Tragicall Tales translated by Tvrbervile In time of his troubles out of sundrie Italians, with the Argument and Lenuoye to eche Tale |
 |
To his verie friend Ro. Baynes.
|
 |
|
 | Tragicall Tales translated by Tvrbervile |  |
To his verie friend Ro. Baynes.
My
worde thy wish, my det, and thy desire,
I mean my booke (my Baynes) lo here I send
To thee at last, as friendship doth require,
Though reason willes it rather left vnpend,
For that the same the Authour should not shend:
But blush who lust, so thou do like the worke,
I am content it shall no longer lurke.
I mean my booke (my Baynes) lo here I send
To thee at last, as friendship doth require,
Though reason willes it rather left vnpend,
For that the same the Authour should not shend:
But blush who lust, so thou do like the worke,
I am content it shall no longer lurke.
Peruse ech page as leysure giues thee leaue,
Reade ore each verse thus ragged as they lie,
Let nothing slip whereby I may receiue
The hatefull checke of curious readers eie:
For well I know how haut thy muse doth flie:
Wherefore I yeeld this foule mishapen Beare,
Unto thy choise, to tender or to teare.
Reade ore each verse thus ragged as they lie,
Let nothing slip whereby I may receiue
The hatefull checke of curious readers eie:
For well I know how haut thy muse doth flie:
Wherefore I yeeld this foule mishapen Beare,
Unto thy choise, to tender or to teare.
Wherein if aught vnworth the presse thou finde,
Vnfauorie or, that seemes vnto thy taste,
Impute it to the troubles of my minde,
VVhose late mishap made this be hatcht in haste,
By clowdes of care best beauties be defaste:
Likewise be wittes and freshest heads to seeke,
Which way to write, when fortune list to streeke.
Vnfauorie or, that seemes vnto thy taste,
Impute it to the troubles of my minde,
VVhose late mishap made this be hatcht in haste,
By clowdes of care best beauties be defaste:
Likewise be wittes and freshest heads to seeke,
Which way to write, when fortune list to streeke.
Who know my cares, who wist, my wailefull woe,
(As thou my friend, art priuie to the same)
Or vnderstoode how griefe did ouergrow
The pleasaunt plot which I for myrth did frame
UUould beare with this, and quite me clean of blame
For in my life I neuer felt such fittes,
As whilst I wrote this worke did daunt my wittes
(As thou my friend, art priuie to the same)
The pleasaunt plot which I for myrth did frame
UUould beare with this, and quite me clean of blame
For in my life I neuer felt such fittes,
As whilst I wrote this worke did daunt my wittes
For as the Pilot in the wrathfull waue,
Beset with stormes, still beaten too and fro
UUith boysteous bellowes, knowes not howe to saueue
His sielie barke, but lets the rudder goe.
And yeeldes himselfe whither tempest list to blowe
So I amidde my cares had slender skill,
To write in verse, but bowde to fortunes will.
Beset with stormes, still beaten too and fro
UUith boysteous bellowes, knowes not howe to saueue
His sielie barke, but lets the rudder goe.
And yeeldes himselfe whither tempest list to blowe
So I amidde my cares had slender skill,
To write in verse, but bowde to fortunes will.
The more thy paine, thy trouble and thy toile,
That must amend amisse eache faulte of mine,
Yet grudge not (Baynes) with share to turne the soile
In sorte as though the same were wholie thine,
The charge whereof, loe here I do refine
For want of health, my friend at large to thee,
Since that my limmes with greef surcharged be.
That must amend amisse eache faulte of mine,
Yet grudge not (Baynes) with share to turne the soile
In sorte as though the same were wholie thine,
The charge whereof, loe here I do refine
For want of health, my friend at large to thee,
Since that my limmes with greef surcharged be.
Apollos lore I quite haue layde aside,
And am enforst his Phisicke to peruse:
I hate the Harpe, wherein was all my pride,
I hunte for hearbes, I lothe Mineruas muse,
My want of health, makes me my booke refuse:
The blowing rage that erst inspirde my braine,
Saturns chilling humour doth restraine.
And am enforst his Phisicke to peruse:
I hate the Harpe, wherein was all my pride,
I hunte for hearbes, I lothe Mineruas muse,
My want of health, makes me my booke refuse:
Saturns chilling humour doth restraine.
Wherefore sith I confesse my want of skill,
And am to seeke to better this my booke,
So (Baines) thou runne vnto Parnassus hill,
As Helicon, or else that learned brooke,
Which Pegase made, when he the soile fosooke:
For well thou knowst, where Clio and the rest,
Did tune their Lutes, and pipe with pleasant brest.
And am to seeke to better this my booke,
So (Baines) thou runne vnto Parnassus hill,
As Helicon, or else that learned brooke,
Which Pegase made, when he the soile fosooke:
For well thou knowst, where Clio and the rest,
Did tune their Lutes, and pipe with pleasant brest.
I can no more, but for thy mickle paine,
Yeeld thousand thankes vpon my naked knee,
And if thou neede the like supply againe,
Assure thy selfe then I will pleasure thee:
So friends vnto each other bounden be.
(My Baynes) Adew, this little booke of mine,
When thou hast done, may best be termed thine.
Yeeld thousand thankes vpon my naked knee,
And if thou neede the like supply againe,
Assure thy selfe then I will pleasure thee:
So friends vnto each other bounden be.
(My Baynes) Adew, this little booke of mine,
When thou hast done, may best be termed thine.
Thy friend, George Turberuile.
| Tragicall Tales translated by Tvrbervile | |