University of Virginia Library

My mothers maides

Of the meane and sure estate written to Iohn Poins.

My mothers maides when they do sowe and spinne:
They sing a song made of the feldishe mouse:
That forbicause her liuelod was but thinne,
Would nedes go se her townish sisters house,
She thought, her selfe endured to greuous payne,
The stormy blastes her caue so sore did sowse:
That when the furrowes swimmed with the rayne:
She must lie colde, and wet in sory plight.
And worse then that, bare meat there did remaine
To comfort her, when she her house had dight:
Sometime a barly corne: sometime a beane:

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L2r

For which she laboured hard both day and night,
In haruest tyme, while she might go and gleane.
And when her store was stroyed with the floode:
Then weleaway for she vndone was cleane.
Then was she faine to take in stede of fode,
Slepe if she might, her honger to begyle.
My sister (quod she) hath a liuyng good:
And hence from me she dwelleth not a myle.
In colde and storme, she lieth warme and dry,
In bed of downe: the durt doth not defile
Her tender fote, she labours not as I,
Richely she fedes, and at the richemans cost:
And for her meat she nedes not craue nor cry.
By sea, by land, of delicates the most
Her cater sekes, and spareth for no perill:
She fedes on boyle meat, bake meat, and on rost:
And hath therfore no whit of charge nor trauell.
And when she list the licour of the grape
Doth glad her hart, till that her belly swell.
And at this iourney makes she but a iape:
So forth she goes, trusting of all this wealth,
With her sister her part so for to shape:
That if she might there kepe her self in health:
To liue a Lady while her life doth last.
And to the dore now is she come by stealth:
And with her fote anone she scrapes full fast.
Thother for fear, durst not well scarse appere:
Of euery noyse so was the wretch agast.
At last, she asked softly who was there.
And in her language as well as she could,
Pepe (quod the other) sister I am here.
Peace (quod the towne mouse) why speakest thou so loude?
And by the hand she toke her fayre and well.
Welcome (quod she) my sister by the rode.
She feasted her that ioye it was to tell
The fare they hadde, they dranke the wine so clere:
And as to purpose now and then it fell:
She chered her, with how sister what chere?
Amid this ioye be fell a sory chance:
That (weleaway) the stranger bought full dere
The fare she had. For as she lookt a scance:
Vnder a stole she spied two stemyng eyes.

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L2v

In a rounde head, with sharpe eares: in Fraunce
Was neuer mouse so ferde, for the vnwise
Had not ysene such a beast before.
Yet had nature taught her after her gise,
To know her fo: and dread him euermore.
The townemouse fled: she knew whither to go:
The other had no shift, but wonders sore
Ferde of her life, at home she wisht her tho:
And to the dore (alas) as she did skippe:
The heauen it would, lo: and eke her chance was so:
At the threshold her sely fote did trippe:
And ere she might recouer it agayne:
The traytour cat had caught her by the hippe:
And made her there against hir will remayne:
That had forgot her power, surety and rest,
For semyng welth, wherin she thought to raine.
Alas (my Poyns) how men do seke the best,
And finde the worst, by errour as they stray,
And no maruell, when sight is so opprest,
And blindes the guide, anone out of the way
Goeth guide and all in seking quiet life.
O wretched mindes, there is no golde that may
Graunt that you seke, no warre, no peace, no strife.
No, no, although thy head were hoopt with golde,
Sergeant with mace, with hawbart, sword, nor knife,
Can not repulse the care that folow should.
Ech kinde of life hath with him his disease.
Liue in delite, euen as thy lust would:
And thou shalt finde, when lust doth most thee please:
It irketh straight, and by it selfe doth fade.
A small thing is it, that may thy minde appease.
None of you al there is, that is so madde,
To seke for grapes on brambles, or on bryers:
Nor none I trow that hath his witte so badde,
To set his haye for conies ouer riuers:
Nor ye set not a dragge net for an hare.
And yet the thing, that most is your desire,
You do misseke, with more trauell and care.
Make plaine thine hart, that it be not knotted
With hope or dreade, and se thy will be bare
From all affectes, whom vice hath euer spotted.
Thy selfe content with that is thee assinde:

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L3r

And vse it well that is to thee alotted.
Then seke no more out of thy selfe to finde
The thing that thou hast sought so long before.
For thou shalt feele it stickyng in thy minde,
Madde if ye list to continue your sore.
Let present passe, and gape on time to come:
And depe your selfe in trauell more and more.
Henceforth (my Poins) this shalbe all and summe
These wretched foles shall haue nought els of me:
But, to the great God and to his dome,
None other paine pray I for them to be:
But when the rage doth leade them from the right:
That lokyng backward, Vertue they may se,
Euen as she is, so goodly fayre and bright.
And whilst they claspe their lustes in armes a crosse:
Graunt them good Lord, as thou maist of thy might,
To freate inward, for losyng such a losse.