University of Virginia Library

Churchyardes farewell.

As witte is neuer good
till it bee deerely bought:
So freends vntill their truth be tride,
may passe for thinges of nought.
For freendship all in woordes,
a kinde of flattringe is.
And if I thinke my woorthiest freende
may be abusde by this,
I ought in plaine flat termes
to shewe him what I thinke,
And blaze the meaninge of my minde
by paper, pen, and Inke.
Because the doores be barde,
where my good will should pas:
And buzzinge Bees do creepe in place,
where Churcheyards credite was.
The fowlers mery pype
betraies the careles byrde:
And fleeringe fawners lye in waite,
to geeue their freends a gyrde.
When fortune turnes hir face,
beware the Syrenes songe:
Beware the busie Clawbackes fine
whose freendship lastes not longe.
Thinke you the flyes doo flocke
aboute the fleashe in vaine?
Dooth not the Bee seeke out the flower
some hony there to gayne?
Doo courtiers all for loue,
approche the princes gates?
Dooth plainnesse in these double daies,
repaire to great estates?
No sure in maskinge robes
goeth mischiefe muffled nowe:
And subtile sleightes with snakish stings,
doo lodge in smilinge browe.
And your affections blinde,
hath you bewitched so,
Ye haue no power to finde your freendes,
nor to descerne your fo.
Ye fill the fleesinge fistes,
and let the needie lacke:
And sharpe their teeth whose crafty tungs
can byte behinde your backe.
I pray you tell me now,
if hap woulde let you slyde,
How many would through thick & thinne
for loue with you abide?
Perhaps a heape of suche
could hungry hangers on,
Whose nature geues the courte a fygge
when worldly hap is gon.
Can you not see the cause,
that bringes them swarminge in?
And where the wheele of Fortune swayes,
the worlde fauour winne?
Had not your elders wise,
good triall of suche trashe?
Did you not see what woorthy wittes
at length were lefte in lashe:
By trustinge some to farre,
and heapinge hope in those
That seemed freends to outwarde sight,
and yet were secrete foes?
O let me licence haue
to painte these pecocks out,
Whose fethers wauereth with the winde
and so turnes taile aboute:
Yet flicker with their winges,
to faune the face awhile,
Untill their sodaine flight they take,
and so their freends beguile.
What should we iudge of them,
that stare in faces still:
Where lo, for all their curtsie great,
they beare but small good will.
And where they seldome come,
but when some sute they haue:
They make a signe to see my Lorde,
yet seeke by sleight to craue.
What makes them watch their howres,
and thrust in thickest preest.
It is for freendship that they beare
vnto a certaine lease.
My Lorde must helpe to get,
now crowche and kneele they all:
Now stand they vp like sainctes in shrine,
or nayld against a wall?
Now figge they here and there,
as thornes were in their heeles
Now trudge aboute these whirlegigges,
as worlde did runne on wheeles.
Now cast they freendly lookes,
all ouer the chambers gaye.
Now geue they place as God were there,
now turne they euery waye.
Now talke they trimme in printe,
and prate of Robin hood:
Much like the knightes of Arthers courte,
that knew full well their good.
Some through a finer meane,
doo creepe in credites lappe:
And vale their bonettes by deuise,
as fauour folowed cappe.
Suche Iuglers bleare your eies,
and smile within their sleeue:
When honour in his harmles moode
Dooth best of them beleeue.
Were you but once a daye,
in simple seruauntes place,
And like a looker on ye stoode,
to prie vpon this case:
Then should ye throughly see,
who plaies the wily foxe:
And how the Wolfe can frame himselfe,
to draw in yoke like oxe.
Then shoulde the mufled men,
shew foorth their faces bare
And therby noble hartes shoulde learne
to knowe what flatterers are.
The glory of your state,
heaues vp your hed so hie:
That many thinges doo scape your vewe,
whiche we see full with eye.
And who is now so bolde,
that dare flat warninge geue,
To suche as in toppe of pompe,
or princely plasures lyue.
I muse what new founde chaunce,
hath so disguisde the state
That men oft times for speakyng plaine,
doo purchace endlesse hate.
Whilest fraude and fained cheere
dooth euell honour feede:
And noman dare a plaister geue,
to heale the wounde in deede:
Full fickle shall you walke,
and neuer wante disease.
They should be banisht from your courte
that are so glad to please
With twittell twatlyng tales.
The truth like larm bell.
Should shortly sounde in tender eares
and learne you to doo well.
But sure the sweetest nuttes
doo noorishe woormes apace,
And flatterers of the finest stampe,
in courte haue finest place.
I am to plaine therefore,
my penne hath drunke to muche?
An alie hed makes idle hande,
the quicke to neere to touche.
Nay, nay, some one must speake,
although the vice it bee:
Or els the play were done ye wot,
then Lordinges pardon mee.
For free of euery Hance
I thanke the gods I am,
And serues no turne but for a vice,
since first to courte I came.
To make the Ladies laugh,
that leades the retchles liues
Who late, or neuer woodcocke like
at later Lammas thriues.
Yet if the foole had gotte,
at his departinge thence
A night cap, or a motley coate,
or els some spendinge pence.
It had bene well enough:
but nothinge there I founde
For nothinge from their budgets fell
they were so straitly bounde.
Ye lie sir Daw in deede,
canst thou so longe be there
But needes must fall into thy handes,
some paringe of the peare?
A hungry paringe Lorde
he hath that there doth weight:
He watcheth like a greedy hounde
that standeth at receight:
That oft for lacke of game,
runnes home his panche to fill
Or sterues in forest or in parke,
at least at kepers will.
Looke what to courte he brought
it is consumed and gone
And there the fleash of euery iointe,
is worne vnto the bone.
The carraine crowes of Cheape
in steyng bones so bare
Would clap the fell in counter too,
to breede him further care.
Nay fie on such good hap,
on Souldiers faith I sweare:
To sell the Courte and Cittie bothe,
and he that takes me there.
Let him cut of mine eares,
and slitte my nose aright
And make a curtoll of the beast,
that hath a hed so light.
To linger out my yeeres
for moone shine in the well
A hood, a hood, for such a foole,
a bable and a bell.
A coxcombe is to good
for such a calfe I trow.
As of my Lorde my leaue I take,
so now againe I go.
Where fortune shall assigne,
my staffe to light or fall.
And thus I know a truer freende,
was not amonge them all.
Then to my power I was,
to you and all your race
Nor vnto whome I dayly wishe,
more blesse happe and grace.