 | The Complete Works of George Gascoigne |  |
365
WEEDES.
367
The fruite of Fetters: with the complaint of the greene Knight, and his Farewell to Fansie.
Great be the greefes which bruze the boldest brests,
And al to seelde we see such burdens borne,
For cruell care (which reaveth quiet rests)
Hath oftentimes the woorthiest willes foreworne,
And layed such weight upon a noble harte,
That wit and will have both given place to smarte.
And al to seelde we see such burdens borne,
For cruell care (which reaveth quiet rests)
Hath oftentimes the woorthiest willes foreworne,
And layed such weight upon a noble harte,
That wit and will have both given place to smarte.
For proofe wherof I tel this woful tale,
(Give eare that list, I force no frolicke mindes)
But such as can abide to heare of bale,
And rather rue the rage which Fansie findes,
Than scorne the pangs which may procure their pine,
Let them give eare unto these rimes of mine.
(Give eare that list, I force no frolicke mindes)
But such as can abide to heare of bale,
And rather rue the rage which Fansie findes,
Than scorne the pangs which may procure their pine,
Let them give eare unto these rimes of mine.
I teare my time (ay me) in prison pent,
Wherin the floure of my consuming yeares,
With secret grief my reason doth torment,
And frets it self (perhaps) with needlesse feares:
For whyles I strive against the streame too fast,
My forces faile, and I must downe at last.
Wherin the floure of my consuming yeares,
With secret grief my reason doth torment,
And frets it self (perhaps) with needlesse feares:
For whyles I strive against the streame too fast,
My forces faile, and I must downe at last.
The hastie Vine for sample might me serve,
Which climbes too high about the loftie tree,
But when the twist his tender jointes doth carve,
Then fades he fast, that sought full fresh to bee:
He fades and faintes before his fellowes faile,
Which lay full lowe, and never hoyst up saile.
Which climbes too high about the loftie tree,
But when the twist his tender jointes doth carve,
Then fades he fast, that sought full fresh to bee:
He fades and faintes before his fellowes faile,
Which lay full lowe, and never hoyst up saile.
Ay me, the dayes which I in dole consume,
Ah las, the nightes which witnesse well my woe,
O wrongful world which makst my fansie fume,
Fie fickle Fortune, fie thou arte my foe,
Out and alas, so frowarde is my chaunce,
No dayes nor nightes, nor worldes can me advaunce.
Ah las, the nightes which witnesse well my woe,
O wrongful world which makst my fansie fume,
Fie fickle Fortune, fie thou arte my foe,
Out and alas, so frowarde is my chaunce,
No dayes nor nightes, nor worldes can me advaunce.
368
In recklesse youth, the common plague of Love
Infected me (al day) with carelesse minde,
Entising dames my patience still did prove,
And blearde mine eyes, till I became so blinde,
That seing not what furie brought mee foorth,
I followed most (alwayes) that least was woorth.
Infected me (al day) with carelesse minde,
Entising dames my patience still did prove,
And blearde mine eyes, till I became so blinde,
That seing not what furie brought mee foorth,
I followed most (alwayes) that least was woorth.
In middle yeares, the reache of Reasons reine
No sooner gan to bridle in my will,
Nor naked neede no sooner gan constreine
My rash decay to breake my sleepes by skill,
But streight therewith hope set my heart on flame,
To winne againe both wealth and woorthy name.
No sooner gan to bridle in my will,
Nor naked neede no sooner gan constreine
My rash decay to breake my sleepes by skill,
But streight therewith hope set my heart on flame,
To winne againe both wealth and woorthy name.
And thence proceedes my most consuming griefe,
For whyles the hope of mine unyolden harte
In endlesse toyles did labor for reliefe,
Came crabbed Chance and marrde my merry marte:
Yea, not content with one fowle overthrowe,
So tied me fast for tempting any mo.
For whyles the hope of mine unyolden harte
In endlesse toyles did labor for reliefe,
Came crabbed Chance and marrde my merry marte:
Yea, not content with one fowle overthrowe,
So tied me fast for tempting any mo.
She tied me fast (alas) in golden chaines,
Wherein I dwell, not free, nor fully thrall,
Where guilefull love in double doubt remaines,
Nor honie sweet, nor bitter yet as gall:
For every day a patterne I beholde
Of scortching flame, which makes my heart full colde.
Wherein I dwell, not free, nor fully thrall,
Where guilefull love in double doubt remaines,
Nor honie sweet, nor bitter yet as gall:
For every day a patterne I beholde
Of scortching flame, which makes my heart full colde.
And every night, the rage of restlesse thought
Doth raise me up, my hope for to renewe,
My quiet bed which I for solace sought,
Doth yrke mine eares, when still the warlike crewe
With sounde of drummes, and trumpets braying shrill
Relieve their watch, yet I in thraldome still.
Doth raise me up, my hope for to renewe,
My quiet bed which I for solace sought,
Doth yrke mine eares, when still the warlike crewe
With sounde of drummes, and trumpets braying shrill
Relieve their watch, yet I in thraldome still.
The common joy, the cheere of companie,
Twixt mirth and moane doth plundge me evermore:
For pleasant talke, or Musicks melodie,
Yeeld no such salve unto my secret sore,
But that therewith this corsive coms me too,
Why live not I at large as others doo?
Twixt mirth and moane doth plundge me evermore:
For pleasant talke, or Musicks melodie,
Yeeld no such salve unto my secret sore,
But that therewith this corsive coms me too,
Why live not I at large as others doo?
369
Lo thus I live in spite of cruell death,
And die as fast in spite of lingring life,
Fedde still with hope which doth prolong my breath,
But choakte with feare, and strangled still with strife,
Starke staring blinde bicause I see too much,
Yet gasing still bicause I see none such.
And die as fast in spite of lingring life,
Fedde still with hope which doth prolong my breath,
But choakte with feare, and strangled still with strife,
Starke staring blinde bicause I see too much,
Yet gasing still bicause I see none such.
Amid these pangs (O subtil Cordial)
Those farrefet sighes which most mens mindes eschewe,
Recomforte me, and make the furie fall,
Which fedde the roote from whence my fits renewe:
They comforte me (ah wretched doubtfull clause)
They helpe the harme, and yet they kill the cause.
Those farrefet sighes which most mens mindes eschewe,
Recomforte me, and make the furie fall,
Which fedde the roote from whence my fits renewe:
They comforte me (ah wretched doubtfull clause)
They helpe the harme, and yet they kill the cause.
Where might I then my carefull corpse convay
From companie, which worketh all my woe?
How might I winke or hide mine eyes alway,
Which gaze on that wherof my griefe doth growe?
How might I stoppe mine eares, which hearken still,
To every joy, which can but wounde my will?
From companie, which worketh all my woe?
How might I winke or hide mine eyes alway,
Which gaze on that wherof my griefe doth growe?
How might I stoppe mine eares, which hearken still,
To every joy, which can but wounde my will?
How should I seeme my sighes for to suppresse,
Which helpe the heart that else would swelt in sunder?
Which hurt the helpe that makes my torment lesse?
Which helpe and hurte (oh wofull wearie wonder)
One seely hart[e] thus toste twixt helpe and harme,
How should I seeme, such sighes in tyme to charme?
Which helpe the heart that else would swelt in sunder?
Which hurt the helpe that makes my torment lesse?
Which helpe and hurte (oh wofull wearie wonder)
One seely hart[e] thus toste twixt helpe and harme,
How should I seeme, such sighes in tyme to charme?
How? how but thus? in sollitarie wise
To steppe aside, and make high way to moane:
To make two fountaines of my dazled eies,
To sigh my fill till breath a[n]d all be gone:
So sighed the knight of whome Bartello writes,
All cladde in Greene, yet banisht from delights.
To steppe aside, and make high way to moane:
To make two fountaines of my dazled eies,
To sigh my fill till breath a[n]d all be gone:
So sighed the knight of whome Bartello writes,
All cladde in Greene, yet banisht from delights.
And since the storye is both new and trew,
A dreary tale much like these lottes of myne
I will assaye my muze for to renewe,
By ryming out his frowarde fatall fine.
A dolefull speeche becōmes a dumpish man,
So semde by him, for thus his tale begane.
A dreary tale much like these lottes of myne
I will assaye my muze for to renewe,
By ryming out his frowarde fatall fine.
A dolefull speeche becōmes a dumpish man,
So semde by him, for thus his tale begane.
370
The complaint of the greene Knight.
Why live I wretch (quoth he) alas and wellaway,Or why beholde my heavy eies, this gladsome sunny day?
Since never sunne yet shone, that could my state advaunce,
Why live I wretche (alas quoth he) in hope of better chaunce?
Or wherefore telles my toung, this drearye dolefull tale,
That every eare might heare my grieefe and so bemone my bale?
Since eare was never yet, that harkened to my playnte,
Why live I wretch (alas quoth he) my pangs in vaine to paint?
Or wherfore dotes desire, that doth his wish disclose,
And shewes the sore that seeks recure, thereby to ease my woes?
Since yet he never found, the hart where pyttie dwelt,
Why live I wretch (alas quoth he) alone in woe to swelt?
Why strive I with the streame, or hoppe against the hill,
Or search that never can be founde, or loose my labor still?
Since destenies decreed, must alwayes be obeyde,
Why live I wretch alas (quoth he) with lucke thus overleyde?
Why feedes my heart on hope? why tyre I still on trust?
Why doth my minde still muse on mirth? why leanes my life on lust?
Since hope had never hap, & trust always found treason,
Why live I wretch alas (quoth he) where all good luck is geazon?
The fatal Sisters three, which spun my slender twine,
Knew wel how rotten was the yarne, frō whence they drew their line:
Yet have they woven the web, with care so manifolde,
(Alas I woful wretch the while) as any cloth can holde:
Yea though the threeds be cowrse, and such as others lothe,
Yet must I wrap alwayes therin, my bones and body both:
And weare it out at length, which lasteth but too long.
O weaver weaver work no more, thy warp hath done me wrong:
For therin have I lapt my light and lustie yeares,
And therin haplesse have I hapt, mine age and hoarie heares:
Yet never found I warmth, by jetting in thy jaggs,
Nor never can I weare them out, although they rende like raggs.
371
When coales of kinde first kindled love, & plesure was in prime,
All bitter was the frute, which still I reaped then,
And little was the gaine I got, comparde by other men.
Teare-thirstie were the Dames, to whome I sued for grace,
Some stonie stomackt, other some, of high disdainful race.
But all unconstant (ay) and (that to thinke) I die,
The guerdon which Cosmana gave, can witnesse if I lie.
Cosmana was the wight to whome I wished well,
To serve Cosmana did I seeme, in love to beare the bell:
Cosmana was my god, Cosmana was my joy,
Ay me, Cosmana turnde my mirth, to dole and dark anoy:
Revenge it Radamanth, if I be found to lie,
Or if I slaunder hir at all, condemne me then to die.
Thou knowst I honored hir, no more but all too much,
Alas thou knowst she cast me off, when I deservde no grutch.
She dead (I dying yet) ay me my teares were dried,
And teeth of time gnew out the grief, which al to long I tried,
Yet from hir ashes sprung, or from such subtile molde,
Ferenda she, whome everie eye, did judge more bright than golde.
Ferenda then I sawe, Ferenda I behelde,
Ferenda servde I faithfully, in towne and eke in fielde:
Ferenda coulde not say, the greene Knight was untrew,
But out alas, the greene Knight sayde, Ferenda changde for new:
Ferenda did hir kinde: then was she to be borne,
She did but weare Cosmanes cloutes, which she in spite had torne:
And yet betwene them both they waare the threeds so neere,
As were they not of steele or stone, they coulde not holde yfeere.
But now Ferenda mine, a little by thy leave:
What moved thee to madding moode? why didst thou me deceave?
Alas I was al thine, thy selfe can say no lesse,
And for thy fall, I bathed oft in many a deepe distresse:
And yet to do thee right, I neyther blame thy race,
Thy shining selfe, the golden gleames that glistred on thy face,
Nor yet thy fickle faith, shall never beare the blame,
But I, whome kinde hath framd to finde, a griefe in everie game:
The high decrees of heaven, have limited my life,
To linger stil wher Love doth lodge, yet there to sterve in strife.
For proofe, who list to know what makes me nowe complaine,
Give eare unto the greene Knights tale: for now begins his paine.
372
And caried me with carelesse course, to many a great disgrace,
Then riper mellowed yeares, thought good to turne their trade,
And bad Repentance hol[d] the reines, to rule the brainsicke jade:
So that with much to doo, the brydle helde him backe,
And Reason made him byte on bit, which had a better smacke:
And for I felte my selfe, by feeblenesse fordoonne,
And panting still for lack of breath, as one much overroonne.
Therefore I toke advise, to walke him first awhile,
And so at length to set him up, his travayles to beguile:
Yea when he curried was, and dusted slicke and trimme,
I causde both hey and provander to be allowde for him:
Wherat (alas to thinke) he gathered flesh so fast,
That still he playd his coltish pranks, when as I thought thē past:
He winched still alwayes, and whisked with his taile,
And leaping over hedge and ditch, I sawe it not prevaile
To pamper him so proude: Wherfore I thought it best,
To travaile him (not as I woont) yet nay to give him rest.
Thus well resolved then, I kept him still in harte,
And founde a pretie provander appointed for his parte,
Which once a day, no more, he might a little tast:
And by this diet, made I youth a gentle jade at last:
And foorth I might him ride, an easie journeying pace,
He never strave with middle age, but gently gave him place:
Then middle age stept in, and toke the helme in hande,
To guide my Barke by better skill, into some better lande.
And as eche noble heart is evermore most bent,
To high exploites and woorthie deedes, where honor may be hent:
So mine unyolden minde, by Armes gan seeke renowne,
And sought to rayse, that recklesse youth had rashly tūbled downe.
With sworde and trustie targe, then sought I for to carve
For middle age and hoarie haires, and both their turnes to sarve:
And in my Carvers roome, I gan to cut suche cuttes,
And made suche morsels for their mouthes as well might fill their guttes,
Beside some overplus, (which being kept in store)
Might serve to welcome al their friends, with foison evermore:
I meane no more but this: my hand gan finde such happe,
As made me thinke, that Fortune ment, to play me in hir lappe:
And hope therwith had heavde, my heart to be so hie,
373
I bathed still in blisse, I ledde a lordelie life,
My Souldiers lovde and fearde me both, I never dreaded strife:
My boord was furnisht stil, with cates of dainty cost,
My back wel clad, my purse wel lynde, my woonted lack was lost,
My bags began to fil, my debtes for to discharge,
My state so stoode, as sure I seemde to swim in good lucks barge:
But out and well away, what pleasure breedes not paine?
What sun cā shine without a cloud, what thūder brings not rain?
Such is the life of man, such was the luck of me,
To fall so fast from hiest hap, where sure I seemde to be.
Five hundred sundrie sunnes (and more) could scarcely serve,
By sweat of brows to win a roome, wherin my knife might carve:
One onely dismall day, suffised (with despite)
To take me from my carvers place, and from the table quite.
Five hundred broken sleepes, had busied all my braynes,
To find (at last) some worthy trade, that might increse my gaynes:
One blacke unluckie houre, my trade hath overthrowen,
And marrde my marte, & broke my bank, & al my blisse oreblowen.
To wrappe up all in woe, I am in prison pent,
My gaines possessed by my foes, my friends against me bent:
And all the heavy haps, that ever age yet bare,
Assembled are within my breast, to choake me up with care.
My modest middle age, which lacks of youth the lust,
Can beare no such gret burdēs now, but throwes them in the dust:
Yet in this piteous plight, beholde me Lovers all,
And rewe my grieves, least you your selves do light on such a fal.
I am that wearie wretch, whom love always hath tyred,
And fed me with such strange conceytes, as never man desired.
For now (even now) ay me: I love and cannot chuse,
So strangely yet, as wel may move the wisest mindes to muse.
No blasing beauty bright, hath set my heart on fire,
No ticing talke, no gorgeous gyte, tormenteth my desire,
No bodie finely framde, no haggarde Falcons eie,
No ruddie lip, no golden locks, hath drawne my minde awrie:
No teeth of shining pearle, no gallant rosie hiew,
No dimpled chinne, no pit in cheeke, presented to my view:
In fine, no such delights, as lovers oft allure,
374
But such a strange affect, as both I shame to tell,
And all the worlde may woonder much, how first therin I fell.
Yet since I have begonne (quoth he) to tell my griefe,
I wil nought hide, although I hope to finde no great reliefe.
And thus, (quoth he) it is: Amongst the sundrie joyes
Which I conceivde in feates of warre, and all my Martial toyes,
My chaunce was late to have a peerlesse firelock peece,
That to my wittes was nay the like, in Turkie nor in Greece:
A peece so cleanly framde, so streight, so light, so fine,
So tempred and so polished, as seemeth worke divine:
A peece whose locke yet past, for why [it] never failde,
And though I bent it night and day, the quicknesse never quailde:
A peece as well renforst, as ever yet was wrought,
The bravest peece for breech and bore, that ever yet was bought:
The mounture so well made, and for my pitch so fit,
As though I see faire peeces moe, yet fewe so fine as it:
A peece which shot so well, so gently and so streight,
It neyther bruzed with recule, nor wroong with overweight.
In fine and to conclude, I know no fault thereby,
That eyther might be thought in minde, or wel discernde with ey.
This peece then late I had, and therin tooke delight,
As much as ever proper peece did please a warlike wight.
Nowe though it be not lost, nor rendred with the rest,
Yet being shut from sight therof, how can I thinke me blest?
Or which way should I hope, that such a jewell rare,
Can passe unseen in any campe where cunning shooters are?
And therewith am I sure, that being once espied,
It never can escape their hands, but that it will be tried:
And being once but prooved, then farewel frost for me,
My peece, my locke, and all is lost, and I shall never see
The like againe on earth. Nowe Lovers speake your minde,
Was ever man so strangely stroke, or caught in such a kinde?
Was ever man so fonde? was ever man so mad?
Was ever man so woe begone? or in such cares yclad?
For restlesse thus I rest, the wretchedst man on live,
And when I thinke upon this peece, then still my woes revive.
Nor ever can I finde good plaister for my paine,
Unlesse my lucke might be so good, to finde that peece againe.
To make my mourning more, where I in prison pine,
375
Which helps my hurt, much like unto a broken shinne,
That when it heales, begins to ytch, and then rubs off the skinne.
Thus live I still in love, alas and ever shall,
As well content to loose my peece, as gladde to finde my fall:
A wonder to the worlde, a griefe to friendlie mindes,
A mocking stocke to Momus race, and al such scornefull hindes,
A love (that thinke I sure) whose like was never seene,
Nor never warlike wight shal be in love as I have beene:
So that in sooth (quoth he) I cannot blame the Dames,
Whome I in youth did moste esteeme, I list not foile their fames,
But there to lay the fault, from whence it first did flowe:
I say my Fortune is the root, whence all these griefes did grow.
Since Fortune then (quoth he) hath turnde to me hir backe,
Shall I go yeeld to mourning moane, and cloath my self in blacke?
No no, for noble mindes can beare no thraldome so,
But rather shew a merrie cheere, when most they wade in wo.
And so will I in greene, my careful corpse aray,
To set a bragge amongst the best, as though my heart were gay:
Not greene bicause I hope, nor greene bicause I joy,
Nor greene, bicause I can delight in any youthfull toy:
But greene, bicause my greeves are alway fresh and greene,
Whose roote is such it cannot rot, as by the frute is seene.
Thus sayde, he gave a groane, as though his heart had broke,
And from the furnace of his breast, sent scalding sighes like smoke:
And sighing so, he sate in solitarie wise,
Conveying flouds of brynish teares, by conduct of his eyes.
What ende he had God knoweth, Battello writes it not,
Or if he do, my wittes are short, for I have it forgot.
The continuance of the Author, upon the fruite of Fetters.
Thus have you heard the green Knight make his mone,
Which wel might move the hardest heart to melt:
But what he ment, that knewe himselfe alone,
For such a cause, in weerie woes to swelt:
And yet by like, some peerlesse peece it was,
That brought him so in raging stormes to passe.
Which wel might move the hardest heart to melt:
But what he ment, that knewe himselfe alone,
For such a cause, in weerie woes to swelt:
And yet by like, some peerlesse peece it was,
That brought him so in raging stormes to passe.
376
I have heard tell, and read it therewithall,
That neare the Alpes a kinde of people bee,
Which serve with shot, wherof the very ball
Is bigge of bulke, the peece but short to see:
But yet it shootes as farre, and eke as fast,
As those which are yframde of longer last.
That neare the Alpes a kinde of people bee,
Which serve with shot, wherof the very ball
Is bigge of bulke, the peece but short to see:
But yet it shootes as farre, and eke as fast,
As those which are yframde of longer last.
The cause (say some) consisteth in the locke,
Some other judge, bicause they be so strong,
Renforced well, and breeched like a brocke,
Stiffe, straight, and stout, which though they be not long,
Yet spit they foorth their pellets such a pace,
And with such force, as seemes a woondrous case.
Some other judge, bicause they be so strong,
Renforced well, and breeched like a brocke,
Stiffe, straight, and stout, which though they be not long,
Yet spit they foorth their pellets such a pace,
And with such force, as seemes a woondrous case.
Some other thinke, the mettal maketh all,
Which tempred is both rounde and smooth to see:
And sure me thinkes, the bignesse of the ball,
Ne yet the locke, should make it shoote so free,
But even the breech of mettall good and sounde,
Which makes the ball with greater force to bounde.
Which tempred is both rounde and smooth to see:
And sure me thinkes, the bignesse of the ball,
Ne yet the locke, should make it shoote so free,
But even the breech of mettall good and sounde,
Which makes the ball with greater force to bounde.
For this we see, the stiffe and strongest arme,
Which gives a jerke, and hath a cunning loose,
Shootes furdest still, and doth alway most harme,
For be his flights yfeathred from the goose,
Or Peacockes quilles, or Raven, or Swanne, or Crowe,
His shafts go swifte, when others flie but slowe.
Which gives a jerke, and hath a cunning loose,
Shootes furdest still, and doth alway most harme,
For be his flights yfeathred from the goose,
Or Peacockes quilles, or Raven, or Swanne, or Crowe,
His shafts go swifte, when others flie but slowe.
How so it be, the men that use to shoote
In these short gunnes: are praysed for the best:
And Princes seeke such shotte for to promoote
As perfectest and better than the rest:
So that (by like) their peeces beare the sway,
Else other men could shoote as farre as they.
In these short gunnes: are praysed for the best:
And Princes seeke such shotte for to promoote
As perfectest and better than the rest:
So that (by like) their peeces beare the sway,
Else other men could shoote as farre as they.
Their peeces then are called Petronels,
And they themselves by sundrie names are calld:
As Bandolliers, for who in mountaynes dwels,
In trowpes and bandes, ofte times is stoutly stalld:
Or of the Stone wherwith the locke doth strike,
Petronelliers, they called are by like.
And they themselves by sundrie names are calld:
As Bandolliers, for who in mountaynes dwels,
In trowpes and bandes, ofte times is stoutly stalld:
Or of the Stone wherwith the locke doth strike,
Petronelliers, they called are by like.
377
And so percase this peerelesse peece of his
For which he mournde and made such ruefull mone,
Was one of those: and therfore all his blisse,
Was turnd to bale when as that peece was gone:
Since Martial men do set their chief delight,
In armes which are both free and fayre in sight.
For which he mournde and made such ruefull mone,
Was one of those: and therfore all his blisse,
Was turnd to bale when as that peece was gone:
Since Martial men do set their chief delight,
In armes which are both free and fayre in sight.
My selfe have seene some peece of such a pryce,
As woorthy were to be esteemed well:
For this you know in any straunge devise,
Such things as seeme for goodnesse to excell,
Are holden deare, and for great Jewels deemd,
Bycause they be both rare and much esteemd.
As woorthy were to be esteemed well:
For this you know in any straunge devise,
Such things as seeme for goodnesse to excell,
Are holden deare, and for great Jewels deemd,
Bycause they be both rare and much esteemd.
But now to turne my tale from whence I came,
I saie his lottes and mine were not unlike:
He spent his youth (as I did) out of frame,
He came at last (like me) to trayle the pike.
He pynde in pryson pinchte with privie payne,
And I likewise in pryson still remayne.
I saie his lottes and mine were not unlike:
He spent his youth (as I did) out of frame,
He came at last (like me) to trayle the pike.
He pynde in pryson pinchte with privie payne,
And I likewise in pryson still remayne.
Yet some good fruite in fetters can I finde,
As vertue rules in every kinde of vice:
First pryson brings repentaunce to the minde,
Which wandred earst in lust and lewde device.
For hardest hartes by troubles yet are taught,
That God is good when all the worlde is naught.
As vertue rules in every kinde of vice:
First pryson brings repentaunce to the minde,
Which wandred earst in lust and lewde device.
For hardest hartes by troubles yet are taught,
That God is good when all the worlde is naught.
If thou have ledde a carelesse lyfe at large,
Without regard what libertie was worth:
And then come downe to cruell Gaylours charge,
Which keepes thee close and never lettes thee forth:
Learne then this fruite in Fetters by thy selfe,
That libertie is worth all worldly pelfe.
Without regard what libertie was worth:
And then come downe to cruell Gaylours charge,
Which keepes thee close and never lettes thee forth:
Learne then this fruite in Fetters by thy selfe,
That libertie is worth all worldly pelfe.
Whose happe is such to yeelde himself in warre,
Remembre then that peace in pleasure dwelles:
Whose hartes are high and know not what they are
Let such but marke the gingling of their belles:
When fetters frette their anckles as they goe,
Since none so high but that may come as lowe.
Remembre then that peace in pleasure dwelles:
Whose hartes are high and know not what they are
Let such but marke the gingling of their belles:
When fetters frette their anckles as they goe,
Since none so high but that may come as lowe.
378
To tell a truth and therein to be shorte,
Prysons are plagues that fal for mans offence,
Which maketh some in good and godly sorte,
With contrite harte to grope their conscience.
Repentance than steppes in and pardon craves,
These fruites (with mo) are found in darksome caves.
Prysons are plagues that fal for mans offence,
Which maketh some in good and godly sorte,
With contrite harte to grope their conscience.
Repentance than steppes in and pardon craves,
These fruites (with mo) are found in darksome caves.
If thou have friends, there shalt thou know them right,
Since fastest friends in troubles shew their fayth:
If thou have foes, there shalt thou see their spight
For all to true it is that Proverbe sayth:
Where hedge is lowe, there every man treads downe,
And friendship failes when Fortune list to frowne.
Since fastest friends in troubles shew their fayth:
If thou have foes, there shalt thou see their spight
For all to true it is that Proverbe sayth:
Where hedge is lowe, there every man treads downe,
And friendship failes when Fortune list to frowne.
Patience is founde in prison (though perforce)
And Temprance taught where none excesse doth dwell,
Exercise calles, least slouth should kill thy corse:
Diligence drives thy busie braines to swell,
For some devise which may redeeme thy state,
These fruites I found in fetters all too late.
And Temprance taught where none excesse doth dwell,
Exercise calles, least slouth should kill thy corse:
Diligence drives thy busie braines to swell,
For some devise which may redeeme thy state,
These fruites I found in fetters all too late.
And with these fruites another fruite I found,
A strange conceyt, and yet a trustie truth:
I found by proufe, there is no kinde of ground,
That yeeldes a better croppe to retchlesse youth,
Than that same molde where fetters serve for mucke,
And wit stil woorkes to digge up better lucke.
A strange conceyt, and yet a trustie truth:
I found by proufe, there is no kinde of ground,
That yeeldes a better croppe to retchlesse youth,
Than that same molde where fetters serve for mucke,
And wit stil woorkes to digge up better lucke.
For if the seede of grace will ever growe,
Then sure such soile will serve to beare it best,
And if Gods mercie therewithall do flowe,
Then springs it high, and ruffles with the rest:
Oft hath bene seene such seede in prison cast,
Which long kept close, and prospred yet at last.
Then sure such soile will serve to beare it best,
And if Gods mercie therewithall do flowe,
Then springs it high, and ruffles with the rest:
Oft hath bene seene such seede in prison cast,
Which long kept close, and prospred yet at last.
But therewithall there springs a kinde of Tares,
Which are vile weedes, and must be rooted out,
They choake up grace, and lap it fast in snares,
Which oftentimes do drawe it deepe in dout,
And hinders plantes which else would growe full hie,
Yet is this weede an easie thing to spie.
Which are vile weedes, and must be rooted out,
They choake up grace, and lap it fast in snares,
Which oftentimes do drawe it deepe in dout,
And hinders plantes which else would growe full hie,
Yet is this weede an easie thing to spie.
379
Men call it Fansie, sure a woorthlesse weede,
And of the same full many sortes are found,
Some fansies are, which thinke a lawfull deede
To scape away, though faith full fast be bound:
Some thinke by love, (nay lust in cloke of love)
From fetters fast their selves for to remove.
And of the same full many sortes are found,
Some fansies are, which thinke a lawfull deede
To scape away, though faith full fast be bound:
Some thinke by love, (nay lust in cloke of love)
From fetters fast their selves for to remove.
Some be, that meane by murder to prevaile,
And some by fraude, as fansie rules the thought:
Sometimes such frightes mens fansies do assaile,
(That when they see their freedome must be bought)
They vowe to take a stande on Shooters hill,
Till rents come in to please their wicked will.
And some by fraude, as fansie rules the thought:
Sometimes such frightes mens fansies do assaile,
(That when they see their freedome must be bought)
They vowe to take a stande on Shooters hill,
Till rents come in to please their wicked will.
Some fansies hopes by lies to come on floate,
As for to tell their frends and kinne great tales,
What wealth they lost in coyne, and many a coate,
What powder packt in coffers and in males,
What they must pay, and what their charge will be,
Wherin they meane to save themselves a fee.
As for to tell their frends and kinne great tales,
What wealth they lost in coyne, and many a coate,
What powder packt in coffers and in males,
What they must pay, and what their charge will be,
Wherin they meane to save themselves a fee.
Some fansies eke forecast what life to weelde,
When libertie shall graunted be at last,
And in the aire such castles gan they builde,
That many times they fall againe as fast:
For Fansie hinders Grace from glories crowne,
As Tares and Byndes can plucke good graine adowne.
When libertie shall graunted be at last,
And in the aire such castles gan they builde,
That many times they fall againe as fast:
For Fansie hinders Grace from glories crowne,
As Tares and Byndes can plucke good graine adowne.
Who list therfore by Fetters frute to have,
Take Fansie first out of his privy thought,
And when thou hast him, cast him in the wave
Of Lethes lake: for sure his seede is nought.
The greene Knight he, of whome I late did tell,
(Mine Author sayth) badde Fansie thus farewell.
Take Fansie first out of his privy thought,
And when thou hast him, cast him in the wave
Of Lethes lake: for sure his seede is nought.
The greene Knight he, of whome I late did tell,
(Mine Author sayth) badde Fansie thus farewell.
380
The greene Knights farewell to Fansie.
Fansie (quoth he) farewell, whose badge I long did beare,
And in my hat full harebrayndly, thy flowers did I weare:
To late I finde (at last), thy frutes are nothing worth,
Thy blossomes fall & fade full fast, though braverie bring thē forth.
By thee I hoapt alwayes, in deepe delights to dwel,
But since I finde thy ficklenesse, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
And in my hat full harebrayndly, thy flowers did I weare:
To late I finde (at last), thy frutes are nothing worth,
Thy blossomes fall & fade full fast, though braverie bring thē forth.
By thee I hoapt alwayes, in deepe delights to dwel,
But since I finde thy ficklenesse, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
Thou madste me live in love, which wisedome biddes me hate,
Thou bleardst mine eies & madste me thinke, yt faith was mine by fate:
By thee those bitter sweetes, did please my taste alway,
By thee I thought that love was light, and payne was but a play:
I thought that Bewties blase, was meete to beare the bell,
And since I finde my selfe deceyved, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
Thou bleardst mine eies & madste me thinke, yt faith was mine by fate:
By thee those bitter sweetes, did please my taste alway,
By thee I thought that love was light, and payne was but a play:
I thought that Bewties blase, was meete to beare the bell,
And since I finde my selfe deceyved, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
The glosse of gorgeous courtes, by thee did please mine eye,
A stately sight me thought it was, to see the brave go by:
To see there feathers flaunte, to marke their straunge devise,
To lie along in Ladies lappes, to lispe and make it nice:
To fawne and flatter both, I liked sometimes well,
But since I see how vayne it is, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
A stately sight me thought it was, to see the brave go by:
To see there feathers flaunte, to marke their straunge devise,
To lie along in Ladies lappes, to lispe and make it nice:
To fawne and flatter both, I liked sometimes well,
But since I see how vayne it is, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
When court had cast me of, I toyled at the plowe
My fansie stoode in straunge conceipts, to thrive I wote not how:
By mils, by making malte, by sheepe and eke by swyne,
By ducke and drake, by pigge and goose, by calves & keeping kine:
By feeding bullockes fat, when pryce at markets fell,
But since my swaines eat up my gaines, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
My fansie stoode in straunge conceipts, to thrive I wote not how:
By mils, by making malte, by sheepe and eke by swyne,
By ducke and drake, by pigge and goose, by calves & keeping kine:
By feeding bullockes fat, when pryce at markets fell,
But since my swaines eat up my gaines, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
In hunting of the deare, my fansie tooke delight,
All forests knew, my folly still, the mooneshine was my light:
In frosts I felt no cold, a sunneburnt hew was best,
I sweate and was in temper still, my watching seemed rest:
What daungers deepe I past, it follie were to tell,
And since I sigh to thinke thereon, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
All forests knew, my folly still, the mooneshine was my light:
In frosts I felt no cold, a sunneburnt hew was best,
I sweate and was in temper still, my watching seemed rest:
What daungers deepe I past, it follie were to tell,
And since I sigh to thinke thereon, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
381
A fansie fedde me ones, to wryte in verse and rime,
To wray my griefe, to crave reward, to cover still my crime:
To frame a long discourse, on sturring of a strawe,
To rumble rime in raffe and ruffe, yet all not worth an hawe:
To heare it sayde there goeth, the Man that writes so well,
But since I see, what Poetes bee, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
To wray my griefe, to crave reward, to cover still my crime:
To frame a long discourse, on sturring of a strawe,
To rumble rime in raffe and ruffe, yet all not worth an hawe:
To heare it sayde there goeth, the Man that writes so well,
But since I see, what Poetes bee, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
At Musickes sacred sounde, my fansies eft begonne,
In concordes, discordes, notes and cliffes, in tunes of unisonne:
In Hyerarchies and straynes, in restes, in rule and space,
In monacordes and moving moodes, in Burdens under base:
In descants and in chants, I streyned many a yel,
But since Musicians be so madde, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
In concordes, discordes, notes and cliffes, in tunes of unisonne:
In Hyerarchies and straynes, in restes, in rule and space,
In monacordes and moving moodes, in Burdens under base:
In descants and in chants, I streyned many a yel,
But since Musicians be so madde, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
To plant straunge countrie fruites, to sow such seedes likewise,
To digge & delve for new foūd rootes, where old might wel suffise:
To proyne the water bowes, to picke the mossie trees,
(Oh how it pleasd my fancie ones) to kneele upon my knees,
To griffe a pippine stocke, when sappe begins to swell:
But since the gaynes scarce quite the cost, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
To digge & delve for new foūd rootes, where old might wel suffise:
To proyne the water bowes, to picke the mossie trees,
(Oh how it pleasd my fancie ones) to kneele upon my knees,
To griffe a pippine stocke, when sappe begins to swell:
But since the gaynes scarce quite the cost, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
Fansie (quoth he) farewell, which made me follow drommes,
Where powdred bullets serves for sauce, to every dish that cōmes:
Where treason lurkes in trust, where Hope all hartes beguiles,
Where mischief lieth still in wayte, when fortune friendly smiles:
Where one dayes prison proves, that all such heavens are hell,
And such I feele the frutes thereof, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
Where powdred bullets serves for sauce, to every dish that cōmes:
Where treason lurkes in trust, where Hope all hartes beguiles,
Where mischief lieth still in wayte, when fortune friendly smiles:
Where one dayes prison proves, that all such heavens are hell,
And such I feele the frutes thereof, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
If reason rule my thoughts, and God vouchsafe me grace
Then comfort of Philosophie, shall make me chaunge my race:
And fonde I shall it finde, that Fansie settes to showe,
For weakely stāds that building still, which lacketh grace by low:
But since I must accept, my fortunes as they fell,
I say God send me better speede, and Fansie now farewell.
Then comfort of Philosophie, shall make me chaunge my race:
And fonde I shall it finde, that Fansie settes to showe,
For weakely stāds that building still, which lacketh grace by low:
But since I must accept, my fortunes as they fell,
I say God send me better speede, and Fansie now farewell.
382
Epilogismus.
See sweete deceipt, that can it self beguile,Behold selfe love, which walketh in a net:
And seemes unseene, yet shewes it selfe therewhile,
Before such eyes, as are in science set.
The Greene knight here, leaves out his firelocke peece
That Fancie hath not yet his last farewell.
When Foxes preach, good folke beware your geese,
But holla here, my muse to farre doth mell:
Who list to marke, what learned preacher sayeth,
Must learne withall, for to beleeve his lore:
But what he doth, that toucheth nomans fayth,
Though words with workes, (agreed) persuade the more,
The mounting kite, oft lights on homely pray
And wisest wittes, may sometimes go astray.
FINIS.
Tam Marti, quàm Mercurio.
383
The pleasant Fable of Ferdinando Jeron[i]mi and Leonora de Valasco, translated out of the Italian riding tales of Bartello.
385
[Faire Bersabe the bright once bathing in a Well]
Faire
Bersabe the bright once bathing in a Well,
With dewe bedimmd King Davids eies that ruled Israell.
And Salomon him selfe, the source of sapience,
Against the force of such assaultes could make but small defence:
To it the stoutest yeeld, and strongest feele like wo,
Bold Hercules and Sampson both, did prove it to be so.
What wonder seemeth then? when starres stand thicke in skies,
If such a blasing starre have power to dim my dazled eyes?
With dewe bedimmd King Davids eies that ruled Israell.
And Salomon him selfe, the source of sapience,
Against the force of such assaultes could make but small defence:
To it the stoutest yeeld, and strongest feele like wo,
Bold Hercules and Sampson both, did prove it to be so.
What wonder seemeth then? when starres stand thicke in skies,
If such a blasing starre have power to dim my dazled eyes?
Lenvoie.
To you these fewe suffise, your wittes be quicke and good,You can conject by chaunge of hew, what humors feede my blood.
F. J.
388
[Of thee deare Dame, three lessons would I learne]
Of thee deare Dame, three lessons would I learne:What reason first persuades the foolish Fly
(As soone as shee a candle can discerne)
To play with flame, till shee bee burnt thereby?
Or what may move the Mouse to byte the bayte
Which strikes the trappe, that stops hir hungry breth?
What calles the bird, where snares of deepe deceit
Are closely coucht to draw hir to hir death?
389
And though percase thou wilt not so confesse,
Yet deepe desire, to gayne a heavenly blisse,
May drowne the minde in dole and darke distresse:
Oft is it seene (whereat my hart may bleede)
Fooles play so long till they be caught in deede.
And then
It is a heaven to see them hop and skip,
And seeke all shiftes to shake their shackles off:
It is a world, to see them hang the lip,
Who (earst) at love, were wont to skorne and skoff.
But as the Mouse, once caught in crafty trap,
May bounce and beate against the boorden wall,
Till shee have brought hir head in such mishap,
That downe to death hir fainting lymbes must fall:
And as the Flie once singed in the flame,
Cannot commaund her wings to wave away:
But by the heele, shee hangeth in the same
Till cruell death hir hasty journey stay:
So they that seeke to breake the linkes of love
Strive with the streame, and this by paine I prove.
For when
I first beheld that heavenly hewe of thine,
Thy stately stature, and thy comly grace,
I must confesse these dazled eies of mine
Did wincke for feare, when I first viewd thy face:
But bold desire did open them againe,
And bad mee looke till I had lookt to long,
I pitied them that did procure my paine,
And lov'd the lookes that wrought me all the wrong:
And as the byrd once caught (but woorks hir woe)
That strives to leave the limed twigges behind:
Even so the more I strave to parte thee fro,
The greater grief did growe within my minde:
Remedilesse then must I yeeld to thee,
And crave no more, thy servaunt but to bee.
Till then and ever. HE. F. J.
394
[Love, hope, and death, do stirre in me such strife]
Love , hope, and death, do stirre in me such strife,As never man but I led such a life.
First burning love doth wound my hart to death,
And when death comes at call of inward griefe,
Colde lingering hope doth feede my fainting breath
Against my will, and yeeldes my wound reliefe:
So that I live, but yet my life is such,
As death would never greve me halfe so much.
No comfort then but only this I tast,
To salve such sore, such hope will never want,
And with such hope, such life will ever last,
And with such life, such sorrowes are not skant.
Oh straunge desire, O life with torments tost
Through too much hope, mine onely hope is lost.
Even HE F. J.
398
[In prime of lustie yeares, when Cupid caught mee in]
In
prime of lustie yeares, when Cupid caught mee in,
And nature taught the waie to love, how I might best begin:
To please my wandring eie, in beauties tickle trade,
To gaze on eache that passed by, a carelesse sporte I made.
And nature taught the waie to love, how I might best begin:
To please my wandring eie, in beauties tickle trade,
To gaze on eache that passed by, a carelesse sporte I made.
With sweete entising baite, I fisht for manie a dame,
And warmed me by manie a fire, yet felt I not the flame:
But when at last I spied, that face that pleasde me most,
The coales were quicke, the woode was drie, & I began to tost.
And warmed me by manie a fire, yet felt I not the flame:
But when at last I spied, that face that pleasde me most,
The coales were quicke, the woode was drie, & I began to tost.
And smiling yet full oft, I have behelde that face,
When in my hearte I might bewaile mine owne unluckie case:
And oft againe with lokes that might bewraie my griefe,
I pleaded harde for just rewarde, and sought to finde reliefe.
When in my hearte I might bewaile mine owne unluckie case:
And oft againe with lokes that might bewraie my griefe,
I pleaded harde for just rewarde, and sought to finde reliefe.
399
What will you more? so oft my gazing eies did seeke,
To see the rose and Lillie strive upon that livelie cheeke:
Till at the last I spied, and by good proofe I founde,
That in that face was painted plaine, the pearcer of my wound.
To see the rose and Lillie strive upon that livelie cheeke:
Till at the last I spied, and by good proofe I founde,
That in that face was painted plaine, the pearcer of my wound.
Then (all to late) agast, I did my foote retire,
And sought with secret sighes to quench my gredie skalding fire
But lo, I did prevaile asmuche to guide my will,
As he that seekes with halting heele, to hop against the hill.
And sought with secret sighes to quench my gredie skalding fire
But lo, I did prevaile asmuche to guide my will,
As he that seekes with halting heele, to hop against the hill.
Or as the feeble sight, woulde searche the sunnie beame,
Even so I founde but labour lost, to strive against the streame.
Then gan I thus resolve, since liking forced love.
Should I mislike my happie choice, before I did it prove?
Even so I founde but labour lost, to strive against the streame.
Then gan I thus resolve, since liking forced love.
Should I mislike my happie choice, before I did it prove?
And since none other joye I had but her to see,
S[h]oulde I retire my deepe desire? no no it would not bee:
Though great the duetie were, that shee did well deserve,
And I poore man, unworthie am so wo[r]thie a wight to serve.
S[h]oulde I retire my deepe desire? no no it would not bee:
Though great the duetie were, that shee did well deserve,
And I poore man, unworthie am so wo[r]thie a wight to serve.
Yet hope my comfort staide, that she would have regard,
To my good will that nothing crav'd, but like for just reward:
I see the faucon gent sometime will take delight
To seeke the solace of hir wing, and dallie with a kite.
To my good will that nothing crav'd, but like for just reward:
I see the faucon gent sometime will take delight
To seeke the solace of hir wing, and dallie with a kite.
The fairest Woulf will choose the foulest for hir make,
And why? because he doth indure most sorrow for hir sake:
Even so had [I like] hope, when dolefull daies were spent
When wearie wordes were wasted well, to open true entent.
And why? because he doth indure most sorrow for hir sake:
Even so had [I like] hope, when dolefull daies were spent
When wearie wordes were wasted well, to open true entent.
When fluddes of flowing teares, had washt my weeping eies,
When trembling tongue had troubled hir, with loud lamenting cries:
At last hir worthy will would pittie this my plaint,
And comfort me hir owne poore slave, whom feare had made so faint.
Wherefore I made a vowe, the stoany rocke should start,
Ere I presume, to let her slippe out of my faithfull heart.
When trembling tongue had troubled hir, with loud lamenting cries:
At last hir worthy will would pittie this my plaint,
And comfort me hir owne poore slave, whom feare had made so faint.
Wherefore I made a vowe, the stoany rocke should start,
Ere I presume, to let her slippe out of my faithfull heart.
400
Lenvoie.
And when she sawe by proofe, the pith of my good will,She tooke in worth this simple song, for want of better skill:
And as my just deserts, hir gentle hart did move,
She was content to answere thus: I am content to love.
F. J.
[A cloud of care hath covred all my coste]
A cloud
of care hath covred all my coste,
And stormes of strife doo threaten to appeare:
The waves of woo, which I mistrusted moste,
Have broke the bankes wherein my life lay cleere:
Chippes of ill chaunce, are fallen amyd my choyce,
To marre the mynd, that ment for to rejoyce.
And stormes of strife doo threaten to appeare:
The waves of woo, which I mistrusted moste,
Have broke the bankes wherein my life lay cleere:
Chippes of ill chaunce, are fallen amyd my choyce,
To marre the mynd, that ment for to rejoyce.
401
Before I sought, I founde the haven of hap,
Wherin (once found) I sought to shrowd my ship,
But lowring love hath lifte me from hir lap,
And crabbed lot beginnes to hang the lip:
The proppes of darke mistrust do fall so thick,
They pearce my coate, and touch my skin at quick.
Wherin (once found) I sought to shrowd my ship,
But lowring love hath lifte me from hir lap,
And crabbed lot beginnes to hang the lip:
The proppes of darke mistrust do fall so thick,
They pearce my coate, and touch my skin at quick.
What may be saide, where truth cannot prevaile?
What plea maie serve, where will it selfe is judge?
What reason rules, where right and reason faile?
Remedilesse then must the guiltlesse trudge:
And seeke out care, to be the carving knife,
To cut the thred that lingreth such a life.
What plea maie serve, where will it selfe is judge?
What reason rules, where right and reason faile?
Remedilesse then must the guiltlesse trudge:
And seeke out care, to be the carving knife,
To cut the thred that lingreth such a life.
F. J.
408
[Dame Cinthia her selfe (that shines so bright]
Dame
Cinthia her selfe (that shines so bright,
And dayneth not to leave hir loftie place:
But onely then, when Phœbus shewes his face.
Which is her brother borne and lendes hir light,)
Disdaind not yet to do my Lady right:
To prove that in such heavenly wightes as she,
It fitteth best that right and reason be.
For when she spied my Ladies golden raies,
Into the cloudes,
Hir head she shroudes,
And shamed to shine where she hir beames displaies.
And dayneth not to leave hir loftie place:
But onely then, when Phœbus shewes his face.
Which is her brother borne and lendes hir light,)
Disdaind not yet to do my Lady right:
To prove that in such heavenly wightes as she,
It fitteth best that right and reason be.
For when she spied my Ladies golden raies,
Into the cloudes,
Hir head she shroudes,
And shamed to shine where she hir beames displaies.
Good reason yet, that to my simple skill,
I should the name of Cynthia adore:
By whose high helpe, I might beholde the more,
My Ladies lovely lookes at mine owne will,
With deepe content, to ga[z]e, and gaze my fill:
Of courtesie and not of darcke disdaine,
Dame Cy[n]thia disclosde my Lady plaine.
Shee did but lende hir light (as for a lite)
With friendely grace,
To shew hir face,
That else would shew and shine in hir dispight.
I should the name of Cynthia adore:
By whose high helpe, I might beholde the more,
My Ladies lovely lookes at mine owne will,
With deepe content, to ga[z]e, and gaze my fill:
Of courtesie and not of darcke disdaine,
Dame Cy[n]thia disclosde my Lady plaine.
Shee did but lende hir light (as for a lite)
409
To shew hir face,
That else would shew and shine in hir dispight.
Dan Phœbus hee with many a lowring looke,
Had hir behelde [of] yore in angrie wise:
And when he coulde none other meane devise
To staine hir name, this deepe deceit he tooke,
To be the baite that best might hide his hooke:
Into hir eies his parching beames he cast,
To skorche their skinnes, that gaz'd on hir full fast:
Whereby when many a man was sunne burnt so
They thought my Queene,
The sonne had beene,
With skalding flames, which wrought them all that wo,
Had hir behelde [of] yore in angrie wise:
And when he coulde none other meane devise
To staine hir name, this deepe deceit he tooke,
To be the baite that best might hide his hooke:
Into hir eies his parching beames he cast,
To skorche their skinnes, that gaz'd on hir full fast:
Whereby when many a man was sunne burnt so
They thought my Queene,
The sonne had beene,
With skalding flames, which wrought them all that wo,
[So] that when many a looke had lookt so long,
As that their eyes were dimme and dazaled both:
Some fainting heartes that were both leude and loth
To looke agayne from whence that error sprong,
Gan close their eye for feare of farther wrong:
And some againe once drawen into the maze,
Gan leudly blame the beames of beauties blaze:
But I with deepe foresight did soone espie,
How phœbus ment,
By false intent,
To slaunder so her name with crueltie.
As that their eyes were dimme and dazaled both:
Some fainting heartes that were both leude and loth
To looke agayne from whence that error sprong,
Gan close their eye for feare of farther wrong:
And some againe once drawen into the maze,
Gan leudly blame the beames of beauties blaze:
But I with deepe foresight did soone espie,
How phœbus ment,
By false intent,
To slaunder so her name with crueltie.
Wherefore at better leasure thought I best,
To trie the treason of his trecherie:
And to exalt my Ladies dignitie
When Phœbus fled and drewe him downe to rest.
Amid the waves that walter in the west,
I gan behold this lovely Ladies face,
Whereon dame nature spent hir giftes of grace:
And found therein no parching heat at all,
But such bright hew,
As might renew,
An Aungels joyes in raigne celestiall.
To trie the treason of his trecherie:
And to exalt my Ladies dignitie
When Phœbus fled and drewe him downe to rest.
Amid the waves that walter in the west,
I gan behold this lovely Ladies face,
Whereon dame nature spent hir giftes of grace:
And found therein no parching heat at all,
But such bright hew,
As might renew,
An Aungels joyes in raigne celestiall.
410
The courteouse Moone that wisht to do me good,
Did shine to shew my dame more perfectly,
But when she sawe hir passing jollitie,
The Moone for shame, did blush as red as bloud,
And shrounke a side and kept hir hornes in hoode:
So that now when Dame Cynthia was gone,
I might enjoye my Ladies lokes alone,
Yet honoured still the Moone with true intent:
Who taught us skill,
To worke our will,
And gave us place, till all the night was spent.
Did shine to shew my dame more perfectly,
But when she sawe hir passing jollitie,
The Moone for shame, did blush as red as bloud,
And shrounke a side and kept hir hornes in hoode:
So that now when Dame Cynthia was gone,
I might enjoye my Ladies lokes alone,
Yet honoured still the Moone with true intent:
Who taught us skill,
To worke our will,
And gave us place, till all the night was spent.
F. J.
413
[That selfe same day, and of that day that hower]
That selfe same day, and of that day that hower,When she doth raigne, that mockt Vulcan the smith,
And thought it meete to harbor in hir bower,
Some gallant gest for hir to dally with,
That blessed houre, that blist and happie daye,
I thought it meete, with hastie steppes to go
Unto the lodge, wherin my Lady laye,
To laugh for joye, or else to weepe for woe.
And lo, my Lady of hir wonted grace,
First lent hir lippes to me (as for a kisse)
And after that hir bodye to imbrace,
Wherein dame nature wrought nothing amisse.
What followed next, gesse you that know the trade,
For in this sort, my F[r]ydaies feast I made.
F. J.
414
[Beautie shut up thy shop, and trusse up all thy trash]
Beautie shut up thy shop, and trusse up all thy trash,My Nell hath stolne thy finest stuffe, & left thee in the lash
Thy market now is marde, thy gaines are gone god wot,
Thou hast no ware, that maie compare, with this that I have got
As for thy painted pale, and wrinckles surfled up:
Are deare ynough, for such as lust to drinke of every cup:
Thy bodies bolstred out, with bumbact and with bagges,
Thy rowles, thy ruffes, thy caules, thy coifes, thy Jerkins & thy Jagges.
Thy curling, and thy cost, thy friesling and thy fare,
To court to court with al those tois & there set forth such ware
Before their hungrie eies, that gaze on every gest,
And choose the cheapest chaffaire still, to please their fancy best.
But I whose stedfast eies, coulde never cast a glaunce,
With wādring loke, amid the prese, to take my choise by chaūce
Have wonne by due desert, a perce that hath no peere,
And left the rest as refuse all, to serve the market there:
There let him chuse that list, there catche the best who can:
A painted blazing baite may serve, to choke a gazing man.
But I have slipt thy flower, that freshest is of hewe:
I have thy corne, goe sell thy chaffe, I list to seeke no new,
The windowes of mine eies, are glaz'd with such delight,
As eche new face seemes full of faultes, that blaseth in my sight:
And not without just cause, I can compare her so,
Loe here my glove I challenge him, that can, or dare say no.
Let Theseus come with clubbe, or Paris bragge with brand,
To prove how faire their Hellen was, that skourg'd the Greciā land:
Let mighty Mars himselfe, come armed to the field:
And vaunt dame Venus to defēd, with helmet, speare, & shield.
This hand that had good hap, my Hellen to embrace,
Shal have like lucke to [foyle] hir foes, & daūt them with disgrace.
And cause them to confesse by verdict and by othe,
How farre hir lovelie lookes do steine, the beauties of them both.
And that my Hellen is more faire then Paris wife,
And doth deserve more famous praise, then Venus for hir life.
Which if I not perfourme, my life then let me leese,
Or else be bound in chaines of change, to begge for beauties feese.
F. J
416
[The stately Dames of Rome, their Pearles did weare]
The stately Dames of Rome, their Pearles did weare,About their neckes to beautifie their name:
But she (whome I doe serve) hir pearles doth beare,
Close in hir mouth, and smiling shewe, the same.
No wonder then, though ev'ry word she speakes,
A Jewell seeme in judgement of the wise,
Since that hir sugred tongue the passage breakes,
Betweene two rockes, bedeckt with pearles of price.
Hir haire of golde, hir front of Ivory,
(A bloody heart within so white a breast)
Hir teeth of Pearle lippes Rubie, christall eye,
Needes must I honour hir above the rest:
Since she is fourmed of none other moulde,
But Rubie, Christall, Ivory, Pearle, and Golde.
Ferdinando Jeronimy.
424
[What state to man, so sweete and pleasaunt weare]
What
state to man, so sweete and pleasaunt weare,
As to be tyed, in linkes of worthy love?
What life so blist and happie might appeare,
As for to serve Cupid that God above?
If that our mindes were not sometimes infect,
With dread, with feare, with care, with cold suspect:
With deepe dispaire, with furious frenesie,
Handmaides to her, whome we call jelosie.
As to be tyed, in linkes of worthy love?
What life so blist and happie might appeare,
As for to serve Cupid that God above?
425
With dread, with feare, with care, with cold suspect:
With deepe dispaire, with furious frenesie,
Handmaides to her, whome we call jelosie.
For ev'ry other sop of sower chaunce,
Which lovers tast amid their sweete delight:
Encreaseth joye, and doth their love aduaunce,
In pleasures place, to have more perfect plight.
The thirstie mouth thinkes water hath good taste,
The hungrie jawes, are pleas'd, with eche repaste:
Who hath not prov'd what dearth by warres doth growe,
Cannot of peace the pleasaunt plenties knowe.
Which lovers tast amid their sweete delight:
Encreaseth joye, and doth their love aduaunce,
In pleasures place, to have more perfect plight.
The thirstie mouth thinkes water hath good taste,
The hungrie jawes, are pleas'd, with eche repaste:
Who hath not prov'd what dearth by warres doth growe,
Cannot of peace the pleasaunt plenties knowe.
And though with eye, we see not ev'ry joye,
Yet maie the minde, full well support the same,
[An] absent life long led in great annoye
(When presence comes) doth turne from griefe to game,
To serve without reward is thought great paine,
But if dispaire do not therewith remaine,
It may be borne for right rewardes at last,
Followe true service, though they come not fast.
Yet maie the minde, full well support the same,
[An] absent life long led in great annoye
(When presence comes) doth turne from griefe to game,
To serve without reward is thought great paine,
But if dispaire do not therewith remaine,
It may be borne for right rewardes at last,
Followe true service, though they come not fast.
Disdaines, repulses, finallie eche ill,
Eche smart, eche paine, of love eche bitter tast,
To thinke on them gan frame the lovers will,
To like eche joye, the more that comes at last:
But this infernall plague if once it tutch,
Or venome once the lovers mind with grutch,
All festes and joyes that afterwardes befall,
The lover comptes them light or nought at all.
Eche smart, eche paine, of love eche bitter tast,
To thinke on them gan frame the lovers will,
To like eche joye, the more that comes at last:
But this infernall plague if once it tutch,
Or venome once the lovers mind with grutch,
All festes and joyes that afterwardes befall,
The lover comptes them light or nought at all.
This is that sore, this is that poisoned wound,
The which to heale, nor salve, nor ointmentes serve,
Nor charme of wordes, nor Image can be founde,
Nor observaunce of starres can it preserve,
Nor all the art of Magicke can prevaile,
Which Zoroactes found for our availe,
Oh cruell plague, above all sorrowes smart,
With desperate death thou sleast the lovers heart.
The which to heale, nor salve, nor ointmentes serve,
Nor charme of wordes, nor Image can be founde,
Nor observaunce of starres can it preserve,
Nor all the art of Magicke can prevaile,
Which Zoroactes found for our availe,
Oh cruell plague, above all sorrowes smart,
With desperate death thou sleast the lovers heart.
426
And me even now, thy gall hath so enfect,
As all the joyes which ever lover found,
And all good haps, that ever Troylus sect,
Atchieved yet above the luckles ground:
Can never sweeten once my mouth with mell,
Nor bring my thoughtes, againe in rest to dwell.
Of thy mad moodes, and of naught else I thinke,
In such like seas, faire Bradamant did sincke
As all the joyes which ever lover found,
And all good haps, that ever Troylus sect,
Atchieved yet above the luckles ground:
Can never sweeten once my mouth with mell,
Nor bring my thoughtes, againe in rest to dwell.
Of thy mad moodes, and of naught else I thinke,
In such like seas, faire Bradamant did sincke
Ferdinando. Jeronimy.
449
[I could not though I would: good Ladie saie not so]
I could not though I would: good Ladie saie not so,Since one good word of your good wil might sone redresse my wo,
Where would is free before, there could can never faile:
For profe, you see how gallies passe where ships cā bere no saile,
The wearie marriner where skies are overcast,
By readie will doth guide his skil and wins the haven at last,
The pretie bird that singes with pricke against her brest,
Doth make a vertue of hir nede, to watche when others rest,
And true the proverbe is, which you have laide apart,
There is no hap can seeme to hard unto a willing heart.
Then lovelie Ladie mine, you saie not as you should,
In doutful tearms to answere thus: I could not though I would.
Yes yes, full well you know, your can is quicke and good:
And wilfull will is eke too swift, to shed my guiltlesse blood.
But if good will were bent as prest as power is,
Such will would quicklie find the skil to mende that is a misse.
Wherefore if you desire to see my true love spilt,
Commaund and I will slea my selfe, that yours maie be the gilt,
But if you have no power to saie your servaunt naie,
Write thus: I maie not as I would, yet must I as I maie.
Ferdinando. Jeronimy.
450
[With hir in armes that had my hart in holde]
With hir in armes that had my hart in holde,I stoode of late to pleade for pitie so:
And as I did hir lovelie lookes beholde,
Shee cast a glaunce upon my rivall foe.
His fleering face provoked hir to smile,
When my salt teares were drowned in disdaine:
He glad, I sad, he laught, (alas the while)
I wept for woe: I pin'd for deadlie paine.
And when I sawe none other boote prevaile,
But reason rule must guide my skilfull minde:
Why then (quod I) olde proverbes never faile,
For yet was never good Cat out of kinde.
Nor woman true but even as stories tell,
Wonne with an egge, and lost againe with shell.
Ferdinando. Jeronimy.
452
[And if I did what then?]
And if I did what then?
Are you agreeved therefore?
The Sea hath fishe for everie man,
And what would you have more?
Are you agreeved therefore?
The Sea hath fishe for everie man,
And what would you have more?
Thus did my Mistresse once,
Amaze my minde with doubt:
And popt a question for the nonce,
To beate my braines about.
Amaze my minde with doubt:
And popt a question for the nonce,
To beate my braines about.
Whereto I thus replied,
Eache Fisherman can wishe,
That all the Seas at everie tide,
Were his aloane to fishe.
Eache Fisherman can wishe,
That all the Seas at everie tide,
Were his aloane to fishe.
And so did I (in vaine,)
But since it maie not be:
Let such fishe there as finde the gaine,
And leave the losse for me.
But since it maie not be:
Let such fishe there as finde the gaine,
And leave the losse for me.
And with such lucke and losse,
I will content my selfe:
Till tydes of turning time maye tosse,
Suche fishers on the shelfe.
I will content my selfe:
Till tydes of turning time maye tosse,
Suche fishers on the shelfe.
And when they sticke on sandes,
That everie man maie see:
Then will I laugh and clappe my handes,
As they doe nowe at mee.
That everie man maie see:
Then will I laugh and clappe my handes,
As they doe nowe at mee.
Ferdinando Jeronimy.
453
Ever or never.
454
In praise of a gentlewoman who though she were not verye fayre, yet was she as harde favoured as might be.
If men may credite give, to true reported fames,Who doubtes but stately Rome had stoore of lustye loving Dames?
Whose eares have bene so deafe, as never yet heard tell,
Howe far the freshe Pompeia, for beautie dyd excel.
And golden Marcus he, that swaide the Romaine sword,
Bare witnesse of Boemia, by credite of his word.
What neede I mo rehearse? since all the world dyd know,
How high the floods of beauties blaze, within those walles dyd flowe.
And yet in all that choyse a worthy Romaine Knight,
Antonius who conquered prowde Egipt by his might,
Not al to please his eye, but most to ease his minde,
Chose Cleopatra for his love, and left the rest behind.
A wondrous thing to reade, in all his victorye,
He snapt but hir for his owne share, to please his fantasie.
She was not fayre God wot, the countreye breades none bright,
Well maye we judge hir skinne the foyle, because hyr teeth were white.
Percase hyr lovelye lookes, some prayses dyd deserve,
But browne I dare be bolde shee was, for so the soyle dyd serve.
And could Antonius forsake the fayre in Rome?
To love his nutbrowne Ladye best, was this an equall doome?
I dare well say dames there, did beare him deadly grudge,
His sentence had beene shortly sayde, if Faustine had bene judge.
For this I dare avow, (without vaunt be it spoke)
So brave a knight as Anthony, held al their necks in yoke:
I leave not Lucrece out, beleeve in hir who lyst,
I thinke she would have lik'd his lure, & stooped to his fist.
What mov'd the chieftain then, to lincke his liking thus?
I would some Romaine dame were here, the question to discusse.
But [I that] read her life, do finde therein by fame,
Howe cleare hir curtesie dyd shine, in honour of hir name.
Hir bountie did excell, hir trueth had never pere,
Hir lovely lokes, hir pleasant speech, hir lusty loving chere.
And all the worthy giftes, that ever yet were found,
Within this good Egiptian Queene, dyd seeme for to abound.
455
Which scornd the blasing starres in Rome, to conquere such a peece.
And shee to quite his love, in spite of dreadfull death,
Enshrinde with Snakes within his Tombe, did yeeld hir parting breath.
Allegoria.
If fortune favord him, then may that man rejoyce,And thinke himself a happy man by hap of happy choice.
Who loves and is belov'd of one as good, as true,
As kind as Cleopatra was, and yet more bright of hewe.
Hir eyes as greye as glasse, hir teeth as white as mylke,
A ruddy lippe, a dimpled chyn, a skyn as smoth as silke.
A wight what could you more, that may content mannes minde,
And hath supplies for ev'ry want, that any man can finde.
And may him selfe assure, when hence his life shall passe,
She wil be stong to death with snakes, as Cleopatra was.
Si fortunatus infœlix.
The praise of Phillip Sparrowe.
Of all the byrdes that I doe know,
Phillip my Sparow hath no peare:
For sit she high or lye she lowe,
Be shee farre off, or be shee neare,
There is no byrde so fayre, so fine,
Nor yet so freshe as this of myne.
Phillip my Sparow hath no peare:
For sit she high or lye she lowe,
Be shee farre off, or be shee neare,
There is no byrde so fayre, so fine,
Nor yet so freshe as this of myne.
Come in a morning mer[ri]ly,
When Phillip hath bene lately fed,
Or in an evening soberlye,
When Phillip lyst to goe to bed:
It is a heaven to heare my Phippe,
Howe she can chirpe with chery lippe.
When Phillip hath bene lately fed,
Or in an evening soberlye,
When Phillip lyst to goe to bed:
It is a heaven to heare my Phippe,
Howe she can chirpe with chery lippe.
She never wanders farre abroade,
But is at hand when I doe call:
If I commaund shee layes on loade,
With lips, with teeth, with tongue and all.
She chants, she chirpes, she makes such cheere,
That I beleeve she hath no peere.
But is at hand when I doe call:
If I commaund shee layes on loade,
With lips, with teeth, with tongue and all.
She chants, she chirpes, she makes such cheere,
That I beleeve she hath no peere.
456
And yet besides all this good sport,
My Phillip can both sing and daunce:
With new found toyes of sundry sort,
My Phillip can both pricke and praunce:
As if you saye but fend cut phippe,
Lord how the peat will turne and skippe.
My Phillip can both sing and daunce:
With new found toyes of sundry sort,
My Phillip can both pricke and praunce:
As if you saye but fend cut phippe,
Lord how the peat will turne and skippe.
Hir fethers are so freshe of hewe,
And so well proyned everye daye:
She lackes none oyle, I warrant you:
To trimme hir tayle both tricke and gaye.
And though hir mouth be somewhat wide,
Hir tonge is sweet and short beside.
And so well proyned everye daye:
She lackes none oyle, I warrant you:
To trimme hir tayle both tricke and gaye.
And though hir mouth be somewhat wide,
Hir tonge is sweet and short beside.
And for the rest I dare compare,
She is both tender, sweet and soft:
She never lacketh dainty fare,
But is well fed and feedeth oft:
For if my phip have lust to eate,
I warrant you phip lacks no meate.
She is both tender, sweet and soft:
She never lacketh dainty fare,
But is well fed and feedeth oft:
For if my phip have lust to eate,
I warrant you phip lacks no meate.
And then if that hir meat be good,
And such as like do love alway:
She will lay lips theron by the rood,
And see that none be cast away:
For when she once hath felt a fitte,
Phillip will crie still, yit, yit, yit.
And such as like do love alway:
She will lay lips theron by the rood,
And see that none be cast away:
For when she once hath felt a fitte,
Phillip will crie still, yit, yit, yit.
And to tell trueth he were to blame,
Which had so fine a Byrde as she,
To make him all this goodly game,
Without suspect or jellousie:
He were a churle and knewe no good,
Would see hir faynt for lacke of food.
Which had so fine a Byrde as she,
To make him all this goodly game,
Without suspect or jellousie:
He were a churle and knewe no good,
Would see hir faynt for lacke of food.
Wherfore I sing and ever shall,
To prayse as I have often prov'd
There is no byrd amongst them all,
So worthy for to be belov'd.
Let other prayse what byrd they will,
Sweet Phillip shalbe my byrd still.
To prayse as I have often prov'd
There is no byrd amongst them all,
So worthy for to be belov'd.
Let other prayse what byrd they will,
Sweet Phillip shalbe my byrd still.
Si fortunatus infœlix.
457
[Thy byrth, thy beautie, nor thy brave attyre]
Farewell with a mischeife, written by a lover being disdaynefullye abjected by a dame of highe calling, Who had chosen (in his place) a playe fellow of baser condition: & therfore he determined to step a side, and before his departure giveth hir this farwell in verse.
Thy byrth, thy beautie, nor thy brave attyre,
(Disdaynfull Dame, which doest me double wrong)
Thy hygh estate, which sets thy harte on fire,
Or newe found choyse, which cannot serve thee long
Shall make me dread, with pen for to reherse,
Thy skittish deedes, in this my parting verse.
(Disdaynfull Dame, which doest me double wrong)
Thy hygh estate, which sets thy harte on fire,
Or newe found choyse, which cannot serve thee long
Shall make me dread, with pen for to reherse,
Thy skittish deedes, in this my parting verse.
For why thou knowest, and I my selfe can tell,
By many vowes, how thou to me wert bound:
And how for joye, thy hart did seeme to swell,
And in delight, how thy desires were drownd.
When of thy will, the walles I did assayle,
Wherin fond fancie, fought for mine avayle.
By many vowes, how thou to me wert bound:
And how for joye, thy hart did seeme to swell,
And in delight, how thy desires were drownd.
When of thy will, the walles I did assayle,
Wherin fond fancie, fought for mine avayle.
And though my mind, have small delight to vaunt,
Yet must I vowe, my hart to thee was true:
My hand was alwayes able for to daunt,
Thy slaundrous fooes, and kepe theyr tongues in mew.
My head (though dull) was yet of such devise,
As might have kept thy name alwayes in price.
Yet must I vowe, my hart to thee was true:
My hand was alwayes able for to daunt,
Thy slaundrous fooes, and kepe theyr tongues in mew.
My head (though dull) was yet of such devise,
As might have kept thy name alwayes in price.
And for the rest my body was not brave,
But able yet, of substaunce to allaye,
The raging lust, wherein thy limbes did rave,
And quench the coales, which kindled thee to playe.
Such one I was, and such alwayes wyl be,
For worthy Dames, but then I meane not thee.
But able yet, of substaunce to allaye,
The raging lust, wherein thy limbes did rave,
And quench the coales, which kindled thee to playe.
Such one I was, and such alwayes wyl be,
For worthy Dames, but then I meane not thee.
For thou hast caught a proper paragon,
A theefe, a cowarde, and a Peacocke foole:
An Ase, a milkesop, and a minion,
Which hath no oyle, thy furyous flames to coole,
Such on he is, a pheare for thee most fit,
A wandring gest, to please thy wavering wit.
A theefe, a cowarde, and a Peacocke foole:
An Ase, a milkesop, and a minion,
Which hath no oyle, thy furyous flames to coole,
Such on he is, a pheare for thee most fit,
A wandring gest, to please thy wavering wit.
458
A theefe I counte him for he robbes us both,
Thee of thy name, and me of my delight:
A coward is he noted where he goeth,
Since every child is match to him in might.
And for his pride no more, but marke his plumes,
The which to princke, he dayes and nights consumes.
Thee of thy name, and me of my delight:
A coward is he noted where he goeth,
Since every child is match to him in might.
And for his pride no more, but marke his plumes,
The which to princke, he dayes and nights consumes.
The rest thy selfe, in secret sorte can judge,
He rides not me, thou knowest his sadell best:
And though these tricks of thine, mought make me grudg,
And kindle wrath, in my revenging brest
Yet of my selfe, and not to please thy mind,
I stand content, my rage in rule to binde.
He rides not me, thou knowest his sadell best:
And though these tricks of thine, mought make me grudg,
And kindle wrath, in my revenging brest
Yet of my selfe, and not to please thy mind,
I stand content, my rage in rule to binde.
And farre from thee now must I take my flight,
Where tongues maye tell, (and I not see) thy fall:
Where I maye drinke these druggs of thy dispite,
To purge my Melancholike mind with all.
In secrete so, my stomacke will I sterve,
Wishing thee better than thou doest deserve.
Where tongues maye tell, (and I not see) thy fall:
Where I maye drinke these druggs of thy dispite,
To purge my Melancholike mind with all.
In secrete so, my stomacke will I sterve,
Wishing thee better than thou doest deserve.
Spræta tamen vivunt.
The doale of disdaine written by a lover disdainfully rejected contrary to former promise.
The deadly dropes of darke disdayne,
Which dayly fall on my deserte,
The lingring sute long spent in vayne,
Wherof I feele no frute but smart:
Enforce me now th[ese] wordes to write:
Not all for love but more for spite.
Which dayly fall on my deserte,
The lingring sute long spent in vayne,
Wherof I feele no frute but smart:
Enforce me now th[ese] wordes to write:
Not all for love but more for spite.
The which to the I must rehearse,
Whom I dyd honour, serve and trust,
And though the musicke of my verse,
Be plainsong tune both true and just:
Content thee yet to here my song,
For els thou doest me doobble wrong.
Whom I dyd honour, serve and trust,
And though the musicke of my verse,
Be plainsong tune both true and just:
Content thee yet to here my song,
For els thou doest me doobble wrong.
459
I must alledge, and thou canst tell
How faithfully I vowed to serve,
And howe thou seemest to like me well:
And how thou saydest I did deserve,
To be thy Lord, thy Knight, thy King.
And how much more I list not sing.
How faithfully I vowed to serve,
And howe thou seemest to like me well:
And how thou saydest I did deserve,
To be thy Lord, thy Knight, thy King.
And how much more I list not sing.
And canst thou now (thou cruell one)
Condemne desert to deepe dispayre?
Is all thy promise past and gone?
Is fayth so fled into the ayre?
If that be so, what rests for me?
But thus in song to saye to thee.
Condemne desert to deepe dispayre?
Is all thy promise past and gone?
Is fayth so fled into the ayre?
If that be so, what rests for me?
But thus in song to saye to thee.
If Cressydes name were not so knowen,
And written wide on every wall:
If brute of pryde were not so blowen,
Upon Angelica withall:
For hault disdayne thou mightst be she,
Or Cresside for inconstancie.
And written wide on every wall:
If brute of pryde were not so blowen,
Upon Angelica withall:
For hault disdayne thou mightst be she,
Or Cresside for inconstancie.
And in reward of thy desart,
I hope at last to see thee payd:
With deepe repentaunce for thy part,
Which thou hast now so lewedly playd.
Medoro hee must bee thy make,
Since thou Orlando doest for sake.
I hope at last to see thee payd:
With deepe repentaunce for thy part,
Which thou hast now so lewedly playd.
Medoro hee must bee thy make,
Since thou Orlando doest for sake.
Such is the fruite that groweth alwaies,
Upon the roote of ripe disdaine:
Such kindly wages Cupide payes,
Where constant hearts cannot remaine,
I hope to see thee in such bandes,
When I may laugh and clappe my handes.
Upon the roote of ripe disdaine:
Such kindly wages Cupide payes,
Where constant hearts cannot remaine,
I hope to see thee in such bandes,
When I may laugh and clappe my handes.
But yet for thee I must protest,
[That] sure the faulte is none of thine,
Thou art as true as is the best,
That ever came of Cressedes lyne:
For constant yet was never none,
But in unconstancie alone.
[That] sure the faulte is none of thine,
Thou art as true as is the best,
That ever came of Cressedes lyne:
For constant yet was never none,
But in unconstancie alone.
Meritum peter, grave.
460
Mars in despite of Vulcane written for an absent lover (parted from his Lady by Sea.)
Both deepe and dreadfull were the Seas,
Which held Leander from his love,
Yet could no doubtes his mind appease,
Nor save his life for hir behove:
But guiltlesse bloud it selfe would spill,
To please the waves and worke his wyll.
Which held Leander from his love,
Yet could no doubtes his mind appease,
Nor save his life for hir behove:
But guiltlesse bloud it selfe would spill,
To please the waves and worke his wyll.
O greedye gulfe, O wretched waves,
O cruell floods, O sinke of shames,
You holde true lovers bound like slaves,
And keepe them from their worthy Dames:
Your open mouth gapes evermore,
Tyll one or both be drowned therefore.
O cruell floods, O sinke of shames,
You holde true lovers bound like slaves,
And keepe them from their worthy Dames:
Your open mouth gapes evermore,
Tyll one or both be drowned therefore.
For proofe whereof my selfe maye sing,
And shrich to pearce the loftye skies,
Whose Lady left me languishing,
Uppon the shoare in woofull wise.
And crost the Seas out of my sight,
Wherby I lost my chiefe delight.
And shrich to pearce the loftye skies,
Whose Lady left me languishing,
Uppon the shoare in woofull wise.
And crost the Seas out of my sight,
Wherby I lost my chiefe delight.
She sayd that no such trustlesse flood,
Should keepe our loves (long time) in twayne:
She sware no bread shoulde doe hyr good,
Till she migh[t] see my selfe agayne.
She sayd and swore these wordes and mo,
But now I finde them nothing so.
Should keepe our loves (long time) in twayne:
She sware no bread shoulde doe hyr good,
Till she migh[t] see my selfe agayne.
She sayd and swore these wordes and mo,
But now I finde them nothing so.
What resteth then for me to doo,
Thou salte sea foome come saye thy mind?
Should I come drowne within thee to,
That am of true Leanders kind?
And headlong cast this corpes of mine,
Into th[ose] greedy guttes of thine.
Thou salte sea foome come saye thy mind?
Should I come drowne within thee to,
That am of true Leanders kind?
And headlong cast this corpes of mine,
Into th[ose] greedy guttes of thine.
No cruel, but in spite of thee,
I will make Seas where earst were none,
My teares shall flowe in full degree,
Tyll all my myrth may ebbe to mone.
Into such droppes I meane to melt,
And in such Seas my selfe to swelt.
I will make Seas where earst were none,
My teares shall flowe in full degree,
Tyll all my myrth may ebbe to mone.
Into such droppes I meane to melt,
And in such Seas my selfe to swelt.
461
Lenvoie.
Yet you deere Dame for whome I fade,Thus starving still in wretched state:
Remember once your promise made,
Performe it now though all to late.
Come home to Mars who may you please,
Let Vulcane bide beyond the Seas.
Meritum petere, grave.
Patience perforce, wherein an absent lover doth thus encourage his Lady to continew constant.
Content thy selfe with patience perforce:
And quenche no love with droppes of darcke mistrust:
Let absence have no power to divorce,
Thy faithfull friend which meaneth to be just.
Beare but a while thy constance to declare,
For when I come one ynche shall breake no square.
And quenche no love with droppes of darcke mistrust:
Let absence have no power to divorce,
Thy faithfull friend which meaneth to be just.
Beare but a while thy constance to declare,
For when I come one ynche shall breake no square.
I must confesse that promise dyd me binde,
For to have sene thy seemely selfe ere now:
And if thou knewest what griefes did gaule my minde,
Bicause I coulde not keepe that faithfull vowe,
My just excuse, I can my selfe assure,
With lytle paine thy pardon might procure.
For to have sene thy seemely selfe ere now:
And if thou knewest what griefes did gaule my minde,
Bicause I coulde not keepe that faithfull vowe,
My just excuse, I can my selfe assure,
With lytle paine thy pardon might procure.
But call to minde how long Ulisses was,
In lingring absence, from his loving make:
And howe she deigned then hir dayes to passe,
In solitary silence for his sake.
Be thou a true Penelope to me,
And thou shalt sone thine owne Ulisses see.
In lingring absence, from his loving make:
And howe she deigned then hir dayes to passe,
In solitary silence for his sake.
Be thou a true Penelope to me,
And thou shalt sone thine owne Ulisses see.
What sayd I? sone? yea sone I saye againe,
I wyll come sone and soner if I maye:
Beleeve me nowe it is a pinching payne,
To thinke of love, when lovers are awaye.
Such thoughts I have, and when I thinke on thee,
My thoughtes are there, whereas my bones would bee.
I wyll come sone and soner if I maye:
Beleeve me nowe it is a pinching payne,
To thinke of love, when lovers are awaye.
Such thoughts I have, and when I thinke on thee,
My thoughtes are there, whereas my bones would bee.
462
The longing lust which Priames sonne of Troye,
Had for to see his Cresside come againe:
Could not exceede the depth of mine anoye,
Nor seeme to passe the patterne of my payne.
I fryse in hope, I thaw in hote desire,
Farre from the flame, and yet I burne like fire.
Had for to see his Cresside come againe:
Could not exceede the depth of mine anoye,
Nor seeme to passe the patterne of my payne.
I fryse in hope, I thaw in hote desire,
Farre from the flame, and yet I burne like fire.
Wherfore deare friend, thinke on the pleasures past.
And let my teares, for both our paines suffise:
The lingring joyes, when as they come at last,
Are bet then those, which passe in posting wise.
And I my selfe, to prove this tale is true,
In hast, post hast, thy comfort will renew.
And let my teares, for both our paines suffise:
The lingring joyes, when as they come at last,
Are bet then those, which passe in posting wise.
And I my selfe, to prove this tale is true,
In hast, post hast, thy comfort will renew.
Meritum petere, grave.
A letter devised for a yong lover.
Receive you worthy Dame, this rude & ragged verse,Lend wylling eare unto the tale, which I shall nowe rehearse.
And though my witlesse woordes might moove you for to smile,
Yet trust to that which I shal tel, & never marke my stile.
Amongst five hundreth Dames, presented to my view,
I find most cause by due desert, to like the best of you.
I see your beautie such, as seemeth to suffice,
To binde my heart in linckes of love, by judgement of myne eyes.
And but your bounty quench, the coales of quicke desire,
I feare that face of yours wyll set, ten thousand hearts on fire.
But bounty so aboundes, above al my desart,
As that I quake and shrinke for feare, to shewe you of my smart.
Yet since mine eye made choice, my hart shal not repent,
But yeeld it self unto your wyl, & therwith stand content.
God knowth I am not great, my power it is not much,
The greater glorye shall you gaine, to shew your favour suche.
And what I am or have, all that I yeeld to you,
My hande and sworde shall serve alwayes, to prove my tongue is true.
Then take me for your owne, and so I wyl be still,
Beleeve me nowe, I make this vowe, in hope of your good wyll.
Which if I may obtaine, God leave me when I change,
This is the tale I meant to tell, good Lady be not strange.
Meritum petere, grave.
463
Davids salutacions to Berzabe wherein are three sonets in sequence, written uppon this occation.
The deviser hereof amongst other friendes had named a gentlewoman his Berzabe, and she was content to call him hir David. The man presented his Lady with a booke of the Golden Asse, written by Lucius Apuleius, and in the beginning of the booke wrote this sequence. You must conferre it with the Historye of Apuleius, for else it wyll have small grace.
This
Apuleius was in Affricke borne,
And tooke delight to travaile Thessaly,
As one that helde his native soyle in skorne,
In foraine coastes to feede his fantasie.
And such againe as wandring wits find out,
This yonker wonne by wyll and weary toyle,
A youth mispent, a doting age in doubt,
A body brusd with many a beastly broyle,
A presaunt pleasure passing on a pace,
And paynting plaine the path of penitence,
A frollicke favour foyld with fowle disgrace,
When hoary heares should claime their reverence.
Such is the fruite that growes on gadding trees,
Such kynd of mell most moveth busie Bees.
For Lucius he,
Esteeming more one ounce of present sport,
Than elders doe a pound of perfect wit:
First to the bowre of beautie doth resorte,
And there in pleasure passed many a fitte,
His worthie race he (recklesse) doth forget,
With small regarde in great affaires he reeles,
No counsell grave, nor good advise can set
His braynes in brake that whirled still on wheeles.
For if Byrhena coulde have helde him backe,
From Venus court where he nowe nusled was,
His lustie limmes had never founde the lacke
Of manlie shape: the figure of an Asse,
Had not bene blazed on his bloud and bones,
To wound his will with torments all attones.
But Fotis she,
Who sawe this Lording whitled with the cup
Of vaine delight, wherof he gan to tast:
Pourde out apace, and fillde the Mazor up,
With drunken dole: yea after that in hast,
She greazde this guest with sause of Sorcerie,
And fedde his minde with knacks both queint and strange:
Lo here the treazon and the trecherie
Of gadding girles, when they delight to range.
For Lucius thinking to become a foule,
Became a foole, yea more than that, an Asse,
A bobbing blocke, a beating stocke, an owle,
Well woondred at in place where he did passe:
And spent his time, his travaile and his cost,
To purchase payne and all his labor lost.
Yet I pore I,
Who make of thee my Fotys and my frende,
In like delight my youthfull yeares to spend:
Do hope thou wilt from such soure sause defend,
David thy King.
And tooke delight to travaile Thessaly,
As one that helde his native soyle in skorne,
In foraine coastes to feede his fantasie.
And such againe as wandring wits find out,
This yonker wonne by wyll and weary toyle,
A youth mispent, a doting age in doubt,
A body brusd with many a beastly broyle,
A presaunt pleasure passing on a pace,
And paynting plaine the path of penitence,
A frollicke favour foyld with fowle disgrace,
When hoary heares should claime their reverence.
Such is the fruite that growes on gadding trees,
Such kynd of mell most moveth busie Bees.
For Lucius he,
Esteeming more one ounce of present sport,
Than elders doe a pound of perfect wit:
First to the bowre of beautie doth resorte,
And there in pleasure passed many a fitte,
His worthie race he (recklesse) doth forget,
With small regarde in great affaires he reeles,
No counsell grave, nor good advise can set
His braynes in brake that whirled still on wheeles.
For if Byrhena coulde have helde him backe,
From Venus court where he nowe nusled was,
His lustie limmes had never founde the lacke
Of manlie shape: the figure of an Asse,
Had not bene blazed on his bloud and bones,
To wound his will with torments all attones.
But Fotis she,
Who sawe this Lording whitled with the cup
Of vaine delight, wherof he gan to tast:
464
With drunken dole: yea after that in hast,
She greazde this guest with sause of Sorcerie,
And fedde his minde with knacks both queint and strange:
Lo here the treazon and the trecherie
Of gadding girles, when they delight to range.
For Lucius thinking to become a foule,
Became a foole, yea more than that, an Asse,
A bobbing blocke, a beating stocke, an owle,
Well woondred at in place where he did passe:
And spent his time, his travaile and his cost,
To purchase payne and all his labor lost.
Yet I pore I,
Who make of thee my Fotys and my frende,
In like delight my youthfull yeares to spend:
Do hope thou wilt from such soure sause defend,
David thy King.
Meritum petere grave.
Soone acquainted, soone forgotten, As appeareth here by an uncourteous farewell to an inconstant Dame.
If what you want, you (wanton) had at will,A stedfast minde, a faythfull loving heart:
If what you speake you woulde performe it still,
If from your worde your deede did not reverte:
If youthfull yeares your thoughtes did not so rule,
As elder dayes may scorne your friendship fraile,
Your doubled fansie would not thus recule,
For peevish pryde which nowe I must bewaile.
For Cresside faire did Troilus never love,
More deare than I esteemde your freamed cheare,
Whose wavering wayes (since nowe I do them prove)
By true reporte this witnesse with me beare:
That if your friendship be not to deare bought,
The price is great that nothing gives for nought.
Meritum petere grave.
FINIS.
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