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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Hard hap causeth sorrowe,
and breedeth disrest:
Where griefe is not absent
notes solemne are best.
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 | The Castell of Courtesie |  |
Hard hap causeth sorrowe,
and breedeth disrest:
Where griefe is not absent
notes solemne are best.
Like
as the Carren Crowe
doth crie against the raine:
So I which doe foresee my griefe
begin for to complaine.
Or as the snared Hare,
lyes tumbling in the net:
So I lye tumbling in my woe,
which I cannot forget.
For why, no noysome newes
doth glad the heart of man:
But doth reuoke his pleasures all
on sorrowes for to skan.
I see how spitefull Care
doth looke out of her bowre:
And Fortune with her smiling face
beginneth for to lowre.
The mistie cloudes of griefe
doe dimme my cleerest sight:
And haplesse hap doth take the place
to worke my deepe despight.
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which I was wont to taste:
Be cleane dismist and put away,
my pleasures all do wast.
The fine and flagrant smels,
which did me recreate:
Be noysome fauours vnto me,
and worke me much Debate.
Sir Phebus glistering hue,
seemes nothing in my eyes:
For why, I weepe and spend the day,
with sorrowing sobbes and cryes.
No maruaile though I write,
with pensiue pen in hand:
No maruaile though I waile in deeds,
when things be rightly skand.
And marke now which be they,
that do oppresse me most:
Deride me not, though plaine I tell,
you heades of finest cost.
Lo thus I do beginne,
they are in number three:
The first of them, is losse of friendes,
the next discurtesie.
The thirde is not beleeue,
the spitfullest of all:
Which griues me more then former two,
and bitter seemes as gall.
But well, what remedie,
Plaine patience is the best:
For why by her, we dayly see,
is got most quyet rest.
What doth it boote the shippe,
to saile against the winde:
She must abide, for Time and Tide,
els tarrie still behinde.
[51]
for enterprise so bolde:
And layes her ribbes in foaming seats,
of waters wanne and cold.
What doth it oft preuaile,
to striue to reach the skye?
In my conceipte, it were but vaine,
least some for it do crye.
What though that smyling wordes,
hath led me on the bit?
Some froward speech shall loose the bond,
if luckie chaunce so hit.
A Prouerbe long ago,
tels Faire wordes makes fooles faine:
Which Sentence tries it selfe in me,
the more hath beene my paine.
I stand to trye my Chaunce,
as Fortune will alofte:
To see if that she white thee rede,
or dimme it with a blot.
And if she be so kinde,
to take the blot away:
Then will I sing some ioyfull songe,
in praise of that good day.
But if that it be so,
the blot do full remaine:
What remedie but Patience she,
must medicine bee for paine:
But if that spite will spitte,
her spite in furiouse wise:
Let all the spites do what they will,
or what they can surmise.
For by my Troth I am,
as the condemned wight:
Which thinkes his life is past release,
and voyde is of delight.
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yet laugh I with the best:
And smile it out in pleasant hue,
as well as do the rest.
But what of that, I know
ther's many a smiling face:
Beares heauie heart, in Carefull Corpes,
which causeth their disgrace.
Some laugh outwardly,
Yet sorow inwardly.
Yet sorow inwardly.
| The Castell of Courtesie | |