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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.
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