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 Rocke of Regard |  |
79
Inuentions of P. Plasmos touching his hap and hard fortune, vnto the which is annexed the sundrie cōplaintes; foure notable couseners, the instrumentes of his greatest troubles: which in the prime of their mischieuous enterprises, with soudaine death and vexation were straungelie visited. At the end of euery of the said inuentions, for the more plaine knowledge of them, is the reporters admonition in prose both pleasant and profitable.
80
P. Plasmos triumphe.
Paris vsurped roome resigne, in Lady Pleasures Court.
Thy mungrell choice in such a flurte, deserues a foule report,
Whose kytish trickes, in gadding moode with euery checke to stray,
God knowes I want both Art and witt, in coulers fresh to wray.
Thy mungrell choice in such a flurte, deserues a foule report,
Whose kytish trickes, in gadding moode with euery checke to stray,
God knowes I want both Art and witt, in coulers fresh to wray.
Sufficeth yet, thy mart to mare, shee bitt at euery baite,
Wher one good turne, in toile thou reapst, thy passage was not straight,
Why wronge I thus, poore Hellen now, shee was to good for thee,
Whom fate did cast from Priams court, a sheepeherd poore to bee.
Wher one good turne, in toile thou reapst, thy passage was not straight,
Why wronge I thus, poore Hellen now, shee was to good for thee,
Whom fate did cast from Priams court, a sheepeherd poore to bee.
Whereas in Ida mount, thou wraydst thy willful will ywisse,
Which wealth and wisedome didst refuse, to bathe in wanton blisse,
Yet sure thy blisse was brude with bale, thy selfe will iudge the fame,
What blush not man to blase a truth, in faith it is no shame.
Which wealth and wisedome didst refuse, to bathe in wanton blisse,
Yet sure thy blisse was brude with bale, thy selfe will iudge the fame,
What blush not man to blase a truth, in faith it is no shame.
Thy ielous thought supprest thy ioy, thy foes increast thy feare,
Thy loue in Armes, lou'de larumes wilde, imbracements to forbeare,
Thy kinsemen slaine, thou reft of loue, and life in litle time,
What peeuish pride then moues thy thought, dame pleasures mount to clime?
Thy loue in Armes, lou'de larumes wilde, imbracements to forbeare,
Thy kinsemen slaine, thou reft of loue, and life in litle time,
What peeuish pride then moues thy thought, dame pleasures mount to clime?
Auaunt, auaunt, giue place to him, whom fortune still doth guide,
Whose choice doth passe without her plague, faire Hellen in her pride,
Within whose hart doth pittie rule, in whom dame bountie dwells,
To whom faire Venus yeeldes her ball, her beautie so excels.
Whose choice doth passe without her plague, faire Hellen in her pride,
Within whose hart doth pittie rule, in whom dame bountie dwells,
To whom faire Venus yeeldes her ball, her beautie so excels.
Her constant loue, longe wisht I wonne, she mou'de no goddis yre,
She shed no bloud, shee slue no friend, shee set no towne on fire,
Her modest life exiles mistrust, and ielousie doth chace,
In faith I feare no lowde Al'armes, when I my loue embrace.
She shed no bloud, shee slue no friend, shee set no towne on fire,
Her modest life exiles mistrust, and ielousie doth chace,
In faith I feare no lowde Al'armes, when I my loue embrace.
And yet I dare with Paris ioyne, if Paris scorne her praise,
I enter now the listes of loue, my Ladyes fame to raise,
And proudely there my gauntlet throwes, a quarell streight to snatch,
With him yt dare maintaine she liues, which may faire Lymo, match.
I enter now the listes of loue, my Ladyes fame to raise,
81
With him yt dare maintaine she liues, which may faire Lymo, match.
Let lingring louers rest of rest, whom scorne hath left in lash.
Let carelesse suters try their force, to praise their painted trash.
Let happie wightes, which bath in blisse, my sharpe incounter proue,
Whom Venus with aspect of grace, hath linckt to yeelding loue.
Let carelesse suters try their force, to praise their painted trash.
Let happie wightes, which bath in blisse, my sharpe incounter proue,
Whom Venus with aspect of grace, hath linckt to yeelding loue.
And let them eake through passing ioy, which stands in pleasures grace,
Bestow their force if that they dare, my fortunes to deface.
Who bathes in waues of wished blisse, wt braue delight who maskes:
Who findes amends for euery misse, who hath but what hee askes.
Bestow their force if that they dare, my fortunes to deface.
Who bathes in waues of wished blisse, wt braue delight who maskes:
Who findes amends for euery misse, who hath but what hee askes.
[I dreaming once (me thought) dame beautie bad me craue]
I dreaming once (me thought) dame beautie bad me craue,The thing that fed my fācie best, & I the same should haue.
My choice was quickly made, I beautie likt so well,
And yet I su'de my maistresse might, her seemely selfe excell.
82
Such one (quoth shee) thou shalt inioy, make much of thy delight:
Unto which ende forsooth, for fortune straight shee sought,
Who did present a sightly girle, vnto my wanton thought.
My promise is performde (quoth shee) sweete friend adieu.
My fancie rendred forth with thankes, as though it had beene true:
But when I wooke and miste, this passing louely wight:
A murdred sighe, the fancie checkte, that raisde my late delight,
And fretting, forth I goe, fonde fancies for to chase,
But loe by Lady fortune signde, I chaunst to spy thy face.
Then to my selfe I said, cease Plasmos to be sad,
This is the Dame, thou didst possesse, in dreame that earst thou had,
Acquaintaunce for to craue, aduentrous boy assay,
Thou wert not nise, ne I abasht, my secretes to bewray,
I showde thee all and some, what I in vision sawe,
Thou wart mine owne by beauties dome, vnlesse thou scorndst her law,
My wordes did like thee well, or praises that I vsde,
And smyling saidst, Dame beauties hest, must no wayes be abusde,
Thus after slender sute, thou knowste whom I enioyde,
But easily wonne, as soone thou wert, through sullon will accoyde,
And in thy wrangling rage, I sawe thee raunge for newe:
I chafte through sight, Dame beautie blamd, cause Laymos was not true.
Which soone I did recant, and yeelded for to haue,
My sute performde at beauties hands, in forme as I did craue.
I askst a gallant gyrle, which vaild at first assault,
I askte no faith, nor none I found, in whom was then the fault?
In him who now will learne, to make his match more sure,
And as for thee thou dost but hinde, to stoupe to euery lure.
83
[Fowle fall thee false suspect, so thriue thou ielous thought]
Fowle
fall thee false suspect, so thriue thou ielous thought,
Woe worth you both, you reard the hate, that all my harme hath wrought:
You did enuie my hap, when late I liu'de in ioy,
You slaunder forg'd, you mou'd mistrust, you made my souereigne coy.
Shee wronged saunce offence, good reason hath to hate,
But you no cause of filthie strife, twixt friends to set debate,
But sith my heart did yeeld such motions to beleeue,
Both heart, head, and euery veine, with fretting thoughtes to greeue:
First loue renue thy force, my ioyes for to consume,
And when desire hath blowen the cooles, till all my fancies fume:
Then conscience guilt, detect my follies day and houre,
And base desert exile remorse, see dreade, my sweete thou soure,
Disdaine, persuade my minde, my Ladies passing loue
Is chaungd to scorne, from scorne to hate, from hate reuenge to proue.
Tormenting passions eake, abate my pride in showe,
Then scaulding sighes present my state, vnto my friendly foe:
Which when shee once hath seene, with wrecke of my delight,
Despaire, end me dole with death, in my sweete mistresse sight,
But least shee beare the blame, of this my bloudy hand,
I craue vpon my timelesse tumbe, this Epitaphe may stand.
Woe worth you both, you reard the hate, that all my harme hath wrought:
You did enuie my hap, when late I liu'de in ioy,
You slaunder forg'd, you mou'd mistrust, you made my souereigne coy.
Shee wronged saunce offence, good reason hath to hate,
But you no cause of filthie strife, twixt friends to set debate,
But sith my heart did yeeld such motions to beleeue,
Both heart, head, and euery veine, with fretting thoughtes to greeue:
First loue renue thy force, my ioyes for to consume,
And when desire hath blowen the cooles, till all my fancies fume:
Then conscience guilt, detect my follies day and houre,
And base desert exile remorse, see dreade, my sweete thou soure,
Disdaine, persuade my minde, my Ladies passing loue
Is chaungd to scorne, from scorne to hate, from hate reuenge to proue.
Tormenting passions eake, abate my pride in showe,
Then scaulding sighes present my state, vnto my friendly foe:
Which when shee once hath seene, with wrecke of my delight,
Despaire, end me dole with death, in my sweete mistresse sight,
But least shee beare the blame, of this my bloudy hand,
I craue vpon my timelesse tumbe, this Epitaphe may stand.
Loe heare doth lie his corps,
Himselfe for woe who slue,
That Ielous thoughts, his Lady blamde,
She euer liuing true.
Himselfe for woe who slue,
That Ielous thoughts, his Lady blamde,
She euer liuing true.
84
P. Plasmos in praise of his Purse.
Come prettie purse, the iewell of my ioy,The daintie soile, wherein delight is sowen,
Thou well deseru'st the title of a Ioy,
Who doth not feare, whereas thy force is knowen?
Who dare rebell, where thou dost rule and reigne?
Thou foylest kinges, by force of treason vile,
Thou clokest craft, with flattrie, feare or gaine,
When Iustice should vncase his crooked guile.
By thee escapes the traytour and the theefe,
The murdrous mate, which languisht late in woe,
Thou werst to ebb, their tossing tydes of greefe,
And graftest myrth, where mone but late did growe.
To maske with pride, thou art a visard fitt,
Thou heau'st him vp, which held the plough of late,
Thou telst his tale, which wants both Art and witt.
Thou wodcocke setst, before the wise estate,
The wilie churle, which wronges the wretch full oft,
The cousening mate whose mischiefe neuer endes,
Should sol fa singe in couseners cliffe aloft.
But that thou cloakst their craft with wealthie friends,
The thriftlesse childe by thee doth looke full hie,
Whose sparing friends at home the plough doth hold,
In Court thou art the badge of brauerie.
Who doth not fawne on gentle maister gold?
Deformed girles, by thee are made full faire,
Dame Venus stoupes through thee to Vulcans lure,
The coffing churle, doth match with beauties heire.
Such straunge consents can Lady Coyne procure,
Why stay I then, sweete purse thee to embrace?
Whose ayde I vsde, when fortune most did lowre,
My clowdes of scare, thou cleardst with gleames of grace,
My bale to blisse, to sweete, thou chaungst my sowre,
Thou sau'dst my life, with passing loue nie pinde,
Which friendly turnes, are written in my minde.
85
P. Plasmos complaint of want.
I whilome writ a iest, what ioyes my purse did plant,But now I wray with litle lust, the woes of withered want.
When Purse with pence did flow, a thousand friends I found,
Now wōted wealth doth weare to ebb, their frēdship runnes aground.
When Coyne I had in claw, my wronges weare doomde for right,
Since neede did nippe, my rightfull sutes was ouermayde with might.
When wealth I had at wil, my wished ioyes were wrought,
Now want doth choke those iestes with care, & cloyes my braynes with thought.
With wealth I freedome wonne, by wealth my woes did weare,
Through lacke, restrainte of libertie, doth foyle my hope with feare.
86
By neede inforst, now am I faine, to pray, to pay, and please.
I ratlted then in silkes, by brauerie of my bagges,
But pouer man, now am I glad, to royst in rotten ragges.
My purse me oft preferd, to play, in pleasures lappe,
Wel may I wish, but want I shal, by wāt to reach such hap.
87
P. Plasmos to his mishap.
How
should I frame my plaint, how shall I tell my tale?
Whom should I blame, whom shall I bane as worker of my bale?
Sith heauen and earth, are bent to bruse mee with their hate,
What bootes mee (wretch) to rage at fraude, or raile on lucklesse fate?
Whom should I blame, whom shall I bane as worker of my bale?
Sith heauen and earth, are bent to bruse mee with their hate,
What bootes mee (wretch) to rage at fraude, or raile on lucklesse fate?
Whom neuer hap did haunt, but thousand harmes affraide,
In prime of youth, vntimely death, first tooke my surest ayde,
Then rose a lawlesse friend, that likt my rouing youth,
Hee gaue mee will, to sucke my wealth (alas the more the ruth.)
In prime of youth, vntimely death, first tooke my surest ayde,
Then rose a lawlesse friend, that likt my rouing youth,
Hee gaue mee will, to sucke my wealth (alas the more the ruth.)
I lothed forced thrift, hee liked no expence,
And Tutors loue not for to toile, without reward of pence,
Which lacke to late I rue, The greater mischiefe mine,
But yet my thought, at which offence, perforce doth thus repine.
And Tutors loue not for to toile, without reward of pence,
Which lacke to late I rue, The greater mischiefe mine,
But yet my thought, at which offence, perforce doth thus repine.
Why scornde I merchaunts trade, with baites of frande to fish?
Sith craft doth onely compasse wealth, and wealth is that wee wish,
Or placed at my booke, why plide I not the same?
Why sought I not by morall rules, my madding yeares to tame.
Sith craft doth onely compasse wealth, and wealth is that wee wish,
Or placed at my booke, why plide I not the same?
Why sought I not by morall rules, my madding yeares to tame.
Sith rule must leade our life, or els wee liue awry,
Why Aristotles wise precepts, then did I not apply?
Why likt I not the Lawe, where huge deceites are sowen,
Sith wee by lawe, do hurt our foe, and hold that is our owne.
Why Aristotles wise precepts, then did I not apply?
Why likt I not the Lawe, where huge deceites are sowen,
Sith wee by lawe, do hurt our foe, and hold that is our owne.
But leapt to libertie, that longe I did desire,
Why was my hart, so set on hoygh, beyond my reach t'aspire?
Why was I wedded so to peeuish will and pride?
Sith pride are will and foes to wit, and witt our wayes should guide.
Why was my hart, so set on hoygh, beyond my reach t'aspire?
Why was I wedded so to peeuish will and pride?
Sith pride are will and foes to wit, and witt our wayes should guide.
But most of all to loue, why was I wretch so thrall?
Why sought I so, by raging lust, my gadding yeares to gall?
Sith neither loue nor lust, doth yeeld a quiet rest,
Why made I choice of both the euills, when bad was very best?
Why sought I so, by raging lust, my gadding yeares to gall?
88
Why made I choice of both the euills, when bad was very best?
Ah (Laymos) once my loue, by froward fate my foe,
Ah (Laymos) first by the I knew, the workers of my woe,
But (Liros) most vnkinde, both spoild of loue and ruthe,
Ah (Liros) thou doest wound my hart, to thinke on thine vntruth.
Ah (Laymos) first by the I knew, the workers of my woe,
But (Liros) most vnkinde, both spoild of loue and ruthe,
Ah (Liros) thou doest wound my hart, to thinke on thine vntruth.
Why did I trust thy faith, or fearelesse othes thou sware,
Thy fayned vowes, thy sugred woords, of my welfare thy care,
Sith faith is turnde to fraude, and woordes to workes vniust,
Why likte I wretch thy wilye tongue, sith treason quiteth trust.
Thy fayned vowes, thy sugred woords, of my welfare thy care,
Sith faith is turnde to fraude, and woordes to workes vniust,
Why likte I wretch thy wilye tongue, sith treason quiteth trust.
And did I thus deserue? in faith thy selfe be iudge:
If Plasmos had, did Liros lacke? O no hee did not grudge,
To giue thee what thou wouldst, yea more then thou couldst craue,
What cankred thought then mou'de thy minde, his life and all to haue?
If Plasmos had, did Liros lacke? O no hee did not grudge,
To giue thee what thou wouldst, yea more then thou couldst craue,
What cankred thought then mou'de thy minde, his life and all to haue?
Whose murdrous marke (ay mee) my maymed fist can showe.
Although thou feardst, to strike the stroake, the strife thy hart did sowe,
And should I spare thee then, of death to stand in awe?
O, Noe, my conscience bids mee strike, betide what may of lawe.
Although thou feardst, to strike the stroake, the strife thy hart did sowe,
And should I spare thee then, of death to stand in awe?
O, Noe, my conscience bids mee strike, betide what may of lawe.
Although the worst befall, death quites but death againe,
And sure there is no ioy to death to such as pine in paine,
Why miste my hart the blowe, that hitt my harmelesse wrist,
My hart it was that wrought offence, and not my faultlesse fist.
And sure there is no ioy to death to such as pine in paine,
Why miste my hart the blowe, that hitt my harmelesse wrist,
My hart it was that wrought offence, and not my faultlesse fist.
My hart did trust these mates, my hart did slurre this strife,
My hand did naught, but make defence, to saue my sillie life,
My hart deuisde the toyes, which puft mee vppe with pride,
My hart inforst my eye to loue, which manly fist defide.
My hand did naught, but make defence, to saue my sillie life,
My hart deuisde the toyes, which puft mee vppe with pride,
My hart inforst my eye to loue, which manly fist defide.
And yet my hand, not hart, is plagued for others mis,
Too parcial sure, in my conceite, the heauens were in this,
Too parcial (wretch) not so, t'was neither heauen nor happe,
But harebrainde youth, which leapt the hedge, and left the open gappe.
Too parcial sure, in my conceite, the heauens were in this,
Too parcial (wretch) not so, t'was neither heauen nor happe,
But harebrainde youth, which leapt the hedge, and left the open gappe.
89
T'was youth which stouped first, to Laymos wanton lure,
T'was youth that likt the wily wordes, which Liros put in vre,
T'was youth through smal forsight, that wrought poore Plasmos thral,
T'was youth, so present want were serud, that feard no future fall.
T'was youth that likt the wily wordes, which Liros put in vre,
T'was youth through smal forsight, that wrought poore Plasmos thral,
T'was youth, so present want were serud, that feard no future fall.
T'was youth that made him maske, with visard of delight,
Delight (not so) but dririe dread, to shunne the merchants sight,
And Dread the scourge of youth, for safegard of me wretch,
Did lodge me vp with needie griefe, while craft did play the leach,
Delight (not so) but dririe dread, to shunne the merchants sight,
And Dread the scourge of youth, for safegard of me wretch,
Did lodge me vp with needie griefe, while craft did play the leach,
In deede he playde the leach, to ease my present lacke,
But what should serue for future store, his physicke put to sacke.
He toylde in my behalfe, God wot I durst not steare,
Least, craftie traine should tol me in, the merchants wily snare.
But what should serue for future store, his physicke put to sacke.
He toylde in my behalfe, God wot I durst not steare,
Least, craftie traine should tol me in, the merchants wily snare.
And dread did daunt me so, that death I did desire,
Before a life of freedome reft, my hart did so aspire,
A tayle yet cloyde the land, which should me frolike make,
Where (Timeles trust) to curtoule it, did so the ioynt mistake.
Before a life of freedome reft, my hart did so aspire,
A tayle yet cloyde the land, which should me frolike make,
Where (Timeles trust) to curtoule it, did so the ioynt mistake.
That land will bleede to death, if conscience worke no cure,
Such waste wrought haste, for freedomes sake, to trust ere I were sure,
A pestlence blowe, forsooth it hurt not lande alone,
But spoyld my fist by filthy strife, and maymd my hart with mone.
Such waste wrought haste, for freedomes sake, to trust ere I were sure,
A pestlence blowe, forsooth it hurt not lande alone,
But spoyld my fist by filthy strife, and maymd my hart with mone.
Of which I youth may thanke, he snarld me in this snare,
Of force to trust, or else to sterue, with dread, distresse, and care,
Where Trust for best I chusd, although it prou'd the worst,
Such backward hap, doth euer haunt, the man that is accurst.
Of force to trust, or else to sterue, with dread, distresse, and care,
Where Trust for best I chusd, although it prou'd the worst,
Such backward hap, doth euer haunt, the man that is accurst.
91
[Why do I liue (quoth he) to see this lothsome sight]
Why do I liue (quoth he) to see this lothsome sight,Sith iustice is this day diuorst, and wrong is matcht with might,
Where cousnage was the clarke, where pollage was the priest,
Where deepe deceit, which gaue this dame, was father of the feast,
Where brydemen were abuse, where briberie bare the cup,
Where greedie earls as chiefest guestes, in euery boll did sup,
Where coyne was cater made, where cost the cookerie drest,
Where catchpoles false did fill the cups, at this great marriage feast,
Where parasites did prate, to free each sullen moode,
Wher cheting churles did fill their paūch, where poore mē steru'd for food,
Where countenance once dynde, and might haue cheard his mates,
Wide open then, but not before, the porter set the gates,
Yet thousandes preast to see, the res'due of the sport,
Some cloyd by craft, some foyld by force, for succour did resort,
But well I sawe (quoth he) which sight I sore did rue,
How blastes of scorne the belly Gods, among the needie blue,
How wealth did smile at want, how riches railde on right,
How vertue was supprest by vice, how pitie by despight,
How false suspect did forge, a thousand {flim flam} stayes.
In rightfull suites to tyre the poore, with cost and long delayes.
Anon the musicke soundes, and force his office shewd,
Well meaning mindes he wrapt so hard, that they his hart beshrewd,
First falshoode makes his choice, next flatterie takes his chaunce,
Then tag and rag about the house, deceitfull measures daunce.
A curious maske at night, the bridemen doth ordaine.
With shews of fraud to feed their thoghts, which care not how they gain,
Abuse did leade the bride, extortion maskt with craft,
To see deceit come hobbling on, a hundred carrens laught.
Pure neede to get a place, was glad to holde a torch.
But iustice during all this sport, was placed in the porch,
Good Ladie then (quoth he) alas and well away,
You sometime did possesse this place, this whilome was your day.
92
How chaunceth Truth, did suffer Craft, to enter in your gate,
What though that gaine did sowe, some seedes of Iealousie,
Might not (Remorse) attonement make, betweene thy feere and thee?
Is Conscience nowe exilde, who sometime counseld Might,
For to regard dame Iustice suite, and not to striue with right?
Are honest myndes nowe fled, doth rigour rule the rest?
Is Iustice nowe diuorst from might, doth wrong nowe scoure the coste?
Doth countenaunce cloake such crimes, as iustice did vncace?
Dare couseners false defende their faults, with shew of honest face?
They dare and doe God wot, by maintenaunce of might,
Why liue I then alas, he sayd, sith no man fauours right?
With that adieu good hope, and welcome woe (quoth he)
I see no gleames of grace appeare, my cloudes of scare to free.
93
P. Plasmos description of couseners.
A Lawyers
head, to drawe a craftie deede.
A Harlots looke, to witch with wanton sight,
A Flatterers toung, with sugred words to feede,
A Tyrants hart, to wound the harmelesse wight,
To toll with cheare, a greedie gluttons gorge.
A Merchants mouth, of falshoode truth to forge.
A Harlots looke, to witch with wanton sight,
A Flatterers toung, with sugred words to feede,
A Tyrants hart, to wound the harmelesse wight,
To toll with cheare, a greedie gluttons gorge.
A Merchants mouth, of falshoode truth to forge.
A Scriueners fist, by nimblenesse to race,
To scrape, to forge, to counterfet a name,
A Lackies leg, to trudge in euery place,
A desperate mind, which dreads no kinde of shame:
These lims well linckt, and set on couseners soyle,
A worke were sure, of all the diuels the toyle.
To scrape, to forge, to counterfet a name,
A Lackies leg, to trudge in euery place,
A desperate mind, which dreads no kinde of shame:
These lims well linckt, and set on couseners soyle,
A worke were sure, of all the diuels the toyle.
For each of them, a fiende in force can binde,
Yet some I graunt, by vertue guides their place,
But sildome tis, that Kit ne followes kinde,
If one be good, a score doth want the grace,
But all in league, their dealings lewde beware,
For then they do, the diuell and all of scare.
Yet some I graunt, by vertue guides their place,
But sildome tis, that Kit ne followes kinde,
If one be good, a score doth want the grace,
But all in league, their dealings lewde beware,
For then they do, the diuell and all of scare.
94
P. P. Inuectiue against his toung.
Thy rash reuenge (O tatling toung) I rue,Although with truth, thou slaundredst late thy foe,
The prouerbe olde, by proofe I finde too true,
Who fightes with words, doth wound him selfe with woe,
The ciuil lawe, so fauours fame and name,
As strumpets knowne, by wantons oft resort,
Are sildome put to any open shame.
Les open sight, makes proofe of Venus sport,
Who so is toucht, with any foule abuse,
Though common speach, the same for truth confirme,
The common lawe, the guiltie will excuse,
If proofe by oth, ne makes the knowledge firme,
Thus wanton fylthes, and wily churles are scus'd,
If secretly, they worke their foule amis,
Yet needely they, which are by these abus'd,
Must haue a meanes, to vse reuenge ywis,
Where oft their toung, is first addrest to fight,
95
Which knowne he straight, both seeke to match their might,
And first begins, their griefes for to conspire,
My selfe by such makes proofe, this tale is true,
Who weend to feare, with threatning words my foe,
At which he smilde, preuenting what he knewe,
Woulde be a meane, to worke his ouerthrowe,
Yea worse then that, he tryst me for me toung,
With actions heuge, for slaundering of his fame,
For which my purse, an honest quest so stuong,
That euer since, in faith it hath beene same.
Thus losse to me, no hurt to him at all,
O babbling toung, thy rash reuenge hath wrought,
Else blowes in lawe, had giuen him cause to brall,
Of both the best, though best reuenge be naught,
For bobs do feare, when words not ioynd with deede,
In wrangling mynds, more cnackred thoughts doth breede.
96
[In gayle of griefe in closde, of worldly friendes forlorne]
In gayle of griefe in closde, of worldly friendes forlorne,Thy mercy Lord to safe my mone, vnto my prayers turne,
Hide not thy heavenly face, from him that lies in thrall,
High time and tide good God it is, to heare my plaint & call,
My dayes consume with griefe, my myrth is mard wt mone,
My hart doth wast like withred grasse, my graue & I am one
My flesh with thoughts doth fret, in shew I am a ghoste,
I drencht in bale, my foes in blisse, I harmd, of hap they bost,
The world cōmends their welth, & spites my withered woe,
Yea dooms my doings by my dole, theirs by delight in showe
Thus wrongd, and scornd I am, which crosse I do imbrace,
Attending when thy mercy (Lord) my miseries shall chace,
Which ioyne with iustice thine, to foyle my foes in sight.
So shall I praise, and others feare, thy maiestie and might.
97
[To thee (O Lord) with hart and voice I sing]
To
thee (O Lord) with hart and voice I sing,
Whose mercy great, from dole to sweete delight,
From mone to myrth, my troubled spirite did bring,
Yea more thy yre, hath foyld my foes in sight,
They liue in want, that flourisht late in wealth,
They grone with griefe, yea lacke both help & helth,
Whose mercy great, from dole to sweete delight,
From mone to myrth, my troubled spirite did bring,
Yea more thy yre, hath foyld my foes in sight,
They liue in want, that flourisht late in wealth,
They grone with griefe, yea lacke both help & helth,
Their conscience guilt, doth gall them through their gaine,
And yet they waste, more faster then they winne,
Thus sweete prou'd sowre, their pleasure turnd to paine,
Yea liuing dyde, to thinke vpon their sinne,
Their shadowes feard, so souden was their fall,
But more their death, when destenie did them call.
And yet they waste, more faster then they winne,
Thus sweete prou'd sowre, their pleasure turnd to paine,
Yea liuing dyde, to thinke vpon their sinne,
Their shadowes feard, so souden was their fall,
But more their death, when destenie did them call.
Their mone amasd, a thousand wretches moe,
Who sight and shrynkt, through motions of deceit,
To heare report, this thundring threat to throwe,
Foule fall the fraude, to breede our bale a baite,
A bitter sweete that rots, ere it be ripe,
A liuing care, to soule a deadly stripe.
Who sight and shrynkt, through motions of deceit,
To heare report, this thundring threat to throwe,
Foule fall the fraude, to breede our bale a baite,
A bitter sweete that rots, ere it be ripe,
A liuing care, to soule a deadly stripe.
But how with hap, the pikes of harme I past,
Of murdrous mates, of myndes on mischiefe set,
Whose snares for me, them selues did fetter fast,
Whose baites for me, them measht in beggers net,
Inforst men say, of God, loe here the might,
Which heales the harmd, and lames ye lewd in sight.
Of murdrous mates, of myndes on mischiefe set,
Whose snares for me, them selues did fetter fast,
Whose baites for me, them measht in beggers net,
Inforst men say, of God, loe here the might,
Which heales the harmd, and lames ye lewd in sight.
But I whose scare, thy heauenly helpe did cleare,
Will daily sing, with mynd, with hart and voyce,
To thee (O Lord) be honour, laude, and feare,
Which foyldst my foes, and madst me to reioyce,
Laude for thy grace, and honour to thy name,
Feare cause thy wrath, doth put the lewde to shame.
Will daily sing, with mynd, with hart and voyce,
To thee (O Lord) be honour, laude, and feare,
Which foyldst my foes, and madst me to reioyce,
Laude for thy grace, and honour to thy name,
Feare cause thy wrath, doth put the lewde to shame.
98
P. Plasmos farewell to wanton pleasures.
Dame Venus be content, thy seruaunt should depart,Who long hath bath'd in beauties blisse, yet swam in seas of smart,
And willing nowe with losse, to leaue his wanton sport,
Repentance hath reclaimed him, from pleasures statly court,
Good loue my gouernesse, thy charge that erst did raunge,
Is well content, to carelesse youth, to leaue his choice in chaunge,
My colours fresh and gay, my pride in peacocks plumes,
I now resigne to Cupides thralls, whose head with fancie fumes,
My sugred wordes that earst, did wray my suites at large,
My scalding sighes, to quench mistrust, when iealousie gaue charge,
I will to salue their sore, whome false suspect doth byte,
My vaunting speach I giue to those, which soiourne with delight,
And fansie earst my friend, of force I must forsake.
And lust my choice, I leaue to those, which rowes in leachers lake,
For wisdome rules my will, and reason bids retire,
Least frosen feares, through faythlesse loue, doth followe hote desire,
Expence doth nip my purse, my pride is pincht with paine,
Aspiring mynde hath caught a fall, my lacke is linckt with gaine,
Yet losse this lesson learnd, how pence my pleasure wrought,
Not pleasure pence, but purses paine, when neede the bottome sought,
A noddie for the nonce, for faithlesse flurtes to flout.
Poore want was rayd, in ragged clothes, amongst dame pleasures rout.
Which picture when I sawe, in fauour like my lacke,
Disdaine my thought, did drowne my ioy, despaire did bruse my backe.
Pure neede then prickt me foorth (in faith) good mistresse mine,
99
For if you rightly wey, my want by former wealth,
Your selfe will iudge, I can not serue, without the ayde of stealth.
Then wrong will seeke reuenge, with tryall of his bande,
And iustice soone will sentence giue, to truce me out of hande.
Then conscience will accuse, my coste in Venus court,
And warne my friendes by these my woes, to shun dame pleasures sport,
And (loth to dye) will curse, the causers of my smart,
Thus with your blame, my one the shame (perforce) I shall depart.
P. Plasmos recantation.
Before
the world, I here recant my life,
I do renounce, both lingring loue and lust,
My wanton will, with wisedome once at strife,
Hath lost the fielde, the type of fansies trust.
I do renounce, both lingring loue and lust,
My wanton will, with wisedome once at strife,
Hath lost the fielde, the type of fansies trust.
My sugred toung, bepoudred all with teares,
To chase mistrust, from my sweete maistresse mynde,
With simple speach, from humble sprite now weares,
That fauour I, with my sweete Christ may finde.
To chase mistrust, from my sweete maistresse mynde,
With simple speach, from humble sprite now weares,
That fauour I, with my sweete Christ may finde.
My seattered sighes, which I on earth did strowe,
I gather vp, and sende them to the starres,
As messengers, of my lamenting woe,
Twixt sine and soule, so mortall is the warres.
I gather vp, and sende them to the starres,
As messengers, of my lamenting woe,
Twixt sine and soule, so mortall is the warres.
100
Sith I repent, no shame it is to wray,
My former life, how farre from grace it sweru'd,
Although from truth, I silly sheepe did stray,
As good men God, so I my Goddesse seru'd.
My former life, how farre from grace it sweru'd,
Although from truth, I silly sheepe did stray,
As good men God, so I my Goddesse seru'd.
Her fauour heauen, I reckt her frowning hell,
I swam in ioy, when I attaind her grace,
I sunke in noy, when she with wrath did swell,
Such strange effectes, were shrowded in her face.
I swam in ioy, when I attaind her grace,
I sunke in noy, when she with wrath did swell,
Such strange effectes, were shrowded in her face.
Saint Pandor then, my aduocate I made,
Who pynde my purse, yet fead my foolish vaine,
A thousand scornes, with my fond sight did fade.
My suite in wordes, such slender grace did gaine,
Who pynde my purse, yet fead my foolish vaine,
A thousand scornes, with my fond sight did fade.
My suite in wordes, such slender grace did gaine,
As Gods of olde, my Goddesse honoured is,
Which sacrifice, of kine and calues did craue,
But she inioynd, in penance of my mis,
For fashion sake, that first I yeald her slaue.
Which sacrifice, of kine and calues did craue,
But she inioynd, in penance of my mis,
For fashion sake, that first I yeald her slaue.
With vowe of fayth, my suite then must I showe,
But suites of lawne with toyes of deeper coste,
The duties were, which I for grace did owe,
Such costly grace, then found were better loste.
But suites of lawne with toyes of deeper coste,
The duties were, which I for grace did owe,
Such costly grace, then found were better loste.
But mistes of loue, did so bedim my eyes,
That wealth was slaue vnto my wanton thought,
Glad was my purse, when he the toy espies,
Which with my loue, a perfect liking wrought.
That wealth was slaue vnto my wanton thought,
Glad was my purse, when he the toy espies,
Which with my loue, a perfect liking wrought.
But I too sharpe, did spurre so free a wretch,
He pynde to naught, to please her peeuish mynde,
Then lacke too late, this lesson did me teach,
I seru'd no saint, but one of Sathans kynde.
He pynde to naught, to please her peeuish mynde,
Then lacke too late, this lesson did me teach,
I seru'd no saint, but one of Sathans kynde.
Who when she sawe, pure neede to play his part,
With iealous speach, gan straight to, faine debate,
My second choice she sayde, possest my heart,
As though pure loue, had hatcht this souden hate,
With iealous speach, gan straight to, faine debate,
101
As though pure loue, had hatcht this souden hate,
But well I sawe, despight did forge suspect,
And iealous speach, was set to colour scorne.
My charge not change, did frame with foule defect.
She fained griefe, I wretch with woe forworne.
And iealous speach, was set to colour scorne.
My charge not change, did frame with foule defect.
She fained griefe, I wretch with woe forworne.
My plees of want, then purchase little grace,
She wild me loue, where I my wealth did waste,
For my nice choice, she reckt her selfe too base,
Which here and there, in change a new was plast.
She wild me loue, where I my wealth did waste,
For my nice choice, she reckt her selfe too base,
Which here and there, in change a new was plast.
Fonde fansie then, presented to my will,
In desperate panges, to pine away with paine,
Or purchase pence, on top of Shooters hill,
If I escape, my bootie grace would gaine.
In desperate panges, to pine away with paine,
Or purchase pence, on top of Shooters hill,
If I escape, my bootie grace would gaine.
For him that earst, both hope and hap did vaunce,
To desperat thoughts, to vayle his former blisse,
Blame not his mynde, to cure this sorrie chaunce,
If ventur'd life, did worke amends of misse.
To desperat thoughts, to vayle his former blisse,
Blame not his mynde, to cure this sorrie chaunce,
If ventur'd life, did worke amends of misse.
And syth (quoth I) I must a martyr be,
Then burne to naught, wt blase of Cupides brands,
A gentler death, is hanging on a tree,
I may escape, the bowget makers hands.
Then burne to naught, wt blase of Cupides brands,
A gentler death, is hanging on a tree,
I may escape, the bowget makers hands.
In spight of scorne, which haunts my Ladies hart,
Then shall I swim, in seas of former grace,
And sorrow shall finde, recompence of smart,
With foulded armes, when I my ioy imbrace.
Then shall I swim, in seas of former grace,
And sorrow shall finde, recompence of smart,
With foulded armes, when I my ioy imbrace.
These drousie dumps, which driues me to despaire
Shall purged be, with drugs of droynses store,
I glad, he mad, then mumping in his chaire,
When steede is stolne, too late shall shut the dore.
Shall purged be, with drugs of droynses store,
I glad, he mad, then mumping in his chaire,
When steede is stolne, too late shall shut the dore.
102
Thus I vile wretche, led on by wanton lust,
A triumphe made, within my wicked thought,
How I by hap, the harmelesse threw to dust,
Ere I escapt, or had the mischiefe wrought,
A triumphe made, within my wicked thought,
How I by hap, the harmelesse threw to dust,
Ere I escapt, or had the mischiefe wrought,
But oh (sweete Christ) thy grace this folly stayd,
Thou cleardst my sight, which mistes of loue did bleare,
Unto whose praise, my conscience hath bewrayd,
My former life, deuoyde of godly feare.
Thou cleardst my sight, which mistes of loue did bleare,
Unto whose praise, my conscience hath bewrayd,
My former life, deuoyde of godly feare.
Thou crau'st (good Lord) no other aduocate,
But prayer mine, to purchase heauenly grace,
The which thou sayst, doth neuer come too late,
If I repent, when prayer pleades my case.
But prayer mine, to purchase heauenly grace,
The which thou sayst, doth neuer come too late,
If I repent, when prayer pleades my case.
A contrite hart, is the sweete sacrifice,
That thou dost seeke, ere we thy fauour winne,
The which, deare God, with sighes & weeping eyes,
I offer vp in recompence of sinne.
That thou dost seeke, ere we thy fauour winne,
The which, deare God, with sighes & weeping eyes,
I offer vp in recompence of sinne.
Attending still, when triall of my fayth,
Shall treade downe death, & Sathan force to reele,
And boldly say, till latter gaspe of breath,
My soul through faith, ye ioyes of heauen doth feele.
Shall treade downe death, & Sathan force to reele,
And boldly say, till latter gaspe of breath,
My soul through faith, ye ioyes of heauen doth feele.
P. Plasmos farewell to folly.
Farewell
yon fading ioyes,
Which fancie forst me loue,
Adieu'go trudge, your tickle toyes,
Though late, too soone I proue.
Which fancie forst me loue,
Adieu'go trudge, your tickle toyes,
Though late, too soone I proue.
103
O wandring head leaue off,
Fonde fancies to imbrace,
And sugred toung nowe cease to scoffe,
Or others to disgrace,
Fonde fancies to imbrace,
And sugred toung nowe cease to scoffe,
Or others to disgrace,
Forsake, O luring eyes,
To faine the louing art,
And scalding sighes be you no spies,
To wound a womans hart.
To faine the louing art,
And scalding sighes be you no spies,
To wound a womans hart.
O mynde with verses vaine,
No more thy selfe acquaint,
Forsake in time, faire Venus game,
Ere age doth thee attaint.
No more thy selfe acquaint,
Forsake in time, faire Venus game,
Ere age doth thee attaint.
O hart on hoyh y set,
Be warnd by wisedomes lawe,
So shalt thou scape blinde Cupides net,
Of which thou stoodst in awe.
Be warnd by wisedomes lawe,
So shalt thou scape blinde Cupides net,
Of which thou stoodst in awe.
Beware of tenne and foure,
Which be the cheaters fare,
Least hassards hard, thy sweete do soure,
And make thy purse full bare.
Which be the cheaters fare,
Least hassards hard, thy sweete do soure,
And make thy purse full bare.
This double charge I giue,
To you vnhappie handes,
From quarels fond, y free to liue,
As foe to life and landes.
To you vnhappie handes,
From quarels fond, y free to liue,
As foe to life and landes.
Now last to you my legges,
Which be my bodies stay,
Frame not your gate as men on egges,
Whome busting doth affray.
Which be my bodies stay,
Frame not your gate as men on egges,
Whome busting doth affray.
Nor yet so stoutly stride,
As mens that beares would binde,
For stately steps bewrayes the pride,
Which harbours in the mynde.
As mens that beares would binde,
104
Which harbours in the mynde.
My other members all,
Be rulde by reasons lore:
Let vertue reigne, where vice did stall,
And former faults deplore.
Be rulde by reasons lore:
Let vertue reigne, where vice did stall,
And former faults deplore.
Least future plagues you pricke,
To worke your greater paine,
For why against the thornes to kicke,
I count it more then vaine.
To worke your greater paine,
For why against the thornes to kicke,
I count it more then vaine.
Nunquam sero.
105
The complaint of one Lyros a notable Cousener, supposed at the houre of his death.
Amonge
their falles, by filthie fraude which fell,
Let my mishappe, registred be I pray,
Whose wanton toyes, whose wily trickes to tell,
But cheefe of all, whose wofull plight to wray,
No doubt the lewde, will bring to better stay,
For whose behoofe, loe here I paint my thrall,
My happ, my harme, my life, my death and all.
Let my mishappe, registred be I pray,
Whose wanton toyes, whose wily trickes to tell,
But cheefe of all, whose wofull plight to wray,
No doubt the lewde, will bring to better stay,
For whose behoofe, loe here I paint my thrall,
My happ, my harme, my life, my death and all.
Noe shame it is for mee to showe my euill,
Though gracelesse life, from wisedomes lore did swerue.
A sinne it were to liue and die a deuill,
So soule and all, with Tantals hope should sterue,
My warning here, for others heede may serue:
Fresh harmes they say, will force men to beware,
When had I wist, comes after still the faire.
Though gracelesse life, from wisedomes lore did swerue.
A sinne it were to liue and die a deuill,
So soule and all, with Tantals hope should sterue,
My warning here, for others heede may serue:
Fresh harmes they say, will force men to beware,
When had I wist, comes after still the faire.
Then couseners first, to you my tale I streach,
God graunt my wordes, to heale your woundes auaile,
But you will say, my selfe doth neede a Leach,
To heire my head, to helpe eche perisht naile,
To ridde my scabbes, my Leprosie to scaile,
To cleare my eyes, which are now darke and dim,
My nummed ioyntes, to make both lith and trim.
God graunt my wordes, to heale your woundes auaile,
But you will say, my selfe doth neede a Leach,
To heire my head, to helpe eche perisht naile,
To ridde my scabbes, my Leprosie to scaile,
To cleare my eyes, which are now darke and dim,
My nummed ioyntes, to make both lith and trim.
I neede God wot, if neede could fauour winne,
But out alas, too late doth come the cure,
When God is bent to punish filthie sinne,
Though longe hee stayes in fine hee striketh sure,
Best therefore then, ere you his wrath procure,
You see your helpe (with his precept agree)
Ante languorem, medicinam adhibe.
But out alas, too late doth come the cure,
When God is bent to punish filthie sinne,
Though longe hee stayes in fine hee striketh sure,
Best therefore then, ere you his wrath procure,
You see your helpe (with his precept agree)
Ante languorem, medicinam adhibe.
106
Prouide a salue, before that sicknes come,
Prouide a mends, for sinne and foule amisse,
Before Gods wrath, your due desert doth dome,
For note deare friends, I whilome bathde in blisse,
I swam in ioy, my heart at woe did hisse,
I then had strength, with health, and wealth at will.
My hap was cleare, I sawe no clowdes of ill.
Prouide a mends, for sinne and foule amisse,
Before Gods wrath, your due desert doth dome,
For note deare friends, I whilome bathde in blisse,
I swam in ioy, my heart at woe did hisse,
I then had strength, with health, and wealth at will.
My hap was cleare, I sawe no clowdes of ill.
Then muse you will, to see so rare a chaunge,
As manly force, to faile in prime of youth,
As faire to foule, as health to scabbes and maunge,
As hap to harme, as ioy to greefe and ruth,
But listen well and marke what woordes ensuthe,
And you shall see what forced mee to fall,
What wrought my woe, what turnde by ioy to thrall.
As manly force, to faile in prime of youth,
As faire to foule, as health to scabbes and maunge,
As hap to harme, as ioy to greefe and ruth,
But listen well and marke what woordes ensuthe,
And you shall see what forced mee to fall,
What wrought my woe, what turnde by ioy to thrall.
First weene that wealth did puffe mee vp with pride,
Next forme and force, enforst me to aspire,
Then loue and lust, into my brest did glide,
Last fretting thought so set my heart on fire,
That mariage needes, must coole my hoate desire,
My choice was good, if chaunge had beene exilde,
But follie, faith and fancie, truth begilde.
Next forme and force, enforst me to aspire,
Then loue and lust, into my brest did glide,
Last fretting thought so set my heart on fire,
That mariage needes, must coole my hoate desire,
My choice was good, if chaunge had beene exilde,
But follie, faith and fancie, truth begilde.
My wandring will directed mee this course,
Which brainesicke youth, did duelie treade and trace,
And entred once, I fell from bad to worse,
I made a pray, of euery yeelding face,
Such wanton lust, doth follow want of grace,
Ne was this life, defrayde with small expence,
And I (God wott) had not a mine of pence.
Which brainesicke youth, did duelie treade and trace,
And entred once, I fell from bad to worse,
I made a pray, of euery yeelding face,
Such wanton lust, doth follow want of grace,
Ne was this life, defrayde with small expence,
And I (God wott) had not a mine of pence.
While coyne did last, yet carelesse did I spend,
A poore increase, can spring on such a roote,
When coyne was spent ne did my fancies end,
With youth to striue, for reason t'was no boote,
No lacke could treade my follies vnder foote:
While land did last, my want I did supplie,
With purchases, of Dedi, concessi.
A poore increase, can spring on such a roote,
When coyne was spent ne did my fancies end,
With youth to striue, for reason t'was no boote,
No lacke could treade my follies vnder foote:
107
With purchases, of Dedi, concessi.
My liuing sould, and monie in my purse,
My lauish minde, had neuer thought of lacke,
To gelt or saue, I quite forgot the course,
For euery toy my Testours went to wracke,
Which did my bagges, vnto the bottome sacke,
My coyne consumde, and yearely rents thus gone,
What refuge then? once credite had I none.
My lauish minde, had neuer thought of lacke,
To gelt or saue, I quite forgot the course,
For euery toy my Testours went to wracke,
Which did my bagges, vnto the bottome sacke,
My coyne consumde, and yearely rents thus gone,
What refuge then? once credite had I none.
Yet liue I must, neede doth obey no lawe,
To worke for wealth, yet wist I not the way,
The scourge for sinne, did keepe mee still in awe,
I durst not steale, for feare of Tyborne play,
And other shiftes, I knewe not to assay,
But to be short, to soone, to soone t'was knowne,
My will was good, to take more then mine owne.
To worke for wealth, yet wist I not the way,
The scourge for sinne, did keepe mee still in awe,
I durst not steale, for feare of Tyborne play,
And other shiftes, I knewe not to assay,
But to be short, to soone, to soone t'was knowne,
My will was good, to take more then mine owne.
Then wily mates, whose subtile eyes did see,
In yonkers states, and markt, their youthfull vaine,
Made choice of mee, the Instrument to bee,
In wanton trackes, vnwayed youthes to traine,
Their wiles, my wishe, so sweete was speach of gaine,
My tongue was good, my manhoode had in price,
My life was lewde, I knewe and vsde eche vice.
In yonkers states, and markt, their youthfull vaine,
Made choice of mee, the Instrument to bee,
In wanton trackes, vnwayed youthes to traine,
Their wiles, my wishe, so sweete was speach of gaine,
My tongue was good, my manhoode had in price,
My life was lewde, I knewe and vsde eche vice.
Companion fitt, for rufflers nowe adayes,
Whose wills rule witt, and rage, doth reason yoke,
Of which I searcht, a crue of thriftlesse strayes,
Whom lewdly I to lewdnes did prouoke,
They bitt my baite, but other did them choke,
I bore the name, when others layde the bane,
The shame was mine, and others gleande the gaine.
Whose wills rule witt, and rage, doth reason yoke,
Of which I searcht, a crue of thriftlesse strayes,
Whom lewdly I to lewdnes did prouoke,
They bitt my baite, but other did them choke,
I bore the name, when others layde the bane,
The shame was mine, and others gleande the gaine.
But, Oh, I sigh, to wray what wrought my thrall,
O Plasmos nowe, I swoone through thought of thee,
I must confesse, the goad that did the gall,
Was too too sharpe for friendship thine so free,
I turnde my coate, ere thou couldst fettered bee,
My wanton toyes, could hardly thee intrap,
My falsed trust (aye mee) wrought thy ill hap.
O Plasmos nowe, I swoone through thought of thee,
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Was too too sharpe for friendship thine so free,
I turnde my coate, ere thou couldst fettered bee,
My wanton toyes, could hardly thee intrap,
My falsed trust (aye mee) wrought thy ill hap.
And must I shewe, wherein I was iniust?
Shame sayes, conceale, my conscience wil not soe,
I was a friend, whose treason quited trust,
A counseller lewde, that wrought my clientes woe,
Where I was lou'd, I hated saue in shoe,
Yea twise accurst, for mucke his life I sought,
Whose bloud and good, for me hee ventred oft.
Shame sayes, conceale, my conscience wil not soe,
I was a friend, whose treason quited trust,
A counseller lewde, that wrought my clientes woe,
Where I was lou'd, I hated saue in shoe,
Yea twise accurst, for mucke his life I sought,
Whose bloud and good, for me hee ventred oft.
I forged deedes, when fayled free consent,
I rased roules, to mend what hast did marre,
I put in vre, what coemates mine inuent,
My woordes, were graue, as firme my friendship ware,
And yet forsooth, to showe what mould I bare,
I prou'de it true, how Cito ad suam.
Redierint, res fictæ naturam.
I rased roules, to mend what hast did marre,
I put in vre, what coemates mine inuent,
My woordes, were graue, as firme my friendship ware,
And yet forsooth, to showe what mould I bare,
I prou'de it true, how Cito ad suam.
Redierint, res fictæ naturam.
For though my weedes, foreshewde a settled minde,
God knowes, my woorkes, my wanton humour wraide,
The wyser sort, my follies soone did finde,
They sawe full well, my fancies were not staide,
Yet Plasmos hee of fraude was not afraide,
And truth to tell, I baynde him with such baite,
As hardly hee, could smell out my deceite.
God knowes, my woorkes, my wanton humour wraide,
The wyser sort, my follies soone did finde,
They sawe full well, my fancies were not staide,
Yet Plasmos hee of fraude was not afraide,
And truth to tell, I baynde him with such baite,
As hardly hee, could smell out my deceite.
Wise officers, my falsehoode yet suspect,
To purchase land, they thought my store to small,
And all to late, to Plasmos they detect,
(As they supposde) I sought to worke his thrall,
Their sorrie newes, did nip him to the gall,
Who like a man of hope, of helpe dismayde,
Reportes the trust, through which I him betraide.
To purchase land, they thought my store to small,
And all to late, to Plasmos they detect,
(As they supposde) I sought to worke his thrall,
Their sorrie newes, did nip him to the gall,
Who like a man of hope, of helpe dismayde,
Reportes the trust, through which I him betraide.
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Our foule deceite amas'de the hearers much,
They Plasmos wild, from greement kept aloofe,
That open shame our villanies might tuch.
Our falles would be a warning of behoofe,
Our fraude thus found, before it came to proofe,
What course were best? should wee confesse our fault?
Noe, noe: wee ment to bide the first assault.
They Plasmos wild, from greement kept aloofe,
That open shame our villanies might tuch.
Our falles would be a warning of behoofe,
Our fraude thus found, before it came to proofe,
What course were best? should wee confesse our fault?
Noe, noe: wee ment to bide the first assault.
In euery Court our cousenages did ring.
Which bouldly wee, vppon our othes denide,
For wee that dar'd commit so foule a thing,
Uppon our othes, ne cared though wee lyde,
Yet durst wee not abide till trueth were tride,
In couseners clyffes, wee feard sol fa to chaunt,
Howe so wee seemde, on honestie to vaunt.
Which bouldly wee, vppon our othes denide,
For wee that dar'd commit so foule a thing,
Uppon our othes, ne cared though wee lyde,
Yet durst wee not abide till trueth were tride,
In couseners clyffes, wee feard sol fa to chaunt,
Howe so wee seemde, on honestie to vaunt.
Yea (wretched) I, that bore the blame of all,
Peccaui soung, through pricke of conscience griefe,
How others scapt, I sawe my shamefull fall,
I mou'de my mates, to salue our great mischiefe,
In time: or wee, should suffer much repreafe,
But they that vsde, then cousenage in my name,
If worst befell, knewe I should bide the shame.
Peccaui soung, through pricke of conscience griefe,
How others scapt, I sawe my shamefull fall,
I mou'de my mates, to salue our great mischiefe,
In time: or wee, should suffer much repreafe,
But they that vsde, then cousenage in my name,
If worst befell, knewe I should bide the shame.
To make amends, would neuer yeeld consent,
What should I doe? still Plasmos shot at mee,
False Frenos, yet the mischiefe did inuent,
I plowde the lande, the profite reaped hee,
Hee bounde me so, saunce him I could not gree,
And thus through neede (which I to show abhorre)
Against my will, looke what hee would I swore.
What should I doe? still Plasmos shot at mee,
False Frenos, yet the mischiefe did inuent,
I plowde the lande, the profite reaped hee,
Hee bounde me so, saunce him I could not gree,
And thus through neede (which I to show abhorre)
Against my will, looke what hee would I swore.
Our cousenage knowen, our likelyhoode of paine,
My earnest sute, to some good end to growe,
Once mou'd him not, to leaue ill gotten gaine,
Hee neuer blusht, in conscience nor in showe,
But craft on craft, hee layde to heape our woe,
T'ware straunge to heare, the wealthy friends hee found,
Which ioynde with him, to make our fraude seeme sound.
My earnest sute, to some good end to growe,
Once mou'd him not, to leaue ill gotten gaine,
Hee neuer blusht, in conscience nor in showe,
But craft on craft, hee layde to heape our woe,
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Which ioynde with him, to make our fraude seeme sound.
And boulstred thus, for slaundring vs with truth,
Our actions huge, poore Plasmos ouerlayde,
Wee knewe in neede, friends faild, the more the ruth,
Thus double wrong'd (his huge distresses waide)
To cleare his land, good store of coyne hee paide,
Least share whereof, in faith, to mee did fall,
Yet of this end, I was the glad'st of all.
Our actions huge, poore Plasmos ouerlayde,
Wee knewe in neede, friends faild, the more the ruth,
Thus double wrong'd (his huge distresses waide)
To cleare his land, good store of coyne hee paide,
Least share whereof, in faith, to mee did fall,
Yet of this end, I was the glad'st of all.
From open shame, my selfe I iudged free,
I tooke no heede, to salue my conscience gall,
But God that doth all secrete dealinges see,
Prouided whippes to scourge our sinnes withall,
And I that bare the blame of Plasmos thrall,
As sure I was the instrument of it,
The first man was, that God with vengeaunce smit.
I tooke no heede, to salue my conscience gall,
But God that doth all secrete dealinges see,
Prouided whippes to scourge our sinnes withall,
And I that bare the blame of Plasmos thrall,
As sure I was the instrument of it,
The first man was, that God with vengeaunce smit.
My onely child, which should haue had the land,
With Plasmos bloud, that faine I would haue bought,
Not sicke in sight, first dyed out of hand,
Which heauie hap distempered so my thought,
As straight I was into a quarterne brought,
Whose frosen fittes, brought downe my youthfull pride.
Do what I could, it held mee till I dide.
With Plasmos bloud, that faine I would haue bought,
Not sicke in sight, first dyed out of hand,
Which heauie hap distempered so my thought,
As straight I was into a quarterne brought,
Whose frosen fittes, brought downe my youthfull pride.
Do what I could, it held mee till I dide.
A house I kept, till I to cousening fell,
But loe beguilde, euen with mine owne deceite,
My house I left, and did in corners dwell,
To lay mee vp, still Plasmos lay in waite,
Sometimes I was caught with a Sergeaunts baite,
And through a grate, Presta quesimus sounge,
With care on care, thus daily was I stounge.
But loe beguilde, euen with mine owne deceite,
My house I left, and did in corners dwell,
To lay mee vp, still Plasmos lay in waite,
Sometimes I was caught with a Sergeaunts baite,
And through a grate, Presta quesimus sounge,
With care on care, thus daily was I stounge.
I that sometime, had wily witt good store,
As one bestrackt, forgot what late I spake,
For all my cheates, still was I very poore,
My friends did faile, none would relieue my lacke,
On euery side, I (wretched) went to wracke,
Yea Frenos he that drue the cousening plott,
Deuourde the gaine, and gaue mee neuer a iott.
As one bestrackt, forgot what late I spake,
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My friends did faile, none would relieue my lacke,
On euery side, I (wretched) went to wracke,
Yea Frenos he that drue the cousening plott,
Deuourde the gaine, and gaue mee neuer a iott.
Two yeares well nie, I liued in this woe,
God wot, not worth the ground whereon I went,
And when I thought, my ioyes againe would flowe,
Unhappie I, (that Plasmos murder ment)
Unto such ire, the hie Iehoua bent,
That (ah) in steede of drinke my thrist to slake,
I poyson dronke, my timelesse ende to make.
God wot, not worth the ground whereon I went,
And when I thought, my ioyes againe would flowe,
Unhappie I, (that Plasmos murder ment)
Unto such ire, the hie Iehoua bent,
That (ah) in steede of drinke my thrist to slake,
I poyson dronke, my timelesse ende to make.
See couseners see, my present lothsome state,
Loe here the ende of all my wanton race,
Behold the man, that was so frolicke late,
A leaper foule, in body, legges and face,
At point of death, cryes out to God for grace,
A warning fayre, a mirror full of mone,
For greedie churles, a bone to gnawe vppon.
Loe here the ende of all my wanton race,
Behold the man, that was so frolicke late,
A leaper foule, in body, legges and face,
At point of death, cryes out to God for grace,
A warning fayre, a mirror full of mone,
For greedie churles, a bone to gnawe vppon.
Amende in time, before Gods wrath you sturre,
Beware by mee, false Frenos and the rest,
Quod diffeertur, be sure, non aufertur,
Unlesse euen from the bottome of your breast,
You both repent, and to amends are preast,
Loe here my tale, and life will haue an ende,
God pardon mee, and graunt you to amende.
Beware by mee, false Frenos and the rest,
Quod diffeertur, be sure, non aufertur,
Unlesse euen from the bottome of your breast,
You both repent, and to amends are preast,
Loe here my tale, and life will haue an ende,
God pardon mee, and graunt you to amende.
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Frenos complaint.
I see
(quoth hee) death spares no sortes of men,
Our bagges of drosse, may not withstand his might,
To moyle and toile for pelfe what bootes it then?
No whit, God knowes, if wee could see aright.
But worldly cares our minds bewitched soe,
As thoughtes of heauen, silde in our brestes do dwell,
The prouerbe saith (the more such fathers woe)
Happ'is the childe, whose father goes to hell.
But such prouerbes, more common are then true,
Silde children keepe, that fathers lewdly gett,
And trust mee wealth, if after want ensue,
With double griefe, the needie thrall doth frett,
To what ende then, for mucke, take wee such care?
To damne our selues, and worke our childrens scare,
Our bagges of drosse, may not withstand his might,
To moyle and toile for pelfe what bootes it then?
No whit, God knowes, if wee could see aright.
But worldly cares our minds bewitched soe,
As thoughtes of heauen, silde in our brestes do dwell,
The prouerbe saith (the more such fathers woe)
Happ'is the childe, whose father goes to hell.
But such prouerbes, more common are then true,
Silde children keepe, that fathers lewdly gett,
And trust mee wealth, if after want ensue,
With double griefe, the needie thrall doth frett,
To what ende then, for mucke, take wee such care?
To damne our selues, and worke our childrens scare,
O wicked world, so sweete thy torments seeme,
That when men tast, thy drugges of vaine delight,
Their onely heauen, thy thralles do thee esteeme,
With mistes of mucke, thou blindest so their sight,
That (wretched) they, whilst that in health they liue,
As Swine in myre, do wallowe in their faultes.
An others fall, nor conscience can them meeue,
To waile their sinnes, till grislie death assaultes,
The thought of whom, as thornes do pricke mee (wretch)
Alas, mee thinkes, I see his ghastly shape,
What did I meane, to name him in my speach,
And can I not his furious force escape,
Oh noe, my sinnes, beginneth now to swarme,
To matche with him, my selfe howe should I arme?
That when men tast, thy drugges of vaine delight,
Their onely heauen, thy thralles do thee esteeme,
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That (wretched) they, whilst that in health they liue,
As Swine in myre, do wallowe in their faultes.
An others fall, nor conscience can them meeue,
To waile their sinnes, till grislie death assaultes,
The thought of whom, as thornes do pricke mee (wretch)
Alas, mee thinkes, I see his ghastly shape,
What did I meane, to name him in my speach,
And can I not his furious force escape,
Oh noe, my sinnes, beginneth now to swarme,
To matche with him, my selfe howe should I arme?
My conscience cryes, confesse thy wicked life,
My wicked life, such monstrous fraude presents,
As in my selfe, I finde a hell of strife,
My gracelesse deedes, the hope of grace preuents,
I see, I see, howe fierie fiendes do yell,
Before hie Ioue my wicked soule to haue,
My secrete sinnes, condemnes mee (wretch) to hell,
They be so huge, that nothing can me saue,
Where is the booke, wherein Gods will is writ?
They say there in, is balme that sinne can cure,
What ment I (wretch) I neuer studied it?
The booke is large, my life will not indure,
So longe, as I may reade, and reape such grace,
The fault is mine, I might, while I had space.
My wicked life, such monstrous fraude presents,
As in my selfe, I finde a hell of strife,
My gracelesse deedes, the hope of grace preuents,
I see, I see, howe fierie fiendes do yell,
Before hie Ioue my wicked soule to haue,
My secrete sinnes, condemnes mee (wretch) to hell,
They be so huge, that nothing can me saue,
Where is the booke, wherein Gods will is writ?
They say there in, is balme that sinne can cure,
What ment I (wretch) I neuer studied it?
The booke is large, my life will not indure,
So longe, as I may reade, and reape such grace,
The fault is mine, I might, while I had space.
I faint, I faint, my life will needes away,
False Frenos now, of force must yeeld to death,
These farewell woordes, good friends yet note I pray,
Prepare your selues ere latter gaspe of breath,
So spend your liues, as if you daily dyde,
Leste tarde you, by death (perhaps) be tane,
Note well my fall, in top of all my pride,
Before I wist, hee gaue mee (wretch) my bane,
By worldly wealth, for which I tooke such care,
I needes must leaue, in no good order sett,
A soudaine chaunge, the chaunce yet nothing rare,
This is the proofe of goods, that fraude doth get,
Loe this is all, that death will let mee say,
But what is short, may best be borne away.
False Frenos now, of force must yeeld to death,
These farewell woordes, good friends yet note I pray,
Prepare your selues ere latter gaspe of breath,
So spend your liues, as if you daily dyde,
Leste tarde you, by death (perhaps) be tane,
Note well my fall, in top of all my pride,
Before I wist, hee gaue mee (wretch) my bane,
By worldly wealth, for which I tooke such care,
I needes must leaue, in no good order sett,
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This is the proofe of goods, that fraude doth get,
Loe this is all, that death will let mee say,
But what is short, may best be borne away.
Caphos complaint.
The
Prouerbe saith, as good wee eate the deuill,
As sup the broth, wherein his body boilde,
As good wee do, as giue consent to euill,
Which sorrie doome, my coloured scuse hath foild,
My conscience throbs, though I no fraude deuis'de,
My onely name, that shadowed foule deceite,
In God his sight with Frenos fall is pris'de,
I feele my sinnes, pluckes downe my soule with weight,
Yea Lyros and false Frenos both I knowe,
But leade the way, that I must shortly goe.
As sup the broth, wherein his body boilde,
As good wee do, as giue consent to euill,
Which sorrie doome, my coloured scuse hath foild,
My conscience throbs, though I no fraude deuis'de,
My onely name, that shadowed foule deceite,
In God his sight with Frenos fall is pris'de,
I feele my sinnes, pluckes downe my soule with weight,
Yea Lyros and false Frenos both I knowe,
But leade the way, that I must shortly goe.
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Farre yet I am vnfit for such a iournie,
My compt falls short, that I to God must giue,
If hee charge mee, with filthie periurie,
It will not serue (to saue mee from repreue,)
To say how that, for feare of after shame,
A manifest vntrueth, I durst not sweare,
But Frenos gott, a post knight of my name,
In steede of mee, that did both sweare and steare,
I must confesse, I gaue thereto consent,
And God no doubt, will punish my intent.
My compt falls short, that I to God must giue,
If hee charge mee, with filthie periurie,
It will not serue (to saue mee from repreue,)
To say how that, for feare of after shame,
A manifest vntrueth, I durst not sweare,
But Frenos gott, a post knight of my name,
In steede of mee, that did both sweare and steare,
I must confesse, I gaue thereto consent,
And God no doubt, will punish my intent.
My subtile sleightes, to shadowe foule abuse,
May well lye hid, and no man knowe the same,
But God doth knowe, the fraude I put in vse,
(For others keede) deserued open shame.
The man that is with sicknes neuer vext,
Hath seeldome care what kinde of meate hee eates,
When such as are, with surfets oft perplext,
Seeme daintie still, to feede on diuers meates,
In worldly churles, obserued is the like,
They feede on fraude, till infamie them strike,
May well lye hid, and no man knowe the same,
But God doth knowe, the fraude I put in vse,
(For others keede) deserued open shame.
The man that is with sicknes neuer vext,
Hath seeldome care what kinde of meate hee eates,
When such as are, with surfets oft perplext,
Seeme daintie still, to feede on diuers meates,
In worldly churles, obserued is the like,
They feede on fraude, till infamie them strike,
Marke well my woordes, you (worldlinges) of all sortes,
But citizens, your natures best I knowe,
There are of you haue meetely good reportes,
For riches sake, and outward honest showe,
But how you get, your monstrous heapes of gold,
Your conscience knowes, and I can some what tell,
Your secret craft, so seeldome is controld,
As what you gett, you thinke you gett it well,
But how so heere, your reckonings seemeth true,
A day will come, when you shall count a newe.
But citizens, your natures best I knowe,
There are of you haue meetely good reportes,
For riches sake, and outward honest showe,
But how you get, your monstrous heapes of gold,
Your conscience knowes, and I can some what tell,
Your secret craft, so seeldome is controld,
As what you gett, you thinke you gett it well,
But how so heere, your reckonings seemeth true,
A day will come, when you shall count a newe.
Bee you reclaymde, by others soudaine fall,
Sighe for your owne, when others shames you see,
Thinke that they are but patternes of your thrall,
If iustice should on you auenged bee,
A thousand wayes, the highest seekes to winne,
Our worldly mindes, from loue of worldlie ioyes,
But if wee still, will wallowe in our sinne,
The plagues are sharpe, with which he vs destroyes,
To stay whose wrath, I hould the next way is,
While wee haue space, to sorrowe our amis.
Sighe for your owne, when others shames you see,
Thinke that they are but patternes of your thrall,
If iustice should on you auenged bee,
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Our worldly mindes, from loue of worldlie ioyes,
But if wee still, will wallowe in our sinne,
The plagues are sharpe, with which he vs destroyes,
To stay whose wrath, I hould the next way is,
While wee haue space, to sorrowe our amis.
Death comes God wot, euen like a myching theefe,
With conscience cleare, some wardes his wily blowe,
And some againe hee gawls with soudaine greefe,
Whose thoughtes of sinne, doth worke their double woe,
Had I but wayde, the halfe, that now I wray,
My coemates endes, had made mee fitt for death,
But that is past, this is my onely stay,
Gods mercie salues, at latter gaspe of breath,
And yet thereof, let no man hope to farre,
Presumptious sinnes, of all, the greatest are.
With conscience cleare, some wardes his wily blowe,
And some againe hee gawls with soudaine greefe,
Whose thoughtes of sinne, doth worke their double woe,
Had I but wayde, the halfe, that now I wray,
My coemates endes, had made mee fitt for death,
But that is past, this is my onely stay,
Gods mercie salues, at latter gaspe of breath,
And yet thereof, let no man hope to farre,
Presumptious sinnes, of all, the greatest are.
Pimos complaint at the houre of his death.
Aye
mee (quoth hee) the case is altered quite,
My wylie skill, that chaungde the sense of lawe,
My cunning Pleas, that made a wronge seeme right,
Are nowe the bones, whereon my conscience gnawe,
They force mee graunt, the good from euill I knewe,
The good I left, the euill too late I rue,
My wylie skill, that chaungde the sense of lawe,
My cunning Pleas, that made a wronge seeme right,
Are nowe the bones, whereon my conscience gnawe,
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The good I left, the euill too late I rue,
The common lawe, the which I studied longe,
I finde condemnes mee wretch of many a crime,
The lawe it selfe (how so we wreast it wronge)
Of God his lawe, was founded in the prime,
Then since in one, they both agree in troth,
Abuse of one, must be abuse of both.
I finde condemnes mee wretch of many a crime,
The lawe it selfe (how so we wreast it wronge)
Of God his lawe, was founded in the prime,
Then since in one, they both agree in troth,
Abuse of one, must be abuse of both.
And sure the one I turned as I list,
If I were wrong'd, the lawe amends could make,
If I did wronge, the lawe such power mist,
The case was chang'de the wronged might go packe
Such helpes I had, such quillets of delay,
That all seemde true, that (subtile) I did say,
If I were wrong'd, the lawe amends could make,
If I did wronge, the lawe such power mist,
The case was chang'de the wronged might go packe
Such helpes I had, such quillets of delay,
That all seemde true, that (subtile) I did say,
But now I am, attached to appeare,
Afore a Iudge, at no mannes faultes that winkes,
The diuell declares, how I haue liued here,
My conscience guilt, giues euidence me thinkes,
To learne the lawe, sith studie I did vowe,
For breach of lawe, I am indited nowe.
Afore a Iudge, at no mannes faultes that winkes,
The diuell declares, how I haue liued here,
My conscience guilt, giues euidence me thinkes,
To learne the lawe, sith studie I did vowe,
For breach of lawe, I am indited nowe.
Before my God mee seemes I charged am,
For ayding those, with credite, coyne, and skill,
Whose lewde deceites, deserued whippes of shame,
And that to make me guiltie of their ill,
Consentientes (your lawe sayth Ioue doth say,)
Et agentes, plectentur pari pȩna.
For ayding those, with credite, coyne, and skill,
Whose lewde deceites, deserued whippes of shame,
And that to make me guiltie of their ill,
Consentientes (your lawe sayth Ioue doth say,)
Et agentes, plectentur pari pȩna.
My guiltie minde, confesseth streight the act,
False Frenos fraud, was boulstered vp by mee,
Condemnde of this, streight comes an other fact,
I wronged men, against all equitie,
When lawe doth say, Hoc facias alteri,
In right and wronge, quod vis tibi fieri.
False Frenos fraud, was boulstered vp by mee,
Condemnde of this, streight comes an other fact,
I wronged men, against all equitie,
When lawe doth say, Hoc facias alteri,
In right and wronge, quod vis tibi fieri.
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This bitter doome, giuen by the doome of lawe,
Mee sinnefull wretch, as guiltie striketh mute,
The men I wrong'd within my conscience gnawe,
I spared none through pittie, nor through sute,
What lawe did giue, since I for vauntage tooke,
In breach of lawe, should I for fauour looke?
Mee sinnefull wretch, as guiltie striketh mute,
The men I wrong'd within my conscience gnawe,
I spared none through pittie, nor through sute,
What lawe did giue, since I for vauntage tooke,
In breach of lawe, should I for fauour looke?
O noe, I must, in proper person pleade,
Plaine not guiltie, or guiltie of the crime,
No forreine Plea, may now delayaunce breede,
Untrauerst goes, the Venu and the time,
No aduocate, or letters here may serue,
The Iudge is bent to iudge as I deserue.
Plaine not guiltie, or guiltie of the crime,
No forreine Plea, may now delayaunce breede,
Untrauerst goes, the Venu and the time,
No aduocate, or letters here may serue,
The Iudge is bent to iudge as I deserue.
I guiltie am, I must of force confesse,
By ignoraunce, these faultes, yet would I scuse,
But I, vile I, that had men in distresse,
And did their Pleas of ignoraunce refuse,
Mee thinkes that God, doth rule mee ore with this,
Non excusat, ignorantia iuris.
By ignoraunce, these faultes, yet would I scuse,
But I, vile I, that had men in distresse,
And did their Pleas of ignoraunce refuse,
Mee thinkes that God, doth rule mee ore with this,
Non excusat, ignorantia iuris.
And thus I lye, with deadly sicknes pinde,
Yea more, my soule beseng'd, with sinnefull greefe,
The more I seeke, to pacifie my minde,
The further off, I (wretched) finde releefe,
My dealinges great, or rather great deceite,
Fall out folowde, as I no count can streight.
Yea more, my soule beseng'd, with sinnefull greefe,
The more I seeke, to pacifie my minde,
The further off, I (wretched) finde releefe,
My dealinges great, or rather great deceite,
Fall out folowde, as I no count can streight.
Do what I can, the cause that causde my ioy,
When fleshe, and bloud, was sedde with worldly gaine,
Is nowe the cause, that causeth my annoye,
Now feare of hell, in place of fleshe doth raigne,
The soule, and fleshe, impugnes the other so,
As what likes one, doth worke the others woe.
When fleshe, and bloud, was sedde with worldly gaine,
Is nowe the cause, that causeth my annoye,
Now feare of hell, in place of fleshe doth raigne,
The soule, and fleshe, impugnes the other so,
As what likes one, doth worke the others woe.
What meane wee then (sith th'one wee must displease,
To serue the flesh, that beares no lasting sway?
And leaue the soule, that couets still our ease,
Who (foyling flesh) in heauen doth liue for aye,
What worser match, can any creature make,
Incerta then, pro certis thus to take.
To serue the flesh, that beares no lasting sway?
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Who (foyling flesh) in heauen doth liue for aye,
What worser match, can any creature make,
Incerta then, pro certis thus to take.
O sinfull wreth, had I this ende foreseene,
I had not nowe, come short vpon account,
I would haue lik't, and lou'd the merrie meane,
Which euer doth, to reckoning best amount.
For violents, do sildome long indure,
They alwayes come, from fortune most vnsure.
I had not nowe, come short vpon account,
I would haue lik't, and lou'd the merrie meane,
Which euer doth, to reckoning best amount.
For violents, do sildome long indure,
They alwayes come, from fortune most vnsure.
O wicked man, had I seene heauen in thought,
Had I seru'd God, like as in shewe of zeale,
I had not thus, for poore mens liuings sought,
Nor purchast hell, for lande for others weale,
Had I well wayde, how tickle was my life,
I had ere this, appeasd my conscience strife.
Had I seru'd God, like as in shewe of zeale,
I had not thus, for poore mens liuings sought,
Nor purchast hell, for lande for others weale,
Had I well wayde, how tickle was my life,
I had ere this, appeasd my conscience strife.
Or had I thought, (O most vnhappie wight)
Looke what I gaue, that measure should I reape,
I sure had giuen, to euery man his right,
This wicked world, had not luld me asleape,
I had not then, bene carelesse of my end,
My soule had watcht, deathes furie to defend.
Looke what I gaue, that measure should I reape,
I sure had giuen, to euery man his right,
This wicked world, had not luld me asleape,
I had not then, bene carelesse of my end,
My soule had watcht, deathes furie to defend.
But (oh) in me, the contrarie was plaste,
I was intyste, on baytes of sinne to feede,
Which charm'd receits, seemde suger sweete in taste,
But (oh) they say, sweete meate sowre sauce doth neede,
Neede or not neede, I proue the prouerbe true,
My brittle ioyes, my endlesse woes do brue.
I was intyste, on baytes of sinne to feede,
Which charm'd receits, seemde suger sweete in taste,
But (oh) they say, sweete meate sowre sauce doth neede,
Neede or not neede, I proue the prouerbe true,
My brittle ioyes, my endlesse woes do brue.
My conscience loathes, what liked well my life,
My conscience rues, the gaine I got by guile,
My conscience feeles, the woes of wrangling strife
My conscience weepes, at that my life did smile,
My conscience bleedes, through that life thought a blisse,
My conscience wailes, what life thought not amisse.
My conscience rues, the gaine I got by guile,
My conscience feeles, the woes of wrangling strife
My conscience weepes, at that my life did smile,
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My conscience wailes, what life thought not amisse.
Well, sith my life, this wretched woe hath wrought,
Would God my life, (nay death through foule abuse)
Were noted so, as all men might be taught,
By scriptures rule, their talents here to vse,
And specially, about their studies wall,
For lawyers heed, would God were writ my fall.
Would God my life, (nay death through foule abuse)
Were noted so, as all men might be taught,
By scriptures rule, their talents here to vse,
And specially, about their studies wall,
For lawyers heed, would God were writ my fall.
Through sight whereof, no doubt they would refuse,
To fish for gaine, with nets of foule deceit,
To worke delayes, they would no pleadings vse,
They sure would thinke, they had account to straight,
My vexed mynde, at death still in their eye,
Would will them liue, as they did dayly dye.
To fish for gaine, with nets of foule deceit,
To worke delayes, they would no pleadings vse,
They sure would thinke, they had account to straight,
My vexed mynde, at death still in their eye,
Would will them liue, as they did dayly dye.
If to such good, my souden fall would proue,
Would life would last, to tell a larger tale,
But how it proue, in vaine for life I moue,
Death nowe assaults, and (wretched) I must vale,
My breath doth fade, the bell doth sound away.
From whence I came, I needes must turne to clay.
Would life would last, to tell a larger tale,
But how it proue, in vaine for life I moue,
Death nowe assaults, and (wretched) I must vale,
My breath doth fade, the bell doth sound away.
From whence I came, I needes must turne to clay.
The reporters conclusion, as touching the report of Paulus Plasmos aduentures, and Lyros, Frenos, Caphos, and Pimos falles.
Who
telles a tale at large, of others smart,
In his report, some errour needes must shape,
Some blamed are, some praisde, beyond desart,
In this discourse (such slaunder to escape)
It seemd me best, to vse but netes of heede,
And leaue at full, for to report the deede.
In his report, some errour needes must shape,
Some blamed are, some praisde, beyond desart,
In this discourse (such slaunder to escape)
It seemd me best, to vse but netes of heede,
And leaue at full, for to report the deede.
Yet some will say, I wrong poore Plasmos here,
To make his youth, the cause of his mishaps,
When he good soule (who fraude did little feare)
Was slily snarld, in sneaking couseners traps,
In deede, my heart did bleede, his plaints to showe,
And much I blamde, the workers of his woe.
To make his youth, the cause of his mishaps,
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Was slily snarld, in sneaking couseners traps,
In deede, my heart did bleede, his plaints to showe,
And much I blamde, the workers of his woe.
And yet forsooth, what so of him is sayde,
In my conceit, is nothing sayde but truth,
For sure his woes, if they be wisely wayde,
Some wayes may be, imputed to his youth,
For first of all, his brauerie was the bayte,
These couseners mindes, that egged with deceite.
In my conceit, is nothing sayde but truth,
For sure his woes, if they be wisely wayde,
Some wayes may be, imputed to his youth,
For first of all, his brauerie was the bayte,
These couseners mindes, that egged with deceite.
Then sith him selfe, was guiltie of his thrall,
His fortunes wrayd, may wanton gallants warne,
From rash clyming, for feare they catch a fall,
And by his woes, vnwayed youthes may learne,
To trust them selues, fewe others out of sight,
For timelesse trust, wrought Plasmos much despight.
His fortunes wrayd, may wanton gallants warne,
From rash clyming, for feare they catch a fall,
And by his woes, vnwayed youthes may learne,
To trust them selues, fewe others out of sight,
For timelesse trust, wrought Plasmos much despight.
And for their falles, by fraude that sought to mount,
Although that they, not halfe their faults report,
Yet in their plaints are notes of good account,
Forewarninge faire, and words of mylde exhort,
And for the rest (how so they liu'd awry,
Let it suffice, they did repentant dye.
Although that they, not halfe their faults report,
Yet in their plaints are notes of good account,
Forewarninge faire, and words of mylde exhort,
And for the rest (how so they liu'd awry,
Let it suffice, they did repentant dye.
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Epilogus.
Loe
here the fruits, that growe of selfe conceits,
Loe here their falles, that leape before they looke,
Loe gallants here, the sweete inticeing baytes,
Wherein lyes hid, the couseners poysoned hooke.
Loe here their falles, that leape before they looke,
Loe gallants here, the sweete inticeing baytes,
Wherein lyes hid, the couseners poysoned hooke.
From maskes of pryde, here are the visards pluckt.
Of dogged dice, loe here the deadly yll.
See here how drie, the louers purse is suckt,
That yealdes to please, a wanton Ladies will.
Of dogged dice, loe here the deadly yll.
See here how drie, the louers purse is suckt,
That yealdes to please, a wanton Ladies will.
Who noteth here, what treason lurkes in trust,
Before he trust, may haply learne to trie.
Who sees faire words, saust here with workes vniust,
May haue in scorne, the shewes of flatterie.
Before he trust, may haply learne to trie.
Who sees faire words, saust here with workes vniust,
May haue in scorne, the shewes of flatterie.
Who marketh here, the bitter end of frayes,
Of more emprise, may holde a quiet life.
Who seeth here, in lawe the long delayes,
May loue the worse, to liue in wrangling strife.
Of more emprise, may holde a quiet life.
Who seeth here, in lawe the long delayes,
May loue the worse, to liue in wrangling strife.
Without good heede, who so in court doth plant,
May here perceiue, his beggerie in the end.
Who wayeth here, the woes of withered want,
Were worse then mad, beyond his boundes to spend.
May here perceiue, his beggerie in the end.
Who wayeth here, the woes of withered want,
Were worse then mad, beyond his boundes to spend.
Who would auoyde, the snares that worldlings set,
And who would knowe, their wiles and foule abuse,
Who hath desires, an honest fame to get,
Who in his kinde, inticing golde would vse,
And who would knowe, their wiles and foule abuse,
Who hath desires, an honest fame to get,
Who in his kinde, inticing golde would vse,
May here finde rules, his life for to direct,
Here liues their fames, that vertues souldiers ware,
And here againe, their dealings I detect.
To swimme in wealth, that will no vauntage spare.
Here liues their fames, that vertues souldiers ware,
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To swimme in wealth, that will no vauntage spare.
Here here discourst, may worldlings see their falles,
Which wey not how, so riches they may winne,
Here may they see, how sore Gods vengeance galles,
When he is bent, to punish filthy sinne,
Which wey not how, so riches they may winne,
Here may they see, how sore Gods vengeance galles,
When he is bent, to punish filthy sinne,
All this and more, my Muse at large reports,
All this my Muse (for your auaile) did hit,
In lue whereof, she friendly you exhorts,
To take in worth, what of good will is writ.
All this my Muse (for your auaile) did hit,
In lue whereof, she friendly you exhorts,
To take in worth, what of good will is writ.
Quod cauere possis, stultum est admittere.
FINIS.
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