Chvrchyards Challenge [by Thomas Churchyard] |
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Heere follovves the Tragedie of Shores VVife,
much augmented with diuers newe aditions.
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 | Chvrchyards Challenge |  |
Heere follovves the Tragedie of Shores VVife, much augmented with diuers newe aditions.
To the right honorable the Lady Mount Eagle
and Compton, wife to the right honourable the Lord of Buckhursts son and heire.
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Among
the rest, by fortune ouerthrowne,
I am not least, that most may waile her fate:
My fame and brute, abroade the world is blowne,
Who can forget, a thing thus done so late?
My great mischance, my fall, and heauy state,
Is such a marke, whereat each tongue doth shoote,
That my good name, is pluckt vp by the roote.
I am not least, that most may waile her fate:
My fame and brute, abroade the world is blowne,
Who can forget, a thing thus done so late?
My great mischance, my fall, and heauy state,
Is such a marke, whereat each tongue doth shoote,
That my good name, is pluckt vp by the roote.
This wandring world, bewitched me with wiles,
And won my wits, with wanton sugred ioyes:
In Fortunes freakes, who trusts her when she smiles,
Shall find her false, and full of fickle toyes,
Her triumphs all, but fills our eares with noyse,
Her flattering giftes, are pleasures mixt with paine,
Yea, and all her words, are thunders threatning raine.
And won my wits, with wanton sugred ioyes:
In Fortunes freakes, who trusts her when she smiles,
Shall find her false, and full of fickle toyes,
Her triumphs all, but fills our eares with noyse,
Her flattering giftes, are pleasures mixt with paine,
Yea, and all her words, are thunders threatning raine.
The fond desire, that we in glorie set,
Doth thirle our hearts, to hope in slipper hap,
A blast of pompe, is all the fruite we get,
And vnder that, lies hid a sodaine clap.
In seeking rest, vnwares we fall in trap,
In groping flowres, with nettels stung we are,
In labring long, we reape the crop of care.
Doth thirle our hearts, to hope in slipper hap,
A blast of pompe, is all the fruite we get,
And vnder that, lies hid a sodaine clap.
In seeking rest, vnwares we fall in trap,
In groping flowres, with nettels stung we are,
In labring long, we reape the crop of care.
Oh darke deceite, with painted face for sho,
Oh poysned baite, that makes vs eager still,
Oh fained friend, deceiuing people so,
Oh world, of thee, we cannot speake too ill:
Yet fooles we are, that bend so to thy skill,
The plague and scourge, that thousands daily feele,
Should warne the wyse, to shun thy whirling wheele.
Oh poysned baite, that makes vs eager still,
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Oh world, of thee, we cannot speake too ill:
Yet fooles we are, that bend so to thy skill,
The plague and scourge, that thousands daily feele,
Should warne the wyse, to shun thy whirling wheele.
But who can stop, the streame that runnes full swift?
Or quench the fire, that crept is in the straw?
The thirsty drinkes, there is no other shift,
Perforce is such, that neede obayes no lawe.
Thus bounde we are, in worldly yokes to drawe,
And cannot stay, nor turne againe in time,
Nor learne of those, that sought too high to clime.
Or quench the fire, that crept is in the straw?
The thirsty drinkes, there is no other shift,
Perforce is such, that neede obayes no lawe.
Thus bounde we are, in worldly yokes to drawe,
And cannot stay, nor turne againe in time,
Nor learne of those, that sought too high to clime.
My selfe for proofe, loe here I nowe appeare,
In womans weede, with weeping watred eyes,
That bought her youth, and her delights full deare:
Whose lewd reproch, doth sound vnto the skies.
And bids my corse, out of the ground to rise,
As one that may no longer hide her face:
But needes must come and shewe her piteous case,
In womans weede, with weeping watred eyes,
That bought her youth, and her delights full deare:
Whose lewd reproch, doth sound vnto the skies.
And bids my corse, out of the ground to rise,
As one that may no longer hide her face:
But needes must come and shewe her piteous case,
The sheete of shame, wherein I shrowded was,
Did moue me oft, to plaine before this day,
And in mine eares, did ring the trompe of brasse,
Which is defame, that doth each thing bewray,
Yea though full dead, and lowe in earth I lay,
I heard the voyce, of mee what people saide,
But then to speake, alas I was affraide.
Did moue me oft, to plaine before this day,
And in mine eares, did ring the trompe of brasse,
Which is defame, that doth each thing bewray,
Yea though full dead, and lowe in earth I lay,
I heard the voyce, of mee what people saide,
But then to speake, alas I was affraide.
And nowe a time, for me I see preparde,
I heare the lines, and falls of many wights:
My tale therefore, the better may be heard;
For at the torch, the little candle lights.
Where Pageants be, smale things fill out the sights.
Wherefore giue eare, good Churchyard doe thy best,
My Tragedy, to place among the rest.
I heare the lines, and falls of many wights:
My tale therefore, the better may be heard;
For at the torch, the little candle lights.
Where Pageants be, smale things fill out the sights.
Wherefore giue eare, good Churchyard doe thy best,
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Because the truth, shall witnes well with thee,
I will rehearse, in order as it fell,
My life, my death, my dolefull destene,
My wealth, my woe, my doing euery deale,
My bitter blisse, wherein I long did dwell:
A whole discourse, by me Shores wife by name,
Now shalt thou heare, as thou hadst seene the same
I will rehearse, in order as it fell,
My life, my death, my dolefull destene,
My wealth, my woe, my doing euery deale,
My bitter blisse, wherein I long did dwell:
A whole discourse, by me Shores wife by name,
Now shalt thou heare, as thou hadst seene the same
Of noble blood, I cannot boast my byrth,
For I was made, out of the meanest moulde,
Mine heritage, but seuen foote of th'earth,
Fortune ne gaue, to me the gifts of gold,
But I could brag, of nature if I would:
Who fild my face, with fauour fresh and faire,
Whose beautie shon, like Phœbus in the ayre.
For I was made, out of the meanest moulde,
Mine heritage, but seuen foote of th'earth,
Fortune ne gaue, to me the gifts of gold,
But I could brag, of nature if I would:
Who fild my face, with fauour fresh and faire,
Whose beautie shon, like Phœbus in the ayre.
My beautie blasd, like torch or twinckling starre,
A liuely lamp, that lends darke world some light,
Faire Phœbus beames, scarse reacheth halfe so farre:
As did the rayes, of my rare beautie bright,
As summers day, exceedes blacke winters night,
So Shores wiues face, made foule Browneta blush:
As pearle staynes pitch, or gold surmounts a rush.
A liuely lamp, that lends darke world some light,
Faire Phœbus beames, scarse reacheth halfe so farre:
As did the rayes, of my rare beautie bright,
As summers day, exceedes blacke winters night,
So Shores wiues face, made foule Browneta blush:
As pearle staynes pitch, or gold surmounts a rush.
The Damaske rose, or Rosamond the faire,
That Henry held, as deere as Iewells be,
Who was kept close, in cage from open ayre:
For beauties boast, could scarse compare with me,
The kindly buds, and blosomes of braue tree.
With white and red, had deckt my cheekes so fine,
There stoode two balles, like drops of claret wine.
That Henry held, as deere as Iewells be,
Who was kept close, in cage from open ayre:
For beauties boast, could scarse compare with me,
The kindly buds, and blosomes of braue tree.
With white and red, had deckt my cheekes so fine,
There stoode two balles, like drops of claret wine.
The beaten snow, nor Lily in the field,
No whiter sure, then naked necke and hand.
My lookes had force, to make a Lyon yeeld,
And at my forme, in gase a world would stand,
My body small, framd finely to be spand,
As though dame kind, had sworne in solemne sort,
To shrowd herselfe, in my faire forme and port.
No whiter sure, then naked necke and hand.
My lookes had force, to make a Lyon yeeld,
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My body small, framd finely to be spand,
As though dame kind, had sworne in solemne sort,
To shrowd herselfe, in my faire forme and port.
No part amisse, when nature tooke such care,
To set me out, as nought should be awry,
To fornish forth, (in due proportion rare)
A peece of worke, should please a princes eie,
O would to God, that boast might proue a lie,
For pride youth tooke, in beauties borrowde trash,
Gaue age a whippe, and left me in the lash.
To set me out, as nought should be awry,
To fornish forth, (in due proportion rare)
A peece of worke, should please a princes eie,
O would to God, that boast might proue a lie,
For pride youth tooke, in beauties borrowde trash,
Gaue age a whippe, and left me in the lash.
My shape some saide, was seemely to each sight,
My countenance, did shewe a sober grace,
Mine eies in lookes, were neuer proued light,
My tongue in wordes, was chast in euery case,
Mine eares were deafe, and would no louers place,
Saue that, alas, a Prince did blot my browe,
Loe, there the strong, did make the weake to bowe.
My countenance, did shewe a sober grace,
Mine eies in lookes, were neuer proued light,
My tongue in wordes, was chast in euery case,
Mine eares were deafe, and would no louers place,
Saue that, alas, a Prince did blot my browe,
Loe, there the strong, did make the weake to bowe.
The maiestie, that kings to people beare,
The stately port, the awefull cheere they showe,
Doth make the meane, to shrinke and couch for feare,
Like as the hounde, that doth his maister knowe:
What then? since I, was made vnto the bowe,
There is no cloake, can serue to hide my fault:
For I agreede, the fort he should assault.
The stately port, the awefull cheere they showe,
Doth make the meane, to shrinke and couch for feare,
Like as the hounde, that doth his maister knowe:
What then? since I, was made vnto the bowe,
There is no cloake, can serue to hide my fault:
For I agreede, the fort he should assault.
The eagles force, subdues ech bird that flies,
What mettall may, resist the flaming fire?
Doth not the Sun, defill the cleerest eyes,
And melt the yse, and make the frost retyre,
Who can withstand, a puissant kings desire?
The stiffest stones, are perced through with tooles,
The wisest are, with Princes made but fooles,
What mettall may, resist the flaming fire?
Doth not the Sun, defill the cleerest eyes,
And melt the yse, and make the frost retyre,
Who can withstand, a puissant kings desire?
The stiffest stones, are perced through with tooles,
The wisest are, with Princes made but fooles,
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Yf kinde had wrought my forme, in common frames,
And set me forth, in colours blacke and browne.
Or beautie had, beene parcht in Phœbus flames,
Or shamefast wayes, had pluckt my fethers downe,
Then had I kept, my fame and good renowne:
For natures gifts, were cause of all my griefe,
A pleasaunt pray, entiseth many a theefe.
And set me forth, in colours blacke and browne.
Or beautie had, beene parcht in Phœbus flames,
Or shamefast wayes, had pluckt my fethers downe,
Then had I kept, my fame and good renowne:
For natures gifts, were cause of all my griefe,
A pleasaunt pray, entiseth many a theefe.
Thus woe to thee, that wrought my peacocks pride,
By cloathing me, with natures tapestry:
Woe worth the hewe, wherein my face was dyde,
Which made me thinke, I pleased euery eie,
Like as the starres, make men beholde the skye.
So beauties showe, doth make the wise full fond,
And brings free harts, full oft in endlesse bond.
By cloathing me, with natures tapestry:
Woe worth the hewe, wherein my face was dyde,
Which made me thinke, I pleased euery eie,
Like as the starres, make men beholde the skye.
So beauties showe, doth make the wise full fond,
And brings free harts, full oft in endlesse bond.
But cleere from blame, my friends can not be found,
Before my time, my youth they did abuse,
In mariage yoke, a prentise was I bound,
When that meere loue, I knewe not how to vse,
But wel away, that cannot me excuse,
The harme is mine, though they deuisde my care,
And I must smart, and sit in slaunderous snare.
Before my time, my youth they did abuse,
In mariage yoke, a prentise was I bound,
When that meere loue, I knewe not how to vse,
But wel away, that cannot me excuse,
The harme is mine, though they deuisde my care,
And I must smart, and sit in slaunderous snare.
Yet giue me leaue, to pleade my cause at large,
Yf that the horse, doe run beyonde his race,
Or any thinge, that keepers haue in charge,
Doe breake their course, where rulers may take place:
Or meate be set, before the hungries face,
Who is in fault? th' offender yea or no,
Or they that are, the cause of all this woe.
Yf that the horse, doe run beyonde his race,
Or any thinge, that keepers haue in charge,
Doe breake their course, where rulers may take place:
Or meate be set, before the hungries face,
Who is in fault? th' offender yea or no,
Or they that are, the cause of all this woe.
Note well what strife, this forced mariage makes,
What lothed liues, doe come where loue doth lacke,
What scratching briers, doe growe vpon such brakes,
What common weales, by it are brought to wracke,
What heauy loade, is put on patients backe,
What strange delights, this branch of vice doth breed
And marke what graine, springs out of such a seede.
What lothed liues, doe come where loue doth lacke,
What scratching briers, doe growe vpon such brakes,
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What heauy loade, is put on patients backe,
What strange delights, this branch of vice doth breed
And marke what graine, springs out of such a seede.
Compell the hauke, to sit that is vnmande,
Or make the hounde, vnraind to drawe the deere,
Or bring the free, against his will in band,
Or moue the sad, a pleasant tale to here,
Your time is lost, and you no whit the nere:
So loue ne learnes, of force the knot to knit,
She serues but those, that feeles sweete fancies fit.
Or make the hounde, vnraind to drawe the deere,
Or bring the free, against his will in band,
Or moue the sad, a pleasant tale to here,
Your time is lost, and you no whit the nere:
So loue ne learnes, of force the knot to knit,
She serues but those, that feeles sweete fancies fit.
The lesse defame, redounds to my dispraise,
I was intiste, by traines, and trapt by trust:
Though in no force, remained yeas and nayes,
Unto my friends, yet needes consent I must,
In euery thing, yea lawfull or vniust.
They breake the bowes, and shake the tree by sleight,
And bend the wand, that mought haue growne full straight.
I was intiste, by traines, and trapt by trust:
Though in no force, remained yeas and nayes,
Unto my friends, yet needes consent I must,
In euery thing, yea lawfull or vniust.
They breake the bowes, and shake the tree by sleight,
And bend the wand, that mought haue growne full straight.
What helpe is this, the pale thus broken downe,
The deere must needes, in danger run astray:
At me therefore, why should the world so frowne,
My weakenes made, my youth a Princes pray.
Though wisdome should, the course of nature stay,
Yet try my case, who list, and they shall proue,
The ripest wits, are soonest thralls to loue.
The deere must needes, in danger run astray:
At me therefore, why should the world so frowne,
My weakenes made, my youth a Princes pray.
Though wisdome should, the course of nature stay,
Yet try my case, who list, and they shall proue,
The ripest wits, are soonest thralls to loue.
What neede I more, to cleere my selfe so much,
A king me wan, and had me at his call,
His royall state, his princely grace was such,
The hope of will, that women seeke for all,
The ease and wealth, the gifts which were not small,
Beseeged me, so strongly round about,
My powre was weake, I could not holde him out.
A king me wan, and had me at his call,
His royall state, his princely grace was such,
The hope of will, that women seeke for all,
The ease and wealth, the gifts which were not small,
Beseeged me, so strongly round about,
My powre was weake, I could not holde him out.
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Duke Hanniball, in all his conquest great,
Or Cæsar yet, whose triumphes did exceed,
Of all their spoyles, which made them toyle and sweate,
Were not so glad, to haue so rich a meede,
As was this prince, when I to him agreede,
And yeelded me, a prisner willingly,
As one that knewe, no way away to fly.
Or Cæsar yet, whose triumphes did exceed,
Of all their spoyles, which made them toyle and sweate,
Were not so glad, to haue so rich a meede,
As was this prince, when I to him agreede,
And yeelded me, a prisner willingly,
As one that knewe, no way away to fly.
The Nightingale, for all his merry voyce,
Nor yet the Larke, that still delights to sing,
Did neuer make the hearers so reioyce,
As I with wordes haue made this worthy King:
I neuer iarde, in tune was euery string,
I tempred so, my tongue to please his eare,
That what I saide, was currant euery where.
Nor yet the Larke, that still delights to sing,
Did neuer make the hearers so reioyce,
As I with wordes haue made this worthy King:
I neuer iarde, in tune was euery string,
I tempred so, my tongue to please his eare,
That what I saide, was currant euery where.
Sweete are the songs, that merry-night crow singes,
For many parts, are in those charming notes,
Sweete are the tunes, and Pipes that pleaseth kings,
Sweete is the loue wherein great Lordings dotes,
But sweetst of all, is fancie where it flotes,
For throwe rough seas, it smoothly swimmes away,
And in deepe flouds, where skulles of fish doe play.
For many parts, are in those charming notes,
Sweete are the tunes, and Pipes that pleaseth kings,
Sweete is the loue wherein great Lordings dotes,
But sweetst of all, is fancie where it flotes,
For throwe rough seas, it smoothly swimmes away,
And in deepe flouds, where skulles of fish doe play.
And where loue slides, it leaues no signe nor showe,
Where it hath gon, the way so shuts againe,
It is a sport, to heare the fine night-crow,
Chaunt in the queere vpon a pricke song plaine:
No musicke more may please a princes vaine,
Then descant strange, and voice of faurets breest,
In quiet bower, when birds be all at rest.
Where it hath gon, the way so shuts againe,
It is a sport, to heare the fine night-crow,
Chaunt in the queere vpon a pricke song plaine:
No musicke more may please a princes vaine,
Then descant strange, and voice of faurets breest,
In quiet bower, when birds be all at rest.
No such consort, as plaine two parts in one,
Whose rare reports, doth carry cunning clean,
Where two long loues, and liues in ioy alone.
They sing at will, the treble or the meane,
UUhere musicke wants, the mirth not worth a beane,
The king and I, agreed in such concorde,
I ruld by loue, though he did raigne a Lord.
Whose rare reports, doth carry cunning clean,
Where two long loues, and liues in ioy alone.
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UUhere musicke wants, the mirth not worth a beane,
The king and I, agreed in such concorde,
I ruld by loue, though he did raigne a Lord.
I ioynd my talke, my iestures and my grace,
In wittie frames, that long might last and stand,
So that I brought, the King in such a case,
That to his death, I was his chiefest hand,
I gouernd him, that ruled all this land:
I bare the sword, though he did weare the Crowne,
I strake the stroke, that threwe the mightie downe.
In wittie frames, that long might last and stand,
So that I brought, the King in such a case,
That to his death, I was his chiefest hand,
I gouernd him, that ruled all this land:
I bare the sword, though he did weare the Crowne,
I strake the stroke, that threwe the mightie downe.
If iustice said, that iudgement was but death,
With my sweete wordes, I could the King perswade,
And make him pause, and take therein a breath,
Till I with suite, the fautors peace had made:
I knewe what way to vse him in his trade,
I had the art, to make the Lyon meeke,
There was no point, wherein I was to seeke.
With my sweete wordes, I could the King perswade,
And make him pause, and take therein a breath,
Till I with suite, the fautors peace had made:
I knewe what way to vse him in his trade,
I had the art, to make the Lyon meeke,
There was no point, wherein I was to seeke.
I tooke delight, in doying each man good,
Not scratting all, my selfe as all were mine,
But lookt whose life, in neede and danger stoode.
And those I kept, from harme with cunning fine.
On Princes traine, I alwayes cast mine eine,
For lifting vp, the seruants of a King,
I did throw court, my selfe in fauour bring,
Not scratting all, my selfe as all were mine,
But lookt whose life, in neede and danger stoode.
And those I kept, from harme with cunning fine.
On Princes traine, I alwayes cast mine eine,
For lifting vp, the seruants of a King,
I did throw court, my selfe in fauour bring,
I offered ayde, before they sued to me,
And promisd nought, but would performe it streight,
I shaked downe, sweete fruit from top of tree,
Made aples fall, in laps of men by sleight.
I did good turnes, whiles that I was a height:
For feare a flawe, of winde would make me reele,
And blowe me downe, when Fortune turnd her wheele.
And promisd nought, but would performe it streight,
I shaked downe, sweete fruit from top of tree,
Made aples fall, in laps of men by sleight.
I did good turnes, whiles that I was a height:
For feare a flawe, of winde would make me reele,
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I fild no chests, with chynks to cherish age,
But in the harts, of people layde my gold,
Sought loue of Lord, of maister and of page:
And for no bribbe, I neuer fauour solde.
I had inough, I might doe what I would,
Saue spend or giue, or fling it on the ground,
The more I gaue, the more in purse I found.
But in the harts, of people layde my gold,
Sought loue of Lord, of maister and of page:
And for no bribbe, I neuer fauour solde.
I had inough, I might doe what I would,
Saue spend or giue, or fling it on the ground,
The more I gaue, the more in purse I found.
Yf I did frowne, who then durst looke awry,
Yf I did smile, who would not laugh outright,
Yf I but spake, who durst my wordes denye?
Yf I persude, who would forsake the flight?
I meane, my powre, was knowne to euery wight,
On such a height, good hap had built my bowre,
As though my sweete, should nere haue turnd to sowre.
Yf I did smile, who would not laugh outright,
Yf I but spake, who durst my wordes denye?
Yf I persude, who would forsake the flight?
I meane, my powre, was knowne to euery wight,
On such a height, good hap had built my bowre,
As though my sweete, should nere haue turnd to sowre.
My husband then, as one that knewe his good,
Refusde to keepe, a Princes Concubine,
Forseeing th' end, and mischiefe as it stood,
Against the King, did neuer much repine:
He sawe the grape, whereof he dranke the wine,
Though inward thought, his hart did still torment,
Yet outwardly, he seemde he was content.
Refusde to keepe, a Princes Concubine,
Forseeing th' end, and mischiefe as it stood,
Against the King, did neuer much repine:
He sawe the grape, whereof he dranke the wine,
Though inward thought, his hart did still torment,
Yet outwardly, he seemde he was content.
To purchase praise, and win the peoples zeale,
Yea rather bent, of kinde to doe some good,
I euer did, vpholde the common weale,
I had delight, to saue the guiltles blood:
Each suters cause, when that I vnderstood,
I did prefer, as it had beene mine owne,
And helpe them vp, that might haue beene orethrowne.
Yea rather bent, of kinde to doe some good,
I euer did, vpholde the common weale,
I had delight, to saue the guiltles blood:
Each suters cause, when that I vnderstood,
I did prefer, as it had beene mine owne,
And helpe them vp, that might haue beene orethrowne.
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My powre was prest, to right the poore mans wrong,
My hands were free, to giue where neede required:
To watch for grace, I neuer thought it long,
To doe men good, I neede not be desired.
Nor yet with giftes, my hart was neuer hyred.
But when the ball, was at my foote to guide,
I playde to those, that Fortune did abide.
My hands were free, to giue where neede required:
To watch for grace, I neuer thought it long,
To doe men good, I neede not be desired.
Nor yet with giftes, my hart was neuer hyred.
But when the ball, was at my foote to guide,
I playde to those, that Fortune did abide.
My want was wealth, my woe was ease at will,
My robes were rich, and brauer then the sunn:
My Fortune then, was far aboue my skill,
My state was great, my glasse did euer runne.
My fatall threed, so happely was spunne,
That then I sate, in earthly pleasures clad,
And for the time, a Goddesse place I had.
My robes were rich, and brauer then the sunn:
My Fortune then, was far aboue my skill,
My state was great, my glasse did euer runne.
My fatall threed, so happely was spunne,
That then I sate, in earthly pleasures clad,
And for the time, a Goddesse place I had.
But I had not, so soone this life possest,
But my good hap, began to slide aside:
And Fortune then, did me so sore molest,
That vnto plaints, was turned all my pride.
It booted not, to rowe against the tide,
Mine oares were weake, my heart and strength did faile,
The winde was rough, I durst not beare a saile.
But my good hap, began to slide aside:
And Fortune then, did me so sore molest,
That vnto plaints, was turned all my pride.
It booted not, to rowe against the tide,
Mine oares were weake, my heart and strength did faile,
The winde was rough, I durst not beare a saile.
What steps of strife, belong to high estate,
The climing vp, is doubtfull to endure,
The seate it selfe, doth purchase priuy hate,
And honours fame, is fickle and vnsure,
And all she brings, is flowres that be vnpure:
Which fall as fast, as they doe sprout and spring,
And cannot last, they are so vaine a thing.
The climing vp, is doubtfull to endure,
The seate it selfe, doth purchase priuy hate,
And honours fame, is fickle and vnsure,
And all she brings, is flowres that be vnpure:
Which fall as fast, as they doe sprout and spring,
And cannot last, they are so vaine a thing.
We count no care, to catch that we doe wish,
But what we win, is long to vs vnknowen,
Till present paine be serued in our dish,
We scarse perceiue, whereon our griefe hath growen:
What graine proues well, that is so rashly sowen:
Yf that a meane, did measure all our deedes,
In steede of corne, we should not gather weedes.
But what we win, is long to vs vnknowen,
Till present paine be serued in our dish,
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What graine proues well, that is so rashly sowen:
Yf that a meane, did measure all our deedes,
In steede of corne, we should not gather weedes.
The setled mind, is free from Fortunes power,
They neede not feare, who looke not vp aloft:
But they that clime, are carefull euery hower,
For when they fall; they light not very soft,
Examples hath, the wisest warned oft,
That where the trees, the smalest branches beare,
The stormes doe blow, and haue most rigour there.
They neede not feare, who looke not vp aloft:
But they that clime, are carefull euery hower,
For when they fall; they light not very soft,
Examples hath, the wisest warned oft,
That where the trees, the smalest branches beare,
The stormes doe blow, and haue most rigour there.
Where is it strong, but neere the ground and roote:
Where is it weake, but on the highest sprayes:
Where may a man, so surely set his foote,
But on those bowes, that groweth lowe alwayes?
The little twigs, are but vnstedfast stayes,
Yf they breake not, they bend with euery blast,
Who trusts to them, shall neuer stand full fast.
Where is it weake, but on the highest sprayes:
Where may a man, so surely set his foote,
But on those bowes, that groweth lowe alwayes?
The little twigs, are but vnstedfast stayes,
Yf they breake not, they bend with euery blast,
Who trusts to them, shall neuer stand full fast.
The winde is great, vpon the highest hilles,
The quiet life, is in the dale belowe:
Who treades on yse, shall slyde against their wills,
They want no cares, that curious artes doe knowe.
Who liues at ease, and can content him so,
Is perfect wise, and sets vs all to schoole,
Who hates this lore, may well be calde a foole.
The quiet life, is in the dale belowe:
Who treades on yse, shall slyde against their wills,
They want no cares, that curious artes doe knowe.
Who liues at ease, and can content him so,
Is perfect wise, and sets vs all to schoole,
Who hates this lore, may well be calde a foole.
What greater griefe, may come to any life,
Then after sweete, to taste the bitter sowre,
Or after peace, to fall at warre and strife,
Or after myrth, to haue a cause to lowre:
Under such props, false fortune buildes her bowre
On sodaine chaunge, her flittering frames be set,
Where is no way, for to escape the net.
Then after sweete, to taste the bitter sowre,
Or after peace, to fall at warre and strife,
Or after myrth, to haue a cause to lowre:
Under such props, false fortune buildes her bowre
On sodaine chaunge, her flittering frames be set,
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The hasty smart, that Fortune sends in spite,
Is harde to brooke, where gladnes we embrace:
She threatens not, but sodainely doth smite,
Where ioy is moū, there doth she sorrow place.
But sure I thinke, it is is too strange a case,
For vs to feele, such griefe amid our game,
And knowe not why, vntill we tast the same.
Is harde to brooke, where gladnes we embrace:
She threatens not, but sodainely doth smite,
Where ioy is moū, there doth she sorrow place.
But sure I thinke, it is is too strange a case,
For vs to feele, such griefe amid our game,
And knowe not why, vntill we tast the same.
As erst I sayde, my blisse was turnd to bale,
I had good cause, to weepe and wring my hands,
And showe sad cheere, with countenance full pale:
For I was brought, in sorrowes wofull bands.
A piery came, and set my ship on sands,
What should I hyde, and coulour care and noy?
King Edward dyde, in whome was all my ioy,
I had good cause, to weepe and wring my hands,
And showe sad cheere, with countenance full pale:
For I was brought, in sorrowes wofull bands.
A piery came, and set my ship on sands,
What should I hyde, and coulour care and noy?
King Edward dyde, in whome was all my ioy,
And when the earth, receiued had his corse,
And that in tombe this worthy Prince was layde,
The world on me, began to showe his force,
Of troubles then, my part I long assayde:
For they of whome, I neuer was affrayde,
Undid we most, and wrought me such dispite,
That they bereft, me of my pleasure quite.
And that in tombe this worthy Prince was layde,
The world on me, began to showe his force,
Of troubles then, my part I long assayde:
For they of whome, I neuer was affrayde,
Undid we most, and wrought me such dispite,
That they bereft, me of my pleasure quite.
Brought bare and poore, and throwne in worldes disgrace,
Holds downe the head, that neuer casts vp eye,
Cast out of court, condemnd in euery place,
Condemnd perforce, at mercies foote must lye:
Hope is but small, when we for mercie crye.
The bird halfe dead, that hauke hath fast in foote,
Lay head on blocke, where is no other boote.
Holds downe the head, that neuer casts vp eye,
Cast out of court, condemnd in euery place,
Condemnd perforce, at mercies foote must lye:
Hope is but small, when we for mercie crye.
The bird halfe dead, that hauke hath fast in foote,
Lay head on blocke, where is no other boote.
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The rowling stone, that tumbleth downe the hill,
Fynds none to stay, the furie of his fall,
Once vnder foote, for euer daunted still:
One cruell blowe, strikes cleane a way the ball.
Left once in lacke, feeles alwayes want of will,
A conquerd mind, must yeeld to euery ill,
A weake poore soule, that fortune doth forsake,
In hard extreames, from world her leaue may take
Fynds none to stay, the furie of his fall,
Once vnder foote, for euer daunted still:
One cruell blowe, strikes cleane a way the ball.
Left once in lacke, feeles alwayes want of will,
A conquerd mind, must yeeld to euery ill,
A weake poore soule, that fortune doth forsake,
In hard extreames, from world her leaue may take
From those that fall, such as doe rise and run,
The sound with sicke, doe seldome long abide,
Poore people passe (as shadowes in the Sun).
Like feeble fish, that needes must followe tyde,
Among the rich, a beggar soone is spied,
When weake Shores wife, had lost her staffe of stay:
The halt and blind, went limping lame away,
The sound with sicke, doe seldome long abide,
Poore people passe (as shadowes in the Sun).
Like feeble fish, that needes must followe tyde,
Among the rich, a beggar soone is spied,
When weake Shores wife, had lost her staffe of stay:
The halt and blind, went limping lame away,
The poore is pincht, and pointed at in deed,
As baited bull, were leading to a stake,
Wealth findes great helpe, want gets no friend at neede,
A plaged wight, a booteles mone may make:
A naked soule, in street for colde may quake.
But colde or hot, when mischiefes comes a roe,
As falles the lot, the backe beares of the bloe.
As baited bull, were leading to a stake,
Wealth findes great helpe, want gets no friend at neede,
A plaged wight, a booteles mone may make:
A naked soule, in street for colde may quake.
But colde or hot, when mischiefes comes a roe,
As falles the lot, the backe beares of the bloe.
Prefarment past, the world will soone forget,
The present time, is daily gazd vpon,
Yf merchant rich, from wealth doe fall in debt:
Small count is made, of his good fortune gon.
We feede on flesh, and fling away the bone,
Embrace the best, and set the worst aside,
Because faire flowers, are made of in their pride.
The present time, is daily gazd vpon,
Yf merchant rich, from wealth doe fall in debt:
Small count is made, of his good fortune gon.
We feede on flesh, and fling away the bone,
Embrace the best, and set the worst aside,
Because faire flowers, are made of in their pride.
You yonglings nowe, that vaine delights leads on,
To sell chast life, for lewd and light desires,
Poore gaine is gote, when rich good name is gon,
Foule blot and shame, liues vnder trimme attires:
World soone casts off, the hackney horse it hiers.
And when bare nagge, is ridden out of breath,
Tibbe is turnd lose, to feed on barren heath.
To sell chast life, for lewd and light desires,
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Foule blot and shame, liues vnder trimme attires:
World soone casts off, the hackney horse it hiers.
And when bare nagge, is ridden out of breath,
Tibbe is turnd lose, to feed on barren heath.
Of flowers a while, men doe gay poses make,
The sent once past, a due dry withered leaues,
Loue lasts not long, prickt vp for pleasures sake:
Straw little worth, when corne forsaks the sheaues,
A painted post, the gazars eie deceiues,
But when foule fauts, are found that bleard the sight.
The account is gon, of girlls or gugawes light.
The sent once past, a due dry withered leaues,
Loue lasts not long, prickt vp for pleasures sake:
Straw little worth, when corne forsaks the sheaues,
A painted post, the gazars eie deceiues,
But when foule fauts, are found that bleard the sight.
The account is gon, of girlls or gugawes light.
Young pooppies play, small season lasts you see,
Old appish sportes, are quickly out of grace,
Fond wanton games, will soone forgotten be.
As sowre as crabbe, becomes the sweetest face,
There needes no more, be spoken of this case,
All earthly ioyes, by tract of time decayes,
Soone is the glase runne out of our good dayes.
Old appish sportes, are quickly out of grace,
Fond wanton games, will soone forgotten be.
As sowre as crabbe, becomes the sweetest face,
There needes no more, be spoken of this case,
All earthly ioyes, by tract of time decayes,
Soone is the glase runne out of our good dayes.
My fall and facte, makes proofe of that is spoke,
Tels world to much, of shadowes in the sunne,
Dust blowne with winde, or simple proofe of smoake,
That flies from fire, and fast throwe aire doth run:
It ends with woe, that was with ioy begun.
It turnes to teares, that first began with sport,
At length long paine, finds pleasure was but short.
Tels world to much, of shadowes in the sunne,
Dust blowne with winde, or simple proofe of smoake,
That flies from fire, and fast throwe aire doth run:
It ends with woe, that was with ioy begun.
It turnes to teares, that first began with sport,
At length long paine, finds pleasure was but short.
As long as life, remaind in Edwards brest,
Who was but I? who had such friends at call?
His body was, no sooner put in chest,
But well was he, that could procure my fall:
His brother was, mine enemy most of all,
Protector then, whose vice did still abound,
From ill to worse, till death did him confound.
Who was but I? who had such friends at call?
His body was, no sooner put in chest,
But well was he, that could procure my fall:
His brother was, mine enemy most of all,
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From ill to worse, till death did him confound.
He falsely fainde, that I of counsell was,
To poyson him, which thing I neuer meant:
But he could set thereon a face of brasse,
To bring to passe, his lewde and false intent,
To such mischiefe, this tyrants heart was bent,
To God, ne man, he neuer stood in awe,
For in his wrath, he made his will a lawe.
To poyson him, which thing I neuer meant:
But he could set thereon a face of brasse,
To bring to passe, his lewde and false intent,
To such mischiefe, this tyrants heart was bent,
To God, ne man, he neuer stood in awe,
For in his wrath, he made his will a lawe.
Lord Hastings bloud for vengeaunce on him cryes,
And many moe, that were to long to name:
But most of all and in most woefull wise,
I had good cause, this wrtched man to blame.
Before the world, I suffered open shame,
Where people were, as thicke as is the sand,
I pennance tooke, with taper in my hand.
And many moe, that were to long to name:
But most of all and in most woefull wise,
I had good cause, this wrtched man to blame.
Before the world, I suffered open shame,
Where people were, as thicke as is the sand,
I pennance tooke, with taper in my hand.
Each eye did stare, and looke me in the face,
As I past by, the rumours on me ran,
But pacience then, had lent me such a grace,
My quiet lookes, were praisd of euery man:
The shamefast bloud, brought me such collour than,
That thousands sayde, that sawe my sober cheere,
It is great ruth, to see this woman heere.
As I past by, the rumours on me ran,
But pacience then, had lent me such a grace,
My quiet lookes, were praisd of euery man:
The shamefast bloud, brought me such collour than,
That thousands sayde, that sawe my sober cheere,
It is great ruth, to see this woman heere.
But what preuayld, the peoples pitie there?
This raging wolfe, would spare no guiltles blood.
Oh wicked wombe, that such ill fruit did beare,
Oh cursed earth, that yeeldeth forth such mud:
The hell consume, all things that did thee good,
The heauens shut, their gates against thy spreete,
The world tread downe, thy glory vnder feete.
This raging wolfe, would spare no guiltles blood.
Oh wicked wombe, that such ill fruit did beare,
Oh cursed earth, that yeeldeth forth such mud:
The hell consume, all things that did thee good,
The heauens shut, their gates against thy spreete,
The world tread downe, thy glory vnder feete.
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I aske of God, a vengeance on thy bones,
Thy stinking corps, corrupts the aire I knowe:
Thy shamefull death no earthly wight bemones:
For in thy life, thy workes were hated so,
That euery man, did wish thy ouerthroe:
Wherefore I may, though parciall nowe I am,
Curse euery cause, whereof thy body came.
Thy stinking corps, corrupts the aire I knowe:
Thy shamefull death no earthly wight bemones:
For in thy life, thy workes were hated so,
That euery man, did wish thy ouerthroe:
Wherefore I may, though parciall nowe I am,
Curse euery cause, whereof thy body came.
Woe worth the man, that fathered such a childe,
Woe worth the howre, wherein thou wast begate:
Woe worth the brests, that haue the world begylde,
To norish thee, that all the worlde did hate,
Woe worth the Gods, that gaue thee such a fate,
To liue so long, that death deserude so oft,
Woe worth the chance, that set thee vp aloft.
Woe worth the howre, wherein thou wast begate:
Woe worth the brests, that haue the world begylde,
To norish thee, that all the worlde did hate,
Woe worth the Gods, that gaue thee such a fate,
To liue so long, that death deserude so oft,
Woe worth the chance, that set thee vp aloft.
Woe worth the day, the time the howre and all,
When subiects clapt the crowne on Richards head,
Woe worth the Lordes, that sat in sumptuous hall,
To honour him, that Princes blood so shead:
Woule God he had bin, boyld in scalding lead.
When he presumde, in brothers seat to sit,
Whose wretched rage, ruld all with wicked wit.
When subiects clapt the crowne on Richards head,
Woe worth the Lordes, that sat in sumptuous hall,
To honour him, that Princes blood so shead:
Woule God he had bin, boyld in scalding lead.
When he presumde, in brothers seat to sit,
Whose wretched rage, ruld all with wicked wit.
Yee Princes all, and rulers euer echone,
In punishment, beware of hatreds yre.
Before yee scourge, take heede, looke well thereon:
In wraths ill will, if malice kindle fyre,
Your harts will burne, in such a hote desyre,
That in those flames, the smoke shall dim your sight,
Yee shall forget, to ioyne your iustice right.
In punishment, beware of hatreds yre.
Before yee scourge, take heede, looke well thereon:
In wraths ill will, if malice kindle fyre,
Your harts will burne, in such a hote desyre,
That in those flames, the smoke shall dim your sight,
Yee shall forget, to ioyne your iustice right.
You should not iudge, till things be well descernd,
Your charge is still, to maintaine vpright lawes:
In conscience rules, yee should be throwly lernd,
Where clemencie, bids wrath and rashnes pause,
And further saith, strike not without a cause:
And when yee smite, doe it for iustice sake,
Then in good part, ech man your scourge will take.
Your charge is still, to maintaine vpright lawes:
In conscience rules, yee should be throwly lernd,
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And further saith, strike not without a cause:
And when yee smite, doe it for iustice sake,
Then in good part, ech man your scourge will take.
If that such zeale, had moud this tyrants mind,
To make my plague, a warning for the rest,
I had smal cause, such fault in him to finde,
Such punishment, is vsed for the best:
But by ill will, and powre I was oprest,
He spoylde my goods, and left me bare and poore,
And caused me, to beg from dore to dore.
To make my plague, a warning for the rest,
I had smal cause, such fault in him to finde,
Such punishment, is vsed for the best:
But by ill will, and powre I was oprest,
He spoylde my goods, and left me bare and poore,
And caused me, to beg from dore to dore.
What fall was this, to come from Princes fare,
To watch for crumes, among the blind and lame?
When almes were delt, I had an hungry share,
Because I knewe, not how to aske for shame,
Till force and neede, had brought me in such frame,
Than starue I must, or learne to beg an almes,
With booke in hand, to say S. Dauids Psalmes.
To watch for crumes, among the blind and lame?
When almes were delt, I had an hungry share,
Because I knewe, not how to aske for shame,
Till force and neede, had brought me in such frame,
Than starue I must, or learne to beg an almes,
With booke in hand, to say S. Dauids Psalmes.
Where I was wont, the golden chaines to weare,
A payre of beads, about my necke was wound,
A linnen cloth, was lapt about my heare,
A ragged gowne, that trailed on the ground,
A dish that clapt, and gaue a heauie sound,
A staying staffe, and wallet therewithall,
I bare about, as witnesse of my fall,
A payre of beads, about my necke was wound,
A linnen cloth, was lapt about my heare,
A ragged gowne, that trailed on the ground,
A dish that clapt, and gaue a heauie sound,
A staying staffe, and wallet therewithall,
I bare about, as witnesse of my fall,
The fall of leafe, is nothing like the spring,
Ech eye beholdes the rising of the sunne,
All men admire the fauour of a King,
And from great states, growne in disgrace they run,
Such sodaine claps, ne wit nor will can shun:
For when the stoole, is taken from our feete,
Full flat on floore, the body falls in streete.
Ech eye beholdes the rising of the sunne,
All men admire the fauour of a King,
And from great states, growne in disgrace they run,
Such sodaine claps, ne wit nor will can shun:
For when the stoole, is taken from our feete,
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I had no house, wherein to hide my heade,
The open streete, my lodging was perforce,
Full oft I went, all hungry to my bed,
My flesh consumde, I looked like a corse.
Yet in that plight, who had on me remorse?
O God thou knowste, my friends forsooke me than,
Not one holpe me, that succred many a man.
The open streete, my lodging was perforce,
Full oft I went, all hungry to my bed,
My flesh consumde, I looked like a corse.
Yet in that plight, who had on me remorse?
O God thou knowste, my friends forsooke me than,
Not one holpe me, that succred many a man.
They frownd on me, that fawnd on me before,
And fled from me, that followed me full fast:
They hated me, by whome I set much store,
They knewe full well, my Fortune did not last.
In euery place, I was condemnde and cast,
To pleade my cause, at bar it was no boote,
For euery man, did treade me vnder foote.
And fled from me, that followed me full fast:
They hated me, by whome I set much store,
They knewe full well, my Fortune did not last.
In euery place, I was condemnde and cast,
To pleade my cause, at bar it was no boote,
For euery man, did treade me vnder foote.
Thus long I liud, all weary of my life,
Till death approcht, and rid me from that woe:
Example take, by me both maide and wife,
Beware, take heede, fall not to folly so.
A Mirrour make, by my great ouerthroe,
Defye the world, and all his wanton wayes,
Beware by me, that spent so ill her dayes.
Till death approcht, and rid me from that woe:
Example take, by me both maide and wife,
Beware, take heede, fall not to folly so.
A Mirrour make, by my great ouerthroe,
Defye the world, and all his wanton wayes,
Beware by me, that spent so ill her dayes.
T. Churchyard.
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