University of Virginia Library

Alexander Neuyll.

The Moūtaines hie the blustryng wīds
The fluds: ye Rocks wtstād
The Cities strong, the Cānons shot,
& threatning Cheiftains hād.
The Castels houge by long beseyge,
and dredfull battrye brooke,
Bothe fyre, & flames, and thundrynge thumps
and euery deadly stroke,
With feruent broylyng furious rage,
doth beate, and dryue to ground
The long defenced wars by force,
and throughly them confound.
Ryght so thy Muse (Oh worthy Googe.)
thy pleasaunt frained style
Discouerd lyes to momish Mouthes
Reprochfull tongs and vyle
Diffaming minds. Regard them not.
preas thou for hygher prayse.
Submit thy selfe to persons graue,
whose Iudgement ryght alwayes
By Reason rulde doth ryghtly iudge,
whom Fancies none can charme,
Which in the most Incōstant brains,
are chyefly wont to swarme.
Whom no desyre of fylthy gayne,
whom lucre none can moue
From truth to stray. Such mē esteam,
Such such embrace and loue.
On such men stay thy tender years,
such Patrons seeke to chuse.
Which taught by Tyme, & practisde Proofe
vprightest iudgement vse.
But as for those Crabsnowted bestes
those ragyng feends of Hell.
Whose vile, malicious, hatefull mindes,
wt boylyng Rancour swell.
Which puft with Pryde, enflamd wt spight,
& drownd in deape disdain:
Lyke Momus monstrous broode outright
euen of a ielows Brayn
With curious, cāckard, carping mouthes,
most famous dedes diffame,
Defacing those whose labours great,
Deserue immortall name.
Such crab faced, cākerd, carlish chuffs
within whose hatefull brestes,
Suche Malice bydes, suche Rancour broyles,
such endles Enuy rests
Esteame thou not. No preiudice
to thee: nor yet oprest,
Thy famous wrytyngs are by them.
Thou lyuest and euer shalt.
Not all the slaundryng tonges aliue,
may purchase blame or fault
Unto to thy name (O worthy Googe.)
No tyme, no fyrye flame
Not all the furies frettyng Force,
Thy doynges may dyffame.
Let them in broyle of burning spight,
continuall Toyle sustayne
Let thē fele scourging Plags of mind
Let euer duryng payne,
Spred through their poisoned vaines.
wt payse of dedly waight: (Let Care
Oppresse theyr vyle infected Harts,
with stynging Malyce fraight.
Let them destroy them selvs in Time.
In Rancour let them boyle.
Let mortall hate, let pynching gryefes,
let flamyng torments broyle,
Within theyr greuous vexed brests,
for euermore to dwell
Let them fele Enuies cursed force,
(consumyng Feend of Hell.)
Defye them all. μισανθρωποι
and squynteyd Monsters ryght
They are. In fyne leue Sow to swill
and Chuff to canckerd Spyght.
But thou procede in vertuous dedes,
and as thou haste begon,
Go forward styll to aduaūce thy fame
Lyfes Race halfe ryghtly ron
Farre easyer tis for to obtain,
the Type of true Renowne.
Like Labours haue ben recompenst
with an immortall Crowne.
By this doth famouse Chaucer lyue,
by this a thousande moore
Of later yeares. By this alone
the olde renowmed Stoore
Of Auncient Poets lyue. By this
theyr Praise aloft doth mownt.
Unto the Skyes: and equall is
with Stars aboue. Accownt
Thy selfe then worthy of the lyke,
yf that thou doste proceade
By famous deds thy Fame to enhaūce
and name abroade to spreade.
With Courage stout thā through the thikst
thou needst not for to feare.
Not he that sayth, but he that doth,
ought Gloryes Garlande weare.
Thus shalt yu styll augment thy name,
and wyn the hyghe Renowne,
And present Prayse, in present Lyfe,
and after Death a Crowne
Of Honour, that for euer lasts.
immortall Fame in fyne.
To whose reward, thy faithfull Frend
doth wholly the resygne.

The Preface of L. Blundeston.

[Eglogs.]

Egloga prima

Daphnes. Amintas.
Amin.
Thy prayses Daphnes are to great,
and more for me than meete:
Nor euer I, suche saged sawes,
coulde synge in Uerses sweete.
And now, to talke of spring time tales
my heares to hoare, do growe
Suche tales as these, I tolde in, tyme,
when youthfull yeares dyd flowe.
But synce, I can not the denye,
thy Fathers loue doth bynde:
In symple Songe I wyll adresse
my selfe, to showe my mynde.
Longe hast thou Daphnes me requyred
the state of Loue to tell,
For in my youth, I knewe the force,
and passions all, full well.
Nowe Loue therfore I wyll defyne
and what it is declare,
which way poore souls it doth entrap
and howe it them doth snare.
My Boie, remoue my beasts frō hens
and dryue them farther downe,
Upon the Hylles, let them go feade,
that ioyne to yender towne,
O Cupyde kynge of fyerye Loue,
ayde thou my syngynge Uerse,
And teache me heare the cause & case,
Of Louers to reherse,
Direct my tong, in trothe to treade,
with Furye fyll my brayne,
That I may able be to tell,
the cause of Louers payne.
Opinions diuers coulde I showe,
but chiefest of them all,
I wyll declare: and for the rest,
with silence leaue I shall.
A feruent Humour, (some do iudge)
within the Head doth lye,
Whiche yssuyng forth with poysoned beames
doth ron frō eye to eye:
And taking place abrode in heads,
a whyle doth fyrmely rest:
Till Phrensie framde in Fancie fond
discends from hed, to brest.

Plato.

And poison strong, frō eies outdrawn
doth perce the wretched harte,
And all infectes the bloud aboute,
and boyles in euery parte:
Thus: whē the beames, infected hath,
the wofull Louers blud:
Then Sences al, do strayght decaye,
opprest with Furyes flud.
Then Lybertie withdrawes herself,
and Bondage beares the swaye,
Affection blynd then leades the hart,
and Wyt, is wownde awaye.
O Daphnes then, the paines appeare,
and tormentes all of hell.
Then sekes, the selye wounded soule,
the flames for to expell.
But all to late, alas he stryues,
for Fancie beares the stroke
And he, must toyle (no helpe there is)
in slauysshe seruyle yoke.
His blud corrupted all within,
doth boyle in euery vayne,
Than sekes he howe to sewe for salue
that maye redresse his payne.
And when the face, he doth beholde
by whiche he shulde haue ayde,
And sees no helpe, thē lookes he long,
and trembleth all afrayde.
And museth at the framed shape,
that hath his lyfe in handes:
Nowe fast he flies, aboute the flames,
nowe styll amased standes:
Yet Hope relieues, his hurtful Heate
and Wyll doth Payne make lyght,
And al the griefes, that then he feeles
doth Presence styll requyght.
But when the Lyght absented is,
and Beames in hart remayne,
Then flames the Fyre fresh agayne,
and newe begyns his Payne.
Then longe he lookes, his losse to se,
then sobbes, and syghes abounde,
Then mourneth he, to mys the marke
that erst to soone he founde.
Then shadefull places oute he lookes,
and all alone he lyues,
Exylynge Ioye, and myrth from him,
hymselfe to waylynge gyues,
And styll his minde theron doth muse
and styll, therof he prates,
O Daphnes here I swere to the,
no griefe to Louers state.
Yf he but ones beholde the place,
where he was wont to mete,
The pleasaunt forme yt hym enflamd,
and ioyfull Countnaunce swete.
The place (a wonderous thing I tell)
his gryefe augmenteth newe,
Yet styll he sekes the place to se,
that moste he shulde eschewe.
Yf but the name rehearsed be,
(a thynge more straunge to heare)
Then Colour cōmes and goes in hast
then quaketh he for feare,
The verye name, hath suche a force,
that it can dase the mynde,
And make the man amasde to stande,
what force hath Loue to bynde?
Affection none to this is lyke,
it doth surmownt them all,
Of greiffes, the greatest greif no doubt
is to be Venus thrall,
And therfore, Daphnes nowe beware,
for thou art yonge, and fre,
Take heade of vewynge faces longe,
for losse of Lybertye,
I shall not nede (I thynke) to byd
the, to detest the Cryme,
Of wycked loue, that Ioue did vse,

Iupiter.

In Ganimedes tyme,
For rather wolde I (thoo it be muche)
that thou shuldest seake the fyre,
Of lawfull Loue, that I haue tolde,
than burne wyth suche desyre,
And thus an end, I weryed am,
my wynde is olde, and faynt,
Suche matters I, do leaue to suche,
as finer farre can paint,
Fetche in the Gote: that goes astraye,
and dryue hym to the folde,
My yeares be great I wyl be gone,
for spryngtyme nyghts be colde.

Daphnes
Great thankes to the, for this thy tale
Amintas here I gyue:
But neuer can I make amendes
to the whilste I do lyue.
Yet for thy paynes (no recompence)
a small rewarde haue here.
A whistle framed longe ago,
wherwith my father deare
His ioyfull beasts, was wont to kepe.
No Pype fortune so swete
Might shepharde euer yet posses.
(a thynge for the full mete.)

Egloga secunda.

Dametas.
My beasts, go fede vpon ye plaine,
and let your herdman lye,
Thou seest her mind, & fearst yu nowe,
Dametas for to dye?
Why stayest yu thus? why doste yu stay?
thy lyfe to longe doth laste:
Accounte this flud, thy fatall graue,
syth time of hope is paste.
What meanst thou thus to linger on?
thy life wolde fayne departe,
Alas: the wounde doth fester styll,
of cursed Cupids darte.
No salue but this, can helpe thy sore,
no thynge can moue her minde
She hath decreed, that thou shalt dye,
no helpe there is to finde.
Nowe syth there is, no other helpe,
nor ought but this to trye,
Thou seest her mind: why fearste thou than?
Dametas for to dye.
Long hast thou serued, & serued true,
but all alas, in vayne,
For she thy seruyce, nought estemes,
but deales the griefe for gayne.
For thy good wyll, (a gay rewarde)
Disdayne, for Loue she gyues,
Thou louest her while thy life doth last,
she hates the, wile she liues.
Thou flamste, when as yu seest her face
with Heate of hye desyre,
She flames agayne, but how? (alas)
with depe disdaynfull Ire.
The greatest pleasure is to the,
to se her voyde of Payne,
The greatest gryefe to her agayne,
to se thy Health remayne.
Thou couetste euer her to fynde,
she sekes from the to flye,
Thou seest her mynd, why fearst thou than?
Dametas for to dye?
Doste thou accounte it best to kepe,
thy lyfe in sorowes styll?
Or thynkste thou best it now to lyue,
Contrarye to her wyll?
Thynkste thou thy lyfe for to retaine?
when she is not content,
Canste thou addicte: thy selfe to lyue?
and she to murder bent.
Doste thou entende agayne, to sewe
for mercye at her handes?
As soone thou mayst go plow ye rocks,
and reape vpon the Sandes.
Draw nere O mighty Herd of beasts
syth no man els is bye,
Your Herdman longe that hathe you kept,
Dametas nowe must dye.
Resolue your Brutisshe eies to teares
and all togyther crye,
Bewayle the wofull ende of Loue,
Dametas nowe must dye.
My pleasaunt Songs, nowe shall you here
no more on Mountaines hye,
I leaue you all, I must be gone.
Dametas nowe must dye:
To Titirus I you resyne,
in Pasture good to lye,
For Titirus shall kepe you thoughe,
Dametas nowe must dye.
O cursed Cause, that hath me slayne,
My trothe alas to trye,
O Shephardes all, be Wytnesses,
Dametas here doth dye.

Egloga tertia.

Menalcas. Coridon.
Cor.
A great mishap, and griefe of mynde,
is him befalne of late,
Which causeth him, against his wyll,
to lose his olde estate.
A lustie flocke hath Titirus,
that him Dametas gaue,
Dametas he; that Martir died,
whose soule the heaues haue,
And in this flocke, full many Yewes
of pleasaunte forme do goe,
with thē almighty Rāme doth ronne,
that workes all Woers woe.
My Rāme, whē he the pleasaūt dames
had vewed rounde aboute,
Those groūde of battayle, with his foe
and thought to fyght it oute.
But all to weake, (alas) he was,
althoughe his harte was good,
For when his enemye him espied,
he rāne woth cruell moode.
And with his croked weapon smote,
him sore vpon the syde,
A blowe of force, that stayde not there
but to the legges dyd glyde.
And almoste laamd the woer quyte.
(suche happes in loue there be:)
This is the cause, of all his griefe
and waylynge that you se.

Men.
Well Coridon let hym go halte,
and let vs both go lye,
In yonder busshe of Iuniper,
the Beasts shall fede hereby.
A pleasaunt place here is to talke:
good Coridon begyn,
And let vs knowe the Townes estate,
that thou remaynest in.

Cor.
The Townes estate? Menalcas oh
thou makste my harte to grone,
For Uice hath euery place posseste,
and Uertue thence is flowne.
Pryde beares her selfe, as Goddesse chiefe
and boastes aboue ye Skye,
And Lowlynes an abiecte lyes,
with Gentlenes her bye,
Wyt is not ioynde with Symplenes,
as she was wont to be,
But sekes the ayde of Arrogance,
and craftye Polycie.
Nobylitie begyns to fade,
and Carters vp do sprynge,
Then whiche, no greater plague can hap,
nor more pernicious thynge.
Menalcas I haue knowen my selfe,
within this thyrtye yeare,
Of Lordes and Auncient Gentelmen
a hundreth dwellynge theare,
Of whom we Shephardes had reliefe
suche Gentlenes of mynde,
Was placed in theyr noble Hartes,
as none is nowe to fynde.
But Hawtynes and proude Disdayne
hath nowe the chiefe Estate,
For syr Iohn Straw, & syr John Cur,
wyll not degenerate.
And yet, they dare account thē selues
to be of Noble bludde.
But Fisshe bred vp, in durtye Pooles,
wyll euer stynke of mudde.
I promysse the Menalcas here,
I wolde not them enuye.
Yf any spot of Gentlenes,
in them I myght espye.
For yf theyr Natures gentell be,
thoughe byrth be neuer so base,
Of Gentelmen (for mete it is)
they ought haue name and place:
But whē by byrth, they base are bred,
and churlisshe harte retaine,
Though place of gentleman thei haue
yet churles they do remayne.
A prouerbe olde, hash ofte ben harde
and nowe full true is tryed:
An Ape, wyll euer be an Ape,
thoughe purple garments hyde.
For seldom, wyll the mastye course,
the Hare or els the Deare:
But styll, accordynge to his kynde.
wyll holde, the hogge by theare.
Unfitte are danghill knights to serue
the towne, with Speare in fielde:
Nor strange it semes, (a sudain Chop)
to leape from whyp, to shielde.
The chiefest man, in all our towne,
that beares the greatest swaye,
Is Coridon no kynne to me,
a Neteherd thother daye
This Coridon come from the Carte,
In honour chiefe doth sytte,
And gouernes vs: because he hath,
a Crabbed, Clownish wytte.
Nowe se the Churlysh Crueltye,
that in hys harte remayns.
The selye Sheape ye Shephards good,
haue fosterd vp wyth Paynes,
And browght awaye, from Stynkyng dales
on pleasant Hylles to feade:
O Cruell Clownish Coridon,
O cursed Carlish Seade:
The simple Shepe, constrayned he,
theyr Pasture swete to leaue,
And to theyr old corrupted Grasse.
enforceth them to cleaue.
Such Shepe, as wold not them obaye
but in theyr Pasture byde.
with (cruell flames,) they did cōsume
and vex on euery syde.
And wt the shepe, ye Shephardes good,
(O hatefull Hounds of Hell,)
They did torment. and dryue thē out,
in Places farre to dwell.
There dyed Daphnes for his Shepe,
the chiefest of them all.
And fayre Alexis flamde in Fyre,
who neuer perysshe shall.
O Shephards wayle, for Daphnes deth,
Alexis hap lament,
And curs the force of cruell hartes,
that them to death haue sent.
I, synce I sawe suche synfull syghts,
dyd neuer lyke the Towne,
But thought it best to take my sheepe,
and dwell vpon the downe.
Wheras I lyue, a pleasaunt lyfe,
and free from cruell handes,
I wolde not leaue, the plesaunt fyelde
for all the Townysh Landes.
For syth that Pryde, is placed thus,
and Uice set vp so hye:
And Crueltie doth rage so sore,
and men lyue all awrye:
Thynkste yu? ye God, wil long forbere,
his scourge, and plague to sende?
To suche as hym do styll despyse
and neuer seke to mende?
Let them be sure he wyll reuenge.
when they thynke leaste vpon.
But looke a stormy showre doth ryse,
whiche wyll fall heare anone.
Menalcas best we nowe departe,
my Cottage vs shall keepe,
For there is rowme for the, and me,
and eke for all our sheepe:
Som Chestnuts haue I there in store
with Cheese and pleasaunt whaye,
God sends me Uittayles for my nede,
and I synge Care awaye.

Egloga quarta.

Milibeus Palemon.
O God , that guyds ye golden Globe,
wher shinyng shapes do dwel
O thou yt throwest the thūder thumps
from Heauen a hye, to Hell,
what wonders workes thy worthynes
what meruayles doste thou frame?
What secrete syghts be Subiect sene
vnto thy holy name?
A symple Shepharde slayne of late,
by foolysshe force of Loue,
That had not Grace such fancies fond
and Flames for to remoue,
Appeared late, before myne eies,
(Alas I feare to speake,)
Not as he here was wont to lyue,
whyle Gryefe hym none did breake.
But all in Blacke, he clothed came
an vgly syght to se:
As they that for theyr due Desartes,
with Paynes tormented be,
My shepe for feare amased ran,
and fled from Hyll to Dale,
And I alone remayned there,
with countenaunce wan and pale.
O Lorde (quoth I,) what meanes this thyng
is this Alexis spryght?
Or is it Daphnes soule that showes?
to me this dredfull syght.
Or comes some Feend of Hell abrode?
with feare men to torment?
Megera this? or Tisiphon?
Or is Alecto sent?
what soeuer thou art, yt thus dost com
Ghoost, Hagge, or Fende of Hell:
I the cōmaunde by hym that lyues,
thy name and case to tell.
With this, a stynkyng smoke I sawe,
from out his mouth to flye,
And wt that same, his voyce did sound.
None of them all am I.
But one thy frende (O oldiber)
Dametas was my name,
Dametas I, that slewe my selfe,
by force of foolysshe flame.
Dametas I, that dotynge dyed,
In fyre of vnkynde Loue:
Dametas I, whom Deiopey,
dyd cause suche ende to proue,
The same Dametas here I com,
by lycens vnto the:
For to declare the wofull state,
that happens now to me.
(O Melibes) take hede of Loue,
of me Example take,
That slewe my selfe, and liue in Hell,
for Deiopeias sake.
I thought that Deth shuld me release
from paynes and dolefull woe,
But nowe (alas) the trothe is tryed,
I fynde it nothynge soe,
For looke what Payne & gryefe I felt
when I lyued heare afore:
With those I nowe tormented ant,
and with ten thousand more.
I meane not that I burne in loue,
suche foolysh toyes begon,
But Gryefes in nombre haue I lyke
and many more vpon.
O cursed Loue, (what shulde I saye,)
that brought me fyrste to Payne,
Well, myght I ones despyse thy lore,
but nowe (alas) in vayne.
With fond Affection, I dyd stame,
whiche nowe I moste repent,
But all to late (alas) I wayle,
syth hope of Grace is spent.
The fickle fadynge forme, and face,
that ones so muche I sowght,
Hath made me lose the Skyes aboue,
and me to Hell hath browght.
Why had I Reason delt to me?
and coulde not Reason vse.
Why gaue I, Brydle to my wyll?
when I myght well refuse.
A wycked Wyll, in dede it was,
that blynded so my syght,
That made me on such fadyng Duste,
to set my whole Delyght.
A fonde Affection lead me then,
When I for God dyd place,
A Creature, cause of all my Care,
a flesshye fletynge face,
A woman Waue of Wretchednes,
a Paterne pylde of Pryde,
A Mate of Myschiefe and Distresse,
for whom (a Foole) I dyed,
Thus whyle be spake, I sawe me thought
of Hell an vglye Fende,
With lothsome Clawes, hym for to close
and forced him there to ende.
And with this same, (O Melibey,)
farewell, farewell (quoth he.)
Eschewe the Blase of feruent flames,
Example take of me.
My Harte with this began to rent,
and all amasde I stoode.
O lord (quoth I) what flames be these
what Rage, what Furyes woode?
Doth Loue procure, to wretched men
what Bondage doth it brynge?
Paine here: & Paine in lyfe to come.
(O dolefull, dredefull thynge.)
I quake to heare, this Storye tolde,
and Melibei I fainte,
For sure I thought Dametas had,
ben placed lyke a Saynte.
I thought that cruel Charons Boate,
had myste of hym her frayght,
And through his deth, he mounted had
to starres and Heauens strayght.
Howe valiantly dyd he despyse,
his lyfe in Bondage ledde?
And sekyng Deth with courage hye,
from Loue and Ladye fledde.
And is he thus rewarded nowe?
The ground be cursed than,
That fosterde vp, so fayre a face
that loste so good a Man.

Egloga quinta.

Mopsus. Egon.
Egon.
As pytedous thinge to be bewaylde
a desperate Acte of Loue,
(O Destenies) suche cruell broyles,
Howe haue you power to moue?
Here lyued a Ladye fayre of late,
that Claudia men dyd call:
Of goodly forme, yea suche a one,
as farre surmounted all.
The stately Dames, yt in this Courte,
to showe them selues do lye,
There was not one in all the Crewe:
that coulde come Claudia nye.
A worthy Knyght dyd loue her longe,
and for her sake dyd feale,
The panges of Loue. that happen styl
by frownyng Fortunes wheale,
He had a Page, Valerius named,
whom so muche he dyd truste,
That all the secrets of his Hart,
to hym declare he muste.
And made hym all the onely meanes,
to sue for his redresse,
And so entreate for grace to her,
that caused his distresse.
She whan as fyrst she saw his page
was strayght with hym in Loue,
That no thynge coulde Valerius face,
from Claudias mynde remoue
By hym was Faustus often harde,
by hym his sutes toke place,
By hym he often dyd aspyre,
to se his Ladyes face.
This passed well, tyll at the length,
Valerius sore dyd sewe;
With many teres besechynge her,
his Maysters gryefe to rewe,
And tolde her that yf she wolde not
release, his Maysters payne,
He neuer wolde attempte her more,
nor se her ones agayne.
She then with mased countnaunce there
and teares yt gushing fell,
Astonyed answerde thus, loe nowe,
alas I se to well,
Howe longe I haue deceyued ben,
by the Valerius heare,
I neuer yet beleued before,
nor tyll this tyme dyd feare,
That thou dydste for thy Mayster sue
but onely for my sake.
And for my syght, I euer thought,
thou dydste thy trauayle take.
But nowe I se the contrarye,
thou nothynge carste for me,
Synce fyrst thou knewste, the fyerye flames
that I haue felte by the.
O Lorde howe yll, thou doste requyte
that I for the haue done,
I curse the time, that frendshyp fyrst,
to showe, I haue begon.
O lorde I the beseche let me,
in tyme reuenged be:
And let hym knowe that he hath synd,
in this misusynge me.
I can not thynke, but Fortune once,
shall the rewarde for all,
And vengeaunce due for thy deserts,
in tyme shall on the fall.
And tell thy maister Faustus nowe,
yf he wolde haue me lyue:
That neuer more he sewe to me,
this aunswere laste I gyue:
And thou o Traytour vyle,
and enmye to my lyfe,
Absent thy selfe from out my syght,
procure no greater stryfe,
Synce yt these teares, had neuer force
to moue thy stoneye harte,
Let neuer these my werysdeyes,
se the no more. Departe.
This sayde, in haste she hieth in,
and there doth vengeaunce call,
And strake her self, with cruel knyfe,
and bluddye downe doth fall.
This dolfull chaūce, whā Faustus heard
lamentynge lowde he cryes,
And teares his heare and doth accuse,
the vniust and cruell Skies.
And in this ragynge moode awaye,
he stealeth oute alone,
And gone he is: no mā knowes where
eche man doth for hym mone.
Valerius whan he doth perceyue,
his Mayster to be gone:
He weepes & wailes, in piteous plight
and forth he ronnes anone.
No Man knowes where, he is becom,
some saye the wooddes he tooke,
Intendynge there to ende his lyfe,
on no Man more to looke:
The Courte lamentes, the Princesse eke
her selfe doth weepe for woe,
Loe, Faustus fled, and Claudia deade.
Valerius vanysshed soe.

Egloga sexta.

Felix. Faustus.
Felix.
O Faustus , whom aboue the rest,
of Shephardes here that kepe,
Upon these holts, yt nōbre great
of waight ye fleesed shepe:
I euer haue estemde: and coūted eke,
the chiefest Frende of all,
What great mishap, what scourge of minde
or griefe hath the befall?
That hath the brought ī such a plight
farre from thy wonted guyse?
What meanes this coūtenaūce all bespret
wt teres? these wretched eies
This mournynge looke, this Uesture sad
this wrethe of Wyllow tree,
(Unhappy man) why doste thou wepe
what chaunce hath altered the?
Tell tell, me soone, I am thy frende,
Disclose to me thy gryefe,
Be not afrayde, for frendes do serue,
to gyue thyr Frendes relyefe.

Faustus.
The wofull cause of all my hurte,
good Felix longe agoe,
Thou knewst full well: I nede not now
by wordes to double woe,
Synce that (alas) all hope is past
synce gryefe, and I am one,
And synce the Ladye of my lyfe,
(my faute) I haue forgone,
What woldst yu haue me do (oh frend?)
to Ioye? in suche dystres?
Naye pleasures quyte I banish here,
and yelde to Heuynes,
Let gryefes torment me euermore,
let neuer Cares awaye.
Let neuer Fortune turne her wheale
to gyue me blysfull daye.
Loue hath me scourged: I am content
lament not thou my state.
Let spyght on me take vengeaunce nowe
let me be torne with hate.
Let her enioye, her happye lyfe,
a Flowre of golden hewe,
That closeth when the Son doth set,

A Marygolde.

and spreads with Phebus newe.
Syth frō my Garlande now is falne,
this famouse Flowre swete:
Let Wyllows wynde aboute my hed,
(a Wrethe for Wretches mete)

Felix.
Fye Faustus, let not Fancie fonde,
in the beare suche a swaye,
Expell Affections from thy mynde,
and dryue them quyght awaye.
Embrace thine Auncient Lybertie,
let Bondage vyle be fled:
Let Reason rule, thy crased Brayne,
place Wyt, in Folies steade.
Synce she is gone, what remedye?
why shuldest thou so lament?
Wilt thou destroy thy self with tears
and she to pleasures bent?
Gyue eare to me, and I wyll showe
the remedies for Loue
That I haue learned longe agoe:
and in my youth dyd proue.
Such remedies as soone shall quenche
the flames of Cupids Fyre,
Suche remedies as shall delaye,
the Rage of fonde Desyre.
For Faustus yf thou folow styll,
the blynded God to please,
And wylt not seke, by Reasons Rule,
to purchase thyne owne ease,
Long ranst thou not thy frends enioy
but byd them all farewell.
And leaue thy lyfe, and giue thy soule
to depest fluds of Hell.
Leaue of therfore, betymes and let
Affection beare no swaye,
And now at fyrst the Fyre quench
before it further straye,
Eche thyng is easely made to obaye,
whyle it is yong and grene,
The tender twyg, that now doth bend
at length refuseth cleane.
The feruent Fyre, that flamyng fyrst,
may lytell water drenche,
When as it hath obtayned tyme,
whole Ryuers can not quenche:
Forsake the Town, (my Faustus deare)
and dwell, vpon this playne,
And tyme shall heale, thy festryng woūd
& Absence banysh Payne.
Aboue all thynges fly Idlenes,
For this doth dowble strength,
To Louers flams, & makes thē rage,
tyl all be lost at length,
Here in thes felds, are pleasaūt things
to occupye thy brayn,
Behold: how spryng reuyues agayn,
that winter late had slayne,
Behold: the plesaunt Hylles adournd,
with dyuers colours fayre,
Geue eare to Scillas lusty songes,
reioysynge in the ayr,
What pleasure cāst thou more desyre,
then here is for to se:
Thy lusty yewes, with many a lam,
Lo: whear they wayt on the,
Thynke not vpon that cursed face,
that makes the thus her slaue
But well regard the pleasaunt lyfe,
that here thou seest me haue,
Whan I long tyme a go, did feale,
the flames of Cupids fyre,
These meanes Lo than I practised,
to cure my fond desyre.
I fyrst wayed with my selfe,
How fond a thyng it seamd,
To let my heart lye there in chaynes,
where I was nought esteamd.
And how with flames I burnt for her,
that passed nought for me,
And how, these eyes encreast my harmes
that fyrst her face did se,
With pensyfe heart full fraight with thoughts,
I fled frō thence away,
And though that Loue bad tourne my steppes,
yet wold I neuer stay,
But from that foule infectyue ayer,
wher first I tooke my sore,
I hyed in hast, and shund the place,
to se for euer more.
Eache letter that I had receyued
from her, I cast away,
And tokens all, I threw them down,
to my no small dysmay.
Then busyed I my selfe in thyngs
that myght me moste delyght,
And sought the chiefst means I could,
to helpe my weryed spryght.
Somtyme I wold behold the fyelds,
and Hylles that thou doste se,
Somtime I wold betraye the Byrds,
that lyght on lymed tree,
Especially in Shepstare tyme,
when thicke in flocks they flye,
One wold I take, and to her Leg,
a lymed Lyne wold tye,
And where ye flock flew thickest, there
I wold her cast awaye,
She strayght vnto the rest wold hye,
amongst her Mates to playe.
And preasyng in the mydste of them,
with Lyne and Lyme, and all,
With cleuyng wyngs, entangled fast
they downe togyther fall.
Somtyme I wold the lytel Fysh:
with bayted Hooke beguyle:
Somtyme the craftye Foxe I wold,
deceyue for all his wyle:
Somtyme the Wolfe, I wold pursue,
somtyme the fomyng Boore:
And whan with labour all the daye,
my weryed Lyms were soore.
Thā rest & slepe I straightway sought
no Dreames dyd me afraye:
Tormented nought with care, I past
the lyngryng nyght awaye.
And thus I cleane forgot: in tyme,
the dotyng Dayes I sawe,
And freed my self, to my great Ioye,
from Yoke of Louers Lawe.
More of this same, I wyll the tell,
the next tyme here we mete,
And strōger Medycines wyll I gyue,
to purge that Uenym swete.
Beholde the Daye is slypt awaye,
and Starres do fast appeare,
Loe where Calisto Uirgin ones,
doth shyne in Skies so cleare.
Loe where olde Cepheus walks about,
with twynyng Serpent bye,
We wyll no lenger heare abyde,
But hence wyll homwarde hye.

Egloga septima.

Siluan. Sirenus. Seluagla.
Siren.
Thou eyther art siluan borne,
Example for to gyue,
To vs that know not how,
whan Fortune frownes to lyue,
Or els hath Nature placed in the
so strong and stoute a mynde.
Suffysynge not, thyne yls alone
to beare, but meanes to fynde,
That may the Griefes of others help,
I se thou art so bent,
That Fortune can the not amase,
for all her mysciefes ment,
I promys the siluan heare,
tyme playne in the doth show,
How dayly she discouers things,
that erst dyd men not know.
I can not beare the Gryefes I feale,
my force is all to faynt,
I neuer could as thou canst stynt,
the teares of my complaynt.
Diana hath procured the paynes,
that I shall neuer ende,
When fyrst she falst her troth to me,
she kyld a faythfull frende.

Siluan.
I meruayle how she could so soone,
put the out of her mind,
A well remembre synce thou wentste
alone I dyd her fynd.
In place that sorow semde to shape,
where no man stood her nye,
But onely (I vnhappy wretche,)
that herd her wofull crye,
And this with teares alowde she sayd,
O wretche in yll tyme borne.
What chaūce hast thou? that thus thou hast
Sirenus swete forlorne.
Gyue ouer pleasures now,
Let neuer Ioye the please,
Seke all the cruell meanes thou canst
that may thy hart dysease.
Whan thou doste hym forget I wysh,
all mischifes on the lyght,
And after death, the Fendes of Hell,
torment thy lyuyng spryght.

Siren.
What man wold here beleue?
that she that thus could speake,
In so shorte tyme as I haue bene
awaye. wolde promys breake.
O stedfastnes and Constancy,
how seldome are you founde:
In womens harts to haue your seats,
Or long abydyng ground?
Who looke how much more earnest they,
at fyrst theyr hearts do set,
So much more sooner euer more,
where late they loued, forget:
Full well could euer I beleue,
all women gylty of this:
Saue her alone, in whom I iudge,
neuer nature wrought amis:
But sins her maryage how she speeds
Siluan I pray the tell?

Siluan.
Some say she lykes it very ill,
and I beleue it well:
For Delius he that bath her now,
although he welthy be,
Is but a lout and hath in hym,
no hansome qualytie:
For as for all, suche thynges wherin,
we Shepeheardes haue delyght,
As in Quaiting, Leaping, Singing or
to sound a Bagpype ryght:
In all these thinges he is but an Asse,
and nothynge do he can,
They saye tys quallities but tush,
Its ryches makes a man:

Siren.
What woman is that yt cōmeth here,
Siluan canst thou tell?

Siluan.
Its one hath sped as well in Loue,
as we, I knowe her well:
She is one of fayre Dianas frendes,
who keeps her beasts below,
Not far from hence bi her thou maist,
Dianas State wel know.
She loued hear a Shephearde cald,
Alanius longe a go:
Who fauers one ysmenia now,
the cause of al her wo:

Siluag.
No place so fyt for the as this,
Lo heare Siluan stands,
Who hath receaued lyke luck to thine
at cruel Fortunes hands,
This company besemes the well,
Fayr Shepheards both good deane,

Silua.
To the Seluagia eke of Hope,
whom Loue hath spoyled cleane:
A thousande better dayes I wysh,
than thou hast had before,

Seluag.
At length may better Fortune fall,
For worse can not be more.
To truste the fayned words of men,
Loe, thus poore womens speeds,

Siluan.
And men do smarte not through your words
but your vnconstant deeds.
For you whan earnestlyest you loue,
no thyng can chaunce so lyght.
But yf a toye com in your Brayne,
your mynde is altered quyght.
If we but ones, absent our selues,
the shortest tyme we maye,
So muche vnconstant is your minds
Loue soreth strayght awaye,
Example take Sirenus here,
whom once Diana lovd,
As all we know, and looke how soone
her mynd is now removd:
No, no, there is not one of you,
that constant can remayne:

Siluag.
You iudge but of malicious hart,
and of a Ialouse brayne.
All thyngs you do your selues esteme,
and men must beare no blame.
Of your dissemblyng noughty deeds,
we women beare the shame.

Siren.
Fayre Damesell yf you can perceyue
Siluan true doth saye
There is not one amongst you all,
but doth from reason straye.
What is the cause that women thus?
in theyr vnconstancye,
Do cast a man from hyest hap,
to deepest myserye?
Its nothyng els, I you assure,
but that you know not well,
What thing is loue, & what you haue,
in hand you can not tell.
Your symple wyts are all to weake,
Unfayned loue to know,
And therof doth forgetfulnes,
in you so shortly grow.

Seluag.
Sirenus iudge not so of vs,
our wyts be not so base,
But that we know as well as you,
whats what in euery case.
And women eke, there are ynow
that could yf they were brought
Teache men to lyue, & more to loue,
yf loue myght well be tought,
And for all this, yet do I thynke,
no thyng can worser be.
Than womens state. it is the worst,
I thynke of eche degree.
For yf they show but gentle words
you thynke for loue they dye.
And yf they speake not whan you list,
than strayght you say, they are hye.
And that they ar, disdainfull Dames,
and yf they chaunce to talke.
Thā cownt you thē for chatring Pies
whose tongs must alwayes walke.
And yf perhaps they do forbeare,
and Sylence chaunce to keepe,
Than tush, she is not for company,
she is but a symple sheepe.
And yf they beare good wyll to one,
thē strayght they are iudged nought
And yf yll name to shun they leaue,
Unconstant they are thought.
Who nowe can please these Ialouse heads,
the faute is all in you,
For women neuer wold chaūge theyr minds
yf men wold styll be true,

Siren.
To this, I well could answere you,
but tyme doth byd me staye,
And women must the last worde haue
no man may say them naye.
Passe ouer this, and let vs here,
what lucke you haue had in loue,
And showe yf euer loue of man,
your constaunt hart could moue.
No fytter place can be than this,
here maye you safely rest,
Thus syttyng here, declare at large,
the secretes of your brest.

Siluag.
Naye: lenger here we maye not byde,
but home we must awaye,
Loe how the Son denies his Beames
depriuyng vs of daye.

Egloga octaua.

Coridon. Cornix.
Cornix:
Both place and tyme my Coridon
exhorteth me to synge,
Not of the wretched Louers lyues,
but of the immortall kynge.
Who gyues vs pasture for our beasts
and blesseth our encrease:
By whom, while other cark and toyle
we lyue at home with ease.
Who keepes vs down, from climyng hye
wher honour breeds debate,
And here hath graunted vs to lyue
in symple Shephards state,
A lyfe that sure doth fare exceade,
eche other kynd of lyfe:
O happy state, that doth content,
How farre be we from stryfe?
Of hym therfore, me lyst to synge,
and of no wanton toyes,
For hym to loue, and hym to prayse,
surmounts all other Ioyes.
O Shephards leaue Cupidoes Camp,
the ende wherof is vyle,
Remoue Dame Venus from your eies
and harken here a whyle.
A God there is, that guyds the Globe,
and framde the fyckle Spheare,
And placed hath, the Starres aboue,
that we do gase on here,
By whō we lyue, (vnthākful beasts)
by whom we haue our health,
By whom we gayne our happy states
by whom we get our wealth.
A God: that sends vs that we nede,
a God: that vs defends.
A God: from whom the Angels hye,
on mortall men attends.
A God: of suche a Clemencie,
that who so hym doth loue
Shall here be sure to rest a whyle,
and alwayes rest aboue.
But we, for hym do lytell care,
His Heasts we nought esteme,
But hunt for thyngs that he doth hate
most pleasaunt those do seme,
(Unthankfull mysers) what do we?
what meane we thus to straye?
From suche a God, so mercyfull,
to walke a worser waye?
Maye nought his benefyts procure?
maye nought his mercyes moue?
Maye nothynge bynde, but nedes we must?
gyue hate to hym for loue?
O happy (ten tymes) is the man,
(a Byrde full rare to fynde)
That loueth God with all his hart,
and kepes his lawes in mynde.
He shalbe blest in all his works,
and safe in euery tyme,
He shall swete quietnes enioye,
whyle other smarte for Cryme.
The threatnyng thaūces of the world
shall neuer hym annoye,
Whē Fortune frowns on foolish men
he shalbe sure to ioye.
For why? the Aungels of the Lorde,
shall hym defende alwayes,
And set hym free, at euery harmes,
and hurts at all assayes.
Euen he that kept the Prophet safe,

Dauid.

from mouthes of Lyons wylde,
And he that once preserued in Flags,

Moses.

the sely suckyng Chylde,

Elias.

The God that fed, by Rauens Byll,
the Teacher of his worde,
Shall hym (no doubt) in safetie kepe,
from Famyn, Fyre, and Sworde.
Not he, whom Poets old haue faynd,
to lyue in Heauen hye,

Iupiter.

Embracyng Boyes: (O fylthy thyng)
in beastly Lecherye.
Nor Iuno she: (that wrinkled Iade,)
that Quene of Skyes is calde,
Nor soleyn Saturn Churlysh Chuffe,
with Scalpe of Cancre bald.

Mars.

Nor fumyng Foole, with fyery face,
that moues the fyghters mynd.

Cupido.

Nor Uenus she: (that wanton wench)
that guyds the Shoter blynd,
Can the defende: as God wyll do,
for they were synfull fooles,

Nomeius.

Whō fyrst ye blynd hye wytted Greks
brought in to wyse mens Scooles.
No none of these, but God alone,
ought worshyp for to haue,
For they for all theyr Honour ones,
rest yet in stynkyng Graue.
eare hast thou heard, the happy state
of them that lyue in feare,
Of God: & loue hym best: now lyst,
his foes reward to heare,
And fyrst know thou that euery man,
that from this God doth goe,
And folows lust, hym he acountes,
to be his deadly foe,
This myghty Kyng of whom we talk,
as he is mercyfull,
And suffers long, reuengyng slow,
So when we be thus dull,
That we wyl not perceaue in tyme,
the goodnes of his grace,
His fauour straight, he doth withdraw
and tournes a way his face.
And to him selfe then doth he say,
How long shall I permit
These stubburne beastes, for to rebell?
and shall I loue them yet,
That hate me thus? or haue I nede
theyr louynge mynds to craue?
I aske nomore but onely loue,
and that I can not haue.
Well, wel, I wil not care for them,
that thus do me dyspyse,
Let them go lyue, euen as they lyst,
I turne awaye myne eyes.
When God hath thus sayd to him self,
Then doth the braynlesse foole,
Cast Brydle of, and out he runnes,
neglectynge vertues Scoole,
Then doth the Deuyl geue him lyne,
and let him rune at large,
And Pleasure makes his Mariner,
to row in vyces Barge,
Then vp the Sayles of wilfulnes,
he hoyses hie in hast,
And fond Affection blowes hym forth,
a wynd that Pluto plast,
Then cuttes he swyft, the seas of sin,
and through the Chanell deape,
With Ioyful mynd, he fleets a pace,
whom Pleasure bryngs a sleape,
Then who so happy thinks hym selfe?
who dreames of ioy but he?
Tush, tush, sayth he: to thynk of God,
In age suffiseth me,
Now wil I passe my pleasaunt youth,
Such toyes becomes this age,
And God shall followe me sayth he,
I wyll not be his page,
I wyll be prowd, and looke a loft,
I wyll my body decke,
With costly clothes, aboue my state
who then dare gyue me checke?

Coridon.
Garments som time, so gard a knaue,
that he dare mate a Knyght,
Yet haue I sene a Nec in hemp,
For Cheeking often lyght.

Cornix.
The Peacocks plume shal not me pas
that nature finely framde
For coulord sylkes shal set me fourth,
that nature shalbe shamde,
My Sworde shal get me valiant fame,
I wyll be Mars out ryght,
And Mars you know, must Venus haue,
to recreate his spryght.
I wyll oppresse the symple knaue,
shall Saues be sawsy now?
Nay: I wyll teache the nedy Dogges,
with Cappe to crowche, & bow.
Thus fareth he, and thus he lyues,
no whyt estemyng God,
In health, in ioy, and lustynes,
free from the smartyng Rod,
But in the midst of all his myrth,
whyle he suspecteth least,
His happy chaunce, begyns to chaūge
and eke his fleetynge feast,
For death (that old deuouryng Wolf)
whom goodmen nothyng feare,
Coms saylyng fast, in Galley blacke,
and whan he spyes hym neare.
Doth boorde hym strayght, & grapels fast
and than begyns the fyght.
In ryot leaps, as Captayne chiefe,
and from the Maynmast ryght,
He down ward comes, and surfet than,
assayleth by and by,
Then vyle diseases forward shoues,
with paynes and gryefe therby,
Lyfe stands aloft, and fyghteth hard,
but pleasure all agaste.
Doth leaue his ore, and out he flyes
then death approcheth fast.
And giues the charge so sore, yt needs
must lyfe begyn to flye,
Thē farewell all. The wretched man
with Caryen Corse doth lye,
Whō Deth hymself flyngs ouer bord,
amyd the Seas of syn,
The place wher late, he swetly swam
now lyes he drowned in.
Contynuall torment hym awaytes,
(a Monster vyle to tell)
That was begot of Due Desert,
and raygneth now in Hell,
With gredy mouth he alwayes feeds
vpon the Syndrownd soule,
Whose gredy Pawes, do neuer ceas,
in synfull fluds to prowle.
Loe. This the ende, of euery suche
as here lyues lustylye
Neglectyng God thou seest. in vyce,
to lyue. in syn do dye.
What shuld I speke of al theyr harms
that happens them in lyfe?
Theyr Cōscience prickt, theyr barren blud
theyr toyle, theyr grief, theyr stryfe,
With mischiefes heaped many a one,
which they do neuer trye,
That Loue & Feare the myghty God,
that rules and raynes on hye,
To long it weare, to make discourse;
and Phebus downe descends,
And in the Clowdes his beames doth hyde
which tempest sure portends,
Looke how the beastes begin to fling,
and cast theyr heades on hye,
The Hearon shew mountes aboue the Clouds
ye Crowes ech wher do cry
All this showes rayn, tyme byds vs go
com Coridon awaye,
Take vp thy Staffe, fetch ī thy beasts
let vs go whyle we maye.

Coridon:
Cornix agreed, go thou before,
yon cursed Bull of myne
I must go dryue: he neuer bydes,
among my Fathers Kyne.

Epytaphes.

An Epytaphe of the Lorde Sheffeldes death.

When Brutysh broyle, and rage of war
in Clownysh harts began
When Tigres stoute, in Tāners bonde
vnmusled all they ran,
The Noble Sheffeyld Lord by byrth
and of a courage good,
By clubbish hāds, of crabbed Clowns
there spent his Noble blud.
His noble byrth auayled not,
his honor all was vayne,
Amyd the prease, of Mastye Curres,
the valyant Lorde was slayne.
And after suche a sorte (O ruth,)
that who can teares suppresse.
To thynke yt Dunghyll Dogs shuld dawnt
the Floure of worthynes.
Whyle as the rauenyng Wolues he prayed
his gylteles lyfe to saue.
A bluddy Butcher byg and blunt,
a vyle vnweldy knaue
With beastly blow of boysterous byll
at hym (O Lorde) let dryue,
And clefte his head, and sayd therwith
shalt thou be lefte alyue?
O Lorde that I had present ben,
and Hectors force withall,
Before that from his Carlysh hands,
the cruell Byll dyd fall.
Then shulde that peasaunt vyle haue felt
the clap vpon his Crowne,
That shuld haue dazed his dogged hart
from dryuyng Lordes adowne.
Then shuld my hands haue saued thy lyfe
good Lord whō deare I loued
Then shuld my hart in doutfull case,
full well to the ben proued,
But all in vayne thy death I wayle,
thy Corps in earth doth lye.
Thy kyng and Countrey for to serue
thou dydste not feare to dye.
Farewel good Lord, thy deth bewayle
all suche as well the knewe,
And euerye man laments thy case:
and Googe thy death doth rewe.

An Epytaphe of M. Shelley slayne at Musselbroughe.

VVan Mars had moued mortall hate
and forced fumysh heate
And hye Bellona had decreed,
to syt with Sworde in Seate,
The Scottes vntrue with fyghtynge hande,
theyr promys to denye,
Assembled fast, & England thought,
the trothe with them to trye.
Chose Musclebroughe theyr fyghtynge place
amyd those barrayne fyelds
Theyr breche of fayth, there not to try
with trothe, but trotheles Shyeldes
In battayle braue, and Armye strong
Encamped sure they laye,
Ten Scottes to one (a dredeful thyng
a dolfull fyghtyng daye.)
That Englysh men were all agaste,
with quakyng staues in hande.
To se theyr enemyes lye so neare,
and death with them to stande.
No other remedye there was,
but fyght it out or flye.
And who shuld fyrst the Onset gyue,
was sure therin to dye.
Thus al dismayde, and wrapt in feare
with doutfull mynde they stande,
If best it be, with flyght of foote,
to stryue or fyght of hande.
Tyll at the length, a Captayn stoute.
with hawtye mynde gan speake.
O Cowards all, and maydly men
of Courage faynt and weake,
Unworthye com of Brutus race,
is this your manhode gon,
And is there none you Dastardes all.
that dare them set vpon.
Then Shelley all inflamed with heate
with heate of valyaunt mynde,
No Cowardes we, nor maydly men,
ne yet of Dastards kynde,
I wold you wyste dyd euer com,
but dare be bolde to trye,
Our manhode heare, thoughe nought appeare
but deth to all mens eye
And with these wordes (O noble hart)
no longer there he stayde,
But forth before them all he sprang
as one no whyt dismayed
With charged staffe on fomyng horse
his Spurres with heeles he strykes,
And forewarde ronnes with swyftye race,
among the mortall Pykes
And in this race with famous ende,
to do his Countrey good,
Gaue Onset fyrst vpon his Foes,
and lost his vitall blud.

An Epytaphe of Maister Thomas Phayre.

The hawtye verse, yt Maro wrote
made Rome to wonder muche
And meruayle none for why the Style
and waightynes was suche,
That all men iudged Parnassus Mownt
had clefte her selfe in twayne,
And brought forth one, that seemd to drop
from out Mineruaes brayne.
But wonder more, maye Bryttayne great
wher Phayre dyd florysh late,
And barreyne tong with swete accord
reduced to suche estate:
That Virgils verse hath greater grace
in forrayne foote obtaynde,
Than in his own. who whilst he lyued
eche other Poets staynde.
The Noble H. Hawarde once,
that raught eternall fame,
With mighty Style, did bryng a pece
of Virgils worke in frame,
And Grimaold gaue the lyke attempt,
and Douglas wan the Ball,
Whose famouse wyt in Scottysh ryme
had made an ende of all.
But all these same dyd Phayre excell,
I dare presume to wryte,
As muche as doth Appolloes Beames,
the dymmest Starre in lyght.
The enuyous fates (O pytie great,)
had great disdayne to se,
That vs amongst there shuld remayn
so fyne a wyt as he,
And in the mydst of all his toyle,
dyd force hym hence to wende,
And leaue a Worke vnperfyt so,
that neuer man shall ende.

An Epytaphe of the Death of Nicolas Grimaold.

Beholde this fle-
tyng world how al things fade
Howe euery thyng
doth passe and weare awaye,
Eche state of lyfe,
by comon course and trade,
Abydes no tyme,
but hath a passyng daye.
For looke as lyfe,
that pleasaūt Dame hath brought,
Tht pelasaunt yeares,
and dayes of lustynes,
So Death our Foe,
consumeth all to nought,
Enuyeng thefe,
with Darte doth vs oppresse,
And that whiche is,
the greatest gryfe of all,
The gredye Grype,
doth no estate respect,
But wher he comes,
he makes them down to fall,
He stayes he at,
the hie sharpe wytted sect.
For yf that wytt,
or worthy Eloquens,
Or learnyng deape,
coulde moue hym to forbeare,
O Grimaold then,
thou hadste not yet gon hence
But heare hadest sene,
full many an aged yeare.
Ne had the Mu-
ses loste so fyne a Floure,
Nor had Miner-
ua wept to leaue the so,
If wysdome myght
haue fled the fatall howre,
Thou hadste not yet
ben suffred for to go,
A thousande doltysh
Geese we myght haue sparde,
A thousande wytles
heads, death might haue found
And taken them,
for whom no man had carde,
And layde them lowe,
in deepe obliuious grounde,
But fortune fa-
uours Fooles as old men saye
And lets them lyue,
and take the wyse awaye.

Sonettes.

To Mayster Alexander Nowell.

The Muses ioye,
and well they may to se,
So well theyr la-
boure com to good successe,
That they sustay-
ned long agoe in the,
Minerua smyles,
Phebus can do no lesse,
But ouer all,
they chyefly do reioyse,
That leauyng thyngs,
which are but fond and vayne,
Thou dyddest chuse,
(O good and happy choyse)
In sacred Scoles,
thy luckye yeares to trayne,
By whiche thou hast
obtaynde (O happy thyng)
To learne to lyue,
whyle other wander wyde,
And by thy lyfe,
to please the unmortall kyng,
Then whiche so good,
nothyng can be applyed,
Lawe gyues the gayne,
and Physycke fyls the Purse,
Promotions hye,
gyues Artes to many one,
But this is it,
by whiche we scape the Curse,
And haue the blys
of God, when we be gone.
Is this but one-
ly Scriptures for to reade?
No, no. Not talke,
but lyfe gyues this in deade.

To Doctor Bale.

Good aged Bale:
that with thy hoary heares
Doste yet persyste,
to turne the paynefull Booke,
O happye man,
that hast obtaynde suche yeares,
And leavst not yet,
on Papers pale to looke,
Gyue ouer now
to beate thy weryed brayns,
And rest thy Pen
that long hath laboured soore
For aged men
vnfyt sure is suche paine,
And the beseems
to laboure now no more,
But thou I thynke
Don Platoes part will playe
With Booke in hand,
to haue thy dyeng daye.

To M. Edwarde Cobham.

Olde Socrates,
whose wysdome dyd excell,
And past the reache,
of wysest in his tyme,
Surmounted all,
that on the earth dyd dwell,
That Craggye Hyls,
of vertue hye dyd clyme,
That Socrates,
my Cobham dyd allowe,
Eche man in youth,
hym selfe in Glasse to vew,
And wyld them oft,
to vse the same, but how?
Not to delyght,
in forme of fadyng hew.
Nor to be proude
therof, as many be,
But for to stryue,
by beautie of the mynde,
For to adourne,
the beautie he doth se.
If warlyke forme,
Dame Nature hym assygnde,
By vertuous lyfe,
than coūtenaūce for to get,
That shall deface,
the fayrest of them all,
Suche Beautie as
no age nor yeares wyll fret:
That flyes with fame,
whan fyckle forme doth fayle,
Thus muche I saye,
that here to the present,
My wordes a Glasse
for the to looke vpon.
To the whom God,
in tender yeares hath lent,
A towardenes,
that maye be mused vpon,
Suche towardenes,
as in more grauer yeares,
Doth sure a hope,
of greater thyngs pretende,
Thy noble mynde,
that to thy frendes appeare,
Doth showe the blud,
wherof thou doste descende,
The gentlenes,
thou vsest vnto all suche,
As smallye haue
deserued good wyll of the,
Doth showe the grace,
thou hast that sure is muche,
As euer yet,
in any I dyd se,
Thy wyt as rype,
as Nature well can gyue,
Declares a grea-
ter hope than all the rest,
That shall remayne,
to the whilst thou doste lyue,
In desperate yls,
a Medycyne euer prest.
The good behauyour,
of thy selfe in place
Whersoeuer that
thou chauncest for to lyght,
So much both beautie,
mynde and wyt doth grace
As well can be
requyred of any wyght.
What resteth now?
but onely God to prayse,
Of whom thou hast
receaued these Gyftes of thyne,
So shalt thou long,
lyue heare with happye dayes,
And after Death,
the starrye Skyes shalt clyme,
Let noughtye men,
saye what they lyst to the,
Trade thou thy selfe,
in seruyng hym about,
No sweter ser-
uyce can deuysed be,
Whom yf thou fearst,
and faythfully doste loue,
Be sure no thyng,
on earth shall the annoye,
Be sure he wyll,
the from eche harme defende,
Be sure thou shalt,
long tyme thy lyfe enioye,
And after ma-
ny yeares to haue a blessed ende.

Of Edwardes of the Chappell.

Deuyne Camenes
that wt your sacred food,
Haue fed and fo-
sterde vp from tender yeares,
A happye man,
that in your fauour stoode
Edvvards in Courte
that can not fynde his feares
Your names be blest,
that in this present age
So fyne a head,
by Arte haue framed out
Whom some hereaf-
ter helpt by Poets rage,
Perchaunce maye matche,
but none shall passe (no doubt)
O Plautus yf
thou wert alyue agayne,
That Comedies
so fynely dydste endyte.
Or Terence thou
that with thy plesaunt brayne,
The hearers mynde
on stage dydst much delyght.
What wold you say
syrs if you should beholde,
As I haue done
the doyngs of this man?
No word at all,
to sweare I durst be bolde,
But burne with teares,
that which with myrth began,
I meane your bookes,
by which you gate your name,
To be forgot,
you wolde commit to flame.
Alas I wolde
Edvvards more tell thy prayse,
But at thy name
my muse amased stayes.

To L. Blundeston.

Some men be coun-
ted wyse that well can talke:
And some because
they can eche man begyle.
Some for because
they know well-chese from chalke,
And can be sure,
weepe who so lyst to smyle.
But (Blundston) hym
I call the wysest wyght,
Whom God gyues grace
to rule affections ryght

The Aunswere of L. Blundeston to the same.

Affections seekes
hygh honours frayle estate,
Affections doth
the golden meane reproue,
Affections tourns
the frendly hart to hate,
Affections breede
without discretion Loue,
Both wyse and hap-
pye (Googe) he maye be hyght,
Whom God gyues grace,
to rule affections ryght.

To Alexander Neuell.

The lytell Fysh,
that in the streme doth fleet
With brode forth stret-
ched Fyns for his disporte
When as he spyes,
the Fysshes bayte so swete,
In haste he hyes,
fearynge to com to shorte,
But all to soone
(alas) his gredy mynde,
By rash attempt,
doth bryng hym to his bane,
for where he thought
a great relyefe to fynde,
By hydden hooke,
the symple fole is tane.
So fareth man,
that wanders here and theare,
Thynkyng no hurt
to happen hym therbye,
He ronnes amayne,
to gase on Beauties cheare,
Takes all for golde
that glysters in the eye,
And neuer leaues
to feade by lookyng long,
On Beauties Bayte,
where Bondage lyes enwrapt,
Bondage that makes
hym synge an other song,
And makes hym curse
the bayte that hym entrapte.
Neuell to the,
that louest their wanton lookes,
Feade on the bayte,
but yet beware the Hookes.

Alexander Neuells Answere to the same.

It is not cursed Cupids Dart:
Nor Venus cancred Spyght,
It is not vengeance of the Gods
That wretched harts doth smyght,
With restlesse rage of carefull Loue.
No, No, thy Force alone
Affection fond, doth styr these flames.
Thou causest vs to mone
And waile, & curs our wretched stats.
Our thryse vnhappy plights,
Our sighes, & powdred sobs wt tears,
Our greuous gronyng Sprights,
Thy hateful Malice doth procure:
O Fancye flamyng Feend
Of Hel. For thou in outwarde shape,
And colour of a frende
Dost by thy Snares & slymed Hooks
entrap the wounded Harts:
From whence these Hellike torments spryng,
& euer greauyng Smarts.
Whence Gripe of minde, wt chaunged chere
Whēce face besmeard wt teares.
Whēce thousād mischiefs more, wherwt
suche Mysers liues outweares.
Our gasyng eyes on Bewties bayt
do worke our endles bane.
Our eyes I say doo woorke our woo,
Our eyes procure our paine.
These are the Traps to vexed mynds
Here Gyns and Snares do lye.
Here fyre & flames by Fancie framde,
In brest doo broyle and frye.
O Googe the Bayte sone spyed is,
Soone vewd their wanton lookes.
Wheron to feede, and yet to shun,
The priuy lurkyng hookes,
Their pain, Their toile, Their labour is
There There lyes endles strife.
O happye than that Man account,
Whose well directed Lyfe
Can fly those yls, which fancy stirs,
And lyue from Bondage free.
A Phœnix ryght on yearth (no doubte)
A Byrde full rare to see.

To M. Henrye Cobham of the most blessed state of Lyfe.

The happyest lyfe
that here we haue,
My Cobham yf
I shall desyne,
The goodlyest state,
twyrte byrth and graue,
Most gracious
dayes and swetest tyme.
The fayrest face,
of fadynge Lyfe,
Race ryghtlyest ronne,
in ruthfull wayes,
The safest meanes
to shun all stryfe:
The surest Staffe,
in fyckle Dayes:
I take not I
as some do take,
To gape and gawne,
for Honoures hye,
But Court and
Cayser to forsake,
And lyue at home,
full quyetlye,
I well do mynde,
what he once sayde,
Who bad, Courte not
in any case,
For Uertue is,
in Courtes decayed,
And Uyce with States,
hath chyefest place,
Not Courte but Countreye
I do iudge,
Is it wheare lyes,
the happyest lyfe,
In Countreye growes,
no gratynge grudge,
In Countreye standes
not sturdye stryfe,
In Countreye,
Bacchus hath no place,
In Countreye
Venus hath defecte,
In Countreye
Thraso hath no grace,
In Countreye
fewe of Gnatoes Secte.
But these same foure
and many moe,
In Courte,
thou shalt be sure to fynde,
For they haue vowed,
not thence to goe,
Bycause in Courte,
dwels ydle mynde.
In Countreye
mayste thou safelye rest,
And flye all these,
yf that thou lyste,
The Countrey therfore,
iudge I best,
Where godly lyfe,
doth vyce resyste,
Where vertuous
exercyse with ioye,
Doth spende the yeares
that are to run,
Where Uyces fewe,
maye the annoye,
This lyfe is best
whan all is done.

To Alexander Neuell of the blessed Sate of him that feeles not the force of Cupids flames.

As ofte as I
remembre with my self,
The Fancies fonde,
that flame by foolysh Loue,
And marke the Furyes
fell, the blynded elfe
And Uenus she
that raynes so sore aboue,
As ofte as I
do se the wofull state,
Of Louers all,
and eake their myserye,
The ones desy-
ryng mynde the others hate,
Trothe with the one,
with the other Trecherye,
So ofte saye I,
that blessed is the wyght,
Yea Neuell blest,
and double blest agayne,
That can by rea-
son rule his mynde a ryght,
And take suche foo-
lysh fadynge toyes for vayne.

Alexander Neuells Awnswere to the same.

The plūged mind in fluds of griefs
The Sences drowned quyght,
The Hart opprest. The flesh consumed
The chaūged state outright.
The Body dryed by broylyng blase,
Of preuy schorchyng Flame.
The doulfull Face. The coutnaūce sad
The drowping Courage tame.
The Scaldyng syghes. The greuous groones
The burning rage of fyre
The ernest sute, The fruitles Toyle.
The deepe and hot Desyre,
The Braynes quight brusd & crusht wt Cares.
The euer duryng soore.
The very paynes of Hell it self,
with thousande mischyefes moore,
Which wounded Harts enflamd with Loue
with Gryefe do ouerflow,
And works theyr endles plage & spight
Tyll Death from thence do growe.
All these conclude him blest (my Googe)
and trible blest agayne,
That taught bi tract of Time can take
Such fadyng Toyes for vayne.

To Maystresse A.

Synce I so long haue lyved in pain
and burnt for loue of the,
(O cruel hart) doste thou no more
esteame the Loue of me,
Regardst thou not, the health of hym?
that the, aboue the rest
Of Creatures all, and next to God,
hath dearest in his brest.
Is pytie placed from the so farre
is gentlenes exylde?
Hast thou ben fostred in the Caues,
of Wolues or Lyons wylde?
Hast thou ben so? why then no force,
the lesse I meruayle I,
Suche as the Dāme, suche is the yong
experyence trewe doth trye.
Syth thou art of so fyerce a mynde,
why dyd not God then place
In the, with suche a Tygers Harte,
a fowle yll fauerde face?
Sure for no other ende but that,
he lykes no Louers trade,
And the therfore a ragynge Fende,
an Angels face hathe made.
Suche one as thou, was Gorgon ones
as auncient Poets tell,
Who with her Beautie mazed men,
and nowe doth raygne in Hell.
But mercye yet, of the I craue,
yf ought in the remayne,
And let me not so long the force,
of flamyng fyre sustayne,
Let pytie ioynde with beautie be,
so shall I not dysdayne.
My blud, my hart, my lyfe to spende
with toyle, with stryfe, and payne,
To do the good, my breath to loose,
yf nede shall so requyre,
But for my seruyce and my paynes
thou gyuest me hate for hyre.
Well now take this for ende of all,
I loue and thou doste hate,
Thou lyuest in pleasures happely.
and I in wretched state.
Paynes can not last for euermore,
but tyme and ende wyll trye,
And tyme shall tell me in my age,
How youth led me awrye.
Thy face that me tormented so,
in tyme shall sure decaye,
And all that I do lyke or loue,
shall vanysh quyte awaye,
Thy face in tyme shall wrynckled be,
at whiche I shall be glad,
To see thy forme transformed thus,
that made me once so sad,
Than shall I blame my foly moch
and thanke the mightyest kyng
That hath me saued tyll such a daye,
to se so fonde a thyng.
And tyll that tyme I wyll keepe close
my flames and let them blase,
All secretly within my brest,
no man on me shall gase.
I wyll not trespasse synfully,
for God shall geue me grace
To se the tyme wherin I shall
neglecte thy folysh face,
And tyll that tyme adieu to thee,
God keepe thee far from me,
And sende thee in that place to dwell,
that I shall neuer see.

To George Holmeden of a ronnynge Heade.

The greatest vyce
that happens vnto men,
And yet a vyce,
that many comon haue,
As auncient Wryters
waye with sobre Pen,
Who gaue theyr doome,
by force of wysdom graue,
The sorest mayme,
the greatest euyll sure,
The vylest plague
that Students can sustayne,
And that whiche moste
doth ygnoraunce procure.
My Holmeden is
to haue a ronnyng Brayne,
For who is he
that leades more restles lyfe,
Or who can euer
lyue more yll bestead?
In fyne who lyues,
in greater Care and stryfe,
Then he that hath,
suche an vnstedfast hedde:
But what is this?
me thynkes I heare the say,
Physition take,
thyne owne disease away.

To the Translation of Pallingen.

The labour swete,
that I sustaynde in the,
(O Pallingen)
when I tooke Pen in hande,
Doth greue me now,
as ofte as I the se,
But halfe hewd out,
before myne eyes to stande,
For I must needes
(no helpe) a whyle go toyle,
In Studyes, that
no kynde of muse delyght.
And put my Plow,
in grosse vntylled soyle,
And labour thus,
with ouer weryed Spryght,
But yf that God,
do graunt me greater yeares.
And take me not
from hence, before my tyme,
The Muses nyne,
the pleasaunt synging feares
Shall so enflame
my mynde with lust to ryme,
That Palingen
I wyll not leaue the so,
But fynysh the
accordyng to my mynd.
And yf it be
my chaunce away to go,
Let some the ende,
that heare remayne behynde.

The Harte absent.

Swete muse tell me,
wher is my hart becom.
For well I feele,
it is from hence a way,
My Sences all,
doth sorrow so benumme:
That absent thus,
I can not lyue a Day.
I know for troth,
there is a specyall Place.
Wher as it most,
desyreth for to bee:
For Oft it leaues,
me thus in Dolfull case,
And hether cōmes,
at length a gayne to me?
Woldest thou so fayne,
be tolde where is thy Harte
Sir Foole in place,
wher as it shuld not be:
Tyed vp so fast,
that it can neuer starte?
Tyll Wysdom get,
agayne thy Lybertye:
In place wher thou,
as safe maist dwel swet daw?
As may the harte,
ly by the Lyons paw:
And wher for thee,
as much be sure they passe:
As dyd the master,
ons for Esops Asse.

To Alexander Neuell.

If thou canst banish Idle nes,
Cupidoes Bowe is broke,

Ouid.

And well thou mayst dyspyse hys bronds
clean void of flame & smoke
What moued the kynge Agistus ons,
to Loue with vyle excesse:
The cause at hād doth streight apeare
he lyued in Idlenes.

The Aunswere of A. Neuell to the same.

The lack of labour mayms ye mind,
And wyt & Reason quyght exiles,
And Reason fled. Flames Fancy blind.
And Fancy she forthwith beguyles
The Sensles wighte that swiftly sails
Through deepest fluds of vyle exces.
Thus vice aboūds. Thus vertu quails
By meanes of drowsy Idlenes.

To Maystresse D.

Not from the hye Cytherion Hyll
nor from that Ladies throne
Frō whēs flies forth ye winged boy
ye makes some sore to grone.
But nearer hence this token coms,
from out the Dongeon deepe,
Where neuer Plutto yet dyd raygne
nor Proserpyne dyd sleepe.
Wheras thy faithful Seruaunt liues.
whom duetie moues aryght,
To wayle that he so long doth lacke,
his owne deare Maystres syght.

Out of an olde Poet.

Fye Fye, I lothe
to speake wylt thou my lust,
Compell me nowe,
to doo so foule an acte.
Nay rather God,
with Flame consume to dust.
My carryon vyle,
then I perfourme this facte
Let rather thoughtes,
that long, haue weryed me:
Or sycknes suche
as Fancy fonde hath brought,
O gapyng Hell,
dryue me now downe to the,
Let boylyng sygbes,
consume me all to nought.

[Ons musynge as I sat]

[When I do heare thy name]

When I do heare thy name,
alas my hart doth ryse:
And seekes fourthwith to se the salue
that most contētes myne eys.
But when I se thy Face,
that hath procured my payne,
Then boyles my blud in euery part,
and beates in euery vayne?
Thy voice when I do heare,
then collour comes and goes,
Some tyme as pale as Earth I looke,
some tyme as red as Rose.
If thy sweete Face do smyle,
then who so well as I?
If thou but cast a scornefull looke,
then out alas I dye.
But styll I lyue in payne,
my fortune wylleth so,
That I shuld burne & thou yet know,
no whytt of all my wo.

[Vnhappye tonge]

Vnhappye tonge,
why dydste thou not cōsent
When fyrst myne eyes
dyd vewe that Princely face,
To show good wyll,
that hart opprest than ment.
And whylst tyme was,
to sewe for present grace.
O fayntyng Hart,
why dydst thou then conceale?
Thyne inwarde Fyers,
that flamde in euery vayne,
Whan pytie and
gentlenes, were bent to heale.
Why dydst thou not,
declare thy ragyng payne?
When well thou mightst
haue moued her gentle mynde,
Why dydste thou than,
kepe backe thy wofull playn?
Thou knewste full well,
redres is hard to fynde,
Whan in thy owne
affayres, thy corage faynts.
But synce she is
gon, bewaile thy grief no moore
Synce thou thy selfe,
wart Causer of the Soore.

Oculi augent dolorem.

Out of syght, out of mynd.

[Accuse not God, yf fancie fond]

Accuse not God, yf fancie fond,
do moue thy foolysh brayne,
To wayle for loue, for thou thy selfe,
art cause of all thy payne.

[Two Lynes shall tell the Gryefs]

Two Lynes shall tell the Gryefs
that I by Loue sustayne.
I burne, I flame, I faynt, I fryse,
of Hell I feele the payne.

Of the vnfortunate choyse of his Ualentyne.

The Paynes that all the Furyes fell
can cast frō Lymbo lake,
Eche Torment of those Hellish brains
wher crawleth mani a snake,
Eche mischiefe that therrin doth lye
eche smart that may be founde,
Flye frō those feendish clawes a whyle
with flames breake vp the grounde,
Lyght here vpon this cursed hand,
make here your dwellyng place,
And plague the part, yt durst presume
his Mayster to disgrace.
Whiche thrust amongst a nombre of:
so many princely names,
And wher thy Maistres had her place
amongst the chiefest Dames,
Durste thus presume to leue her there
and drawe a straunger wyght,
And by thyne owne vnhappy draught
torment my pauled Spryght.

The vncertayntie of Lyfe.

No vayner thing ther can be foūd
amyd this vale of stryfe,
As Auncient men reporte haue made
then truste vncertayne lyfe.
This trwe we dayly fynde,
by proofes of many yeares,
And many tymes the trothe is tryed,
by losse of frendly fears,
Hope who so lyst in lyfe
hath but vncertayne stay.
As tayle of Ele that harder held,
doth sooner slyde away.
When least we thynk therof,
most neare approcheth it.
And sodaynly posses the place,
wher lyfe before did sytt:
How many haue byn seen,
in Helth to go to rest,
And yet eare mornyng tyde haue ben,
with Cruell Death opprest,
How many in their meales,
Haue Ioyfully ben sett,
That sodaynly in all their Feaste,
hath yealded Earth theyr dett.
Syth thus the lyfe is nought,
that in this world we trust,
And that for all the pompe & Pryde,
the Bodie tournes to dust:
Hope for the lyfe aboue,
whiche far surmounteth all.
With vertuous mind await the time,
when God, for vs doth call.

A Refusall.

Syth Fortune fauoures not,
and al thynges backward go,
And sith your mynd hath so decreed,
to make an end of woe.
Syth now is no redresse,
but hence I must a way,
Farewell I wast no vayner wordes,
I Hope for better day.

Of Maistres. D S.

Thy fyled wordes,
yt from thy mouth did flow
Thy modest looke,
wyth gesture of Drane.
Thy curteous mynde,
and althynges framed so.
As answered well,
vnto thy vertuous fame,
The gentlenes
that at thy handes I founde
In staungers house,
all vnaquaynted I,
Good S. hath
my Hart to the so bounde,
That from the can
it not be forced to flye,
In pledge wherof,
my seruyce here I gyue
Yf thou so wylte,
to serue the whylst I lyue.

Of Money.

Gyue Money me, take
Frendshyp who so lyst,
For Frends are gon
come once Aduersytie,
When Money yet
remayneth safe in Chest,
That quickely can the
bryng from myserye,
Fayre face showe frendes,
when ryches do habounde,
Come tyme of proofe,
farewell they must awaye,
Beleue me well,
they are not to be founde.
If God but sende
the once a lowrynge daye.
Golde neuer starts
asyde, but in dystres,
Fyndes wayes enoughe,
to ease thyne heuynes.

Goyng towardes Spayne.

Farewell thou fertyll soyle,
that Brutus fyrst out founde,
Whē he poore soule, was driuen clean
frō out his Coūtrey groūd.
That Northward layst thy lusty sides
amyd the ragyng Seas.
Whose welthy Land doth foster vpp,
thy people all in ease,
While others scrape & carke abroad,
theyr symple foode to gett,
And selye Soules take all for good,
that cōmeth to the Net.
Which they with painfull paynes do pych,
in barrain burning Realmes:
While we haue all with out restreint
among thy welthy streames.
O blest of God thou Pleasaunt Ile,
where welth her self doth dwell:
Wherin my tender yeares I past,
I byd thee now farewell.
For Fancy dryues me forth abrode,
and byds me take delyght,
In leuyng thee and raungyng far,
to se some straunger syght.
And sayth I was not framed heare,
to lyue at home with eas:
But passynge foorth for knowledge sake
to cut the fomyng seas.

At Bonyuall in Fraunce.

O fond affectyon,
wounder of my Hart,
When wylt thou Cease,
to breed thy restles payne,
When comes the end,
of this my Cruell smart:
When shall my force,
beate backe thy force agayne.
When shall I saye,
this restles rage of myne:
By Reason ruld,
is banysht quyte a way,
And I escaped,
these cruell bondes of thyne:
O flamynge feend,
that seakest my decaye.
Safe thynkyng I,
Charibdis Rage to flye,
On Scylla Rocke,
In Bonyuall I dye.

Commynge home warde out of Spayne.

O ragyng Seas,
and myghty Neptunes rayne
In monstrous Hylles,
that throwest thy selfe so hye,
That wyth thy fludes,
doest beate the shores of Spayne:
And breake the Clyues,
that dare thy force enuie.
Cease now thy rage,
and laye thyne Ire a syde,
And thou that hast,
the goueruaunce of all,
O myghty God,
graunt Wether Wynd and Tyde,
Tyll on my Coun-
treye Coast, our Anker fall.

To L. Blundeston of Ingratitude.

The lytell Byrde,
the tender Marlyon,
That vseth ofte
vpon the Larke to praye,
With great reproche,
doth stayne the mynde of man
If all be true,
that Wryter of her saye.
For she a Creature,
maymde of Reasons parte,
And framde to lyue
accordynge to her kynde,
Doth seme to foster
Reason in her Hart
And to aspyre
vnto Deuyner mynde.
When Hungers rage
she hath exyled quyte,
And supped well
as falleth for her state.
The selye Larke,
doth take by force of flyght,
And hyes to tree,
where as she lodged late,
And on the trem-
blyng Byrde all nyght she stondes,
To keepe her feete,
from force of nyppynge colde,
The amazed Wretche,
within her ēnemyes handes,
And closed fast,
within the claspyng holde.
Awayteth Death,
with drowsye drowpyng Hart,
And all the nyght
with feare drawes on her lyfe,
The gentle Byrde,
whan darkenes doth departe
Doth not depryue,
the selye soule of lyfe,
Nor fylles with her
her hungred egre brest
But wayeng well,
the seruyce she hath done.
To spyll the Blud,
her Nature doth detest,
And from so great
a Cryme, her selfe doth shun.
She lets her go
and more with stedfast eyes.
Beholds whiche way
she takes with mazed flyght,
And in those partes
that Daye she neuer flyes
Leaste on that Byrde
agayne she chaunce to lyght.
Loe, Blundston heare
how kyndenes doth habounde,
In selye Soules
where Reason is exylde,
This Byrde alone
suffyseth to confounde,
The Brutysh myndes
of men that are defyled,
With that great Uice,
that vyle and haynous Cryme
Ingratitude
(whiche some vnkyndenes call.)
That Poyson strong
that spryngeth styll with tyme,
Tyll at the length,
it hath infected all.

The Aunswere of L. Blundeston to the same.

This Mirrour left
of this thy Byrde I fynde,
Hath not suche force,
to enter in the Hert,
To roote away,
Unthankefulnes of minde,
As others haue,
the Uertues to peruert,
(so prone we are to Uice:)
The Tenche by kynd,
hath Salue for euery Soore,
And heales the may-
med Pike in his dystresse,
The Churlysh Pike
for Gentlenes therfore,
In his rewarde,
doth cruellye expresse.
His murdring mynde,
his fylthy spotted fayth,
When hungre prickes
to fyll his gredye Iawes,
He grypes his poore
Chyrurgion vnto death.
Who late to hym
of lyfe was onely cause.
Thy Merlians haue
fewe Ayryes in our ground
But Pikes haue Spawnes
good stoore in euery Pound

To the Tune of Appelles.

Cupido Conquered.

The sweetest time of al the yeare
it was when as the Sonne,
Had newly entred Gemini,
and warmynge heate begun:
Whan euery tre was clothed greene,
and flowers fayre dyd show,
And when the whyt and blowmynge May
on Hawthorns thicke did grow,
Whan sore I longd to seeke a broade,
to se some Pleasaunt syght,
A mid my woes and heauye happes,
that myght my Mynde delyght,
Care wold not let me byde within,
but forst me foorth to go:
And bad me seeke sume present helpe,
for to relyue my wo.
Than forward went I foorth in haste,
to vew the garnysht trees?
What tyme the Son was moūted vp,
twirt nyne and ten degrees.
From Flowers flew sweete ayers abroad,
delighting much my brayn,
With syght & smels gan sorow fade,
and Ioy returne agayne.
So that in mynde I much reioyce.
to feele my self so lyght:
For gorgyous syghtes & odours sweet
had new reuyued my spryght.
Besyde the pleasaunt Harmonye,
that syngyng Byrdes did make:
Bad me pul vpp my Hart agayne,
and sorrow sone forsake.
For though (quoth Reason.) she be gon
on whom thy Lyfe dependes,
Yet fond it is to carke and care
where there is none amendes.
Thus foorth I went, & in the grooues
I raunged heare and theare,
Wheras I hard suche pleasaūt tunes
as Heauen had ben neare.
I thynke that if Amphion hadde,
ben present ther to playe,
Or if Sir Orpheus myght haue held,
his Harp, that present day.
Or if Apollo with his Lute,
had stryuen to excell,
None of them all, by Musycke sholde,
haue borne away the Bell.
I rather iudge the thracian wold,
his Harpe wherwith he played,
Haue cast away as one whom Ire,
had vtterly dismayed.
Such passyng tunes of sundry Byrds,
I neuer herd before,
The further I went in the Woods.
the noyse resounded more.
O happy Byrdes quoth I what lyfe,
is this that you do leade,
How far from Care and mysery,
how far from Feare and dread:
With what reioysynge melodie,
passe you this fadyng Lyfe,
While Man vnhappiest creatur liues
In wretched toyle and stryfe.
Styll foorth I went and wonderd at,
this plesaunt Harmony.
And gased at these lytle Fooles,
that made suche Melody:
Tyll at the length I gan to spye,
a stately Lawrell tree,
So plast and sett in such a guyse,
That as it seamed to me,
Dame Nature stroue to shew her self
in plantyng such a thyng,
For Euen out besyde the rocke,
a fountayne cleane did spryng,
Where in the water I beheld,
resembled wonderous trew,
The Whyte & Greene of al the trees,
adourned late of new.
And how in order eake they stood,
a goodly syght to se,
And there I might discerne the Byrds
that songe in euery tree.
To moue the Byll & shake the wings
in vteryng Musicke sweete
And heare and thear, to flye to feade,
and eftesones theare to meete.
Great pleasure had I there to byde,
and stare vpon the Spryng,
For why me thought it dyd surmount,
eache other kynde of thyng.
Now was the Son got vp aloft,
and raught the mydle Lyne,
And in the Well, the Golden Gloobe,
with flamyng Beames dyd shyne,
Wherof the Bryghtnes was so great
that I might not endure,
Lenger to looke within the Spryng,
whose waters were so pure.
Unwyllyng went I thence away,
and vnderneth the tree,
I laid me down whose braūches brode
dyd keepe the Son from me.
Thynkyng to rest me there a whyle,
tyll fallyng some degrees
Syr Phebus shuld haue hyd hym self,
behynde the shadowyng trees,
And thē for to haue vewd the Spring,
and marked euery place,
And seene yf there I could haue spied
the weepyng Biblis face.
For sure I thynke, it was the place,
wherein Narcissus dyed,
Or els the Well, to which was turnd
poore Biblis whyle she cryed.
But whether it was werynes,
with labour that I tooke,
Or Fume yt frō the Spryng dyd ryse,
wherin I late dyd looke.
Or yf it were the sweete accorde
that syngyng Byrdes dyd keepe,
Or what it was, I knowe no whit
but I fell fast a sleepe.
I thynke the woddy Nimphes agreed
that I shuld haue this chaūce,
And that it was theyr pleasure so,
to showe me thyngs in traunce.
Whilste I lay thus in slumbre deepe.
I myght perceyue to stande,
A Person clothed all in whyte,
that held a Rod in hande.
Whiche was me thought of Massey Gold,
I knew it very weale,
For that was it, made Argos sleepe,
whyle he dyd Io steale.
When I perceaued by his attyre,
that it was Mercuri.
My Hart at fyrst began to faynt,
yet at the length quoth I
Thou Goddesse Son, why standste yu there
what busines now wt thee,
What meanest yu in thy flying weed,
For to appeare to me,
And therwithall my thought I staied,
and could no farther speake,
For Feare did force my spech to fayle,
and Courage waxed weake.
Which whan the sone of Maia sawe,
he tooke me by the hand,
Looke vp quoth he be not affrayed:
but boldly by me stand.
The Muses all of Helicon,
haue sent me now to thee:
Whō thou doest serue & whose yu sekst
For euer more to be.
And thankes to the by me they sende,
Bycause thou tookest payne,
In theyr Affaires (a thankeles thyng)
to occupie thy Brayne.
Desyring thee not for to staye,
for Momus ill report,
But endyng that thou hast begun,
to spyte the Canckred sorte.
And thynk not thou, that thou art he,
that canst escape Disdayne,
The day shall come when thankfull men,
shall well accept thy Paine,
But rather lay before thyne eyes,
the hie attemptes of those,
Whose statly style wt painfull proofe,
theyr worthy wytes disclose,
Marke him that thundred out ye deeds
Of olde Anchises sun,
Whose English verse gyues Maroes grace,
In all that he hath done,
Whose death the Muses sorrow much,
that lacke of aged dayes,
Amongest the cōmon Brytons old,
should hynder Virgils prayse.
Mark him yt hath wel framde a Glasse,
for states to looke vpon,
Whose labour shews the ends of thē,
that lyued long a gone.
Marke hym that showes ye Tragedies
thyne owne famylyar Frende,
By whom ye Spaniards hawty Style
in Englysh Uerse is pende.
Marke these same three, & other moe,
whose doyngs well are knowne,
Whose fayre attempts in euery place
The flying fame hath blowne,
Hast thou not harde, thy selfe in place
full ofte and many a tyme,
Lo here the Auctor loseth grace,
Loe here a doltysh Ryme,
Now syth that they haue this reward
who passe the euen as farre,
As in the nyght Diana doth,
Excell the dimmest Starre.
Take thou no scorne at euyll tongs,
what neadst thou to disdayne?
Syth they whō none can well amend
haue lyke fruyte of theyr payne.
Moreouer yet the Ladyes nyne,
haue all cōmaunded me,
Bycause they know, the blynded God
hath somethyng pearced the.
To leade the foorth, a thyng to see,
yf all thyngs happen ryght,
Whiche shall gyue the occasion good,
with ioyfull mynde to wryght.
To this, I wold haue answered fayne
and theare began to speake,
But as my words were cōmyng forth
my purpose he dyd breake.
Come on (quoth he,) none Aunswere now
we may no lenger staye.
But frame thy selfe, to flye abroade,
for hence we must awaye.
And here withall, on both my sydes,
two wyngs me thought dyd growe,
Of mighty breadth, away went he,
and after hym I flowe.
And euer as we mounted vp,
I lookte vp on my wyngs,
And prowde I was, me thought to see
suche vnacquaynted thyngs.
Tyll foorth we flewe, my Guyde & I,
with mowntyng flyght apace,
Beholdyng Ryuers, woods, & Hylles
and many a goodly place.
Till at the length methought I might
a Gorgyous Castell spye,
Thear downe began my guyd to fall,
and downward eake fell I,
Lo heare the place where yu must light
Gan Mercury to saye,
Farwell and note what thou doost se,
for I must hence away.
And with this same a way flewe he,
and left me there alone,
Wher as with Feare a masde I stood,
and thus began to mone.
Alas where am I now become,
what Cursed Chaunce hath blown,
Me from the place where I was bred,
to Countreis heare vnknown.
What ment that fell vnhappy Feend,
that Maia brought to lyght,
To bring me from my Hartes desyre,
to see thys dolefull syght.
Unhappy Wretche, I wolde I hadde,
his Person heare in hand,
Then shuld I wreak mine Ire of him,
that brought me to this Land.
But all to late alas I wysh,
for words auayle not nowe,
Tis best to learne, what place it is,
and yet I knowe not howe.
Alas that here were Ptholome,
with Compasse Globe in hande,
Whose Arte shuld showe me true the place
& Clymate where I stande,
Well yet what soeuer chaūce theron
what soeuer Realme it be,
Yon Castell wyll I vysyte sure,
hap what hap wyll to me.
Thus much me thought alone I spoke
and then I forewarde went,
And cursed eke an hundred folde,
them that me thyther sent.
Thus to the Castell, strayght I came,
whiche when I vewde aboute,
And sawe the workmanshyp therof
full gorgeouslye set oute,
I entred in, with fearefull Harte,
muche dautyng howe to speede,
But euer hope of happye chaunce,
my heauye Hart dyd feede.
Wyde was the Courte & large within
the walles were raysed hye,
And all engraued with Storyes fayre
of costlye Imagrye.
There myght I se, wt wondrous Arte,
the Picture porturde playne,
Of olde Orion Hunter good,
whom Scorpions vyle had slayne.
And by hym stoode his Borspeare and
his other Instruments,
His Net, his Darte, his Coursar, and
his Hunters restyng Tents.
And vnder hym was wrytten fayre,
in Letters all of Golde,
Here lies he slain, wt Scorpions sting,
vnhappy wretche that wolde,
Haue forced the Ladye of this forte
with stayne of Royaltie.
To haue consented to his wyll,
in fylthye Lecherye.
Wherfore beware that enters here,
what soeuer man thou art?
Accounte thy selfe but lost, yf that
thou bearste a lecherous Hart.
Whē I had vewd these wrytten lines
and markde the Storye well,
I ioyed muche, for why I knew,
Diana there dyd dwell.
Diana she that Goddesse is,
of Uirgyns sacred mynde,
By whom Orion Hunter wylde,
his Fatall ende dyd fynde.
Next vnto hym, I myght beholde,
Acteon wofull wyght,
In what a maner, all to torne,
his cruell Dogs hym dyght.
There might be seene, theyr gredye mouths
wt Maisters blud embrued,
And all his owne vnhappye men,
that fast theyr Lorde pursued.
And many Storyes more there war
engraued: to long to tell.
What fearefull haps to many men,
for lust vncleane befell.
Thus as I stoode with musyng mind
beholdyng all thyngs theare,
In rush ech at the Gate behynde
a Post with heauy cheare.
Into the Hall with haste he hyes
and after folowed I,
To here what kynde of Newes he brought
or what he ment therby.
He passyng through the Hall in haste,
at entraunce neuer stayed,
But blowyng fast for want of breath,
as one almoste dismayed.
Approcht in Presence to the syght
of chaste Dianaes face,
That all encompaste rounde aboute
with Uirgyns in that place,
In loftye Chayre of hye estate
dyd syt, all clothde in whyte,
Of Syluer hewe, that shynyg gaue,
me thought, a gorgeous syght.
There dyd I se, fayre Dido Queene
and fayre Hisiphile,
And next to them Lucretia sat,
and chaste Penelope.
But these same foure, no Bowes dyd beare
for Uirgyns sacred state,
They had forsaken long ago,
and ioynde with faythfull Mate.
On the other syde, sat all the sorte
of fayre Dianaes trayne,
Whose trade with toyle amongst the woods
was euer bent to payne.
Whose sacred minds, were ner defyld
with any wanton lust,
Whiche neuer could the fyckle state,
of Louers fancye truste.
The chyefe of them was Ismenis,
whom best Diana loued,
And next in place sat Hyale,
whom neuer Fancye moued,
Next vnto them sat Nipha fayre,
a Gemme of Chastyte.
And next to her sat Phyale,
not basest in degree,
Behynde them all, of passyng forme,
fayre Rhanis held her place,
And nye to her I myght discerne
Dame Piccas shynyng face,
These Pryncely Nymphes accompaned
Diana in her Baynes,
Whyle as in shape of Stagge poore wretche
Acteon had his paynes.
Aboue them all I myght beholde,
as placed before the rest,
Hipolitus whom Phedraes spyte?
most Cruelly had drest.
Hipolitus the vnspotted Pearle:
of pure Uirginitie,
Whose noble Hart culd not agre,
to stepdames vyllany.
Next vnto hym sat Continence,
and next was Labour placed?
Of bodie bygge and strong he was,
and somwhat Crabtre faced.
Next hym was placed Abstinence,
a leane vnwyldy wyght,
Whose Diet thyn had banisht cleane,
all fond and vayne delyght.
A Thousād more me thought ther war
whose names I did not know,
And yf I did to longe it were,
in Uerses them to show.
Down of his knees the messenger,
before them al doth fall,
And vnto chast Diana thear,
for succour thus doth call.
O Goddesse chiefe of Chastitie,
and Sacred Uirgins mynd:
Let Pitie from your noble Hart:
redresse for Misers fynd.
Let not our weryed Hartes sustaine,
suche wrongfull Tyranye?
Quench quickly now the fyrie flames
of open Iniurye.
This sayd for Feare he staied awhyle,
and than began agayne,
A myghty Prynce (quoth he) is com,
with great vnruly trayne.
All armed well at euery poynt,
(a dredefull syght to se:)
And euery man in feates of armes,
ryght skylfull all they be.
The Captaine chyfe in Charyot ryde
with pompe and stately Pryde:
With Bow in hand of glistring gold,
and Quyuer by his syde.
Wher many a shaft full sharp doth ly:
and many a mortall Darte,
That hath wt poysoned force destroid,
Full many a yealdyng Harte.
He entred hath within your Realme,
and taken many a Forte,
Hath sakte them all, and spoylde them quyte
& slayne a wondrous sorte.
In straungest guyse, for where he shoots
the woūde doth fester styll
And all the Surgians that we haue
can not remoue the yll,
In lytell tyme the gryefe so sore,
doth growe in euery parte,
Distraynyng through the venomed vaines
doth so torment the Hart.
That some to ryd themselues therof
in fluds full deepe they leape,
And drown thē selues som downward falles
from Houses hye by heape,
Some Anker cast on crossed Beames
to ryd them selues from stryfe,
And hang them selues full thycke on trees
to ende a wretched lyfe.
And they whose fearefull mynds dare not
thus make an ende of wo,
With greuous flames, consumynge long
theyr lyfe at length forgo.
Loe here the Sōme of all I haue,
this Tygre vs anoyes,
And cruellye hath spoyled vs,
of all our wonted ioyes.
Whom yf your Grace, do not repuls,
and fynde some present staye,
Undoubtedly he wyll wyn this Realme,
and take vs all awaye.
At this, the Ladyes all amazde
for feare dyd looke full pale,
And all beheld with mazed eyes,
the Wretche that tolde the tale.
Tyll at the length Hipolitus
of Hart and courage hye,
Nothyng abashde, with sodain newes
began thus to replye.
Caste fere away, fayre Dames (quoth he)
dismaye your selues no more,
I know by whō this mischief spryngs
and know a helpe therfore.
It is not suche a dredefull Wyght,
as he doth here reporte,
That entred is within these partes,
and plagues the symple sorte.
Nor is his force so great to feare,
I know it I full well:
It is the scornfull blynded Boy,
that neare to vs doth dwell.
Whom Mars long tyme a go begatt,
of that Lasciuious dame:
That Linckt in Chaines for Lechery,
receaued an open shame.
A disobedient blynded Foole,
that durst presume to turne:
His dartes agaynst his mother ons,
and causd her sore to burne.
An auncient foo: to all this Court,
Of long tyme he hath ben:
And hath attempted euermore,
by this: Renowne to wyn.
His cruell Hart, of Pitie voyed,
doth spare no kynd of age:
But tender youth and dotyng age,
he strykes in furyous rage.
And laughes to scorne the sely soules
that he hath wounded so,
No fine appoynted of theyr ils,
no end of al theyr wo.
But syns he hath presumed thus,
to entre heare in Place,
And heare to threten Conquests thus,
agaynst Dianaes Grace,
Let him besure his loftie Mynde,
this deade shall soone repent,
If that your grace do here agre,
with Fre and full concent.
To make me Cheftain of this Charge
and whom I lyst to chose,
If Prisoner heare I bryng hym not,
Let me myne Honour lose.
And there he ceasde with ioyfull looks
the Ladyes smyled all,
And thorough his wordes they hoaped soone
to se Cupidoes fall.
With heauenly voice Diana thear,
as chyefe aboue the rest:
This wise her words began to frame,
From out her sacred brest.
My good Hipolitus quoth she,
whose true and faythfull mynd:
In doubtfull daunger often I,
do alwayes redy fynd.
For to reuenge the cankred rage,
of all my spytfull foes,
Thou be frō whose vnspotted hart,
the fluddes of vertue flowes.
whose seruise long hath ben aproued,
within this court of myne,
Restrayne this boyes vnruly rage,
by valyant means of thyne,
I geue the leaue & thee appoint,
my cheyf Lieutenant here,
Chuse whom yu wilt take whom yu lyst,
thou nedest no whit to feare.
With this he rose from out his place,
and lokynge round a bout:
Chose Abstinence and Continence,
with Labour Captayne stout.
And with these thre he tooke his leaue
of all the Ladyes there,
Who doubtyng of his safe returne,
let fall full many a teare.
He lefte them theare in heauynes,
and made no more delaye,
But outward went & toward ye Cāpe,
he tooke the nearest way.
With this the Queenes commyssion straight
was sent abroad in haste,
To rayse vp souldiars round about,
and with theyr Captayne plaste.
To bring them foorth & marching on,
Hipolitus to meet,
Than sounded Trumpetes al abroad,
and Drumes in euery streat.
And souldiears good lyke swarmes of Bees
theyr Captains prease about
All armed braue in Corsletes white,
they march with courage stout.
And forwarde shoue, till at the length
where as theyr marshall lyes,
They fynd the place the ioifull soūds,
Do mount aboue the skyes.
Hipolitus receaued them all,
with woordes of plesaunt cheare,
And placith them in good aray,
bycause the camp was neare.
Three Battails big of them he frams,
and of the Rereward strong,
Hath Labour charge who steppeth foorth,
before the statlye thronge:
And Captayn of the reare ward next,
was placed abstinens.
And Ioind to him for Policie,
was Captayne Continence:
The Battayle mayne Hipolitus,
him selfe did chuse to guyd.
And in the formest front therof,
on Courser fayre doth ryde:
The Trumpets sound march on apace,
and Dromes the same do stryke.
Then forward moues ye Army great,
In order Martiall lyke.
I cam behynde (me thought) and best,
it seamed then to me:
To vew the dynt of dreedfull sword,
and feyghter none to be.
Thie Spies were sent abroad to vew,
the place where Cupide lay:
A longest a Ryuer fayre and broad,
they spye a pleasaunt way,
Which waye they tooke and passynge foorth,
at length apeares a plaine:
Both large & vast wher lyes ye rowt,
of Cruell Cupides trayne.
Thus told the spyes we onward hye,
and strayght in syght we haue,
The ferfull show of all our Foes,
and dredfull army braue,
The first yt marched frō Cupides Camp
was drowsy Idlenes.
The chyefest frend that loue had then,
the next was vyle Exces.
A Lubbour great, mishapen most,
of all that thear I saw,
As much I thynk in quantitie,
as Horses syre can draw.
A myghty face both broad and flat,
and all with Rubies set:
Muche nosed lyke a Turky Cocke,
with teth as blacke as Get.
A Belye byg, full trust with guts,
and Pestels two, lyke Postes,
A knaue full square in euery poynt,
a Prynce of dronken Dostes.
Upon a Camell couched hye,
for Horse coulde none hym beare,
A mighty Staffe in hande he had,
his Foes a farre to feare.
Behynde them all, the blynded God,
doth com in Charyot fayre,
With ragyng flames flong rounde about
he pestres all the ayre.
And after hym, for tryumphe leades
a thousande wounded Harts,
That gush abrode hot streams of blud
new persed with his Dartes,
The army redy for to meete
and all at poynt to fyght,
Hipolitus with lusty cheare
and with a noble Spryght.
His Souldiers to encourage. Thus
his wordes begyns to place.
My valyaunt frends and Subiects all
of Chast Dianaes Grace.
whose noble Harts were neuer staind
with spot of Dastards mynd,
Behold our enemyes here at hande,
behold yon coward blynd.
Of lytle force, comparde with you
howe in a fond araye,
They stragle out no ordre dewe,
obserued in theyr waye.
Behold what goodly Guyds they haue
to gouerne them withall,
That neuer knew what fighting ment
but lyue to Uenus thrall.
Marke hym that guyds the rerewarde there
that vyle deformed Churle,
Whose foggy Mates, with paunches syde
do thycke aboute him whurle.
And he that formost hether coms
loe what a handsome Squyre,
Sure full vnapt to kepe the felde,
more fyt to syt by the fyre.
In fyne lo Uictorye at hande
with hye tryumphant Crowne,
Bent for to spoyle our Foes of Fame,
and cast theyr Glorye downe.
Fyght therfore now courageouslye,
and ryd your frendes of feare,
Declare your Manhod valyauntly,
and let your Harts appeare.
With this the sounde begyns to moūt
and noyse hye to ryse,
And warlyke tunes begyn to dash,
them selues agaynst the Skyes.
The Canons Cracke, begins to roore
and Darts full thycke they flye
And couerd thycke, the armyes both,
and framde a Counter Skye.
And now the Battayls both be ioynde
with stroke of Hande to trye.
The quarell iust and for to fynde,
where Victory doth lye,
The Souldyers all of Idlenes,
where Labour coms, do fall,
And wounded sore, by force of hym,
all bathde in blud, they sprall.
Hym selfe alone with Idlenes
nowe hande to hande doth fyght
And after many a mortall wounde,
destroyes the selye wyght.
Then ioynes with him Syr Abstinence
with ayde & succours newe,
And both vpon the gresye Hoaste,
of Glottonye they flewe.
The Captayn doth aduaunce hymself
with Abstinence to meete,
The vnweldy Creature smitten there
is tombled vnder feete.
Than Fancie flyes Incontinence
and all Cupidoes frendes.
Beholdynge Fortune thus to frowne,
by flyght them selfe defendes.
Cupido whan he sees hymselfe,
thus spoylde of all his ayde,
The chyef Supporters of his Courte,
so sodaynly decayde.
Bad turne his Charyottes than with haste
and fast away he flyes,
Amongst the chaste Hipolitus
on swyftye Courser hyes,
Than all with Ioye they after run,
downe thycke the enemyes fall,
The blinded boy, for succour straight
to Venus hye doth call,
But all his cryes auayleth not,
his Foes hym fast pursewe,
The dryuer of his Charyot soone,
Hipolitus there slewe.
And down frō Horse, the wretche doth fall.
The horses spoyld of guyde,
A Souldier stoute of Reasons bande,
is wylled there to ryde.
Who turyng Raynes another waye
restrayns hym of his flyght,
His Honours lost and taken thus,
Cupide in dolfull plyght.
These wordes with tremblyng voyce began
syth Fortune thus quoth he,
Hath giuen her doome from doubtfull brest
& turnd her Grace from me.
Syth that the most misfortune nowe,
that euer I could fynd,
Hath chaunced to me and Myser I,
by Destenyes assygnde,
Am Captyue heare, consydre yet,
what Fortune myght haue wrought
And made a Canquerer of me,
and you in Bondage brought.
Consydre yet the wofull plyght,
wherin you had remaynd,
If that the Gods my happy state,
had not so sore disdaynd,
And by your Gryef, than mesure mine
showe mercye in this case,
That Conquerour cōmended is,
who gyues to pytie place.
The cruell mynd dispraysed is,
In euery kynd of state,
No man so hauty lyues on earth,
but one may fynd his mate,
These wordes Hipolitus I speake,
to bread no farther stryfe,
I speake not this of malyce heare,
my sute is for my lyfe.
Syth Fortune thus hath fauord you,
graunt thus my small request,
And let me lyue yf mercy dwell,
within your Noble brest,
By this tyme Morpheus had disperst
the drowsy Clowd of sleape,
And frō my braynes the quyet traūce,
began full fast to Creape.
And dounward fell. I wakd therwith
and lokyng round a bout,
Long tyme I mused where I was,
my mynd was styl in doubt.
Tyll at the length I vewde the tree,
and place where as I sat,
And well beheld the pleasaūt Spryng
that late I wondred at.
that late I wondred at,
I sawe besyde the Golden Globe,
of Phebus shynyng bryght,
That Westwarde halfe, dyd hyde his face
approchyng fast the nyght.
Eche Byrde began to shrowd hymself
in tree to take his rest
And ceaste the pleasaunt tunes yt late
proceaded from theyr Breaste.
I homewarde went, and left them all,
and restles all that nyght,
I musynge laye, tormented thus,
with fond lamentyng spryght.
When Phebus rose to passe the tyme,
and passe my gryefe awaye
I toke my Pen and pend the Dreame
that made my Muses staye.