A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures Gallantly garnished, with goodly Galleries of strang inuentio[n]s and prudently polished, with sundry pleasant Posies, & other fine fancies of dainty deuices, and rare delightes. Written by a student in Ca[m]bridge. And published by I. C. Gent |
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| 1. | The fyrst complaynt. |
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 | A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures |  |
The fyrst complaynt.
Longe
haue I wept alone, for sorrow and for care,
My hart hath long been plunged in paine, greefe, and distresse:
Awake yee fatall Dames, and helpe for to declare,
Bewaile with mee which weepe, the fate of my successe,
For Fortunes crooked chance, hath broke my dolefull hart,
And fate it selfe hath sworne, to worke my greefe and smart:
I beare that heauy hap, which all men ought to weepe,
My soule is prisoner still, and care my hart doth keepe.
And yet my greefe finde no auayle,
I sulke in seas without a sayle:
I row about with euery winde,
My helme is an vnquiet minde.
My hart hath long been plunged in paine, greefe, and distresse:
Awake yee fatall Dames, and helpe for to declare,
Bewaile with mee which weepe, the fate of my successe,
For Fortunes crooked chance, hath broke my dolefull hart,
And fate it selfe hath sworne, to worke my greefe and smart:
I beare that heauy hap, which all men ought to weepe,
My soule is prisoner still, and care my hart doth keepe.
And yet my greefe finde no auayle,
I sulke in seas without a sayle:
I row about with euery winde,
My helme is an vnquiet minde.
A wofull fate.
No loue nor louers lawes, hath caught my hart in snare,
No want of worldly wealth, hath bred so great anoy:
No losse of Fortunes gifte, hath clad my hart with care,
No feare of dinting death, hath banisht perfite ioy:
No frowning force of foes, which doth my life inuade,
Nor want of worthy blood, this heauy hart hath made:
Tis none of these I vow, nor none of these shall bee,
Which haue increast my woe, and banisht ioyfull glee.
But that which hath renewde my mone,
It stickes far nearer to the bone.
Worse gripes of greefe, will make mee cry,
With sorrowing sighes till that I dye.
No loue nor louers lawes, hath caught my hart in snare,
No want of worldly wealth, hath bred so great anoy:
No losse of Fortunes gifte, hath clad my hart with care,
No feare of dinting death, hath banisht perfite ioy:
No frowning force of foes, which doth my life inuade,
Nor want of worthy blood, this heauy hart hath made:
Tis none of these I vow, nor none of these shall bee,
Which haue increast my woe, and banisht ioyfull glee.
But that which hath renewde my mone,
It stickes far nearer to the bone.
Worse gripes of greefe, will make mee cry,
With sorrowing sighes till that I dye.
Alas the while
So shall I quickly fade, and perish quite away,
Which now I gladly wish, and oft haue wisht before:
That this my brittle flesh might perish vnto clay,
And that within the ground, my bones might lye in store:
How happy should I bee, how ioyfull man were I,
Oh gentle death come strike, that I may fade and die:
For life is present death, and death would bring mee life,
And ende my wofull dayes, which I consume in strife.
Graunt this good liuing Lorde I pray,
That as I wish, euen so I may:
Ende this my life, and ende my care,
That in this place I may haue share.
Which now I gladly wish, and oft haue wisht before:
That this my brittle flesh might perish vnto clay,
And that within the ground, my bones might lye in store:
How happy should I bee, how ioyfull man were I,
Oh gentle death come strike, that I may fade and die:
For life is present death, and death would bring mee life,
And ende my wofull dayes, which I consume in strife.
Graunt this good liuing Lorde I pray,
That as I wish, euen so I may:
Ende this my life, and ende my care,
That in this place I may haue share.
Graunt this O Lord.
| A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures | |