A handefvl of gladsome verses giuen to the Queenes Maiesty at Woodstocke this prograce. By Thomas Chvrchyarde |
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A few voluntary verses to the general readers.
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 | A handefvl of gladsome verses |  |
A few voluntary verses to the general readers.
If
aged daies, had dryed vp my Muse
As summer drouth, hath partcht both hearb and grasse
Yet now compeld, my pen againe to vse
That world shall see, my minde is as it was
Looke for no gold, when I can giue but glasse
My morning dew, sun beames hath taken hence
And troubled springs, yeelds puddle water sence.
As summer drouth, hath partcht both hearb and grasse
Yet now compeld, my pen againe to vse
That world shall see, my minde is as it was
Looke for no gold, when I can giue but glasse
My morning dew, sun beames hath taken hence
And troubled springs, yeelds puddle water sence.
Take edge away, the knife can cut no more
Hard stony ground, can beare but little corne
Did appels sone, are rotten at the kore
Ne Figs nor Grapes, can come from pricking thorne
The glasse soone goes, from silke that long is worne
Hope for no fruit, when leaues forsakes the tree
So falleth out, betweene my verse and me.
Hard stony ground, can beare but little corne
Did appels sone, are rotten at the kore
Ne Figs nor Grapes, can come from pricking thorne
The glasse soone goes, from silke that long is worne
Hope for no fruit, when leaues forsakes the tree
So falleth out, betweene my verse and me.
When youth was fresh, and florisht as a flowre
The wits were quicke, and ready to conceiue
When age did frowne, and browes began to lowre
My skill grue scant, the muses did me leaue
Then tract of time, in head did cobwebs weaue
So rusty grew, the reason of the braine
And euer since, I lost my Poets vaine.
The wits were quicke, and ready to conceiue
When age did frowne, and browes began to lowre
My skill grue scant, the muses did me leaue
Then tract of time, in head did cobwebs weaue
So rusty grew, the reason of the braine
And euer since, I lost my Poets vaine.
What though ripe wit, be now but bare and blunt
And fine deuice, of head is farre to seeke
And age can not, doe that which youth was wont
And pen scarce makes, a verse in halfe a weeke
And all my workes, not worth a little leeke
Yet what I doe, but bad or worthy praise
I neuer robd, no writer in my daies.
And fine deuice, of head is farre to seeke
And age can not, doe that which youth was wont
And pen scarce makes, a verse in halfe a weeke
And all my workes, not worth a little leeke
Yet what I doe, but bad or worthy praise
I neuer robd, no writer in my daies.
It is mine owne, I bring to Printers Presse
I haue by happe, a Hatchet in my hand
To hew the wood, (let it be more or lesse)
In what strange forme, I list to let it stand
though some be chips, let all bee iustly scand
Ne chips ne choice, nor nothing els I knew
But was well ment, and may abide the vew.
I haue by happe, a Hatchet in my hand
To hew the wood, (let it be more or lesse)
In what strange forme, I list to let it stand
though some be chips, let all bee iustly scand
But was well ment, and may abide the vew.
A Booke in Presse, that I my challenge name
Shall tell you more, of workes that I haue done
But blame me not, (since each man striues for fame)
To holde on right, the course wherein I runne
I ought to weare, the cloth my fingers spunne
I will so lowd, for bookes and verses crie
That sure no bird, shall with my feathers flie.
Shall tell you more, of workes that I haue done
But blame me not, (since each man striues for fame)
To holde on right, the course wherein I runne
I ought to weare, the cloth my fingers spunne
I will so lowd, for bookes and verses crie
That sure no bird, shall with my feathers flie.
Some Peakocks then, will spread their tailes no more
Small boast is best, let touchstone trie out golde
I haue as yet, some tragedies in store
That like Shores wife, in verses shalbe tolde
Condemne no man, though he be waxen olde
A rough barkt tree, whose bowes but crooked grow
When season serues, some mellowd fruit may show.
Small boast is best, let touchstone trie out golde
I haue as yet, some tragedies in store
That like Shores wife, in verses shalbe tolde
Condemne no man, though he be waxen olde
A rough barkt tree, whose bowes but crooked grow
When season serues, some mellowd fruit may show.
A great olde Oake, long time will akornes beare
And small young graffes, are long in sprouting out
Some saie old wine, is liked euerie where
And all men knowes, new ale is full of grout
Old horse goes well, young tits are much to doubt
But sure old golde, is more esteemd then new
No Hawke compares, with Hagard in the mew.
And small young graffes, are long in sprouting out
Some saie old wine, is liked euerie where
And all men knowes, new ale is full of grout
Old horse goes well, young tits are much to doubt
But sure old golde, is more esteemd then new
No Hawke compares, with Hagard in the mew.
Old men know much, though young men cal them fooles
Old bookes are best, for there great learning is
Old authours too, are daily read in Schooles
New sectes are nought, olde knowledge can not misse
Old guyes was good, and nothing like to this
Where fraude and craft, and finenesse all would haue
And playnest men, can neither pole nor shaue.
Old bookes are best, for there great learning is
Old authours too, are daily read in Schooles
New sectes are nought, olde knowledge can not misse
Old guyes was good, and nothing like to this
Where fraude and craft, and finenesse all would haue
And playnest men, can neither pole nor shaue.
Olde fathers built, faire Colledges good store,
And gaue great goods, and landes to bring vp youth
Young men thinke skorne, to make of little more
And spends away, their thrift to tell the truth
Olde mindes were full, of mercie grace and ruth
And pitty tooke, of those that seemd to lacke
Young gallants gay, from poore doe turne their backe.
And gaue great goods, and landes to bring vp youth
Young men thinke skorne, to make of little more
And spends away, their thrift to tell the truth
And pitty tooke, of those that seemd to lacke
Young gallants gay, from poore doe turne their backe.
Olde customes good, at length becam good lawes
Olde lawes are likte, and honourd of the wise
Good men obey, the euils olde order drawes
Newe fond delights, olde fathers did despise
In olde graue heads, great skill and wisedome lies
Sounde councell comes, from age in time of neede
Olde mens aduice, is that which doth the deede.
Olde lawes are likte, and honourd of the wise
Good men obey, the euils olde order drawes
Newe fond delights, olde fathers did despise
In olde graue heads, great skill and wisedome lies
Sounde councell comes, from age in time of neede
Olde mens aduice, is that which doth the deede.
Olde beaten waies, are readie still to hit
These new by-paths, leades men on many stiles
An olde prouerbe, hath no more wordes then wit
Newe fangled heades, at each light fancie smiles
Olde wisedome farre, surmounts young fondlings wiles
Experience is, the doctor eury daie
That carries close, all knowledge cleane away.
These new by-paths, leades men on many stiles
An olde prouerbe, hath no more wordes then wit
Newe fangled heades, at each light fancie smiles
Olde wisedome farre, surmounts young fondlings wiles
Experience is, the doctor eury daie
That carries close, all knowledge cleane away.
Young houndes are fleete, the olde hunts slowe and true
Olde dogges bite sore, if all his teeth be sound
Olde auncient friends, are better then the newe
In younglings loue, there is small suretie found
For like a toppe, fine fancie turneth round
Olde colth or silke, made in our elder daies
Weares long and firme, when new things soone decaies.
Olde dogges bite sore, if all his teeth be sound
Olde auncient friends, are better then the newe
In younglings loue, there is small suretie found
For like a toppe, fine fancie turneth round
Olde colth or silke, made in our elder daies
Weares long and firme, when new things soone decaies.
No further nowe, of age but to my taske
I tooke in hand, to shewe my duety throw
Yet licker sweete, comes none from emptie kaske
With vargis sowre, is fild olde barrell now
But reason must, inuent the meane and howe
I doe discharge, my duety as I ought
To make a booke, shall answere writers thought.
I tooke in hand, to shewe my duety throw
Yet licker sweete, comes none from emptie kaske
With vargis sowre, is fild olde barrell now
But reason must, inuent the meane and howe
I doe discharge, my duety as I ought
To make a booke, shall answere writers thought.
Nowe must my Muse, goe borrowe if I may,
My betters workes, to fill my matter full
Tush world growes hard, each man will say me nay
Some cannot spare, a little locke of wooll
So greedely, for pealfe they plucke and pull
But namely some, so watch and pry for fame
That they with wordes, will hinder mens good name.
My betters workes, to fill my matter full
Some cannot spare, a little locke of wooll
So greedely, for pealfe they plucke and pull
But namely some, so watch and pry for fame
That they with wordes, will hinder mens good name.
Spite is a sparke, of fire that flies in thaire
And makes a cracke, like pouder in a dagge
Spite hides foule thoughts, in lookes and speeches faire
Whose wordes rests not, as long as tongue may wagge
Spite of himselfe, will boldly boast and bragge
To hurt by hate, the hart that harmeles is
For spite like snake, in euery hedge can his.
And makes a cracke, like pouder in a dagge
Spite hides foule thoughts, in lookes and speeches faire
Whose wordes rests not, as long as tongue may wagge
Spite of himselfe, will boldly boast and bragge
To hurt by hate, the hart that harmeles is
For spite like snake, in euery hedge can his.
Who flings a stone, at euery dogge that barkes
A wearie arme, is surelie like to haue
Though enuy shootes, his bolts at many markes
Pride wins not all, the glory he doth craue
Some will not giue, the dead good words in graue
Howe should the quicke, then get bad worlds goodwill
When hollowe harts, but harbours hatred still.
A wearie arme, is surelie like to haue
Though enuy shootes, his bolts at many markes
Pride wins not all, the glory he doth craue
Some will not giue, the dead good words in graue
Howe should the quicke, then get bad worlds goodwill
When hollowe harts, but harbours hatred still.
March on plaine booke, although thou passe the pikes
Some marshall man, will saue a souldiers life
Holde in thy head, from those that thee mislikes
In skornefull daies, I knowe disdaine is riefe
Thy gladsome verse, stirs vp more mirth then strife
So Prince thou please, thine owne desire thou hast
Come cleare from court, care not for enuies blast.
Some marshall man, will saue a souldiers life
Holde in thy head, from those that thee mislikes
In skornefull daies, I knowe disdaine is riefe
Thy gladsome verse, stirs vp more mirth then strife
So Prince thou please, thine owne desire thou hast
Come cleare from court, care not for enuies blast.
Thus Readers all, I bid you heere farewell
And to the Prince, a simple tale I tell.
And to the Prince, a simple tale I tell.
FINIS.
| A handefvl of gladsome verses | |