A Posie of Gilloflowers :: :: University of Virginia Library

The following acrostic is made up from the first letters of alternate lines: DOROTHY SAMVEL DANIEL DANVERS HVMFRI; then starting from the beginning of the poem again at the second line, and following subsequent alternative lines: TEMPERANCE IVSTICE PRVDENCE GIFFARD

Doe guide my pathes, O Lorde my God,
that I walke not astray:
O who can mount thy holy hill,
Except thou leade the way?
Renew me with such grace, that I
May learne thy lawes aright:
Order my steppes, so shal I be
Preserued day and night.
The wicked Serpent euery houre,
Endeuours me to spil:
Haste to my helpe, so shall I, Lorde,
Right well eschew the il.
In thee I put mine onely trust,
Assist me then at neede.
Stand on my side; but thee alone,
None els my sute can speede.
Amidst the sea of sinne and death,
Continually we ride,
Making still shipwracke of our soules,
except thou be our guide.
Vnto the Lorde with humble sute,
I lift my heart and handes:
Encline thine eares to my request,
Vnlose my sinfull bandes.
Let not vile Satans crafty traynes,
So sore our soules assayle:
Doe thou protect vs with thy shield,
Then shal he not preuayle.
As to a Rocke of safe refuge,
I stil to thee doe fly.
None els there is I know, that can
Cause al my sinnes to die.
I doe confesse my force is weake,
Encrease my fayth (O Lorde)

Expel from me al heresies,
Protect me with thy worde.
Let not the fiende that seekes my foyle,
Reioyce at my decay,
Doe make mee strong in liuely fayth.
Vnto thee still I pray.
All trueth, al good and godly deedes,
Doe still proceede from thee:
No man can thinke one holy thought,
Except their guide thou bee.
Vnlesse thou Lord doe giue increase,
No fruite our deedes bring forth.
Esteemd we are as rotten weedes,
Corrupt and nothing worth.
Remember not my sinnes forepast,
Eluminate my wayes:
So shall I still with heart and voyce,
Giue thee all laud and prayes.
Happy are they that doe thee serue,
In thought and eke in deede:
Vnturned neuer is thy face,
From them in time of neede.
Make Lord in mee a stedfast fayth,
For euer to abyde.
Frame still my lyfe to keepe thy lawes,
And I shall neuer slide.
Remoue from me all errors blockes,
Right so shall I remaine.
In perfect footesteppes of thy paths,
Deuoyde of worldly paine.

To his approued friend.

[_]

The highlighted text at the beginning of each line makes up the following verse:

Serue God
alwaies.
Commit
no euil,
Sill feare
to sinne,
defie
the diuell.
If thou
praise God
with hearte
and minde,
Great ioyes
in heauen
thy soule
shal finde.

Serue God thy Lord, delight to keepe his lawes.
Alwayes, haue care to doe his holy hest.
Commit not that which may his anger cause.
No euill, then (deere friend) can thee molest.
Still feare and minde the dreadfull iudgement day.
To sinne, breedes death, but mercie doe require,
Defie such thinges, as worke thy soules decay;
The diuel, so shall leese his chiefe desire.
If thou, wilt spend thy dayes in great content.
Praise God, ech houre, serue him in feare and dread,
With heart contrite thy former sinnes lament.
And minde, henceforth a better life to lead
Great ioyes the Lord (as his pure word doth say)
In heauen, aboue, for good men hath preparde,
Thy soule when that this life shall passe away,
Shall finde such blisse, as cannot bee declarde.

The life of man metaphorically compared to a shippe, sayling on the seaes in a tempest.

Haste homewardes, man, draw neerer to the shore,
The skies doe scowle, the windes doe blow amaine:
The raged rockes, with rumbling noyse doe rore,
The foggie clowdes doe threaten stormes of raine.
Ech thing foreshewes a tempest is at hand,
Hoyst vp thy sayles, and haste to happy land.

In worldly seaes thy silly ship is tost:
With waues of woe besette on euery side,
Blowne heere, and there, in daunger to bee lost:
Darke clowdes of sinne doe cause thee wander wide,
Unlesse thy God pitie some on thee take,
On rockes of rueth, thou needes must shipwrack make.

Cut downe the mast of rancour and debate,
Unfraight the shippe of all vnlawfull wares:
Cast ouer boorde the packes of hoorded hate,
Pumpe out fowle vice, the cause of many cares.
If that some leeke, it make thee stand in doubt,
Repentaunce serues, to stoppe the water out.

Let Gods pure word thy line and compasse bee,
And stedfast fayth vse thou in anckors steede:
Lament thy sinnes, then shalt thou shortly see,
That power diuine, will helpe thee forth at neede.
Fell Sathan is chiefe rular of these seas:
Hee seekes our wracke, hee doth these tempestes rayse.

In what wee may let vs alwayes represse,
The furious waues of lust and fond desire:

A quiet calme our conscience shall possesse,
if wee doe that which dutie doeth require:
By godly life in fine obtaine wee shall,
the porte of blisse, to which God send vs all.

A dolefull Dumpe

Who so doth mone, and lackes a mate,
to bee partaker of his woe,
And will discourse of his estate,
Let him and I together goe:
And I will make him graunt in fine,
his griefe to bee farre lesse then mine.

Perhappes hee wil, to win the best,
paint forth what pangs oppresse his minde.
How that hee feeles no quiet rest:
how fortune is to him vnkind:
And how hee pines in secreet griefe,
and findes no meanes for his reliefe.

These and such like a number will,
alleadge to witnes their distresse,
Some rolle vp stones against the hill,
with Sisiphus; some eke expresse,
That like to Tantalus they fare,
and some with Yxion doe compare.

But I not onely feele the smart,
of al those euilles rehearsed before:
But tast the torment in my heart,
of thousand times as many more:

So that the worst of their annoyes,
Is best and chiefest of my ioyes.

I neuer fed on costly meate,
Since that this griefe opprest mee first:
Dole is the dainties that I eate,
And trickling teares doe coole my thirst:
Care is my caruing knife, God wot,
Which dayly seekes to cut my throte.

Muse not that heere I secret keepe
The cause that first procurde my griefe:
What doeth it boote a man to weepe,
When that his teares finde no reliefe?
Contentes mee onely, this repose,
That death ere long will end my woes.

In praise of the contented minde.

If all the ioyes that worldly wightes possesse,
Were throughly scand, and pondred in their kindes,
No man of wit, but iustly must confesse,
That they ioy most, that haue contented mindes.
And other ioyes, which beare the name of ioyes,
Are not right ioyes, but sunneshines of anoyes.

In outward view wee see a number glad,
Which make a shew, as if mirth did abound:
Whē pinching grief within doth make them sad.
And many a one in these dayes may bee had,
Which faintly smile to shroud their sorowes so,
When oftentimes they pine in secreet woe.

But euery man that holdes himselfe content,
And yeeldes God thankes, as dutie doth require:
For all his giftes that hee to vs hath sent,
And is not vext with ouer great desire:
And such, I say, most quietly doe sleepe,
When fretting cares doth others waking keepe.

What doth auaile huge heapes of shining golde,
Or gay attyre, or stately buildinges braue:
If worldly pelfe thy heart in bondage holde?
Not thou thy goodes, thy goodes make thee their slaue.
For greedie men like Tantalus doe fare,
In midst of wealth, they needie are and bare.

A warie heede that thinges go not to losse,
Doth not amisse, so that it keepe the meane:
But still to toyle and moyle for worldly drosse,
And tast no ioy nor pleasure for our paine:
In carke and care both day and night to dwell,
Is nothing els but euen a very hell.

Wherefore I say, as erst I did beginne,
Contented men enioy the greaetst blisse:
Let vs content our selues to flye from sinne,
And still abide what Gods good pleasure is.
If ioy, or paine, if wealth, or want befall,
Let vs bee pleasde, and giue God thankes for all.

In the praise of Friendship.

Reueale (O tongue) the secretes of my thought,
Tel forth the game that perfect friendship brings:
Expresse what ioyes by her to man are brought,
Unfolde her prayse which glads all earthly things:
If one might say, in earth a heauen to bee,
It is no doubt, where faythfull friendes agree.

To all estates true friendship is a stay,
To euery wight a good and welcome guest:
Our life were death, were shee once tane away,
Consuming cares would harbour in our brest.
Fowle malice eke, would banish al delight,
And puffe vs vp with poyson of despight.

If that the seedes of enuie and debate,
Might yeelde no fruite, but wither and decay;
No canckred mindes would hoorde vp heapes of hate.
No hollow hearts dissembling partes should play.
No clawback then would fawne in hope of meede,
Such life to lead, were perfect life in deede.

But nowadayes desire of worldly pelfe,
With all estates makes friendship very colde:
Few for their friendes, ech shifteth for himselfe,
If in thy purse thou hast good store of golde:
Full many a one, thy friendship will imbrace,
Thy wealth once spent, they turne away their face.

Let vs still pray vnto the Lord aboue,
For to relent our hearts as hard as stone:
That through the world one knot of loyall loue,
In perfect trueth might linke vs all in one:

Then should wee passe this life without annoyes,
And after death possesse eternall ioyes.

A commendation of Peace.

When hoyling wrath perturbs mās troubled brest,
Outraging will bids reasons lore adue:
Turmoyling cares bereaue all quiet rest,
And hastie yre makes harmefull happes ensue,
Great stormes of strife are raisd, through dire debate,
But golden peace preserues the quiet state.

A gift diuine, than precious pearle more worth,
Is blessed peace, to discord deadly foe.
Most plenteous fruits this blooming tree brings forth
When warre and strife yeeld crops of care and woe.
Rash rancours rage procures fond furious fightes,
Peace makes men swim in seaes of sweet delights.

If that this peace bee such a passing thing,
That it by right may challenge worthy prayse:
What thankes owe wee vnto our heauenly king,
Through whome we haue enioyde such happy dayes?
Next to our Queene, how deepely are wee bound,
Whose like on earth, before was neuer found?

If England would perpend the bloody broyles,
And slaughters huge that foraine realmes haue tried,
It should me seemes, by warnd by their turmoyles,
In perfect loue and concord to abide.
But (out alas) my heart doeth rue to tell)
Small feare of God, amongst vs now doth dwell.

And where that wantes, what hope doth els remayne,
But dire reuenge for rash committed crimes?
Heapes of mishaps will fall on vs amayne,
If we doe not lament our sinnes betimes.
Unlesse with speede, to God for grace we call,
I feare, I feare, great plagues on vs will fall.

England therefore, in time conuert from vice,
The pleasant spring abides not all the yeere.
Let foraine ylls, forewarne thee to be wise,
Stormes may ensue, though now the coastes be cleere.
I say no more, but onely doe request,
That God will turne all things vnto the best.

For Souldiers.

Ye buds of Brutus land, couragious youths, now play your parts
Unto your tackle stand, abide the brunt with valiāt hearts.
For newes is carried too & fro, that we must forth to warfare goe:
Men muster now in euery place, & souldiers are prest forth apace.
Faynt not, spend blood; to doe your Queene & countrey good.
Fayre wordes, good pay, wil make men cast al care away.

The time of warre is come, prepare your corslet, speare & shield,
Me thinks I heare the drumme, strike doleful marches to the field,
Tantara, tātara, ye trūpets sound, we makes our harts wt ioy aboūd,
The roring guns are heard a far, & euery thing denounceth warre.
Serue God, stand stoute; bold courage brings this geare about.
Feare not; forth run; faint heart, faire Lady neuer woonne.

Yee curious Carpet knights, that spende the time in sport & play
Abrode & see new sights, your coūtries cause cals you away:
Doe not to make your Ladies game, bring blemish to your worthy name.
Away to field, & win renoune, wt courage beat your enimies down.
Stoute hearts gain praise, when Dastards sayle in slaunders seas:
Hap what hap shal, we sure, shal die but once for all.

Alarme me thinkes they cry, be packing mates, be gone with speed,
Our foes are very nigh, shame haue that man that shrinks at need.
Unto it boldly let vs stand, God wil geue right the vpper hand.
Our cause is good, we need not doubt, in signe of courage geue a showte.
March forth, be strōg, good hap wil come ere it be long.
Shrinke not, fight well, for lusty lads must beare the bell.

All you that wil shun euil, must dwel in warfare euery day,
The world, the flesh & Diuel, alwayes doe seeke our soules decay.
striue wt these foes wt al your might, so shal you fight a worthy fight.
That cōquest doth deserue most praise, wher vice do yeeld to vertues wayes.
Beat down foule sin, a worthy crown then shal ye win.
If we liue wel, in heauen with Christ our soules shal dwell.

To his friende.

Muse not too much (o wight of worthy fame)
At view of this my rude & ragged rime,
I am almost enforst to write the same:
Wherefore forgeue, if I commit a crime.
The cause hereof, and how it came to passe,
I shall declare, euen briefly as it was.

Reuoluing in my mind your friendly face,
Your bountie great, your loue to euery man,
I heard my wit, and will to scan this case,
If I should write or no, thus wil began.
Take pen in hand thou fearefull wight she said,
To write thy mind what should make thee afraid?

Not so (quoth wit) acquaintance hath he small,
With him to whō thou bidst him write his mind,
What tho (quoth will) that skils nothing at all,
He writes to one that is to all a friend.

Him so to be (quoth wit) none can denie.
Thou art a foole (quoth will) then to reply.

Great cause (quoth wit) shoulde make him to refraine.
He would (quoth wil) declare his friendly heart.
What if (quoth wit) he chance to reape disdayne?
Of such foul fruits (quoth wil) friēds haue no part.
Perchance (quoth wit) it wilbe taken yll.
Wel meaned things, who wil take yl (quoth wil?)

He hath no skil (quoth wit,) how should he write?
Al want of skil (quoth will) good will supplies.
I see (quoth wit) thou wilt worke him despite.
For counsell good thou, geuest him rash aduice.
Wit said no more: But will that stately Dame,
Still bad me write, not forcing any blame.

Since will, not wit, makes me commit offence,
Of pardon yours the better hope I haue.
To shew my loue was all the whole pretence,
That made me write. This onely doe I craue:
In any thing if pleasure you I can,
Command me so, as if I were your man.

A renouncing of loue.

Al earthly things by course of kind,
Are subiect still to reasons lore:
But sure I can no reasons finde,
That makes these Louers loue so sore.
They fry and freese in myldest weather,
They weepe and laugh euen both together.

Euen now in waues of deepe despaire,
Their barke is tossed too and fro.

A gale of hope expels al feare,
And makes the winde to ouerblow:
Twixt feare and hope these Louers saile,
And doubtful are which shall preuayle.

At night in slumber sweetly laide,
They seeme to holde their loue in armes:
Awaking then, they are afrayde,
And feele the force of thousand harmes.
Then doe they tosse in restlesse bed,
With hammers woorking in their head.

A merry looke from Ladies face,
Bringes them a foote which could not goe:
A frowning brow doth them disgrace,
And brues the broth of all their woe,
Hereby all men may playnely know:
That reason rules not Louers law.

But reason doth me thus persuade,
Where reason wants, that nothing frames:
Therefore this reason hath me made,
To set aside all louely gaynes.
Since reason rules not Venus sport,
No reason bids me scale that forte.

A will or Testament.

VVhen dreadfull death with dint of pearcing darte,
By fatall doome, this corpes of mine shal kill;
When lingring life shall from my life depart,
I thus set downe, my testament and will.
My faythfull friendes executors shall remayne,
To see performde what here I doe ordayne.

To thee (O world) I first of all doe leaue
The vayne delights, that I in thee haue found,
Thy fained shewes wherewith thou didst deceaue,
Thy fickle trust, and promises vnsound.
My wealth, my woe, my ioyes commixt wt care,
Doe take them, all doe fall vnto thy share.

And Satan thou, for that thou wert the cause,
That I in sinne did still mispend my dayes,
I thee defie, and here renounce thy lawes,
My wicked thoughts, my vile and naughty waies,
And eke my vice doe to thy lot befall,
From thee they came, doe take them to thee all,

To thee, O earth, agayne I do restore,
My carrion corpes, which from thee did proceede:
Because it did neglect all godly lore,
Let greedy wormes vpon it alwayes feede;
Let it in filth consume and rot away,
And so remaine vntil the iudgement day.

But my poore soule, whō Christ most deerly bought
Which hated sinne, and loathed to offend,
Together with ech good and godly thought,
Into thy handes, sweete Iesu, I commend.
O sauiour Christ, doe guide my steppes so well,
That after death, she stil with thee may dwell.

A Complaynt of a Louer.

If euer wofull wight had cause, to pipe in bitter smart,
I which am thrall to Cupids lawes, with him may beare a part.
Whose ioyful dayes alas, are gone; whom daily cares doe tosse,
But wote yee why I thus take on? my lucke is turnde to losse.

Ere cruell loue my heart possest, no cares did vexe my head,
But since he harboured in my brest, my golden dayes are fled.
Time was when fortune did allow, great gladnesse to my share,
But ah, for that time is not, now doth grow my cause of care.
Time was when I liude in delight and reapt of ioyes my fill:
But now time is, workes me despite, would waste had tarried still.
No hap so hard, no griefe so great, whereof I feele not part,
Now shiuering colde, now flaming heate, anoyes my wofull heart.
So that hope is the onely stay, on which my life dependes,
Which if it once be tane away, my date of liuing ends.
God graunt my hope, such hap may see, that good successe ensue,
Which if it long prolonged be, through griefe I die, adiew.

For his friende.

I that in freedome liued of late,
And neuer stoupt to Cupids lure,
Haue now made change of my estate.
And thousand torments doe endure.
As late abrode I cast my lookes,
In fancies lune I fast was cought,
And beauty with her bayted hookes,
Hath me alas in bondage brought.
I loue, but lacke the thing I craue,
I liue, but want my chiefest good,
I hope, but hap I cannot haue,
I serue, but starue for want of foode.
Then so to loue, what state more yll?
Such life affoordes small time of ioy,
Such wauering hope doth often kill,
To serue and starue what worse anoy?
Yet wil I loue whiles life doth last,
And liue whiles any hope remaines,
And hope when dismal dayes are past,
To haue reward for all my paynes.

Loe thus I liue by hope sustaynd,
Yet through dispayre, die euery houre,
In sorow glad, in pleasure painde,
Now fed with sweete, now choakt with sowre.
Deare Dame in humble sort I sew,
Since mine estate to you is known,
Uoutsafe my dolefull case to rew,
And saue his life who is your owne.

Somewhat made of nothing, at a Gentlewomans request

Ye gladly would haue me to make you some toy,
And yet will not tel me wherof I should write:
The strangenes of this doth breed me anoy,
And makes me to seeke what things to endite.
If I should write rashly what comes in my braine,
It might be such matter as likes you not best,
And rather I would great sorow sustayne,
Then not to fulfill your lawfull request.
Two dangers most doubtful oppresse me alike,
Ne am I resolued to which I might yeelde,
Wherfore by perforce I am foretd to seeke,
This slender deuice to serue for my shield.
Since nothing yee geue me to busie my brayne,
Nothing but your nothing of me can yee craue.
Wherfore now receiue your nothing agayne,
Of nothing, but nothing, what els would yee haue.

Of the instability of Fortune.

Who wisely waies false fortunes fickle change,
Which in short space turnes loue to mortal hate,
Shall find smal cause to deem it wondrous strange,
To fleete from happie life to worse estate.
For whie her sweete is alwaies mixt with sowre,
If now shee fawne, the frownes within an houre,

Her smiles are wyles to cause men hope for hap,
Her traynes breede paynes, though pleasant be the show,
Him whom shee now doth dandle in her lap,
Straightway sustaines a wretched ouerthrow.
And whom thou seest at foote of wheele downe cast,
Within short space, shee hoyseth vp as fast.

The raging Seas which dayly ebbes and flowes,
The wauering winds, which blow now here now there,
More constant are then fortunes flattering vowes,
Who in one hoode, a double face doth beare.
To trust her lookes, when shee doth fleere or laugh,
Is nothing els but trust a broken staffe.

Pollicrates (as auncient writers tell)
On Fortunes wheele most highly was aduaunste,
And many a yeere shee fauourd him so well,
That no ill hap long time vnto him chaunst.
Yet in the end, to shew her double wayes,
With hemping roape, shee causde him end his dayes.

If thou wilt shun all sorow and distresse,
By fortunes threates doe set but litle store,
If thine affayres haue euer good successe,
Yeeld hearty thankes to God thy Lorde therefore.
If great annoyes doe fall vpon thee fast,
Thinke them due plagues for some offences past.

By prayer then make leuell with the Lorde.
Repentant hearts haue mercie when they call:
Loue him with feare, delight to reade his worde,
So great good haps vnto thee will befall.
So shalt thou leade thy life without annoyes,
And after death possesse eternal ioyes.

Of the vanitie of this life.

I reade in Poets faigned bookes,
That wise Vlysses wandring came,
Where Circes through her fawning lookes,
Did worke his men a spightfull shame.
She causde them quaffe great bowles of wine,
And presently they turnde to swine.

But hee which followed vertue still,
Refusde to taste this proffered charme,
And would not worke her beastly will,
As one that doubted farther harme.
Her witchcraftes and enchantmentes straunge,
Were not of force this man to chaunge.

The world with his alluring toyes,
Is Circes witch of whome they write:
Which temptes vs with her sugred ioyes,
And makes vs swimme in such delight,
That wee so play with pleasures ball,
As if there were no God at all.

If man would way, what enemies
Are alwayes prest him to deuoure,
Mee thinkes from sinne hee should arise,
And make defence with all his power.
For why, the world, the flesh, and deuill,
Doe neuer cease to worke vs euill.

These so bewitch our foolish braines,
That nought wee force eternall paine:
And euery one in sinne remaines,
As if hell were a fable vaine.
Alas wee are seduced so,
That all true heartes do bleede for woe.

The sheepe doth yeerely yeelde his fleese,
The plodding Oxe the plow doth draw:
And euery thing in willing wise,
Keepes and obayes dame Natures law:
But man in witte, which should excell,
Against his Lord doth still rebell.

Ech doth deferre from day to day,
And thinkes the morow to amend:
But death arestes vs by the way,
And sodainly some makes their end.
O wretched case that they bee in,
Which die, and not lament their sinne!

Thou silly man, still feare the Lord,
Thy former sinnes with speede forsake:
The iudgement day in minde record,
In which ech soule account must make,
Confesse thy faultes to God therefore,
Repent, amend, and sinne no more.

Of the vanitie of the world.

As I lay musing in my bed,
A heape of fancies came in head,
Which greatly did molest mee.
Such sundry thoughtes of ioy and paine,
Did meete within my pondring braine,
That nothing could I rest mee.
Sometimes I felt exceeding ioy,
Sometimes the torment of annoy,
Euen now I laugh, euen now I weepe,
Euen now a slumber made mee sleepe.

Thus did I with thoughtes of straunge deuice,
Lye musing alone in pensiue wise:
I knew not what meanes might health procure,
Nor finish the toyle I did indure.
And still I lay, and found no way,
That best could make my cares decay.

Reuoluing these thinges in my minde,
Of wretched world the fancies blinde:
Alone a while I ponder:
Which when I had perused well,
And saw no vertue there to dwell,
It made mee greatly wonder.
Is this that goodly thing (thought I)
That all men loue so earnestly?
Is this the fruit that it doth yeelde,
Whereby wee all are so beguilde?
Ah Iesus, how then my heart did rue,
Because I had folowed them, as true.
Alas wee haue lost the heauenly ioyes,
And haue beene deceaued with worldly toyes;
Whose fancies vaine, will breede vs paine,
If Christ doe not restore againe.

O wretched man, leaue off therefore,
In worldly thinges put trust no more.
Which yeeldes no thing but sorow:
To God thy Lord with speede conuert,
Because thou most vncertain art:
If thou shalt liue too morow,
Leaue of to quaffe, to daunce and play,
Remember still the iudgement day,
Repent, relent, and call for grace,
For pardon aske, whilst thou hast space.

Who doeth from his heart repentaunce craue,
Forgiuenes (saieth Christ) of mee shall haue.
Hee will not the death of a sinner giue:
But rather hee should repent and liue.
Stil laud the Lord, peruse his word,
And let thy deedes with it accord.

A Lesson for all estates.

Hast thou desire thy golden dayes to spend,
In blisfull state exempt from all annoyes?
So liue, as if death now thy life should end,
Still treade the pathes that leade to perfect ioy.
Bee slow to sinne, but speedie to aske grace,
How are they blest that thus runne out their race?

Ech night, ere sleepe shut vp thy drowsie eyes,
Thinke thou how much in day thou hast transgrest:
And pardon craue of God in any wise,
To doe that's good, and to forsake the rest.
Sinne thus shake of, the fiend for enuie weepes,
Sound are our ioyes, most quiet are our sleepes.

Haue not thy head so cloyd with worldly cares,
As to neglect that thou shouldst chiefly minde:
But beare an eye to Sathans wily snares:
Who to beguile, a thousand shiftes will finde,
Uaine are the ioyes that wretched world allowes,
Who trust them most, doe trust but rotten bowes.

Shunne filthy vice, persist in doing well,
For doing well doth godly life procure:
And godly life makes vs with Christ to dwell,
In endlesse blisse that euer shall endure,

Wee pray thee Lord, our follyes to redresse,
That wee thus doe, thus liue, this blisse possesse.

A Dreame.

In pleasaunt moneth of gladsome May
I walkt abroad to view
The fieldes, which nature had bedeckt
With flowers of sundry hew.
The sight whereof did recreate
My senses in such sort,
As passeth far beyond my power,
Thereof to make reporte.
Then sat I neere a pleasaunt wood,
And listened with desire:
Unto the small birdes chirping charme,
Which set my heart on fire.
Of Goldefinch and of Nightingale
I there might heare the voyce:
The Wren, the Robin and the thrush,
Did make a heauenly noyse.
Whose sweete melodious harmonie
My senses so bereft,
That I in this delightfull plot,
A pray to sleepe was left.
In slumber mine an auncient dame,
Before my face appeares:
Whose hollow cheekes and wrinckled face,
Did argue many yeeres.
Her vesture was as white as snow,
Her countenaunce very sad,
It semed by her watry eine,
Some inward griefe shee had.

For why, great streames of trickling teares,
Distilled downe her cheekes,
And thus to mee with trembling voyce,
This aged beldam speakes.
My friende (quoth shee) bee not dismayde,
At this my sodaine sight,
Ne let the speeches I shall vse,
Thy fearefull minde afright.
I am not of the furies broode,
Ne damned sprites of hell:
But hee through whome my being is,
Aboue the skies doth dwell.
And Lady Concord I am calde,
From forraine Realmes exilde:
Once mutual Loue my husband was,
And plentie was our childe:
But, ah, quod shee, a hagge of hell,
That long hath sought their spoyle
Hath slaine them both, vnlesse they dwell,
Within your english soyle.
Heere with there yssued from her eine,
Of teares abundant store:
And sighes so stopt her feeble voyce,
That shee could speake no more.
The sight wherof (mee thought) did rayse,
Great dolours in my breast:
Yet praying her for to proceede,
She thus her minde exprest.
Uile Couetousnesse that furie fell,
Hath wrought vs all this woe:
To Concord and to Mutuall Loue,
Shee is a deadly foe.
Time was, when wee were well esteemde,
And calde ech countries stay:
But Couetousnesse now rules the roast,
And beareth all the sway.

And were it not that in this land,
I finde some small reliefe:
I had beene dead long ere this time,
Through greatnesse of my greefe.
Debate and rancour night and day,
On this vile Dame attend,
Whom shee to worke her beastly will,
About the world doth send.
These two haue raysde such warre and strife,
In partes beyond the Seas,
That now few nations in the earth,
Enioy their woonted peace.
Now gold is reuerenced as a God,
Eche hunts for priuat gayne.
Men care not how their soules shall speede,
So wealth they may attaine.
Of conscience now, few make account,
Him men esteeme most wise:
Which to beguile his neighbour poore,
Can craftiest meanes deuise.
This sayd, mee thought the auncient dame,
Did vanish straight away.
And I awaking heere withall,
Went home without delay,
Where taking paper, penne, and inke,
With speede I there enrolde:
The circumstaunce of all the tale,
That Concord to mee tolde.
Which makes me wish that euery one,
Would mutuall loue imbrace:
And that no spots of couetousnesse,
With sinne their deedes deface.

A Dreame.

Layd in my quiet bed to rest,
When sleepe my senses all had drownd:

Such dreames arose within my breast,
As did with feare my minde confound.
Mee thought I wandred in a wood,
Which was as darke, as pitte of hell:
In midst whereof such waters stoode,
That where to passe, I could not tell.
The Lion, Tiger, Woolfe, and Beare,
There thundered forth such hideous cries:
As made huge Eccoes in the ayre,
And seemed almost to pearce the skies.
Long vext with care I there aboad,
And to get forth I wanted power:
At euery footesteppe that I troad,
I feard some beast would mee deuoure.
Abyding thus perplext with paine,
This case within my selfe I scand,
That humaine helpe was all in vaine,
Unlesse the Lord with vs doe stand.
Then falling flatte vpon my face,
In humble sorte to God I prayde:
That in this darke and dreadfull place,
Hee would vouchsafe to bee mine ayde.
Arising then a wight with winges,
Of auncient yeeres mee thinkes I see:
A burning torch in hand hee bringes,
And thus beganne to speake to mee.
That God, whose ayde thou didst implore,
Hath sent mee hither for thy sake:
Plucke vp thy sprites, lament no more,
With mee thou must thy iourney take.
Against a huge and loftie hill,
With swiftest pace mee thinkes wee goe:
Where such a sound mine eares did fill,
As moued my heart to bleede for woe.
Mee thought I heard a woefull wight,
In dolefull sorte powre forth great plaintes:

Whose cries did so my minde afright,
That euen with feare ech member faintes.
Fie (quoth my guyd) what meanes this change,
Passe on a pace with courage bolde,
Hereby doth stand a prison strange,
Where woonderous thinges thou maist beholde,
Then came we to a fort of brasse,
Where peering through greate iron grates,
We saw a woman sit alas,
Which ruthfully bewaylde her fates.
Her face was farre more white then snow,
And on her head a crowne shee ware,
Beset with stones that glistered so,
As hundred torches had bene there.
Her song was woe, and weale away,
What torments here doe I sustayne?
A new mishap did her dismay,
Which more and more increast her payne,
An vggly creature all in blacke,
Ran to her seate, and flang her downe,
Who rent her garments from her backe,
And spoyld her of her precious crowne.
This crowne he plaste vpon his hed,
And leauing her in dolefull case,
With swiftest pace away he fled:
And darknesse came in all the place.
But then to heare the wofull moue,
And piteous grones that she foorth sent,
He had no doubt, a heart of stone,
That could geue eare and not lament,
Then (quoth my guide) note well my talke.
And thou shalt heare this dreame declard:
The wood in which thou first didst walke,
Unto the world may be comparde.
The roaring beasts plainly expresse,
The sundry snares in which we fall,

This Gaole is named deepe distresse,
In which Dame vertue lies as thrall,
Shee is the wight which heere within,
So dolefully doth houle and crie,
Her foe is called deadly sinne,
That proffered her this villany.
My name is Time, whom God hath sent,
To warne thee of thy soules decay,
In time therefore thy sinnes lament,
Least time from thee be tane away.
As soone as he these wordes had sayd,
With swiftest pace away he flies,
And I hereat was so afrayde,
That drowsie sleepe forsooke mine eyes.

For a Gentlewoman.

Like as a forte or fenced towne,
By foes assault that lies in field,
When Bulwarkes all are beaten downe,
Is by perforce constraynde to yeelde,
So I that could no while withstand,
The battery of your pleasant loue,
The flagge of truce tooke in my hande,
And meant your mercy for to proue.
My foolish fancie did enforce,
Me first to like your friendly sute,
Whiles your demaunds bred such remorce,
That I coulde not the same refute.
I bad you take with free consent,
All that which true pretence might craue,
And you remaynde as one content,
The thing obtaynd that you would haue.
Such friendly lookes and countenance fayre,
You freely then to me profest.

As if all troth that euer were,
Had harboured beene within your brest.
And I which saw such perfect shewes,
Of fraudlesse fayth in you appeare.
Did yeelde my selfe to Cupids Lawes,
And shewde likewise a merrie cheere.
No louing toyes I did withholde,
And no suspect did make me doubt.
Til your demeanure did vnfolde,
The wilie traines ye went about.
Who sees a ruinous house to fall,
And will not shift to get him thence.
When limmes be crusht, and broken all.
Its then too late to make defence.
When pleasant baite is swallowed downe.
The hooked fish is sure to die,
On these Dame Fortune oft doe frowne,
As trust too farre before they trie.
Of had I wist, who makes his moane,
Its ten to one he neuer thriues,
When theeues are from the Gibbet throwne,
No pardon then can saue theyr liues.
Such good aduice as comes too late,
May wel be calde, Sir fore wits foole:
Elswhere goe play the cosoning mate,
I am not now to goe to schoole.
But cleerely doe at length discerne,
The marke to which your bow is bent,
And these examples shall me warne,
What harme they haue that late repent.
Your sugred speech was but a baite,
Wherwith to bleare my simple eyes,
And vnder them did lurke deceipt,
As poyson vnder hony lies.
Wherefore since now your drift is knowne,
Goe set your staule some other where:

I may not so be ouerthrowne,
Your double dealings make me feare.
When steede by theeues is stolne away,
I wil not then the doore locke fast,
Wherfore depart without delay,
Your words are winde; your sute is wast.
And this shalbe the finall doome,
That I to your request will giue,
Your loue in me shall haue no roome,
Whiles life and breath shal make me liue,

For a Gentlewoman.

VVhat lucklesse lot had I alas,
To plant my loue in such a soyle,
As yeelds no corne nor fruitfull grasse,
But crops of care, and brakes of toyle.
VVhen first I chose the plot of ground,
In which mine Anchor foorth was cast,
I thought it stable, firme, and sound,
But found it sande and slime at last.
Like as the Fouler with his ginnes,
Beguiles the birdes that thinke no yll,
By fyled speech, so diuers winnes
The simple sort to worke theyr will.
But I, whom good advice hath taught,
To shun their snares and suttle charmes,
Am not into such daunger brought,
But that I can eschew the harmes.
The skilfull Faulconer will both proue,
And prayse that hawke which makes best whing,
So I by some that seemd to loue,
Have had the proofe of such a thing.
From aft they did pursue their game,
VVith swiftest wyng and egar minde,

But when in midst of flight they came,
They turnde their traynes against the winde.
Yee haggards straunge therefore adiew,
Goe seeke some other for your mate,
Yee false your faith and proue vntrue,
I like and loue the sole estate.
Like as Vlisses wandring men,
In red seas as they past along,
Did stoppe their eares with waxe as then,
Against the suttle Mermayds songue.
So shall their crafty filed talke,
Here after finde no listning eare,
I will byd them goe packe and walke,
And spend their wordes some otherwhere.
By proofe experience tels me now,
What fickle trust in them remaynes,
And tract of time hath learnd me how,
I should eschew their wylie traines.
Such as are bound to Louers toyes,
Make shipwracke of theyr freedome still,
They neuer tast but brittle ioyes:
For one good chance a thousand yll.
Cease now your sutes and gloze no more,
I meane to leade a Uirgins life:
In this of pleasure find I store,
In doubtfull sutes but care and strife.

A Godly discourse.

Like as the wight farre banished from his soyle,
In countrey strange, opprest with grief & pain,
Doth nothing way his long and weary toyle,
So that ye may come to his home againe:
And not accounts of perils great at hand,
For to attayne his owne desired land.

Such is the state of vs thy seruantes all,
(Most gratious God) that here on earth do dwell:
We banisht were through Adams cursed fall,
From place of blisse, euen to the pit of hell:
Our vice and sinnes, as markes and signes wee haue,
Which still we beare, and shal doe to our graue.

When that all hope of remedy was past,
For our redresse when nothing could be founde:
Thine onely sonne, thou didst send downe at last,
To salue this sore, and heale our deadly wound:
Yet did they please to vse him as a meane,
Us banisht wights for to call home agayne.

And for because thy Godhead thought it meete,
The sacred booke of thy most holy wil,
Thou didst vs leaue a lanterne to our feete,
To light our steppes, in this our voyage still,
Directing vs what to eschew or take:
All this thou doest, for vs vile sinners sake.

Graunt vs sound fayth, that we take stedfast holde,
On Christ his death which did our raunsome pay,
So shall we shun the daungers manifold,
Which would vs let, and cause vs run astray.
The wicked world, the flesh, the Diuell and all,
Are stumbling blockes, ech howre to make vs fall.

This Dungeon vile of Sathan is the nest,
A Denne of dole, a sinke of deadly sinne.
Heauen is the hauen in which we hope to rest,
Death is the dore whereby we enter in.
Sweete Sauiour, graunt that so wee liue to die,
That after death, we liue eternally.

In the praise of Musike.

The bookes of Ouids changed shapes,
A story strange doe tell,
How Orpheus to fetch his wife,
Made voyage vnto hell.
Who hauing past olde Charons boate,
Unto a Pallace came,
Where dwelt the Prince of damned sprites,
Which Pluto had to name.
When Orpheus was once ariude
Before the Regall throne:
He playde on Harpe, and sang so sweete,
As moude them all to mone.
At sound of his melodious tunes,
The very soules did moorne,
Yxion with his whirling wheele,
stoode still and would not turne:
And Tantalus did not assay,
The fleeting floodes to taste:
The sisters with their hollow siues,
For water made no haste.
The greedy Uulturs that are faynde,
On Titius heart to gnawe,
Left off to feede: and stoode amasde,
When Orpheus they sawe,
And Sysyphus which roules the stone,
Agaynst a mighty hill,
Whyles that his musike did endure,
Gaue eare, and sate him stil.
The furies eke which at no time,
Were seene to weepe before,
Were moude to moane his heauy happe,
And shedde of teares greate store.

If musicke with her notes diuine,
So great remorce can moue,
I deeme that man bereft of wits,
which musike will not loue.
She with her siluer sounding tunes,
Reuiues mans dulled sprites,
Shee feedes the eare: shee fils the heart,
With choice of rare delights.
Her sugred descant doth withdraw,
Thy minde from earthly toyes,
And makes thee feele within thy brest,
A tast of heauenly ioyes.
The Planets and Celestiall partes,
Sweete harmony containe,
Of which if creatures were depriud,
This world could not remayne.
It is no doubt, the very deede
Of golden melodie,
That neighbours doe together liue
In loue and vnitie.
Where man and wife agrees in one,
Sweete musike doth abound,
But when such stringes begin to iarre,
Unpleasant is the sound.
Amongst all sortes of harmony,
none doth so well accord,
As when we liue in perfect feare,
And fauour of the Lord.
Who graunt vnto vs sinfull wightes,
Sufficient power and might,
According to his mercy great,
To tune this string aright.

A pleasaunt Iest.

Sometimes in Fraunce it did so chaunce,
One that did seruice lacke:
A country clowne went vp and downe,
With fardell on his backe.
When that this swad long trauailde had,
Some seruice to require:
His fortune was, as hee did passe,
A farmar did him hire.
When Aprill showres, yt brings May flowers,
Made spring time bud and sprout:
This country swaine, for maisters gaine,
Did ride his fieldes about:
Now as he road, in ground abroad,
In prime of pleasaunt spring:
Hard by their towne, this country clowne,
Did heare two cuckoes sing:
One of them sat fast by a gate,
In their towne fielde, which stoode
In place neereby, hee might discry
The other in a wood.
These Cuckoes seemde, as lobcocke deemde,
With enuie to contend:
Which of them twaine, in playnesong vaine,
The other could amend.
Thus sange they long, their woonted song,
Their townefielde Cuckoes throate
Was nothing cleer, which chaungd the cheere
Of farmers man, God wote.
His horse hee ties, and fast hee hies,
Upon a tree to stand:

And made a noyse, with Cuckoes voyce,
To get the vpper hand.
Hee thought not good, hee of the wood,
Should beare away the prayse:
To make him yeeld, to him of fielde,
Himselfe the Cuckoe playes.
Cuckoe, quoth hee, vpon the tree,
And cuckoe, cuckoe sayde,
With cuckoe, cuckoe, & cuck cuck cuckoe,
Long time these cuckoes playde.
As they thus stand, from woodes at hand
Two wolves for pray that sought,
By chaunce espyed, the horse fast tyed,
That lobcocke thither brought,
To him they hye, and presently,
In peeces did him teare:
Whereat amasde, the lobcocke gazde,
And pist himselfe for feare.
When Wolues were gone, comming downe anone,
Homewardes hee hide with speede:
And there doth tell, all that befell,
Of this vnluckie deede.
His maister swore, being wroth therfore,
He would none other nay,
But that the slaue, and foolish knaue,
The price of horse should pay.
But to proceede, it was agreed,
The wiues that there did dwell,
The case should scan, of this poore man,
If hee did ill or well.
It being seene, hee did it in
Defence of all the towne:
With one intent, they gaue consent,
For to accquite the clowne.
They eke him gaue a garland braue,
Adornd with many a rose:

And great and small, him captaine call
Of Cuckoes, where he goes.
Now in my minde, hee were vnkinde,
That would wish any ill:
Unto a wight, in townships right,
That shewd so great goodwill.

A Newyeeres gift to a Gentlewoman.

If pure goodwill, not meaning ill, might boldly, might boldly,
Presume to tell his minde:
I wold not vse, in terms diffuse, thus coldly, thus coldly
To shew my selfe a friend.
But now adayes, so sinne preuailes,
That fayth decaies, and friendship fayles,
Most men are so infected with ielous musing braines,
That trust as one reiected, forsaken cleane remaines.
And thinges are constred cleane awry,
When nought was meant but honestie.

Thus much I say, as by the way, reciting, reciting,
What daunger may ensue:
Because that I suspiciously, in writing, in writing,
Doe send my minde to you.
Some will surmise, that I pretend,
By such deuice some naughtie end:
But let them speak and spare not, I force it not a beane,
For al their talke I care not, whilst guiltles I remaine.
Such as haue not transgrest the lawes,
Doe neuer feare to pleade their cause.

But now, sweete heart, it is my part, to open, to open,
The somme of mine intent:

I send this bil, for pure goodwill, in token, in token,
That former yeere is spent.
It is in deede a simple shift:
To serue in steede of newyeeres gift,
Though slenderly I make it, your pardon let mee have,
If in good part you take it, no more of you I craue:
So shall you binde mee day by day,
To pleasure you in what I may.

But I offend, such words to spend, in seeking, in seeking,
That you should pardon mee:
If oft I doe, that breedes in you, misliking, misliking,
Corrected let mee bee.
My selfe to you I yeelde and giue,
As prisoner true, whilst that I liue:
So may you be reuenged, for my presumptuous heart:
Which hath perhaps offended, to play so leawd a part,
Condemne mee to bee prisoner still,
So may you boldly worke your will.

Proceede my deere, the case is cleere, now stay not, now stay not
Giue iudgement out of hand:
If you ordaine, perpetuall paine, I way not, I way not,
Your iust decree shall stand.
And if you will award it so,
That I must now to prison go:
Your heart shall bee the prison, wherin I will abyde,
Untill by right and reason, my case bee throughly tride.
O God, how happy should I bee.
If such a gaile enclosed mee?

A delectable Dreame.

As late abroad asleepe I lay,
Mee thought I came by wondrous chaunce:

Whereas I heard a harper play,
And saw great store faeries daunce.
I marched neere, drawne by delight,
And prest these gallant Dames among:
When as their daunce being ended quite,
Of him that playde they craue a song.
My presence nought appalde their minde,
Hee tunde his harpe, his voyce was cleere:
And as a foe to woman kind,
He sang this song that foloweth heere.

A Womans face is full of wiles,
Her teares are like the Crocadill:
With outward cheere on thee shee smiles,
When in her heart shee thinkes thee ill.
Her tongue still chattes of this and that,
Then aspine leafe it wagges more fast
And as she talkes shee knowes not what,
There yssues many a troathlesse blast.
Thou farre doest take thy marke amisse,
If thou thinke fayth in them to finde:
The Wethercocke more constant is,
Which turnes about with euery winde.
O, how in pittie they abound!
Their heart is milde, like marble stone,
If in thy selfe no hope bee found,
Be sure of them thou gettest none.
I know some pepernosed dame
Will tearme mee foole and sawcie iack,
That dare their credit so defame,
And lay such slaunders on their backe.
What though on mee they powre their spite,
I may not vse the glosers trade,
I cannot say the crow is white,
But needes must call a spade a spade.

Heerewith his songue and musik ceast,
The Faeries all on him did frowne:
A stately dame amongst the rest,
Upon her face falles prostrate downe.
And to the Gods request did make,
That some great plagues might bee assind
To him, that all might warning take,
How they speake ill of womankind.

Heerewith (a wonder to bee tolde)
His feete stoode fast vpon the ground.
His face was neither young, nor olde,
His harpe vntoucht, would yeeld no sound.
Long hayre did grow about his scull,
His skinne was white, his blood was read,
His paunch with guts was bombast full,
No dogge had euer such a head.
His coulour oft did goe and come,
His eies did stare as hee did stand:
Also foure fingers and a thombe,
Might now bee seene in eyther hand,
His tongue likewise was plagued sore,
For that it played this peeuish parte,
Because it should offend no more,
'Twas tyed with stringes vnto his heart.
Yet in his mouth aboad shee still,
His teeth like walles did keepe her in:
Which now grinde meate, much like a mill,
His lippes were placde aboue his chinne.
Thus was hee chaungd, that none him knew,
But for the same hee was before:
By silent signes hee seemde to sue,
That Gods would now torment no more.
And hee would there without delayes,
Recant all that, which erst hee spake.

Hee pardoned is, on harpe hee playes,
And presently this songue did make.

Amongst all creatures bearing life,
A woman is the worthyest thing:
Shee is to man a faythfull wife:
Shee mother was to Christ our king.
If late by mee they were accusde,
I haue therefore receiued my hyre:
Unlesse they greatly bee abusde,
They neuer are repleate with yre.
They neither chide, fight, brawle, nor lye,
The gentlest creatures vnder sunne:
When men doe square for euery fly,
To make them friends the women runne,
And where they chaunce to fixe their loue,
They neuer swarue, or seeke for chaunge:
No new perswasions can them moue,
Tis men that haue desire to raunge.
Like Turtles true they loue their spowse,
And doe their duties euery way:
They fee good orders in the house,
When husbands are abroad at play.
And to conclude they Angells are,
Though heere on earth they doe remaine,
Their glittering hew, which shines like Star,
And bewtie braue declares it playne.

This sayde, the Faeries laught,
And seemd in countenance very glad,
To speake my minde, I then had thought.
How some were good, and some were bad,
But (marke ill happe) a friend came by,
Who as hee found mee sleeping so,
Did call mee vp with voyce so hye,
That slumber sweete I did forgoe.

To his most faythfull friend.

A thing most straunge to tell, of late did chaunce to me:
whiles yt I tooke my pen in hād, to writ my mind to thee,
As I had thought in hast to pach a verse or two,
Without regarde, as common friends, accustomd oft to doe:
I could not for my life, mine eies so waking keepe,
But that a sodain slumber came, which made mee fal asleep,
In dreame I seemde to see, appeare before mine eine,
A comely Lady well be seene, attirde in decent wise,
Most modest were her lookes, most cheerefull eke her face,
Me thought therin was picturd out, a worthy matrōs grace.
O thanklesse wretch, shee said, and canst thou so neglect
My worthy lawes? is there wt thee of frends no more respect?
Dost know to whome thou writest? is he a common frende?
Suffiseth it in cōmon sort, that thou shouldst shew thy mind.
Hath his desarts deserude of thee no better meede?
Is this due guerdon for yt loue, which did from him proceed?
In that he hath in deedes, byn alwaies friend to thee,
Let him peceiue by friendly words, thee thankful stil to be.
He lookes not for thy deeds, he knowes thy power is smal,
And wilt thou then depriue him, wretch, of words, of deeds & al?
Brute beasts requite good turnes, it cannot be denied,
Wilt thou thē be vngrateful which hast reasō for thy guid?
Shal friendship dwell in beasts, and men be found vnkinde?
Shal they for loue, shew loue agayn, & thou forget thy friend?
With that shee gaue a becke, and bad me to awake,
And said, doe shew thy thankful mind, & so requitall make.
Herewith shee did depart, my slumber past away,

I felt my cheeks bedewd wt tears, through words ye she did say
Her bitter sharpe rebukes, did make me muse a space,
Chiefly in that they did proceede, out from so fayre a face.
But then I cald to minde, that Gratitude she was,
That thākful Dame whose custom is frō friend to friend to passe.
I tooke my pen in hand, with purpose to declare
The Circumstance of this my dreame, wh cloyd my hed with care,
Herein also I thought her precepts to obey,
And al the plot of thy deserts, most largely to display,
But when my dreame was done, I found such litle store:
Of paper, that I could not haue, wherin to write the more.

One that had a frowarde Husband, makes complaynt to her mother: Written in French, by Clement Marott

And is there any wight aliue,
That rightly may compare,
Or goe beyond me silly wretch,
In sadnesse and in care?
Some such may be, but this I say,
One must goe farre to seeke,
To finde a woman in this worlde,
Whose griefe to mine is like:
Or hath so iust a cause of moane,
In dumps of deepe despite,
I linger on my loathsome life,
Depriud of all delight.
Men say the Phœnix is a birde,
Whose like cannot bee found,
I am the Phœnix in this worlde,
Of that those care doth wound.

And he that workes me all this woe,
May be the Phœnix well,
Of all enraged senslesse wightes,
That in the earth doe dwell.
I moane not here as Dido did,
Being stryken at the heart,
As woorthy Virgill doeth recorde,
With dint of Cupids dart.
Nor in my playnts some Louer name,
As Sappho did of yore:
But husband is the cause heereof,
Which makes my griefe the more.
For Louers if they like vs not,
We may cast of agayne,
But with our husbandes (good or bad)
Till death we must remayne.
I doe not speake these wordes, as if
His death I did desire,
But rather that it might please God,
His thoughts so to enspire,
That he might vse me as he ought,
Or as I doe deserue,
Since that I him (as duety byndes)
Doe honour, loue, and serue.
And seemes it not desert thinke you?
At his commaund to haue
The beauty greate and other giftes,
that nature to me gaue?
Ist not desert, such one with him
In loyall bed to lie,
As alwayes hath most faythfull byn,
And will be till shee die:
To looke on him with cheerefull face,
to call him Spouse and friend,
To coll and kisse, all this hee hath,
With franke and willing mynde,

And all thinges els as God commmaunds,
And duety doth allowe,
Yet am I dealt with at his handes,
Alas, I know not howe,
Hee thanklesse man, doth ill for good,
Agaynst all right and lawe,
Hee had of me good fruitfull Corne,
And payes mee chaffe and straw,
For meeke and humble curtesie,
Fierce cruelty hee geues,
For loyalty, disloyalty,
And that which most mee grieues,
Is when in sweete and humble sorte,
I come to make my moane,
His heart no more is mollified,
Then is the Marble stone.
The cruell Lyon ready bent,
With pawes and teeth to teare,
When that the silly Hounde doeth yeelde,
His malice doeth forbeare.
When Attalus the Romayne host
Did erst subdue in field,
His heart to mercy was enclinde,
Assoone as they did yeelde.
Blacke Pluto eke the Prince of hell,
Uneasie to bee woone,
When Orpheus had playde on harpe,
His rankour all was done.
By sweetnesse and by curtesie,
What is not wrought alas,
Nerethlesse the sweetenesse Feminine,
Which others all doth passe
Can nothing doe before the eyes,
Of my hardhearted feere,
The more that I submit my selfe,
The straunger is his cheere.

So that in wrongfull cruelty,
And spite he doth excel,
The Lions wilde, the Tyrants stoute,
And monsters eke of hel.
As ofte as I reuolue in mynde
The greatnesse of my harmes,
I thinke how foorth the Fowler goes,
with sweete and pleasant charmes,
To take the birds, which once betrayd,
He eyther killes straight way,
Or keepes them pende in pensiue cage,
That flie no more they may.
And so at first, I taken was,
By his sweete fleering face,
And now depriude of ioy alas:
Am handled in like case.
Now, if the birdes (as some auouch,
Doe curse his keeper still,
In language his, why curse I not,
The Author of my yll.
That griefe doeth euer greater harme,
Which hidden lies in brest,
Then that which to some faithfull friend,
By speaking is exprest,
My sorowes then shall bee reuealde,
Some stedfast friend vnto,
My tongue thereby vnto my heart,
A pleasure greate may doe.
But vnto whom shoulde I disclose
My bondage and my thrall?
Unto my spouse? No surely no,
My gaynes shoulde bee but small,
Alas to whom then shoulde I moane?
Should I some Louer choose,
Who in my sorowes and my griefes,
As partner I might vse?

Occasions great do counsell me
To put this same in vre:
Mine honour and mine honestie,
Forbid such rashnes sure.
Wherefore ye louers al, adew,
Unto some other goe:
I will obserue my vowed fayth,
Though to my greatest foe.
To whome shal I powre forth my plaints?
To you most louing mother?
For they by dutie do belong,
To you, and to none other.
To you I come to seeke reliefe,
With moyst and weeping eies:
Euen as the heart with thirst opprest,
Unto the fountaine hies.
If any salue in all the world,
may serue to cure my wound:
Dame Nature sayes vndoubtedly,
In you it must be found.
Now if some succour may be had,
Assisted let me be,
But if it lie not in your power:
Yet spend some teares with me.
That yours with mine, & mine with yours
Might so keepe moyst the flowre,
That erst proceeded from your wombe,
And wasteth euery houre.

His Friend W. C. to Mistres F. K. whom he calls his Captaine.

As Souldiers good obey their captaines will,
And readie are to goe, to ride, or runne:

And neuer shrinke their duety to fulfill,
But what they byd, it by and by is done.
So rest I yours (good Captayne) to dispose,
When as you please, to combate with your foes.

Your foes, sayd I? alas what may they be,
That haue the heart, to harme so sweete a wight?
Who dare attempt to try his force with thee,
Shall conquerd be, ere he begin to fight.
Let thousand foes agaynst thee come in field,
Thy beauty great will make them all to yeeld,

To yeeld, sayd I? nay rather would they choose,
By thee subdude, to liue in bondage still,
Then lead such life as Conquerors doe vse,
In thy disgrace, and wanting thy good will.
But strike the drumme, & let the trumpet sound,
To take thy part, whole legions wil be found.

So many eares as euer heard thee speake:
So many eyes as haue thy feature vewde,
So many handes thy puysance hath made weake,
So many heartes thy beauty hath subdued,
Ech of these eares, ech eye, ech hand, ech heart,
(Sweet Captain) stil are prest to take thy part.

Ech eare, to heare when enuy seekes thy foyle:
Ech eye to spy who worketh thine anoy,
Ech hand, with blade to conquere them in broyle:
Ech gladsome heart, for victory to ioy.
Thus euery part the trusty friend will play,
For thy behoofe, whom God preserue alway.

The complaynt of a sinner.

Like as the theefe in prison cast,
With wofull wayling mones,
When hope of pardon cleane is past,
And sighes with dolefull grones:
So I a slaue to sinne,
With sobs and many a teare,
As one without thine ayde forlorne,
Before thy throne appeare.

O Lorde, in rage of wanton youth
My follies did abounde,
And eke, since that I knewe thy trueth,
My life hath beene vnsound.
Alas I doe confesse,
I see the perfect way,
Yet frayltie of my feeble fleshe,
Doth make me run astray.

Aye me, when that some good desire,
Woulde moue me to doe wel,
Affections fond make mee retire,
And cause me to rebell.
I wake, yet am asleepe,
I see, yet still am blinde,
In ill I runne with hedlong race,
In good I come behinde.

Loe thus in life I daily die,
And dying shall not liue,
Unlesse thy mercy speedily,
Some succour to me geue.
I die O Lorde, I die,
If thou doe mee forsake,

I shall be likened vnto those,
That fall into the lake.

When that one prop, or onely stay,
Holdes vp some house or wall:
If that the prop be tane away,
needes must the building fall.
O Lorde, thou art the prop,
to which I cleaue and leane:
If thou forsake, or cast mee of,
I still shall liue in paine.

Although my hard and stony hart
Be apt to runne astray:
Yet let thy goodnesse mee conuert,
So shall I not decay:
Sweete God doe rue my plaints,
And sheelde mee from annoy:
Thē my poore soule this life once past
Shall rest with thee in ioy.

Of the vncontented estate of Louers.

Who so attempts to publish and display,
Of Cupids thrals the strange & awkward fits,
Doth seeke to count the sand amidst the Sea,
And wades beyond the compasse of his wits:
Whose griping greefes and passions to disclose,
Is to describe a world of care and woes.

More easie its to weild the weightie charge,
That Atlas hath in bearing vp the Skies:

Then to vnfolde, and picture out at large,
The vncouth cares in louers brests that lies.
Whose rest is toyle, whose ioy is endlesse greife,
They often sue, but seeldome finde releefe.

Yf Plutoes denne that vgly pit of hell,
Great griesly plague, and tormentes hath in store:
I dare auouch that those in loue which dwell,
Do tast them all, and twice as many more.
Which makes mee say, & not without good cause,
Thrice happlesse wights, that yeelde to Cupids lawes.

As Aetna hill doth belke forth flakes of fire,
And hydeous sounds are harde within the same:
So Louers burne through inwarde hot desire,
And hollow sighes burst out amidst the flame:
Whose scorched harts dispaire and anguish gnaw
Lyke greedy Gripes, that peck Prometheus maw.

In mirth they moane, yet smile amidst their woe,
In fire they freese, in frost they fry straightway:
Swift legges to runne, yet are not able goe,
Such is the state, in which poore Louers stay:
As houering hope dooth hoyst them vp on hye,
Feare clips their wings, so that they cannot flye.

They fayne in hell, one only plague to fall,
For iust reuendge to those that doe amisse:
But they that loue, are subiect to them all,
And neuer feele one lightning howre of blisse:
That (to conclude) thrice happy is their chaunce,
That neuer knew to treade the louers daunce.

A Newyeres gift to Mistresse C. P.

Sweet wight be glad, pluck vp your sprites,
Old Friendship is renewd:
Milde Concord hath thrown down the broth,
That Discord lately brewd.
Fowle Enuie, Malice, and Debate,
In teares their time doe spend:
In that the platforme which they layde,
Came not to wished end.
The mightie Ioue, which ruleth all,
Their prayers heard, no doubt:
Else could not their hot kindled wrath,
So soone bee quenched out.
Thus farre their furie did preuaile,
A time and place was set,
Wheras at their appoynted houre,
To try it out, they met,
And dealt. For vowes had rashly past,
So long foes to abide:
Untill the one, the others force,
In open field had tried:
I shrinke, to thinke what horror great,
Now gripes your heart through feare.
I seeme to see ech member quake,
As if yee had beene there:
To heare my muse vnto your eares.
This dolefull tale to tell.
Put feare to flight, cast care aside,
All things are ended well:
But Rancour vile, couldst thou powre forth,
Thy spite vpon none other:
But that to combat thou must bring,
My father and my brother?

And I my selfe with eies must see,
And view this dolefull sight?
Goe packe, thou hast sustaind the foyle,
For all thy poysoned might.
For by the blowes that they did giue,
Theyr friendship doth encrease,
And in their heartes establisht is,
An euerduring peace.
The seedes that thou in them didst plant,
Are pluckt vp by the roote:
Thy sister Discord neuer shall,
Againe set in her foote.
For if in dealing of their blowes,
Their handes had not bene blest:
A late repent had made them rew,
For harbouring such a gest.
But of vngrate discurtesies,
Wee iustly might complaine:
In that entreaties would not serue,
To make them friendes againe.
If in their mad and brainsicke heads,
Dame Reason had borne sway:
But malice, rancour, and debate,
Had banisht wit away.
So that occasion of this broyle,
Was not our faythfull friendes:
But these forenamed furies fell,
And other hellish fiendes.
Whose daily driftes are to deface,
Of friends the pure estate:
And makes them barbour in their hearts,
Great heapes of deadly hate:
In that things past, betwixt them are
Forgiuen and forgot:
Let vs imbrace and loue them so,
As if this happened not.

If straunge it seems, that straunger I,
in verse to you doe write:
Assure your selfe, it doeth proceede,
through greatnesse of delite,
That I conceaue in that I see,
them reconcilde so well,
Whome no perswasions latelie serude,
their furies to expell.
These simple verses to your viewe,
I haue thought good to sende,
In token of a good neweyeere,
and so farewel, I ende.

A straunge historie.

Yee that would heare a Story straunge
To this example rare,
Attentiuely take heede:
Which pictures heere, before your face,
A worthy wight indeede.
A Phenix well she may be calde,
Whose lyke cannot be founde,
Chast Camna was her name:
Endued with such comely giftes,
As none can tell the same.
All wiues that in those dayes did lyue,
This woman did excell:
In constant loue towardes her spouse,
As doth my Story tell.
Sinatus was her Husbande cald,
a gentleman by blood,
Whose graue aduice in time of neede,
did neighbours his much good.
In such chast loue this man and wife,
togither did remaine.

That no man could their spotlesse life,
With any blot distaine.

In selfe same citie where they dwelt,
A tyraunt vile bare rule:
Sinoris was his name,
Who being taken with her loue,
Did wooe this worthy Dame.
When after many onsets giuen,
Hee had sustaind repulse,
His trauayle spent in vaine,
Her worthy spowse Sinatus then
Hee caused to bee slaine.
For he surmisde the feruent loue,
That shee to husband bare,
Did hinder him from his desires,
And eke procurd his care.
This done, afresh this tyraunt vile,
Pursues in cursed suite
Of her: then that hee did before,
Hee reapes none other fruite.
The secret flames of Cupids fire,
Now broyled so in his breast:
That nought but Camna could restore,
Sinoris wonted rest.

Resolued fully was he then,
To take this dame to wife,
Though baser in degree:
When no meanes els could serue his turne,
To cracke her honestie.
Then suite was made vnto her friendes,
Who waying well his wealth,
Would haue her needes consent.
Shee after great denialles made,
At length did seeme content.

Sinoris, when he heard this newes,
Was passing measure glad:
And order gaue in al post hast,
For mariage to bee had.
To temple of Diana then,
With speede these couple goe:
And with them sundry worthy wightes,
The mariage rites to doe.
In outward shew shee did expresse,
Great signes of mirth and ioy:
But in her heart shee did contriue,
This tyrant to destroy.

Ere that they fully were assurde,
Chast Camna had one bring,
To her a drinking glasse:
Of which shee must to husband drinke,
As there the custome was.
She tempred had a pleasaunt drinke,
With balefull poyson strong:
Of which shee dranke one part,
And to Sinoris gaue the rest,
Which so did pricke his heart:
That Phisickes skill could not preuaile,
To saue his vading life,
Which well did please the minde of her,
That then should be his wife.
When Camna saw that her deuice,
Did frame euen as shee would:
She greetes Dianas Image there,
VVith thankes a thousand folde.
And meekely kneeling on her knees,
Ah Goddesse, then she sayde,
Thou knowest from murdring of my selfe
How hardly I haue stayde.

Thou knowest, quoth shee, what bitter pangues,
Hath gripte my heart with griefe:
Since my deare husbands death:
And onely hope of iust reuenge,
Prolonged hath my breath.
VVhich since I see now come to passe,
VVith gladnesse will I die,
And seeke that soule to finde:
In life and death, which then my selfe,
To me was deerer friend.
And thou, thou caitife vile (quoth shee)
Which didst my mariage craue:
In steede now of a mariage bed,
Prepare thy selfe a graue,
But seeing then Sinoris dead.
To husbandes sprite shee cryed:
Oh, let not thy sweete company,
To mee now be denied:
Come meete me now my louing mate,
Who still I tender most:
And saying so her armes abroad,
She yeelded vp the Ghost.

A mery Iest.

Sometimes in France, a woman dwelt,
Whose husband being dead:
Within a yeere, or somwhat more,
An other did her wed.
This good wife had of wealth great store,
Yet was her wit but thin:
To shew what happe to her befell,
My Muse doth now begin.

It chaunced that a scholler poore,
Attirde in course aray,
To see his friends that dwelt farre thence,
From Paris tooke his way:
The garments were all rent and torne
Wherwith this wight was clad:
And in his purse, to serue his neede,
Not one deneere he had:
Hee was constrainde to craue the almes,
Of those which oft would giue,
His needy and his poore estate
With some thing to relieue.
This scholler on a frostie morne,
By chaunce came to the doore:
Of this old silly womans house,
Of whome wee spake before.
The husband then was not at home,
Hee craueth of the dame:
Who had him in, and gaue him meate,
And askt from whence hee came.
I came (quoth hee) from Paris towne,
From Paradise (quoth she)
Men call that Paradise the place,
Where all good soules shalbe.
Cham zure my vurst goodman is dere,
Which died this other yeere:
Chould geue my friend a good gray groate,
Some newes of him to heare.
Hee saw shee did mistake his wordes,
And thought to make some glee:
And saide, your husband is in health,
I lately did him see.
Now by my troth (quoth shee) cham glad,
Good scholler doe declare:
Was not hee wroth, because I sent
Him from this world so bare?

In deede (quoth he) he was disppleasd,
And thought it farre vnmeete,
You hauing all to send him hence,
With nothing but a sheete.
(Quoth shee) good scholer, let me know,
When thou returnst agayne,
Hee answerd, Dame I will be there,
Within this weeke or twayne.
Shee sayde, my friend if that iche durst
Presume to be so bolde,
Chould pray thee carrie him some clothes,
To keepe him from the colde.
Hee saide he woulde with all poste haste,
Into the towne shee hies,
Hat, doublet, shert, coate, hose and shoes.
Shee there for husband buyes,
Shee praying him in earnest sorte,
It safely to conuey,
Did geue him money in his purse,
And so he went his way,
Not halfe of halfe an howre was past,
Ere husband hers was come,
What newes shee heard from Paradise,
Shee tolde him all and some.
And farther did to him declare,
What token shee had sent,
Whereat her husband waxed wroth,
And woondrous ill content.
He calde her sotte, and doating foole,
And after him doth ride,
The Scholler was within a Hedge,
And him a farre espide.
Hee was afrayde, and downe doeth fling
His fardell in a dike,
The man came neere, and askt him newes,
Of one whom hee did seeke.

That bare a fardell at his backe,
The scholler musde a while,
Then answearing, said, such one I saw,
Passe ouer yonder style.
With hasty speede he downe alightes,
And doth the scholler pray,
Till he the man had ouertane,
So long the horse to stay.
Untill hee passed out of sight,
Full still the scholer bides,
Who taking then his fardell on
His horse, away he rides.
When he returnd and saw himselfe,
By scholer flouted so,
Your selues may iudge what cheere he made,
If he were wroth or no.
He sware I thinke a hundred oathes,
At length per mundum toots,
For that he had no shoes to weare,
Martch homewardes in his bootes.
His wife did meete him at the doore.
Hayee cought man? (quoth shee)
No Dame (he sayde) he caught my horse:
The Diuel take him and thee.
With that shee laught, and clapt her hands,
And sayde cham glad ich sweare,
For nowe he hath a horse to ride,
He wilbe quickly there.
When that her husband well had wayde,
That remedy there was none,
He takes his fortune in good parte,
And makes no farther mone.
Now whether that this honest wife,
Did loue her first good man,
To such as shall peruse this tale,
The case I leaue to scan.

To his friend.

If thou wilt shun the pricking briers,
And thornie cares that folly breedes,
Put bridle to thy fond desires,
Make reason mistres of thy deedes.
Attempt nothing by rash aduice,
If thou thus doe, then art thou wise.

Where Wit to Will is slaue and thrall,
Where fond affection beareth sway,
Ten thousand mischiefes do befall:
And vertue cleane is cast away,
For hauing rashnes for their guide,
Such cannot choose but wander wyde.

Their credite quickly lies in dust,
Which yeelde as bondslaues to their will,
And follow euery foolish lust,
Such leaue the good, and choose the yll,
The wayes of vertue those forgoe,
And tread the pathes of care and woe.

Wilt thou possesse eternall ioyes,
And porte of blisse at length attayne?
Still prayse the Lord with heart and voyce,
From doyng yll thy steppes refrayne.
These things obserude, be sure at last,
In heauen with Christ, thou shalt be plast.

A Newyeeres gift to Maister G. R.

The curtesies yee haue to me profest,
The bounty great that doth from you proceed,

Woulde make me deeme that day to be most blest,
In which I might stand you in any steede:
When if I flinch, cry on me open shame,
And where you come, doe bafful my good name.

If yee doe muse that I but now begin,
For to expresse that heart hath long concealde,
Assure your selfe, my secrete thought within,
So pricke me foorth, it needes must be reuealde.
And eke desire doth bid me let you know:
The loyall zeale, and duety that I owe.

As I confesse there is not in me ought,
To answeare that my Velle would fulfill,
So (make account) right farre hee must be sought,
That doth surmount or passe me in goodwill.
Which as in wordes I haue geuen out to some.
My deedes shal try, if once occasion come.

A crew there are, whose nature is to gloze
And vaunt in words, when heart thinks nothing lesse,
Assure your selfe, that I am none of those,
But will performe, what here I doe professe.
If that I think, when you haue cause to rid me
Doe cast me off, and vtterly denie me.

Of fortunes giftes since slender is my part,
Take here in signe of happy yeere at hand,
These ragged lines true herauldes of my heart
By which yee may my meaning vnderstand,
Their maister hath geuen them in charge to tel,
When he would worst, yt hee doth wish you wel.

A Translation out of French.

O Heauenly God, all beastes that doe remayne,
And nourisht are with foode that thou doest send,
Within the wooddes, the mountaynes, and the playne,
Thy holy hest, and lawes doe not offende.
The scudding fish that swimmes amidst the Sea,
The pretie birdes that play them in the ayre:
Sunne moone and starres, ech thing doth thee obey,
And at thy voyce doe tremble all for feare,
But man alas, yea man, whom thou doest make,
More perfect farre then all things els that liue,
Man whom thou wouldst thy proper shape to take,
To whom for guyde, thou reason eke didst geue,
And wit, and sense for to discerne aright,
What thing to take, what likewise to refuse:
He, he, vile wretch, and most vnthankefull wight,
Thy maiesty, and honour doth abuse.

A Complaint of a Sinner.

O Lord most deare, wh many a teare, lamenting, lamēting,
I fall before thy face,
And for ech crime, done ere this time, repenting, repenting
Most humbly call for grace.
Through wanton will, I must confesse,
Thy precepts still I doe transgresse,
The world with his vayne pleasure,
Bewitcht my senses so,
That I could find no leasure,
My vices to forgoe.
I graunt I haue through my deserte,
Deserud great plagues and bitter smart.

But yet sweet God, doe stay thy rod, forgeue me, forgeue me,
Which doe thine ayde implore,
O cease thine ire, I thee desire, beleeue me, beleue me,
I will so sinne no more.
But still shall pray thy holy name,
In the right way my steppes to frame,
So shall I not displease thee,
Which art my Lord of might.
My heart and tongue shall prayse thee,
Most humbly day and night.
I will delight continually,
Thy name to lawde and magnify.

With sighes & sobs, my heart it throbs, remembring, remembring
The fraylty of my youth,
I ran a race, deuoyd of grace, not rendring, not rendring
Due reuerence to thy truth.
Such care I cast on earthly toyes,
That nought I past for heauenly ioyes,
But now it me repenteth,
My heart doeth bleede for woe,
Which inwardly lamenteth,
That euer it sinned so.
With many a sigh, and many a grone,
O Lord to thee I make my mone.

Though furious fires of fond desires, allure me, allure me,
From thee so wander wyde:
Let pitifull eyes, and moystened eyes, procure thee, procure thee
To be my Lorde and guyde.
As Scripture sayth, thou doest not craue,
A sinners death, but wouldest him saue:
That sinfull wretch am I O Lorde,

Which would repent and liue,
With ceaslesse plaints I cry Lorde,
Thy pardon to me geue.
O Lord for thy sweete Iesu sake,
Doe not shut vp thy mercie gate.

Mercy, mercy, mercy, graunt me I pray thee, I pray thee,
Graunt mercy louing Lorde,
Let not the Diuel which meanes me euill, betray me, betray mee,
Protect me with thy worde.
So shall my heart find sweete reliefe,
Which now feeles smart and bitter griefe,
O Lord, I doe request thee,
To guyde my steppes so well,
That when death shall arest me,
My soule with thee may dwell
In heauen aboue, where Angels sing,
Continuall prayse, to thee theyr king.

A Dumpe.

The pangues, the priuie mones,
The inward secrete smarte,
The griefes, the heauie grones,
That vexe my dolefull heart,
So plundge my life in paines,
And reaue mee of all ioy,
That death is onely meanes,
To ridde me from anoy.

I graunt that vitall breath, preserueth life in me,
Yet liue I so, that death more welcome farre should be.
No wight was euer so perplexed with despite,
I liue to tast ech woe, and die to all delight.

Although by outward looks, some deeme me void of thought
Lookes are no certayne bookes, but beare false titles oft.
For sundry times I iest, when ioy (alas) is small,
And laugh amongst the rest, yet haue no lust at all.

Loe thus in secret strife, my lingring dayes are led,
I die yet am aliue: I liue, as being dead.
The more I beare it out, as if I felt no yll,
The greater griefes, no doubt, doe grow within me still.

The thing which doth amate, and most anoy my mind,
Is that my hard estate, no remedy can finde.
As one that loathes to liue, and daily calles for death,
These lines to thee I geue, in witnesse of my fayth.

A Dumpe by his friende. G. C.

My heauy heart in dolours drownde,
Consumes and pines away:
And for me wreth, nought can be found,
To cause my cares decay.
Yee eyes of mine, helpe to bewayle,
Powre foorth your brinish teares,
To rue, alas, his wretched state,
In whom no ioy appeares,

How should I wretch take any rest,
How can my heart feele ioy,

When as the wight, that loues mee best,
Lyes plundged in annoy?
Whereto serue teares, but to bewayle,
The losse of such a friend:
Weepe eies, alas, weepe on your fill,
And neuer make an end.

His troubled state, if to redresse,
The spending of my blood:
Or that small pelfe that I possesse,
Could doe him any good.
Then should your eies somtimes permit,
Mee silly wretch to sleepe,
But out alas, it may not bee,
Wherefore cease not to weepe.

Such inward griefe doth mee assayle,
Through thought of his estate:
That if I long of succour fayle,
All helpe will come too late:
O sacred loue, to cure these woes,
Use thou some speedie meanes:
Or els, alas, with some short death,
Dispatch mee of these paines.

For his friend.

Late being new fangled, so fancie did moue,
I was fast entangled in nets of blinde loue,
(Good friends, doe beleeue me) I chose out a trull,
Which daily doth giue me a shrewd crow to pull.
Fauour with her felowes raisde coales of desire,
Bewtie was the bellowes, that first blew the fire.

Thus was I enflamed, no reason was left me,
My senses were lamed, my wits were bereft me.
In hope of some fauour, I then fell awooing:
Such was her behauiour, she sought my vndoing,
Small is my promotion, most foolish, what ment I,
To yeelde my deuotion, to such a dame daintie?
Since loue first soiourned, such ease doe I feele,
As Yxion, turned about on the wheele.
Although by deseruing, she ought to be mine,
With Tantalus staruing, in griefe still I pine.
And through her controlling, my rest is as ill:
As Sisiphus rolling the stone vp the hill.
Thus is my state chaunged, deepe dolours do fill me:
My mirth is estraunged, good death come and kil me.
Whiles I heere in moning, the time out doe linger:
My griefe and my groning, is falne in my finger.
My finger, my finger, my finger, beleeue me:
Alas little finger, ful sore thou dost grieue me,
Was euer a finger perplext in such taking,
I thinke my poore finger will neuer leaue aking.
The cause of my sadnes, at length I coniecture:
Is loue with his madnes, that breedes this infecture.
I force not a pinne, it forth now is gotten:
Yet whole is the skinne, the flesh is not rotten.
I heard when it fel, now feele I no euil:
Dame daintie farewell, adew to the deuill.

A straunge Historie.

A Youngman once, by chaunce that lost his way,
Through deserts wilde, as on a time hee past:
Foure Lyons fierce, that sought to gaine some pray,
With gasping throte, hee saw make at him fast.
Who running swift, to shunne this daunger great,

Espied a well, small trees about it greewe,
By which hee honge, and in the same did leape,
Their ramping pawes and malice to eschew.
Thus as hee thought the perill to escape,
Hee did discry a mightie Dragon fell,
With open mouth most hidiously to gape:
Him to deuour in bottome of the well.
Then lifting vp his head, hee looked out,
And might perceiue the Lions still remaine,
Which in such sort beset the well about,
That of escape, all hoping was in vaine.
Thus as with death himselfe besiegde hee saw,
A chaunce befell, which made him more dismayde,
Two beastes, one white, the other blacke did knaw,
The little twigges, that him from falling stayde.
With daunger thus besette on euery side,
Hee in a hole, behinde his backe did finde,
A honny pot, which some man there did hide,
Now casting all his care out of his minde,
Hee with one hand the honny sweete did tast:
The other did from falling him sustaine:
Untill the beastes had gnawne the twigs at last,
That downe hee fell, and ruthfully was slaine.
This well, the world doth truely represent,
In which wee liue in daunger euery houre:
By Lions foure the elements are meant,
Which dayly seeke all mankinde to deuoure.
The Dragon fell, doth signifie our graue,
The twigges self loue, the beasts, the night and day,
The honny pot, the great desire we haue
To worldly ioyes, euen to our soules decay.
Ech one therfore, I earnestly aduise,
Heere in this world to vse themselues so well:
And spend their dayes in such a godly wise,
That after death their soules in heauen may dwell.

Farewell Court.

I Youth , when Fancie bare the sway,
Within my peeuish braine:
And Reasons lore by no meanes could
My wanton will restraine:
My gadding minde did pricke me forth,
A courtiers life to proue:
Whose golden shewes, and vaine delights,
My senses then did moue.
Not halfe so fast the bowdged shippe,
The water in doth drinke:
When foes by force of roring gunnes,
Endeuour her to sinke:
As when the floodes of fond desires,
Came rumbling in my head:
Which clean extinguisht Uertues sparks,
That Nature there had bred.
No power I had the sinfull snares
Of filthy vice to shunne:
My good desires did melt away,
As snow against the sunne.
If wit somtimes would goe about,
Mee wisely to perswade,
How that I spent my time amisse,
And vsde a naughtie trade.
Then wilfull will would bee at hand,
And plucke mee by the sleeue:
And tell mee plaine, wit was a foole,
And could no counsell geue.
His lores (quoth will) are very sowre,
His precepts are but colde:
Doe follow mee, then all delights
To vse thou mayst bee bolde.

Hee talkes of scripture euery hower,
Unsauery to disgest:
And I will alwayes serue thy turne,
With that which likes thee best.
Who would not rather rome abroad,
To seeke some pleasaunt sporte:
Then to be pend in study fast,
Like souldier in a forte?
To hawke, to hunt, to carde, to dice,
To sing, to daunce, to play:
And can there bee more pleasaunt meanes,
To driue away the day?
To tosse the buckler and the blade,
Lewd women to entice:
Are not these vertues most esteemde,
And had in greatest price?
To lend ech man a firiendly looke,
And vse the glosers arte:
In outward shew to beare good will,
And hate him with our heart.
Are not such men as flatter best,
In euery coast esteemde?
Is not Tom teltroath euery where,
A busie cockscombe deeme?
It is a world to see the sotte,
To haue a checke, hee knowes:
And yet the noddy neuer linnes,
Mens vices to disclose.
Hee euer telles men of their faultes
Such is his rude behauiour,
When hee by speaking nought at all,
Might purchase greater fauour.
Who countes it not a wisemans parte,
To runne with hare and hound?
To say and vnsay with one breath,
So winning may bee found:

Wherefore reioyce, set cocke on hoope,
Let nothing make thee sad,
Bee mery heere: when thou art dead,
No mirth can then bee had.
Thus wanton will would euery day
Still whisper in mine eare:
And wit, which could not then be heard,
Was fled I know not where.

Who tries the hazard of the seas,
By sturdy tempest tost:
If that a drunkard guide their ship,
Are they not quickly lost?
How like (I pray you) is hee then,
To suffer shipwracke still,
VVhose wit and wisdome gouernde is,
By his vnruly will?
This Pilot vile, in mee long time,
Did maisters roome supply:
Till good Aduice did tell mee plaine,
I ranne my course awry.
Hee spyed a time to breake his minde,
When Will was gone apart:
And thus to mee he did vnfolde,
The secretes of his heart.

O Man, for whome Christ on the crosse,
His precious blood did spill:
What dost thou meane in mundane toyes
To spend thy time so ill?
Dost thou not thinke that God hath eies,
To see thy vile abuse?
What shew of reason canst thou bring,
Thy rashnes to excuse?
Did Christ sustaine most bitter death,
All sinners to redeeme:

And wilt thou wallow still in lust?
And not his lawes esteeme?
If he by death, and no meanes els,
Mens sinfull soules could saue,
Doest thou then thinke by wanton life,
Eternall ioyes to haue?
Too too too much thou art deceaude,
If so thou doe beleeue:
That he to haue men liue in vice,
Himselfe to death would geue.
With vpright eye peruse his lawes:
And thou shalt cleerely see,
Into what sinkes of deadly sinne,
Thy will hath carried thee.
Thine eyes doe see, thine eares doe heare:
Thy senses all doe serue thee,
Yet canst thou neyther heare nor see,
Such thinges as should preserue thee.
In earthly toyes thou canst discerne
That which may best auayle thee,
But in such thing as touch thy soule,
Thy eyesight still doeth fayle thee.
O what a madnesse moues thy minde!
Thou seest and hast thy senses:
Yet wilt thou blindly wallow still,
In filth of vile offences.
It better were for one to be,
Of sight depriued cleere,
Then see to sinne, and not see that
Which chiefly should be seene.
Take heede therefore: at length repent,
Its better late then neuer:
For Christ the Cockle from the corne,
At haruest will disseuer.
At day of doome, the good and bad,
Shall not alike remayne:

The good shall taste vncessant ioyes:
The bad eternall payne.
Doste thinke that such as tospotlike,
Set all at sixe and seuen,
Are in a ready way to bring
Their sinfull soules to heauen?
And those that in great Princes Courtes,
Doe Ruffian like behaue them,
Doste deeme that they thereby procure,
A ready meane to saue them?
To sweare, to stare, to bib & bowse,
To flatter, glose, and lye,
Is this (tell me) the stedfast fayth,
That men are saued by?
If white be blacke, if night be day,
If true pretence, bee treason:
If fire be colde, if senselesse things
Fulfill the rule of reason.
Then may the pleasures of this worlde,
Be cause of our saluation,
For otherwise, thou must confesse,
They further our damnation.
Take heede therefore, and warned thus,
Let not the worlde beguile thee,
Ne let the lustes of lawlesse flesh,
With sinfull deedes defile thee.
Let wilfull will be banisht cleane,
With all his wanton toyes,
Which filles thy head with vayne delightes,
In steede of stedfast ioyes.
Note well my wordes, still serue the Lorde,
Repent and sinne no more,
Christ hath for true repentaunt heartes,
Great mercie still in store.

When good aduice had tolde this tale,
Prostrate I downe did fall,
And humbly holding vp my handes,
Thus on the Lorde did call.

O Mighty God which for vs men,
Didst suffer on the Crosse,
The payneful pangues of bitter death,
To saue our soules from losse,
I yeeld thee heere most hearty thankes,
In that thou doest vouchsaue,
Of me most vile and sinfull wretch,
So great regard to haue.
Alas none euer had more cause,
To magnifie thy name,
Then I, to whom thy mercies shewde,
Doe witnesse well the same.
So many brunts of fretting foes,
Who euer could withstand,
If thou hadst not protected me,
with thy most holy hand?
A thousand times in shamefull sort,
My sinfull life had ended,
If by thy gratious goodnesse Lorde,
I had not byn defended.
In stinking pooles of filthy vice,
So deepely was I drownde,
That none there was but thee alone,
To set my foote on ground.
Whenas the fiend had led my soule
Euen to the gates of hell,
Thou caldst mee backe, and doest me choose,
In heauen with thee to dwell,
Let furies now fret on their fill:
Let Sathan rage and rore,

As long as thou art on my side,
What neede I care for more?

My Prayer sayde: me thought I felt
Such quiet in my mynde,
As shipmen after tempest past,
In wished harbour finde.
My wil woulde then no more presume,
To rule in reasons place,
For good aduice would bee at hand,
His doyngs to disgrace.
Who tolde me playne that wanton will,
Did alwayes serue the Diuell,
And was his busiest instrument,
To stirre vp men to euill.
Although the gallant be so braue,
And sell such pleasures here,
They that best cheape doe buy the same,
Shall find it all too deere.
Yet they that woulde aduenture there,
The Diuell and all may gayne.
With euery inch of pleasant ioyes,
He selles ten Elles of payne.
If that thou wisely wilt foresee,
Such winnings to eschew,
Ere beggery take thee by the backe,
Doe byd the Court adew.
Hencefoorth exile vile wanton will,
Which is thy cheefest foe,
Goe get thee home: liue to thy selfe,
And let all courting goe.
Experience now should make thee know,
What vice in court doth rayne,
And tract of time shoulde teach thee shunne
Her pleasures mixt with payne,

Though some may dayly there be seene,
That follow vertue still,
Which honour God, obey their Prince,
And flie from dooyng ill,
Yet sure, of them the greatest parte
Are carried so away
With vayne delightes, that they ne thinke,
Nor mynde their soules decay.
O that I here tolde not a lye,
O, were it not too true:
That very few, theyr Princesse steppes,
In godlinesse ensue.
Should I passe on her golden giftes
And graces to declare?
The sandes in bottome of the Seas,
More easily numbred are.
If tongue or pen should take in hand,
Her vertues to vnfolde,
Tongue should not speake, pen would be worne
Ere halfe the tale were tolde.
Shee is (next God) the onely spring,
From which our welfare flowes:
She is a tree, on which nought els,
But graftes of goodnesse growes.
Shee is a Sunne that shines on vs,
with beames of blissefull happes,
Shee is a dew that daily drops,
Great plenty in our lappes.
When angry Neptune shipwracke threats,
Through force of wrestling waues
Shee is a port of safe refuge,
Which vs from daunger saues.
When duskie cloudes of errors blacke,
Had dimde our ioyfull day,
Through Christ shee causde the Gospell shine
Which draue them all away.

Shee worthy statutes hath ordaynd,
To keepe men still in awe,
But euery man vnto himselfe,
Will now set downe a lawe,
Such as his will doth fancy best,
They neuer care how bad,
Nor farre from God and godlinesse,
So pleasure may be had.
If lawlesse lust were lawfull loue,
If wauering wordes were deedes,
Then would the Court bring foorth more fruite,
And not so many weedes.
Thou knowest among the courting crew,
How little fayth is forced:
Sound friendship from the most of them.
Is vtterly deuorced.
Who cannot flatter, glose and lie,
And set thereon a face,
Is neuer able for his life,
To get a Courtly grace.
Who sweates not in his sutes of silke,
And is not passing braue,
Amongst them beares no countenance,
They deeme him but a slaue
As long as thou hast store of coyne,
And spendst it with the best,
In outward shew great friendlinesse,
To thee shalbe profest.
But if thy wealth begin to weare,
If pence begin to fayle thee,
Theyr friendship then in time of neede,
But little shall auayle thee.
For they will shrinke their heades aside,
And leaue thee poste alone,
If twenty were thy friendes before,
Now hardly getst thou one.

I pray thee let vs scan this case,
And doe thou sadly tell,
What thing at first, did make thee like,
And loue the Court so well?
Didst thinke that there a godly life,
Might soonest be attaynde,
And motions of the sinfull fleshe,
Most easily be refraynd?
That cannot be, for all men see,
How vice is there imbraste,
And vertue with the greatest parte,
Is vtterly defaste.
Did hope of wealth, first pricke thee foorth,
In Court to spend thy life?
Or didst thou thinke that liberal gifts,
With noble men were ryfe?
If ought thou carrie in thy purse,
Thou quickly there mayst spend it:
But when thy landes, and rentes are gone,
How canst thou then amend it?
To begge would greeue thy loftie mynde,
That earst had store of wealth,
And hanging is the end of such,
as take mens goodes by stealth.
Because thou serust a noble man,
Perhaps thou makst no doubt,
In hope that he at such a pinche,
Will alwayes beare thee out.
Such hope hath hanged many a one,
Whom wilful Will did guyde:
By often proofe in these our dayes,
Too true it hath beene tried.
For when a halters sliding knot,
Hath stopt their vitall breath,
He was (say they) a handsome man,
Its pitie of his death.

Thus all too late their pitie comes,
But seldome comes their ayde,
Wherefore doe not forget these wordes,
That I to thee haue sayde,
Be not sedewste by wanton will,
Let warnings make thee wise.
And after this in all thy deedes,
Be rulde by good aduise.

This tale beeyng tolde, he heald his peace,
And I which found it true,
Did yeeld him thankes and gate me home,
And bad the Court adew.

We till to sowe, we sow to reape,
We reape and grind it by and by:
We grinde to bake, we bake to eate,
We eate to liue, we liue to die.
We die with Christ to rest in ioy,
In heauen made free from all anoy.

FINIS.

Gilloflowers. A Preface to certaine questions and Riddles ensuing, translated out of Italian verse, into english verse, by H.G.

Al yee vnto whome the skanning and viewing,
Shal come of these questions, & riddles ensuing:
I let you first know thus much without fayning,
That all of them carry a good and cleane meaning,
If so they be constred aright in their sense,
Thus much may I boldly speake in their defence:
But if in ill part some fortune to take them,
We fayle of the end, to which we did make them.
Which was for the solace of them that can vse them.
What thinges can be sound, if men wil abuse them?
To such as are cleane, what can be vnpure?
Such as are defilde, ill thoughts haue in vre,
If of any riddle badde sense ye pick out,
Gesse at it againe: ye fayle without doubt,
And doe not aright his meaning expound:
Their true exposition is honest and sound.
And that shall be proued, if you will craue tryall,
So truely, that no man will stand in deniall.
Committing the sequel to your approbation,
I finish the preface of this my translation.

1

A Father once, as bookes expresse,
Had sonnes twise sixe, nor more nor lesse:
Ech sonne of children had scores three,
Halfe of them sonnes, halfe daughters bee.
The sonnes are farre more white then snowe,
The daughters blacker then a crow.
Wee see these children dayly die,
And yet they liue continually.

The father the yeere: the xii. sōnes, e xii. months: the lx. children, the xxx. dayes, and xxx. nights.

2

A mightie blacke horse, with gallant white winges,
Within his graund paunch beares many straunge things:
Hee oft doth trauayle for maysters auayle,
And caryes his bridle tyed fast to his taile.
In going hee flyes twixt earth and the ayre,
And oft, where they would not, his riders doth beare:
Hee hath diuers eies, and yet cannot see,
I pray you doe tell mee what may this beast bee?

A Ship.

3

A certaine thing liueth in place neere at hande,
Whose nature is straunge, if it bee well scand:
It sees without eyes, it flyes without winges.
It runnes without feete, it workes wondrous thinges.
To places far distant it often doth rome:
Yet neuer departeth, but taryes at home.
If thou doe it couet to feele or to see,
Thy labour is lost, for it may not bee.

A mans minde.

4

What am I that wanting, both handes feete and head,
Of all them that see me, being deemed for dead.
Of breath haue great store, and moue too and fro,
Now vp, and now downe, now hye, and now low?
Alas what hard fortune doth to mee befall:

That guiltlesse am spited of great and of small.
They strike me, and push mee, South, West, North & East:
Yet doe I no harme to most, neither least.
When as my breath fayling, I can doe no more,
They then giue mee ouer, and neuer before.

A footeball made of a bladder.

5

I being the daughter of my vncles brother,
Am now of late become a mother:
And with my milke from my pappes which flowes,
I nourish a sonne, my mothers owne spowse,
Now tell what I am, declare mine estate,
For I giue him sucke, that first me begate.

An old man being in prison, his daughter comming to visite him, woulde geue him surke of her breasts & so nourish him.

6

None liueth more iocound in al the whole land,
Though head doth lye buryed in mucke and in sand:
My beard it is gray, though not very old,
The strong I make weepe, nor for heate, nor for cold:
Yet such is my state, that the poore loue me well.
And stil I am forst with great men to dwell.

An Onion.

7

From south and west commeth a straunge warlike nation,
Attirde and appareld in wonderfull fashion:
In garments milke white, these people are clad,
Which strike and oppresse both good men and bad,
But fauour they shew in dealing their blowes,
And saue him from danger, ech on his way goes.
And on his backe caryes dead bodyes great store,
Which with their thicke buffets had beate them before,
Great furies are kindled at end of the fray:
Which makes this straunge nation all vanish away.

Men trauellng in the snow are beaten with it, and carry the dead bodies on their garments vntill they come to a fire, which makes them vanish away.

8

Long is it since first to the world I came,
Small am I of body, poore, feeble, and lame:
Yet none in this world, nor one neyther other,
In richesse and substaunce surpasseth my mother.

Hempe.

8

Not long am I graunted this life to enioy,
So many there are that worke mee annoy.
O Lord how they rent mee, it cannot bee told:
What torments I suffer in heat and in cold.
One while am I drowned, such hap doth befal,
Then next doe they rost me: yet this is not al.
When thus they haue vsde me, they cannot forbeare me,
Ere first being beaten, by peecemeale they teare me.
Then serue I the turne of euery estate,
But one kinde of people mee deadly doth hate.

Hempe.

9

Doe tell me my friends, what creature is hee,
That two times is borne, as all men may see,
And liueth a space, though not very long:
And often is killed, not hauing done wrong?
VVhen yt his breath fayleth, it liueth no more,
It then is baptised, and neuer before.
Though many a one doe euill entreate it,
They loue it right well, and often doe eate it.

A chicken, being first an Egge, & then a chicken.

10

A certain dead creature in mine armes I take,
With her back to my bosome, great glee doth she make
As thus I doe hold her, she greatly doth cheere mee,
And wel are they pleased, that see me and heare mee.
Whilst erst it remayned in forest and field,
It silent remayning, no speech forth did yeeld.
But since she of life, by death was depriued,
With language shee speaketh, mens sprites are reuiued.

A Lute.

11

A father begat me, yet I haue no mother.
Nor Uncle nor aunt, nor sister, nor brother.
Straight when I was born, I began to florish,
For euery estate tooke care me to norish,
Thus many score yeeres, they haue loued me full well:

And eke entertaind me, amongst them to dwell,
All partes of the world I viewd in short space:
And still was bad welcome, in euery place.
Though many by me, reape losse, care, and woe,
They neuer will licence me from them to goe.

Play at all kinde of games,

12

Hard fortun doth haunt me, by nature estranged
From male into female, I often am chaunged.
And where as before I liud well contented,
With prickings and punchings I now am tormented:
Now, more to accomplish their greedy desire,
They cruelly heate mee, and scortch me with fire.
Though badly they vse mee, so milde am I still:
That I yeelde them life that thus doe mee kill.

Wheat being the Newter Gēder, in Latin is turned into farinam, meale, which is the feminine, which is then cōnerted into bread, & so nourisheth them that bake it.

13

Amongst the firiendships rare,
Of which old writers tell:
This may bee plaste in highest roome,
And doth deserue it well.
Whiles death with gasping throte
Did gape for bloody pray,
Life conquered death, and saude that life,
Which death did seeke to slay.
That life which did this deede,
As death would straight haue slaine:
That life which late by him was saude,
Preserude from death againe.

A man cōming to a foūtaine to drinke, saw a serpent climbing vp on a tree, to deuour a neast of young Egles, which serpent hee slewe with his sworde, and so saued their liues, beeing about then to drink of the water, the young birdes, scraping out the filth of their nests fowled it in such sort, that it letted him from drinking: a spaniel that he had there with him, tasting of it, was presently poysoned.

14

Begot without father, in earth I remaine,
And oft I am turnd, to my mother againe.
By night and by day I labour alwaies,
And with my sharp sauor both please & displease.
Thus heere in this earth my race out I runne:
And neuer haue issue, nor daughter, nor sonne.

Salt.

15

A female I by name,
Am sister to a brother:
In all the world may not bee found,
Our like, nor one nor other.
For hee no sooner dies,
But I straightwayes doe liue:
And I oft yeelding vnto death,
Still life to him doe giue.
Oft after him I hie,
And gladly would him stay:
But hee than arow from the bow,
More swiftly flyes away.
Straightwayes hee folowes me,
My presence to attaine:
And as hee fled from me before,
I flye from him againe.
Though straunge our state doth seeme,
By proofe yee may it try:
That both of vs are still aliue,
Yet both doe dayly die.
That yee may better know,
What straungers great wee bee.
Wee day and night doe dine and sup,
With men of ech degree.

The night and day.

16

Two are we in name, though in substaunce but one,
First framed by arte then finisht with mone.
Before we are ready, for those that will buy,
Through greatnesse of torment, wee howle and wee cry.
Yet feele we no griefe, for all this anoy,
Great numbers by vs haue comfort and ioy.
Who when for their profits we haue done what wee may,
They then do reiect vs, and cast vs away.

A paire of sheares.

17

Fayre art thou and red, deseruing great praise,
And all men thee reuerence, and honour alwayes,

Whiles that thy white banner abrode still is spread,
For then thou doest comfort both liuing and dead,
But if thy blacke banner bee spread foorth in vew,
All honour farewell, all gladnesse adew.
Such woe then thou bringest to more and to lesse,
As pen cannot write it, nor tongue may expresse.

A good tongue and a bad

18

Of thee (O my friend) a thing I doe craue,
Which thou neuer hadst, nor neuer shalt haue.
If that for thy selfe thou purpose to gayne it,
Thy labour is lost, thou mayst not obtayne it.
Although thou shouldst liue a whole thousand yeere,
And seeke it, yet shouldst thou be nothing the neere.
Now if thou doe loue me, euen so as thou sayest,
Doe geue it. For truely, I know that thou mayst.

A mayde beeing in loue with a young man, desires him to geue her a husbande, which in marriyng with her hee might doe.