University of Virginia Library

Another to the same his honorable and very good Ladie.

Some blase in chosen wordes,
and filed phrase so fine:
The passing praise of Ladies great,
extolde of wyt deuine.
And howe the Gods aboue,
haue giuen their giftes of grace:
To plant in them the vertues chiefe,
in bodie head and face.
But I will this omit,
my Muse in vaine to waste:
For needlesse tis into the seas,
a water drop to caste.
You neede no trumpe to sounde,
to spread your noblenesse,
For why your wyt, your wordes, your workes,
doe well the same expresse:
Your worthinesse eche where,
your curtesie at home:
Your friendly face, your bountie blest:
your grace in great renowme.
Your vertues excellent,
that spring in noble Well:
Shall neuer die, no skill I haue,
one part thereof to tell.
And God hath giuen his giftes,
to you so large and kinde:
That euerie man may it conceiue,
onelesse he will be blinde.
Penelope in fayth,
vnto the Talbot hie:
Pandoras peere for qualities,
that shine as sunne in skie.
The Flower of fame you are,
for euer freshe to spring:
As fame will blow hir restlesse trumpe,
your lasting name to ring.
If I had Tullies tongue,
and thousand wittes thereto:
If Chaucers vaine, if Homers skill,
if thousande helpers mo:
Yet tongue, nor wyt nor vaine,
nor skill nor helpe at all
Can well descrie your due desarte,
in praise perpetuall.
Therefore my skillesse Muse,
doth ende his tale to tell:
As one that wanteth might to will,
O Noble Fem farewell.

To the curteous and gentle Reader,

Iohn Keeper student.

The tender graffe that growes in groue,
that tooke the stock but late:
Frō slender spraies his leaues he shootes
but small and young of rate.
Which length of time will strengthen strong,
his yerely fruites to beare:
Whose braunch then buddes in stronger stem,
least frowarde wight it teare.
So Howelles hart and hardie hande,
hath plight his pen to set
And graft this braunch, the fruites whereof,
are young and tender yet.
Late roote it tooke in seemely soyle,
which now beginnes to spring:
And eke on twigges so trimly growne,
doth now his profites bring.
Small gaines at first, yong trees doe yeelde,
lowe things youth handleth right:
Of matter small the Poets young,
at first began to write.
As Horace first his trifling toyes,
in booke did place and plat:
And Virgils youth occasion tooke,
to praise the sielie gnat.
But length of lyfe, shall Howell holde,
on stronger stem to stay:
By cunning skill of setled braunch,
to beare the bell away.
Then cease ye not, to helpe the grounde,
where this good graffe doth growe:
Who can but giue deserued praise,
and thanke his Muse I trowe,
Which sweetely springs in sugred sap,
of euery grace full meete:
Which wife Minerue in lap hath nurst,
and gaue him suck so sweete.
Whom I doe iudge, Apolloes Impe,
and eke our Chaucers peare:
What senselesse head of malice mad,
will seeke such branch to teare.
But learned wits will further forth,
and laude his lore thats rare:
For Zoils snarres and doggish snuffes,
no wiseman neede to care.
Then hope I well my Ho to plie,
some greater woorke to see:
O pittie tis this golden Muse,
should vade and die with thee.
A dewe good friends yee Readers right,
maintaine this braunch now shute:
Then will he spring in time full trim,
to yeelde you larger fruite.

The vanitie of Beautie.

Forme is most frayle, a fading flattring showe,
As brickle glasse, it vadth as grasse doth growe.
The more it comes vnto the crease of yeres,
The more it faylth, and lesse the front apperes.
The flagrant flowres, and goodly rubie Rose,
The Uiolets trim, and Lylies white that grose,
Doe not alwayes retaine their sap and sent,
And florishe gay, with smell most redolent.
So though thou spring of beautie passing all,
And bearst the flowre and fame as principall.
Whose peereles view hath blasde thy forme in sight
Which thou to see in glasse takste great delight.
Yet time on face so faire shall forrowes plowe,
And writhed wrincles peere on blemisht browe.
That thou shalt loath to see thy ragged hewe
And hate thy forme in liuely glasse to vewe.
And that which thou hast most delighted on,
Thou shalt it hate and wishe to die anon.
This is most true, by right experience,
The fayrste that euer were are sone gone hence.
Lo Ladie faire, of forme there is no trust,
It soone doth slip, and thou shalt reele to dust.
O greedie eyes bewitcht with things so fraile,
That causeth retchlesse youth in loue to quaile.
Whose witlesse heads on fansies fonde debate,
Such is the slender threed of mortall fate.

To his Friende.

Beware my friende,
Liue warylie
At back behinde
Pale death doth prie
Eche howre and space
Account the last,
Let Lampe of grace
With Oyle be fast.
Then shalt thou stande
In ioyes to raigne,
When Uirgins fonde
Shall knock in vaine.
God graunt vs all
To liue so right
That when he call
Our Lamps giue light.

Describing his lost of libertie and crauing returne of loue.

He accuseth his tongue.

When he thought himselfe contemned.

To his friende.

In hart and minde
Your owne am I:
Till death by kinde
Shall force to die.
Good vertues plant,
Let truth take place:
Where that doth want,
There is no grace.

Being sore sicke, aunswereth his felowe enquiring whether he were willing to die.

Wee flourish now, but flower shall fall,
and withered fade as frayle,
As yeres returnes, so length of time,
causeth man and beast to quaile.
Now Lady Ver in liuely greene
doth showe hir grace in fielde.
Now Estas spreads the parching heate,
That Titans beames do yelde.
Now Autumne shewes the haruest sheaues
that growe on fertill place:
Now Hiemps heapes the dyke with snow
and shewes hir frostie face.
So first we spring in lustie youth,
at state of childish yeeres,
Now deeper wit as Estas ripes
in grauer acts appeeres.
Then manhood makth a stabled minde,
none youthly prancks we haue:
Now hored age with stealing steps
creepes in, prepare thy graue.
And thus we fleete and fall away,
aswell the yong as olde:
Then youthfull impe trust not on yeres,
short life may make thee colde.
And thus by course and chaunge of time,
things mortall chaunge their way:
One age doth passe, an other comes,
loe Time will all decay.
For thin is twist or fatall threed,
on mortall wheele so spoon:
Deathes howre may chaunce vnhoped for,
to lose that life hath woon.
Then why shoulde I once feare to die,
our byding is not heere:
But earth shall rot in earth againe,
till righteous iudge appeere.
When worlde and worldly things shall passe,
but God shall dure for aye:
Whose grace I craue with hart and soule,
on whome I stande and staye.
Now stretch my steps O Lord to run,
by length of time to bee:
That I may liue to die a right,
and die to liue with thee.

An admonition to his friende.

If thou wilt be rightfull,
Alwayes stande theu faithfull,
To doe well be carefull,
Note friends and be thankfull,
Uaine talke flee, and learne wit,
Marke wise wordes, and loue it,
Alwayes pray, and boast not,
Eschue pride, and vaunt not.
Hate no man, disdaine not,
Take time, and sleepe not.
Each vertue traine iustlie,
Regarde betters wiselie.
Offende no Wight wronglie,
And declare alwaies truelie.
So God then will loue thee,
And good men will prayse thee.
When vertue shall clad thee,
All fame shall embrace thee.

Vse Vertue.

Doe well, abstaine from vice,
obey thy parents will,
Remember God, and learne, be wise,
imbrace sweete vertue still.
Marke God before thy face,
vprise and pray betime:
No ydle howre let passe, seeke grace,
detest all heauie crime.
Trie ere thou trust, take heede,
haue God thy chiefest gaine,
Esteeme the time before all meede,
and godly lyfe retaine.
Alwayes let vertues rule to thy good rest:
If grace shall growe within thy youthfull brest.

At his Friends departure.

My Muse which once with ioyfull voice,
to thee should welcome tell:
Alas to late, as now she comes,
more fit to bid farewell.
But since my dolefull farewell must,
approch in welcomes steede:
And eke at parture hence from me,
welcome should yll proceede.
High Ioue I praye thou mayst farewell,
alwayes in prosperous rase:
And eke in ioyes to make returne,
that welcome may haue place.

Of Knowledge.

When death is bent,
Yet stands thy praise
For life once spent,
Wit, fame doth raise.
When Golde doth faile,
Is learning tride:
When riches quaile,
Good letters bide.
The more tis prest,
The more it springs:
It is the best,
Of mundane things.
It bydth with thee,
Doe what thou wilt:
Till dead thou be,
And breath be spilt.
No burthen tis,
To charge thy back:
Most wretch he is,
That this doth lack.
Eche thing that groes,
Doth likewise die:
Still learning floes,
Aboue the skie.
Than knowlege craue
Let riches go:
If this thou haue,
welth needes must gro.

Of Auarice.

Of blinde Cupide.

To his Friend, whose friendly loue he craueth.

O Doubtfull hap, O paines and pangues ye moue:
Thou yet wāts yeres to feele my smarts of loue
Mee rue, take age alas to thinke on mee
My earnest life, and death is set on thee,
Hart true I giue, though most yu wouldst me hate,
Untill hart breake in woes and staruing state,
I erst doe craue, regarde me once or neuer,
Die though I must, yet loue I thee for euer.
Time trieth all, that flieth without retorne,
Nought swifter is then yeres, yt kils things borne.
Whose stealing steps I wishe more fast to flo,
To make thee apt thy timely fayth to sho.
Time absent still, we wishe to come and stay,
And thus vnwares we craue our dying day.
None is content his present state to see,
Yet thou my friend content mayst onely mee.
And eke in time I hope thou wilt regarde,
For seruice true, the seruant takes rewarde.
As time shall giue the tried trust of mee,
Accepted so, let me thy seruant bee.

To D. M.

I craue who will not loue,
Who loues I cannot craue:
The thing that doth me moue
I seeke and cannot haue.
Amids the flouds I stande,
And yet shall die for drinke:
Of foode great store at hande
Yet hunger makes me shrinke.

To his Friend being absent shewing his good will.

To one who after death woulde leaue his liuelie picture.

To leaue behinde a picture fine to see,
It may small time well stande in steede for thee.
But picture faire of noble actes of minde,
That farre excelles to learne to leaue behinde.
Which will maintaine a noble name for aye,
As Tullis tongue and Cæsars acts can saye.
As Chauser shewes and eke our morall Gowre
With thousands more, whose fame shal stil endure.

The destruction of many.

Nice handes, poore stock, hart stout, for to see,
No friends, no skill, bagges pennylesse bee.
And pride doth presse, to passe the degree,
These brings lewde heads, to great miserie.

Being destitute of money, the complaint to his Friend.

The Louer describeth his trustie loue.

An admonition to his Friend.

Learne honest mirth in humble curtesie,
Let person, time and place, regarded be.
Serue God in hart and loue his statutes true,
Then thee with goods and heauen he will indue.
Flee ydlenesse alwaies, to labors frame,
Of thone comes good, of thother, sinne and shame.

He craueth regarde of the cares he taketh.

The crooked clowne that drawth the plowe
with all his yerely toyle:
Receiues at last rewarde of worke,
bestowed on fertile soyle.
And shall my paines and restlesse woes,
thus vnrewarded bee:
Shall I be prest in simpler sort
and vylder case then hee?
The fethred foule that flees aloft,
obtaines the things he seekes:
And sundrie where his fostring foode,
with chirping bill he peekes.
Esteeme me so.

Desirous to requite for manie giftes, one to his deare beloue.

No man of sturdie thornes doth seeke,
the swelling grapes to haue.
No man of flouds that vacant are,
can waters iustly craue.
No man of candle cleane put out,
can liuely light obtaine:
No man of Codrus simple soule,
a princely gift may claime.
Such let right iudgement stand for me,
of thee my parent made:
For I to writhing thornes am lyke,
in course of present trade.
Therefore receyue this simple signe,
my springs yet dried are:
But yet of thorns account this one,
which nowe my briars are.
My budding tree cannot as now,
some other fruits disclose:
My Garden greene for thee alone,
preparde this onely Rose.
But I a Briar well doe seeme,
restore which nothing can:
And I a Briar now perceyue,
that I a Briar am.
For still the busie Briar pricks,
but doth no gaines pretende:
So I with charges presse thee still,
but no rewarde I sende.
But if in time from thornes I may,
of Uine tree take the shapes,
Thou shalt in steede of Briars sharpe,
receyue my springing Grapes.

Time alwayes causeth some noueltie and furthereth knowledge.

No man so old, but vse, or tyme, or place,
Shal teach him newes though he passe Nestors race.
And learne him skill vnknown to him before
To shoon the things by which he set great store.
That he shall iudge he knewe not that at all,
Which as he thought he knew as principall.

Being in extremitie the Louer bewayleth his restlesse lyfe.

Most greedy gripes with plunging paines,
doe pierce my ruthfull hart:
I passe the noysome night in grones,
through rent with dreadfull dart.
When all reioyce in wished sport,
my moning minde doth crie:
The harmes so huge in dolefull dumpes,
compels me wretch to die.
My languisht limmes in lothsome lyfe,
are rent from bone to bone:
The reins the vaines are clene consumde
with hart so colde as stone.
I cursse eche lingring howre of day,
my bloudie woundes to stratch:
Once comes I know the yrksome ende,
that shall my cares dispatch.
The furies fierce and fierie flakes,
that burne in hatefull hell:
Cannot surmount my passing plunge,
my carelesse corps to quell.
O heauie hart when wilt thou breake,
when wilt thou rent in twaine:
For that alone my happie helpe,
is ende of all my paine.
More is my griefe, for priuie paines,
I onely wretch doe know:
Nor durst my flashing flame, to friend,
vnfaythfull men to show.
I rage and rewe I frie and freese,
vpwhelmde in woes full sore:
My smarting eies haue spent their teares,
farewell for euermore.

Of Miserie.

Corps clad with carefulnesse,
Hart heapt with heauinesse,
Purse poore and pennilesse:
Backe bare in bitternesse,
Lips laide with lothsomnesse,
O get my graue in readinesse,
Faine would I die to ende this stresse,
Remedilesse.

To his Friend H.

Hope hart well, dispaire not,
The truth tell and spare not.
Ere God say thou shalt not,
Hart holde aye and halt not:
Yet better tis thou spakst not,
When wisedome prouokes not.
Then wiseman thou seemste not,
When silence thou keepste not.

To be learned.

Of learned oft, aske good aduise,
aduised counsell keepe:
Things kept bestow on others wise,
flee vice of slothfull sleepe.

Flatterers.

They fawne in words and eke with tuiring eie,
They will deceyue, trust thou no flattring spie.
For vnder view of Honnie lies deceyt,
And eke there lurcks of tongue the poysonde beyt.

The praise of vertue.

Not worldly welth, nor rich aray,
nor Pearles of costly rate:
Nor goodes nor Golde that shynes so gay,
can make the gentle state.
But vertue linckt in learned lyfe,
that springs by noble paine:
In them thy famous factes so ryfe,
foreuer still shall raigne.
Besides the same all turnes to dust,
throughout the worlde so wyde:
To ashes good and Gold shalt rust,
and thou to earth shalt slyde.

Of Counsaile.

Thou must doe well,
Faith true obtaine:
Wit none repell,
Friend deere entraine.
Seeke rage to presse,
First trie hart true:
Thy sinnes excesse,
Lament and rue.

Of Offence.

How much a man the greater is,
By his offence that wries amisse:
So much the more the common crew,
That stately crime will note and vew.

To one that matcht with a frowarde woman.

To get good wife tis harde, sayth Cheremon,
Tis better burie two then marrie one.
Who marrie will, his hart will sone be spent,
And after that he will also repent.
A necessarie yll the wyfe they call,
But this is worst, it is perpetuall.
Wherefore my Friende thou dost me warie make,
Whome I to wife and daylie mate shall take.

Of Ladie Fortune.

O Fortune frayle, why dost thou take,
of me so mightie powre:
To wicked men thou pleasant art,
to good men doest thou lowre?
To those that nought by deede deserue,
thou honours dost restore:
And those that nought offende at all,
thou plagst in rage full sore.
The men that iust and godly are,
thou bringst to great decay:
But those that most vnworthy bee,
thou richely doest aray.
Thou driust to death the youthfull imps,
and men of age doe bide:
O fortune fonde vnequally:
such times doste thou deuide.
That which thou takst from worthy men
thou giuste to persons yll.
Thou no respect of vertue hast,
but fondly workst thy wyll.
Unconstant, fraile, sharp, false, vntrue,
is Ladie Fortunes grace:
To brickle glasse most like she is,
with that hir flattring face.
Nor doste thou keepe in honours still
those men of riche estate,
Nor alwayes dost thou frowne on men,
which first thou dame didst hate.
But truth it is Iehouah hie,
in throne imperiall.
He Fortune guides and giues rewardes,
he is the Lorde of all.

To his faythfull Friend.

Cleere Phœbus runnes in circle rounde,
in course both day and night:
And eke a heate dame nature giues,
to firie flames so bright.
And fleeting fishe the surging seas,
to haunt doe neuer cease:
And still hir fruites the worthy soile,
gyuth forth as due increase.
I pray therefore as long in course,
as Phœbus bright shall dure:
As long as flame shall giue a heate,
and fishe the seas procure.
And earth doth giue increase, so long
that thou thy yeres mayst tell:
And leade a happie ioyfull lyfe,
in blisfull state, farewell.

To a Friend requesting his opinion in mariage, be aunswereth thus.

When ryped yeres in wisedomes schoole,
in maridge faine would match,
By daylie doome these precepts vewe,
to scape the bayted snatch.
Perpend the grace, the trust and trade,
of foreobteyned wyfe:
Hir manners marke, with warie minde,
respect hir wanton lyfe.
Hir mothers minde and nature scan,
with fathers factes also:
As is the Uine, such is the sappe,
that on the grape doth gro.
Beware the route of rowling eyes,
which secretly doth prie:
When shamefastnesse is put to flight,
then grace beginnes to flie.
The virgin chaste of flowing time,
no howre will ydle spende:
Lucretia applyde hir paines,
hir corps from vice to fende.
Penelope at distaffe spoon,
hir vndefiled thred:
Untill hir long desired mate,
approchde to spousall bed.
For ydlenesse consumes the lims,
and breedeth vices vaine:
No Matrone chaste, no grace there is,
where sleing sloth doth raigne.
Thy soule it spoyles, thy life it spilles,
it weakeneth stayed strength:
The mighty holds, and trimmest townes
it drawes to ground at length.
Refuse therefore suche mate to matche,
though faire she be of face:
For inward vice, with colours spreade,
doth outward vewe disgrace.
No credit giue to other men,
to choose a wife of fee:
For oft that other men displeasth,
may pleasaunt seeme to thee.
If loue be linckt, and mate be curst,
and bende hir frowning brow:
Applie thy tongue to sugred speeche,
that she may leaue to crow.
Exhort, perswade, desire, entreat,
and praye hir still to be:
Embrace hir corps in louing armes,
and friendly amitie.
And sweetely kisse, hir cherrie cheekes,
with gentle giftes hir deck:
And close thy handes most louingly,
about hir Iuorie neck.
Thus seeke all sayes hir sore to salue,
by good and honest way:
If this help not, but froward fem,
will stiffely stande astray.
Then pleasant speech suppresse, and faine
a sower vnsauerie looke:
As though thou wouldst deuour the walles,
and hang the house on hooke.
With bitter words beswindge this dame,
let no perswasion lack:
Let homely stripes sometimes on fall,
on yong vnrulie back.
But modest be, thy strokes to strike,
let reason rule thy rate:
If fewe serue not, hir hart to help,
thou mayest repent to late.
Take faythfull spouse of humble hart,
and graft, in godly grace:
Graue wise, discreete, lernd, meeke, and one
that beautie beares in face.
Who doth forgo hir deerest friendes,
and parents leauth eche one:
Hir selfe, by troth shee freely plight,
to husbands powre alone.
In kylling cares, both sicke and whole,
shee faythfull is to thee:
Shee is thy ioy, and comfort sweete,
though rich or poore thou bee.
Shee will obey at all commaundes,
in stormes and cruell smart:
In mirth, in griefe, in pouerishment,
shee bydes and takes hir part.
If fierce disease shall crase thy corps,
hir wylling helpe she dightes:
She cherisheth thee, she sweetely speakes,
shee watchth both dayes and nightes.
When crooked age shall creepe on thee,
with stealing steps so blife:
Shee still prouides, shee runnes and goes,
to heale thy sicklye life:
Of bodies two, one corps is made,
so linckt in lotted loue:
Which streming stormes and bitter blast,
can not by paines remoue.
Yea after death shee life doth lende,
when pale thou rotst in grounde:
In sonnes by hir thy formed face,
may alwayes plaine be founde.
So that thy corps and shape be forme,
with long retayned name:
Doe florish fresh as springs the flowre,
to thy long byding fame.
But who so lapt in lyuing lewde,
with harlots vile remaine:
These fruits doth lose, with name and fame,
and spends his goodes in vaine.
Defame shall eke abridge his dayes,
corruption corps shall slay:
And lyuers lewde, sure God will iudge
no doubt another day.
When as the vyle and stinking Goates,
shall passe to endlesse woe:
To fierie forkes and flames of hell,
in Limbo lake byloe.
By proofe these rules of mariage,
I doe not surely know:
But men of more experience,
the same to me did sho.
Which I for thee my tried friend,
by paine of simple quill:
Haue rudely set in this poore verse,
for want of cunning skill.

Fewe care for the soule: all for the body.

When as the crased corps,
in groning bed doth lie:
The skilfull art of phisicks cure,
is sought for by and bie.
Which right prescribeth rules,
that thou must needes obserue:
By passing paines which thou doest keepe,
though thou therefore shouldst sterue.
Such bitter brunts thou bearst,
thy bodies health to haue:
But who will take a little toyle,
his sicklie soule to saue?
No, carnall men in cares,
are carnally ybent,
All gape for gaine, there is no God,
but God make vs repent.

To his Friend Tho. Howell.

Where oft the flouds doe floe,
vpon the beaten banck:
Their sandes debarre the grasse to groe,
to spread his Aprill spranck:
And where the sonne doth march,
vpon the greened grasse:
In time it will the pasture parch,
as though it neuer was.
So where the sonne bright friends,
my Howell hauntes to hit,
There vsed lyfe in present winds,
will keeper cleane forget.
Their daylie flouds of talke,
shall ouerflow thy grasse:
That keeper hath obliuious walkt,
as though he neuer was.
And reason tis I meane,
why shouldst thou keeper keepe:
Since thou mayest lose in keeping him,
that nothing can but sleepe.
For sleepish dumps me shut,
from taste of cunning stile.
Nor can I boult my rudenesse out,
which lies on rustie file.
Yet holde in mindefull moode,
our auncient amitie:
For faithfull friends giue present salue,
for all the cares that be.

An aunswere.

[Not floing floudes, the feeble banck that frets]

Not floing floudes, the feeble banck that frets,
Nor swelting heat, whose flames ye pastures fry
Nor slipprie sande which faint foundation lets,
Thy Howell once maye cause from thee to wry.
Ne shall the show of shining sunne bright friend,
By vsed lyfe or phrase of filed talke,
Haue powre to put my keeper out of minde,
Whose tryed truth may not obliuious walke.
And where thou seemst to say that sluggish sleepe,
Hath shut thee forth from tast of learned lore,
From out they muse as from a Fountaine deepe,
Doth flowe the fruites of Ladie learnings store.
Thy wyt, thy workes, thy verse and stately stile,
Thy wayes, thy deedes, who well doth scan & vew:
Shall finde therein: nought forste with rustie file.
Though I want skil to giue thee praise thats dew.
Our lincke of loue: and friendship fixt so fast,
Thy Howell howldes whylst lim & life shall last.

The vanitie of riches.

The stately Pallace princely pight,
the hoord of glistering Golde:
The patrimonie largde of landes,
cannot from sicknesse holde.
Nor can they cure the crased corps,
or glad the minde at all:
For who hath most of such a store,
the more he feares as thrall.
Gold is the father to the flock,
of flatterers by lot:
It is the summe of griefe or woe,
who hath, or hath it not.
For who it hath, he quakth in feare,
lest fortune rob his thrift:
Who hath it not, laments bicause
he knowes not how to shift.
Wherefore of riche or poore I iudge,
as wisedome small I hent:
In best estate is he, with his,
that liues alwayes content.

An Epitaph made vppon the death of the right Honorable, the Lady Gartrid late Countesse of Shrewisburie.

The steling sting of gasping death
that byth by fatall force:
To bring vnto the wailed graue,
this Countesse courteous corse,
Had thought to thrust his spitefull speare,
to wounde this Fem to die:
And quite to dim this glorious Gem,
the flower of courtesie.
And cloth hir corps in shrowding sheete,
to woorke hir endlesse wo:
But O thou death, thou art deceaude,
for that is nothing so.
Nor canst thou mar, or stop the trumpe,
that soundes hir during fame:
More health then harme, more blisse then bale,
to hir, by thee there came.
For she hath light in lasting life,
of endlesse ioyes ywis:
So where thou thoughst to spoute thy spite,
thou hast hir brought to blisse.
So enuie gaue thee not the power.
thy malice madde to fill:
But thou hast done this Countesse good,
vnwares against thy will:
For nowe hir noble name shall byde,
in sounder soueraigntie:
And after death doth vertue liue,
O death in spight of thee.
For she of grace the garlande gay,
in goodly giftes did weare:
Whose flowres do now in children wise,
of Talbots line appeere.
Of Rutlandes race she noblie sprang,
and linkt with peerlesse pearle:
Of Shrewisburie, who bare the name,
a noble worthy Earle.
Whome she hath left behinde among,
the blessed branches fine:
The worthy imps that sprang of them,
as of a vertuous Uine.
To poore, she was a pleasant port,
to all a helpe she came,
By teares that haue beene spent for hir,
the poore haue shewde the same.
O noble hart whose Well of grace,
shall spring and neuer drie:
Who being hie, didst bend thy brest,
vnto the poorst degree.
Unto the weake shee was a strength,
vnto the hungrie foode:
Unto the rude, a lamp of light,
vnto the wisemen, good.
Unto the youth, she was a guide,
vnto the aged ioy:
Unto the noble, ornament,
vnto the blinde, a way:
In towne she was a shyning starre,
for hir all better were:
In Countrie ioy, at home a glasse,
to vewe in gladding chere.
Hir beautie great, hir vertues greatst,
that sprang as flagrant flowres:
Alas what treasure haue we lost,
for all the losse is oures.
For she hath gainde O Death by thee,
but we haue shipwrack made:
And nowe in earth our helpe is lapt,
our light is turnde to shade.
O what a losse: so many giftes,
of grace so lost in one:
For which eche wight that knew hir well
cannot but greatly mone.
But drie ye vp your dreerie teares,
she liues without anoy:
O comely courteous Countesse now,
farewell O Iem of ioy.
Farewell O spring of vertues sweete,
farewell of help the store.
Both high and low, bewaile thy want,
farwell for euermore:

Of ingratitude.

Who rightly scans what thing is greatest greefe
And seekes by proofe the truth therof to trie,
Shall surely finde ingratitude the cheefe,
Surmounting farre eche other wo on hie.
Whose freting force when friendlie wight shal feele
All mirth and ioy to care doth straight conuart.
Yea weare the hart of craggie flinte or steele,
It scarse coulde shoonne to waile such bitter smart.
Who therfore seekes by paines to please the prowd,
Unthankefull wight compared well may bee,
To hym that kepes a Cur which barkes as lowde,
At Feaders face as when he foe doth see.
Or Viper eke, who long with carefull thought,
In wofull wombe, hir tender younglings feedes,
By whome at last hir balefull bale is wrought,
Through their ingrate and most vnfriendly deedes.
Whose nature is to worke the place most griefe,
Where they in time haue had full great reliefe:
Of all ingrate loe heere the gotten gaine,
And onely hyre for well deserued paine.

Of Death.

Since death doth leade to lyfe,
And lyfe is lasting ioy:
To stay why make men strife,
Where nought is but anoy.

Answere.

[Why men such strife doe sowe]

Why men such strife doe sowe,
To staye in place of paine,
Where you the cause would knowe,
I gesse its worldly gaine.
And since the fleshe is fraile,
Eche weake and feeble wight:
When death doth once assaile,
Resistes with all their might.
Then blame not wealthie wights,
Which knowes of neede no lack:
But lyue in deepe delights,
To die though they drawe back.
When needie soule in deede,
Of death doth stande in dreede.

To one that faine would speede, yet doubtfull to proceede.

As Cat would faine eate fishe,
Yet loth hir foote to wet:
So lyest thou still and wishe,
Where trauaile gaine should get,
That labor first brings gaine,
Thou seest by little Ante:
Who through whot Sommers paine,
Doth shoon colde winters wante.
The sweete that Bee doth suck,
Comes not by lying still.
The grapes for wine men pluck,
Are gote by trauailes skill.
The Marchant eke men know,
Great goods by trauaile gaines:
The Plowman seede doth sow,
To reape rewarde for paines.
Not wishe I say therefore,
But trauaile wealth doth winne:
Who so then will haue store,
By trauaile must beginne.
Strong monstrous mounts to reele,
Rough craggie rocks to rent:
And eke the sturdie steele,
Oft trauaile makes relent.
For trauaile is the way,
Eche noble gift to gaine:
Use therein no delay,
And spare thou not for paine.
For who so paine doth spare,
To speake where he would speede:
And makes eche doubt his care,
A dastarde is in deede.

The Louer being in the Countrie, showeth his good will to his Ladie in the Court.

Though corps in Countrie bee,
in Court my countnance is:
My ioy, my care, my lyfe, my death,
mine endlesse bale or blis,
My pleasure, pine, and paine,
my helpe my harme also:
My griping griefe, my greatest gaine,
my friend and eke my fo.
And doubtfull though to some,
to scan this case may seeme,
Yet you I know no wisedome want,
much deeper doubts to deeme.
Wherefore I will omit,
my minde at large to tell:
Lest by the way some watchman lay,
to ring the larome bell.
Such spightfull spiders snares,
I aye doe seeke to shonne:
As not the foolishe flie betraies,
but greater harmes haue done.
Who pufte with poyson strong,
like Momus mates doe still
Some discorde cause and bate in place,
where else might grow good will.
But let them worke their worste,
looke what I haue profeste:
If you commaunde I will performe,
I spare to speake the rest.
And so I doe conclude,
and cease my ragged rime:
As he that skill of schoole doth want,
Pernasus mount to clime.

To his Friend. R. H.

With hatefull hawtie haunt not,
For dainefull dizards daunt not:
For witlesse vaunters faint not,
For truthlesse taunters taint not.
For spitefull spiders spare not,
For curious carpers care not:
But Hussie as thou hast begunne,
Holde on thy race in vertue runne.

The Louer to his L.

The fierie flames, that fast on me doe flowe,
The secret sighes that wast my wofull brest:
The ysie colde I feele like flakes of snowe,
The hidden harmes that breede my great vnrest,
By fancies force doe cause such troublous tyde,
That ship now shakes which late in roade did ride.

Answere.

[Where reason rules, affection fonde doth flie]

Where reason rules, affection fonde doth flie,
And bewties beames no bitter bale may breed
Where wisedome will, by vertues skill doth tie,
Cupidoes flames are quenched forth with speed.
Let reason then thy will by wisedome guide,
So shalt thou safely shonne this trembling tide.

Golde corrupteth.

Though most where welth doth flowe,
Men fayning friendship showe:
Yet faythfull friend in deede,
Is knowne in time of neede.

Aunswere.

[But nowe we feele and finde]

But nowe we feele and finde,
A thing to true in deede:
Where man be foe or friende,
The Golde and goods shall speede.
For vertues all are shut,
Unto the lower place:
And money loft is put,
Eche learned head to face.
If money none thou hast,
Thou art not worth a flie:
Thy credit cleane is past,
All vertues husht doe lie.
A learned man, but poore,
Is counted doting foole:
Wise Virgill stands at dore,
To goe againe to schoole.
Yet once I hope to see,
All money go for drosse:
And vertue high to bee,
To winne hir wrongfull losse.

A Poesie.

[Esteeme a friend]

Esteeme a friend,
Let vertue crease:
In friendly minde,
Sometime is peace.
As flowers spring,
But sone doe fall:
Euen so eche thing
Terrestriall.
Hope feedeth hart,
Ere loue take place:
Breede not a smart,
Right to disgrace.
As ioyfull lot,
Doth me assigne,
By goodnesse got,
O ioy is mine.
Uaine nay, if mee,
Refuse me heere:
Nay sone shall see,
Eche wounde me teere.

The vncertaintie of this worlde.

As Player playes on stage till parte be done,
So man alike his race one earth doth runne.
To day alyue in silkes and fine aray,
To morrow dead and cladde with clot of clay,
Of earthly things, loe here the slipper stay.

A diet prescribed to his Friend G.

My friend to holde thy harmlesse helth,
a diet must thou keepe:
As phisicks Art shall thee instruct,
men first did learne to creepe.
Abstaine thou still to feede thy fleshe,
which swelles in pampred pride:
Tabstaine from sinne a meane there is,
as fathers olde haue saide.
And first all noysome lothed meate,
that white is doe eschewe:
As lime and paper, tallow, chalke,
and from all partchment newe.
From all meat sharp, as dagger swords,
with kniues and sharped speares.
From black, as tarre, and tarre box, pitch,
and sut that chimney smeares.
From hard, that cannot well disgest,
as milstone timber flint:
But chiefly flie a female foole,
O woes that doe not stint.
From all meate light as fethers, flocks,
fine downe and sifted haye:
From heauie things, as lead and tinne,
with brasse and yron aye.
From all meate soft, as wooll and flaxe,
bombaste and winds that bloe:
From things but grosse as steeples, towres,
trees walles and manye moe.
From things but leane as rakes and forkes,
with wodcocks billes and braine:
With pothookes potled, whetstone smoth,
all these are vices vaine.

Alution.

O be not white through enuious wrath,
against the captiues wise:
Nor be thou sharpe to sorrow them,
least black as pitch thou rise.
Nor be thou hard vnto the poore.
nor light to credit lies:
Nor heauie be to presse downe wyt,
till truth the matter tries.
Go not to soft in slothfull sort,
to men of antique store:
And leaue the wyttes that grosser be,
which are but leane in lore.
Pluck downe no house, nor pen things false,
nor grease thy booke with glose:
Seeke no mans death by enuious sting,
for witlesse men be those.
Flee doctrine false which makes thee black,
to lurck in lothsome hell:
Seeke not to farre that God hath hid,
fooles braines be neuer well.
Let chastitie, prayer, abstinence,
direct a christian sheepe,
No Pastor light Christs flock must haue,
but men most graue them keepe:
Depaire no Church, nor auncient acte,
in building be not sloe.
Conuey you not to other realmes,
the fruites that heere doe groe.
Flee foolishe guides that roue at large,
which truthlesse tongue doe straine:
As potled tales they prate aloft,
so thende will proue but vaine.
To fast and pray, to help the poore,
to profite all with good:
This is a healthfull phisick note,
to stop the lustie blood.

The Rose.

When as the myldest Month,
of ioly Iune doth spring:
And Gardens greene with happy hue,
their famous fruites doe bring.
When eke the lustiest time,
reuiueth youthly blood:
Then springs the finest featurde flowre,
in border fayre that stood.
Which moueth me to say,
in time of pleasant yeere.
Of all the pleasant flowres in Iune,
the red Rosse hath no peere.

Of Golde.

O Gracious Golde,
Whose glittring hie:
Doth cheere and holde,
Eche gazing eie.
The sweete delight,
That dwelles in thee:
Doth spoyle eche spight,
And pouertie.
It liftes aloft:
Who late was loe:
And foole makes oft,
For wiseman goe.
What ioy, what gaine,
What worldly thing,
Doth want to them,
That Golde doe bring?
Gold buildeth townes,
Golde maketh ioy:
Gold cheereth clownes,
Golde quelth anoy.
Golde all can doe,
Golde raignes alone:
Alas what woe,
Where Golde is none.
Which I poore wyght,
By proofe doe see
Which gladly seeke,
That will not bee.
But well I weare,
If I might catch,
White siluer cleere:
Which all men snatch.

The louer forsaken, bewayleth his estate.

Being betweene two doubtes, he taketh aduisement.

My pen now plie thy pase,
thy maisters paines to paint:
For hart now set in doubtfull case,
begins to fall and faint.
Now wyt declare thy might,
now hands and learning shoe:
What best for me a wofull wight,
that weepes and wayles in woe.
Much better tis to stay,
than clime and take no holde:
And rashly graunt by deadly lure,
vnto hir loue so colde.
For where two mindes are matchte,
and thone no loue will beare:
There is nought else but sorrowes hatcht,
Thy restlesse life to weare.
What vailes the glittring Golde,
when loue is forcde to flee:
And match with hir that others holde,
and nought regardeth thee.
And she thy eyes so blacks,
by wile of subtile kinde:
That though thou see hir craftie knacks,
yet will she make thee blinde.
Though thousands thou possest,
and harte doth holde in hate:
All shall decay by wretchednesse,
for yll will breedeth bate.
But where as loue remaines,
and discord put to flight:
There springs the fount of ioyes and gaines,
and concord stands in might.
There is the Paradise,
and Pallace eke of peace:
Where things but small of simple prise,
to valoures great encrease.
But out alas I die,
a wretch in daungerous doubt:
I see that death before mine eie,
hath siedgde me round about.
For hart that loues me best,
I cannot loue againe:
And she who causeth mine vnrest,
considereth not my paine.
Loe howe can I escape?
Alas what remedie:
The Gods haue sure, sworne my mishap,
betweene these golfes to die.
To bruse my baned bones,
betwixt these raging rocks:
In doubt of life I make my mones,
and beare the cruell strokes.
But hart thy selfe content,
to frie and freese a while:
Though fickle fate be froward bent,
yet fortune once maye smile.

He sheweth his restlesse minde tormented for want of reliefe.

Alone who sailes the foming floodes,
in ship that wants a guide:
In stormie streames & thundring showres,
in darke and trembling tide:
Doth feare the harmes of gaping golfes,
and renting rocks doth mone.
And wayles his most vnhappie state,
in teares and hartie grone.
So I vphoyst by wyffling windes,
in worser state then hee,
Doe bide the brunt of bitter blastes,
and all alone for thee.
Alone for thee this seruile yoke,
on labring neck I beare:
For whome I oft doe wishe to die,
me wretched wight to weare.
I waile in teares the whole day long,
as my poore hart doth know:
At night againe my bed I washe,
with sobs of dolefull show.
I crie and mone, I rage and runne,
no foode delite my part:
No Musick note or harmonie,
can help, my helplesse hart.
O spill me not, that yeelde to thee,
if ought misdone I haue.
By great entreate and humble sute,
my pardon here I craue:
If mercie none thou hast, then giue,
thy dreadfull dome forth on.
And sone thou shalt of man condemnde,
see execution.

Libertie corrupteth youth.

By licence lewde, we still are worse,
When youthfull harts do raūge their corse.
Whose life to launche at libertie,
Brings riche estate, to poore degree.

The languishing Louer to his Ladie.

Health I thee sende, if he may giue,
that which himselfe doth misse:
For thy sweete brest doth harbour whole,
my bloudy bale or blisse.
I neede no scribe to scrie my care,
in restlesse rigour spread:
They that beholde my chaunged cheere,
alreadie iudge me dead.
My baned limmes haue yeelded vp,
their wonted ioy, to die:
My helthlesse hande doth nought but wring,
and drie my dropping eie.
The deathly day in dole I passe,
a thousand times I craue:
The noysome night, againe I wishe,
the dolefull day to haue.
Eche howre to me most hatefull is,
eche place doth vrge my woe.
No foode me feedes: close vp mine eie,
to gastly graue I goe.
No phisicks arte can giue the salue,
to heale my painefull parte:
Saue onely thou, the salue and sore,
of this my captiue harte.
Thou hast the forme that cut the wound,
of my vnholpen paine:
Thou canst and art the onely helpe,
to heale the same againe.
In thee my wealth, in thee my woe,
in thee to saue or spill.
In thee my lyfe, in thee my death,
doth rest to worke thy will:
O salue thou then my secret sore,
sith helth in thee doth stay:
And graunt with speede my iust request,
whose want workes my decay.

Bicause no aunswere was returned in long time.

When shall this needlesse silence ende,
thy peeuishe pen to trie:
Why, shall the wounde vnstopped bleede,
in woe continuallie?
Correct this fault, this onely one,
then all thy bodie blest:
Shall haue no spot or fault at all,
for noble is the rest.

H. to K. his Friend.

O Friend in truth to trie,
thy cunning skill I craue:
To helpe and cure my carefull case,
that brings my corps to graue.
To thee I doe confesse,
the griefe that gripes my hart:
For lacke of that which some possesse,
my countnance may me smart.
Though nought I feare dispaire,
yet giue me salue for sore:
My handes, my hart, my might my minde,
are fixt for euermore.

I. K. to his Friend H.

What needst thou thus to crie and care,
before the stroke doth fall:
And eke to seeke a sauing salue,
where is no wounde at all.
To for see lurcking euilles in time,
yet counte I wit discreete:
To bende thy bowe ere broyle be made,
also I deeme it meete.
But passe thou not for moltring muck,
the pestlent poole of woe:
No griefe, no grudge, no broyle or bate,
but doth from pennie groe.
The graue and wise Philosophers,
as Serpents fled the same:
And wilt thou then a christen man,
therewith go spot thy name?
Euen now me thinks I heare thy sounde,
soft bussing at mine eare:
Which sayes necessitie compelles,
to get thys worldly geare.
For when we want who well may liue?
But if we bound in store:
Commodities then offreth made,
a salue for euery sore.
Our credite eke the same doth crease,
our friends the better are:
Who meetes riche man but him salutes,
cap of and head full bare:
If thou haue goods thou mayst obtaine,
thy worthie countnance bent:
Alas my friend ist lack of drosse,
that breedes thee wrong contempt?
No no not so I answere thee,
necessitie is small:
With little store is nature fed,
it craues no hoord at all.
Nor shalt thou want but mayst liue well,
though not aboundance floe:
He seekes no meane that still is bent,
on hillie heapes to groe.
If great be welth, yet none be thine,
a stewarde God thee made:
If none thou hast, lament thou not,
but rather be thou glade.
Bicause thou cleane deliuered art,
of great and heauie pack:
And eke thou hast another day,
a lesse account to make.
But hope thou well: the sparrowes small,
our God hath care to see:
And thinkst thou then O faythlesse man,
that God forgetteth thee?
Can riches make thee wiser man?
or good or learned more:
Or vertuous or yonger man?
alas these helps be poore.
But men will kneele and crouch to thee,
loe yet howe fonde we play:
They honor not thy person man,
but goodes and clothes so gay.
But goods get friends, but none of thine,
they faune and flatter free:
If fortune frowne, these trustie gestes,
will scantly stande to thee.
The truth it selfe hath verified,
a richmans case to trie.
What Camell can creepe out wyth ease,
euen at a needles eie?
What store of welth enriched thee,
when from the earth thou came?
What riches eke shall follow thee,
returning to the same?
Therefore my friend content with skill,
to cheere thy grieued minde:
For want of vile and clammy clay,
will countnance be vnkinde?
No, vertues shall maintaine thy store,
that neuer shalt thou lack:
Shall pelting trashe a worthie hart,
from earnest loue driue back?
Then let not want of welth that rottes,
so pinch in pyning plight:
No glittring Golde no heaped horde,
can vertue put to flight.
Thy wit, thy works, thy hart and grace,
thy skilfull head so wise:
Thy iust reporte by vertue gote,
thy hidden qualities
Which lurcking lie in brest of thine,
but once I hope the same
Shall take the roote to spring abroade,
to crease thy gentle name.
What shall I say? I will omit
with pen thy praise to paint:
Thou hast the goodes that euer dure,
my friend then doe not faint.
Dispaire thou not, for thou hast more,
then well thy selfe doste know.
No welth thou wantst that true welth is,
receyue this salue I shoe.
If I could get to thy content,
though Venus face she had,
Though Pallas powre, though Iunos wit,
in peerelesse iewels clad,
Though all the goodes of Arabie,
with thousand thousands free:
She did possesse, oh trust me well,
yet would I giue hir thee.
For would she haue a prudent spouse,
in safetie sounde to bee:
If I should choose, by practise proude,
beleeue me thou art hee.

A Poesie.

[Small tyme hath man on earth to stay]

Small tyme hath man on earth to stay,
In time therefore take heede I say.

Another.

[As Flowres freshe to day]

As Flowres freshe to day,
To morrow in decay:
Such is thuncertaine stay
That man hath here alway.

The Louer whose loue begonne in time of spring, declares howe natures force then workes in euery thing.

A Poesie.

[Where vice abounds and vertue doth abate]

Where vice abounds and vertue doth abate,
No one thing stayes in good or happie state.
Flie vice therefore and vertue doe imbrace:
Which will thee heaue vnto the highest place.

Being vexed with the care of the worlde, be comforteth himselfe.

My phantasie, tormenteth mee,
for worldly thing to care:
How to prouide, mine age to guide,
some stedfast land to beare.
Eche time of day, these cares me stay,
but all I see is vaine:
My braines to beat, these goodes to get,
not one will ease my paine.
For euerie man, doth what he can,
to ridde himselfe from iagges:
And some by hooke, and some by crooke,
doe fill their greedie bagges.
All honestie is forst to flie,
and lawes doe holde their peace:
They care not how, so goods doe grow,
their worldly carks to presse.
A thousand slights eche daies and nights,
in head I doe conceaue:
Yet none I finde, can serue my minde,
my worldly woes to leaue.
For if I lack, and bare be back,
though wyt and grace be great:
Yet credit dies, and worship flies,
no friends then shalt thou get.
For nowe they doe esteeme men so,
as riches mounts on hie:
The godly minde, they set behinde,
and vertues all doe lie.
These things doe warne, to voyde the harme,
some welth in youth to peeke:
But yet alas, I Midas Asse,
this geere in vaine doe seeke.
But why should I, thus wofullie,
in cares my yeres dispende:
The thing to see, that will not bee,
vntill that God it sende.
Marke well in plight, the birds so light,
that finely fed, doe sing:
They reape, nor sow, nor plow, nor moe,
they want no earthly thing.
And vewe eche howre, the little flowre,
and Roses freshe that groe:
They carde nor spin, on spindle thin,
their common deeds to shoe.
Yet Salomon, that Prince alone,
in all his royaltie,
Was not so gay, as one of they,
of peerlesse soueraigntie.
Short time God lend, our lyfe to spende,
in this most wretched vale:
For space of howre, scant stande we sure,
from dart of death so pale.
The yong truelie, as sone may die,
as men of elder age:
All things are fraile, and all shall quaile,
as fire shall them discharge.
All dignitie, is daunger hie,
and pouertie is harde:
All welth is doong, no ioyes be long,
why shoulde I then regarde?
The man is blest, that lyues at rest,
in his estate content:
Who lacks no things, what more haue kings,
of all his landes and rent?
I see full plaine, that some whose paine,
haue hoorded riches great:
By sodaine glay, are whipt away,
for paines no fruite they get.
Then phantasie torment not mee,
for humaine things so scant:
God will foresee, for his that bee,
they othing shall not want.

Of Degrees

The higher estate, the greater feare,
The greater welth, the lesser cheare.
The poore degree, that liues content,
He sings although his goods be spent.
And who can sing so merrie a note,
As he that cannot change a grote.

That men ought to be promoted to dignitie, onely by worthie deedes.

Not long discent and name,
doth make a noble king:
But noble hart and factes of fame,
his royall state shall bring.
Nobilitie deflowres,
when deedes can get no grace:
To boast and bragge of auncestors,
it is a witlesse case.
For noble deedes of them,
account not for thy factes:
For thy owne deeds shall thee commend,
and not an others actes.
Nor men deserue the crowne,
and doubtie diademe.
By birth or welth, lesse skill redowne,
by vertues great in them.
For Fortune may as then,
make kings as pleaseth her:
Since she the riche and noble men,
to scarlets can prefer.
But greatest golde giue place,
to vertue left so frashe:
For golde wise men that knowe the case,
doe count but trifling trashe.
In hartes be princes bolde,
and not in golden chestes:
For that man rules, and is not rulde,
when this man ruled is.
Nor bewtie faire can blase,
a kingly honour hie:
For that doth vade as flowres doe fall,
and sone that grace will die.
Let courage stoute replie,
and valiant hartes inflame:
By puissance aduentures trie,
thy famous factes to frame.
Now sacked Troy is brent,
by proofe of pollicies:
He is not meete of kings discent,
that like a cowarde flies.
Therefore he is a king,
that like a king doth guide:
And though no kingdome be for him,
yet he is king in deede.

A Poesie.

[Straūge sight to see, what toyle some worldings take]

Straūge sight to see, what toyle some worldings take
For slipper slime yt sone wil them forsake:
Whose greedie guttes, no reason may suffice.
The muck on mowlde so blinded hath their eies,

Another.

[Small thing that righteous doth possesse]

Small thing that righteous doth possesse,
More worth than wickeds great excesse.

The Louer to his L.

When that he sawe of worthie fame,
chaste spouse by tried trade:
Who can depaint the passing game,
that then Vlisses made?
When Paris got the Iem of Greece,
his sportes surpassed then:
Who brought hir home a flowre of price,
vnto his Countrie men.
With ioyes the Nightingale gan rayse,
hir right recorded song:
Wherein she gettes the peerlesse prayse,
The bushie birdes among.
The Marchant made, with windy sailes,
that richely turnes againe:
Doth ioy for gaine of his auailes,
escaping deeper paine.
The warde and heire of noble landes,
when as his yeres are gone:
Is glad he scapes his tutors handes,
for which he gaped long.
Yet I in ioyes surmount them all,
and more it pleaseth mee:
That to my hap thy lotte did fall,
as best it pleased thee.
For thee then is my ioyfull parte,
and eke to doe thee good:
Here thee inclosde I hide my harte,
and brewe my hartie blood.
Wherein such liuely loue beholde,
that pen cannot expresse:
Nor can my tongue the same vnfolde,
my wyts descrie much lesse.
No truthlesse tales in thy dispraise,
that blockish braines can frame:
Shall turne my truth from thee awaies,
or spot thy giltlesse name.
Thou art my deare with vertues spred,
God thee in pleasures keepe:
On thee I thinke on wakefull bed,
when others sweetely sleepe.
I dreame of thee in slumbring rest,
and thinke thou present art:
I thinke my selfe then surely blest,
from thee loth to depart.
But when deluding dreame doth vade,
I sigh with groning cheere:
Me seemth I doe perceyue thy shade,
alas thou art not heere.
I grope about the wales for thee,
as to possesse thee faine:
But at the last full wofully,
I see my fanside braine.
Farewell I say my onely care,
God send it true to bee:
That which my phansie did declare,
that lately dreampt of thee.

I. K. to his Friend H.

The ship I saw but late beare loftie saile,
And martch amid the waues of waters wilde:
Whose courage stoute I deemde no storme myght quaile,
When I hir vewde so fast & firmely field.
With tempest tost his forste now saile to streeke,
And in hir prime doth houering harbor seeke.

H. to his Friend K.

Though blustring blasts cause ship, to harber hast
To whome the Seas with rigrus rage threates wrack,
Whose cables cut & ankers worne & wast,
Is forste streeke sayle in this so great a lack.
When Neptune yet with mightie Mase in hande,
Shall stay the surge of furious foming flood:
This ship repairde may safely saile to land,
Nought dreding Eolus breth that was so wood.
So Howell hopes his howlk such port shall finde,
When stormes be past as wil content his minde.

That learning and knowledge is surest riches.

Whome welth doth highst aduaunce,
Oft falles by some mischaunce:
But once winne cunning skill,
With thee it standeth still.

The Louer receyuing no recompence for entire loue compareth himselfe to the vnluckie souldiour.

The Souldiour still that warres,
in manie a stormie showre:
Perchaunce returnes without rewarde,
in most vnluckie howre:
So I in souldiours trade,
to fight, to watch and warde,
And eche way sought hir once to please,
which giues me small regarde:
For though I present were,
to doe what she would craue,
Yet nowe an other shall possesse,
the thing I thought to haue.
Though I the toyle did take,
this pleasant plot to plowe:
Yet others reape the finest fruites,
of my true tilladge nowe.
What, serued not my loue,
that brest so sweetely bare,
And shall I thus an wofull wretch,
be snapt in sugred snare?
Then may I grone in griefe,
and eke abhorre the place
Where first I learnde with earnest hart,
to loue that gracelesse grace.
Is this your tried troth,
that sprang from rooted hart?
How frayle is then the female flock,
that counterfeits their smart?
When all men doe reioyce,
yea rude and brutishe beast:
Then I in cursed cares doe dwell,
my carkes are more encreast.
The blessed birdes doe sing,
and Ladie Ver retornes,
And pleasant sightes begin to growe,
among the thriftles thornes.
But yet doe I lament,
with teares where I remaine:
For that for troth and loyall loue,
thou louste me not againe.
Adue thou frosen hart,
and voice of hardned yre:
Yet tract of time shall trie me true,
as iustice doth desyre.
And since thou false hast bene,
that seest and wilt not see,
Perhaps thou mayst as yet repent,
that thou forsookest mee.
But linck where loue doth light,
thy course runne out in this:
Take heede, sone whot, sone cold they say,
his loue you yet may misse.
Not all that glistereth bright,
may beare the name of golde:
Nor he that saies he loues thee well,
the truth perhaps hath tolde.
Some loue for riches store,
as commonly we see:
But neuer one I euer loude,
more then I loued thee:
But out alas farewell,
I did it to my coste:
I liude in hope but all in vaine,
my labours all are loste.
Thou art my wofull wounde,
and cause of all my smart:
Which doste me hate and cleane refuse,
the loue of faithfull hart.
Nowe doe I well perceyue,
and proue it to my paine:
How great a griefe it is to loue,
and not be loude againe.

E. P. By fancies force loe here my gaine

By fancies force loe here my gaine,
Untimely death prouokt my paine:

Aunswere. H.

Such fonde affects declares thee plaine,
Of feeble force or foolish braine.

To T. A.

Like as the mased Malarde lyes,
And fayne would flie if not for feare,
Least Fawcon fierce when he doth rise,
Should yeelde alas hir threatned cheare:
Right so with me it nowe doth rest,
That gladly would obey your hest.

Aunswere.

[Though doubtfull dread cause Malard wise]

Though doubtfull dread cause Malard wise,
Oft stay the flight, where he would light:
Yet time he spies, wherein to rise,
And flie to feare in pleasant plight.
When Fawcon fierce shall nought anoy,
Like time I trust will worke our ioy.

Iacke showes his qualities and great good will to Ione.

Mine owne zweet Ione, let me not mone,
no more I thee require:
But as I craue, so let me haue,
the thing I doe desire.
And ich shall still, euen at thy will,
be readie at thy hande:
To fling to spring and runne at ring,
whilst ich am able stande.
With cap and knee, ich will serue thee,
what should ich more declare:
Thy minde to please, and bodie ease,
is onely all my care.
Though icham not, zo zeemlie chwot,
as bene the Courtnoles gay:
Yet chaue a flaile, that will not faile,
to thrashe both night and day.
And vor manhood, cham zure cham good,
vor all our Towne can zay:
How stout ich stood, with Robart Whood,
when Baldoone Uoke vetcht may.
And eke ich pas, both more and las,
in dauncing Dountoones rounde:
To trip to skip and handle a whip,
cham zure my peers not vound.
To cloute a shooe, ich ma tell you,
veowe cunnigare there bee:
And eke to theatch, whare can ye veatch,
another like to mee.
In husbandry, icham truely,
ycounted to excell:
Yee and ich can, if neede be than,
waight at the table well.
For once ich went, vp into Kent,
with the headman of our Towne:
Where ich did waite, at euerye baite,
thee vore tha cham no clowne.
Why for my manner, ich beare the banner,
before my Lorde of May:
No Countrie man, there is that can,
teach me tho I doe zay.
And further more, thou knowest gay store
of good will fall to mee:
Uor vather zed, when he is dead,
that all mine owne shall bee.
Both Calfe and Cowe, and our great Zowe,
that viftene Pigges did varro:
Euen at one tyme shall then be mine,
and eke our newe wheelbarro.
Beside all this, ich shall not mis
of red ones to haue store:
That zawe no zunne, nor yet the moone,
of yeres cham zewer a score.
And all my Ione, shalt thou alone,
at thy commaundment haue:
If thou wilt let, me friscoles vet,
in place where ich doe craue.

The Louer almost in dispaire, showeth his great greefe and craues redresse.

Thou art the braunch that sweetely springs,
whose hart so sounde and true
Can onely cheere me wofull wight,
or force by want to rue.
Then giue to me the sap I thirst,
which gift may giue me ioy:
I meane thy firme and faithfull loue,
whose want breedes mine anoy.
Remember yet the friendly wordes,
ypast betweene vs twaine:
Forget him not, for loue of thee,
that sighes in secret paine.
I oft doe seeme in companie,
a gladsome face to beare:
But God thou knowst my inward woes,
and cares that rent me there.
And that I may gush out my griefe,
in secret place alone:
I bid my friends farewell in hast,
I say I must be gone.
Then hast I fast with heauie hart,
in this my dolefull case:
Where walkes no wight but I alone,
in drowsie desart place.
And there I empt my laden hart,
that swelde in fretting mone:
My sighes and plaint and panges I tell,
vnto my selfe alone.
What shall I say, doe aske me once,
why all these sorrowes bee:
I aunswere true, O foe or friend.
they all are made for thee.
Once knit the linck that loue may last,
then shall my dolors cease:
It lies in thee and wilt thou not,
the yeelding wight release?
O would to God it lay in me,
to cure such griefe of thine:
Thou shouldst not long be voide of helpe,
if twere in powre of mine.
But I would run and raunge in stormes,
a thousand miles in paine:
Not fearing foyle of friends to haue,
my Countnance whole againe.
And wilt thou then all mercilesse,
more longer torment mee
In drawing back, sith my good helpe,
is onely whole in thee?
Then sende me close the hewing knife,
my wyder wounde to stratch:
And thou shalt see by wofull griefe,
of life a cleane dispatch.
When thou shalt saye and prone it true,
my hart entirely loude:
Which lost the lyfe for Countnance sweete
from whome he neuer moude.
Write then vpon my mournefull toombe,
these verses grauen aboue:
Here lies the hart, his truth to trie,
that lost his life in loue.
Loe, saue or spill thou mayst me nowe,
thou sitst in iudgement hie:
Where I poore man at barre doe stande,
and lowde for life doe crie.
Thou will not be so mercilesse,
to slea a louing hart:
Small praise, it is, to conquer him,
that durst no where to start.
Then heale the hart that loues thee well,
vntill the day he die:
And firmely fast thy fayth on him,
thats true continually.
Then shall I blesse the pleasant plot,
where first I sawe thy face:
And say the Gods haue thee indude,
with giftes of goodly grace.
Whose vertues mixt with pittie great,
hir Counsell sought to saue:
Who being voyde of hir good helpe,
long since had line in graue.

I. K. at his Friends departure.

Against necessitie,
there is no lawe they say:
But shall such neede bereaue perforce,
my dearest friend away.
No stroke doth fall so fell,
But wisedome yet may ware:
So though my hope must needes begon,
yet this doth crushe my care.
That he is onely gone,
Utilitie to gaine:
And still I Ho to see him well,
in ioy returnde againe.
His friends that freshely fare,
will not his hart refell:
God sende thee safe thy soules desire,
to please thee passing well.
Then shall I yet reioyce,
that thou departst from mee:
To set thy selfe in sounder sort,
as once I hope to see.
When as thou shalt take rode,
within the Hauen of blis:
Till then, to beare with patience,
the chiefest helpe it is.
God sende thee well to doe,
in due delight to dwell:
God send thee that thou most desirst,
Mine owne good Ho farewell.

H. his aunswere to his Friend K.

Perforce though Pilate bee
which hastes thy Ho. away
From pleasant porte, where still behinde,
his Iem of ioy doth stay:
Yea though the furious floodes,
his beaten barke doe waste,
Which gaping gulfes oft threatneth sore
to swallow vp in haste:
Yet distance none so great,
nor plundge of present paine
Shall cause me once my friend forget,
whilst lyfe in lim shall raigne,
Whose stedfast truth well tryed,
whose golden giftes of grace:
Whose manlie minde, whose friendship firme,
who liues and will not brace?
Let fortune worke hir worst,
and spoute hir spightfull spight:
In welth in wo in ioy in care,
yet I in thee delight.
To whome ten thousande thankes
I yeelde for thy good will:
And where thou woulst me one good hap,
I wishe thee twentie still.
Farewell O Titus true,
whose lyke were harde to finde:
Farewell for faith a Phœnix firme,
O curteous Keeper kinde.

A Poesie.

[Expend my words which soule wt hart doth write]

Expend my words which soule wt hart doth write
Let that be loude which loues thee passing well:
In space comes grace, as worthie wits recite,
Soule hart and hand thou hast no more I tell.
Attend on God and waite his will to worke,
Be sober, wise, discreete in time and place:
Esteeme a friend where earnest hart doth lurke,
Trie ere thou trust, and shonne no pooremans case,
Higher who clims, the deeper downe he fell,
But set my broken barke in calme to starte:
Reiect no right, lose not a heauen for hell.
Applie to purchase praise by due desarte.
Deride no wight, the best good ayde may mend,
Beware betime, be wise, in courtesie:
Use time and place as may to vertue tend,
Right thus thou mayst thy praise amount on hie.
No wight, no welth, no hart (but thou alone)
Enforceth me at times to ioy and mone.

To his C.

My wofull hart with pinching paine oprest,
My carefull corps yclad with heauinesse;
My restlesse lims, that takth no quiet rest,
Doe wishe for death the ende of deepe distresse.
Why should I then prolong my dayes in paine.
Why doe I seeke to heale my helthlesse hart:
Or why doth lyfe in lanquisht limes remaine,
And still increase my bitter bale and smart.
When hart when hands when corps & soule to die,
Doe willing yeelde as lothing lenger lyfe:
And death alone is ende continuallie,
Of worldly woes of cursed care and strife,
Which fiercely flow on me to worke my spight:
Since I of force must now for go thy sight,
Whose face to vewe was onely my delight.

To his fayned Friends.

Though some perchaunce there bee,
That would me gladly spot:
Yet shall they neuer see,
Such chaunce to light my lot.
Ne yet their craftie wayes,
So closely clokte shall winne
To them but little prayse,
If once I doe beginne:
Hereafter comes not yet,
Yet once a time I trust:
Will serue wherein to meete,
With such as be vniust.
Wherefore these words I vse,
I nothing neede to tell:
Nor you theron to muse,
Who knowes my meaning well.

A Poesie.

[In morning still when thou dost rise]

In morning still when thou dost rise,
see that in minde thou haue:
To spende the day which doth ensue,
as bed should be thy graue.

Another.

[There nothing is that nature here hath wrought]

There nothing is that nature here hath wrought,
Shall not consume and turne at last to nought.

A farewell to his Friend T. Hooper.

When as the soking sap,
crept vp on sprates that budde:
And blosomde branch with goodly greene,
gan cloth the naked woode.
When Winters horie frostes,
milde March enforst to flee:
Then came my golden faithfull friend,
and sweetely cheered mee.
Whose face at first to vewe,
mee musde full wounderous:
For I assone had thought to see,
of Troy king Priamus.
He cheerde my drooping hart,
in heauie hap that stoode:
With him to be, with him to talke,
was all my chiefest foode.
Eche drop of liuely bloud,
that skipt in springing vaines,
Did leape for heape of passing sport
of hart, where ioy remaines.
Whome I haue thirsted oft,
in wishing hart full faine:
Now is he come, but O alas,
he sone is gone againe.
And wilt thou now departe,
from me on sodaine thus?
Then may I say all ioy is vaine,
and worlde growes worse and worse.
And though that flowers in May,
doe cheere the laughing fieldes:
Yet winters stormes with pinching colde,
the woodes of leaues beguiles.
Thus chaunge of time and place,
doth chaunge a mans degree:
And richest man in greatest ioy,
may chaunce in woe to die.
So when the howre was come,
that hope returnes me fro:
In heauie moning wayling hart,
farewell I say in wo.
Farewell my Damon deere,
now loth depart I sing:
And lingring steps against their will,
from thee my corps did bring.
And downe into my hart
there dropt the drops of care:
And inwardly my sobs I soope,
that rake and rent me thare.
Now all my ioy is gone,
and I in dumps am cast:
O would to God thy sweete abode,
might harmelesse euer last.
If will were now in force,
to thee my flight should bee?
Where are the Muses nine that sing,
in heauenly harmonie.
But nowe we must depart,
faire wordes false friend men say,
Nor he that files his smoothed speeche,
is faithfull friend alway.
The God deuine thee keepe,
in firme felicitie:
And breake the bragges of curssed curres,
that iarre their teeth at thee.
That so thy fatall threede,
well spoon may stedfast stan,
To runne the race of Nestors yeeres,
a golden aged man.
And farewell friend in deede,
farewell my towre of trust:
Would I might alwayes bide with thee,
farewell since needes it must.

To his Frowarde Friend.

Men say in common tales,
into a Prouerb gone:
More better tis a badde excuse,
at all then to haue none.
And was I in the blame,
you knewe well what I ment:
And though I winkt in colourde sort,
you knewe my whole intent.
If great your grace had bene,
you might perceyue well this:
For little signes are knowne full well,
where great affection is.
And eke of peering sparke,
doth growe a flashing flame:
Loe now I see you will not know,
though well you knewe the same.
But of such womans mindes,
eche man a store may finde:
Which still in things that pleaseth not,
forsooth they will be blinde.
And where they fansie not,
the thing they haue in hande:
They say good Sir be packing hence,
I cannot vnderstande.
And since it is your wont,
as plaine I doe perceaue:
I pray you giue me licence nowe,
to take my humble leaue.
For I must needes be dead,
but not before to morow:
My death requires no ernest hast,
I neede not greatly sorow,
But yet I lie in care,
I cannot sleepe for loue:
No more then he that sleepes all night,
and neuer once doth moue.
What shall I doe poore soule,
alack how I doe mone:
When that my stomack well is fed,
my lust to meate is gone.
Beholde what care I take,
my teares doe flow as fast:
As Aprill showres doe fall in Iune,
when will my plaint be past?
Alas good simple peate,
of dull and feeble braine:
You know not well the woode for trees,
God wote ye are full plaine.
But easie truely tis,
your ignoraunce to show:
In things which by your froward will,
you neuer sought to know.
Farewell my friendly foe,
as plaine God wote ye bee:
So pray I once that you may haue,
your two eies well to see.
And well to vnderstande,
of me your true loue lost:
If blinde ye bee, smell yet before,
take heede beware the post.
I doubt not but in space,
you shall your sight obtaine.
When as perchaunce you may desire,
your true loue olde againe.

The opinion he hath of his Friend absent.

Thy right discent from worthie auncetrie,
Hath iustly gote a praise by their good factes:
Of all, as well the high as low degree,
Much more yet gote thou hast by thy owne actes.
As well thy workes thy will, thy wyt doe teach,
Still seeking that, which passeth not thy reach.
Lyke lyfe thou leads, that poore for thee doe pray,
Upon their knees thy gentle race to fende:
Their needie sutes with helping hande to stay,
The thing which thou doest prudently pretend.
Race rightly rulde, of brest in iustice bolde,
Eche vertue seekes hir harbour here to holde.
Loe what mishap hath maymed me so sore,
Like one of thine that there I may not dwell:
Esteeme me not the lesse of Dunster store.
Since hart is there, where care doth corps expell.
Quaint fortune frownes on me so egerlie,
Unnatiue soyle that best I may not be.
Except my minde I doe not thee forget:
Although farre thence false fortune doth me set.
Runne rightly foorth, as right thou hast begoon,
Then trump shall sound yu hast the conquest woon.

Fraunces Flower in the commendation of the Authour.