in earth you finde,
Your valyaunst prime, is but a brytle glasse:
Your pleasures vade, your thoughts a puffe of winde,
Your auncient yeres, are but a withered grasse.

A briefe Caueat, to shun fawning friends.

Beauty is a pleasant pathe to distruction.

T. P. his Farewell vnto his faythfull and approoued freend. F. S.

The History of Pyramus and Thisbie truely translated.

O great Goddesse, of whose immortal fire,
Uertue in Erbe, might neuer quench the flame:
Ne mortall sence, yet to such skill aspire,
As for loues hurt a medecine once to name:
With what deare price, my carefull pyned ghost,
Hath tried this true, and ouer true alas:
My greefeful eyes, that sight hath almost lost,
And brest through darted, with thy golden Mace.
Full well declare, though all that mee beholde,
Are iudges, and wonders of my deadly wo:
But thou alone, mayst helpe therfore vnfolde,
Els helples (Lady) streight will knap in two
The feeble thread, yet stayes my lingering life.
Wherfore, if loue, thy sacred Goddes brest?
Did euer presse, or if most dreadly griefe,
And causeles not thy inward soule opprest:
When crooked Vulcane, to your common shame,
Bewrayed of stolen ioyes, thy sweet delight:
If then I say the feare of further blame,
Caus'd you refrayne your Louers wished sight:
And forst restraynt did equall then impart,
And cause you taste, what payne in loue may bee:
When absence driues, assured hartes to part.
Thy pitty then (O Queene) now not denye
To mee poore wretch, who feeles no lesse a payne:
If humayne brests, so much as heauenly may:
Haue ruthe on him, who doth to thee complayne,
And onely helpe of thee, doth lowly pray:
Graunt Goddesse mine, thou mayst it vndertake,
At least wise (Lady) ere this life decay:
Graunt I beseeche so happy mee to make,
That yet by worde, I may to her bewray
My wonderous woes: and then if yee so please,
Looke when you lust, let death my body ease.
Though many tokens ioyful newes haue set,
And blisse redust, to carefull pyned ghost:
Yet mayst thou sweare, that neuer lyued hee yet.
Who halfe such ease, receiued in pleasure most:
As thou sweete pendant, now in wofull brest
Impersid hast, O happy Pyramus,
Nay beeing a Lady, in whom such ruthe can rest:
Most blisfull Lady, most mighty Venus,
And mighty Thisbie (yea) Venus not displeased,
My Goddesse cheefe, my loue, my life and all:
For who but Thisbie would, nay could haue eased,
A hart remedyles, abandon thrall:
Wherfore since thus ye please, to show your might,
Make mee whole happy, with gladnesse of your sight.

The lamentacion of Piramus, for the losse of his Loue Thisbie.

This is the day wherin my irksome life,
And I of lyuely breath, the last shall spend:
Nor death I dread, for fled is feare, care, strife,
Daunger and all, wheron they did depend:
Thisbie is dead, and Pirame at his ende,
For neuer shall reporte hereafter say:
That Pyrame lyu'de, his Lady tane away.
O soueraigne God, what straung outragious woe,
Presents (alas) this corsiue to my hart:
Ah sauage beaste, how durst thy spight vndoe,
Or seeke (woes mee) so perfect loue to part:
O Thisbie mine, that was, and only art,
My liues defence, and I the cause alone:
Of thy decay, and mine eternall mone.
Come Lyon thou, whose rage here only shew,
Aduaunce with speede, and doo mee eke deuoure:
For ruthlesse fact, so shalt thou pitty shew,
And mee (too) heere, within thy brest restore:
Where wee shall rest, togeather euermore.
Ah, since thy corps, thou graues within thy wombe,
Denye mee not sweet beast, the selfesame tombe.
(Alas my ioy) thou parted art from mee,
By far more cruell meane, then woonted fine:
Or common law, of nature doth decree,
And that encreaseth, for woe, this greefe of mine:
Of that beautie only, which was deuine,
And soueraigne most, of all that liued here:
No litle signe, may found be any where,
If the dead corps (alas, did yet remayne:
O great cruelty, O rage of fortune spight,
More greeuous far, then any tongue may fayne:
To reue her life, and in my more despight,
Mee to defraude of that my last delight:
Her once t'mbrace, or yet her visage pale,
To kisse full ofte, and as I should bewayle.
But since from mee thou hast the meane outchast,
Of this poore ioy, thy might I heere defie:
For maugre thee, and all the power thou hast,
In Plutœs raigne togeather will wee bee:
And you my loue, since you are dead for mee,
Good reason is, that I for you agayne:
Receiue no lesse but euen the selfsame payne.
Ah Mulberie, thou witnes of our woe,
Right vnder thee assigned was, the place
Of all our ioy, but thou our common foo,
Consented hast, vnto her death alas:
Of beauty all, that had alone the grace,
And therfore as the cheefe of others all,
Let men the Tree of deadly woe thee call.
Graunt our great God, for honor of thy name,
A guerdon of the woe, wee shall here haue:
For I nill liue, shee dead that rulde the same,
Pronounce (O Pluto) from thy hollow Caue:
Where stayes thy raigne, and let this tree receiue,
Such sentence iust, as may a witnesse bee,
Of dollour most, to all that shall it see.
Lo thus they lou'd and died, and dead, one tombe thē graued there,
And Mulberies in signe of woe, from white to blacke turnde were.

The lamentacion of a Gentilwoman vpon the death of her late deceased frend William Gruffith Gent.

With Poets pen, I doo not preace to write,
Mineruæs mate, I doo not boast to bee:
Parnassus Mount (I speake it for no spite)
Can cure my cursed cares, I playnly see:
For why? my hart contaynes as many woes
As euer Hector did amongst his foes.
Eche man doth mone, when faythfull freends bee dead,
And paynt them out, as well as wits doo serue:
But I, a Mayde, am forst to vse my head,
To wayle my freend (whose fayth) did prayse deserue:
Wit wants to will: alas? no skill I haue,
Yet must I needes deplore my Gruffithes graue:
For William, white: for Gruffith, greene: I wore,
And red, longe since did serue to please my minde:
Now, blacke, I weare, of mee, not vs'd before,
In liew of loue, alas? this losse I finde:
Now must I leaue, both, White, and Greene, and Red,
And wayle my freend, who is but lately dead.
Yet hurtfull eyes, doo bid mee cast away,
In open show, this carefull blacke attyre:
Because it would, my secret loue bewray,
And pay my pate, with hatred for my hyre:
Though outwardly, I dare not weare the same,
Yet in my hart, a web of blacke I frame.
You Ladyes all, that passe not for no payne,
But haue your louers lodged in your laps:
I craue your aydes, to helpe mee mourne amayne,
Perhaps your selues, shall feele such carefull claps:
Which (God forbid) that any Lady taste,
Who shall by mee but only learne to waste.
My wits be weake an Epitaphe to write,
Because it doth require a grauer stile:
My phrase doth serue but rudely to recite,
How Louers losse doth pinch mee all this while:
Who was as prest to dye for Gruffithes sake,
As Damon, did for Pithias vndertake.
But William had a worldly freend in store,
Who writ his end to small effect (God knowes)
But I. and H. his name did show no more,
Rime Ruffe it is, the common sentence goes,
It hangs at Pawles as euery man goes by,
One ryme too low, an other rampes too hye.
Hee prays'd him out as worldly freends doo vse,
And vttered all the skill that God had sent:
But I? am shee that neuer will refuse,
But as I am, so will I still bee bent:
No blastes shall blow, my lincked loue awry,
Oh? would the Gods, with Gruffith I might dye.
Then had it been that I poore silly Dame,
Had, had no neede to blot this scratched scroule:
Then Uirgins fist, had not set forth the fame,
How God hath gripte, my Gruffithes sacred soule:
But woe is mee, I liue in pinching payne,
No wight doth know, what sorowes I sustayne.
Unhappy may that drowsie day bee nam'd,
Wherin I first, possest my vitall breath:
And eke I wish, that day that I was fram'd,
In stead of life I had receiued death:
Then with these woes, I needed not to waste,
Which now (alas) in euery vayne I taste.
Some Zoylus sot, will thinke it lightly doone,
Because I mone, my mate, and louer, so
Some Momus match, this scroule will ouerronne,
But loue is lawlesse, euery wight doth know:
Sith loue doth lend mee such a freendly scope,
Disdaynfull dogs I may despise (I hope)
Wherfore I doo, attempt so much the more,
By this good hope, to shew my slender arte:
And mourne I must (who) neuer marckt before,
What fretting force doo holde eche heauy hart:
But now I see that Gruffithes greedy graue,
Doth make mee feele, the fits which louers haue.
My mournfull Muse, (good Ladyes) take in worth,
And spare to speake the worst, but iudge the best:
For this is all, that I dare publish forth,
The rest recorded is, within my brest:
And there is lodg'd, for euer to remayne,
Till God doth graunt (by death) to ease my payne.
And when that death is come to pay her due,
With all the paynes, that shee can well inuent:
Yet to my Gruffith, will I still be true,
Hap death, holde life, my minde is fully bent:
Before I will our secret loue disclose,
To Tantals paynes, my body I dispose.
So liue I shall, when death hath spit her spight,
And Lady (Fame) will spread my prayse I know:
And Cupids Knights, will neuer cease to write,
And cause my name, through (Europe) for to flow:
And they that know what (Cupid) can preuayle,
Will blesse the ship, that floates with such a sayle.
If I had part of Pallas learned skill,
Or if (Caliope) would lend her ayde:
By tracte of time, great volumes I would fill,
My Gruffithes prayse in wayling verse to spread:
But (I poore I) as I haue sayd before,
Doo wayle, to want, Mineruæs learned lore.
By helpe (I hope) these ragged rymes shall goe,
Entituled as louers lyues should bee:
And scape the chyding chaps of euery foe,
To prayse that man, who was best likte of mee:
Though death hath shapte, his most vntimely end,
Yet for his prayse, my tristiue tunes I send.
In hope, the Gods who guide the heauens aboue,
His buryed corps, aliue agayne will make:
And haue remorce of Ladyes lincked loue,
As once they did for good Admetus sake:
Or change him els, into some flower to weare,
As erst they did, transforme Narcissus fayre.
So should I then, possesse my former freend,
Restor'd to lyfe, as Alcest was from Hell,
Or els the Gods, some flagrant flower would send,
Which for his sake, I might both weare and smell:
Which flower, out of my hand shall neuer passe,
But in my harte, shall haue a sticking place.
But wo is mee, my wishes are in vayne,
Adue delight? come, crooked cursed care:
To bluntish blockes (I see) I doo complayne,
And reape but onely sorrow for my share:
For wel I know that Gods nor sprites can cure,
The paynes that I for Gruffith doo endure.
Since wayling, no way can remedy mee,
To make an ende, I therfore iudge it best:
And drinke vp all, my sorrow secretly,
And as I can, I will abide the rest:
And sith I dare not mourne, to open showe,
With secret sighes and teares, my hart shall flow.
Some busie brayne, perhaps will aske my name,
Disposed much, some tidings for to marke:
That dare I not? for feare of flying fame,
And eke I feare least byting bugs will barke:
Therfore farewell, and aske no more of mee,
For (as I am) a Louer will I dye.