H. His Deuises for his owne exercise, and his Friends pleasure [by Thomas Howell] |
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Certaine Verses translated out of Petrark, concerning
Rome, written by him many yeares since.
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 | H. His Deuises |  |
Certaine Verses translated out of Petrark, concerning Rome, written by him many yeares since.
A flame
from Heauen streame downe vpon thy head
Thou wicked one, that from the water colde,
And Acornes wilde, (that whilom was thy bread)
Arte mightie made, enrichte by others Golde.
Since thy delight is setled all on ill,
Shame thee destroy, and sorrow soone thee spill.
Thou wicked one, that from the water colde,
And Acornes wilde, (that whilom was thy bread)
Arte mightie made, enrichte by others Golde.
Since thy delight is setled all on ill,
Shame thee destroy, and sorrow soone thee spill.
Thou Nest in whome the treasons hatched are,
That through the worlde abroad are spred this hower:
Slaue to Wine, chambring and delicious fare,
Where Lust doth trye the strength of all her power.
In Closets thine, yong gyrles and aged Siers,
With Belzabub doe daunce in foule desiers.
That through the worlde abroad are spred this hower:
Slaue to Wine, chambring and delicious fare,
Where Lust doth trye the strength of all her power.
In Closets thine, yong gyrles and aged Siers,
With Belzabub doe daunce in foule desiers.
He Bellowes, Fyre, and looking Glasse doth beare,
Amidst them all, but why I blushe to tell:
Naked to wyndes, and bare foote late thou were,
No beddes of Downe vnto thy share befell.
Course clothes did serue thy corps from colde to shrowde,
Scarce God thy peere, thou now art growne so prowde.
Amidst them all, but why I blushe to tell:
Naked to wyndes, and bare foote late thou were,
No beddes of Downe vnto thy share befell.
Course clothes did serue thy corps from colde to shrowde,
Scarce God thy peere, thou now art growne so prowde.
Thou Babilon that buyldes thy Neast so hye,
By couetous frawde thy sack to brimme dost sill,
With Gods great wrath and vices out that flye:
Whose poysning smell a worlde of soules doe kill.
Gods to thy selfe thou makst, not Ioue nor Pallas,
In Venus and Bacchus is all thy solace.
By couetous frawde thy sack to brimme dost sill,
With Gods great wrath and vices out that flye:
Whose poysning smell a worlde of soules doe kill.
Gods to thy selfe thou makst, not Ioue nor Pallas,
In Venus and Bacchus is all thy solace.
In searching long, what should of thee ensue,
My selfe with toyle I feeble brought and lowe:
But at the length mee seemde a Soldan newe,
I sawe preparde to worke thy ouerthrowe.
That will erect Baldacco seat for those,
Which (though not when I would) shall thee depose.
My selfe with toyle I feeble brought and lowe:
But at the length mee seemde a Soldan newe,
I sawe preparde to worke thy ouerthrowe.
That will erect Baldacco seat for those,
Which (though not when I would) shall thee depose.
Thy Idols on the grounde shall scattered lye,
Thy Towers prowde to heauen that enimies bee:
And Turrets all by fyre downe shall flye,
Then shall iust soules the friends of vertue, see
The golden worlde a newe beginne to raigne,
And auncient works shew forth themselues againe.
Thy Towers prowde to heauen that enimies bee:
And Turrets all by fyre downe shall flye,
Then shall iust soules the friends of vertue, see
The golden worlde a newe beginne to raigne,
And auncient works shew forth themselues againe.
Thou sorrowes source, the sinke of many a one,
Thou Schole and Temple whence all errors growe:
Once Rome, but nowe that cruell Babilon,
For whom the worlde in teares doth ouerflowe,
Exclayming on thy cursed wickednesse,
Bewrapped in the vayle of holynesse.
Thou Schole and Temple whence all errors growe:
Once Rome, but nowe that cruell Babilon,
For whom the worlde in teares doth ouerflowe,
Exclayming on thy cursed wickednesse,
Bewrapped in the vayle of holynesse.
O Forge of false deceyte, prison to yre,
Where goodnesse dyeth, and euils all are bredde:
To those that liue, thou art a hellish fyre,
The ruine eke of many wretches deade.
A wonder straunge though spared thou be yet,
If Christ in fine not treade thee vnder feete.
Where goodnesse dyeth, and euils all are bredde:
To those that liue, thou art a hellish fyre,
The ruine eke of many wretches deade.
A wonder straunge though spared thou be yet,
If Christ in fine not treade thee vnder feete.
Thy ground was fyrst on humble pouertie,
But nowe thy pride doth presse thy Founders downe:
Thou shamelesse strumpet seeking suffraintie,
Where rests thy hope? what in thy triple crowne?
In thy adulteries or base borne rytches
Begotte in guile? vaine are all such wytches.
But nowe thy pride doth presse thy Founders downe:
Thou shamelesse strumpet seeking suffraintie,
Where rests thy hope? what in thy triple crowne?
In thy adulteries or base borne rytches
Begotte in guile? vaine are all such wytches.
Since Constantine may nowe returne no more,
The mournefull worlde that sighes thy state to see:
Consume and cut thee quick vnto the core,
That all to long is forst to beare with thee.
Of Rome the fall, here Petrark doth vnfolde,
As view they may, that list the same beholde.
The mournefull worlde that sighes thy state to see:
Consume and cut thee quick vnto the core,
That all to long is forst to beare with thee.
Of Rome the fall, here Petrark doth vnfolde,
As view they may, that list the same beholde.
In patientia, victoria.
| H. His Deuises | |