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113

POEMS FROM THE PARADISE OF DAYNTIE DEUISES.

2. M. Edwardes MAY

When MAY is in his prime, then MAY eche hart reioyce,
When MAY bedeckes eche branch wt greene, eche bird streines forth his voyce,
The liuely sappe creepes up into ye bloming thorne,
The flowres, which cold in prison kept, now laughes the frost to scorne.
All natures Impes triumphes, whyles ioyfull May doth last,
When MAY is gone, of all the yeere the pleasant time is past.
MAY makes the cherfull hue, MAY breedes and bringes newe blood,
MAY marcheth throughout euery limme, MAY makes ye mery moode.
MAY pricketh tender hartes, their warbling notes to tune,
Ful strange it is, yet some wee see, doo make their MAY in Iune.
Thus thinges are straungely wrought, whyles ioyfull MAY doth last,
Take MAY in time, when MAY is gone, the pleasant time is past.
All ye that liue on earth, and haue your MAY at wyll,
Reioyce in MAY, as I doo now, and use your MAY with skill.
Use MAY, whyle that you may, for MAY hath but his time,
When all the fruite is gone, it is to late the tree to clime.
Your liking and your lust, is freshe whyles MAY dooth last,
When MAY is gone, of all the yeere the pleasaunt time is past.
Finis.

A replie to M. Edwards May.

I read a maying rime of late delighted much my eare,
It may delight as many moe, as it shall reade or heare.
To see how there is shewed how May is much of price,
And eke to May when that you may even so is his advice.
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It seemes he meant to may himselfe, and so to use his skill,
For that the time did serve so well, in May to have his will.
His only May was ease of mind so farre as i can gesse,
And that his May his mind did please a man can judge no lesse.
And as himselfe did reape the fruites of that his pleasant May,
He wils his freende the same to use in time when as he may.
He is not for himselfe it seemes but wisheth well to all,
For that he would they should take May in time when it doth fall.
So use your may, you may, it cannot hurtfull be,
And May well used in time & place may make you mery gle:
Modest maying meetest is, of this you may be sure,
A modest maying quietnes to Mayers doth procure.
Who may & will not take, may wish he had so done,
Who may & it doth take, may thinke he tooke too sone:
So joyne your May with wisedomes lore and then you may be sure,
Who makes his May in other sort his unrest may procure.
Some may before May come, some may when May is past,
Some make their May to late and some doe May post hast:
Let wisedome rule I say your May, and thus I make an ende,
And May that when you list to May, a good May God you sende.
Finis.
M. S.

Maister Edwards his “I may not.”

In May by kinde Dame Nature wills all earthly wights to sing,
In May the new and coupled fowls may joy the lively spring,
In May the Nightingale her notes doth warble on the spray,
In May the birds their mossie nests do timber as they may,
In May the swift and turning Hart her bagged belly slakes,
In May the little sucking wattes do play with tender flaxe,
All creatures may in May be glad, no May can me remoue,
I sorrow in May since I may not in May obtain my loue.
The stately Hart in May doth mue his old and palmed beames,
His state renewes in May, he leaps to view Apollo's streames,
In May the Buck his horned tops doth hang vpon the pale,
In May he seeks the pastures greene in ranging over the dale,
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In May the oglie speckled snake doth cast her loathsome skinne,
In May the better that he may increase the scalie kinne.
All things in May I see they may rejoice like Turtle Doue,
I sorrow in May since I may not in May obtain my loue.
Now may I mourn in fruitful May who may or can redresse,
My May is sorrow since she that may withholds my May afresh,
Thus must I play in pleasant May till I may May at will
With her in May, whose May my life now may both saue and spill.
Contented hearts that have your hope, in May you may at large
Unfold your joys, expell your cares, and maske in pleasures Barge,
Save I alone in May that may lament for my behooue,
I mourne in May till that I may in May obtain my loue.
Finis.

3. Faire woordes make fooles faine.

In youthfull yeeres when fyrst my young desyres began,
To pricke mee foorth to serue in Court a sclender tall young man:
My Fathers blessing then I askt upon my knee,
Who blessing me with trembling hand, these woordes gan say to me:
My sonne, God guide thy way, and shielde thee from mischaunce,
And make thy just desartes in Court, thy poore estate to advaunce.
Yet when thou art become one of the Courtly trayne,
Thinke on this proverbe old (qd he) that faire woordes make fooles faine.
This counsell grauely geuen, most strange appeares to me,
Tyll tract of time, with open eyes, had made me plainely see,
What subtill sleightes are wrought, by painted tales deuise,
When hollowe hartes with freendly shoes the simple doo entise
To thinke al golde that shines to feede their fonde desire,
Whose shiuering cold is warmd with smoke, instead of flaming fire.
Sith talke of tickle trust, dooth breede a hope most vaine,
This prouerbe true by proofe I finde, that faire woordes make fooles faine.
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Faire speache alway doeth well, where deedes insue faire woordes,
Faire speache againe, alway dooth euil, that busshes geues for birdes.
Who hopes to haue fayre woordes, to trye his luckie lot,
If I may counsel let him strike it, whyle the iron is hotte.
But them that feede on cloddes, insteade of pleasaunt grapes,
And after warning often geuen, for better lucke still gapes,
Full loth I am, yet must I tell them in woordes plaine,
This prouerbe old proues true in them, that faire words makes fooles faine.
Wo woorth the time that woordes, so slowly turne to deedes,
Wo worth the time, yt faire sweete floures, are growē to rotten weedes.
But thrise wo woorth the time, that trueth is fled,
Wherein I see how simple hartes, with woordes are vainely fed.
Trust no faire woordes therefore, where no deedes doo ensue,
Trust words, as skilful Falkeners doo trust Haukes that neuer flew.
Trust deedes, let woordes be woordes, which neuer wrought me gaine,
Let my experience make you wyse, and let woordes make fooles faine.
M. Edwardes.

20. Wantyng his desyre he complayneth.

The sayling ships with ioy at lenght, do touche the long desired port,
The hewing axe ye oke doth waste, ye battring Canon breakes the fort.
Hard hagard Haukes stope to ye lure, wild colts in time ye bridle tames,
There is nothing so out of ure, but to his kinde long time it frames.
Yet this I finde in time, no time can winne my sute,
Though oft the tree I clime, I can not catche the fruite.
And yet the pleasant branches oft, in yeelding wyse to me doo bowe,
When I would touch, they spring aloft, sone are they gone, I wot not howe:
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Thus I pursue ye fleting flood, like Tantalus in hel belowe,
Would god my case she understood, which can ful sone releue my woe:
Which yf to her were knowen, the fruite were surely mine,
She would not let me grone, and brouse upon the rine.
But if my ship with tackle turne, with rented sailes must needes retire,
And streame and wind had plainely sworne, by force to hinder my desire:
Like one that strikes upon ye rocks, my weerie wrack I should bewaile
And learne to knowe false fortunes mocks, who smiles on me to small auaile:
Yet sith she only can, my rented ship restore,
To helpe her wracked man, but once I seeke no more.
Finis.
M. Edwardes.

27. Of Fortunes power.

Policrates whose passing happe, causd him to lose his fate,
A golden ryng cast in the seas, to change his constant state,
And in a fishe yet at his bourd, the same he after found,
Thus Fortune loe, to whom she takes, for bountie dooth abound.
The myzers unto might she mountes, a common case we see,
And mightie in great miserie, she sets in lowe degree:
Whom she to day dooth reare on hie, upon her whirling wheele,
To morowe next she dingeth downe, and casteth at her heele.
No measure hath shee in her gifts, shee doth reward eache sort.
The wise that counsell haue, no more then fooles that maketh sport.
She vseth neuer partiall handes for to offend or please,
Geue me good Fortune all men sayes, and throw me in the seas.
It is no fault or worthines, that makes men fall or rise,
I rather be borne Fortunate, then to be very wise.
The blindest man right soone, that by good Fortune guided is,
To whome that pleasant Fortune pipes, can neuer daunce amis.
Finis.
M. Edwardes.
118

28.

Though Triumph after bloudy warres, the greatest brags do beare:
Yet Triumph of a conquered minde, the crowne of Fame shall weare.
Who so doth marke the careless life, of these unhappie dayes,
And sees what small and slender hold, the state of vertue stayes:
He findes that this accursed trade, proceedeth of this ill,
That men be giuen, too much to yeelde to their untamed will.
In lacke of taming witlesse wil, the poore we often see
Enuies the ritch, because that he, his equall cannot be:
The rich aduauncd to might by wealth, from wrong doth not refraine,
But will oppresseth weaker sort, to heape excessiue gaine.
If Fortune were so blinde, to geue to one man what he will,
A world would not suffise the same, if he might haue his fill:
We wish, we searche, we striue for all, and haue no more therin
Then hath ye slaue, when death doth come, though Cresus welth we win.
In getting much, we get but care, such brittle wealth to keepe,
The rich within his walles of stone doth neuer soundly sleepe:
When poore in weake and slender house, doe feare no losse of wealth,
And haue no further care but this to keepe them selues in health.
Affection may not hide the sword of sway, in iudgement seat,
Least partiall law doe execute the lawe in causes great:
But if the minde in constant state, affection quite doe leaue.
The higher state shall haue their rights, the poore no wrong receaue.
It is accompted greater praise to Ceasars loftie state,
Against his vanquist foes, in warres to bridle wrekefull hate:
Then when to Rome he had subdued, the people long unknowne,
Whereby as farre as land was found, the same abrode was blowne.
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If honour can selfe will refuse, and iustice be vpright,
And private state desires but that which good appeares in sight:
Then vertue shall with soueraigne show, to euery eye reueale
A heauenly life, a wealefull state, a happie common weale.
Let vertue then the Triumph win, and gouerne all your deedes,
Your yeelding to her sober heastes immortal glory breedes:
Shee shall upreare your worthy name, shew then unto the skies,
Her beames shall shine in graue obscure where shrined carkesse lies.
Finis.
M. Edwardes.

29. Of perfect Wisedome.

Who so will be accompted wise, and truely claime the same,
By ioyning vertue to his deedes, he must atchieue the same:
But fewe there be, that seeke thereby true wisedome to attaine,
O God, so rule our hearts therefore, such fondnesse to refraine.
The wisedome which we most esteeme, in this thing doth consist,
With glorious talke to shew in wordes our wisedome when we list.
Yet not in talke, but seemely deedes, our wisedome we should place,
To speake so faire, and doe but ill, doth wisedome quite disgrace.
To bargaine well, and shunne the losse, a wisedome counted is,
And thereby through the greedie coyne, no hope of grace to mis.
To seke by honoure to aduaunce his name to brittle praise,
Is wisedome, which we daily see, increaseth in our dayes.
But heauenly wisedome sower seemes to hard for them to win,
But weary of the sute they seeme, when they doe once begin:
It teacheth us to frame our life, while vitall breth we haue,
When it dissolueth earthly masse, the soul from death to saue.
By feare of God to rule our steppes, from sliding into vice,
A wisedome is, which we neglect, although of greater price:
A poynt of wisedome also this, we commonly esteeme,
That euery man should be in deede, that he desires to seeme.
120

To bridle that desire of gaine, which forceth us to ill,
Our hawtie stomackes Lord represse, to tame presuming will:
This is the wisedome that we should, aboue eache thing desire,
O heauenly God from sacred throne, that grace in vs inspire.
And print in our repugnant hearts, the rules of wisedome true,
That all our deedes in worldly life, may like thereof insue:
Thou onely art the liuing spring, from whome this wisedome flowes,
O washe therewith our sinfull heartes, from vice that therin growes.
Finis
M. Edwardes

42. Amantium irœ amoris redintigratio est.

In goyng to my naked bedde, as one that would haue slept,
I heard a wife syng to her child, that long before had wept:
She sighed sore and sang full sweet, to bryng the babe to rest,
That would not cease but cried still in suckyng at her brest.
She was full wearie of her watche, and grieued with her child,
She rocked it and rated it, vntill on her it smilde:
Then did she saie nowe haue I founde, this prouerbe true to proue,
The fallyng out of faithfull frends, renewing is of loue.
Then tooke I paper, penne and ynke, this prouerbe for to write,
In regester for to remaine, of such a worthie wight:
As she proceded thus, in song vnto her little bratte,
Muche matter uttered she of waight, in place whereas she satte.
And proued plaine there was no beast, nor creature bearyng life,
Could well be knowne to liue in loue, without discorde and strife:
Then kissed she her little babe, and sware by God aboue,
The fallyng out of faithfull frends, renewing is of loue.
She saied that neither kyng ne prince, ne lorde could liue aright,
Untill their puissance thei did proue, their manhode & their might.
When manhode shalbe matched so, that feare can take no place,
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Then wearie works makes warriours, eche other to embrace.
And leaue their forse that failed thē, whiche did consume the rout,
That might by force with love have lived the term of nature out:
Then did she syng as one that thought, no man could her reproue,
The fallyng out of faithfull frendes, renewing is of loue.
She saied she sawe no fish ne foule, nor beast within her haunt,
That mett a straunger in their kinde, but could geue it a taunt:
Since fleshe might not indure, but reste must wrath succede,
And forse the fight to fall to plaie, in pasture where thei feede.
So noble nature can well ende, the works she hath begone,
And bridle well that will not cease, her tragedy in some:
Thus in her songe she oft reherst, as did her well behoue,
The fallyng out of faithfull frends, renewing is of loue.
I mervaile much pardy quoth she, for to beholde the route,
To see man, woman, boy & beast, to tosse the worlde about:
Some knele, some crouch, some beck, some check, & some cā smothly smile
And some embrace others in armes, and there thinke many a wile.
Some stand aloufe at cap and knee, some humble and some stout,
Yet are thei neuer frends indeede, until thei once fall out:
Thus ended she her song, and saied before she did remoue,
The fallyng out of faithfull frends, renewing is of loue.
M. Edwardes.

47. Prudens. The historie of Damacles, & Dionise.

Whoso is set in princly trone, and craueth rule to beare,
Is still beset on euery side, with perill and with feare.
High trees by stormie winds are shakt, & rent vp frō the groūd
And flashy flaks of lightnings flames on turrets do reboūd
When little shrubs in safetie lurke, in couert all alowe,
And freshly florish in their kynde, what ever winde doe blowe.
The cruell king of Scisily: who fearing Barbars hands,
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Was wont to singe his beard hym self, with cole and fire brands,
Hath taught us this, the proofe whereof, full plainly we may see,
Was never thyng more liuely touched, to shewe it so to bee.
This kyng did seme to Damacles, to be the happiest wight,
Because he thought none like to hym, in power or in might.
Who did alone so farre excell the rest in his degree,
As doeth the Sunne in brightnes cleare, the darkest starre we see.
Wilt thou (then said this cruell kyng) proue this my present state?
Possesse thou shalt this seate of myne, and so be fortunate.
Full gladly then this Damacles this proferd honour tooke,
And shootyng at a princely life, his quiet rest forsooke.
In honours seate then was he plast, accordyng to his wyll,
Forthwith a banquet was preparde, that he might feast his fill.
Nothyng did want wherein twas thought, that he would take delite,
To feede his eye, to fill his mouthe, or please the appetite.
Such store of plate, I think in Grece, there scarsly was so much,
His servitours did Angels seme, their passyng shape was such.
No daintie dishe but there it was, and thereof was suche store,
That throughout Grece so princly chere, was neuer seen before.
Thus while in pōpe and pleasures seate, this Damacles was plast,
And did beginne with gladsome harte, eche daintie dishe to taste,
At length by chaunce cast up his eyes, and gan the house to vewe,
And sawe a sight that hym enforst, his princly state to rewe.
A sworde forsoth with dounward point, that had no stronger thred
Then one horse heere that peised it, direct upon his head.
Wherewith he was so sore amasde, and shooke in euery parte,
As though the sworde that hong aboue, had stroke hym to the hart.
Then all their pleasures toke their leaue, & sorowe came in place,
His heauie harte the teares declared, that trickled doune his face.
And then forthwith with sobbing voice, besought ye king of grace,
That he would licens hym with speede, to depart out of that place.
And saied that he full long enough, had tried now with feare,
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What tis to be a happie man, and princly rule to beare.
This deede of thyne oh Dionise, deserues immortal fame,
This deede shall alwaies liue with praise, though thou didst liue wt shame.
Whereby bothe kynges be put in minde, their dangers to be great
And subiects be forbid to clime, high stepps of honours seate.
Finis.

48. Fortitude. A yong man of Ægipt, and Valerian.

Eche one deserues great praise to haue, but yet not like I think.
Bothe he that can sustain the yoke of paines, & doeth not shrink
And he whom Cupids couert crafte, can nothing moue at all,
Into the harde and tangled knotts, of Venus snares to fall.
Besturre you then who so delights, in vertues race to ronne,
The fliyng boye with bowe ibent, by strength to ouercome.
As one did once when he was yong, and in his tender daies,
Whose stout and noble deede of his, hath got immortall praise.
The wicked Romaines did pursue, the sely Christians than,
What tyme Valerian Emperour was, a wicked cruell man.
Who spared not with bloudy draughts, to quēche his owne desire,
Dispatchyng all that stucke to Christ, with hotte consumyng fire.
At length a man, of tender yeres, was brought before his sight,
Suche one as Nature semed to make, a witnesse of her might.
For every part so well was set that nothyng was depraued,
So that the cruell kyng hymself, would gladly have hym saued.
So loth was he to see a woorke, so rare of Naturs power,
So finely built so sudainly, destroied within an hower.
Then meanes he sought to ouercome, or winne hym at the lest,
To slip from Christe, whom he before had earnestly profest.
A bedde preparde, so finely deckt, such divers pleasaunt smels,
That well it might appeare a place, where pleasure onely dwells.
By him he laied a naked wenche, a Venus darlyng sure,
With sugred speache, & louely toyes, that might his minde allure.
Such wanton lewres as these he thought, might easly him entise,
Which things he knewe wt lustie youth, had alwaies been in prise.
Such waies I thinke the Gods themselues, could have invented none,
For flatteryng Venus ouercoms, the senses euerych one,
And he hymself was euen at point, to Venus to consent,
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Had not his stout and manly mynde, resisted his entent.
When he perceiued his fleshe to yelde, to pleasures wanton toyes,
And was by sleight almoste prouoked, to tast of Venus ioyes,
More cruell to hymself then those, that glad would hym undoo,
With bloudie tooth his tēder tong, bote quite and cleane in twoo.
Thus was the paine so passyng greate, of this his bloudie bitte,
As lawes be nought but rulers dome, cōteining egall might,
Doe ill and all thy pleasures then, full sone will passe awaie,
But yet the shame of those thy deedes, will neuer more decaie.
Doe well & though thy paines be great, yet sone eche one wil cease,
But yet, the praise of those thy deedes will euermore increase.
Finis.

49. Iustice. Zaleuch and his sonne.

Let rulers make most perfect lawes, to rule both great and smal,
If thei themselues obeye them not, it boteth not at all.
As lawes be nought but rulers dome, cōteining egall might,
So rulers should be speakyng lawes, to rule by line of right.
Zaleuch the prince of Locrine once, appointed by decree,
Eche lecherer should be punished, with losse of either eye.
His sonne by chaunce offended first, which when his father sawe,
Lorde God how earnest then was he, to execute the lawe.
Then ran the people all by flocks, to hym with wepyng eyes,
Not one emong the rout there was, but pardon, pardon cries.
By whose outcries and earnest sute, his sonne in hope did stande,
That he thereby should then obtaine, some pardon at his hande.
But all in vaine for he is founde, to be the man he was,
And maketh hast so muche the more, to haue the lawe to passe.
The people yet renued their sute, in hope of some relief,
Whose faces, all besprent with teares, did testifie their grief.
And cried all for pities sake, yelde now to our request,
If all you wil not cleane remit, yet ease the paine at lest.
Then somewhat was the father moued, with all the peoples voice
And every man did give a shoote, to shewe thei did reioyce.
Well then quoth he it shal be thus, the lawe shalbe fulfilde,
And yet my sonne shall favour have, accordyng as you wilde.
125

One eye of his shal be pulde out, thus hath his leudnesse got,
And likewise so shall one of myne, though I deserve it not.
This worde no soner was pronoūcde, but strait ye dede was doen,
Twoo eyes, no mo were left, betwene the father and the sonne.
Saie now who can, and on my faithe Apollo he shalbe,
Was he more gentle father now? or iuster Iudge, trowe ye.
This man would not his lawes be like, the webbs yt spiders weue,
Wherein thei lurke when thei entende, the simple to deceiue.
Wherewith small flies full sone be caught, & tangled ere thei wist,
When greate ones flie and scape awaie, & breake them as thei list.
Finis.

50. Temperaunce. Spurina and the Romaine Ladies.

If nature beare thee so great loue, yt she in thee have beautie plast,
Full harde it is as we doe proue, to kepe the body cleane & chast:
Twixt comelinesse and chastitie,
A deadly strife is thought to be.
For beautie whiche some men suppose to be, as twere a golden ill,
Prouoketh strief and many foes, that seke on her to worke her wil:
Assaults to tounes if many make,
No toune so strong but maie be take.
And this Spurina witnesse can, who did for beautie beare the bell,
So cleane a wight so comly made, no dame in Rome but loued well:
Not one could cole her hot desire,
So burnyng was the flame of fire.
Like as when baite caste in ye floud, forthwith doth cause the fishes come,
That pleasantly before did plaie, now presently to death to runne.
For when thei see the baite to fall,
Straight waie thei swallowe hooke and all.
126

So when Spurina thei did see, to hym thei flocked out of hande,
She happest dame was thought to be, that in his fauour moste did stande.
Not knowyng under sweete deceits,
How Venus hids her poysoned baits.
But whē he sawe them thus to rage, whom loue had linked in his chain,
This means he sought for to aswage, these ladies of their greuous pain.
His shape intendyng to disgrace,
With many wounds he skotch his face.
By whiche his deede it came to passe, yt he yt semed an angel bright
Euen now so cleane disfigured was, yt he became a lothsom wight.
And rather had be foule and chast,
Then faire, and filthie ioyes to tast.
What pen cā write, or tōg expresse, ye worthy praises of this deede,
Me think that God can do no lesse, then graunt him heaven for his meede,
Who for to saue hymself vpright,
Hymself hath first destroyed quite.
Finis.
q. F. M.

53. In commendation of Musick.

Where gripyng griefs the hart would wound
& dolful domps the minde oppresse,
There Musick with her siluer soūd,
Is wont with spede to giue redresse.
Of troubled minde for euery sore,
Swete Musick hath a salue therefore.
127

In ioye it makes our mirth abound,
In grief it chers our heauy sprights,
The carefull head realease hath found,
By Musicks plesant swete delights.
Our sences, what should I saie more,
Are subiect vnto Musicks lore.
The Godds by Musick hath their praie,
The foule therein doth ioye,
For as the Romaine Poets saie,
In seas whom Pirats would destroye,
A Dolphin saued from death most sharpe,
Arion plaiyng on his harpe.
A heauenly gift, that turnes the minde,
Like as the sterne doth rule the ship,
Musick whom the Gods assignde
To comfort man, whom cares would nip,
Sith thou mā & beast doest moue,
What wise man then wil thee reproue?

He requesteth some frendly comfort affirmyng his constancie.

The mountaines hie whose loftie toppes, doeth mete the hautie sky,
The craggie rocke that to the sea, free passage doth deny,
The aged Oke that doeth resist, the force of blustryng blast,
The pleasaunt herbe that euery where, a fragrant smell doeth cast.
The Lyons forse whose courage stout, declares a princlike might,
The Eagle that for worthinesse, is borne of kyngs in fight:
The Serpent eke whose poisoned iawes, doeth belche out venim vile,
The lothsome Tode that shunneth light, and liueth in exile.
These these I saie and thousands more, by trackt of tyme decaie,
And like to tyme doe quite consume, and vade from forme to claie:
128

But my true harte and seruice vowed, shall laste tyme out of minde,
And still remaine as thine by dome, as Cupid hath assignde.
My faithe loe here I vowe to thee, my trothe thou knowest right well,
My goods my frends, my life is thine, what nede I more to tell?
I am not myne but thine I vowe, thy hests I will obeye,
And serue thee as a servant ought, in pleasyng, if I maie:
And sith I haue no fliyng wings, to see thee as I wishe,
Ne finnes to cut the siluer streames, as doeth the glidyng fishe,
Wherefore leaue now forgetfulnesse, and sende againe to me,
And straine thy azured vaines to write, that I maie greetyng see:
And thus farewell more deare to me, then chifest frende I haue,
Whose loue in harte I minde to shrine, till death his fee doe craue.
M. Edwards

Evill to hym that evill thinketh.

The subtill slily sleights, that worldly men doe worke,
The frēdly showes vnder whose shade, most craft doth oftē lurke
Enforceth me alas, with yernfull voice to saie,
Wo worthe the wily heads that seeks, the simple mans decaie,
The birde that dreds no guile, is sonest caught in snare,
Eche gentle harte deuoide of craft, is sonest brought to care:
Good nature sonest trapt, which gives me cause to saie,
Wo worthe the wily heads that seeks, the simple mans decaie.
I see the serpent vile, that lurks under the grene,
How subtelly he shrouds hymself, that he maie not be sene:
And yet his fosters bane, his leryng looks bewraie,
Wo worthe the wily heads that seeks, the simple mans decaie.
Wo worthe the fainyng looks, on fauour that doe waite,
Wo worthe the fained frendly harte, that harbours depe deceit:
Wo worthe the Vipers broode; oh thrise wo worthe I saie,
All worldly wily heads that seeks, the simple mans decaie.
Finis.
M. Edwards.
129

Complainyng to his frende, he replieth wittely.

A.
The fire shall freese, the frost shall frie the frozen mountains hie,

B.
What strāge thinges shall dame nature force, to turne her course awrie.

A.
My Ladie hath me left and taken a newe man,

B.
This is not straunge, it happes oft tymes the truthe to scan.

A.
The more is my paine,

B.
her love then refraine,

A.
Who thought she would flitt,

B.
eche one that hath witt,

A.
Is not this straunge,

B.
light loue will chaunge.

A.
By skilfull meanes I her reclaime, to stope unto my luer,

B.
Suche hagard haukes will sore awaie, of them who can be suer?

A.
With siluer bells and hoode, my ioye was her to decke,

B.
She was full gorgd, she woulde the soner giue the checke,

A.
The more is my paine,

B.
her loue then refraine,

A.
Who thought she would flitt,

B.
eche one that hath witt,

A.
Is not this straunge,

B.
light loue will chaunge.

A.
Her chirping lippes would chirp to me, swete wordes of her desire.

B.
Suche chirping birdes who euer sawe, to preach still on one brire?

A.
She saied she loued me beste, and would doe till she die,

B.
She saied in wordes, she thought it not as tyme doth trie.

A.
The more is my paine,

B.
her loue then refraine,

A.
Who thought she would flitt,

B.
eche one that hath witt.

A.
Is not this straunge,

B.
light loue will chaunge.

A.
Can no man winne a woman so, to make her loue endure?

B.
To make the Foxe his wiles to leaue what man will put in ure?

A.
Why then there is no choice, but all women will chaunge,

130

B.
As men doe use so some women doe loue to raunge.

A.
The more is my paine,

B.
her loue then refraine,

A.
Who thought she would flitt,

B.
eche one that hath witt:

A.
Is not this straunge,

B.
light loue will chaunge.

A.
Sithe slipper gaine falles to my lot, farwell that glidyng praie.

B.
Sithe that the dice doeth runne awrie, betimes leaue of thy plaie.

A.
I will no more lament, the thyng I maie not haue,

B.
Then by exchaunge the losse to come, all shalt thou saue.

A.
Loue will I refraine,

B.
thereby thou shalt gaine:

A.
With losse I will leaue,

B.
she will thee deceiue,

A.
That is not straunge,

B.
then let her raunge.

M. Edwards.

The fruites of fained frendes.

In choise of frends what hap had I, to chuse one of Cirenes kind,
Whose harpe, whose pipe, whose melodie, could feede my eares & make me blinde:
Whose pleasant voice made me forget, that in sure trust was great deceit.
In trust I see is treason founde, and man to man deceitfull is,
And whereas Treasure doeth abounde, of flatterers there doe not misse:
Whose painted speache, and outward showe, doe seme as frends and be not so.
Would I have thought in thee to be, the nature of the Crokadill,
Which if a man a slepe maie see, with bloudy thirst desires to kill:
And then with teares a while gan wepe, the death of hym thus slaine a slepe.
O flatterer false, thou traitor borne, what mischief more might thou deuise,
131

Then thy deare frende, to haue in scorne, and hym to wounde in sondrie wise:
Which still a frende pretends to be, and art not so by profe I se.
Fie, fie, upon such trechery.
Finis.
W. H.
If such false Shippes doe haunte the shore
Strike downe the saile and trust no more.
M. Edwardes.

Being importunate, at the length, he obtaineth.

A.
Shall I no waie winne you, to graunt my desire?

B.
What woman will graunt you, the thyng you require:

A.
You onely to love me, is all that I craue,

B.
You onely to leaue me, is all I would have.

A.
My deare alas now saie not so,

B.
To loue you best, I must saie no:

A.
Yet will I not flitt,

B.
then plaie on the bitt.

A.
I will,

B.
doe still,

A.
yet kill not,

B.
I will not.

A.
Make me your man,

B.
beshrewe me than.

A.
The swifter I followe, then you fly awaie,

B.
Swift haukes in their fliyng, oft times misse their praie.

A.
Yet some killeth dedly, that flie to the market:

B.
You shall touche no feather, thereof take no carke.

A.
Yet hope shall further my desire,

B.
You blowe the coales, and raise no fire.

A.
Yet will I not flitt,

B.
then plaie on the bitt,

A.
I will,

B.
doe still,

A.
yet kill not,

B.
I will not,

A.
Make me your man,

B.
Beshrewe me than.

A.
To loue is no daunger, where true loue is ment,

B.
I will loue no ranger, lest that I repent:

A.
My loue is no ranger, I make God auow,

B.
To trust your smoth saiyngs, I sure knowe not how.

A.
Moste truthe I meane, as tyme shall well trie,

132

B.
No truth in men, I oft espie.

A.
Yet will I not flitt,

B.
then plaie on the bitt.

A.
I will,

B.
doe still,

A.
yet kill not

B.
I will not:

A.
Make me your man,

B.
beshrewe me than.

A.
Some women maie saie naie, and mean loue most true,

B.
Some women can make fools, of as wise men as you,

A.
In tyme I shall catch you, I knowe when and where:

B.
I will sone dispatche you, you shall not come there.

A.
Some speds at length, that oft haue mist,

B.
I am well armed, come when you list.

A.
Yet will I not flitt,

B.
then plaie on the bitt.

A.
I will,

B.
doe still,

A.
yet kill not,

B.
I will not,

A.
Make me your man,

B.
beshrewe me than.

A.
Yet worke your kinde kindly, graunt me loue for loue,

B.
I will use you frendly, as I shall you proue:

A.
Most close you shall finde me, I this do protest,

B.
Then sure you shall bind me, to graunt your request.

A.
O happie threde now have I sponne,

B.
You syng before the conquest wonne.

A.
Why then, will you swarue,

B.
euen as you deserve:

A.
Loue still,

B.
I will,

A.
yet kill not,

B.
I will not.

A.
Make me your man,

B.
come to me than.

Finis.
M. B.

Of a Freend & a Flatterer.

A trustie freend is rare to finde, a fawning foe may sone be got:
A faithful frend bere stil in mind, but fawning foe regard thou not.
A faithfull freend no cloke doth crave to colour knavery withal:
But Sicophant a goun must have to beare a part what ere befall.
A nose to smel out every feast, a brasen face to sett it out,
A shamles child or homely gest, whose life doth like to range about,
133

A fauning foe while wealth doth last, a thefe to rob & spoile his freend,
As strong as oke while wealth doth last, but rotten sticke doth prove in theend.
Looke first, then leape, beware the mire;
Burnt child is warnd to dread the fire.
Take heede my freend, remember this,
Short horse (they say) soone curried is.
Finis.
M. Edwards.

Being in loue he complaineth.

My haute desyre, to hye that seeketh rest,
My feare to find, where hope my help should give,
My sighes and plaintes sent from unquiet brest,
The hardned hart that will not truth beleeve,
Bids me dispayre, and Reason saith to me,
Forsake for shame, the sute that shameth thee.
But when mine eyes behold the alluring cayes,
Which only me to Cupids spoyle have trainde,
Desyre anew doth worke his wonted wayes,
Thus shall I freeze, and yet I frye in payne.
O quenchlesse fyre to quayle and quick agayn.
Such is the flame, where burning love doth last,
As hye ne low can beare with Reasons bitte,
And such is love, wherein is setled fast,
That naught but death can ease his fervent fitte,
Then cannot I, nor love will me forsake,
Sweete is the death, that faithfull love doth make.
Finis.
M. Edwardes.
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