The Rocke of Regard diuided into foure parts. The first, the Castle of delight: Wherein is reported, the wretched end of wanton and dissolute liuing. The second, the Garden of Vnthriftinesse: Wherein are many sweete flowers, (or rather fancies) of honest loue. The thirde, the Arbour of Vertue: Wherein slaunder is highly punished, and vertuous Ladies and Gentlewomen, worthily commended. The fourth, the Ortchard of Repentance: Wherein are discoursed, the miseries that followe dicing, the mischiefes of quareling, the fall of prodigalitie: and the souden ouerthrowe of foure notable cousners, with diuers other morall, natural, & tragical discourses: documents and admonitions being all the inuention, collection and translation of George Whetstons |
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| THE GARDEN OF VNTHRIFTINESSE, wherein is reported
the dolorous discourse of Dom Diego a Spaniard, together with his triumphe.
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 | The Rocke of Regard |  |
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THE GARDEN OF VNTHRIFTINESSE, wherein is reported the dolorous discourse of Dom Diego a Spaniard, together with his triumphe.
Wherein are diuers other flowers, (or fancies) of honest loue. Being the inuentions and collection of George Whestone, Gent.
Formæ nulla fides.
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DOM DIEGO HIS dolerous discourse.
I (wretched)
weary am of toile, good death delay my paine:
By words in waft, my works are lost, my wishes are in vaine.
I serue with faith, my hire is fraud, I loue & reape but hate,
And yet this woe doth wrong me most, I mourne without a mate.
By words in waft, my works are lost, my wishes are in vaine.
I serue with faith, my hire is fraud, I loue & reape but hate,
And yet this woe doth wrong me most, I mourne without a mate.
For if one drop of hope were seene, though dride with scorne in sight,
I might with pyning Tantale ioyne, who sterues in sweete delight.
Or if I could but halfe the hill, roule vp the tumbling stone,
I had a mate of Sisyphus, to match with mee in mone.
I might with pyning Tantale ioyne, who sterues in sweete delight.
Or if I could but halfe the hill, roule vp the tumbling stone,
I had a mate of Sisyphus, to match with mee in mone.
But, oh, O not my hap more harde, they haue a scambling ioy,
But I no thought of sweete remorse, my souereigne is so coy.
My ioy in was, my woe in is, and so is like to bee.
My fancies turne, to firie sightes, aliue, my death to see.
But I no thought of sweete remorse, my souereigne is so coy.
My ioy in was, my woe in is, and so is like to bee.
My fancies turne, to firie sightes, aliue, my death to see.
The court, the court, where pleasure liues, with paine increast my care,
Eche blisse seemde bale, eche gleame of grace, did mist my ioyes wt scare.
Eche show of sport, my sorrowes moude, eche pleasure made mee plaine,
Yet there I preast, to feede on sight, digesting dire disdaine.
Eche blisse seemde bale, eche gleame of grace, did mist my ioyes wt scare.
Eche show of sport, my sorrowes moude, eche pleasure made mee plaine,
Yet there I preast, to feede on sight, digesting dire disdaine.
Were loue not blinde, this life were straunge, for one to loue his foe,
More straunge to haunt a place of harme, but most to ioy in woe.
But (Oh) who feeles, his aukeward fittes, and suckes ye sweete in soure,
Shall bide a yeare of dole with ease, to feele one lightning houre.
More straunge to haunt a place of harme, but most to ioy in woe.
But (Oh) who feeles, his aukeward fittes, and suckes ye sweete in soure,
Shall bide a yeare of dole with ease, to feele one lightning houre.
Such life I lykt, til fogge of scorne, did rise to dampe my ioyes,
Till secrete sighes, wrought open scoffes, till floutes did quite my ioye.
Untill the colours which I wore, my secrete mourning wrayde,
Till dauntes of friendes, till frumpes of foes, my feeble hope dismayde.
Till secrete sighes, wrought open scoffes, till floutes did quite my ioye.
Untill the colours which I wore, my secrete mourning wrayde,
Till dauntes of friendes, till frumpes of foes, my feeble hope dismayde.
And till her bloudie hate was seene, of euery beetell sight,
Till then I neuer shronke, but sought with zeale, to quenche her spight,
But then (quoth I) Dom Diego wretch, bid Court, not care adue,
Some vnkouth haunt, thy fortune seemes, thy harmes alone to rue.
Till then I neuer shronke, but sought with zeale, to quenche her spight,
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Some vnkouth haunt, thy fortune seemes, thy harmes alone to rue.
Thou gau'st thy woord, to die her loue, let word, in worke agree:
Her checking chaunge, her scorne for faith, is no excuse for thee.
A Hermits life, beseemes thy lucke, go haunt the Pyren hills.
To touch the foode, wee may not taste, increaseth hungry wills.
Her checking chaunge, her scorne for faith, is no excuse for thee.
A Hermits life, beseemes thy lucke, go haunt the Pyren hills.
To touch the foode, wee may not taste, increaseth hungry wills.
Therwith I vow'de, in defart houltes, alone to rue my harme,
Where fretting sighes, doth serue for fire, my frosen flesh to warme.
My foode, is aples, hawes, and heepes, such fruites as feede a beast,
Wilde monsters are companions mine, in hollow caues I rest.
Where fretting sighes, doth serue for fire, my frosen flesh to warme.
My foode, is aples, hawes, and heepes, such fruites as feede a beast,
Wilde monsters are companions mine, in hollow caues I rest.
A crabtree staffe my surest steede, my sterued legges to ease,
My thoughts new wounds, increaseth stil, whē cares I would appease.
The watchfull clocke, the warning bell, the harmonie I heare,
Is dreadfull noyes of dreadlesse beastes, of whom I liue in feare.
My thoughts new wounds, increaseth stil, whē cares I would appease.
The watchfull clocke, the warning bell, the harmonie I heare,
Is dreadfull noyes of dreadlesse beastes, of whom I liue in feare.
My studie is to way, and waile, that fortune thus doth lowre,
Wher wealth by wāt, once loue by scorne, my sweete by present sowre.
Where fethers flue, about my helme, a willowe wreath to weare,
My weedes of worth, by cote of leaues, sharpe flowes, for deintie fare.
Wher wealth by wāt, once loue by scorne, my sweete by present sowre.
Where fethers flue, about my helme, a willowe wreath to weare,
My weedes of worth, by cote of leaues, sharpe flowes, for deintie fare.
My stately home, by hard exile, delight, by wythred woe,
Doth force (god wott) my wasted teares, through griefe, a fresh to flow,
My lute that sometime lent mee ease, hath neither frett nor stringe,
My sugred voice, with howling hoarst, forbids mee now to singe.
Doth force (god wott) my wasted teares, through griefe, a fresh to flow,
My lute that sometime lent mee ease, hath neither frett nor stringe,
My sugred voice, with howling hoarst, forbids mee now to singe.
My penns are worne, my incke is done, my paper all is writ,
Yet halfe my passions and my paine, vnpainted are as yet,
So that for onely exercise, in trees and Marble stone,
My griefe to ease, I forced now, do graue my wretched mone.
Yet halfe my passions and my paine, vnpainted are as yet,
So that for onely exercise, in trees and Marble stone,
My griefe to ease, I forced now, do graue my wretched mone.
Liue longe in blisse thou loftie Beeche, wherein this vow is writt,
No luring friend, nor lowring soe, Geneuras faith shall flitt.
To witnes now, her foule vntruth, Dom Diego writes belowe,
Her vowed faith, from knowen friend, is rest by sawning foe.
No luring friend, nor lowring soe, Geneuras faith shall flitt.
To witnes now, her foule vntruth, Dom Diego writes belowe,
Her vowed faith, from knowen friend, is rest by sawning foe.
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But chiefe of all, thou sacred stone, remaine thou sound and safe,
Continue thou these letters fresh, which are my Epitaphe,
Hard by this rough, and ragged stone, Dom Diego (wretched lyes,
Geneuras hate exiled him, yet louing her hee dies.
Continue thou these letters fresh, which are my Epitaphe,
Hard by this rough, and ragged stone, Dom Diego (wretched lyes,
Geneuras hate exiled him, yet louing her hee dies.
This homely tumbe, is all my helpe, to bring my death to light,
This must record my faithfull loue, and show my Ladies spight,
In time I trust some forrest Pan, or wandring pilgrime may,
Peruse my woes, and to my sweete, this sowre message wray.
This must record my faithfull loue, and show my Ladies spight,
In time I trust some forrest Pan, or wandring pilgrime may,
Peruse my woes, and to my sweete, this sowre message wray.
To saue my faithfull boone vnbroke, to show my seruice iust,
My souereignes scorne, with face of faith, her treason cloakt with trust,
Me wretched Dom Diego forst, before my time to die,
My bones vnburied by this tumbe, makes proofe it is no lie.
My souereignes scorne, with face of faith, her treason cloakt with trust,
Me wretched Dom Diego forst, before my time to die,
My bones vnburied by this tumbe, makes proofe it is no lie.
And now good death, with speede diuorce, my soule from lothed life,
My ioyes are worne, my pleasures past, my peace, is channg'd to strife,
I see no meane of quiet rest, but onely death by thee,
The spare them death, whom pleasure haunters use thy force on me.
My ioyes are worne, my pleasures past, my peace, is channg'd to strife,
I see no meane of quiet rest, but onely death by thee,
The spare them death, whom pleasure haunters use thy force on me.
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Dom Diego his triumphe.
Who
can report that neuer tasted bale?
What difference is, tweene sorrow and delite?
And who may tell, a more triumphant tale,
Then hee in ioy, that late was kept in spite?
I am the man: in mone there was none such:
My mone is past, my mirth must be as much.
What difference is, tweene sorrow and delite?
And who may tell, a more triumphant tale,
Then hee in ioy, that late was kept in spite?
I am the man: in mone there was none such:
My mone is past, my mirth must be as much.
Sith so: alone, I rule in throne of ioy,
Of pleasures mount, I weald the golden Mace,
Then leaue to bragge, yon Princes proud of Troy,
Your brayd delights, by mee can haue no place,
Once beautes blisse, to vaunt doth make you bould,
I haue such hap, and tenne times more in hould.
Of pleasures mount, I weald the golden Mace,
Then leaue to bragge, yon Princes proud of Troy,
Your brayd delights, by mee can haue no place,
Once beautes blisse, to vaunt doth make you bould,
I haue such hap, and tenne times more in hould.
And by your leaue, your Ladies blemisht are,
Aske Theseus, who first lopt fayre Hellens loue?
Syr Diomede, the spoile of Troylus ware,
Suppose them true, whom none could euer proue,
Your lightning ioyes, such lasting woes did brue,
As you may wish, your fames to die with you.
Aske Theseus, who first lopt fayre Hellens loue?
Syr Diomede, the spoile of Troylus ware,
Suppose them true, whom none could euer proue,
Your lightning ioyes, such lasting woes did brue,
As you may wish, your fames to die with you.
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But Lady mine, I wrong thee much in this,
To peize thy praise, with such as liu'de or liue,
For natures toile, some wayes disabled is,
Shee frames our forme, but can no fortune giue,
But thou wert shapt (for feare of fortunes spight,)
Of precious moold, by force of heauenly might.
To peize thy praise, with such as liu'de or liue,
For natures toile, some wayes disabled is,
Shee frames our forme, but can no fortune giue,
But thou wert shapt (for feare of fortunes spight,)
Of precious moold, by force of heauenly might.
By heauenly might, and worthie well such toyle,
Whose liuely limms, the Indian riches showe,
Her haire fine gold, her front doth yuorie foyle,
Her eyes giue light, as diamonds there did growe,
Her words of worth (as cause doth cause her speake
Tweene rockes of pearle, their pleasaunt passage breake.
Whose liuely limms, the Indian riches showe,
Her haire fine gold, her front doth yuorie foyle,
Her eyes giue light, as diamonds there did growe,
Her words of worth (as cause doth cause her speake
Tweene rockes of pearle, their pleasaunt passage breake.
What should I say? of truth from top too to,
These precious gems, in beautie shee doth staine,
And more then that (besides the outward sho)
Their vertues shee, with vauntage doth retaine,
So that of force, I (forst) must her define:
Not bound to kinde, but wholy is diuine.
These precious gems, in beautie shee doth staine,
And more then that (besides the outward sho)
Their vertues shee, with vauntage doth retaine,
So that of force, I (forst) must her define:
Not bound to kinde, but wholy is diuine.
Thrise happie man (whose loue this Saint did lure)
Dom Diego late, euen very wretchednesse,
Now maist thou daunt (thy vauntage is so sure)
That none aliue thy pleasures halfe possesse,
Through chaunce of loue, do thousands chaunce on death,
But dying I, my loue inlargde my breath.
Dom Diego late, euen very wretchednesse,
Now maist thou daunt (thy vauntage is so sure)
That none aliue thy pleasures halfe possesse,
Through chaunce of loue, do thousands chaunce on death,
But dying I, my loue inlargde my breath.
The scource of woe, is sauourie sauce to taste,
Our sweete delights, if once delight wee feele,
The rough repulse (if battring tyre be plaste)
Amends the spoile, when walles (perforce) do reele,
Of euery thinge, the goodnes doth increase,
If once afore, the losse did vs distresse.
Our sweete delights, if once delight wee feele,
The rough repulse (if battring tyre be plaste)
Amends the spoile, when walles (perforce) do reele,
Of euery thinge, the goodnes doth increase,
If once afore, the losse did vs distresse.
Sufficient proofe, my lingring loue can shoe,
I tyred hope, ere time my truth could trie,
Yea desperate wretch, forworne with wreake of woe,
I left my sute, and sought the meane to die,
Now winning her, whose want wrought such annoy,
On former griefes, I graft my fruites of ioy.
I tyred hope, ere time my truth could trie,
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I left my sute, and sought the meane to die,
Now winning her, whose want wrought such annoy,
On former griefes, I graft my fruites of ioy.
In waxe say I, men easily graue their will,
In Marble stone, the woorke with paine is wonne,
But perfect once, the print remayneth still,
When waxen seales, with euery browse are donne:
Euen so in loue, soone wonne, as soone is loste,
When forst through faith, it bydes both fire & frost.
In Marble stone, the woorke with paine is wonne,
But perfect once, the print remayneth still,
When waxen seales, with euery browse are donne:
Euen so in loue, soone wonne, as soone is loste,
When forst through faith, it bydes both fire & frost.
I can not vaunt of easie conquerd loue:
I graunt with faith, I foyle Geneuras scorne,
But now in peace, Distrust shall neuer moue,
One ielous thought, of wilde Acteons horne,
And yet forsooth, this feare hee liueth in,
To lose the wight, with words, that words did win.
I graunt with faith, I foyle Geneuras scorne,
But now in peace, Distrust shall neuer moue,
One ielous thought, of wilde Acteons horne,
And yet forsooth, this feare hee liueth in,
To lose the wight, with words, that words did win.
O happie loue, whose torments proue so sweete,
O friendly foes, whose treason, tride my trueth,
O luckie man, Dom Roderic to meete,
Geneura thou, thrise honord, for thy ruth,
Thou, onely thou, (the rest of small auaile)
Didst saue my life, when hope and all did faile.
O friendly foes, whose treason, tride my trueth,
O luckie man, Dom Roderic to meete,
Geneura thou, thrise honord, for thy ruth,
Thou, onely thou, (the rest of small auaile)
Didst saue my life, when hope and all did faile.
Now forth, I throw, my Gauntlet for this grace,
To chalenge such, as seeke to foile thy fame,
For sure the Armes, that durst my sweete imbrace,
Dares to defend, the honour of her name,
If which I faile, in prison let mee sterue,
So doome my fault, for so I should deserue.
To chalenge such, as seeke to foile thy fame,
For sure the Armes, that durst my sweete imbrace,
Dares to defend, the honour of her name,
If which I faile, in prison let mee sterue,
So doome my fault, for so I should deserue.
The complaint of two louers, restrained from their wished desires, by the displeasure of their friendes.
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We
lucklesse wightes in thraldome lincked still,
May sit and singe, oure layes of deepe lament,
Whose wayward friendes, accoyde in sullen will,
Both stirre and striue, to sunder our consent,
And yet (God wot) their wreasting is in vaine,
One will serues both, pleasure and in paine.
May sit and singe, oure layes of deepe lament,
Whose wayward friendes, accoyde in sullen will,
Both stirre and striue, to sunder our consent,
And yet (God wot) their wreasting is in vaine,
One will serues both, pleasure and in paine.
Haue they desire, wee should bee shrinde in clay?
By sundring vs, that loues each other so?
Will they not know, Loue doth no Lawe obey?
Nor how hee wrappes, the wysest wightes in wo?
Thinke they that force, can force our selues to hate?
O, no, in vaine, they seeke to sowe debate.
By sundring vs, that loues each other so?
Will they not know, Loue doth no Lawe obey?
Nor how hee wrappes, the wysest wightes in wo?
Thinke they that force, can force our selues to hate?
O, no, in vaine, they seeke to sowe debate.
Our plighted faith, shall neuer falled bee,
Constrainte of will, our wishes cannot yoke,
Our woordes in woorkes, in weale, and woe agree,
Such care wee haue, to keepe our vowe vnbroke,
O loue through whom, wee liue in this vnrest,
Once ease thy thralles, that thus obey thy hest.
Constrainte of will, our wishes cannot yoke,
Our woordes in woorkes, in weale, and woe agree,
Such care wee haue, to keepe our vowe vnbroke,
O loue through whom, wee liue in this vnrest,
Once ease thy thralles, that thus obey thy hest.
Remoue their wrath, that woorkes to wrack our will,
That after stormes, wee may some sunne shine see,
The fault is thine, if loue betyde vs yll,
Which bound our selues, that thou mightst set vs free,
Wherefore vouchsafe (to sowre our sweete at last)
That gleames of Grace, our clowdes of woe may wast.
That after stormes, wee may some sunne shine see,
The fault is thine, if loue betyde vs yll,
Which bound our selues, that thou mightst set vs free,
Wherefore vouchsafe (to sowre our sweete at last)
That gleames of Grace, our clowdes of woe may wast.
The Deuice of a Gentlewoman, to persuade her louer of her constancie, notwithstanding her show of hate, which shee onely vsed to quench the ielous suspicion of her friendes.
Sith
fortune threates, to woorke our wreake of ioy,
By sowsing of our ship, in seas of yre:
Sith sullen thoughtes doth so our friends accoy,
As wayward will, still wresteth our desire:
By sowsing of our ship, in seas of yre:
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As wayward will, still wresteth our desire:
I see no meanes, more meete for our behoue,
Then saile to strike, till stormes burst and gone,
Our lookes must hate, although our heart do loue,
Yea farre from wish, our woordes must menace mone.
Then saile to strike, till stormes burst and gone,
Our lookes must hate, although our heart do loue,
Yea farre from wish, our woordes must menace mone.
And yet this shew, of force must needes seeme straunge,
Unto vs both, tweene whome was neuer strife,
But let it helpe, I neuer meane to chaunge,
But keepe my vowe, vnfallsed as my life.
Unto vs both, tweene whome was neuer strife,
But let it helpe, I neuer meane to chaunge,
But keepe my vowe, vnfallsed as my life.
These simple shiftes, wee silly wenches worke,
To quenche or coole, our ielous friends suspect.
Whose Lynxes eyes, in euery corner lurcke,
To trie, and spoy, what worketh our defect.
To quenche or coole, our ielous friends suspect.
Whose Lynxes eyes, in euery corner lurcke,
To trie, and spoy, what worketh our defect.
Thus farewell friend, I wilbe short with thee,
Thou knowest my loue, in darkest cloudes will shine,
And though in show, my woordes from woorkes agree,
Yet thinke I am, and euer wilbe thine.
Thou knowest my loue, in darkest cloudes will shine,
And though in show, my woordes from woorkes agree,
Yet thinke I am, and euer wilbe thine.
The reiected louer, with earnest desire, pursues the sight of his disdainfull Mystresse.
The
dampe of dole, hath chaoked my delight,
Sharpe frumpes at frostes, doth nip my silly ioy,
My glymering grace, is darkned with despight,
Yea sullen thoughtes, my souereigne so accoy.
As mistes of scorne, still falleth on my faith,
My cleare conceiptes, are clowded oore with care,
And yet my heart, aye mee no power hath,
To shunne the storme, that sheweth all this scare.
O straunge effectes, of blinde affected loue,
To haunt the yll, whereby our mischiefes moue.
Sharpe frumpes at frostes, doth nip my silly ioy,
My glymering grace, is darkned with despight,
Yea sullen thoughtes, my souereigne so accoy.
As mistes of scorne, still falleth on my faith,
My cleare conceiptes, are clowded oore with care,
And yet my heart, aye mee no power hath,
To shunne the storme, that sheweth all this scare.
O straunge effectes, of blinde affected loue,
To haunt the yll, whereby our mischiefes moue.
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Much like the flye, that buzzeth by the flame,
And makes a sport, to see the candle light,
Till she vnwares, be sindged in the same,
And so with death, doth buy her fond delight.
Or as the mouse, that frisketh by the trap,
At length is mou'd, to medle with the bayt,
Which weaues (God wot) the web of her mishap:
The bridge doth fal, and she is baind with weight,
Such sweete conceits, inticing sorrowes breede,
To sterne with woe, when ioy makes fare to feede.
And makes a sport, to see the candle light,
Till she vnwares, be sindged in the same,
And so with death, doth buy her fond delight.
Or as the mouse, that frisketh by the trap,
At length is mou'd, to medle with the bayt,
Which weaues (God wot) the web of her mishap:
The bridge doth fal, and she is baind with weight,
Such sweete conceits, inticing sorrowes breede,
To sterne with woe, when ioy makes fare to feede.
With which effectes, I finde my fancies witcht,
I feele the flame, yet can not shun the fire.
Th'inticing trap, I see on treason pitcht,
And yet the bayte to byte, I haue desire,
But (O yll hap) to worke my harmes increase,
Both mischiefes want, the forerecyted force,
I finde no death my sorrowes to appease,
And so my state, then other misers worse:
But sure my fault, or fate ordaines it so,
And therfore I, do take in worth this woe.
I feele the flame, yet can not shun the fire.
Th'inticing trap, I see on treason pitcht,
And yet the bayte to byte, I haue desire,
But (O yll hap) to worke my harmes increase,
Both mischiefes want, the forerecyted force,
I finde no death my sorrowes to appease,
And so my state, then other misers worse:
But sure my fault, or fate ordaines it so,
And therfore I, do take in worth this woe.
A Gentlewoman falsely deceiued with faire wordes, forsweareth hereafter to be wonne with flattering promises.
Giue
me my worke, that I may sit and sowe,
And so escape, the traines of trustlesse men,
I finde too true, by witnesse of my woe,
How yt faire wordes, wt faithles works they blen,
Much Syren like, with sweete inticing call,
We sillie dames, to witch, and wrap in thrall.
And so escape, the traines of trustlesse men,
I finde too true, by witnesse of my woe,
How yt faire wordes, wt faithles works they blen,
Much Syren like, with sweete inticing call,
We sillie dames, to witch, and wrap in thrall.
O cruell friend, whose false of faith I rue,
Thou forcest me, to count all men vniust,
For if that vow or othe might make one true,
Thou vsedst such, as well might force to trust:
But I betrayd, by too farre trusting thee,
Wil hencefoorth take, faire words euen as they be.
Thou forcest me, to count all men vniust,
For if that vow or othe might make one true,
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But I betrayd, by too farre trusting thee,
Wil hencefoorth take, faire words euen as they be.
I will be deafe, though thousands sue for grace.
My sight as dym, if sights in silence plead,
Salt teares, no roth, within my hart shall place.
For this shall be my song, and dayly reade:
Poore I that liu'd, in thraldome linckt of yore,
Vnbound at length, will learne to loue no more.
My sight as dym, if sights in silence plead,
Salt teares, no roth, within my hart shall place.
For this shall be my song, and dayly reade:
Poore I that liu'd, in thraldome linckt of yore,
Vnbound at length, will learne to loue no more.
The pitious complaint of Medea, forsaken of Iason, liuely bewraying the slipperie hold in sugred words.
Amid
the desart woods, I rue and shew my fate,
Exild (O wretch) frō courtly ioyes, bereft of princes state,
O loue, from whence these plagues proceede,
For seruice true, is this thy meede?
Exild (O wretch) frō courtly ioyes, bereft of princes state,
O loue, from whence these plagues proceede,
For seruice true, is this thy meede?
What vaileth now my skil, or sight in Magickes lore,
May charmed hearbs, suffice to help, or cure my festred sore,
A salue I shapt, for others smart,
My selfe to ayde, I want the Arte.
May charmed hearbs, suffice to help, or cure my festred sore,
A salue I shapt, for others smart,
My selfe to ayde, I want the Arte.
I made the wayward Moone, against the Sunne to striue,
And gastly ghostes, from burial graues, ful oft I did reuiue,
To counterchaunge, the same with death,
In flowre of youth, some yealded breath.
And gastly ghostes, from burial graues, ful oft I did reuiue,
To counterchaunge, the same with death,
In flowre of youth, some yealded breath.
What future harmes insude, I shewd to other wights,
And wanted skil for to preuent, my present pensiue plights.
Why did I leaue my natiue soyle,
In forreine land, to haue the foyle?
And wanted skil for to preuent, my present pensiue plights.
Why did I leaue my natiue soyle,
In forreine land, to haue the foyle?
Thy loue (O Iason false) to winne I sparde no paine,
Although Medeas loyaltie, be guerdoned with disdaine,
The goulden fleece, thou wert to blame,
To beare away, I wonne the same.
Although Medeas loyaltie, be guerdoned with disdaine,
The goulden fleece, thou wert to blame,
To beare away, I wonne the same.
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But lordly lookes full oft, and slippry seruice eke,
To harmelesse Ladies haue beene vowde, to catch ye suters seeke.
And then depart, from plighted othe,
Their sugred woordes, yeelde sealdome trothe.
To harmelesse Ladies haue beene vowde, to catch ye suters seeke.
And then depart, from plighted othe,
Their sugred woordes, yeelde sealdome trothe.
Where be ye carelesse vowes, & feareles othes thou sweare?
Whē I imbarkt frō Colches coast, ye mountaine waues did teare?
Where is thy faith, for goulden fleece,
To crowne mee Queene, of famous Greece?
Whē I imbarkt frō Colches coast, ye mountaine waues did teare?
Where is thy faith, for goulden fleece,
To crowne mee Queene, of famous Greece?
Might not thy traytrous mind, in lue of friendships lore,
Forsake me (wretch) among my friends, but ye with saile and ore
Thou me conuaydst to place vnknowne,
Amonge wyld beastes to make my mone.
Forsake me (wretch) among my friends, but ye with saile and ore
Thou me conuaydst to place vnknowne,
Amonge wyld beastes to make my mone.
Who gainst their sauage kinde, do worke me (wretch) no yll,
But seemes for to lament my case, or else the Gods y will.
My lothed life, should lengthned bee,
To guerdon my iniquitie.
But seemes for to lament my case, or else the Gods y will.
My lothed life, should lengthned bee,
To guerdon my iniquitie.
The forsaken louer, pretilie nippeth his Ladies inconstancie, for that (as he thought) shee matched with his baser in accompt, wherein coulerablie he discouereth both their names.
The
Gallie slaue, which still doth stirre the ore,
If haplie hee, his wished hauen espies,
With restlesse toile, doth plie to be on shore,
Haile in a maine, my mates, hee cheerely cries,
But when with rough repulse, from blissefull bay,
Hee is inforst, on seas againe to stray:
If haplie hee, his wished hauen espies,
With restlesse toile, doth plie to be on shore,
Haile in a maine, my mates, hee cheerely cries,
But when with rough repulse, from blissefull bay,
Hee is inforst, on seas againe to stray:
Unhappie wight, then drownde in deepe despaire,
Powres forth his plaintes, with flouds of brackish teares.
With whome I now, do claime a partie share,
Imbarkt in hope, where will the stearne did wylde,
Thy faith was guide, which falsed me beguylde.
Powres forth his plaintes, with flouds of brackish teares.
With whome I now, do claime a partie share,
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Thy faith was guide, which falsed me beguylde.
My sailes of sighes, my tackle framde of trust,
With blisse, and bale, thus armed was my barke,
Now vaunst on high, now throwne downe to ye dust,
Now fraught with ioy, now forst to care and carke,
Yet quiet calme, at length of friendships lore,
Did seeme to guide, my shiuered ship to shore,
With blisse, and bale, thus armed was my barke,
Now vaunst on high, now throwne downe to ye dust,
Now fraught with ioy, now forst to care and carke,
Yet quiet calme, at length of friendships lore,
Did seeme to guide, my shiuered ship to shore,
And entring in, the narrowe brooke of blisse,
Triumph (quoth I) dame Fortune hath the foyle,
The mends is made, that quiteth euery misse,
Aduentrous boy, now reape thy fruits of toyle,
But trust to top, of Fortunes fickle wheele,
Thy faith did slide, and I began to reele.
Triumph (quoth I) dame Fortune hath the foyle,
The mends is made, that quiteth euery misse,
Aduentrous boy, now reape thy fruits of toyle,
But trust to top, of Fortunes fickle wheele,
Thy faith did slide, and I began to reele.
For bitter blastes, of rage, and deepe disdaine,
My ankers lost, my ship so sore they shooke,
That I againe, was glad broad seas to gaine,
To scape the flats, within thy blisselesse brooke,
And whilste in hope, I winde and weather waite,
A baggish banke, I sawe, to passe thy straight.
My ankers lost, my ship so sore they shooke,
That I againe, was glad broad seas to gaine,
To scape the flats, within thy blisselesse brooke,
And whilste in hope, I winde and weather waite,
A baggish banke, I sawe, to passe thy straight.
Agrieud wherat, through hate I houng the lip,
And sayd too true, that waues, and women gree,
Which saues the boate, and spoiles the gallant ship:
So Ladies loue, lightes oft in base degree:
And then I vow'd, from which I will not swarue,
To haunt you both, no more then neede shall serue.
And sayd too true, that waues, and women gree,
Which saues the boate, and spoiles the gallant ship:
So Ladies loue, lightes oft in base degree:
And then I vow'd, from which I will not swarue,
To haunt you both, no more then neede shall serue.
The louer attributeth his curelesse wound to chaunce, by louing long.
Long
haue I lost my libertie,
Alas through loue, (long) haue I so.
(Long) haue I stoode in ieopardie,
In louing (long) through pyning woe,
Whose constant truth long, hath ben tryde,
Though (long) his suit hath ben denyde.
Alas through loue, (long) haue I so.
(Long) haue I stoode in ieopardie,
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Whose constant truth long, hath ben tryde,
Though (long) his suit hath ben denyde.
By batterie (long) the brasen wall,
The cannon shot, doth cleaue deface,
The longest trees in time doe fall,
Which (long) before had Boreas base,
The little brooke in running (long)
Doth turne into a riuer strong.
The cannon shot, doth cleaue deface,
The longest trees in time doe fall,
Which (long) before had Boreas base,
The little brooke in running (long)
Doth turne into a riuer strong.
Then may it be I louing (long)
My pyning corps by (long) delay,
Can (long) abide the furie strong,
Of ghastly death which (long) doth stay,
His lingring stroke to haue it so,
That louing (long) should worke my woe.
My pyning corps by (long) delay,
Can (long) abide the furie strong,
Of ghastly death which (long) doth stay,
His lingring stroke to haue it so,
That louing (long) should worke my woe.
A Sonet, wherin is showne the straunge effectes of loue.
In
care I ioy, my mirth is mou'd by mone,
With flouds of want, I weare to ebbe my wo,
Appayd I rest, in restlesse griefe to grone,
By fainting hope, my friendly hap doth growe,
In waues of bale, I bathe in wished blisse,
My wealth in woe, in paine my pleasure is.
With flouds of want, I weare to ebbe my wo,
Appayd I rest, in restlesse griefe to grone,
By fainting hope, my friendly hap doth growe,
In waues of bale, I bathe in wished blisse,
My wealth in woe, in paine my pleasure is.
But how these hang, if so she search my harme,
These sewe suffice, the same to shew my (sweete)
To rayse her ioy, my selfe I wholy arme,
To freese, or fry, as she shal deeme it meete,
I bound, am free, and free, I yeald her slaue,
That's my delight, that she desires to haue.
These sewe suffice, the same to shew my (sweete)
To rayse her ioy, my selfe I wholy arme,
To freese, or fry, as she shal deeme it meete,
I bound, am free, and free, I yeald her slaue,
That's my delight, that she desires to haue.
And sith my sport, doth make my souereigns ioy,
And mirth she finds, to thwart my faith wt frūps,
I sad, am glad, my noy, may force her ioy.
My sowre, her sweete, my dole may cleare her dumpes,
Yea life I wish, this were to do her good,
Each day to wasts, a drop of guitlesse blood.
And mirth she finds, to thwart my faith wt frūps,
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My sowre, her sweete, my dole may cleare her dumpes,
Yea life I wish, this were to do her good,
Each day to wasts, a drop of guitlesse blood.
The louer wearied with a number of delayes, sues vnto his Ladie for pitie, or otherwise her speedie denyall, by death to worke a speedie dispatch of his languishing dayes.
If pitie may preuaile, to pearse your hart with ruth,Sweete maistres lend your listning eare, to heare your seruants truth,
Whose faith hath chose you iudge, and iurie if you please,
If not, desart, shal trye this cause, your deintie mynd to ease.
The whole record, is writ, for rasing with my teares,
My witnesse is, my withered corps, ny famished with feares,
A thousand sighes besides, in open court will sweare,
You are the Saint, which with my heart, I honour, loue, and feare.
Disdaine, that workes delayes, mistrust that moues my mone,
No witnesse hath to hinder right, but false suspect alone,
Yet boulstred vp by scorne, they scoffe my loyall loue,
And kept me play, with forreine frumpes, til prickt by neede to proue,
If pitie could procure, your heart, my harme to rue,
I found remorse, was preast to heare, the plaint before your view,
And now good Lady note, my witnesse and my woe,
If I deserue your loue for loue, giue verdite yea, or no,
For daunted with delayes, for hap or harme I iumpe,
And knowe you once if sullen will, my faythful loue doth frumpe:
I will not languish long, in cursed Cupides flame,
Death in despight, shall rid me dole, and you shall beare the blame,
But if with souereigne grace, you may your seruants state
Yeald recompence, of loue betimes, least liking come too late,
To coole his flaming harte, by Cupide set on fire,
Through heate whereof a Whetstone colde, consumes with hote desire.
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The thought of wonted ioyes, doubleth the miserable mans griefs.
I that
whose youth, was lul'd in pleasures lap,
Whose wanton yeres, were neuer chargd wt care
Who made no flight, but reacht the pitch of hap,
And now besieg'd, with griefe at vnawares,
How can my hart, but bleede to thinke on this?
My ioy with was, my woe is ioynd with is.
Whose wanton yeres, were neuer chargd wt care
Who made no flight, but reacht the pitch of hap,
And now besieg'd, with griefe at vnawares,
How can my hart, but bleede to thinke on this?
My ioy with was, my woe is ioynd with is.
With is? (Oh yea,) and euer wil be so:
Such hell is thought, to muse on ioyes forgone,
For though content, would faine appease my woe,
This myrthlesse note, continues fresh my mone,
O deare delight, with whome I dwelt in ioy,
Thy sowrest sweete, my sorrowes would destroy.
Such hell is thought, to muse on ioyes forgone,
For though content, would faine appease my woe,
This myrthlesse note, continues fresh my mone,
O deare delight, with whome I dwelt in ioy,
Thy sowrest sweete, my sorrowes would destroy.
Destroy it would, but Oh, those dayes are past,
When to my wil, I found dame fortune wrought,
My fancies cleare, with cares are ouer cast,
Yet bootelesse hope, will not forsake my thought,
But still proroges, my griefe, that else would dye,
To vaine effect, when I my toyling spye.
When to my wil, I found dame fortune wrought,
My fancies cleare, with cares are ouer cast,
Yet bootelesse hope, will not forsake my thought,
But still proroges, my griefe, that else would dye,
To vaine effect, when I my toyling spye.
The hap, and hard fortune of a carelesse louer.
My
hart on hayh, with carelesse mind, I raūging freedomes fielde,
Blind Cupide, by arest vnwares, to beautie bad me yeald,
What yeald (quoth I) at beauties becke, as Venus slaue to serue?
May he whome freedome, alwayes fen, by bondage stoupe to sterue?
Blind Cupide, by arest vnwares, to beautie bad me yeald,
What yeald (quoth I) at beauties becke, as Venus slaue to serue?
May he whome freedome, alwayes fen, by bondage stoupe to sterue?
No, Cupide, no: with me go tell, dame beautie beares no sway,
Nor pleasure with her painted sheath, can make me Cupide pray:
This answere made, with winged feete he tooke his flight away,
And did impart, to beautie straight, his rest I would not bay.
Nor pleasure with her painted sheath, can make me Cupide pray:
This answere made, with winged feete he tooke his flight away,
And did impart, to beautie straight, his rest I would not bay.
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With anger fraught, who foorth with wild, an armie should be had,
And captaines hauing charge them selues, in armour should be clad,
Her selfe she plaste in formost scont, with Pleasure in her hand,
And Lady Loue elected was, hygh Marshall of her hand.
And captaines hauing charge them selues, in armour should be clad,
Her selfe she plaste in formost scont, with Pleasure in her hand,
And Lady Loue elected was, hygh Marshall of her hand.
Faire Venus in the rereward went, her sonne in ambush lay,
Thus Beautie and her warlike crue, did mearch in battel ray,
But I poore I, which feard no force, in freedomes lease at large,
Pursude my sport, with carelesse mynd, of Loue I tooke no charge.
Thus Beautie and her warlike crue, did mearch in battel ray,
But I poore I, which feard no force, in freedomes lease at large,
Pursude my sport, with carelesse mynd, of Loue I tooke no charge.
But all too soone, I heard a sound, of dub, dub, in my eare,
And therewithall I sawe in sight, tenne aunchents to appeare:
Which poudred were with pyned hartes, in bloudy colours set,
Which forst me flee to wisdomes wood, to scape Dan Cupids net.
And therewithall I sawe in sight, tenne aunchents to appeare:
Which poudred were with pyned hartes, in bloudy colours set,
Which forst me flee to wisdomes wood, to scape Dan Cupids net.
But craftie (he) in scoute there lay, who first gaue charge on me,
And brought me bound to Beauties barre, her prisoner for to be,
Then stinging loue, enforst me pray, Dame Pleasure plead my case,
But Beautie sayd in vaine I sude, in hope of future grace.
And brought me bound to Beauties barre, her prisoner for to be,
Then stinging loue, enforst me pray, Dame Pleasure plead my case,
But Beautie sayd in vaine I sude, in hope of future grace.
For martiall law, foorthwith (quoth she) thy hart in bale shall bounce,
Therwith she chargd her Marshal high, this sentence to pronounce,
To bate thy pride, which wouldst not stoupe, when beautie bent her lure,
Thy casting shall be clods of care, Saunce hope of happie cure.
Therwith she chargd her Marshal high, this sentence to pronounce,
To bate thy pride, which wouldst not stoupe, when beautie bent her lure,
Thy casting shall be clods of care, Saunce hope of happie cure.
With flouds of teares, thy dazeld eyes, thy sickly cheekes shall staine,
And Fancie with his fleating toyes, shall harbour in thy braine,
Thy heart shall poudred be with paine, thy guts with griefe to boyle,
Thy seething sighes, shall scalde thy lippes, to taste of inwarde toyle.
And Fancie with his fleating toyes, shall harbour in thy braine,
Thy heart shall poudred be with paine, thy guts with griefe to boyle,
Thy seething sighes, shall scalde thy lippes, to taste of inwarde toyle.
Thy intrales all shall parched be, with flames of fond desire,
The heauie perse of bodyes griefe, thy pyned legges shall tire:
Despaire then was the hangman made, which doome did Beautie please,
And I to bondage was bequeath'd, to liue in little ease,
The heauie perse of bodyes griefe, thy pyned legges shall tire:
Despaire then was the hangman made, which doome did Beautie please,
And I to bondage was bequeath'd, to liue in little ease,
Wherewith the Gem of Venus band, vnprayd of her bongre.
Did beg me wretch at Beauties hand, her prisoner for to be.
And after bowe of loyaltie, did let me goe at large,
Yea further payd my farewell fee, my bondage to discharge
In lue whereof at her commaund, my seruice loe is prest,
As homage due, for saued life, yea, more her slaue I rest.
Did beg me wretch at Beauties hand, her prisoner for to be.
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Yea further payd my farewell fee, my bondage to discharge
In lue whereof at her commaund, my seruice loe is prest,
As homage due, for saued life, yea, more her slaue I rest.
The absent louer in pawne of his constancie, sendeth his heart to his Ladie.
Receiue , deare dame, as gage of worthy loue,This pyned hart, bepoudred all with teares,
Whose poesie is (No fate, my faith can moue)
A rare accorde, in prime of rouing yeres,
When fancie sets a thousand thoughts on fire,
When faith is choakt, with smoke of filthy change,
When folly fumes, when flameth fond desire,
When raging lust, beyond his bounds doth range,
When euery bayte beguileth, brainsicke youth,
When newe found loue, the olde exileth still,
When sugred wordes, are sauced with vntruth,
What straunge consent, subdude my wanton wil?
Forsooth (sweet wēch) this stay thy vertue wrought
Thy rare report, this Metamorphose made,
And lest my youth, should wrōg thee wt som thought
I vse this helpe, all vaine desires to vade,
In absence loe, to leaue with thee my hart,
That al my ioy, may liue where thou doest rest,
I likewise vse, to free thy hidden smart,
By secrete sighes, which flies from couert brest,
My hart to send, to ioyne in ayde with thine,
That thou mayst ioy, although in paine I pyne.
The louer neither greatly fauoured, nor openly refused, compareth the wretchednesse of his estate, vnto the paines of hell.
Full
fearefull is the talke of Tantals griefe,
Who hungersterues in seas of deintie fare,
Which failes to eb, when he should find reliefe,
And flowes againe, his hope with woes to ware,
And how in vaine poore Sisyphus doth mone,
To mountaine top, who stil doth roll the stone.
Who hungersterues in seas of deintie fare,
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And flowes againe, his hope with woes to ware,
And how in vaine poore Sisyphus doth mone,
To mountaine top, who stil doth roll the stone.
And reaching thus, the point of all his paine,
For ioy he leapes, downe falles his fruites of toyle,
Straight backe he runnes, to fetch the stone againe,
A new he rolles, but reapes his former foyle,
These be their plagues, which light in sathans trap,
To wish and want to hope, and haue no hap.
For ioy he leapes, downe falles his fruites of toyle,
Straight backe he runnes, to fetch the stone againe,
A new he rolles, but reapes his former foyle,
These be their plagues, which light in sathans trap,
To wish and want to hope, and haue no hap.
If then it be, a hell, in doubt to liue,
My selfe by proofe, can blase thereof the paine,
Who findeth grace, where scorn but late did grieue,
And fead with hope, with hate is steru'd againe,
For all his suite, who can no answere knowe,
If his sweete maistresse, loues him yea, or no.
My selfe by proofe, can blase thereof the paine,
Who findeth grace, where scorn but late did grieue,
And fead with hope, with hate is steru'd againe,
For all his suite, who can no answere knowe,
If his sweete maistresse, loues him yea, or no.
If secrete yea, this Item would but giue,
I loue in hart, where most in shewe I hate,
To free suspect, thus straungely do I liue,
To plight my fayth, where scorne doth faine debate,
Unto my smart, it were a sweete reliefe,
Then should my lute, sound notes of ioy, not griefe.
I loue in hart, where most in shewe I hate,
To free suspect, thus straungely do I liue,
To plight my fayth, where scorne doth faine debate,
Unto my smart, it were a sweete reliefe,
Then should my lute, sound notes of ioy, not griefe.
Then would I laugh, to see my Lady pout,
And smyle when most, she wroūg her mouth awry,
A signe of fayth, should seeme each thwarting flout,
And iealous feare, farre from my hart should fly,
Although in armes, my foe did her imbrace,
If once she fleard, with fancie on my face.
And smyle when most, she wroūg her mouth awry,
A signe of fayth, should seeme each thwarting flout,
And iealous feare, farre from my hart should fly,
Although in armes, my foe did her imbrace,
If once she fleard, with fancie on my face.
If open no, would will my suites to cease,
I know the worst, and so adieu to smart,
A hastie death, my sorrowes could appease,
Or languor would soone pierce my pyning hart,
Thus death were worsse, how so my fortune fell,
But nowe aliue, I feele the paines of hell.
I know the worst, and so adieu to smart,
A hastie death, my sorrowes could appease,
Or languor would soone pierce my pyning hart,
84
But nowe aliue, I feele the paines of hell.
By gleames of grace, I reape a hote reliefe,
With storms of scorne, I freese againe with feare,
Thus flouds of ioy, do fall to eb with griefe,
And doubtfull hope, desired hap doth weare,
In fauour most, I moue her still to loue,
Soft she replyes, I must your patience proue.
With storms of scorne, I freese againe with feare,
Thus flouds of ioy, do fall to eb with griefe,
And doubtfull hope, desired hap doth weare,
In fauour most, I moue her still to loue,
Soft she replyes, I must your patience proue.
I feare to say, be plaine with yea, or no,
Least in her pettes, no, please her peeuish thought,
And scorne with all, my ioyes do ouerthrowe,
So forward haste, wt backward speed were bought,
Thus am I forst, to daunce attendance still,
God graunt for al, in fiue I get good will.
Least in her pettes, no, please her peeuish thought,
And scorne with all, my ioyes do ouerthrowe,
So forward haste, wt backward speed were bought,
Thus am I forst, to daunce attendance still,
God graunt for al, in fiue I get good will.
G. W. to the signe of the brasen bell.
And not without desart, I thee a tyrant call.Which saue a scorne thou madst of me, to eache mishape art thrall,
Thy credite is the church, O false vnfriendly bell
When as thou soundest the marridge ioyes, or ringst the carefull knell.
The souldier in distresse, by the alarum makes,
And when good hap doth him aduaunce, thy sides he rudely shakes,
Digressing from his state, to toyle of baser chaunce.
A thrall thou art, to Hick and Steuen, in euery morris daunce,
The hinde doth decke his horse, with belles to make him free,
The harmelesse foole, vpon his cap doth make a scorne of thee,
Besides to sauage beastes, a seruile slaue thou restes,
The deintie dog in Ladies lap, is iueld with thy iestes.
The mounting faulcon loft, bewrayes by thee her stande,
By thee the hobby dares the larke, before he well be mande.
Of yore this phrase I learnd, when things ne framed well,
A capcase for the foole to call, a cockscomb and a bell,
Then canst that thus arte scornd, besides thy seruile strokes,
A tryumph make vpon his teares, whom loue, ne lust prouokes.
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Who wel is bent to quite thy toyle, when stinted is his strife,
He sure would thee aduaunce, from brasse to glittering golde,
If that by pearcing peales thou wouldst, his sorrowes once vnfolde,
Thou seest what sighes I sende, and howe my suites be payd:
Thou seest my maistresse smyle with grace, and graunt she earst denayd,
Thou seest me Cupids thrall, her loue in league with hate,
Thou seest my blisse is wayd with bale, when wrath doth weaue debate:
Thou seest my greatest ioyes, are counterpeisde with paine:
Thou seest my myrth is mixt with mone, when iealousie doth reigne,
Yet when she smyles, thou spar'st, my sorrowes to deface,
And when she frownes, thou fearst to speake, to winne her wonted grace.
Well, sith through feare or scorne, thou lettst me languish still,
I present now will plead for grace, to winne my wished will,
And first good tong prepare, to tell a louers tale,
Sound foorth my ioyes, aduaun'st by hope, by dyre despaire my bale,
And when mistrust infectes my Ladies hautie hart,
Then scalding sighes, giue you the charge, to shew my ceaselesse smart.
But if she list to toy, and smyle with friendly face,
With easie force then armes assay, thy maistresse to imbrace:
Then sorrowe seeke reuenge, vpon her ruby lips,
Then wounded hart receiue the cure of cruell Cupids nips,
Thus forward vaunce your selues, the maister griefes to wray:
The silent man still suffers wrong, the prouerbe olde doth say.
And where aduenture wants, the wishing wight ne thriues.
Faint heart, hath ben a common phrase, faire Lady neuer wiues.
The louer blameth his Ladies mistrust, wherin is figured the passions of an earnest louer.
What fancie fond did force your mynde,My deare to iudge me so vnkinde,
As one of wits bereau'd,
To breake the bendes of loyaltie,
As one deuoyd of honestie?
No, no, you are deceaud.
86
Is linckt with true fidelitie,
By no meanes Iunos iealousie
A sunder may it part.
For since with you, I fell in loue,
Assigned by the Gods aboue,
My heart did neuer seeke to proue,
From yours once to start.
For proofe to try what I haue sayd,
Marke how my flesh, away doth fade,
And inward parts doth fret:
For who can hide the slankering fire,
But that it will shewe foorth his ire,
By vertue of his heate.
So those ypearst with Cupides dart,
Cannot so closely cloake their smart.
But that they must complaine,
Their scalding sighes, their sorowes shewe,
Their colour fading too and fro,
Beares witnesse of their paine,
Their sowre sitting in secrete nookes,
When others laugh, their lowring lookes,
Declares them caught in Cupides hookes,
And fare as men forlorne.
Their often making of their mone,
Their solemne sitting all alone,
In places secrete and vnknowne,
Still cursing they were borne.
Are tokens true the Poet sayth,
To whome these Turtles vowe their faith,
If fayning we may trust.
Certes these torments all men greeue,
And therefore sure I do beleeue,
Their sayings to be iust.
Wherfore to guerdon loyall loue,
My deare such fancies from you moue,
As Enuie late did faine.
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The heauens shall fall ere I vntrue,
My loyaltie will staine.
And time I trust will so prouide,
When eluish Enuie shall her hide,
From bale to blisse truth shall vs hide,
To top of Fortunes wheele.
Where we to banishe fell annoy,
Stil liue repleate with blissefull ioy,
Still lauding of the blinded boy,
Whose force we off did feele,
Till time obtaines that happy day,
Let no conceite your mynd affray,
In iudging me vntrue.
Which blessed houre shall hap with speede,
Or else my will shall want his meede,
And thus sweete wench adue.
The infortunate louer determineth rather desperately to end his sorrowes, then to proroge them with bootelesse hope.
The
trayterous mate, by law adiudg'd to dye,
If feare of death, should worke this foule effect,
In hope Saunce hap, his secrete to escrye,
Or slaunder forge to peach the vnsuspect,
Proroging thus, his life by dallying death,
Besides his gilt, with shame shuld stop his breath.
If feare of death, should worke this foule effect,
In hope Saunce hap, his secrete to escrye,
Or slaunder forge to peach the vnsuspect,
Proroging thus, his life by dallying death,
Besides his gilt, with shame shuld stop his breath.
In desperate frayes, where raunsome is denyde,
Base were the minde, in hope of grace to yeald,
Whose courage else, might daūt his enimies pride,
And so by force, with fame, to win the field,
For where our wrong, doth worke our ouerthrow,
In vaine we hope, to weare away our woe.
Base were the minde, in hope of grace to yeald,
Whose courage else, might daūt his enimies pride,
And so by force, with fame, to win the field,
For where our wrong, doth worke our ouerthrow,
In vaine we hope, to weare away our woe.
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And why shuld I, with hope persuade my thought,
To bath in blisse, past bondes of my desart,
For my base hap, my loue to high is sought,
Whom fauour none, but frownings ouerthwart,
Alas can reape, at my sweete maistresse hands:
I loue, she hates, and thus my fortune stands.
To bath in blisse, past bondes of my desart,
For my base hap, my loue to high is sought,
Whom fauour none, but frownings ouerthwart,
Alas can reape, at my sweete maistresse hands:
I loue, she hates, and thus my fortune stands.
With withered woe, my life I weare away,
Where often I heare, thundring in my thought,
Through loue of her, my friendes and foes to say,
Upon my selfe, I wilfull murther wrought:
Then sith my death, this strange report shal shape,
In vaine for grace, till later gaspe I gape,
Where often I heare, thundring in my thought,
Through loue of her, my friendes and foes to say,
Upon my selfe, I wilfull murther wrought:
Then sith my death, this strange report shal shape,
In vaine for grace, till later gaspe I gape,
Nay, wretche diuorce, delayes from wished death,
Cut through ye thred, which care cōsumes to slowe,
Thy mounting mind, despiseth seruile breath,
And canst thou yeald, to fortunes ouerthrowe?
Thy dome is death, by Ladies scorne decreed,
Needs most thou dye, then best to dye with speede.
Cut through ye thred, which care cōsumes to slowe,
Thy mounting mind, despiseth seruile breath,
And canst thou yeald, to fortunes ouerthrowe?
Thy dome is death, by Ladies scorne decreed,
Needs most thou dye, then best to dye with speede.
Some friend wil write, on my vntimely tumbe,
With faithfull zeale, I so my Goddesse seru'd,
My life, my loue, my liuing all and some,
I reaft, and left, before my fancie sweru'd,
And when my suit, her mou'd to angry moode,
To worke amends, I sacrifisde my bloud.
With faithfull zeale, I so my Goddesse seru'd,
My life, my loue, my liuing all and some,
I reaft, and left, before my fancie sweru'd,
And when my suit, her mou'd to angry moode,
To worke amends, I sacrifisde my bloud.
Verses of complaint, deuised for a well meaning louer, to moue his maistresse to pitie.
Now cease good Lady cease, to weaue my further woe,Where scorne hath worne my ioyes to eb, let pitie force them flowe.
To you, I sue and serue, to you I waile and weepe,
For you my restlesse eyes doth watch, when other men do sleepe.
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For you my teares, like Tiber streames, from dazeled eyes proceede:
No wealth I do enioy, but that I wish you part,
No griefe doth gaule, your daintie minde, but I do ease your smart.
To rowle in bagges of golde, in choise I would detest,
In faith for to inioy your loue, and harbour where you rest,
If you I might inioy, I now forworne with woe,
To former ioyes would be restorde, in spite of him sayes noe,
No torment then should vexe, or nippe my heauie hart,
All gulfes of griefe, shall soone be damde, which drownes my ioyes in smart,
Of age, I should triumphe, and death I would defie,
And fortunes force I could withstand, for all her crueltie.
In you to saue or spill, in you to make or marre,
In you it restes to end my woes, or cause my further care.
Twixt life and death I stand, twixt hope and deepe despaire,
Till louing lines for pyning woe, returnes a luckie share.
The complaint of a gentlewoman being with child, falsely forsaken.
What
gulfes of griefe, may well receiue,
The teares which I in vaine do spend,
What faithlesse wight, durst once deceiue,
By falsehoode foule, so firme a friend,
With lose, who wrayes how well shee lou'de,
When choise for chaunge his fancie moude.
The teares which I in vaine do spend,
What faithlesse wight, durst once deceiue,
By falsehoode foule, so firme a friend,
With lose, who wrayes how well shee lou'de,
When choise for chaunge his fancie moude.
Though reason would, I should refraine,
His blame, my shame, for to bewray,
Good Ladies yet, my pinching paine,
Inioynes mee here, the truth to say,
Whose wretched plight, and pensiue state,
Surmounteth farre, Queene Didoes fate.
His blame, my shame, for to bewray,
Good Ladies yet, my pinching paine,
Inioynes mee here, the truth to say,
Whose wretched plight, and pensiue state,
Surmounteth farre, Queene Didoes fate.
What meanst thou wretch, from ioy exilde,
To yeald vnto his fained teares?
With carelesse vowes why wert begilde,
And fearelesse othes, the traytor sweares,
Ere nuptial rites, whie didst thou trust,
His faith, and yeelde vnto his lust?
To yeald vnto his fained teares?
With carelesse vowes why wert begilde,
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Ere nuptial rites, whie didst thou trust,
His faith, and yeelde vnto his lust?
Thou Iason false by periurde flight,
Thou Theseus thefte, decypherest plaine,
I Dido wretch (thou Troyan knight)
Here equall griefes, in breast sustaine,
I iustly say, which wordes I rue,
All men be false, and none be true.
Thou Theseus thefte, decypherest plaine,
I Dido wretch (thou Troyan knight)
Here equall griefes, in breast sustaine,
I iustly say, which wordes I rue,
All men be false, and none be true.
The fruites ysprong, by our desire,
My wealth, thou waste, might moue thy hart,
To graunt, the rightes, which loue require,
And search a salue, to cure my smart,
But sith thy faith, thou doest forgoe,
Come death and end my wretched woe.
My wealth, thou waste, might moue thy hart,
To graunt, the rightes, which loue require,
And search a salue, to cure my smart,
But sith thy faith, thou doest forgoe,
Come death and end my wretched woe.
Yet Ladies all beware by mee,
To rue sweete woordes, of fickle trust,
My heaped harmes, let warning bee,
How filed talke, doth proue vniust,
And rule your loue by reasons lore,
Least future plagues, you do deplore.
To rue sweete woordes, of fickle trust,
My heaped harmes, let warning bee,
How filed talke, doth proue vniust,
And rule your loue by reasons lore,
Least future plagues, you do deplore.
Against one which wrote a slaunderous libell in dishonour of a Ladie.
Yhacht
thou wert in enuies nest,
Whose murthering tongue, might not suffice
To woorke a Ladies great vnrest,
But that with penne thou didst deuise,
Uile vice to paint, in vertues place,
Her spotlesse life, for to disgrace.
Whose murthering tongue, might not suffice
To woorke a Ladies great vnrest,
But that with penne thou didst deuise,
Uile vice to paint, in vertues place,
Her spotlesse life, for to disgrace.
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Whose sacred head, with wisedome fraught,
As guided by Dame Pallas skill,
Her deintie minde Minerua taught,
The good to loue, to leaue the ill,
Then may it bee, shee doth deserue,
Report from reasons lore to swerue.
As guided by Dame Pallas skill,
Her deintie minde Minerua taught,
The good to loue, to leaue the ill,
Then may it bee, shee doth deserue,
Report from reasons lore to swerue.
Noe, no, thou wretch, and Uiper vile,
From natures lawe, which dost rebell,
The world doth know, thy giltie gile,
In dungeon darcke, hence forth now dwell,
For all men doth, thy sight repine,
From manly actes, which doest decline.
From natures lawe, which dost rebell,
The world doth know, thy giltie gile,
In dungeon darcke, hence forth now dwell,
For all men doth, thy sight repine,
From manly actes, which doest decline.
The heauens do frowne, with earthly foode,
Thy carren corpes, should nourisht bee,
Thou onely byrde of Uipers broode,
And bitter braunch of rankors tree,
A Harpie for thy filthie factes,
For God and man, abhorres thy actes.
Thy carren corpes, should nourisht bee,
Thou onely byrde of Uipers broode,
And bitter braunch of rankors tree,
A Harpie for thy filthie factes,
For God and man, abhorres thy actes.
Unseene henceforth, thou caitife couche,
Thou murtherer vile of others fame,
How durst thou once presume to touche,
The honour due vnto her name,
And make report that Dian chaste,
Faire Venus knightes in bedde imbraste.
Thou murtherer vile of others fame,
How durst thou once presume to touche,
The honour due vnto her name,
And make report that Dian chaste,
Faire Venus knightes in bedde imbraste.
Allotting to her harmlesse tongue,
All rusticke speach, with Stentors voice,
Disdayning them whom loue hath stonge,
For that with chaunge, shee makes her choice:
Not carefull of her curious charge,
But gladly rowes in euerie barge.
All rusticke speach, with Stentors voice,
Disdayning them whom loue hath stonge,
For that with chaunge, shee makes her choice:
Not carefull of her curious charge,
But gladly rowes in euerie barge.
How may it bee such fertile soyle,
Well tilde and sowne with happie seede,
Can chuse in recompence of toyle,
But yeeld thee fruites of Venus meede,
Why worke I her so great abuse,
For giltlesse fact, to frame excuse.
Well tilde and sowne with happie seede,
29
But yeeld thee fruites of Venus meede,
Why worke I her so great abuse,
For giltlesse fact, to frame excuse.
My paines herein deserues no praise,
For all men knowes, more then I write,
But thou that didst this rumour raise,
If that thou darst so show thy might,
As truth maintaine thy slaundrous wordes,
Committing triall to our swordes.
For all men knowes, more then I write,
But thou that didst this rumour raise,
If that thou darst so show thy might,
As truth maintaine thy slaundrous wordes,
Committing triall to our swordes.
Who readie am her to defend,
Till wounded corpes, with bloud begord,
Of worldly woes do make an end,
By froward force, of slaundrous sword,
Or recant, to make will I,
And for offence, her mercie crie.
Till wounded corpes, with bloud begord,
Of worldly woes do make an end,
By froward force, of slaundrous sword,
Or recant, to make will I,
And for offence, her mercie crie.
The vnfortunate louer is persuaded his misshap to grow by destinie.
Yet
was not Hellens face, ne Parris faire,
Untimely which did weaue the Troyans woe,
For former faultes, the Gods agreede in ire,
With future panges, their vengeance downe to throwe,
And making choyse, as instrument withall,
That Parris loue, should king Priames thrall.
Untimely which did weaue the Troyans woe,
For former faultes, the Gods agreede in ire,
With future panges, their vengeance downe to throwe,
And making choyse, as instrument withall,
That Parris loue, should king Priames thrall.
Such heaped harmes, within the Heauens beene,
For one mans case, to cause anothers care,
Unfriendly so, the fates mens happes do spin,
In partiall wise, to yeelde eche wight his share,
Then loue, why should I cursse, or skorne lawe,
Or blame the dame one whom I stande in awe.
For one mans case, to cause anothers care,
Unfriendly so, the fates mens happes do spin,
In partiall wise, to yeelde eche wight his share,
Then loue, why should I cursse, or skorne lawe,
Or blame the dame one whom I stande in awe.
Her vertues rare, her pearelesse beautie bright,
Her Pallas witt, I ioynde with Sabas skill,
My restlesse eyes, which couets to her sight,
Are not the fates, which forceth mee this ill,
For hier sprites, deuised long agoe,
My youthfull yeares, should passe in pyning woe.
Her Pallas witt, I ioynde with Sabas skill,
93
Are not the fates, which forceth mee this ill,
For hier sprites, deuised long agoe,
My youthfull yeares, should passe in pyning woe.
The discommodities of forst marriages, by the example of Venus and Vulcan: supposed for the more plaine explayning of the inconueniences, to be written to a couetous carle, hauing but one onely daughter, refused the offers of diuerse gentlemen, some beeing of good worship: and married her, vnto an old croked coffing crust, for his great wealthes sake.
In prime of pride, when Venus minde, to Iunos rites aspirde,A wealthie cruste, to catch her vp, her father then desirde,
Perusing well his subiectes states, who best might be her feare,
At length hee chus'de a Croydon chuffe, to wooe his daughter deare.
Whose wealth I do confesse was great, y gott by endlesse toyle,
At smithes forge, with daily heate, his apish face did broyle.
This gallant squire, a wooing rid, his face bee grimde with dust,
And comming to her fathers house, this daintie Dame hee bust.
Who at the first this Lady bright, some monster thought to bee,
Retyring backe, affright shee was, his vglye shape to see.
But in the ende her fathers threates, and Vulcans giftes full braue,
Did force her daintie minde to yeelde, this crabtree peece to haue.
The marriage rites in hast were wrought, in presence of them all,
Then hee this pearelesse dame conuayde, vnto his rusticke hall.
Whereas the rest solemnised, her friends they did depart,
The which once done, then streight begunne, the summe of all her smart,
For hee fell to his former toyle, before the dawning day,
Where bounsing blowes on stythie smit, the sturdie steele to tame,
(Debard of rest) did force her wish, to tast of wedlockes game.
And as it is no newes to tell, at all nor seeming straunge,
How louers they do neuer lacke, whose mindes bee bent to chaunge.
Here mightie Mars, y cleaped God of warre and battell ray,
Enforste to yeeld as Cupids thrall, and eke his hestes obey.
Determined to giue attempt, to fraught his heart with blis,
94
Before her eyes his siege hee plantes, like Phœbus rayes that shan,
Assault hee gaue, shee did resist, hee made no batterie than.
But one repulse his valiaunt heart, in no respect amasde,
Hee shot againe, the bulwarkes fell, and all the walles were raisde.
The fort thus wonne, as hee did wish, hee trode on pricking thornes,
To gaine the spoile of Vulcans toile, and arme his head with hornes.
The which without resistaunce great, hee ioyed at his will,
But Ielousie the gulfe did force to feare and dread that ill.
Which in the end, when true hee found, hee framed by his arte,
A chaine to tie these louers fast, so that they might not starte.
And then for all the Gods hee sent, to see this laughing game,
Where they in meede of pleasures past, receiued open shame.
Loe here the bitter fruites wherewith, such mariages be fraught,
Where wealth doth winne, the womans will, and vertue set at naught.
Such chaunce may hap to the old snudge, inforst by greedie gaine,
Where pence possesse the daughters loue, the man shee doth disdaine.
And so fare well at this my verse, mee thinkes I heare thee snuffe,
But doggrell rime, were farre to good, to greete a dunghill chuffe.
The forsaken louer sheweth to what intent he weareth Tawnie, bewraying the bondage that wanton Dames bring their thralles vnto.
My
fancie once in fayre carnation stoode,
And trueth to say, I liued in delight,
But loe (such is the fruites of wanton moode)
Both Dye, and dayes, are chaunged with despight,
In Tawnie now, I forced am to goe,
(Forsaken wretch) my mystresse scorne to shoe.
And trueth to say, I liued in delight,
But loe (such is the fruites of wanton moode)
Both Dye, and dayes, are chaunged with despight,
In Tawnie now, I forced am to goe,
(Forsaken wretch) my mystresse scorne to shoe.
And would to God, who notes my wretched weedes,
Would wisely shunne, the baites that beautie lay,
Her sweete receites, an ill digestion breedes,
Once bound ynough, her thralles must needes obey,
Yea worse then that (though loue seeme nere so hott)
When all is done, forsaken is their lott.
Would wisely shunne, the baites that beautie lay,
Her sweete receites, an ill digestion breedes,
95
Yea worse then that (though loue seeme nere so hott)
When all is done, forsaken is their lott.
This is the badge, that Creffids heyres do giue,
They lure with grace, and loose with deadly hate,
Beware of them you that in freedome liue,
If not, behold, a patterne of your fate,
Euen I my selfe, do weare this Tawnie hue,
To shewe I seru'd, a Cressid most vntrue.
They lure with grace, and loose with deadly hate,
Beware of them you that in freedome liue,
If not, behold, a patterne of your fate,
Euen I my selfe, do weare this Tawnie hue,
To shewe I seru'd, a Cressid most vntrue.
The reiected louer, determineth, either to purchase his Ladies speedie reconcilement, or els desperatly to die.
Of
thee, deere dame, faine would I learne the trueth,
If hee that bringes, the innocent in band,
Or (so betrayde) who slayeth him faunce ruth,
Is thought herein to haue the bloudiest hand?
If hee that doth, the faultlesse first betray,
Then cruell, note the wordes, that I shall say.
If hee that bringes, the innocent in band,
Or (so betrayde) who slayeth him faunce ruth,
Is thought herein to haue the bloudiest hand?
If hee that doth, the faultlesse first betray,
Then cruell, note the wordes, that I shall say.
I am the man, that longe can hardly liue,
You with your scorne, betrayde mee to despaire,
Then though my hand the deadly wound do giue,
The murtherer, it wilbe said you are,
But if you shame, such fowle report to proue,
Now yeeld, sweete wench, or neuer graunt to loue.
You with your scorne, betrayde mee to despaire,
Then though my hand the deadly wound do giue,
The murtherer, it wilbe said you are,
But if you shame, such fowle report to proue,
Now yeeld, sweete wench, or neuer graunt to loue.
Behold the blade, that shall confirme my faith,
My woes consent, in wanton yeares to die,
I liue to heare, but what your aunsweare saith,
Once lapt therein, my life or death doth lie,
For trust mee now, I (wretched) haue decreede,
To winne your loue, or else to die with speede.
My woes consent, in wanton yeares to die,
I liue to heare, but what your aunsweare saith,
Once lapt therein, my life or death doth lie,
For trust mee now, I (wretched) haue decreede,
To winne your loue, or else to die with speede.
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The louer being wounded at the Bathe, sues vnto his Lady for pittie.
I Bathing late, in Bathes of souereigne ease,Not in those bathes where beauties blisse doth flowe
But euen at Bathe, which many a guest doth please,
But loe mishap, those waues hath wrought my woe.
There loue I sawe, her seemely selfs to laue,
Whose sightly shape, so sore my heart did heate,
That soone I shund, those streames my selfe to saue,
But scorching sighes, so set mee in a sweate,
That loe I pine, to please my peeuish will,
And yet I freese, with frostes of chilling feare,
Thus in extremes, I liue and languish still,
Without releefe, my restlesse woes to weare.
I blame the bathe, as bruer of my bale,
To giue mee dregges, when others drinke delight
Thus to the streames, I tell a senselesse tale,
Time to beguile, when absence spittes her spite.
But now perforce, I sue to thee (sweete wench,)
With teares I pleade, for pittie and for ruth,
But if thou scornst, my scorched heart to quench,
Doe but commaunde, and death shall trie my truth,
This blemish then, by thee, the bathe shall gett,
Which many one, to health hath helpt of yore,
A meane to mashe men, in dame beauties nett,
And can not giue, a salue to cure their sore,
Which if you shame, then say no more but soe,
I yeeld to loue, those woordes will ease my woe.
The louer to his Ladie in Durance.
Abandon care, from daintie breast,bewaile no more your fate,
For why the Gods to pittie dreast,
will chaunge his stormie state.
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though rancor rage like Aetna fire.
Her aunsweare.
The prouerbe saith, whilst grasse doth growe,For want of foode the steede doth sterue,
So hope perplext, with pining woe,
From reasons lore so oft doth swerue,
That dyre despaire, doth winne the forte,
Where hope for succour should resorte.
A description of Ielousie.
A fearefull thought, which neuer doth remoue,But when in armes, hee holdes his heartes delight,
A wrangling hate, where once was passing loue,
Oft cold with hope, yet neuer quenched quite,
More cleare in sightes, then woordes this woe is seene,
Sowne by suspect, but rooted with debate,
Wacht with mistrust, whilst that the eare is greene,
Through ripe mowne downe, with syth of mortall hate,
Is ielousie.
To a disdainfull Dam.
Disdainful
dame why didst thou scorne, the wight that wisht thee wel,
May peeuish pride a harbour haue, where beautie doth excell?
No rascall here did seeke to sport, or ioyne with gentle race,
Though hautie lookes (thy forme except) were showne in basest place.
May peeuish pride a harbour haue, where beautie doth excell?
No rascall here did seeke to sport, or ioyne with gentle race,
Though hautie lookes (thy forme except) were showne in basest place.
The haggard gill, despiseth oft, to pray on princely fowle,
To straggle out at carren crowe, and checke with vglie Owle.
Thy gadding trickes, pursues her trade, with vauntage in defect,
Haile fellowe mett, with basest sort, the best thou dost detect.
To straggle out at carren crowe, and checke with vglie Owle.
Thy gadding trickes, pursues her trade, with vauntage in defect,
Haile fellowe mett, with basest sort, the best thou dost detect.
Beleeue how that thy forme was framde, by fonde Narcissus glase,
Dame beauties giftes full fickle are, and fade as doth the grasse,
Thy goulden haires, to hoarie graie, will chaunge their glittering hue,
Thy Lays life, and luring lookes, no doubt thy bane will brue.
Dame beauties giftes full fickle are, and fade as doth the grasse,
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Thy Lays life, and luring lookes, no doubt thy bane will brue.
Thy face so fresh, in prime of youth, will wrinkled be with age,
Then taunting tongue, from scorneful nipps, dame nature will assuage.
Thy mountaine breasts, which beares such bredth, thy pride in princely gate,
Thy graces al in tracte of time, wil chaunge their former state.
Then taunting tongue, from scorneful nipps, dame nature will assuage.
Thy mountaine breasts, which beares such bredth, thy pride in princely gate,
Thy graces al in tracte of time, wil chaunge their former state.
Then shalt thou feele the force of scorne, what fruites frō pride proceede,
The Ace of hartes, will haunt the stocke, thy chiefest helpe at neede.
The Ace of hartes, will haunt the stocke, thy chiefest helpe at neede.
The louer in praise of his Ladie.
Apelles, O, thou famous Greeke,
Thy praise vnto my eares doth sounde,
Since thou so farre abroade didst seeke,
In countries through the world so rounde,
Till thou hadst drawen forth Venus shape,
Whose beautie past, Syr Paris rape.
Thy praise vnto my eares doth sounde,
Since thou so farre abroade didst seeke,
In countries through the world so rounde,
Till thou hadst drawen forth Venus shape,
Whose beautie past, Syr Paris rape.
O that thy fortune had beene such,
To light whereas, my Lady liues,
Whose glistering beautie, is so much,
As to thinke on, my heart it ryues,
For Venus shee doth passe as farre,
As doth the Sunne, each shyning starre.
To light whereas, my Lady liues,
Whose glistering beautie, is so much,
As to thinke on, my heart it ryues,
For Venus shee doth passe as farre,
As doth the Sunne, each shyning starre.
Eche gift, which nature could deuise,
By arte my Ladie, E, retaynes,
A sacred head, which to surmise,
The trueth, all other farre it staines,
Her haires bee of so glistering hewe,
As gold they stayne, to outward vewe.
By arte my Ladie, E, retaynes,
A sacred head, which to surmise,
The trueth, all other farre it staines,
Her haires bee of so glistering hewe,
As gold they stayne, to outward vewe.
Her christall eyes, her sugred tongue.
From whence such pleasaunt wordes do floe,
That lyking binds, both old and younge,
The ground to loue, where shee doth goe,
Her cherrie cheekes so fresh of hewe,
Her veynes much like to Azurs blewe.
From whence such pleasaunt wordes do floe,
That lyking binds, both old and younge,
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Her cherrie cheekes so fresh of hewe,
Her veynes much like to Azurs blewe.
Her Rubie lippes, her snowish necke,
Her proper chin, her christall breast,
Her pleasaunt veynes, whose pappes do decke,
Her comely corpes, so finely preast,
Her slender armes, with milke white hands,
Would catch the Gods in Cupids bands.
Her proper chin, her christall breast,
Her pleasaunt veynes, whose pappes do decke,
Her comely corpes, so finely preast,
Her slender armes, with milke white hands,
Would catch the Gods in Cupids bands.
Her other partes so finely wrought,
Doe passe my wittes for to recite,
For why it seemde dame Nature sought,
In Court, eche gorgious gearle to spite,
When first of mould, shee did her frame,
Shee is so beautiful a dame.
Doe passe my wittes for to recite,
For why it seemde dame Nature sought,
In Court, eche gorgious gearle to spite,
When first of mould, shee did her frame,
Shee is so beautiful a dame.
Noe maruell though, the Græcian king,
Did shape his course, through fishfull floud,
From hatefull Troy, his wife to bring,
Or els in Phrygia leaue his bloud,
If halfe such beautie, in Hellen were,
As is in this my Ladie faire.
Did shape his course, through fishfull floud,
From hatefull Troy, his wife to bring,
Or els in Phrygia leaue his bloud,
If halfe such beautie, in Hellen were,
As is in this my Ladie faire.
If Briseis beautie, were so bright,
Her comely syces, so exceld,
None may blame Achilles flight,
When raging loue, his heart compeld,
To leaue his Lord amid his foes,
A salue to search, to cure his woes.
Her comely syces, so exceld,
None may blame Achilles flight,
When raging loue, his heart compeld,
To leaue his Lord amid his foes,
A salue to search, to cure his woes.
Nor yet Vlysses none may blame,
Though frencie, hee himselfe did faine,
Because without reprochfull shame,
Hee would avoide the Græcian traine,
The which to Troy, their course did shape,
To fetch againe Syr Paris rape.
Though frencie, hee himselfe did faine,
Because without reprochfull shame,
Hee would avoide the Græcian traine,
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To fetch againe Syr Paris rape.
If that the beautie, equall were,
Of chaste Penelope his wife,
To match with this my Lady rare,
For whom I hazard would my life,
Amid a troupe of Troyans fell,
My fancie shee doth feede so well.
Of chaste Penelope his wife,
To match with this my Lady rare,
For whom I hazard would my life,
Amid a troupe of Troyans fell,
My fancie shee doth feede so well.
An aunswere to a Gentlewoman by loue constrained to sue to him whom of late she scorned.
Nie
driuen to death by raging loue, reuiu'de by happie meanes,
I smile you seeke, yt earst you scornd, with those your siluer streames.
Now time performes, my words proue true, when as I was your thrall,
Your sugred ioyes, in flowting mee, would turne to bitter gall.
I smile you seeke, yt earst you scornd, with those your siluer streames.
Now time performes, my words proue true, when as I was your thrall,
Your sugred ioyes, in flowting mee, would turne to bitter gall.
Else not the name of Goddesse iust, dame Venus doth deserue,
Unlesse her seruauntes, shee aduaunce, and makes her foes to sterue.
Your scalding sighes, let witnes bee, what sorrowes I sustainde,
When as with pitious plaintes I shewd, ye panges that most mee painde.
Unlesse her seruauntes, shee aduaunce, and makes her foes to sterue.
Your scalding sighes, let witnes bee, what sorrowes I sustainde,
When as with pitious plaintes I shewd, ye panges that most mee painde.
But thou spronge vp of Tygers seede, ingratefull dame I say,
When as with teares, I su'de for grace, wouldst smile & goe thy way.
Now let mee laugh a while I pray, to see the plungde in paine,
This is the salue to cure the smart, that thou art like to gaine.
When as with teares, I su'de for grace, wouldst smile & goe thy way.
Now let mee laugh a while I pray, to see the plungde in paine,
This is the salue to cure the smart, that thou art like to gaine.
For why the childe, but younge once burnt, the fierie flame doth dreed,
So I once bounde and now am free, will tast no louers meed.
So I once bounde and now am free, will tast no louers meed.
The contemptuous louer finding no grace where hee faithfully fauoureth, acknowledgeth his former scorne, vsed toward loue, to be the onely cause of his miseries.
In
bondage as I liue, attacht with Cupids mace,
Exilde from ioy, bereft of blisse, past hope of future grace,
My selfe is iudge, I do deserue,
Without reliefe in paine to sterue.
Exilde from ioy, bereft of blisse, past hope of future grace,
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Without reliefe in paine to sterue.
I smilde when I was free, at those which fettred ware,
But I (God wott) with beauties baite, was caught in Cupids snare,
When least I thought of such a woe,
My choise, in chaunge, was sleating soe.
But I (God wott) with beauties baite, was caught in Cupids snare,
When least I thought of such a woe,
My choise, in chaunge, was sleating soe.
But now with soaking sighes, to one I sue for grace,
Whose presence when I do approch, the straight doth shunne the place.
My sight, my sighes, my teares nor truth,
Her stoanie heart can moue to ruth.
Whose presence when I do approch, the straight doth shunne the place.
My sight, my sighes, my teares nor truth,
Her stoanie heart can moue to ruth.
Yet loue, that liues by hope, a fresh enforsed mee to proue,
With pen to pleade, what bashfull tongue, dismayed was to moue.
But loe in vaine to her I write,
For loue my guerdon, is despight.
With pen to pleade, what bashfull tongue, dismayed was to moue.
But loe in vaine to her I write,
For loue my guerdon, is despight.
I serue a froward saint, a Tigers whelpe I froe,
Shee smiles to see mee wade in smart, her wish my wretched woe.
And yet in truth shee blamelesse is,
My onely fault inforceth this.
Shee smiles to see mee wade in smart, her wish my wretched woe.
And yet in truth shee blamelesse is,
My onely fault inforceth this.
She is but instrument, my selfe, the very cause,
Why I consume wt cureles griefe, for scorning Cupids lawes,
Wherefore (sith loue is sworne my foe)
Diuorce mee death, from lingring woe.
Why I consume wt cureles griefe, for scorning Cupids lawes,
Wherefore (sith loue is sworne my foe)
Diuorce mee death, from lingring woe.
And then for others heede, this sillie boune I craue,
That I vppon my timelesse tombe, this Epitaphe may haue.
The thing, that causde mee here to lie,
Was scorning loue at libertie.
That I vppon my timelesse tombe, this Epitaphe may haue.
The thing, that causde mee here to lie,
Was scorning loue at libertie.
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Epilogus.
For wantons heede, heere wrayed is the thrall,Of louing wormes: how both they freese and frie,
How sweetest thoughtes, are sawst with bitter gall.
How care, them cloyes, that liue in ielousie,
What yll successe, stolne marriages ensue,
How forst consentes, sield beare a louing hart,
How sugred woordes to late, faire Ladies rue,
How vaine they striue, that louers seeke to part.
How enuious tongues, are apt to sowe debate,
How fancie bringes, the stoutest mindes in awe,
How louers wrongde, from loue do fall to hate,
How ramping rigges, regard no modest lawe.
How lingring loue, doth oft mislyking moue,
How gallants giftes, fond women oft allure,
How pride & ease, preferre mens thoughtes to loue,
How lawlesse lust, all mischiefe puts in vre.
How scorneful dames (yt set mens sutes at nought,)
Of such as seru'd, are glad to seeke reliefe,
How louing thralles, from fetters free are taught,
To shunne the snares, that snarled them in griefe.
And to conclude, in euery Page is wrayde,
A lightning ioy, a life of lacke is loue,
Who loueth least, which proues is best appaide,
For womens mindes as wether cockes will moue.
Wherefore these toyes, who liste to read aright,
Shall finde Loues woes, not how to loue I write.
FINIS.
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