The Forrest of Fancy Wherein is conteined very prety Apothegmes, and pleasaunt histories, both in meeter and prose, Songes, Sonets, Epigrams and Epistles, of diuerse matter and in diuerse manner. With sundry other deuices, no lesse pithye then pleasaunt and profytable [by H. C.] |
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A warning to yong men to flye the flattery, and shun the deceiptes of dissembling dames.
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 | The Forrest of Fancy |  |
A warning to yong men to flye the flattery, and shun the deceiptes of dissembling dames.
What
hard mishaps doth hamper youth,
When cursed Cupid list to frowne:
And yet he will not credite truth,
Till froward fortune fling him downe.
But when he is with dole distrest,
Then all to late he can perceiue,
What madnes did his mind mollest,
His wretched woe by wrong to weaue,
Yea then he doth all Dames defy,
And vowes in vaine their fraude to flye,
When cursed Cupid list to frowne:
And yet he will not credite truth,
Till froward fortune fling him downe.
But when he is with dole distrest,
Then all to late he can perceiue,
What madnes did his mind mollest,
His wretched woe by wrong to weaue,
Yea then he doth all Dames defy,
And vowes in vaine their fraude to flye,
Must hory heares needes make vs wise,
Discouering naked treasons hooke,
Whose glittering hue by slight deuice.
Doth make them blind that thereon looke,
And till in trappe they taken be,
That turnes their pleasure all to paine,
Their folly fond they cannot see,
Such madnes moues their busy braine,
In wisdomes wayes they think they walke,
And so for these doe champe on chalke.
Discouering naked treasons hooke,
Whose glittering hue by slight deuice.
Doth make them blind that thereon looke,
And till in trappe they taken be,
That turnes their pleasure all to paine,
Their folly fond they cannot see,
Such madnes moues their busy braine,
In wisdomes wayes they think they walke,
And so for these doe champe on chalke.
If liuing wightes might playnly see,
The wily workes of womens wits,
Which couered close in bosome he,
Disclosde at last by frantike fits.
Then would they learne to leaue their lookes,
And glaunce no more their glaring eyes,
Uppon those baites on hidden hookes,
Which whoso shall attempt to tast,
Is like for aye in woe to wast.
The wily workes of womens wits,
Which couered close in bosome he,
Disclosde at last by frantike fits.
Then would they learne to leaue their lookes,
And glaunce no more their glaring eyes,
Uppon those baites on hidden hookes,
Is like for aye in woe to wast.
Where suters serue with long delay.
In dayly hope of some good hap,
Tormenting griefes at length doth pay,
Their pencion with an after clappe,
For such rewardes they dayly fynde,
That fyxe their fancy faithfully,
On any catte of Cresseds kinde.
That neuer countes of constancy,
Whome Eue instructed long agoe,
To worke to man all greefe and woe.
In dayly hope of some good hap,
Tormenting griefes at length doth pay,
Their pencion with an after clappe,
For such rewardes they dayly fynde,
That fyxe their fancy faithfully,
On any catte of Cresseds kinde.
That neuer countes of constancy,
Whome Eue instructed long agoe,
To worke to man all greefe and woe.
Behold the gwerdon due to loue,
Bestowde vpon a fickle Dame,
As good of rotten redes to proue,
Some precious iem in forme to frame,
For why repentaunce comes at last,
And gripes his hart with griesly greefe,
That erst fond fancy followed fast,
Which left him voyde of all reliefe:
A iust reward for rechelesse wightes,
That will not shun such vain delightes.
Bestowde vpon a fickle Dame,
As good of rotten redes to proue,
Some precious iem in forme to frame,
For why repentaunce comes at last,
And gripes his hart with griesly greefe,
That erst fond fancy followed fast,
Which left him voyde of all reliefe:
A iust reward for rechelesse wightes,
That will not shun such vain delightes.
Youth bends his net to catch the pray,
Which some inioy that take no paine,
He toyles, yet seeth euery day,
His labour wasted all in vaine,
He beates the bush, and in meane space,
Another beares the byrdes away.
He fiercely doth pursue the chase,
Whilst others doe possesse the pray,
And so the end of louers gaine,
Is loathsome labour for their paine.
Which some inioy that take no paine,
He toyles, yet seeth euery day,
His labour wasted all in vaine,
He beates the bush, and in meane space,
Another beares the byrdes away.
He fiercely doth pursue the chase,
Whilst others doe possesse the pray,
And so the end of louers gaine,
Is loathsome labour for their paine.
Finis.
| The Forrest of Fancy | |