The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton For the First Time Collected and Edited: With Memorial-Introduction, Notes and Illustrations, Glossarial Index, Facsimilies, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart. In Two Volumes |
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A Solemne Farewell to the World.
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 | The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton |  |
A Solemne Farewell to the World.
Oh forlorne Fancy whereto dost thou liue,
To weary out the senses with vnrest?
Hopes are but cares, that but discomforts giue,
While only fooles doe clime the phoenix nest:
To heart sicke soules all joyes are but a jest,
Thou dost in vain but striue against the streame,
With blinded eyes to see the sunny beame.
To weary out the senses with vnrest?
Hopes are but cares, that but discomforts giue,
While only fooles doe clime the phoenix nest:
To heart sicke soules all joyes are but a jest,
Thou dost in vain but striue against the streame,
With blinded eyes to see the sunny beame.
Die with desire, abandoned from delight,
Thy weary winter lasteth all the yeare:
Say to thy selfe that darknesse is the light,
Wherein doth nothing but thy death appeare;
While wit and sense, in Sorrowes heauy cheare,
Findes thee an humour, but vnkindly bredde
Of Hopes illusions, in too weake a head.
Thy weary winter lasteth all the yeare:
Say to thy selfe that darknesse is the light,
Wherein doth nothing but thy death appeare;
While wit and sense, in Sorrowes heauy cheare,
Findes thee an humour, but vnkindly bredde
Of Hopes illusions, in too weake a head.
Fortune affrightes thee with a thousand feares,
While Folly feedes thee with abuse of wit;
And while thy force in fainting passion weares,
Patience is ready to increase the fit,
Where agonies in their extreames doe sit:
So that, each way, thy soule is so perplexed,
As better die, then liue to be so vexed.
While Folly feedes thee with abuse of wit;
And while thy force in fainting passion weares,
Patience is ready to increase the fit,
Where agonies in their extreames doe sit:
So that, each way, thy soule is so perplexed,
As better die, then liue to be so vexed.
Say, Patience somewhat doe asswage thy paine;
Prolonged cures are too vncomfortable;
And where that care doth neuer comfort gaine,
The state, alasse must needes be miserable:
Where Sorrowes labours are so lamentable,
That Silence saies, that to the soule complains,
Concealèd sorrowes are the killing pains.
Prolonged cures are too vncomfortable;
And where that care doth neuer comfort gaine,
The state, alasse must needes be miserable:
Where Sorrowes labours are so lamentable,
That Silence saies, that to the soule complains,
Concealèd sorrowes are the killing pains.
Then doe not ceasse to sigh and sobbe thy fill,
Bleede in the teares of true loue's liuing blood;
Shewe how vnkindnesse seekes the heart to kill,
That hides a buzzard in a falcons hoode:
Feede not thy self with misconceipted good;
Better to starue, then in a sugred pill
To taste the poison of the Spirits ill.
Bleede in the teares of true loue's liuing blood;
Shewe how vnkindnesse seekes the heart to kill,
That hides a buzzard in a falcons hoode:
Feede not thy self with misconceipted good;
Better to starue, then in a sugred pill
To taste the poison of the Spirits ill.
But if thou canst content thee with thy life,
And wilt endure a double death to liue,
If thou canst beare that bitter kinde of strife,
Where crosse conceipts but discontents do giue:
If to this ende thou canst thine humour driue,
And cares true patience can command thee so;
Give me then leave to tell thee what I knowe.
And wilt endure a double death to liue,
If thou canst beare that bitter kinde of strife,
Where crosse conceipts but discontents do giue:
If to this ende thou canst thine humour driue,
And cares true patience can command thee so;
Give me then leave to tell thee what I knowe.
I knowe too well, that all too long haue tryed,
That earth containeth not that may content thee;
Sorrowe will so beset thee on each side,
That Wit nor Reason can the thought inuent thee,
But that will some way serue for to torment thee:
Hope wil deceiue thee, Happinesse goe by thee,
Fortune will faile thee, and the World defie thee.
That earth containeth not that may content thee;
Sorrowe will so beset thee on each side,
That Wit nor Reason can the thought inuent thee,
But that will some way serue for to torment thee:
Hope wil deceiue thee, Happinesse goe by thee,
Fortune will faile thee, and the World defie thee.
Beauty will blinde thine eyes, bewitch thine heart,
Confound thy senses, and commaund thy will,
Scorne thy desire, not looke on thy desart,
Disdaine thy seruice, quite thy good with ill,
And make no care thy very soule to kill.
Time will outgoe thee, Sorrowe overtake thee,
And Death, a shadow of a substance, make thee.
Confound thy senses, and commaund thy will,
Scorne thy desire, not looke on thy desart,
Disdaine thy seruice, quite thy good with ill,
And make no care thy very soule to kill.
Time will outgoe thee, Sorrowe overtake thee,
And Death, a shadow of a substance, make thee.
I know this world will neuer be for thee;
Conscience must carry thee another way:
Another world must be for thee and mee,
Where happie thoughts must make their holiday,
While heauenly comforts neuer will decay.
We must not thinke in this ill age to thriue,
Where Faith and Loue are scarcely found aliue.
Conscience must carry thee another way:
Another world must be for thee and mee,
Where happie thoughts must make their holiday,
While heauenly comforts neuer will decay.
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Where Faith and Loue are scarcely found aliue.
Wee must not build our houses on the sands,
Where euery flood will wash them quite away;
Nor set our seales vnto those wicked bands,
Where damnèd soules their debts in hel must pay:
Our states must stand vpon a better stay;
Vpon the rock we must our houses builde,
That wil our frames from winde and water shield.
Where euery flood will wash them quite away;
Nor set our seales vnto those wicked bands,
Where damnèd soules their debts in hel must pay:
Our states must stand vpon a better stay;
Vpon the rock we must our houses builde,
That wil our frames from winde and water shield.
Goe, bid the world, with all his trash, farewell,
And tell the earth it shall be all but dust:
These wicked wares, that worldlings buy and sell,
The moath will eat, or else the canker rust:
All flesh is grasse, and to the graue it must.
This sinke of sin is but the way to hell;
Leaue it, I say, and bid the world farewell.
And tell the earth it shall be all but dust:
These wicked wares, that worldlings buy and sell,
The moath will eat, or else the canker rust:
All flesh is grasse, and to the graue it must.
This sinke of sin is but the way to hell;
Leaue it, I say, and bid the world farewell.
Account of pompe but as a shadowed power,
And thinke of friends but as the sommer flies;
Esteeme of beauty as a fading flower,
And louers fancies but as fabled lies:
Knowe, that on earth there is no Paradise.
Who sees not heauen is surely spirit-blinde,
And like a body that doth lacke a minde.
And thinke of friends but as the sommer flies;
Esteeme of beauty as a fading flower,
And louers fancies but as fabled lies:
Knowe, that on earth there is no Paradise.
Who sees not heauen is surely spirit-blinde,
And like a body that doth lacke a minde.
Then let vs lie as dead, till there wee liue,
Where only loue doth liue for euer blest;
And only loue the onely life doth giue,
That bringes the soule vnto eternall rest:
Let vs this wicked, wretched world detest,
Where gracelesse hearts in hellish sins persever,
And fly to heaven, to liue in grace for euer.
Where only loue doth liue for euer blest;
And only loue the onely life doth giue,
That bringes the soule vnto eternall rest:
Let vs this wicked, wretched world detest,
Where gracelesse hearts in hellish sins persever,
And fly to heaven, to liue in grace for euer.
| The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton | |