Tragicall Tales translated by Tvrbervile :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Poet that to Loue did pen the path,
And taught the trade Cupidos ympes to traine,
Within his second booke aduised hath,
That who so lookes, and would be willing same,
To keepe his loue vnto himselfe, he must
Neither brother, friend, nor yet companion trust.

And hereupon his grounded reason growes,
That ech man seekes to serue himselfe in chiefe:
And he to sight that friendliest countenance showes.
Yet for his flesh will soonest play the theefe.
As stolne Deare in taste exceedes the gift,
So gallantst gaine is that which commes by shyft.

In greatest trust, the greatest treason lyes,
Where least we feare, there harme we soonest finde,
An open foe each man full quickly flyes,
Hee woundeth most that strikes his blowe behinde:
But little hurt the open Adder workes,
The Snake stings sore, that in the couert lurkes.

The barking Hound hath seldome hap to bite,
His mouth bewrayes his meaning by his crie:
No berde vpon the open twigs doth light,
The naked Net ech foolish foule doth flye:
The hidden hooke is hee that doth the feate,
Of sugred bane the wiliest mouse will eate.

[70]

Who feares no fraude, wyth ease you may beguyle,
The simple minde will soone be ouergone:
He takes least harme that doubtes deceyt and wile,
And dreading thornes, doth let the Rose alone:
The Trumpets sound bewrayes the Foe at hand,
And warning giues his furie to withstand.

The glewing grome that fyghts before he commes,
Is eyther voyded, or by sleight subdued;
The way to wynne, is not to beate the drummes,
For threatning throates are easily eschued:
The surest meane to worke anothers woe,
Is fayre to speake and be a fryend in showe.

Had not this knight reposde assured trust,
Upon his fryend, that loude him as his life,
Could he so well haue serude his fylthie lust?
Or leysure had so to abusde his wife?
No, had he thought such treason hyd in breast,
He would haue lookte more nearely to hys guest.

But louing well, and meaning not amisse,
He lowde him scope, without suspect of ill
To come and goe, to vse the house as hys,
A perfect shewe of very great good wyll:
Both purse and plate, both lands, and lyfe, and all,
(Saue wife alone) lay pledge at euery call.

Which makes his fault, and foule offence the more,
That dyd this deede and wrought this trechery,
Against his friend that loude him euermore,
And thought him void of vice of lechery:
Good nature deemd that Guardastan could not,
For fleshly lust so deare a friend forgot.

But see, how synne once feasting on the minde
Doth muffle man and leades him quight away:
It makes him passe beyond the boundes of kynde,

And swerue the trade where truth and vertues lay,
Refusing friendes, reiecting lawes, and right,
For greedy care to compasse foule delyght.

And as the man herein deserueth shame,
For stoupyng so to base and beastly vice,
So are those dames exceedingly too blame.
Whose glaueryng glee to lewdnesse doth entice:
Who frame their lookes, their gesture tongs and tale,
To serue their turne in steede of pleasant stale,

Two sorts I fynde deseruing trust aleeke,
The mounting minds that sue for hygh estate,
And such againe as sensuall pleasures seeke,
And hunt the haunt of euery louyng mate:
Both which to come by what they like and loue,
Renounce theyr friends, and scorne the Gods aboue.

But marke yet well the sause that doth ensue,
Such stolne flesh, is bytter as the gall,
Great are the plagues to such disorders due,
From skyes reuenge and fearefull scourge doth fall:
The dome diuine although it suffer long.
Yet strikes at last, and surely wreakes the wrong.

For Helens rage king Menelaus wife,
The Stories tell how Priam and his towne
Confounded were, and how for broyle and strife
In wrongfull cause, the walles were battered downe:
Full many a knyght in battayle spent his blood,
And all because the quarrell was not good.

So when this Traitor knight had fed his fyll,
Upon Rossilions wyfe, and wrongde his friende,
By foule abuse: in guerdon of his ill,
The wrathfull Gods brought him to wretched end
To quit hys glee, and all his former sport,
He dyed the death in most vnhappie sort.

[71]

And shee, who falst her faith and marriage heste,
And double penance for her pleasure past,
For fyrst she eate his heart she fansied best,
And desperately did kill her selfe at last.
Note here the fruites of treason and of lust:
Forbeare the like, for God is euer iust:

Nihil proditore tutum.

Amore, Puo piu che ogni amicitia, et che ogni honore.