The Castell of Courtesie Whereunto is adioyned The Holde of Humilitie: With the Chariot of Chastitie thereunto annexed. Also a Dialogue betweene Age and Youth, and other matters herein conteined. By Iames Yates |
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Verses vpon the troubles of this Worlde.
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 | The Castell of Courtesie |  |
Verses vpon the troubles of this Worlde.
Oh
troublesome world the worker of woe & bale,
Of bitter blastes, of stormes that stint no stryfe:
Oh hazardes hard, which heape vp such a gale
In furiouse wise, that greefe is greedy ryfe.
In vaine with world{ly} welth is any wight indued:
If that by mightie Ioue it be not still renewed.
Of bitter blastes, of stormes that stint no stryfe:
Oh hazardes hard, which heape vp such a gale
In furiouse wise, that greefe is greedy ryfe.
In vaine with world{ly} welth is any wight indued:
If that by mightie Ioue it be not still renewed.
The cares are greate to cause the minde to muse,
Of this and that, that happeneth oft awrye:
The Fates be fond, that doth vs oft abuse,
Wherein consisteth a greate perplexetie.
For whilst with ioyes we seeke to haue relife,
In meane time comes some cause of double griefe.
Of this and that, that happeneth oft awrye:
The Fates be fond, that doth vs oft abuse,
Wherein consisteth a greate perplexetie.
For whilst with ioyes we seeke to haue relife,
In meane time comes some cause of double griefe.
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Thus sharpely shap'd are shimmering shewes that shine,
To bleare the eyes that very faine would see:
Such pleasant sightes, whose aspect doth incline,
No wight to wo, nor moues to miserie,
To carke, to care, to greefe, nor to disease.
Oh happie wight whom Fortune so doth please.
To bleare the eyes that very faine would see:
Such pleasant sightes, whose aspect doth incline,
No wight to wo, nor moues to miserie,
To carke, to care, to greefe, nor to disease.
Oh happie wight whom Fortune so doth please.
But for to tell for truth, now which be they,
My wit is small, and cunning it is lesse.
I cease to speake, my sense serues not to say:
For if perchaunce, I should not name aright,
They would me deeme some mome or doltish wight.
My wit is small, and cunning it is lesse.
I cease to speake, my sense serues not to say:
For if perchaunce, I should not name aright,
They would me deeme some mome or doltish wight.
But this to say, the wight that most doth spend
His Time in ioy, hath some time care among.
The world is such the best for to offend,
To reaue their rest that would be free from wrong,
So some do spend the Wicked World in feares,
Which for one ioy doth bring a M. eares.
His Time in ioy, hath some time care among.
The world is such the best for to offend,
To reaue their rest that would be free from wrong,
So some do spend the Wicked World in feares,
Which for one ioy doth bring a M. eares.
| The Castell of Courtesie | |