University of Virginia Library

To his verie friend Ro. Baynes.

Ro. Baynes to the Reader, in the due commendation of the Author.

What waight of graue aduice, what reson left vnsaught,
What more, of Pallas braine hath tast, than Poets pens haue taught.
Whose powdred saaes are mixt, with pleasure, and delight:
Aduising this, forewarning that, directing still the right.
Which vaine though Grecians first, & Romaines after found:
Yet now the same in English phrase, doth gorgeously abound.
A vertue lately wonne, to this our natiue soile:
By such as seeke, their countrey praise, though to their greater toile.
Among the rest, who hath, employed therein more paine?
Or who? than Turberuill hath found, in verse a sweeter vaine?
Whose quill, though yet it tread, the path of greene delight:
The same who vewes, shall find his lines, with learned reason dight.
And as to elder age, his stayed braine shall grow:
So falling from, his riper penne, more graue conceits may flow.
The while, let ech man reape, the pleasure that he lends.
The cost is free, his charge but small, an others wealth that spends.
The subiect here, is such, as differs farre from pelfe:
I deeme thee wise, thy iudgement good, the thing will praise it self.

The Authour here declareth the cause why hee wrote these Histories, and forewent the translation of the learned Poet Lucan.

I undertooke Dan Lucans verse,
and caught hys borne in hand,
To sound out Cæsars blooddy broiles
and Pompeis puisant bande:
I meant to paint the haughtie hate
of those two marshall men,
And had in purpose ciuill swords
of rufull Rome to pen:
Of rufull Rome to penne the plagues
when Cæsar sought to raigne,
And Pompey pitying Countries spoyle,
would doe him downe againe.
I had begonne that hard attempt,
to turne that fertile soyle.
My bullocks were alreadie yokte,
and flatly fell to toyle.
Me thought they laboured meetlie well,
Tyll on a certaine night:
I gazde so long vpon my booke
in bed by candle light.
Till heauy sleep full slilie came
and muffled so mine eye,
That I was forst with quill in hand
in slumber downe to lie.
To whom within a while appeard
Melpomene, the Muse,
That to intreat of warlike wights,
and dreadfull armes doth vse.
Who me beheld with graue regard,
and countnance fraught with feare:
And thus the gastly Goddesse spake,
her wordes in minde I beare.
And art thou woxe so wilfull, as
thou seemest to outward eye?
Darste thou presume with ymped quilles
so prowde a pitch to flie?
Remember how fonde Phæton farde,
that vndertooke to guide:
Apollos charge, by meane of which
that wilfull wanton dide.
Eare thou doe wade so farre, reuoke
to minde to bedlam boy,
That in his forged wings of waxe
reposed too great a ioy:
And soard so neare the scorching blaze
of burning Phœbus brande,
As feathers failde, and be fell short
of what he tooke in hand.
In this thy hauty heart thou shewst,
too playne thy pryde appeares,
How durst thou deale in field affaires?
leaue off, vnyoke thy Steeres.
Let loftie Lucans verse alone,
a deed of deepe deuise.
A stately stile, a peerelesse pen,
a worke of weightie pryce.
More meete for noble Buckhurst braine,
where Pallas built her bowre,
Of purpose there to lodge her selfe,
and shew her princely powre.
His swelling vaine would better blase,
those Royall Romane peeres:
Than anyone in Brutus land,
that liude these many yeeres.
And yet within that little Isle
of golden wittes is store,
Great change and choise of learned ymps
as euer was of yore.
I none dislike, I fancie some,
but yet of all the rest.
Sance enuie, let my verdite passe,
Lord Buckurst is the best.
Wee all that Ladie Muses are,
Who be in nuber nine:
With one accord did blesse this babe,
each said, This ympe is mine.
Each one of vs, at time of birth,
with Iuno were in place:
And each vpon this tender childe,
bestowd her gift of grace.
My selfe amonge the moe alowde
him Poets praised skill,
And to commend his gallant verse.
I gaue him wordes at will.
Minerua luld him on her lappe,
and let him many a kisse:
As who would say when all is done,
they all shall yeeld to this:
This matter were more meet for him,
and farre vnfit for thee:
My sister Clio, with thy kinde,
doth best of all agree.
Shee deals in case of liking loue.
her lute is set but lowe.
And thou werte wonte in such deuise,
thine humour to bestow,
As when thou toldest the Shepheards tale,
that Mantuan erst had pend:
And turndst those letters into verse,
that louing Dames did send
Vnto their lingring mates that fought
at sacke and siege of Troy:
And as thou didst in the writing of
thy songs of sugred ioy.
Mancynus vertues fitter ore,
for thee to take in hande,
Than glitering gleaues, and weakfull warres,
that all on slaughter stand
The Giants proud, aspiring pompe
when they so fondly strove,
And hopde with helpe of heaped hills
to conquere mightie Ioue,
Is not for euery wit to wield,
the weight too heauy weare.
For eury Poet that hath wrote
in auncient age to beare:
Unless that Lucan Virgill, or
the great renowmed Greeke
Would vndertake, those boysteous broiles,
the rest are all to seeke,
Each slender ship that heares a saile,
and flittes in quiet flood:
Is not to brooke the byllowe, when
the rooryng seas be wood.
Alcydes slippers are too wide
for euery wretch to weare
Not euery childe can Atlas charge,
vpon hys shoulders beare.
Not euery dick that dares to drawe
a sworde, is Hectors peere,
Not euery woodman that doth shoote
hath skill to chose his Deere
No beast can match the lions might
his force is ouer fell:
Though euery little starre doe shine,
yet doth the Sunne excell.
Not euery bryer, or tender twigge,
is equall to the Pyne,
Nor euery Prelate that can preache,
is thought a deepe deuine.
Not euery fish that flittes amyd
the floud with feeble finne,
Is fellowe to the Delphine swifte,
when he doth once beginne.
The peeuishe puttocke may not preace
in place where Eagles are.
For why their kingly might exceedes,
their puissance passeth farre.
All which I speake to let thee wyte,
that though thou haue some skill,
Yet hast thou not sufficient stuffe
this Authors loome to fill.
Too slender is thy feeble twiste,
thy webbe is all too weake:
Before thy worke be halfe dispatchte,
no doubte thy warpe will breake.
Wherefore renounce thy rash deuice,
thy yeelding force I knowe:
And none so well as I can iudge,
the bente of Lucans bowe.
Thinke of the toade in Æsops tale,
that sought to matche the Bull,
For highnesse, and did burst at length,
his bowels were so full,
So thou, vnlesse thou take good heede,
translating Lucans warre,
Shalt spoyle thy Lute, & stroy thy strings,
in straining them too farre.
I heere aduise and eke commaunde
that thou no farther goe:
Laye dawne thy Lyre obey my will,
for sure it shall be so.
With that my drousie slumber fledde,
my senses came againe:
And I that earst was drownde in dreames,
behelde the Goddes playne,
Whose frouning phrase & spitefull speach
had daunted so my witte,
As for my life I wilte not howe.
to shape an aunswere fitte.
Each worde (me thought) did wound me so,
eache looke did lurche my harte:
Eache sentence bredde my sorrowes such,
eache lyne was like a darte.
But yet at laste with manly minde,
and mouth vnfraught of feare,
Unto this loftie learned Muse,
these wordes I vttred there:
O noble Impe, and daughter deare
to mightie Ioue his grace:
It much relieues my weakened wittes
to see thy heauenly face.
For which ten thousand thanks I yelde
thee heere with bended knee:
And counte my selfe the blessedst man
aliue, thine eyes to see.
Thy presence makes me to presume,
thou holdst me verie deare:
But (out alas) thy wordes were such
as I was lothe to heare.
Controlements came frō haughtie breast,
for that I vndertooke
With English quill to turne the verse
of learned Lucans booke.
And shall I (Lady) be unflyted
to take in hande a deed,
By which vnto my natiue soyle
aduantage may succeed
By which the ciuill swordes of Rome
and mischiefes done thereby,
May be a myrrour vnto vs,
the like mishappes to flie?
I yeelde my brayne too barraine farre,
my verses all too vyle,
My pen too playne, with metre meete
to furnish Lucans style:
Whose deepe deuise, whose filed phrase,
and Poets peerelesse pen,
Would cloye the cunningst head in court,
and tyre the lustiest men.
But yet sith none of greater skill,
and ryper witte would write
Of Cæsar and Pompeius warres,
a woorke of rare delight:
I thought it good as well to passe
the idle time away,
As to the worlde to set to vewe
howe discorde breedes decay:
To turne this princely Poets verse,
that simple men might see
Of Ciuill broyles and breach at home,
how great the mischeiues bee.
But sith it standes not with your wills
who lady Muses are,
That one so dull as I, should deale
in case concerning warre:
I am content to plie vnto
your pleasures out of hande,
It bootes me not against the will
of heauenly states to stande.
Yet being that my present plight
is stufte with all anoye,
And late mishaps haue me bereft
my rimes of roisting ioye:
Syth churlish fortune clouded hath
my glee, with mantell blacke,
Of foule mischaunce, wherby my barke
was like to bide the wracke:
(Good ladie) giue me leaue to write
some heauy sounding verse,
That by the vewe thereof, my harmes
the readers heart may perse.
With that the Goddesse gaue a becke,
and yeelded my request,
And vanisht streight without offence,
and licenste me to reste.
Then I to reading Boccas fell,
and sundrie other moe
Italian Authours, where I found
great stoare of states in woe,
And sundrie sortes of wretched wights:
some slayne by cruell foes,
And other some that through desire
and Loue their lyues did lose:
Some Tyrant thirsting after bloud,
themselues were fowly slayne:
And some did sterue in endlesse woes,
and pynde with bitter payne.
Which gaue me matter fitte to write:
and herevpon it grewe
That I this Tragicall deuise,
haue sette to open viewe.
Accept my paynes, allow me thankes,
if I deserue the same,
If not, yet lette not meaning well
be payde with checke and blame.
For I am he that buylde the bowre,
I hewe the hardened stone,
And thou art owner of the house,
the paine is mine alone.
I burne the bee, I holde the hyue,
the Sommer toyle is myne:
And all bicause when winter commes,
the honie may be thine.
I frame the foyle, I graue the golde,
I fashion vp the ring,
And thou the iewell shalt enioye,
which I to shape doe bring.
Adieu (good Reader) gaze thy fill,
if aught thine eyes delight:
For thee I tooke the woorke in hande,
this booke is thine of right.

[Tragicall Tales.]

[Through wilful loue, and liking ouermuch]

The argument to the first Historie.

The Ladies Letter of pittie to her afflictd friend, to whom she had been cruell

As thou wilt muze to reade,
so I might blush to write
These lines of loue, who for goodwill
haue fed thee with despite
And from the day when thou
becamst a thrall in loue,
Could neuer spare one sparke of grace
that was for thy behoue:
Till now, both cleane against
mine honour and mine vse,
A Ladie, and a mayden both,
I sende thee termes of truce.
But listen well vnto
the tale that I shall tell.
Ere rashly thou my kindnesse deeme,
and thinke I vse thee well.
For Lions seldome sewe
vnto the sillie sheepe,
No porter to their captiues crouch,
whom they in chaines doe keepe
Few Ladies of estate,
few Dames of hie degree,
Doe bow vnto their vassals willes,
as I doe now to thee.
But knowe that though I write
the wordes of great good will:
Yet I regarde mine honour aye,
and keepe my countnance still.
No lust procurde my lynes,
my credite to impaire:
No fleshie fitte my fancie forst
to speake Nastagio faire.
But seeing how in seas
of sorow and distresse,
Thy body bathde for loue of me:
I could not doe no lesse,
But seeke to salue thy harmes
by pitying thine anoy,
Who, to possesse my liked limmes,
bereft thy selfe of ioy.
I saw howe for my sake
thou wasted hadst thy welth,
And planting battrie to my fort,
wert retchlesse of thy health:
Deuising how to raze
the bulwarke of my brest,
And scale the walles of my good will,
whom thou didst fancie best,
I plainly did perceiue
(as Louers soone will see,)
Howe thou forsookest thy natiue soyle,
and all for loue of me:
Quite carelesse of thy coyne,
thy friendes and yeerely rents,
Not forcing stately builded bowres,
nor gallant garish tentes:
Which when I flatly found,
from fansie to proceede,
(Although thou thoughtst me ouerproud)
I pitied thee in deede.
Yea Ioue shall be my iudge,
when thou beganste to sewe,
And in Rauenna wert inragde,
and first to liking grewe:
Thy courtly grace was such,
so comly was thy corse,
And all thy partes so pleasde mine eyes,
as I had had remorse,
And bended to thy bowe,
saue that I dreaded guiles:
My fearefull youth bid me beware,
of mens mistrustfull wiles.
Who faine to frie in loue,
and melt with fansies flames:
When their deuise is only how
by craft to compasse dames.
I reade in auncient bookes,
how Iason playde the Iew,
And to the Queene that savde his life,
in fine was found vntrue:
Not forcing her a figge,
who for his sake forwent
Both aged syre, and tender babes,
and crowne by due descent.
Againe I calde to minde
how false Æneas fled,
And left the curteous Carthage dame
fast sleepiug in her bed:
Whose bountie earst had bounde
by det and due desart,
When weatherbeaten he arrvide,
this trayterous Troyans hart.
Theu Theseus came to thought,
and pranking Paris eake:
Who like vnfaithfull fickle men,
their sworne vowes did breake.
Fayre Oenons wofull writ
can witnesse of the tone:
Thother from Ariadna fled
and left her post alone.
With sundrie suters mo,
who being bound to loue,
Saunce quarell good, or matter why,
their likings did remoue:
Renouncing to their shames,
those Ladies, who did rewe
Their base estates, and did relieue
the men they neuer knewe
These partes procurde my pawse,
And wilde me to beware,
Least I by giuing rash consent
to loue, were trapt in snare.
My loue was like to thine,
I fryde with egall fire:
But nature helpes vs to conceale
the sparkes of our desire.
Kinde aydes vs to conuey
our fittes in finer wise:
For honours sake, than men, who shew
their fancies by their eyes,
Which if we Ladies did,
Defame would ring her bell,
And blaze out armes in colours base
although we meant but well.
You men like Marchants are
that set their wares to showe,
Whereby to lure the lookers eyes
that by your wyndowes goe,
And sundrie times in steade
of right and costly clothes,
You vtter trash, and trifling stuffe,
which euery chapman lothes.
But we like Goldsmithes deale,
that forge their plate within:
Whose hammers plie the Anuil aye,
and yet no working seen.
No smoke nor smoother flies,
for any to beholde,
Untill the rude vnperfite masse
be brouhht to burnisht golde.
We worke, but all within,
our hammers are not heard:
We hotly loue, but keepe it close,
for feare our match be marde,
For who esteemes the mayde,
or holdes the virgin pure:
That standes a stale for euerie guest,
and stoupes to euerie lure?
Yea, be she maide or wife,
if once her lookes be light,
And that in sundrie suters tales
she place her deepe delight:
Downe is her credite cut
with hatchet of mishap,
Her honour hewde in peeces straight,
by meane of open lap.
O Goddes, what griefe were this
vnto a noble minde?
How would it vexe an honest Nymph,
whose credite clearely shynde?
For offer of goood will,
with meaning not amisse:
To beate the badge of Helen, or
of Creside, for a kisse?
Then ought not we (I pray)
that noble maydens are,
So guide our tender steppes of state,
as vertue may prefarre,
And place vs in the ranke,
that is for Ladies dewe?
Should we lende light beliefe to loue:
or euery suter rewe?
So might we reape the crop
of care, and foule defame:
Where earst we neuer meant to sowe
the sinfull seedes of shame.
I write not this of all
that louing suters bee,
Or in such sort, as though I thought
the like deceit in thee,
As earst in Iason was,
or in the wandring Prince,
And sundrie other Lordings mo,
that haue bene louers since.
One Swallow is no signe
that Sommer time is come,
No more must all Cupidos knightes
be cast because of some,
Birdes are not plumde alike,
yet all birdes in kinde:
So men are men: but yet in some
more fickle partes we finde.
I counte thee no such one
as lightly will remoue:
Thy lingring sute, my long delayes
confirme thy faith in loue.
Whom sith I finde so firme
and stedfast in desire,
As neither lowring lookes, nor lacke
can make thee once retyre,
Or folter in thy fayth,
which thou hast vowde to me:
Proceede in loue, but hast thee home,
that I thy face may see.
Plucke vp thy manly minde,
and sprites forspent with woe:
Drie vp the deaw that from thine eyes
and drearie cheekes do flow:
Doe barbe that boysterous beard:
that ouergrowes thy face:
Either cut, or kembe thy feltred lockes
to mende thy manly grace.
Put on thy golden gyte,
and former fresh aray:
Bestride thine auncient stately steede
and quickly come away.
Backe to Rauenna ride,
euen there to purchase ioy,
Where thou ere this (the more my blame)
hast liude in great anoy.
Forgo thy solemne walkes,
bandon Classie wood:
Leaue off to leade thy life in lawndes,
imbrace thy townish good.
Thou art no vowed Monke
in Cloyster close to dwell:
No Ancker thou enioynde with Beads,
to hyde in simple Cell.
But thou a comelie knight,
in field a Martial man:
And eke in time of peace, a wight
that rule Rauenna can.
Whefore as I enforst
thy bale and causelesse care:
And was the onely she that made
thee mourne, and languish thare:
So (good Nastagio) nowe
let me reuoke thee thence:
That hande that did the harme ere this
nowe vse in thy defence.
I shot, I must confesse,
the dart that gaue the dynt,
For which, lo here the blesseful balme,
thy deadly griefes to stint.
Surceasse thy wofull plaintes,
discharge thy darke dispaire:
The golden beames of my remorse,
shall cleare thy cloudy ayre.
When angry frowning foes
encounter in the fildes,
With murdering mindes, the stronger slaies.
when once the weaker yeeldes.
Up goes the wrathfull sworde
into his sheath againe:
The yeelding of the tone, doth cause
that neuer a man is slaine.
If weakest thus may winne
by stouping to the strong,
In combate fell for life and death:
thou doest mee double wrong,
That hold in virgins hand,
thy bale and eke thy blisse,
And am thy Queene, and only ioy,
and frankly offer this:
If thou my kindnesse scorne,
and rather makste the choyce
To spill thy gallaunt prime in plants,
than with thy friendes reioyce.
Thou seest how I do sue,
to whom thou for suedst grace.
Sith I doe pitie thy distresse,
to hight thy dolefull case:
Dispatch without delay,
treade torments vnder foote,
That mirth within thy mourning minde
may take the deeper root.
The banquet latelie made,
where I beheld my cheere,
And marckte thy moode from point to point,
in whome did plaine appeare
A kinde and constant heart,
not bolstred vp with gyle:
Enflamde my liuer so with loue,
as I was forst to smyle.
And had by outward shewes,
bewraied thee my good will,
Saue that my mother present was
who markt my countenance still.
I sawe, when we approcht,
the tent amid the wood:
How all thy guests reioyst thee, but
twas I that did thee good,
My presence bred delight,
with thy blooming brest:
And to dissemble liking thou,
didst welcome all the rest.
I markt at table how.
thou slilie cast thine eie,
On me askance, and caruedst too
my mother by and by:
As who would say, behold
the meate I meant to thee,
I am enforst to giue it here
least they my fansie see.
And when I raught the wine,
and dranke my thyrst to quell,
In self same peece how thou would pledge
I yet remember well.
I saw, when after meat
wee parted home againe,
How all thy former frolicke fit,
was quickly changde to paine,
My comming brought thee blisse,
my parture made thee pine.
My beatie for the time enflamde
and heat that heart of thine.
I saw (what wilt thou more)
my presence was thy life,
And how mine absence set thy wits
at cruell warre and strife,
Then sith thine eyes are bent
to feed vppon my face,
And that the want of my good wiil
hath made thee runne this race:
I rew thee now at last,
I pitie thy distresse,
I yeeld that thou the castle of
thy comfort now possesse.
I am no Lions whelpe,
I suckt no Tigers teat,
In spoyle of such as sewde for loue,
delight I neuer set.
I neuer pleasure tooke,
in forcing foe to death.
Much lesse my tender heart wil brooke
to stoppe Nastagios breath.
Time giues assurance good
of thine vnfained trust:
Thou bearst no treason in thy brest,
thou hast no lechers lust.
Whom sithence I haue tride
in loue so perfect true:
To quit thy faith, I am thy friend,
reseruing honour due.
If marriage loue thou meane,
then franke consent I giue,
To yeeld thee vp Dianas bowe.
and loue thee whilst I liue.
In Iunos ioyfull yoke,
to ioyne and draw with thee:
It likes me well, there rests no more
but that my frends agree.
Small sute shal serue the turne,
for if they doe not yeeld:
Then I my selfe enright thee with
the conquest of the fielde,
My selfe do keepe the key,
where lies the iewell, which
Is thy delight, and onely ioy
whom thou desirst so much.
But no mistrust I haue,
thy motions are so good:
Thy flocke, and state, so noble, as
thou shalt not be withstood.
Wherefore (O makelesse man)
set all delayes aside,
Thy Ladie loues, and is content
to be thy bounden bride,
Retire, thou retthlesse wight,
whose lingring woundeth twaine:
Two noble hearts shall thinke them blest,
when thou returne againe,
These wordes I wrote in bed,
where oft I wisht for thee:
Mine honour bids me pawse at that,
as yet it must not be.
Farewell, with Nestors yeeres,
God sende thee happie daies:
Remember, thou that louing mindes
can broke no long delaies.
Alas, for thee I die
ten thousand times a day:
My fits be fierce, my griefe is great,
wherefore dispatch away.
I wish thee Dadals wings,
or Perseus praunsing steed,
Or els the Cart that Phæton rulde,
but better farre to speed.
In heart I am thy wife,
if that content thy will,
Once more adeu, thy lingring long,
thy faithfull friend will spill,

The Lenuoy.

[Nicocrates a cruell tyrant, slewe]

The Argument to the second Hystorie.

VVithin Cyrene earst
there dwelling was a Dame
Namde Aretafila, of birthe
and noble bloud she came,
Elator was her Syre,
a man of great renowne:
Sir Fædimus her husband hight,
the chiefe in all the towne
For noble minde and wealth:
this Ladie was so well
With bewtie dighte, as she the reste
not onely did excell
For feature of her face,
that was full fayre to looke,
But eke for graue Mineruas giftes,
and cunning in her booke:
Her sacred giftes were great,
her wisdome was as rare,
As was her face, for fewe with her
in learning might compare.
What time this Ladie liude,
a tyrant fierce and fell,
Nicocrates, possest the lande
where did this matron dwell.
Who many of the men
that in the Citie were,
Did do to fowle and shamefull death,
he kept them all in feare.
They wist not what to doe:
Apollos priest he slewe,
His handes he nothing stucke with bloud
of prophets to imbrue,
Whom shame, and sinne it was
with rigour to entreate,
Respecting what their office was,
and why they kept the seate.
At length this cruell king
thus hauing sundrie slaine.
To trap Sir Fædimus in snare
did beate his wilie brayne,
And neuer gaue it off,
till he had wrought his will:
He thirsted for his bloud, whom he
without offence did kill.
And after husbands death,
this noble dame did wedde:
Who had as leuer lost her life,
as layne in tyrants bedde.
But force did take effect,
to striue it booted nought,
(For tyrant lust doth stande for lawe)
to yeelde it best she thought.
So monstrously his minde
too bloudie deedes was bent,
As sauing death without deserte
might nothing him content.
And looke as many as
he forced so to die,
Hee caused to be carried out,
without the walles to lie,
Amid the open fieldes,
that they might neuer haue,
The reuerence to corses due,
nor honour of the graue.
His Subiects when they sawe
him bath him so in blood,
And that to slay the giltlesse wight
it did this monster good,
Some, to auoide his handes,
did make in wise they were
Quite voide of life, to the ende they might
be borne on the beare,
And carried to the fielde,
where dead did vse to lie,
They thought them blest that by this wile
could bleare the Princes eie.
At length this subtile shift,
the cruell king perceiude,
And saw how to escape his scourge,
they had him long deceyude:
To worke a surer way,
at euery gate there was
Appointed one, with charge to looke
that no man there might passe,
In colour of the dead,
who cause he did not trust
The bearers with his naked sworde
the bodies vsde to thrust
Through coffin where they lay,
to make the matter sure:
This great outrage of his, the Queene
no longer coulde endure.
But verie much mislikte
these Tyrants trickes, and had
Compassion of her natiue soyle,
and woulde been very glad
With hazard of her life
to rid this monster quight,
For hatred which shee bare to him
that murthred so the knight
Whom shee full dearely loude:
and albeit the king
Made very great account of her,
yet did shee minde the thing
Which shee conceiude before
and purposde in her breast,
And till shee had atchieude the same,
could neuer liue at rest.
And though the Prince his power
this dayly greater grewe,
Had bred the Subiects to dispayre
their freedome to renewe,
Or euer safe to liue
within their natiue land,
Where such a cruell king did holde
the scepter in his hand:
Yet did this noble dame
conceiue a greater trust,
To finde a time to worke her feate,
which eyther doe shee must
And so at freedome set
her countrie men againe,
And venge her louing husbands death,
or let them all be slaine,
As hee, good knight, had beene.
To pricke her on the more,
Shee cald to minde the practise of
a Theban dame before,
That wise Faræa hight:
for doing of the which,
The valiant women wan renowme,
and was commended much.
Whom shee had great desire
to follow in this deede;
But when shee saw for lack of aide
and helping hands at need,
(Which tho the Theban had,)
shee could not doe the leeke:
Shee meant to doe it with a thing
that was not farre to seeke.
Deuising by a drinke,
to rid the Tyrants life,
Who slue her husband by deceite
and forst her to his wife.
A poyson she preparde,
whereby as I shall tell,
In present perill of her life
this ventrous Ladie fell.
For still her purpose failde,
and being in the end
Discouered, and the matter found,
which shee did then pretende,
Dissembling could not serue
to salue the sore againe.
For what good heart she bare the king
did then appeare too plaine.
The Tyrants mother eke,
that Madame Caluia hight,
Not louing Aretafila,
(a dame of great despight)
Full fit to breede a babe
of such a blooddie minde,
(For children commonly are like
vnto the mothers kinde)
Perswaded, that to death
this Ladie should be done,
As one that did pretend the spoyle,
and slaughter of her sonne.
But what the great good will
to her the Prince did beare,
And answere bold that shee had made
with vsage voyde of feare,
Before the mother Queene,
who there in open place,
Accusde her of her murther ment,
there standing face to face,
Did quit her from the death.
But when the proofe was such,
And euidence so plaine appearde,
so that shee mought not much
Excuse her of the fact,
but that the poysoned cup,
Was made by her, and meant vnto
the king to drinke it vp:
There Aretafila,
before the Iudges face,
In presence of the Prince her spouse,
did thus declare the case.
My Soueraigne Lord and Loue,
I cannot doe no lesse,
But, that this cup I did procure,
before thee now confesse.
My selfe the syrrope made,
and meant to giue it thee:
But this I will protest againe,
not knowing it to be,
A venim rancke and vile,
but verily did thinke
By cunning to deuise this cup,
and make a craftie drinke
To cause a man to loue:
for knowe you this, that I
Am spited at, of sundrie that
my marriage doe enuie.
It greeues a number, that
you beare me such good will,
It is a gall to some to see
that I shoulde haue my fill
Of treasure and attyre
and be a Prince his wife,
And they themselues to liue vnknowne,
and lead a priuate life.
I knowe they cannot well
my haphy state endure,
But that they will at length deuise
your friendship to allure,
And cause you cast me off:
which was the cause that I
Did brewe this drinke to keepe good wil.
I thought it good to trye
By art to stay a friend,
whom I by fortune wonne;
And if so be I did offend,
you cannot deeme it donne
For malice, but good will,
for hatred, but for zeale:
Why should I then condemned be
that neuer meant to deale
But as a louing wife?
And if your pleasure be
I shall bee punisht for my fault,
yet doe account of me
Not as a witch, that woulde
bereaue you of your life,
But one that by enchauntment thought
to make your Loue your wife,
And match her in good will
that doth extreemely loue:
And who, to be belovde alike,
dyd meane this sleight to proue.
When thus the Matron had,
with manly mouth and grace
Ypleaded for her selfe, the Prince
to whom pertaind the case,
Well liking this excuse,
woulde not in any wise
That shee, who was his wife, shoulde die:
but this he did deuise,
That there shee should be rackt
till time shee would confesse
The truth, and what shee meant thereby
in open place expresse.
When torment readie was,
and rack there set in place,
Then cankred Caluia, plaide her part,
and laid her on a pace,
Untill shee wearie woxe:
shee longed for her blood,
Which made her earnest in the case,
and plague the Queene a good.
But Aretafila,
as one that forced nought
Of all the paines shee had indurde,
discouered not her thought:
She nothing would confesse,
but kept it in her minde,
And hereupon deliuerde was.
Nicocrates could finde,
No due desart of death.
Then grew within his breast
A great remorse for rigour showne
to her he loued best,
Whom he without offence
had put to cruell paine.
Wherefore within a space the king
began to loue againe:
And fansie her as fast,
deuising sundry shiftes,
To winne her olde good will, he gaue
her many goodly gifts.
She could not want the thing
the tyrant had in store,
Who then but Aretafila,
whom he had rackt before?
And she that was full wise,
by countnance and by cheare,
Did make as though she did embrace
and helde the tyrant deare:
But still in store she kept
within her wrathfull minde,
Remembrance of reuenge, till she
fit time and place might finde.
And in her head she cut
the patterne of his paine,
How, if occasion servde she mought
auenge her husbande slaine.
By Fedimus she bare
whilste he yet liuing was,
A daughter that for honest life
and beautie braue did passe.
And so befell it, that
the king a brother had,
Leander namde, a wilfull youth,
and eke a wanton lad,
Much giuen to the loue
of light alluring dames,
To whom, as to a byting fish,
a bayte this mayden frames,
To take him by the lippe,
by sorcerie she wrought,
And cuppes that cause a man to loue:
whereby this youth she brought
Into her subtil net:
thus was Leander caught
By loue deuises, that the Queene
vnto her daughter taught.
This damsel hauing woonne
Leander to her lure,
So traynde him on, as she at last
the Princesse did procure
The tyrant to request,
to yeelde him his desire,
As touching mariage of the Mayde,
that set his minde on fire:
Who when Leanders loue
and purpose vnderstoode,
To Aretafila to breake
the same he thought it good.
She willing was thereto,
as one that wrought the wile:
Nicocrates perceiuing that,
denying it a while,
Yet graunted at the length:
not willing to be seene
An enemie vnto the mayde,
the daughter of the Queene,
When all good willes were got,
the mariage day drew neare,
Untill Leander wedded was,
he thought it twentie yeere.
To make the matter short,
I leaue for you to scan,
Both of the maydens rich attyre,
and iewels of the man.
I leaue the musike out,
I let the banket go:
I speake not of the noble men
that were at wedding tho.
I write not of the wine,
nor of the daintie cates,
Assure your selues there wāted naught
that fitted royal states.
When wedding day was done,
the wife to chamber went,
And after her Leander came:
where they in pleasure spent
The night, as custome is,
and maried folkes do vse:
And selfe same pleasure night by night
from that day forth ensues.
The lately wedded wife
behaude her selfe so well,
That still Leander ten times more
to doting fansie fell.
Which when she vnderstoode,
a wench of wily witte,
To set her purpose then abroch,
she thought it passing fit.
A fyled tale she framde,
and thus begun to speake:
Mine own (quoth she) the great good wil
I beare you, makes me breake
My minde and meaning nowe:
The carke and care I haue,
Is causer that I will you from
your brothers sword to saue
Your life, whilste yet you may:
you see his monstrous minde,
And how his hatefull tyrants heart
is all to blood inclinde.
You know his cruell deedes,
I shall not neede recite
The sundry men that he hath slaine
vpon a meere despight:
You viewe the gorie ground,
where yet the bodies lie,
You see how tyrant like he deales,
you see with daily eye,
Such vndeserued deathes
as wo it is to tell:
In my conceite, if you should seeke,
his spoyle, you did but well.
It were a worthie deede,
and well deseruing prayse,
To murther him, and reaue his realme,
that so his subiects slayes.
To rid your natiue soyle
of such a monster, may
Not onely gaine immortall fame
that neuer shall decay:
But winne you such good will,
in countrie and in towne,
As by the meanes thereof, you may
attaine the royall crowne,
Which now your brother weares
against the peoples will,
Who would (no doubt) elect you prince,
if you the tyrant kill.
To quit so good a turne,
and noble deede withall.
But if you let him raigne a while,
I feare, at last you shall
Repent your long delay:
your state is neuer sure,
As long as he, the monster liues,
he will your bane procure.
What thraldome like to yours?
howe wretched is your life?
Haue you forgotten how you sude
to him, to take a wife?
Fie, shame, Leander, fie,
I greatly disalow,
That you who are his brother, should
vnto your brother bow.
Put case he owe the crowne,
is that a cause that you
May not go marry where you list,
but must be forst to sue
So like a boy, for leaue
to choose your selfe a make?
Oh that I were a man, I would
enforce the beast to quake.
Leander, if you loue
or make account of me,
Bereaue the monster of his life:
my mother longs to see
The slaughter of her so,
that slue my father earst.
With these her wordes Leander felt
his heart so throughly pearst,
As vp from bed he flew,
with minde to murther bent.
To sucke his brothers bloud, ere long
this wilfull marchant ment.
Leander had a friend
whom he did loue as life,
Callde Danicles, to whom he rode
and tolde him what his wife
Had willde him take in hande,
wherein his ayde he must
In whom especially he did
repose assured trust.
Leander with his friend,
when time and place did serue,
Nicocrates the tyrant slue,
as he did well deserue.
And hauing done the deed,
achieude the kingly Crowne,
He strake the stroke, and ruler was,
and gouernde all the towne.
Thus he in office plaste,
puft vp with princely might,
Not forcing Aretafila,
his mother law awhit,
Nor any of hir blood,
once hauing got the raigne,
Did all the worlde to vnderstande
by that his high disdaine,
That he his brother slue
for rancour and despight:
Not for desire his Countrey soyle
from tyrants handes to quight.
So loathsome all his lawes,
so straunge his statutes were,
Such folly in his roysting rule,
as made the people feare,
Their former foe to haue
bene raysde to life againe,
Who was not many dayes before
by this Leander slaine.
When Aretafila
sawe howe the game did go,
And that Leander in his sway
did vse the matter so,
And proudly rulde the realme,
esteeming her so light,
Who hoped by his brothers death
the countrie had bene quight
Releast of tyrants rage:
when she perceiude (I say)
Howe haughtily his heart was bent,
she meant her part to play:
In ridding of the realme
of such a cruel king,
That kept his subiects so in awe,
and vnder yoke did wring:
A fresh report was blowne
of one Anabus, bred
In Libie lande, a Martial man
that all his life had led
In face of foraine foes:
with him this wily dame
Did practise, and such order tooke,
as he with army came
Leander to subdue:
who being nigh at hand,
With mightie troupe of warlike wights,
to ouercom the land:
The Queene, his mother lawe,
as one that were dismaide,
To worke her wile, Leander cald,
and thus to him shee said:
Loe here (good sonne) you see
how nie your mightie foe,
Is come to bid you battaile, and
your Captaines are (you know)
Not to be matcht with his:
behold what men they are:
Well skild in feats that touch the fielde,
and traind in trade of warre.
Your souldiers are but sheepe,
for battaile farre vnfit:
Besides their pollicies are great,
your Captaines haue no wit
To deale in such a case
that toucheth Princes state:
Againe, there commes no honour by
such brawles, and broyling hate:
Consider with your selfe,
you scarsly haue as yet
Good footing gotten in your raigne,
vnstable (sonne) you sit.
And like to take a fall:
whereof if womans braine
May giue good counsaile to the wise,
I would (I tell you plaine,)
Your foe and you were friendes:
I would allow it well,
If you with Captaine Anabus
to truce and concord fell.
I doe presume on this,
and dare to vndertake,
That you shall safely come to talke,
by meanes that I will make
With him that is your foe:
the wordes his mother spake,
Leander liked verie well
and in good part did take.
Desirous of a parle.
but ere the pointed day
Of talke betwixt the Captaines came,
she sent a Poast away,
A messenger of trust,
Anabus to entreate,
That when Leander issude out,
then he should worke his feate,
And either slay him there,
by force in open fielde,
Or vnto her, the cruell king
in chaines a captiue yeeld:
In recompence whereof
She made a large behest,
Of gold that she would franklike giue:
whereto this greedie gest,
The Lybian man of warre,
full gladly lent his care.
Leander (as the nature is
of Tyrants) stood in feare,
Deferring day of parle,
vnwilling foorth to goe,
But Ladie Aretafila
still lay vpon him so,
As very shame at last
did further this intent:
And shee, to egge him on the more,
made promise if he went.
To set her foote by his,
and looke the foe in face:
Which moude Leander very much,
and mended well the case.
So out at length they passe,
disarmd he and his,
As one that meant to treate of truce,
for so the custome is.
Anabus seeing this,
to counter him began,
And with his power approched neare:
Leander fearfull man
Would gladly made a stop,
and gazde about the place:
To viewe his gard that should assist
and helpe in needfull case.
But how much more he seemde
to linger on the way:
So much the more his mother lawe,
by words, that shee did say
As touching his reproch,
of fearefull cowards heart,
Did pricke Leander, onward still,
not letting him to part.
At Length the Lady, when
of force he would haue staid,
Upon the wretched dastard wight
his feeble fingers laid:
And by the ayde of men
whom there shee had in place,
She brought him bound both hand & foot,
before Anabus face.
And captiue gaue him vp,
to liue in lothsome holde,
Untill the Queene, as promise was,
hee payd him all his golde.
Then he eftsoone retyres
vnto the towne againe,
Declaring what successe she had
and what a spitefull paine
Shee tookeor eare shee could
that blooddie beastlie king
Depose and rid him from the realme,
and so to bondage bring.
The people passing glad
that he was so displaste,
Did make a common purse, to pay
the Lybian Duke in haste:
Who hauing told the crownes,
did send Leander backe,
Unto the Queene: and shee enclosde
the monster in a sacke,
And causd him to be cast,
from off a mountaine hie,
Into the Sea, to drowne the beast
that wel deserude to die.
Then Calnya, shee was caught,
and to a piller tied,
And there the cruell croked queane,
with flaming fagots fried,
Till all her aged bones,
to ashes were consumde,
That oft in youth with Ciuet sweete
and Amber were perfumde.
When all this broile was done,
the townesmen in a ranke,
Kneeld downe to Aretafila,
and highly did her thanke,
For freedome got againe,
with perill of her life.
I neede not here expresse the ioyes
of maiden, man, and wife.
For all reioyst alike,
mot one in all the towne,
Nor countrie, but was glad at heart
that they had wonne the crowne
Into their hands againe,
and shapte the Tyrants scourge,
Then gan they all with one consent
the aged dame to vrge,
With helpe of chosen men,
to gouerne all the land:
For vantage of the publike weale,
she tooke the charge in hand.
Because we lightly see
when Peeres and Princes faile,
Then runnes the common welth to wreck,
as shippe without a saile.
But when she saw the realme
at good and quiet stay:
And vnderstood that commons did
with willing minds obay
Unto their lawfull heads,
the Senate she bethought,
To take the gouernment a fresh:
her selfe vnfit she thought
To deale in case of state,
then tooke they all the charge,
And did the Ladie from the crowne,
and troubles quite discharge.
Thus hauing rid the realme
of two such blooddie foes,
Into a Nunnrie, there to ende
her life this Ladie goes.
Where she deuoutly dwelt,
and to her praiers fell:
And as shee liude in vertue earst,
so dide shee very well.

The Lenuoy.

[Gentile loude one Nicoluccios wife]

The argument to the third Historie.

Bologna is a towne
of Lumbardie you know,
A citie very brauely builte,
and much set out to shewe:
Where as in auncient dayes
a famous knight there dwelde,
Who for good giftes and linage both
all others farre excelde:
A man commended much,
Gentile was his name.
This worthy gallant fell in loue
by fortune, with a dame
That Catilina hight,
one Nicoluccios wyfe,
A passing faire, and featurde wenche,
and ledde an honest life,
And loude her husband so,
as she did little waye
The frendship of enamored youthes,
nor ought that they could say.
This Gentleman that sawe
the Ladies faithfull breast,
And how he might by no deuice
to him her fansie wrest,
Nor enter in her grace,
whom he did loue so well,
Nor by good seruice gaine good will,
to deepe despaire he fell.
And hereupon vnto
Modena he retyrde,
And bore an office in the towne,
as one there to desyrde.
It fortunde on a time
when Nicoluccio rode
From home, as touching his affaires,
and that his wife abode
A three myles off the towne,
where he had buylte a graunge,
To make her mery with her friendes,
and eke the ayre to chaunge:
Then being great with childe,
not many weekes to goe:
This Lady had a great mishap,
as here my pen shall showe.
A griefe, I wote not what,
with such a sodayne force
And monstrous might, befell the dame,
and conquerde sore her corse
As in the Ladies limmes
no sparke of life appeerde,
And more than that, another thing
there was, that most discheerde
Her kinsfolkes then in place:
for such as had good sight
And skill in Physike, deemde her dead,
and gaue her ouer quight.
And thereupon her friends
that wiste howe matters went
By her report in time of life,
and howe that she had spent
Not full so many monthes
as giue a babee breath,
And make it vp a perfect childe:
when once they sawe her death.
Not making farther searche,
in case as there she laye,
Unto a Church, not farre from thence,
the carkasse did conuay,
And gaue it there a graue,
as Ladies vse to lye.
The bodie being buried thus,
a friende of his did hye
Him to Gentile straight,
to tell him of the newes,
Who though was fardest frō her grace,
yet could none other chuse
But sorrowe at her death.
When greatest greefe was past,
And that he had be thought awhile,
thus out he brake at last.
Loe (Lady) lo, (quoth he)
nowe art thou dead in graue,
Nowe (Madame Catilina) I,
who during life could haue
Not one good frendly looke,
nor sweete regarding eye,
Will be so bolde to steale a kisse
as you in coffin lie.
Nowe booteth do defence,
you cannot now resist:
Wherefore (assure thee) Lady nowe,
thou shalt be sweetely kist.
Howe dead soeuer thou arte,
nowe will I take delight.
And hauing tolde his tale, the day
withdrewe, and made it night:
Then taking order howe
he mought, that none might see,
Dispatche and goe vnto the place,
his trustie frend and hee,
Upon their geldings mounte,
and neuer made a staye
Untill they came vnto the Church,
where dead the Ladie laye:
Where being lighted off
their horses, in they goe,
And vp they brake the coffyn straight,
and he that loude her so,
Laye by the Ladies side,
and clapte his face to hers,
And lent her many a louing kisse,
and bathde her breast with teares,
Lamenting very sore.
But as we daily see,
The lust of man not long content,
doth euer long to bee,
Proceeding farther on:
but moste of all the rest,
The fonde desire of such as are
with raging loue possest.
So he that had resolude
no longer there to staye,
But doe his feate, and home agayne,
thus to himselfe gan saye:
Oh, sith I nowe am here
why should I idle stande?
Why doe not I this breast of thine
imbrace, and feele with hande?
I neuer after this,
shall touch it so againe,
Nor neuer mynde, Gentile thus
proceeding in his vaine,
Into her bosome thrust
his hande beneath her pappe,
And staying there a little space,
did feele a thing by happe
Within her wombe to wagge,
and beat against her brest:
Whereof at first he woxe amazde,
but after repossest
Of wittes and sense againe
a further triall hee
Did make, and then he found the corse,
not thorough dead to bee,
Though little were the life,
yet some he knew for trouth,
To rest within the Ladies limmes:
wherefore the gallants both,
From out the coffyn tooke
this lately buried corse,
And vp they leapte in all the poast.
and layde her on the horse
Before the saddle bowe,
and home in haste they ride,
Both to recouer life againe,
and fearing to be spyde.
Thus closely was she brought
within Bologna walles,
Unto Gentiles house, where he
vpon his mother calles,
Requesting her to helpe,
the case required haste.
His mother being graue and wyfe,
receiude the corse as fast
As she good matron mought:
which deede of pitie done,
Both who she was, and what had hapt,
demaunded of her sonne:
Who tolde her all the newes,
and how the fortune fell,
Which when the matron vnderstood,
and wist the matter well:
To ruth and mercy moude,
(as is a womans guise)
Shee makes her fire, she heats her bathes
and so the carkas plyes,
With chafing vp and downe,
and rubbing euerie vaine:
As shee at last had made the life
and senses come againe:
Her wandring wits retyrde,
that earst had been astray,
And being thus reuiude, at length
thus sighing gan shee say:
Alas, where am I nowe?
what place is this (quoth shee?)
Gentiles chearfull mother saide,
a place full fit for thee,
With that shee somewhat woxe
aduisde, but wist not where
Shee was bestead, when that at last
she sawe Gentile there:
Amazed in her minde,
requested of the dame
To tell her of the case, and how
vnto her house she came.
Gentile thereupon
the whole discourse begonne,
And did vnfold from point to point
how euerie thing was done.
Whereof she wofull woxe
and pensiue for a space.
But yet at length shee gaue him thankes
for all his former grace
And curtesies imployde:
and as he euer bore
A true and faithfull heart to her
in all her life before,
And as he was a man
in whom good nature were:
So did shee craue him that shee might
not be abused there:
But safely be conuaide
vnto her graunge againe,
And to her husbandes house vntouchte
without dishonours staine.
To whom Gentile thus
replide: Well dame (quoth hee)
How great soeuer the loue hath been
which I haue borne to thee,
Before this present day,
I doe not purpose now,
Nor after this at any time,
(since God would this allowe
Me grace to saue thy life,
and raise thee from the pit:
And loue which I haue alwayes meant
to thee hath caused it:)
I purpose not, I say,
to deale in other wise,
Than if thou were my sister deare,
this promise shall suffice.
But this good turne that I
haue done to you this night,
Doth well deserue, that you the same
in some respect requight.
Wherefore I shall desire
that you with willing brest,
Wyll friendly graunt me my demaunde,
and yeeld me one request.
Whereto the humble dame
agreed, and was content,
If so shee coulde, and honest were
the sute Gentile ment.
Then spake the courteous knight,
Well (Madame) this is true,
That both your parents and your friends
of Boline, thinke that you
Are buried low enough
in coffin closlie layde,
None tarries you at home as now,
they all doe deeme you dead,
Wherefore my small request
and simple sute shalbe,
That with my mother here to stay
yee will vouchsafe, and me,
In secrete and vnseene,
vntill such time as I
May to Modena goe and come
againe, I meane to hie.
The cause that makes me craue
and aske this lingring stay,
Is, that in presence of the best,
and chiefe that beare the sway
Within the towne, I minde
to giue you as a gift,
And to present you to your spouse,
this is my only drift.
The Ladie knowing that
Gentile was her friend,
And saw that honest was his sute,
did quickly condescend:
Though greatly shee desirde,
new brought to life againe,
To see and comfort those her friends
that mournde for her amaine:
Shee promist on her faith,
with her to tarrie there.
And yer her tale was throughly told,
her time was come to beare
The Babe wherewith shee went,
shee must to trauaile straight
The Matron euer at an inch
did on this Ladie waite:
And vsde the matter so,
as in a day or twaine,
She was deliuerde of a boy,
and ouercame her paine.
Whereat Gentile ioyde,
and eke the dame that had
Such great good hap and passing lucke,
did waxe exceeding glad.
The knight disposde his things,
and vsde the matter so,
As shee had been his wedded wife:
and thereupō did goe
Unto Modena, where
an office he had borne,
And there he staied vntill such time
as all his yere was worne.
And selfe same day that he
accompted on, to make
Returne vnto his mothers house
at Boline, he bespake.
That diuers of the states,
and chiefest men that were
Within the towne, should be his guestes.
there was of purpose there,
That Nicoluccio, who
did owe this gentle dame.
As soone as to his mothers house
this lustie gallant came,
The master of the feast
dismounted, in hee hyes:
Where, when among his other guestes,
the Ladie he espies,
And eke her sucking sonne,
that hung vpon her breast,
Hee was the meeriest man aliue:
Then plaste he euery guest
In order as their state
and calling did require,
There wanted not a deintie dish
that Courtiers could desire:
When washing time drewe nye,
and euery man at boorde
Had vittled well, and all was whiste,
and no man spake a worde:
The Ladie being taught
her lesson long ere that,
And well instructed in the case,
and knowyng what was what,
Gentile thus begunne
his solemne tale to tell:
My Lords and guestes (quoth hee) I like
the order passing well
That men of Persie vse:
for when they make a feast,
In honour of their friends, whom they
doe loue and fansie best,
They bid them to their house,
and set before their eyes
The chiefest iewell which they haue,
and good, of greatest price,
What thing soeuer it be:
his wife, with whom he sleepes,
His daintie daughter, or his wench,
whome hee for pleasure keepes.
He nothing hides as then,
or locks from open sight:
Affirming by this deede of his,
that likewise (if he might)
He woulde vnfold the heart
that lyes within his breast,
Which custome I in Bologne minde
to practise to my guest.
You honour this my feast
with noble presence here,
And I will play the Persians part:
looke what I hold most deare,
And chiefly doe esteeme,
or fauour in my heart,
Or euer shall regard or weigh,
will show you or you part.
But first I shall request
or ere I bring it out,
That you will heere decide a case,
and rid me out of doubt
Which I myselfe will moue.
There is a noble man,
Who hath a seruant in his house
that doth the best he can
To please his masters minde,
hee doth at nothing stick:
This trustie painfull seruant falles
at length exceeding sicke,
The retchlesse master, not
regarding him at all,
Nor forcing what by such disease
his seruant may befall,
Conuayes him out of doore,
in open streat to lie,
To sinke or swimme, to mende or paire
to liue or els to die.
A Straunger commes by happe,
and hee to mercy moude,
To see the poore diseasde soule
so slenderly beloude,
In danger of his death,
to lie amids the streat:
A place for such as are in paine.
too cold and farre vnmeete:
Doth beare him to his home,
and takes such tender care
Of him, and plies him so with fire
and comfortable fare,
As both recouers limmes
and gettes his former strength,
And settes this feeble seruant vp
vpon his legges at length:
Now gladly would I learne
which of these both doth best
Deserue to haue this seruaunt, who
was lately so distrest?
Where he that ought him first
and gaue him off in grief,
Or he that pitied him in paine
and holpe him to relief?
And if the maister, who
so cruelly did deale
In time of sicknesse, will the man
that did his seruant heale,
To yeelde him vp againe,
where he by lawe and right
May well with-hold the seruant, whom
he holpe in wretched plight?
The gentlemen among
themselues debated harde,
But drewe in one selfe string at length
the matter was refarde
To Nicoluccio, who
(because he could full well
Discerne of matters, and his tale
in skilfull order tell)
Should giue the verdit vp.
He highly did commend
The vse of Persia, with the rest
concluding in the end,
Which was, that he whom first
this silly soule did serue,
Of right could lay no lawfull clayme:
full ill he did deserue
A maisters name, that when
his seruant was at worst,
Would turne him off, and let him lie:
but he, that when the furst
Had played this cruell parte,
did curteously entreate
The sicke and outcast, ayding him
with Phisicke and with meate,
He mought by law and righte,
no preiudice at all
Done to the first, enioy the man,
and him his seruant call.
Then all the other guestes
that at the banquet were,
Affirmde the same that Nicoluccio
had pronounced there.
The knight who moude the case,
as one that was content
With such an answere, and the more,
for that with him it went,
Concluded, that he thought
as all the other saide:
And now (quoth he) I thinke that I
sufficiently haue stayde.
Now time it is that I
performe my promise made,
In that I meant to honour you,
as is the Persians trade.
With that he calls to him
a couple of his friendes,
Familiar, and of greatest trust,
whom he in message sendes
Unto the Ladie, that
was clad in braue araye,
Within a chamber, willing hir
that she would come her way,
To cheere his Royall guestes,
with presence of her selfe.
The Ladie taking in her armes
that litle puling elfe,
That was so lately borne,
came in, and thother too
Attending on her, and as earst
Gentile willde her doe,
She sate her downe beside
a guest, a Noble man,
And then the Knight that made the feast
his processe thus began.
Loe, Lordings, here beholde
the thing whereof I spake,
This is the iewell, whereof I
such great accompt doe make,
And euer doe entend,
of nothing else so much
I force, as this: now iudge your selfes,
where it be worthy such
Regard as I bestowe:
marke euery member well:
With that the states, to honor of
this featurd Ladie sell,
And praisde her very much,
affirming to the Knight,
That sinne it were not to esteeme
so fayre and braue a wight.
The guestes begonne to gaze,
and some there were in place,
That would haue sworne, that she had ben
the very same she was,
Saue that they knew that she
was buried long agoe.
But most of all the other guestes,
that Nicoluccio,
The husband of the Dame,
this louely Lady eyde:
And when Gentile did by chaunce
and fortune steppe aside,
As one that had desire
to question with the Dame,
No longer able to withhold:
demaunded whence she came,
Where she a stranger were,
or els in Bologne borne:
The Lady knowing who it was,
should she not bene forsworne,
Would to her husband tolde
and opened all the case:
But to discharge her promise made,
she helde her peace, with face
As modest as she mighte.
Some other asked, where
That little pretie boy was hers
which she at breast did beare?
And other did demaund,
where she were ought allyde,
Or were Gentiles daughter deare?
she not a word replide.
With that the feaster came,
your iewell sir (quoth some
That sate at borde) is passing faire.
but is too seeming dombe.
What? is she so in deede?
whereto Gentile said:
It yeeldes no slender token of
her vertue that she staid
And helde her tong as now.
Declare (quoth they) to vs
What Dame she is, to which request
Gentile answearde thus.
I will with all my heart
declare the truth (quoth he)
If you, vntill the whole discourse
be told, will promise me,
Not once to moue a foote,
but euery one to keepe
His place: whereto they all agreed,
and gan to sweare by deepe
And very solemne othes
to complishe his request.
The table being taken vp,
the keeper of the feast
Sate by the Ladies side,
and thus began to tell:
This woman, is the seruant true,
that serude her master well,
Of whom I spake right now,
when I your iudgements craude
This is the seruaunt ilbeloude,
that when she had behaude
Hir selfe in eache respect
as fitted such a one,
Was shaken off, and turnd to grasse,
in streetes to make her moane:
Whom I, to pitie moude,
did succour as I might,
And by my care and handie helpe,
from present death did quight:
And mightie God, that sawe
the great good heart I bare,
Restord her from that loathsome corse
vnto this bewtie rare.
But to the ende you may
more plainely vnderstand
How these aduentures me befell:
I purpose out of hand
In short discourse to shewe
and open all the case.
Then gan he to vnfold his loue,
and how he sude for grace
Unto this worthy dame,
whose bewtie pearst his brest:
And passed so, from point to point,
vnripping all the rest,
Distinctly from the first:
which made the hearers muse,
To listen to this long discourse
of strange and wondrous newes.
And hauing tolde the whole
as I before haue pende,
Both how he loude, and how she died,
thus closde he vp the ende.
Wherefore (my Lordes) quoth he,
vnlesse you haue of late
Ychangd your thoughts & minds anew
since you at table sate:
And chiefly you, (and points
to Nicoluccio) she
Whom here you view, of right is mine,
and only due too me.
No lawfull tittle may,
or rightfull clayme be layde
To chalenge her from me againe,
was no man there that sayde
A woorde, but all were still
to heare those matters paste,
And for desire to learne the rest,
and what he meant at laste.
Good Nicaluccio,
and all the rest beside
That present were, and eake the dame
no longer could abide,
But out they burst in teares,
and wept for pities sake.
With that Gentile standing vp,
the little babe did take,
And bare betwixt his armes,
and led the Ladie eke
By one hand to her husband warde,
and thus began to speake.
Stand by (good Gossup mine)
I doe not heere restore
To you your wife, whom both her Friends
and yours refusd before,
And as an outcast scornd:
but frankly giue this dame
My Gossup, and her little childe
that of her bodie came,
To thee, for this of troth
I know, the babe is thine,
Begot by thee, I christened it,
it beares this name of mine,
And is Gentile calde:
and my request shall bee,
That through three months, this Ladie hath
been soiornesse with me,
Thou wilt no lesse esteeme
of her, or worse good will
Bestow on her, than though shee had
with thee continued still.
And by that selfe same God
which forced me to beare
Such loue, as by that loue to saue
her life, to thee I sweare,
That, neither with her friends,
nor with thy parents, shee,
No, not with thee her spouse, she coulde
in greater suretie be
As touching honest life,
than with my mother deare:
Assure thy selfe, shee neuer was
abusde, nor tempted heere.
This processe being tolde,
Gentile turnde him rounde
Unto the Ladie (dame quoth he)
you know, I had you bounde
By faith and lawfull oath:
I quit you heere of all,
And set you free aboorde againe,
and goe againe you shall
To Nicoluccio, and
with that both wife and brat
To Nicoluccios handes he gaue,
and downe Gentile sate.
The husbande did receiue
his wife with willing hande,
And eke the babe: and how much more
he in dispayre did stande
Of hauing her againe,
whom hee accounted dead:
The greater was his ioy and mirth
when he so happily sped.
In recompence whereof,
he yeelded to the Knight
Gentile, for his great good turne,
the greatest thankes he might.
And all the rest beside,
that were to pitie moude,
Gentiles nature did commend:
hee dearely was beloude
Of all that heard the case,
and feasted there that day.
Thus will I leaue the matron, and
her sonne at home to stay.
These matters ended thus,
ech guest his horse did take,
And parted from Gentiles house,
that did the banket make.
Home rode the man and wife
vnto their grange with speede,
The cheare which was at her returne,
and welcome, did exceede.
The people maruailde much,
that shee who buried was,
Could liue againe, and euer as
shee through the streetes should passe,
In Bolyne men did gaze,
and greatly view the dame.
And from that day Gentile still
a faithfull friend became
To Nicoluccio, and
the parents of his wife,
Whom hee by vertue of his loue
had raisde from death to life.

Lenuoy.

[Two Knightes did linke in League of great goodwill]

The argument to the fourth Historie.

The Lenuoy.

[The Lumbard Albyon conquered Cunimund]

The Argument to the fift Historie.

The Lenuoy.

[The king of Thunise had a daughter faire]

The Argument to the sixt Historie.

Lenuoy.

[A merchāts daughter loude her brothers boy]

The Argument to the seuenth Hystorie.

Lenuoy.

[VVhen Aristotimus did strike the stroke]

[Symona likt of Pasquine passing well]

[A merchants sonne that Girolanus hight]

EPITATHES and Sonnettes annexed to the Tragical histories, By the Author.

VVith some other broken pamphlettes and Epistles, sent to certaine his frends in England, at his being in Moscouia. Anno 1569.

A farevvell to a mother Cosin, at his going tovvardes Moscouia.

Goe post you pensiue lynes,
and papers full of woe,
Make haste wnto my mothers handes,
hir sonnes farewell to showe.
Doe marke her lookes at first,
ere you your message tell,
For feare your sodayne newes, hir minde
doe fancie nothing well.
But sithen needes you must
my trauailes trouth vnfolde,
To offer vp her sonnes farewell,
and last adewe, be bolde.
I know she will accept
your comming in good parte,
Till time she vnderstand by you
that I must needes departe.
But when you make reporte
that I am shipte from shore,
In minde to cut the foming Seas,
where winter wyndes do roe rore:
Then woe be vnto you,
that mournefull message beare,
For doubtlesse she with trembling handes
will you in sunder teare.
But (mother) let your sonne
perswade you in this case,
For no man sure is borne to leade
his life in one selfe place.
I must no longer stay
aduantage is but vile
The cruel lady fortune on
your sonne will neuer smile.
My countrey coast where I
my Nurses milke did sucke,
Would neuer yet in all my life
allowe me one good lucke.
With cost encrease my cares,
expences nip me neere,
Loue waxeth cold, no frendship doth
in natures brest appeere.
Where slender is the gaine
and charges grow too hie
Where liuing lackes and money melts
that should the want supply:
From thence tis time to trudge
and hire the hackney post
To shift to ship, to leaue the land
and seeke a better coast.
Sith I haue all my yeres
in studies fond applide
And euery way that might procure
a better chaunce haue tride.
Yet better not my state
but like a sotted dolt
Consume my time that goes about,
to mend a broken bolt.
Sith I haue livde so long
and neuer am the neere
To bid my natiue soile farewel,
I purpose for a yeere.
And more perhaps if neede
and present cause require:
They say the countrey is too colde
the whotter is the fire.
Moscouia is the place,
where all good furres be sold
Then pray thee (mother) tel me how,
thy sonne shall dye with colde.
Put case the snow be thicke,
and winter frostes be great:
I doe not doubt but I shal finde,
a stoue to make me sweat.
If I with credite goe,
and may returne with gaine
I hope I shalbe able wel
to bide this trauayles paine.
The slouthfull Groome that sits,
at home and tels the clocke:
And feares the floud because therein
lies hidden many a rocke.
As hee abydes no woe,
no welth he doth deserue,
Let him that will not cut the loafe
for lacke and famine sterue.
The Catte deserues no fish
that feares her foote to weate,
Tis time for me in profite now
mine idle braynes to beate.
I trust I shall returne
farre better than I goe,
Increase of credite will procure
my simple wealth to growe:
Meane while I wishe thee well
(good mother mine) to fare,
And better than my selfe, who yet
was neuer voyde of care.
Sith neede obeyes no lawe,
and needes I must to barcke,
Farewell, and thinke vpon thy sonne,
but haue of him no carcke.
The Gods I hope will heare
the sute that you shall make,
And I amid the Sea shall fare
the better for your sake.
If euer fortune serue,
and bring me safe to lande,
The harde mishappes of trauayle you
by me shall vnderstand.
And whatsoeuer straunge
or monstrous sight I see.
Assure thy selfe at my returne
I will declare it thee.
Thus euery thing hath ende.
and so my letters shall,
Euen from the bottom of my brest,
I doe salute you all.
What so becomes of me
the mightie Gods I craue,
That you my frendes, a blessed life
and happie deathes may haue.

That nothing can cause him to forget his frend, vvherein is toucht the hardnes of his trauayle.

If boystrous blaste of fierce and froward wynde,
If weltring waues, and frothie foming Seas,
If shining Sunne by night against his kinde,
If lacke of lust to meate, and want of ease,
If feare of wracke, and force of rouing foe,
If raged Rockes that in the riuers lie:
If frozen floodes where sliding Sledds doe goe,
If cruell colde vpon the mountaines hye,
If seldome sleapes, if sundrie sortes of care,
If bareskin beddes, or else a borded bench,
If lacke of kindly cates and courtly fare,
If want of holsom drinck the thirst to quench,
If stinking Stoues, if Cunas and bitter bragge,
If sauage men, if women foule to sight,
If riding poast vpon a trotting Nagge,
If homely yammes, in stead of Innes at night:
If these (I say) might make a man forget
So true a frend, then thou art out of minde.
But in good fayth, my fancie firme was set,
No Russie mought the true loue knot vnbinde.
Venus be iudge, and Cupid in this case,
Who did pursue me aye from place to place.

He declares that albeit he were imprisoned in Russia, yet his minde was at libertie, & did daily repaire to his frend.

A comparison of his mistresse, with a braue Lady of Russia.

To his frend promising that though her beautie fade, yet his loue shall last.

From the citie of Mosqua, to his friend in England.

To his mistres, declaring his life only to depend of her lookes.

The Salamander cannot liue
without the help of flaming fire:
To bath his limmes in burning coales,
it is his glee and chiefe desire.
The litle fish doth loue the lake,
dame nature hath assigned him:
To liue no longer then he doth
amid the siluer channel swimme.
Chameleon feedes but on the ayre,
the lacke whereof is his decay:
These three doe perish out of hand,
take fire, flouds, and ayre away.
Iudge you (my deere) the danger then
of very force that must ensue:
Unto this careful heart of mine,
that cannot liue withouten you.
I am the fish, you are the flood,
my heart it is that hangs on hooke:
I cannot liue if you doe stoppe,
the floudhatch of your frendly brooke.
I silly Salamander die,
if you maintaine not frendships fire:
Quenche you the coale and you shal see
me pine for lack of my desire.
You are the pleasant breathing ayre,
and I your poore Chameleon,
Barre me your breath and out of hand
my life and sweete delight is gone.
Which sith tis so (good mistresse) then
doe saue my life to serue your turne
Let me haue ayre and water stil
let me your Salamander burne.
My death wil doe you litle good,
my life perhaps may pleasure you:
Rewe on my case and pitie him,
that sweares himself your seruant true,
I beare the badge within my brest,
wherin are blazde your colours braue:
Loue is the only liuery, that
I at your curteous hand doe craue.
I doe desire no greedy gaine,
I couet not the massye golde:
Embrace your seruant (mistres) then,
his wages wil be quickly tolde.
As you are faire so let me finde
your bountie equall to your face:
I cannot thinke that kinde so neere,
to beauties bower would rigor place,
Your comely hewe behight me hope,
your louely lookes allow mee life.
Your graue regard doth make me deeme,
you fellow to Vlisses wife,
Which if be true then happy I,
that so in loue my fancie set,
In you doth rest my life, my death,
by slaying me no gaine you get.
The noble minded Lion kils
no yeelding beast by crueltie,
And worthie dames delight to saue
their seruants liues by curtesie.

Virtuti comes inuidia.

Sola miseria e senza inuidia, Boccacio.

That though he may not possible come or send, yet he liues mindfull of his mistresse in Moscouia.

Who so hath read Leanders loue,
which he to Ladie Hero bore,
And how he swamme through Aelles flood,
twixt Abydon and Sestus shore.
To gaine his game, to liue at lust,
to lay him in the Ladies lap,
Will rue his paines, and scarce exchange
his case to haue Leanders hap,
But happy I account his case,
for hauing past those narrow Seas,
He was assured to lodge aloft,
with Hero in the towre of ease.
He neuer went but did enioy,
his mistres whom he did desire.
He seldome swamme the foming floud,
but was assured to quench his fire.
The torch it hung vpon the towre,
the lampe gaue light to shew the way:
He could not misse the darkesome night
it shone as cleere as sunny day,
Thus happy was Leanders lot,
but most vnhappy mine estate:
For swimming wil not serue my turne
to bring me to my louing mate.
The flouds are frozen round about,
the snow is thick on euery side:
The raging Ocean runnes betwixt
my frend and me with cruel tide.
The hilles be ouerwhelmde with hoare
the countrey clad with mantels white
Each tree attirde with flakes of yce,
is nothing els saue snow in sight.
The mighty Volgas stately streame
in winter slipper as the glasse:
Abides no boate, how should I then
deuise a meane a way to passe?
And Suchan that in summer time,
was easie to be ouergone:
With Boreas blast is bound as harde,
as any flint or marble stone,
Free passage Dwina doth deny,
whose streame is stopt and choakt with snow.
There is no way for any barge,
much lesse for any man to goe:
I cannot for my life repaire,
to thee to ease my present paine:
There is no passage to be had,
til summer slake the snow againe.
Meane while yet maist thou make accōpt,
that I doe stil remember thee.
In Russia where I leade my life,
and long againe at home to be.
No force shall cause me to forget
or lay the care of loue aside:
Time is the touchstone of good will,
wherby my meaning shalbe tride.
If I might haue conueid my lines,
vnto thy hands, it would haue easde,
My heauy heart of diuers doubts,
my message might my minde appeasde
But (friend) indure this long delay
my selfe wil come when time shal serue
To tell thee newes and how I fare:
meane while stand fast & do not swerue
Presume that as I was thine owne,
euen so I doe continue still.
I know hir not whose beautie shall remooue
or change my first good will.
Thy face hath pierst my brest so farre,
thy graces este so many bee,
As if I would, I cannot choose
but loue, and make account of thee.

To a faire gentlevvoman, false to hir friend.

A farewell to a craftie, deceitfull Dame.

As he that lothes the powders smel,
must neuer prease where Gunners bee:
So he that hates a double dame,
must neuer haue to do with thee.
For craft I see, is all thy care,
thy smoothest lookes be token guiles:
In womans wombe thou feedst a foxe,
that bites thy friend on whom he smiles.
Had Nature wist thy deep deceits
before thy birth, I thinke that kind,
To saue thy name, and ease thy friends,
had seald thine eies, and kept thee blind.
For what is she that beares a face
of greater trust, and more good will?
Yet who is she that hath a heart
more prone to pay the good with ill?
Thy beautie led me on to loue,
thy lookes allured my looking eyes:
Thy doublenesse now breeds despaire,
thy craft doth cause my wofull cries.
I could requite dissembling loue,
and gloze perhaps as well as you:
But that I take but small delight
to change mine ancient friends for new
Yet will I not be sorted so,
as stil to let my loue to losse,
I better know what mettall is,
than to exchange the gold for drosse.
Good will is euer woorth good will,
if both the ballance egall bee:
But sure too massie is my loue,
to make exchange of loues with thee.
Wherfore I say, vnknit the knot
wherwith thy loue was falsly tide,
Thou lackst a graine to make vp weight,
men say, (good measure neuer lide.)
Go seeke some other to deceiue,
too wel I know thy craftie call:
My mouth is very well in taste,
to iudge the hony from the gall.
That you are gall, I may auow,
for hony hath no bitter tast:
The wine of your good will is spent,
you keep the dregs for me at last.
Wherfore I do renounce the caske,
I leaue the lees for other men:
My hap was ill, my choice was worse,
I yeeld you vp to choose agen.

Spare to speake, Spare to speede.

My Spencer spare to speake,
and euer spare to speed,
Unlesse thou shew thy hurt, how shall
the Surgeon know thy need?
Why hath a man a tongue,
and boldnesse in his brest,
But to bewray his mind by mouth,
to set his hart at rest?
The fisherman that feares
his corke and coard to cast,
Or spred his net to take the fish,
wel worthy is to fast.
The forrestman that dreads
to rouse the lodged Bucke,
Bicause of bramble brakes, deserues
to haue no hunters lucke.
Where words may win good wil,
and boldnesse beare no blame,
Why should there want a fare of brasse
to bourd the brauest dame?
Unlesse thou cast thy lure,
or throw hir out a traine:
Thou seldome shalt a Falcon, or
a Tassell gentle gaine.
Though lookes betoken loue,
and makes a shew of lust,
Yet speech is it that knits the knot
whereto a man may trust,
Assure thy selfe, as he
that feares caliuer shot,
Can neuer come to scale a fort,
or skirmish woorth a grote:
So he that spares to speake,
when time and place are fit,
Is sure to misse the marke, which else
he were in hope to hit.
Giue him an iuie leafe
in stead of pipe to play,
That dreads to bourd a gallant dame
for feare she say him nay.
Where venture is but small,
and bootie very great,
A coward knight will hazard there
in hope to worke his feat.
Wherfore when time shall serue
(my Spencer) spare to blush,
Fall to thy purpose like a man,
and boldly beat the bush.
Who so accounts of losse,
doth seldom gaine the game:
And blushing cheekes be often bard,
for feare of after shame.
No doubt, a Lady doth
imbrace him more, that dares
To tell his tale, than such a one
that of his language spares.
Deceit is dreaded more,
and craft doth rifer raigne,
In one that like an image fits,
than him that speaketh plaine.
Yea, though thy mistresse make,
as though she loued no wine,
Remember Aesops Foxe, that was
too lowe to reach the vine.
Take this for certaine troth,
the best and brauest bowe,
Will stoupe, if so the cause be good,
thou knowest my meaning now.
Experience hath no peere,
it passeth learning farre:
I speake it not without my booke,
but like a man of warre.
Wherfore be bold to boord
the fairest first of all,
Aye Uenus aides the forward man,
and Cupid helps his thrall.

Wearie of long silence, he breakes his mind to his mistresse.

Not much vnlike the horse
that feeles himself orprest
With weightie burthen on his backe,
doth long to be at rest:
So I, whose boiling brest,
with fansies floud did flow,
Had great desire my great good will
with painting pen to show,
To ease my wofull hart
of long endured paine,
And purchace quiet to my mind,
whom loue wel nie hath slaine.
Beleeue my words (deare dame)
dissembling is a sinne,
Not mine, but thine, these many days
my captiue hart hath bin.
But shame, and coward feare,
the louers mortall foes,
Would neuer condescend that I
my meaning should disclose.
Till now at length desire
my wonted ease to gaine:
Did bid me sue for grace, and said
I should not sue in vaine.
For as thy beautie is
farre brauer than the rest,
So bountie must of force abound
within thy noble brest.
Oh, seeke not thou to shed
or sucke of yeelding blood:
Alas, I thinke to murther me
would do thee little good.
Whom if you seeme to rue,
as I do hope you will,
In prayse of your good nature then
my hand shall shew his skill.
Lo here in pawne of loue,
I vowe my selfe to thee:
A slaue, a seruant, and a friend
till dying day to bee.

He vvisheth his dreames either longer or truer.

Short is the day wherein
I doe not thinke of thee:
And in the night amid my sleepe,
thy face (deare dame) I see.
The dreame delights me much,
it cuts my care away:
Me thinkes I kisse and clip thee oft,
the rest I blush to say.
Who happy then but I,
whilest sleepe and slumber last:
But who (alas) so much a wretch,
as I when sleepe is past.
For with the sliding sleepe
away slips my delight:
Departing dreames doe driue away
thy countnance out of sight.
And then in place of glee,
in glydes a crew of care:
My panting hart laments, that I
do feele my bed so bare.
For thou that wert the cause
of comfort, art not there:
And I poore silly wofull man,
in sobs the night do weare.
Then curse I cankred chance,
that made me dreame of thee,
And fansie fond, that fed it selfe
with dreames that fained bee.
Thus weares away the night
consumde in carefull paine:
Those restlesse banners beating still,
vpon my busie braine.
Then drawes the dawning on,
I leaue my couch, and rise,
In hope to find some pleasant toy,
that may content mine eyes.
But out alas, I can
not see so faire a sight,
That can my heauie hart relieue,
and daintie eies delight.
Each beautie that doth blaze,
each visage that I see:
Augments my care, in causing me
to long and looke for thee.
Thus waste I all the night
in dreames without desire:
Thus driue I on my dayes in loue,
that scalds like scorching fire.
Yet well content therewith,
so that, at my returne
Thou pitie me, who for thy sake
with Cupids coles do burne.
I am the Turtle true,
that sits vpon the tree:
And waile my woe without a make,
and onely wish for thee.

Vnable by long and hard trauell to banish loue, returnes hir friend.

That he findeth others as faire, but not so faithfull as his frend.

I sundry see for beuties glosse
that with my mistresse may compare:
But few I finde for true good wil
that to their frends so frendly are,
Looke what she saies I may assure
my selfe thereof, she wil not faine:
What others speake is hard to trust
they measure all their words by gaine.
Her lookes declare her louing minde,
her countnance and her heart agree:
When others laugh they looke as smooth,
but loue not halfe so wel as she:
The greefe is hers when I am grypte,
my fingers ache is her disease:
With me though others mourne to sight,
yet are their hearts at quiet ease.
So that I marke in Cupids court,
are many faire and fresh to see:
Each where is sowen dame beuties seede
but faire and faithfull few there bee.

Trauailing the desert of Russia, he complayneth to Eccho, vvith request that she comfort his afflicted state.

You hollow hilles and vallies wide,
that wonted are to yelde againe:
The latter cause of louers cries
resound and help me to complaine.
Repeate my piteous pensiue plaints,
recite my tale when I haue done:
Howle out ye hilles and let me heare
my voice among your rockes to run.
It wil delight my dazed sprites,
when I report my mistresse name:
Amid my plaint to heare the hilles,
at euery call to call the same.
Good Eccho shew me thy good will,
is no man here but thou and I:
Take vp my tale as I lament,
and say (Alas) as I doe crie,
Was neuer man that did enioy,
a better dame then I haue done:
But now (Alas) she is alacke,
helpe Eccho, helpe, I am vndone
Besides mine absence from her sight,
another doth possesse my place,
And of my haruest sheares the sheaues,
helpe Eccho, helpe, lament my case.
I know not when I shal returne,
or when to see that sweete againe:
For (out alas) she is away
good eccho helpe to ease my paine.
But nought I see it doth auaile,
thy talke encreaseth but my woe:
It irkes me to recite her name,
and misse the saint I honor so.
Wherefore sith bootlesse be complaints,
and clepings cannot right my case:
I bid thee (Eccho) here adew
I will goe seeke to see her face.
The face that Paris would haue chose,
if he had seene her in the mount:
Good faith the lady Uenus had
been had as then in small account.
And as for Pallas and the third,
I meane the mighty Iunos grace:
I know right wel they would haue hid
themselues, and neuer prest in place.
For nature made hir not to match,
but to exceede and passe the rest:
Thrice happy he that can attaine
her loue, and to be liked best.

He craues his mistresse to accept his wryting being otherwise insufficient to vvinne good liking from her.

As many are the meanes,
to fall in fancies frame:
So diuers be the driftes of men,
for to atchieue the same.
For some to winne their loues,
and purchase priuy grace:
With curious tonges like carpet knights
doe pleade a fained case.
And all to please the eares,
and mate their mistresse minde:
Of this and that they tell their tales,
as they fit leasure finde.
Some other wanting chatte,
not hauing words at wil:
With nimble ioynts, and fingering fine,
on Lutes doe shew their skil.
By sugred sound to winne,
their ladies to their loue:
With earnest care those wanton wights,
Apollos practise proue.
And such as skilfull are,
in daunsing doe desire
To practise that whereby to set,
their frouious harts on fire.
Whose breast is sweete to eare,
he straines his voice to sing:
Thereby vnto his greedy lust
his mistresse minde to bring.
The martial man at armes,
to muster doth delight:
And loues to shew his helmed head,
before his Ladies sight.
In hope to purchase praise,
and after praise some grace:
For vvomen loue a valiant man
that dares defend their case.
Thus each one doth attempt,
and puts the thing in vre
That fittest is to gaine good will,
so Faulkners vse the lure.
But I vnhappy wight,
that can doe nought of these:
How might I doe, or what deuise
my mistresse minde to please.
Where neither tongue can talke
nor finger frame with Lute:
Nor footing serue to daunce: alas,
how should I moue my sute?
Not pleasant is my voice
vnable to delight:
I can doe nought vnlesse it be
with pen to shew my plight.
I only can in verse,
set out a dame to showe
And on a wel deseruing frend,
a frendly praise bestow.
Thus must I hunt for loue
wherefoe (good Lady) then
In lieu of other finer skilles,
accept my ragged pen.
Let me by writing win,
what others doe by arte:
And during life you shal assure,
you of a louing hart,
No vertue shalbe lodgde
within your curteous brest:
But I wil blaze the same abroad,
as brauely as the best.
And as for beuties praise,
I wil procure that fame
Shal sound it out so loud, that all
the world shal read thy name
So as by louing me,
you shal haue loue againe:
And eke the harts of thousands mo
for you good wil attaine.
I neuer was mine owne
sith first I sawe your face:
Nor neuer wil, but euer yours,
if you wil rue my case.

The meane is best.

The fire doeth frye, the frost doeth freese
the colde breedes care, the heate doeth harme,
The middle point twixt both is best,
nor ouer-cold, nor ouer-warme.
I dreame it not the happy life
the needie beggers bag to beare:
Ne yet the blessed state of all
a mightie Kaisars crowne to weare.
That one is cloied with sundry cares,
and dies ten thousand times a day:
That other still in danger goes,
for euery traitors hand to slay.
The highest hill is not the place
whereon to build the stately bower:
The deepest vale it is as ill,
for lightly there doth rest the shower.
The sailing ship that keepes the shore,
vpon the rocke is often rent:
And he that ventures out too farre,
and tries the stream with waues is hent.
For there the wind doth worke his will,
there Neptunes churlish imps do raign:
The middle way is safe to saile,
I mean the mean betwixt the twain.
So that the meane is best to choose,
not ouer hie, nor ouer lowe:
Wherfore, if you your safetie loue,
imbrace the meane, let mounting goe.

To his friend Edward Dancie of Deceit.

Of the right noble L. VVilliam, Earle of Pembroke his death.

Though betters pen the praise
of him that earned fame,
Yet pardon men of meaner skill
if they attempt the same.
Good will may be as great
in simple wits to write,
In commendation of the good,
as heads of deeper sight.
Wherfore among the rest
that rue this Earles want,
Myselfe will set my Muse abroach,
although my vaine be scant.
This Realme hath lost a lampe,
that gaue a gallant show:
No stranger halfe so strange to vs
but did this Noble know.
His vertues spred so farre,
his worthy works so wide,
That forrain princes held him deere,
where so he was imploid.
Whose wit such credite won
in countrey seruice still,
That Enuie could not giue the checke,
nor rancor reaue good will.
He euer kept the roume
that prince and fortune gaue:
As curteous in the countrey, as
in court a Courtier braue.
To low and meanest men
a lowly mind he bore,
No hawtie hart to stoute estates,
vnlesse the cause were more.
But than a Lions hart
this dreadfull Dragon had:
In field among his foes, as fierce,
as in the Senate sad.
Had Pallas at his birth
for Pembroke done hir best,
As nature did: then Pembroke had
surmounted all the rest.
For though that learning lackt
to paint the matter out:
What case of wright so weightie was,
but Pembroke brought about?
By wit great wealth he wonne,
by fortune fauour came:
With fauor friends, and with the friends,
assurance of the same.
Of Princes euer praisd
aduaunst and staid in state:
From first to last commended much,
in honors stoole he sate.
Beloued of Henry well,
of Edward held as deere:
A doubt whether sonne or father loued
him best, as might appeere.
Queene Mary felt a want,
if Pembroke were away:
So greatly she affied him,
whilest she did beare the sway.
And of our peerelesse Queene,
that all the rest doth passe,
I need not write, she shewd hir loue
whose Steward Pembroke was.
Sith such a noble then
by death our daily foe,
Is reft this realme, why do we not
by teares our sorowes show?
Why leaue we to lament?
why keepe we in our cries?
Why do we not powre out our plaints
by condites of the eies?
Our noble prince, our peeres,
both poore and rich may rue,
And each one sorow Pembroke dead,
that earst him liuing knew.
Yt ioy in one respect,
that he who liued so hie,
In honors seat his honor saued,
and fortunde so to die.
Which stocke of noble state
sith cruell death hath reft,
I wish the branches long to bud,
that of the roote are left.
And prosper so aliue as did this noble tree,
and after many happy dayes,
to die as well as hee.

Finding his Mistresse vntrue, he exclaimeth thereat.

Sunne , cease to shine by day,
restraine thy golden beames:
Let starres refuse to lend their light,
let fish renounce the streames.
Sea, passe thy kindly bounds,
set ebbe and flood aside:
Brasse leaue to grow, yet gallant plants,
depart with all your pride.
Bend Tyber backe againe,
and to thy spring returne:
Let firie coles begin to freeze,
let ise and water burne.
Wolues leaue to slay the Lambs,
hounds hunt the Hare no more:
Be friend to foules, ye hungry haukes
whom ye pursude before.
For kind hath altred course,
the law that nature set,
Is broken quite, hir orders skornd,
and bands in sunder fret.
Loue is accounted light,
and friendship forced nought:
My selfe may well proclaime the same,
that loue hath dearly boaght.
I fortund once to like
and fansie such a dame:
As sundry serud, but none atchieud
hir feature wan hir fame.
Long sute and great desart,
with triall of my truste
Did make hir fansie me againe,
she found me perfit iust.
But ere I felt the blisse,
that louers do attaine:
I bode a thousand cruell foes,
ten thousand kinds of paine.
Till ruth by reason grew
and rigor layd apart:
On me she did bestow hir loue,
that best deserued hir hart.
Then mirth gan counter poise
the griefs I felt before:
And if I had endured smart
I ioyed than the more.
She past me many vowes,
and sundry sorts of hest:
And swore I was the onely wight
whom she did fansie best.
Then happy who but I,
that did beleeue the same?
As who is he that would refuse
to credite such a dame?
O friend when I (quoth she)
shall alter my good will,
And leaue to loue thee passing well,
thy fansie to fulfill:
When I for gallant gifts,
for mucke or glittring gold:
For comely limmes of courtly knights,
delightfull to behold:
For Kaisars kingly crowne
thy friendship do defie:
O Gods (quoth she) renounce me then,
and let me monster die.
These words and sacred vowes
might quicklie credit gaine:
For who in such a case would glose
or go about to faine?
Yet now for all hir speech
and glauering talke she vsed,
She is reuolted, and hir friend
too fowlie hath abusd:
Though not against hir kind,
(for Ladies are but light,)
And soone remooue but cleane against
their othes and promise quite.
But what should we expect
from thornes, no Rose perdie:
The figtree yeelds a fig, on vines
the grapes in clusters bee.
Which sith I find at last
though greatly to my paine:
Loe here I do defie the fate
in whom such craft doth raigne.
Farewell thou shamelesse shrew,
faire Cresides heire thou art:
And I sir Troylus earst haue been,
as prooueth by my smart.
Hencefoorth beguile the Greekes,
no Troyans will thee trust:
I yeeld thee vp to Diomed,
to glut his filthie lust.
And do repute my selfe
herein a blessed man,
Who, finding such deceit in thee,
refuse thy friendship can.
For sundry times we see,
the sots that serue in loue,
Can neuer purchase freedome, nor
their frantike rage remoue.
But who so hath the grace
to banish fond desire,
I count him blest of mightie Ioue,
for few or none retire.
So sweete is sinfull lust,
the venome is so vile:
As Circes cup no sooner might
the bowsing Greeks beguile.
Now hang abroade thy hookes.
bestowe thy baytes elsewhere,
Thy pleasant call shall haue no power
to lure my cunning eare.
I tride thy twigges too much,
my feathers felt thy lime:
To giue thee vp, and shunne thy shiftes,
I coumpt it more than time.

A warning that she be not vncourteous.

I chuse you not to change,
I entred band to bide:
But plighted promise cract by you
I count my selfe vntide.
No hest is to be held,
no vow of valew, when
You dames the coller slip:
by craft to compasse men.
Presume not of good wil,
because I swore you loue:
For faithful frends vpon abuse,
their fancy may remoue.
Which lincke of loue vndone
repentance comes too late:
The fort is wonne when truth is slaine
and treason keepes the gate.
No teares can purchase truce,
no weeping winnes good wil:
True loue once lost by due desart,
is not renewde by skil.
Good meaning may not serue,
to feede your frends withall:
As wit in words, so trueth in deedes,
appeeres, and euer shal.
Who so doth runne a race,
shall surely sweate amaine
And who so loues, shal hardly gloze
or secret hidden paine.
Way wel my loue at first
recall to retchlesse thought,
The fiery fittes, the pensiue panges,
which I ful deerely bought.
Before I tooke the tast,
of what I lykte so well:
And then consider careles, how
to Iunos yoke you fel.
Forget not how for gaine
and mucke your match was made:
When I the while (poore man) was forst
a weery life to trade,
The Lions loue refusde
the noblest beast of all,
Unto a sotte you yokt your selfe,
and woxe a willing thrall.
Then who wiould force but I,
or hold the iewel deere.
That on anothers finger fits
and hath done many a yeere.
And long is like to doe,
the hogge that gapes for hawes,
That hang so fast, may groynd his tuskes
and die with emptie iawes.
I speake it not of spight,
but sure you ill deserue:
A man that meanes so wel as I,
sith you doe dayly swerue.
A foole by foule abuse,
shall haue you more at becke:
Then he that euer loued you well
and neuer gaue you checke.
Which shewes that either wit,
or faithful loue you lacke:
Beware in time, misliking growen,
may not be bended backe.
When Cresid clapt the dish,
and Lazerlike did goe:
She rewde no doubt that earst she did,
the Troyan handle so.
And might she then retirde,
to beuties auncient towre:
She would haue stucke to Priams sonne,
of faithful loue the floure.
But fond, too late she found
that she had been too light:
And ouerlate bewaild that she
for went the worthy knight.
Imprint it in your brest,
and thinke that Ladies lot
May light on you, with whom your frend
is causlesse thus forgot.
I would be loth to loue,
and leaue with losse againe:
I smarted once, and you (none els)
the ground of all my paine.
Time tries the trusty minde,
which time doth councell me
To deale my loue by equall weight
least I deceiued be.
Where counsel nor aduice,
can take no better holde:
The losse is light: for colour I
imbrace not glowing golde.
No more I way a frend,
for feature of her face:
Her dealing wel must binde good will.
vprightly iudge my case.
I wholly was your owne,
and lesse you loue a looke:
The match betwixt vs two is marde,
and I your frend to seeke.
If any els deserue
a share or better part:
Let me but know your mind, and then
adue with all my hart.
I sound the trumpet now,
that warning geues to you:
To leaue to loue besides my selfe,
to whom the whole is due.
I tell you this betimes,
as one that would be loath
By your desert to choose againe,
and breake mine auncient oth.
Which if by fortune fall,
allowe your selfe the thankes:
Whose parts vnkind may force a man
to play vnfriendly prankes.

To one whom he had long loued, and at last was refused vvithout cause, and one imbraced that least deserued it.

1.

Due volte me hai ingannato.

2.

Supplicio al mondo non e dato,
Maggior, quanto pate vn che inamorato.

3.

Qual lieni foglie, le dome sono, e crude piu che tasso
Piu che Tigre inclementi, & disdegnose,
Piu che orse, & piu che luge empie e rabbiose.
Hanno piu inganni, che non hanno capelli in capo.

4.

O quante, arte & inganni ha il sesso feminino.
O quanti lacci? O quanti nodi, e groppi?
Per far huomini venir deboli e zorpi.

An Epitaph vpon the death of Henry Sydhnam, and Giles Bampfield Gentlemen.

As rife as to my thought repaires
that drearie doleful day,
And most vnluckie houre (alas)
that hent my friend: away:
So oft my brest is like to burst,
and ribs to rend in twaine:
My liuer and my lungs giue vp,
my hart doth melt amaine.
And to decipher inward griefs
that crush my carcasse so:
The sluces of mine eyes so slip,
and let their humor go.
Out flies the floud of brackish teares,
whole seas of sorow swell:
In such abundance from my braine,
as wo it is to tell.
Why do I then conceale their names?
what means my sluggish pen,
To hide the haps and lucklesse lot
of these two manly men.
Sith silence breeds a smothering smart,
where sundry times we see:
That by disclosing of our mindes
great cares digested bee.
Wherfore my mournfull Muse begin, &c.
So Fortune would, the cankred Kernes,
who seldom ciuil are,
Detesting golden peace, tooke armes,
and fell to frantike war.
Up rose the rude and retchlesse rogues
with dreadfull darts in hand:
And sought to noy the noble state
of this our happy land.
Whose bedlam rage to ouerrule,
and fury to confound:
The L. of Essex chosen was,
a noble much renownd.
Away he went awaited on
of many a courtly knight:
Whose swelling harts had fully vowed
to daunt their foes in fight.
Among the rest (I rue to tell)
my Sydnham tooke the seas:
Gyles Bampfield eke aboord he leapt,
his princes wil to please.
Whose martial minds and burning brests
were bent to beare the broile:
Of bloodie wars, and die the death,
or giue the foe the foyle.
And treble blessed had they been,
if fortune so had willed:
That they with hawtie sword in hand
had died in open field.
For fame with garland of renowne
vndoubted decks his hed:
That in defence of Prince and Realme,
his life and bloud doth shed.
But out (alas) these gallant imps
before they came to land:
To shew their force and forward harts,
by dint of deadly hand.
Before they fought amid the field,
or lookt the foe in face:
With sodain storme in Irish streame
were drownd, a wofull case.
Up rose with rage a tempest huge,
that troubled so the surge,
As shipmen shrunke, and Pylot knew
not how to scape the scourge.
And yet no dread of doubtfull death,
no force of fretting fome:
Nor wrath of weltring waues could stay,
those martiall mates at home.
Not angry Aeols churlish chaffe,
that scoules amid the skies:
Nor sullen Neptunes surging suds
mought daunt their manly eyes.
Unworthy they (O gods) to feed
the hungry fish in flood:
Or die so base a death as that,
if you had thought it good.
But what you will, of force befals,
your heauenly power is such,
That where and how, and whom you lift,
your godheds daily tuch.
And reason good, that sithence all
by you was wrought and done:
No earthly wight should haue the wit
your wreakefull scourge to shonne.
Well, Sydhnam, Bampfield, and the rest,
sith wailing doth no good:
Nor that my teares can pay the price
or ransome of your blood.
Sith no deuise of man can make
that you should liue againe:
Let these my plaints in verse suffise
your soules, accept my paine.
If ought my writing be of power
to make your vertues known:
According to your due deserts
which you in life haue shown.
Assure your selues, my mournfull Muse
shall do the best it can:
To cause your names and noble minds,
to liue in mouth of man.
And so adue, my faithfull friends,
lamenting lets my quill:
I loued you liuing, and in death,
for euer so I will.
Accept my writing in good worth,
no fitter means I find
To do you good, now being dead,
nor ease my mourning mind.
No better life than you haue led
vnto my selfe I wish:
But happier death, if I might chuse,
than so to feed the fish.
The gods allow my lims a tombe
and graue wherein to lye:
That men may say, thrise happy he,
that happened so to die.
For kindly death is counted good,
and blessed they be thought:
That of their friends vnto the pit,
vpon the beere are brought.
But for my selfe, I reckon those
more blest a thousand fold,
That in the quarel of their prince,
their liues and blood haue sold.
As you mine ancient mates did meane,
for which the mightie Ioue:
In heauen shal place your souls, although
your bones on rocks do roue.

A letter begun to a Gentlewoman of some account, which was left of by means of the aduise of a friend of his, who said she was foresped.

Your beautie (madame) made
mine eye to like your face:
And now my hart did cause my hand,
to sue to you for grace.
The ground of my good wit,
by feature first was cast,
Which your good noble nature hath
for euer sealed fast.
When plants be surely pight,
than lightly will they proue,
No tree can take so deep a roote
as grifts of faithfull loue.
If I had feared disdaine,
or thought that hawtie pride
Had harbourd in that brest of yours,
which is the pecocks guide.
Then should I not haue durst
these verses to indite,
But waying well your curteous kind,
I tooke the hart to write.
In hope that Uenus gifts
are matcht with Pallas goods,
And that true frendship floures wil spring
of blasing beauties buds.
For seldom shal you find
a dame of your degree:
And of such features, but hir lookes
and maners do agree.
Which if in proofe I find,
as I presume I shall,
Then happy others, but I compt
my fortune best of all.
And to expresse my ioy,
my hands I mean to clap:
As who would say, loe I am he
that haue this blessed hap.
Let not my hopes be vaine,
in your hand lies my life:
And if you list to cut my throte,
you haue the fatall knife.
For wholy on your lookes
and mercy stayes the threed
That holds my lims togither now,
the gods haue so decreed.
I am your bounden thrall,
and euer mean to be:
I will not change my choice, &c.

To his friend not to change, though iealousie debarre him hir company.

Change not thy choyce (my deere.)
stand stable in good will,
Let ancient faithful loue appeere
betwixt vs louers still.
A wisdom friends to win,
as great a wit againe:
A gotten friend, that faithfull is,
in friendship to retaine.
Thou seest how hatred hewes
the chips of our mischance:
And iealousie doth what it may,
the Uiper to aduance.
Whose prying eyes are prest
to hinder our intent,
But malice oft doth misse his marke,
where two good wils be bent.
So carefull Argus kept
the faire well featured cowe:
Whose watchful eies ful seldome slept,
according to his vowe.
And yet at length he lost
his head, and eke his hire:
For Mercury his cunning crost,
to further Ioues desire.
So curst Acrisius closde
the mayden in the mewe
Where he assuredly supposed
to keepe the virgin true.
Yet Danae did conceaue
within the secret towre:
And did in lap receiue the god,
that fel in golden showre.
Way what good wil he heares,
that liues in such distrust:
He fares as doth the wretch that feares
his golde, and lets it rust.
Whose hungry heaping minde
for all his looking on:
Is oft abusde, and made as blinde
as any marble stone.
I craue but your consent,
when time and place agree:
And that you wil be wel content
to yelde your selfe to me.
Who euer wil regard,
the honor of your name:
And looke what pleasure may be sparde,
wil only craue the same.
No checke shall taint your cheeke,
by proofe of open acte:
I neuer wil vnwisely seeke,
to haue your credit crackte.
My loue excels his lust.
my fancy his good wil:
My trueth doth farre surmount his trust
my good deserts his il.
Wherfore (my deare) consent
vnto my iust request:
For I long sith haue loued you wel,
and euer meant you best.
So shal you haue my heart,
ful redy at your call:
You cannot play a wiser part
then cherish such a thrall.

To his frend not to forget him.

Where liking growes of lust,
it cannot long endure:
But where we finde it graft on loue,
there frendships force is sure.
Where wealth procures good wil,
when substance slides away
There fancy alters all by fittes,
and true loue doth decay.
Where beutie bindes the band,
and feature forceth loue.
With crooked age or changed face,
there frendship doth remoue.
No one of these (my deare)
that fickle thus doe fade:
Did bend my brest, or forst thy frend
to follow Cupids trade,
But meere good wil in deede
not graft on hope of gaine:
I lovde without regard of lust
as proofe hath taught you plaine.
I way no wauering wealth
I force not of thy face:
No graunt of pleasure prickes me on
thy person to embrace.
No hope of after hap,
ingenders my good wil:
I lovde thee when I saw thee first,
and so I loue thee stil
Wherfore requite with care
the man that meanes you so:
It lies in you to yeld him ease,
or plague his hart with woe.
You were not bred of rockes,
no marble was your meate:
I trust I shal so good a dame,
to loue me best intreate.
You know I beare the blame,
your selfe are nothing free:
He loues me not for louing you,
nor you for louing me.
Consider of the case
and like where you are lovde:
It is against your kinde to please
where you are so reprovde,
His frendship is in doubt,
you stand assured of me:
He hates vs both, I cannot loue,
the man that hateth thee.
His frantike words of late,
bewraide his folly plaine:
Assure your selfe he loues you not,
his glosing is for gaine.
Which purpose being brought,
to his desired passe:
The sotte wil shew himselfe a beast,
and prooue a wayward Asse.
By reason rule his rage,
by wisdome master wil:
Embrace your frend in spite of him,
that meanes you no good wil.
A time in time may come,
if gods wil haue it so:
When we each other shal inioy,
to quite each others woe.
Which time if time agree,
to pleasure vs withall:
Our honie wil the sweeter seeme
that we haue tasted gall.
Till when vse womans wit
therein you know my minde:
I neuer was, nor neuer wil
be found your frend vnkinde.

A vowe of Constancie.

First shal the raging flouds
against their course runne:
By day the moone shal lend her light,
by night the golden sunne.
First fickle fortune shall
stand at a stedy stay:
And in the sea the shining starres
shal moue and keepe their way.
First Fish amid the ayre,
shal wander to and fro:
The cloudes be cleere in beuty eke
the cole exceede the snowe.
First kinde shal alter all
and change her wonted state:
The blind shal see, the deafe shal heare,
the dumbe shal freely prate.
Before that any chaunce,
or let that may arise
Shalbe of force to wrest my loue
or quench in any wise.
The flame of my good will,
and faithful fancies fire:
Saue cruel death shal nothing daunt,
or coole my hote desire,
Desire that guides my life
and yeldes my hart his foode:
Wherfore to be in presence stil,
with thee, would doe me good
Which presence I presume
thou neuer wilt deny:
But as occasion serues,
so thou to frendship wilt apply.
Til when I giue thee vp,
to good and happy chaunce:
In hope that time to our delights,
wil seeke vs to aduance.
Adue (deere frend) to thee,
that art my only ioy:
More faire to me then Helen was
to Priams sonne of Troy.
And constant more in loue,
then was Vlisses make
Of whose assured life and zeale,
so much the Poets spake,
Lesse light then Lucrece eke
whom Tarquins lust defilde:
As curteous as the Carthage Queene,
that fowly was beguilde.
To quite all which good parts,
this vow I make to thee:
I will be thine as long as I
haue power mine owne to be.

Another Epitaph vpon the death of Henry Sydhnam, and Gyles Bampfield gent.

A louer deceiued, exclaimes against the deceiuer and hir kind.

Yet ere I die, receiue this Swan-like song,
To ease my hart, and shew thine open wrong.

O wauering womans will,
that bends so soone about:
Why doest thou so reuolt in hast,
and shutst thy friend without.
Against the law of loue,
O thrise vnhappy hee:
That doth beleeue thy beauties beames,
and lookes of gallant glee.
For neither thraldom long,
that I poore wight abode:
Nor great good will by sundry signs,
and outward gesture shewed.
Had force to hold thy hart,
and keep thee at a stay:
No good desart of mine might stop
that would of force away.
Yet of this cruel lotte,
and fel mischance, I finde
Nor know no cause, but that thou art
sprong out of womans kind.
I iudge that Nature, and
the Gods that gouerne all
Deuisde this wicked shameles secte
to plague the earth withall.
A mischiefe for vs men,
a burden bad to beare:
Without whose match too happy we,
and too too blessed were.
Euen as the Beares are bread,
the Serpent and the Snake.
The barking Wolfe, the filthy flie
that noysome flesh doth make.
The stinking weede to smell
that growes among the graine:
Euen so I thinke the Gods haue made
your race vs men to paine.
Why did not kinde foresee
and nature so deuise
That man of man without the help,
of woman mought arise?
As by the art of hande
of apples apples spring:
And as the pearetree graft by kind
another peare doeth bring.
But if you marke it wel,
the cause is quickly seene:
It is for that thou Nature art
a woman though a Queene.
O dames I would not wish
you peacocklike to looke
Or puft with pride to vaunt that man
of you his being tooke.
For on the bryar oft
a gallant Rose doth grow
And of a stincking weede an herbe
or floure fresh to shew.
Ye are excessiue proude,
stuft vp with stately spite:
Uoyd of good loue, of loyall trueth
and all good counsel quite.
Rash, cruel causlesse, curst,
vnkinde without desert
Borne onely for the scourge of him
that beares a faithful hart.
I rather wish to die,
then liue a vassaile stil
Or thrall my selfe vnto a dame
that yeldes me no good wil:
The wormes shal sooner feede
vpon my happy hart:
Within my graue, then I for loue
of you wil suffer smart.
Adue deere dames,
the gastly ghostes of hel
Shal plague your bones
that gloze and loue not wel.

To his cruel mistresse.

Geue loosers leaue to speake,
let him that feeles the smart
Without controlment tel his tale,
to ease his heauy hart.
To thee (proude dame) I poynt,
who like the beast of Nile:
By teares procurest thy frend to loue
and flaiest him all the while.
By weeping first to winne
and after conquest made
To spoyle with spite those yelding impes
that follow Cupids trade.
Condemnes thy cancred kinde,
more glory were for thee
To ransacke none but rebel harts
and let the rest goe free.
Kinde wist not what she wrought
when she such beuty lent
Unto those gallant limmes of thine
to monstrous mischiefe bent.
For either fowler face
she would haue yelded thee:
Or better moode and milder minde
to make remorse of me.
Thou bearest two burning brands,
below those browes of thine:
And I the brimstone in my brest,
which makes my hart to pine.
Eche lowring looke of yours,
frets farther in my hart:
And nips me neerer then
the force of any other dart.
And to increase my care,
thou makest thy beutie more:
An oyle (God wotte) vnto my fire,
no salue to ease my sore.
If thou a woman were,
of ruth and due remorse:
Thou wouldst allow me loue,
and not so proudly plague my corse.
I sue for mercy now,
with hands lift vp on hie
Which if I misse I am assurde,
within fewe dayes to die.
And if I may not haue
the thing I would enioy:
I pray the Gods to plague thee
as they did the dame of Troy.
I meane that Creside coy
that linkt her with a Greeke:
And left the lusty Troyan Duke,
of all his loue to seeke.
And so they wil I trust
a mirror make of thee:
That beuties darlings may beware
when they thy scourge shal see.
I neuer meant thee wel,
in all my life before:
But now to plague thy foule abuse,
I hate thee ten times more.
For reason willes me so,
my frends to loue and serue
And cruel Ladies like thy selfe,
to wish as they deserue.
Hencefoorth if any limme,
of mine perhap rebel:
And thee whom I of right should loth
doe loue or fancie wel.
I quite renounce the same
he shall no more be mine
To vse or stand in stead, then I
doe purpose to be thine.
And thus I make an end
of loue, and lines at once
The frounce consume the flesh of her,
that feedes vpon my bones.

The Author being in Moscouia, wrytes to certaine his frendes in Englande of the state of the place, not exactly, but at all aduentures, and minding to haue descrybed all the Moscouites maners, brake off his purpose vpon some occasion. The three Epistles followe.

To his especiall frende, master Edwarde Dancie.

My Dancie deere, when I
recount within my brest:
My London frends and wonted mates
and thee aboue the rest.
I feele a thousand fittes
of deepe and deadly woe:
To thinke that I from sea to land,
from blisse to bale did goe.
I left my natiue soyle,
ful like a retchlesse man
And vnacquainted of the coast,
among the Russies ranne.
A people passing rude,
to vices vile enclinde:
Folke fitte to be of Bacchus traine,
so quaffing is their kinde.
Drinke is their whole desire,
the pot is all their pride:
The sobrest head doeth once a day,
stand needeful of a guyde.
If he to banquet bid his frends,
he wil not shrinke
On them at dinner to bestow
a dosen kindes of drinke.
Such licour as they haue
and as the countrey giues:
But cheefly two, one called Kuas,
whereby the Musick liues.
Small ware and waterlike
but somewhat tart in taste:
The rest is Meade, of hony made
wherewith their lips they baste.
And if he goe vnto
his neighbour as a guest:
He cares for litle meate, if so
his drinke be of the best.
Perhaps the Mausick hath
a gay and gallant wife:
To serue his beastly lust yet he
will leade a bowgards life.
The monster more desires
a boy within his bed
Then any wench, such filthy sinne
ensues a drunken head.
The woman to repay,
her drousie husbands dettes:
From stinking stoue vnto her mate
to baudy banquet gets.
No wonder though they vse
such vile and beastly trade:
Sith with the hatchet and the hand,
their chiefest Gods be made.
Their Idolles haue their hearts
on God they neuer call:
Unlesse it be (Nichola Bough)
that hangs against the wall.
The house that hath no God,
or painted saint within:
Is not to be resorted to,
that roofe is full of sinne.
Besides their priuate Gods,
in open places stand
Their crosses, vnto which they crouch,
and blesse themselues with hand.
Deuoutly downe they ducke,
with forhead to the ground:
Was neuer more deceit in ragges,
and greasie garments found.
Almost the meanest man
in all the countrey rides:
The woman eke against our vse,
her trotting horse bestrides.
In sundry colors they
both men and women go:
In buskins all, that money haue
on buskins to bestow.
Eche woman hanging hath
a ring within hir eare:
Which all of ancieut vse, and some
of very pride do weare.
Their gate is very graue,
their countenance wise and sad:
And yet they follow fleshly lusts,
their trade of liuing bad.
It is no shame at all,
accounted to defile
Anothers bed, they make no care
their follies to concile.
Is not the meanest man
in all the land, but he
To buy hir painted colours doth
allow his wife a fee.
Wherewith she decks hir selfe,
and dies hir tawnie skin:
She prancks and paints hir smokie face,
both browe, lip, cheeke and chin.
Yea those that honest are
(if any such there vee)
Within the land, do vse the like,
a man may plainly see.
Upon some womens cheekes
the painting how it lies:
In plaster sort, for that too thicke
hir face the harlot dies.
But such as skilfull are,
and cunning dames in deed:
By daily practise do it well,
yea sure they do exceed.
They lay their colours so,
as he that is full wise:
May easily be deceiued therein,
if he do trust his eies.
I not a little muse
what madnesse makes them paint
Their faces, waying how they keepe
the stoue by meere constraint.
For seldom when, vnlesse
on church or mariage day.
A man shall see the dames abrode
that are of vest aray.
The Russie means to reape
the profit of hir pride:
And so he mewes hir, to be sure
she lie by no mans side.
Thus much (friend Dancie)
I did meane to write to thee:
To let thee wite, in Russia land,
what men and women bee.
Hereafter I perhaps
of other things will write:
To thee and other of my friends,
which I shall see with sight.
And other stuffe besides,
which true report shall tell:
Meane while I end my louing lines,
and bid thee now farewell.

To Spencer.

If I should now forget
or not remember thee:
Thou (Spencer) mightst a foule rebuke
and shame impute to mee.
For I to open shew
did loue thee passing well:
And thou were he, at parture whom
I loathd to bid farewell.
And as I went thy friend,
so I continue still:
No better proofe thou canst desire
than this, of true good will.
I do remember well
when needs I should away:
And that the preast would licence vs,
no longer time to stay.
Thou wroongst me by the fist,
and holding fast my hand:
Didst craue of me to send thee newes,
and how I likte the land.
It is a sandie soyle,
no very fruitfull vaine:
More wast and wooddie grounds there are
than closes fit for graine.
Yet graine there growing is,
which they vntimely take:
And cut or ere the corne be ripe,
they mowe it on a stake.
And laying sheafe by sheafe,
their haruest so they drie:
They make the greater hast.
for feare the frost the corne destrie.
For in the winter time,
so glarie is the ground:
As neither grasse nor other graine
in pastures may be found.
In comes the cattell then,
the sheepe, the colt, the cowe:
Fast by his bed the Mowsicke
then a lodging doth alowe.
Whom he with fodder feeds,
and holds as deare as life:
And thus they weare the Winter with
the Mowsicke and his wife.
Eight monthes the Winter dures,
the glare it is so great:
As it is May before he turne
his ground to sowe his wheate.
The bodies eke that die,
vnburied lie till then:
Laid vp in coffins made of firre,
as well the poorest men.
As those of greater state,
the cause is lightly found:
For that in winter time
they cannot come to breake the ground.
And wood so plenteous is
quite throughout all the land:
As rich and poore at time of death,
assured of coffins stand.
Perhaps thou musest much,
how this may stand with reason:
That bodies dead, can vncorrupt,
abide so long a season.
Take this for certaine troth,
as soone as heate is gone:
The force of cold the body bindes
as hard as any stone.
Without offence at all,
to any liuing thing:
And so they lie in perfit state,
till next returne of spring.
Their beasts be like to ours,
as far as I can see:
For shape and show, but somwhat lesse
of bulke and bone they bee.
Of watrith taste, the flesh not firme,
like English biefe:
And yet it serues them very well,
and is a good reliefe.
Their sheep are very small,
sharpe singled, handfull long:
Great store of fowle on sea and land,
the moorish reeds among.
The greatnes of the store
doth make the prices lesse:
Besides, in all the land they know
not how good meat to dresse.
They vse neither broach nor spit,
but when the stoue they heat,
They put their vitails in a pan,
and so they bake their meat.
No pewter to be had,
no dishes but of wood:
No vse of trenchers, cups
cut out of birch are very good.
They vse but woodden spoones,
which hanging in a case:
Each Mowsike at his girdle ties,
and thinks it no disgrace.
With whittles two or three,
the better man the mo.
The chiefest Russies in the land,
with spone and kniues do go.
Their houses are not huge
of building, but they say
They plant them in the loftiest ground
to shift the snow away.
Which in the Winter time
eche where full thicke doth lie:
Which makes them haue the more desire
to set their houses hie.
No stone worke is in vse,
their roofes of rafters bee:
One linked in another fast,
their wals are all of tree.
Of mastes both long and large,
with mosse put in betweene,
To keep the force of weather out,
I neuer earst haue seene.
A grosse deuise so good,
and on the roofe they lay:
The burthen barke, to rid the raine
and sudden showres away.
In euery roome a (stoue)
to serue the winter turne:
Of wood they haue suffising store,
as much as they can burne.
They haue no English glasse,
of slices of a rocke:
Hight Sluda, they their windowes make,
that English glasse doth mocke.
They cut it very thin,
and sowe it with a threed,
In pretie order like to panes,
to serue their present need.
No other glasse good faith
doth giue a better light:
And sure the rocke is nothing rich,
the cost is very slight.
The chiefest place is that
where hangs the God by it:
The owner of the house himselfe,
doth neuer vse to sit.
Unlesse his better come,
to whom he yeelds the seat:
The stranger bending to the god,
the ground with browe must beat.
And in that very place,
which they most sacred deeme:
The stranger lies a token that
his guest he doth esteeme.
Where he is woont to haue
a Beares skin for his bed:
And must in stead of pillow
clap his saddle to his hed.
In Russia other shift
there is not to be had:
For where the bedding is not good,
the bolsters are but bad.
I mused very much
what made them so to lie
Sith in their countrey downe is rife,
and feathers out of cry.
Unlesse it be because
the countrey is so hard:
They feare by nicenes of a bed,
their bodies would be marde.
I wisht thee oft with vs,
saue that I stoode in feare
Thou wouldst haue loathed to haue layd,
thy limmes vpon a beare
As I and Stafford did,
that was my make in bed:
And yet we thanke the God of heauen,
we both right wel haue sped.
Loe thus I make an end,
none other newes to thee:
But that the countrey is too colde
the people beastly be.
I write not all I know,
I touch but here and there
For if I should, my pen would pinch,
and eke offend I feare.
Who so shal reade this verse,
coniecture of the rest:
And thinke by reason of our trade
that I doe thinke the best.
But if no traffick were,
then could I boldly pen
The hardnes of the soyle,
and eke the manners of the men.
They say the Lyons pawe
geues iudgement of the beast:
And so may you deeme of the great
by reading of the least.

To Parker.

My Parker, paper, pen
and inke were made to write,
And idle heads that litle doe,
haue leysure to endite
Wherfore respecting these,
and thine assured loue,
If I would write no newes to thee
thou mightst my pen reprooue.
And sithens fortune thus,
hath shoued my ship from shore:
And made me seeke another Realme
vnseene of me before.
The manners of the men,
I purpose to declare
And other priuate points beside,
which strange and geason are.
The Russie men are round
of bodies, fully fast
The greatest part with bellies big,
that ouerhang the wast.
Flat headed for the most,
with faces nothing faire.
But browne by reason of the stoue,
and closenes of the ayre.
It is their common vse,
to shaue or els to sheare,
Their heads: for none in all the land,
long lolling lockes doe weare.
Unles perhaps he haue
his soueraigne Prince displeasde
For then he neuer cuts his heare,
vntil he be appeasde.
A certaine signe to know
who in displeasure be:
For euery man that vewes his head
wil say, loe this is he.
And during all the time,
he lets his locks to grow:
Dares no man for his life,
to him a face of frendship show.
Their garments be not gay,
nor handsome to the eye:
A cap aloft their heads they haue
that standeth very hie.
Which (Colpack) they doe tearme
they weare no ruffes at al
The best haue collars set with pearle
Rubasca they doe call.
Their shirts in Russie long
they worke them downe before
And on the sleeues with coloured silkes,
two ynches good or more.
Aloft their shirts they weare
a garment iocket wise
Hight Onoriadka, and about
his bourly wast he ties
His Portkies, which in stead,
of better breeches be.
Of linnen cloth that garment is
no codpeece is to see
A paire of yornen stockes
to keepe the cold away:
Within his bootes the Russie weares,
the heeles they vnderlay.
With clouting clamps of steele,
sharpe pointed at the toes:
And ouer all a Suba furde,
and thus the Russie goes.
Wel butned is the Sube
according to his state
Some silke, of siluer other some
but those of poorest rate
Doe weare no Subes at all
but grosser gownes to sight:
That reacheth downe beneath the calfe,
and that Armacha hight.
These are the Russies robes,
the richest vse to ride
From place to place, his seruant runnes
and followes by his side.
The Cassocke beares his fealt,
to force away the raine:
Their bridles are not very braue,
their saddles are but plaine.
No bittes, but snaffels all,
of bryche their saddles be:
Much fashioned like the Scottish seates,
broad flaxs to keepe the knee.
From sweating of the horse,
the pannels larger farre
And broader be than ours
they vse short stirrops for the warre,
For when the Russie is
pursude by cruel foe
He rides away, and sodenly,
betakes him to his bowe.
And bendes me but about
in saddle as he sits
And therewithall amid his race,
his following foe he hittes.
Their bowes are very short,
like Turky bowes outright:
Of sinewes made with byrthen barke,
in cunning maner dight.
Small arrowes, cruel heads,
that fel and forked be:
Which being shot from out those bowes
a cruel wayes wil flee.
They seldome shooe their horse,
vnlesse they vse to ride
In poast vpon the frozen floode,
then cause they shal not slide
He sets a slender calke,
and so he rides his way:
The horses of the countrey goe,
good fourescore veorsts a day
And all without the spurre
once prick them and they skip,
But goe not forward on their way.
the Russie hath his whip
To rap him on the ribs
for though all booted be
Yet shal you not a paire of spurs
in all the countrey see,
The common game is chesse
almost the simplest wil
Both geue a checke and eke a mate,
by practise comes their skil.
Againe the dice as fast,
the poorest roges of all
Wil sit them downe in open field
and there to gaming fall.
Their dice are very small,
in fashion like to those
Which we doe vse, he takes them vp,
and ouer thumbe he throwes,
Not shaking them a whit,
they cast suspiciously:
And yet I deeme them voyd of arte,
that dicing most apply.
At plaxe when siluer lackes,
goes saddle, horse and all:
And each thing els worth siluer walkes,
although the price be small.
Because thou louest to play,
frend Parker, other while
I wish thee there, the weary day,
with dicing to beguile.
But thou were better farre
at home, I wist it wel
And wouldst been loath among such loutes
so long a time to dwel.
Then iudge of vs thy frends,
what kind of life we had.
That neere the frozen pole to wast
our weary dayes were glad.
In such a sauage soyle,
where lawes doe beare no sway
But all is at the King his wil,
to saue or els to stay.
And that saunce cause God wot,
if so his minde be such
But what meane I with kings to deale
we ought no Saints to touch.
Conceaue the rest your selfe,
and deeme what liues they leave:
Where lust is law, and subiectes liue
continually in dread.
And where the best estates,
haue none assurance good
Of lands, of liues, nor nothing falles
vnto the next of bloud.
But all of custome doeth
vnto the Prince redowne:
And all the whole reuenue comes
vnto the king his crowne,
Good faith I see thee muse,
at what I tel thee now
But true it is, no choyce
but all at Princes pleasure bowe.
So Tarquine ruled Rome,
as thou remembrest well:
And what his fortune was at last,
I know thy selfe canst tell.
Where will in common weale,
doth beare the onely sway.
And lust is law, the prince and realme
must needs in time decay.
The strangenesse of the place is such
for sundry things I see:
As if I would, I cannot write
such priuate point to thee.
The cold is rare, the people rude,
the prince so full of pride:
The realm so stord with monks & nunnes,
and priests on euery side.
The maners are so Turkylike,
the men so full of guile:
The women wanton, temples stuft
with idols that defile.
The seats that sacred ought to be,
the customs are so quaint:
As if I would describe the whole,
I feare my pen would faint.
In summe I say, I neuer saw
a prince that so did raigne:
Nor people so beset with Saints,
yet all but vile and vaine.
Wild Irish are as ciuil as
the Russies in their kind:
Hard choice which is the best of both,
each bloodie rude, and blind.
If thou be wise, as wise thou art,
and wilt be rulde by mee:
Liue still at home, and couet not,
those barbarous coasts to see.
No good befals a man that seekes,
and finds no better place:
No ciuil customs to be learnd,
where God bestowes no grace.
And truly ill they do deserue,
to be beloued of God:
That neither loue, nor stand in awe
of his assured rod.
Which (thogh be long) yet plagues at last
the vile and beastly sort
Of sinfull wights, that all in vice
do place their chiefest sport.
Adieu friend Parker, if thou list,
to know the Russies well:
To Sigismundus booke repaire,
who all the truth can tell.
For he long earst in message went,
vnto that sauage king:
Sent by the Pole, and true report
in each respect did bring.
To him I recommend my selfe,
to ease my pen of paine:
And now at last do wish thee well,
and bid farewell againe.

To his friend Nicholas Roscarock, to induce him to take a wife.

A gentlewomans excuse for executing vnlawfull partes of loue.

Of his Constancie.

The Authors Epilogue.

Lo here the end of all my worke,
behold the threed I drew
Is wrought to cloth, accomplisht now,
you see this slender clew.
A peece (God wot) of little price,
scarce woorth the Readers paine:
And in mine owne conceit
a booke of barren verse and vaine.
I blush to let it out at large
for Sages to peruse:
For that the common custome is,
in bookes to gape for newes.
And matter of importance great
which either may delite
By pleasure, or with sad aduise
the readers paynes requite.
But this of mine so maymed is,
for lacke of learned stile
And stately stuffe, as sure I shall
the readers hope beguile.
Who doth expect some rare report,
of former ancient deedes:
Or new deuice but lately wrought,
that breatheth yet and bleedes.
But truely none of both in these,
my verses is to finde:
My slender ship hath kept the shore,
for feare of boystrous winde.
I bore my simple sayles but lowe
I dreaded sodaine showers:
Which sundry times from hauty skies,
the puisant ruler powers.
I durst not stir amid the streame,
the chanel was too deepe:
Which made me haue the more regard
abaut the bankes to keepe.
It is for mighty hulkes to dare,
aduenture out so farre:
And barkes of biggest sise,
and such as builded be for warre.
I write but of familiar stuffe,
because my stile is lowe:
I feare to wade in weighty works,
or past my reach to rowe.
Which if I should, the Reader might
as boldly blame my quil:
As now I trust he shal accept,
my shew of great good wil.
Though diuers write with fuller phrase,
and farre more hawty stile:
And burnish out their golden bookes
with fine and learned file.
Yet meaner Muses must not lurke
but each in his degree
That meaneth wel, and doth his best
must wel regarded be.
Though Nilus for his bignes beare
away the greatest name:
Whose seuēfold stream hath gaind ye gulfe
of such a lasting fame.
Yet must not lesser lakes be lost,
nor had in vile account
That serue for vse and ease of man
though Nilus doe surmount.
Great Alexander mighty was
and dreadful in the warre:
Yet thats no cause why Rome should not
of Cæsar boast as farre.
The Planets are the pride of heauen,
and cheefest lampes of light:
Yet other starres doe yelde a shew
and helpe to cleere the night.
Likewise though diuers write in verse
and doe exceeding wel:
The remnant must not be refusde,
because they doe excell.
Ill may we misse the slender shrubs
for all the princely Pine:
No more we scorne the baser drinkes
though most we way the wine.
Which makes me hope that though
my Muse doth yelde but slender sound:
And though my Culter scarcely cuts,
or breakes the marble ground.
Yet sithens that I meant with verse,
to feede the Readers eyes:
And to that purpose bent my braines
these fancies to deuise.
I trust he takes it wel in worth
and beares with what he findes.
And thereunto the Reader aye
the writers trauaile bindes.
Which if he doe I haue my hire,
who happy then but I?
That wrote this worke for grateful men,
to vewe with thankfull eye.
And so I giue the congee now,
with wish that this my booke
Be such as may thy sprites delight,
that hapnest here to looke.
Ill were my fortune if in all
this treatise as it standes:
There should be nothing worth the vew
when so it comes to hand.
Roscarockes warrant shal suffise
who likte the writing so
As did embolden me to let
the leaues at large to goe.
If il succeede, the blame was his
who might haue kept it backe:
And frendly tolde me that my booke
his due deuise did lacke.
But as it is, loe there it goes,
for euery one to vew:
The man that each ones humor pleasde,
as yet I neuer knew.
Sufficeth if the courtly sort
whose doome is deepe in deede:
Accompt it ought, with baser wits
I care not how it speede.
The courtier knowes what best becomes,
in euery kind of case:
His nature is, what so he doth
to decke with gallant grace,
The greatest clarkes in other artes,
can hardly doe the leeke:
For learning sundry times is there
where iudgement is to seeke.

The Authors excuse for writing these and other fancies, with promise of grauer matter hereafter.