University of Virginia Library

The Arbor of Amorous Deuices.

A Lovers Farwel

To his Loue and ioy.

Adue mine onely ioy whose absence breedes my smart,
whose parting did amaze my minde & damped much my hart.
Adue mine onely loue, whose loue is life to me,
whose loue once lost, no life can tast within my corps to be.
Adue mine onely friend whose friendship cannot fade,
whose faith is firme, vpon the which my health and hope is stayed,
Adue the vitall spirits of these my sences all,
for dead each parte will still remaine vntill I heare thee call.
Farewell my selfe and all, farewell more deare then life:
Farewel the constant dame on earth: farewel Vlisses wife.
Sith Spite hath playde his parte, to parte vs now in twaine,
my helpe shal rest in happy hope, till we two meet againe:
Which hope doth heaue my heart aboue the hauty heauen,
and carrieth me with good successe aboue the Plannets seouen,
Sith that the Sunne must lodge within the Ocean seas,
As oftime as the houres be within foure compleat dayes:
So must Danaes face be rownd and horned thrise
and for her light a debter be vnto Sir Phebus wise:
Before I shal enioy the presence of my choyce,
till which time comes, Ile cloy the skies with plaints & bitter voyce.
That Fortune now which frownes with all her fatal dames,
shal haue for prayse most piteous plaints, and infamie for names:
Vntil the time that she doth turne her face againe.
and give me her that may redresse my [OMITTED] ous pinching paine:
God graunt that none beholde thy fa [OMITTED]
thy comely corps and feature [OMITTED]
Thy haires in tresses tyed [OMITTED]
thy Lilly with the [OMITTED]
Thy eyes with [OMITTED]
by dim [OMITTED]
Th [OMITTED] [OMITTED]
The graces all attend the Muses make request,
still for to waite vpon my deare, and be at her behest:
Blush now you bashles dames that vaunt of beautie rare,
for let me see who dares come in, and with my deare compare:
No, no, you are all fled, you walke like owles by night,
my deare so fayre, that of the world she is the onely wight:
Then farewell heart and ioy, till time hath run her race,
farewell delight, welcome annoy, till that I see thy face,
Which wil delight my heart, which wil reuiue my minde
which will delight my senceles corps, which ioy none else can finde,
Take heere my speech last spent, vntill thy home returne,
take here my heart, but leaue the corps which shal in torments burne.
My scalding sighes Ile send throughout the skies to thee,
my teares shall water still my couch, vntill thou beest with mee.

A Louers Complaint.

The counsell of a friend to one in loue.

A Ladies complaint for the losse of her Loue.

The lamentable complaint of a Louer.

A Poeme both pithie and pleasant.

If right were rackt and ouer-runne,
And power take parte with open wrong,
If force by feare doe yeeld too soone,
The lack is like to last too long:
If God for goods shalbe vnplac'd,
If right for riches leaues his shape,
If world for wisdome be imbrac'd,
The guesse is great much hurt may hap:
Among good thinges I prooue and find,
The quiet life doth most abound,
And sure to the contented mind,
There is no riches may be found:
Riches doth hate to be content,
Rule is enmie to quiet ease,
Power for the most part is vnpacient
And seldome likes to liue in peace:
I heard a Shepheard once compare,
That quiet nights he had more sleepe,
And had more merrie dayes to spare
Then he which ought his Flock of sheepe.
I would not haue it thought heereby,
The Dolphin swim I meane to teach,
Ne yet to learne the Faulcon flie,
I roue not so farre past my reach,
But as my part aboue the rest,
Is wel to wish and good to will:
So till the breath doth fayle my brest,
I shal not stay to wish you still.

A Poeme.

Fantasma.

In fortune as I lay, my fortune was to finde
Such fancies as my carefull thought, had brought into my minde,
And when each one was gone to rest, full soft in bed to lie,
I would haue slept, but then the watch did follow still mine eye:
And sodainly I saw a sea of sorrowes prest,
Whose wicked waues of sharpe repulse brought me vnquiet rest.
I saw this world, and how it went, each state in his degree,
And that from wealth graunted is both life and libertie:
I saw how enuie it did raigne, and bare the greatest price,
Yet greater poyson is not found within the Cockatrice:
I also saw how that disdaine, oft times to forge my woe,
Gaue me the cup of bitter sweete, to pledge my mortall foe:
I also saw how that deceit, to rest no place could finde,
But still constraind an endles paine, to follow natures kinde.
I also saw most strange, how Nature did forsake
the blood that in her womb was wrought, as doth the loathed snake,
I saw how fancie would remaine, no longer then her lust,
And as the winde how she doth change, and is not for to trust:
I saw how stedfastnes did flie, with winges of often change,
A bird, but truely seldome seene, her nature is so strange:
I saw how pleasant Time did passe, as Flowers in the Mead,
To day that riseth red as Rose, tomorrow lyeth dead.
I saw my time how it did run, as sand out of the Glasse,
Euen as each hower appoynted is, from tide to tide to passe:
I saw the yeares that I had spent, and losse of all my gaine,
And how the sport of youthfull playes, my folly did retaine:
I saw how that the little Ant in Summer still doth runne
To seeke her foode, whereby to liue in winter for to come:
I saw eke vertue, how she sate the threed of life to spinne,
Which sheweth the end of euery thing before it doeth begin.
And when al these I saw, with many moe perdie,
In me my thoughts each one had wrought a perfect propertie:
And then I sayd vnto my selfe, a Lesson this shalbe,
For other that shal after come, for to beware by me.
Thus all the night I did deuise which way I might constraine,
To forme a plot that wit might worke the branches in my braine.

The complaint of one being in love.

A Louers resolution.

True, though vntried, desirous in despaire,
Patient with paine, faithful though yet not sound,
In cares vnknowne my youthful daies I weare,
More sure then safe my youth and beauty bound.
What shal I say? the time serues not to waile:
Let it suffice, my faith shal neuer faile.

A Louers complaint.

A sweet lullabie.

A Poeme.

T The work of worth that Nature finely fram'd,
H Hope of the heart, that highest harts aspire:
R Reason set downe that secret wisdome nam'd,
O Onely the sweete that honour can desire,
G Grace of the earth, and natures onelie glorie
M More then most faire was spoke of long agoe:
O Oh heauenlie starre that is the shepheards stay:
R Read who it is, but one there is no moe,
T This is the Saint that Wit and Reason serue,
O Of such account as vertue doth regard,
N Note who it is that doth this fame deserue,
E Excellencie giues each honour his reward.

A Poeme.

M Mvses attending all on Pallas traine,
A Amongst the rest was one, though not the least,
C Carrying the minde that most might honour gaine,
K Kinde yet with care that might become her best,
W Wise as a woman, men can be no more:
I Judge who it is, I may not tell her name,
L Loue of the life that vertue doth adore:
L Life of the loue that gaines the highest fame.
I Joyne but the thought of loue and life together,
A And one may finde anothers excellence,
M Meere loue, deare life can sorrow neuer wither,
S Such is the power of heauenly prouidence.

Another.

Another.

Another.

C Cvrtesie carries all the world to loue,
A Affection serues, where vertue fauour giues,
N Neere to the heauens of highest hearts behoue,
D Deer is the thought whereby discretion liues,
I Joy of the eye, and Jewel of the heart,
S Saint of the shape that seruice doth adore,
H High of the honor of Mineruaes art:
E Except, excepted but one there is no more.

Another.

S Sweet is the flower that neuer fadeth hue,
U Vnmatcht the mind that neuer means amis,
T Tresure the heart that cannot prooue vntrue
H High such a saint in whom such honor is,
W Where such a flower, as faire as sweet doth spring
E Except but one, behold the onely ground,
L Loue such a ground, a Garden for a King:
L Looke in the world, the like is hardly found.

A prettie Poeme.

A Louer in despaire.

A Dreame of the arraignement of Desire.

A court was lately kept in secret of conceit,
To cal desire vnto his death, or cleare him of deceit,
Fayre Beautie was the Queene, and loue was all her Lawes,
Who had appoynted perfect sence to sit vpon the cause.
The wretches that accus'd desire of ill desart,
Where Enuie, packt with Iniurie, to kil a careful heart,
The whole Inditement read against desire, was this,
That where he most auowed best he ment not least amis,
The Lawyers that did plead against this poore desire,
Where wicked wit with eloquence, whom hate and wrong did hire.
But to defend desire was plaine simplicitie,
Who knew the bounds and kept the bonds of perfect amitie:
A grand Inquest in haste was panneld by the Court.
Of whom Tom-troth was foreman made, and so begun the sport.
Suspect did halfe affirme, that witnes should not neede,
And yet selfe-will would faine haue sworne that a was true indeed.
But reason wild regard, the treason should be tryed,
And deepe conceit should be the man that should the trueth decide.
Suspect in Natures sence layd shrewdly to his charge,
But care had brideled Natures course, loue neuer liu'd at large,
And conscience plaine replyed in reasons secrete thought,
That good wines need no Iuie-bush, and eloquence is naught.
To sound the depth of all did sences all assemble,
And poore goodwill came swearing in, that loue could not dissemble,
When patience fully heard the pleading of the case,
She call'd to reason to reueale who had deserud disgrace,
Good-wil was earnest still, and sware that liue or die,
Suspect did sore abuse desire, for louers could not lie.
With that the people laught, and reason chargd Tomtroth
To giue vp vnto perfect sence the verdict of his oath.
The Iurors were the thoughts that did posse the minde,
Where flatterie was but fancies foole while faith did fauour finde.
Who when they had at ful considered of the cause,
Gaue Enuie vp for enimie to loue and al his lawes.
And wit was but a foole to follow false suspect,
And eloquence was little worth to carrie such effect.
And hate and enuie both were had in great disgrace,
And eloquence for taking parte, was hissèd out of place.
And sweet desire was cleare, in Reasons secret sence,
And perfect sence gaue iudgement so, and quit him of offence.
And beautie that before was thought did quite disdaine him,
Did graunt him fauour by desert, and loue did entertaine him.
Suspect to silence put, good Nature gan to smile,
To heare them iudge to loues disdaine that would desire beguile.
And sweet desire the force of enuies ouerthrow,
And therewithal the Court brake vp, and I awakèd so.

Brittons Diuinitie.

A Louers complaint.

A Poeme.

Of his Mistresse loue.

To trie whose art and strength did most excell,
My Mistresse, Loue and faire Diana met,
The Ladies three foorthwith to shooting fell,
And for the prize the richest Jewel set.
Sweet Loue did both her bowe and arrowes gage,
Diana did her beautie rare lay downe,
My Mistresse pawnde her crueltie and rage,
And she that wanne had all for her renowne:
It fell out thus when as the match was done,
My Mistresse gat the beautie and the bowe,
And streight to trie the weapons she had wonne,
Vpon me heart she did a shaft bestow.
By beautie bound, by Loue and Vigor slaine,
The losse is mine where hers was all the gaine.

Of a discontented minde.

Poets come all, and each one take a penne,
Let all the heads that euer did indite,
Let Sorrow rise out of her darkest denne,
And helpe an heart an heauie tale to write.
And if all these or any one can touch,
The smallest part of my tormenting paine:
Then will I thinke my griefe is not so much,
But that in time it may be healde againe.
But if no one come neere the thought,
Of that I feele, and no man els can finde,
Then let him say that deare his cunning bought,
There is no death to discontented minde.

Of his Mistresse Beautie.

What ailes mine eies, or are my wits distraught,
Doe I not see, or know not what I see:
No marueil though I see that wonder wrought,
That on the earth another cannot bee.
What ment the Gods when first they did creat you,
To make a face to mocke all other features,
Angels in heauen will surelie deadlie hate you,
To leaue the world so full of foolish creatures:
Cheekes that enchaine the highest hearts in thrall,
Is it set downe such faire shall neuer fail you.
Hands, that the hearts of highest thoughts appall,
Was not Minerua made when she had made you:
Faire: looke on you, and farewell beauties grace,
Wise: why your wits the wisest doth abash.
Sweet: where is sweet, but in your sweetest face,
Rich: to your will all treasure is but trash.
Oh how these hands are catching at those eyes,
To feed this heart that onely liues vpon them,
Ah, of these hands what humors doe arise,
To blind these eyes that liue by looking on them.
But hearts must faint that must be going from you,
And eyes must weepe that in you loose their seeing,
Heauens be your place, where Angels better know you,
And earth is too base for such a Goddesse-beeing.
Yet where you come among those highest powers,
Craue pardon then for all these great offences,
That when you dwelt among these hearts of ours,
Your onelie eyes did blind our wits and sences.
Now if you see my will aboue my wit,
Thinke of the good that all your graces yeeld you:
A mazèd Muse must haue a madding fit,
Who is but mad that euer hath beheld you.

A Sonnet.

A pastorell of Phillis and Coridon.

The complaint of a forsaken Louer.

A pretie fancie.

Who takes a friend and trusts him not,
Who hopes of good and hath it not.
Who hath a Item and keepes it not,
Who keepes a Ioy and loues it not.
The first wants wit, the second will,
Carelesse the third, the fourth doth ill.

An epitaph on the death of a noble Gentleman.

Sorrow come sit thee downe, and sigh and sob thy fill,
And let these bleeding bitter teares, be witnesse of thine ill,
See, see, how Vertue sits, what passions she doth prooue,
To thinke vpon the losse of him, that was her dearest loue.
Come Pallas carefull Queene, let all thy Muses waite,
About the graue, where buried is, the grace of your conceit.
Poets lay downe your pennes, or if you needs will write,
Confesse the onely day of loue hath lost her dawning light.
And you that know the Court, and what beseemes the place,
With griefe engraue vpō his tombe, he gaue al Courts a grace.
And you that keepe the fields, and know what valure is,
Say all too soone was seene in this vntimelie death of his.
Oh that he liu'd in earth, that could but halfe conceiue,
The honour that his rarest heart was worthie to receiue,
Whose wisdome farre aboue the rule of Natures reach,
Whose workes are extant to the world, that al the world may teach,
Whose wit the wonder-stone, that did true wisdome tuch,
And such a sounder of conceipt, as few or neuer such.
Whose vertue did exceed in Natures highest vaine.
Whose life a lanthorne of the loue that surelie liues againe.
Whose friendship faith so fast, as nothing could remooue him,
Whose honourable curtesie made all the world to loue him:
What Language but he spake: what rule but he had read?
What thought so high? what sence so deep but he had in his head:
A Phœnix of the world, whom fame doth thus commend,
Vertue his life, Valor his loue, and Honour was his end.
Vpon whose tombe be writ, that may with teares be red:
Heere lies the flower of chiualrie that euer England bred.
Oh heauens, vpon the earth was neuer such a day,
That all conceits of all contents should al consume away,
Me thinkes I see a Queene come couered with a vaile,
The Court al stricken in a dumpe, the Ladies weepe & waile,
The Knights in careful sighes bewaile their secret losse,
And he that best cōceales his griefe, bewraies he hath a crosse.
Come Scholers bring your bookes, let reason haue his right,
Doe reuerence vnto the corse, in honour of the Knight,
Come souldiers see the Knight, that left his life so neere ye,
Giue him a volley of your harts, that al the world may heare ye.
And ye that liue at home, and passe your time in peace,
To helpe ye sing his dolefull dirge, let sorrow neuer cease.
Oh could I mourne enough, that all the world may see,
The griefe of loue for such a losse, as greater cannot bee.
Our Court hath lost a friend, our Countrie such a Knight,
As with the torment of the thought, hath turnèd day to night:
A man, so rare a man, did neuer England breed,
So excellent in euerie thing, that all men did exceed.
So full of all effects, that wit and sence may scan,
As in his heart did want no part to make a perfect man.
Perfection farre aboue the rule of humaine sence,
Whose heart was onely set on heauen, and had his honor thence,
Whose marke of hiest aime, was honor of the minde,
Who both at once did worldlie fame, and heauenlie fauour find:
Whom Vertue so did loue, and Learning so adore,
As commendations of a man, was neuer man had more:
Whom wise men did admire, whom good men did affect,
Whom honest men did loue and serue, and all men did respect.
Whose care his Countries loue, whose loue his Countries care,
Whose careful loue considered wel, his Countrie could not spare.
Oh Christ what ruthfull cries about the world doe ring,
And to behold the heauie sighs it is a hellish thing.
The campe, the dolefull campe, comes home with all a Mort,
To see the Captaine of their care, come home in such a sort.
The Court, the solemne court, is in a sudden trance,
And what is he but is amazde to heare of this mischance.
The Cittie shakes the head, as it had lost a piller,
And kind Affect is in such care, a little more would kill her:
Sweet Oxford sits and weepes, and Cambridge cries outright,
To loose the honour of their loue, and loue of their delight.
The Cleargie singing Psalmes, with teares beblot their bookes,
And all the Schollers follow on, with sad and heauie lookes.
The Muses and the Nimphes attirèd all in blacke,
With tearing heares, & wringing hands, as if their hearts would cracke:
The father, wife, and friends, and seruants in degrees,
With blubbred eyes bewaile the life that faithfull loue did leese.
My self that lou'd him more then he that knew him much,
Wil leaue the honour of his worth, for better wits to tutch:
And saie but what I thinke, and that a number know,
He was a Phœnix of a man, I feare there are no moe:
To set him downe in praise with men of passèd fame,
Let this suffice who more deseru'd: I neuer read his name.
For this he was in right, in briefe to shew his praise,
For Vertue, Learning, Valor, Wit, the honour of our dayes.
And so with honor ende, let all the world goe seeke,
So young a man, so rare a man, the world hath not the like.
Whose onelie corps consumes, whose Vertue neuer dies,
Whose sweetest soule enioyes the sweet of highest Paradice.

The sum of the former in foure lines.

Grace, Vertue, Valor, Wit, Experience, Learning, Loue,
Art, Reason, Time, Conceite, Deuise, Discretion, Trueth,
All these in one, and but one onely prooue,
Sorrow in age, to see the end of youth.

In the praise of his Mistresse.

Poets lay downe your pennes, let fancie leaue to faine,
Bid al the Muses goe to bed, or get a better vaine.
There musicks are to base, to sound that sweet consaite,
That on the wonder of the world, with wonder may awaite:
But if as yet vnknowne, there be some daintie Muse,
That can doe more then al the rest, and will her cunning vse,
Let her come whet her wits, to see what she can doe,
To that the best that euer wrote, came neuer neere vntoo,
For Venus was a toy, and onely feignèd fable,
And Cresed but a Chawcers ieast, and Helen but a bable.
My tale shalbe of trueth, that neuer treason taught,
My Mistresse is the onelie sweet, that euer Nature wrought,
Whose eyes are like those starres that keepe the highest skies,
Whose beautie like the burning Sunne, that blinds the clearest eies,
Whose haires are like those beames that hang about the Sunne,
When in the morning furthe he stepps before his course to runne:
And let me touch those lips, by loue, by leaue, or lucke,
When sweet affect, by sweet aspect, may yet some fauour sucke.
They are those little foldes, of Natures finest wit,
That she sat smoothing while she wrought & wilbe smacking yet:
And for that purest red, with that most perfect white,
That makes those cheeks the sweetest chains, of louers high delite,
What may be said but this? Behold the onely feature,
That al the world that sees the face, may wōder at the creature.
I wil not stand to muse as many writers doe,
To seeke out Natures fittest stuffe to like her lims vntoo,
For if there were on earth that could in part compare:
With anie part of anie part, wherein her praises are:
Either for Natures gifts, or Vertues sweetest grace:
I would confesse a blinded heart, were in vnhappie case.
But where both Nature, Sence, and Reason doth approue,
She is the onely saint on earth, whom God and man doth loue.
Let this in summe suffice for my poore Muse and mee.
She is the Goddesse of the earth, and there is none but she.