To the Reader.

THat which Hierom said was his condition in publishing of some of his labours, do I now expect to fall upon me, i e. plu [...]imorum morsibus patere, to lie open to many cen­sures; I have ever thought my self below Envy, which being the d [...]ughter of Pride (as S. Ambrose said) will not abase her self to l [...]ok [...]n so small a thing as me: yet because (as S. Ch [...]ysostome hath observed) there are some men (like Carrion Crows, that flie over fair Meadows and sit on Fenns; and like Flies, which passe by sound flesh, and seaze on Vlcers) flie over and passe by mens better parts, and feed upon their Imperfections: I do there­fore emplore thy favour in [...]e [...]ding these papers, that what Acci­dentall defects o [...] Erra [...]aes thou findest therein, thou wouldest reform with thy Pen, that the Carrion Crows and corrupt Fl [...]es may not find [...] whereon to full: If there be any erroneous matter, thereof inform me, and I shall retr [...]ct it; for though I may erre, yet I will not be an Heretick; if any thing thou [...]ndes [...] go [...]d, that ascribe to the Father of Lights, to wh [...]se glory [...] daily profit I de [...]ote my se [...]f, craving no retribution but thy prayer, for me, that whilest I preach to others, I my self may not be a Cast away, so shall I be

Ever thine in Christ Iesus, F.B.

GREENES Mourning Garment, Giuen him by repen­tance at the funerals of Loue, which he presentes for a fauour to all young Gentlemen that wish to weane themselues from wanton desires. R. Greene.

Vtrius (que) Academiae in Artibus Magister. Sero sed Serio.

LONDON Printed by I. W. for Thomas Newman. 1590.

GREENES Mourning Garment.

IN the Citie of Callipolis seated in the lande of Auilath, compassed with Giho [...] and Euphrates two riuers that flowe frō Eden, there sometimes dwelled a man called Rabbi Bilessi, lineally descended from the séede of holy Sem, ayming in his life to imitate his predecessors perfection, as he was alyed vnto him in parentage. This Rabbi Bilessi was a man vppon whom Fortune had powred out the Corn [...]copia of her fauours, and prodigally had wrapt him in the vestment of her riches, séeking as farre to ex­céede nature in excellence, as nature had ouer-reacht her selfe in cunning: For he was the chiefe G [...]gamaster of the whole Citie: aged he was for the Palme trée had displayed her blos­somes on his head, and his haires were as white as the silke yt is sold in Tyre, honour had pitcht her pa [...]lion in his tresses, and the tramelles of his haire were full of reuerence, his coun­tenance graue as became his yeares, and yet full of leuitie that as the Eagle hath talents to stricke, and winges to sha­dowe, so his lookes carryed threates to chastice, and fauours to incourage. This olde man being thus grac'd by nature and fortune, hath the giftes of the minde so in [...]erlarded with the ex­cellence of all vertues, that if Aristotle had béene aliue hée would haue confest this Rabbi to haue attayned vnto the per­fection of his summum bonū. Thus euery way happy Fortune not content to inrich him with these fauours, that hee might be the Phenix of all [...]licitie, gaue him by one wise two sonnes iss [...]ed of such a trée as might discouer the trypartite fo [...]e of his life.

The description of his Eldest Sonne.

THe Eldest whose name was Sophonos, was so behoul­ding vnto nature for the lyneamentes of his bodie, as hée could not wrong her with any default of cunning, for she had so curiously leueld euery ly [...] as though she would present ver­tue a subiect wherein to flourish. His exteriour proportion was not more pleasing to the eye, than his inwarde perfection to the care, resembling the Panther in excellence of hue, and the Syren in harmony of vertues, young he was, for as yet the prime of his yeares was in the flower, and youth sate and ba­sted him Calendes in his forehead. But as the Synamon trée looketh tawny when he is a twigge, and the Halciones most blacke when they are most young: so Sophonos in his ten­der yeares carryed graue thoughts, and in the spring of his youth such ripe fruites, as are found in the Autum of age: yet was he not Morosus tyed to austerne humours, neyther so ci­nicall as Diogenes, to mislike Alexanders royaltie, nor such a Timonist but he would familiarly conuerse with his friends, he counted Cato too seuere, and Cassius too sullen, and both too fond, not laughing once a yeare with Apollo, but houlding all honest and merry recreation necessarie, so it were not blemisht with any excesse: yet as he was indewed with these speciall qualities, nature was spotted with some little imperfections: the Phenix amongst all her golden plumes may haue one sicke feather, and yet a Phenix: the purest Pome granates may haue one rotten kernell, and the perfectest man is not without some blemish, and so was Sophonos: for as he was graue, wise, vertuous, and affable, yet he had that fault which Tully called defectum Naturae, and that was cowardize, fearefull hee was of his flesh, and thought it good sléeping in a whole skinne, he preferd the Oliue before the sworde, and the Doue before the Eagle, peace before warres: and therefore giuing himselfe to Marchaundize, hée remayned at home with his father.

The description of the yongest sonne.

THe yongest, who was called Philador was so beautified with exterior fauour, that Natura naturans which the phi­losophers call the exquisite former of features, séemed to set (non vltra) on his liniaments. When Nature had cast this curious mould, that she might triumph as the mistresse of al perfection, she infused such interiour and vitall spirites into this carkasse, that it séemed repollished with the puritie of the senses. For Philador had so pregnant a wit, and such a swift inséeing and reaching capacitie, as it séemed the graces in some Synode had powred out the plenty of their influence. Quicke it was and pleasant, fall of such wittie facetiae and affable sentences, that those Epithetons that Homer assigned to Vlysses, might very well haue béene ascribed to Philador: he was courteous to salute all, counting it commendable prodigalitie that grewe from the Bonnet and the Tongue, alluding to this old verse of Chawcer.

Mickle grace winnes hee
Thats franke of bonnet, tong, and knee.

To court amongest the beautiful Dames of Callipolis, he had such a ready insinuation of present prattle, powdred with such merry questions, sharpe replies, swéete tauntes, and de­lightfull iests, that as he was an Adamant to euery eie, for his beautie, so he was a Syren to euery care for his eloquence, dra­wing women desirous of his company, as Orpheus the Ba­chanals with his melodie. Fit he was for all companies, as a man that had wit at will, his countenaunce at commaunde, and his thoughts in his fist. He could with Cleanthes studie with a Candle, and with Brutus determine in the night, and yet with Salern [...] say,

Balnea, vina, venus, &c.
Haec nocent oculis sed vigilare magis.

With Diogenes he would cate Coleworts, with Aristip­pus delicates, with Aristotle he would allow Materia prima, with Moses, that there was no forma nor priuatio, but fiat. To be briefe, he could cretizare cum Cretensibus, and pay ster­ling [Page 4] where he had receiued money that was currant: he con­trary to the disposition of his brother frequented such company as was agréeable, both to his yeares, and his thoughts, spend­ing the time as pleasant as his wit could deuise, and his pursse maintaine, and would haue done more if olde Rabby Bilessy his father had not ouerlooked him with a carefull eye: but as the Storke when he sées his yong too forward to flie, beateth them into the nest, so Bilessy when he saw his sonne beginning to soare too high with Icaru [...], he cried to him, Medium tutissi­mum, with a fatherly voice, so reclayming him from proouing too rauening. Philador féeling his father he is the reines of his libertie with a hard hand, and that if he bated neuer so little, he was checkt to the fist, thought to desire that he might tra­uell, and sée the worlde, and not to be brought vp at home like a meacocke: finding therefore one day his olde father sitting alone in an Arbour, he beganne thus:

Philadors request to olde Rabby Bilessy.

SIr, quoth he, when I consider with my selfe, what experi­ence Vlysses got by trauersing strange Countries, what Aphorismes the Philosophers sought into, by séeking farre from home, I may either thinke your fatherly loue too tender, that limits me no further then your lookes, or mine owne [...]ol­ly great that couet no further trauelles. Tully saide, euerie Countrie is a wise mans natiue home, and Thales Milesius thought, as the Sunne doth compasse the worlde in a day, so a man should cut through the worlde in his life, and buy that abroade with trauell, which at home could be purchased with no treasure. If Plato had liued still in Greece, he had neuer fetcht his strange hieroglyphicks from the Egyptians, if A­ristotle had still like a my [...]her béene stewed vp in Stagyra, he had neuer written his workes De natura Animalium to A­lexander: Trauell (father) is the mother of experience, and for euery peny of expense, it returns home laden with a pound of wisedome. Men are not borne to be tyed to their Cradles, nor ought we with the Tortoise to carry our house vppon our [Page 5] backe: the Egles no sooner sée the pennes of their young ones able to make wing, but they pull their nests asunder, and let them fly. What? Fortune hateth meacockes, and shutteth hir hand to such as feare to séeke where she is: here at home I deny not but I shall haue wealth, but gotten by your labours, and lands purchased by your trauels, so like a Droane shall I féede on that hony which others haue brought home vnto the Hiue: in Callipolis I may learne to traffique, and to take a turne vp and downe the Exchange, I may for pleasure take a walke about your pastures, and either with the hounde course the Hart, and with the hawke flie the Phesant: recrea­tions they be, and fit for such as thinke no smell good, but their Countries smoake. But in trauelling forraine nations, and trauersing the Paralels, I shall sée the manners of men, the customs of countries, the diuersities of languages, and the sun­dry secrets the mother earth ministreth, I shal be able at my returne with the Geographers to describe the scituation of the earth, with Cosmographers to talke of Citties, Townes, Seas, and Riuers, to make reporte what the Chaldées be in Aegypt, the Gymnosophists in India, the Burgonians in Hetruria, the Sophi in Gretia, the Druydes in France, to talke as well as Aristotle of the nature of beastes, as well as Plinie of Trées and Plants, as Gesnerus of mineralles and stones: thus wit augmented by experience, shall make me a generall man, fitte any way to profite my Common wealth. Further, I shall haue a déepe insight into customes of all coun­tries, I shall sée how the Gretians prise of learning, how they va [...] Chiualrie, and practise their Youth in both, so shall I taste of a Scholler, and sauour of a Souldier, able, when I returne, in peace to apply my Booke, and in warre to vse my Launce. Séeing then (sir) I am in the prime of my youth, li­uing at home, onely to féede your lookes, let me not so idlely passe ouer the flower of mine age, but giue me leaue to passe abroade, that I may returne home to your ioy and my coun­tries comforte. Olde Rabby Bilessy hearing his sonne in this minde, beganne to wonder what newe desire, to sée strange countries, had tickled his sonnes humour, but knowing yong [Page 6] wits were wandring, he beganne to reclaime him thus:

Rabby Bilessies answere to his sonne Philador.

SOnne, quoth he, thou séest my yeares are many, and there­fore my experience should be much, that age hath furrowed many wrinckles in my face, wherein are hidden many actions of déepe aduice, my white haires, I tell thée, haue séene ma­ny Winters, and further haue I trauelled then I either rea­ped wisedome or profite. Sonne, as yet thou hast not eaten breade with one tooth, nor hath the blacke Oxe troden vppon thy foote, thou hast onely fed on the fruits of my labours, and therefore dost thou couet to taste of straunge pleasures: But knowest thou Philador what a long haruest thou shouldest reape for a little corne? What hie hazards thou shouldest tho­rough for little amends? What large preiudice for small pro­fite, thou wouldest say, Nolo tanti poenitentiam emere. First, (my sonne) note thou arte here in thy natiue country loued of thy friends, and feared of thine enemies, here hast thou plen­ty at commaunde, and Fortune daunceth attendance on thy will. If thou wilt be a Scholler, thou hast here learned men with whome to conuerse: if a traueller, and desirous to know the customes and manners of men, here by Iewes, Grecians, Arrabians, Indians, and men of all nations, who may sullie descipher to thée the nature of euerie climate, for the scituation of the world, thou hast Mappes, and maiest wander in them as farre with thine eie, as thou wouldest repent to trauel with thy foote. Séeing then thou maiest learne as much in Calli­polis as Vlysses found in all his wearie & dangerous iornies, content thée with these helpes, and rest at home with thine olde Father in quiet, for (my sonne) in trauell thou shalt poc­ket vp much disparagement of humor, which I know will bée gréeuefull to thy patience: thou must fit thine humour to the place, and the person, be he neuer so base. If he wrong thée, thou must either beare his braue, or féele the force of his wea­pon, thou shalt be faine to content thée with the meridionall heate that scortcheth, and passe thorough the septentrional [Page 7] cloudes that fréeze, ofte in daunger of théeues, many times of wilde beastes, and euer of flatterers. In Creete thou must learne to lie, in Paphos to be a louer, in Greece a dissembler, thou must bring home pride from Spaine, lasciuiousnesse from Italie, gluttonie from England, and carowsing from the Danes. Thus (my sonne) packe thée foorth with as manie vertues as thou canst beare, thou shalt disourthen them all, and returne home with as many vices as thou canst bring. Therefore rest thée from that foolish desire to trauell, and con­tent thée at home with thine olde father in quiet. All these per­swasiue principles of the old Rabby could not disswade Phila­dor from the intent of his trauels, but that he replied so cun­ningly, and so importunately, that the olde man was faine to graunt, and bade him prouide him all things necessarie for his iourney. Philador was not slacke in this, but with all spéede possible, did his indeuour, so that within shorte time he had all things in a readinesse: at last, the day of his departure came, and then his father bringing foorth in coine great store of trea­sure, deliuered it vnto his sonne as his portion, and then sit­ting downe with his staffe in his hand, and his handkercher at his eies, for the olde man wept, he gaue his sonne this fare­well:

Rabbi Bilessies farewell to his sonne Philador.

NOw my sonne, that I must take my leaue of thée, and say farewell to him that perhaps shall fare ill, yet before we part, marke and note these fewe precepts which thy father hath bought with m [...]ny yeares, and great experience.

First (my Sonne) serue God, let him be the author of all thy actions, please him with prayer and pennance, least if hee frowne, he confound all thy fortunes, and thy labours be like the droppes of raine in a sandy ground.

Then forward let thine owne safetie be thy next care, and in all thy attemptes foresée the end, and be wise for thy selfe.

Be courteous to all, offensiue to none, and brooke any in­iurie with patience, for reuenge is preiudiciall to a Trauailer. [...] [Page 10] and passed vp into the continent almost a whole day without discrying either towne, village, hamlet, or house, so that wearied, he allighted and walked a foote downe a vale, where he descryed a Shepheard and his wife sitting kéeping flockes, he of shéepe, she of Kids, Philador glad of this, bad his men be of good cheare for now (quoth he) I haue within ken a countrie swayne, and he shall direct vs to some place of rest, with that he paced on easely, and séeing them sit so me to­gether, and so louingly, he thought to steale vpon them to sée what they were doing, and therefore giuing his horse to one of his boyes, he went afore himselfe, and found them sitting in this manner.

The description of the Shepheard and his wife.
IT was néere a thickie shade,
That broad leaues of Beach had made:
Ioyning all their toppes so nie,
That scarce Phebus in could prie,
To sée if Louers in the thicke,
Could dally with a wanton tricke.
Where sate this Swayne and his wife,
Sporting in that pleasing life,
That Corridon commendeth so,
All other liues to ouer-go.
He and she did sit and kéepe,
Flockes of Kids, and foul [...]es of shéepe:
He vpon his pipe did play,
She tuned voyce vnto his lay.
And for you might her Huswife knowe,
Uoyce did sing and fingers sowe:
He was young, his coat was gréene,
With weltes of white seamde betwéene,
Turned ouer with a flappe,
That breast and bosome in did wrappe,
Skirtes side and plighted frée,
Séemely hanging to his knée.
[Page 11]A whittle with a siluer chape,
Cloke was russet and the cape,
Serued for a Bonnet oft,
To shrowd him from the wet aloft.
A leather scrip of collour red,
With a button on the head,
A Bottle full of Countrie whigge,
By the Shepheards side did ligge,
And in a little bush hard by,
There the Sheapheards dogge did ly,
Who while his Maister gan to sléepe,
Well could watch both Kides and shéepe [...]
The Shepheard was a frolicke swayne,
For though his parrell was but playne,
Yet doone the Authors soothly say,
His cullour was both fresh and gay.
And in their writtes playne discusse [...]
Fayrer was not Tytirus,
Nor Menalcas whom they call,
The Alderléefest Swayne of all,
Séeming him was his wife,
Both in line and in life.
Faire shée was as faire might bée,
Like the Roses on the trée:
Buxsane blie [...], and young I wéene,
Beauteous like to Sommers Quéene,
For her chéekes were ruddie hued,
As if Lyllies were imbrued,
With drops of bloud to make thée white,
Please the eye with more delight,
Loue did lye within her eyes,
In ambush for some wanton pryse.
A léefer Lasse then this had béene,
Coridon had neuer séene.
Nor was Phillis that faire may,
Halfe so gawdie or so gay:
She wore a chaplet on her head,
[Page 12]Her cassacke was of Scarlet red,
Long and large as straight as bent,
Her middle was both small and gent.
A necke as white as Whales bone,
Compast with a lace of stone,
Fine she was and faire she was,
Brighter then the brightest glasse.
Such a Shepheards wife as she,
Was not more in Thessalie.

PHilador séeing this couple sitting thus louingly, noted the concord of Countrie amitie, and began to coniecture with himselfe what a swéete kinde of life those men vse, who were by their birth too lowe for dignitie, and by their fortunes too simple for enuie: well, he thought to fall in prattle with them had not the Shepheard taken his pipe in his hand and beganne to play, and his wife to sing out this Rondelay.

The Shepheards wiues song.

AH what is loue is it a pretie thing,
As swéete vnto a Shepheard as a King,
And swéeter too:
For Kinges haue cares that waite vpon a Crowne,
And cares can make the swéetest loue to frowne:
Ah then ah then,
If Countrie loues such swéete desires do gaine,
What Lady would not loue a Shepheard swayne.
His flockes once foulded he comes home at night,
As merry as a King in his delight,
And merrier too:
For Kinges bethinke them what the state require,
Where shepheards carelesse Carroll by the fire.
Ah then, ah then,
If countrie loues such swéete desires gaine,
What Ladie would not loue a shepheard swaine.
He kisseth first, then sits as blyth to eate,
His creame and curds, as doth the King his meate,
And blyther too:
For Kinges haue often feares when they do suppe,
Where Shepheards dread no poyson in their cuppe.
Ah then, ah then,
If countrie loues such swéete desires gaine,
What Ladie would not loue a shepheard swaine.
To bed he goes, as wanton then I wéene,
As is a King in dalliance with a Quéene,
More wanton too:
For Kinges haue many griefes affectes to mooue,
Where Shepheards haue no greater griefe then loue,
Ah then, ah then,
If countrie loues such swéete desires gaine,
What Ladie would not loue a shepheard swaine.
Upon his couch of straw he sléepes as sound,
As doth the King vpon his beds of downe,
More sounder too:
For cares cause Kinges full oft their sléepe to spill,
Where wearie Shepheards lie and snort their fill,
Ah then, ah then,
If country loues such swéete desires gaine,
What Ladie would not loue a Shepheard swayne.
Thus with his wife he spendes the yeare as blyth,
As doth the King at euerie tyde or syth,
And blyther too:
For Kings haue warres and broyles to take in hand,
When shepheards laugh and loue vpon the land.
Ah then, ah then,
If countrie loues such swéete desires gayne,
What Ladie would not loue a shepheard swayne.

The Shepheards wife hauing thus ended her song, Phila­dor standing by, thought to interrupt them, and so beganne [Page 14] to salute them thus: My friends (quoth he) good fortune to your selues, and welfare to your flockes, being a straunger in this Countrie, and vncooth in these plaines, I haue stragled all this day wearie and thirstie, not hauing discryed towne or house, onely your selues the first welcome obiectes to our eyes: may I therefore of courtesie craue your direction to some place of rest, I shall for such kindnesse requite you with thankes. The Shepheard starting vp, and séing he was a Gentleman of some calling by his trayne, put off his bonnet and answered him thus: Sir, quoth he, you are welcome, and such courte­ous straungers as your selfe, haue such simple swaynes at commande with your lookes in greater matters then directi­on of wayes, for to that wee are by courtesie bound to euerie common Trauailer. I tell you sir, you strooke too much vpon the South, and so might haue wandered all day and at night haue béene glad of a thicket, for this way there is no lodging, but whereas me thought you sayde you were wearie and thir­stie, first take my bottle and taste of my drinke, scorne it not, for we Shepheards haue heard tell, that one Darius a great King, being dry, was glad to swincke his fill of a shepheards bottle: hunger néedes no sauce, and thirst turnes water into wine, this we earne with our handes thrift, and this wee ca­rowse of to ease our hearts thirst, spare it not sir, theres more mault in the floore. Philador hearing the shepheard in such a liberall kinde of phrase, set his bottle to his head, and drunke a heartie draught, thinking it as sauorie as euer he tasted at home in his fathers house: well, he dranke and hee gaue the shepheard thankes, who still went forward in his prattle thus: now that you haue quencht your thirst for the way it is so hard to finde, as how charely soeuer I giue you direction, yet vnlesse by great fortune you shall misse of the way, and there­fore séeing it is night I will leaue my wife and my boy to fould the flackes, and I my selfe will guide you on to the view of a towne. Philador gaue him a thousand gramercies, and excep­ted his gentle proffer, and the shepheard hee telling his wife where to fould, went with Philador, and as they past downe the way there was a piller erected, whereupon stood the picture [Page 15] of a Storke, the young one carrying the olde, and vnder was ingrauen this motto in Gréeke, [...] Philador de­manded of the Shephearde what this picture ment, marry [...]ir quoth he, it is the representation of a Lombe, for here was buried a lustie young shepheard, whose name was Merador: who hauing a father that was so old as he could not goe, was so kinde to his olde syre, that he spent all his labours to reléeue his fathers wants, nourishing him vp with such fare as his flockes could yéeld or his penny buy, and when the man would couet to take the ayre euen to this place from his lodge would Merador bring him on his shoulders, resembling they say, herein the Storke, who when she sées the damme is so olde she cannot fly, the young takes him on his backe, and carries him from place to place for foode, and for that Merador did so to his father, after his death they buried him here with this picture: It was well done (quoth Philador) but if I be not gréeuous in questions what monument is that which standeth on yon­der hill, our way lies by it (quoth the shepheard) and then I will tell you it. In the meane time looke you here quoth he, and with that he shewed him a stone lying vpon the ground, whereupon was ingrauen these words.

Non ridet periuria Amantum Iupiter.

Here was buried a shepheard, who in this place forswea­ring his loue fell mad, and after in this place slew himselfe, and was here buried, whereupon in memorie of the fact, the shep­heards erected this monument as a terrour to the rest to be­ware of the like treacherie. By this they were come to the hill where Philador saw a Tombe most curiously contriued with stately architecture, as it séemed some cunning caruer had dis­couered the excellence of his workemanship, vpon it stoode the picture of a woman of wonderfull beauty naked only, her haire trussed vp in a caull of gold, and one legge crossing an other by art to shadowe that which nature commandes be secret, in her left hand she held a heart, where out issued droppes of bloud, in her right hand she held a piller, whereon stoode a blacke Swan and the old verse written about.

Rara Auis in terris nigróque simillima Cigno.

[Page 16] Philador séeing by the beautie of the Tombe, that it was some monument of worth, demaunded of the shepheard who was buryed there, at this the shephearde stayd, and with a great sigh, beganne thus, I will tell you sir, quoth hee, here was intombed the faire Thessalian mayde, so famozed in all writinges vnder the name of Phillis, for loue she dyed, and sith it is a wonder that weomen should perish for affection, being as rare a thing as to sée a blacke Swanne, they haue placed her here houlding a black-Swanne with the poesie, and sith we haue yet a mile, and more to the place whether I meane to bring you, I will rehearse you the course of her life, and the cause of her death, and so the shepheard beganne thus.

The Shepheards tale.

HEre in Thessaly dwelled a shepheard called Sydaris, a man of meane parentage, but of good possessions, and many vertues, for he was holden the chiefe of all our Shep­heards, not onely for his wealth, but for his honest qualities: this Sydaris liued long without any issue, that he meante to make a sisters sonne he had, his heire, but Fortune that ment to please the olde man in his age, euen in the winter of his yeares, gaue him by a yong wife a yong daughter called Ro­samond, which, as she was a ioy to the olde Shepheard at her birth, so she grewe in processe of time vnto such perfection, that she was the onely hearts delight that this olde man had. Rosamond went with hir fathers shéeepe to the fielde, where she was the Quéene of all the shepheards, being generally cal­led of them all, Diana, as well for hir beauty as hir chastitie, hir fame grewe so great for the excellencie of hir feature, that all the Shepheards made a feast at Tempe, to sée the beautie of Rosamond, where all the Thessalonian Uirgins met, dec­ked in the royaltie of their excellencie, al striuing to excéed that day in outward perfection: gallant they were, and glorious, wanting nothing that Art coulde adde to Nature, filling euery eie with admiration, but still they expected the comming of Rosamond, insomuch, that one Alexis a young Shepheard, [Page 17] who was the paragon of all proportions, aboue the rest saide, that when Rosamond came, she coulde not bring more then she shoulde finde: as he spake these wordes, in came olde Sy­daris, and after him his daughter, who séeing such a compa­ny of bonny lasses, and Countrie swaines in their brauerie, be­wraied her modesty with such a blush, that all the beholders thought that Luna & Tytan had iustled in hir face together for preferment: euery eie at hir presence stoode at gaze, as hauing no power to drawe themselues from such an heauenly obiect, wrapt their looks in the tramels of hir lockes, and snared them so in the rarenesse of hir face, that the men wondered, and the women hung downe their heades, as being eclipsed with the brightnesse of so glorious a Comet. But especially Alexis, he poore swaine, felt in him a newe fier, and such vncoth flames, as were not w [...]nt to broile in his breast, yet were they kind­led with such delight, that the poore boy lay like the Salaman­der, and though he were neuer so nigh the blaze of the bauine, yet he did not Calescere plus quam satis. As thus all gazed on hir, so she glaunced hir lookes on all, surueying them as curi­ously, as they noted hir exactly, but at last she set downe her period on the face of Alexis, thinking he was the fairest, and the featest swaine of all the rest. Thus with lookes and chea­ring, and much good chat, they passed away the day till eue­ning came, and then they all departed: Sydaris home with his Rosamond, and euery man else to his cottage, all talking as they went by the way, of the beautie of Rosamond, especially Alexis, who the more highly commended her, by howe much the more he was déepely in loue with hir. The affectes of his fancie were restlesse, and his passions peremptorie, not to bée pacified, vnlesse by hir perswasiue arguments, and therfore did Alexis finde sundry occasions to walke into the fields of Syda­ris to méete with Rosamond: ofte would he faine he had lost one of his Ewes, to séeke amongest the shéepecotes of Syda­ris, and if Fortune so fauoured him, that he met with Rosa­mond, then his piteous lookes, his glaunces were glased with a blush, his sighes, his silence, and euery action bewrayed the depth of his passion, which Rosamond espying, smiled at, and [Page 18] pittied, and so farre grewe into the consideration of his affects, that the thoughts thereof waxed in hir effectuall, for she be­gan to loue Alexis, and none but Alexis, and to thinke that wanton Paris that wooed Enone was not like to hir Alexis, insomuch, that on a day Alexis méeting with her, saluted her, with a blush, and she abashed: yet the swaine imboldened by Loue, tooke her by the hand, sate downe, and there with sighes and teares bewrayed his loues, she with smiles and pretty hopefull answers, did comfort him, yet so, as she helde him in a longing, and doubtfull suspence, part they did, she assure [...] of hir Alexis, he in hope of his Rosamond, and many of these mée­tings they had, so secrete, that none of the Shepheards suspe­cted any loue betwéene them. Yet Alexis on a day lying on the hill, was saide to frame these verses by Rosamond.

Hexametra Alexis in laudem Rosamundi.

Oft haue I heard my liefe Coridon reporte on a loue day,
When bonny maids do meet with the swaines in the vally by Tempe.
How bright eide his Phillis was, how louely they glaunced,
When fro th'Aarches Eben blacke flew lookes as a lightning,
That set a fire with piercing flames euen hearts adamantine,
Face Rose hued, Cherry red, with a siluer taint like a Lillie.
Venus pride might abate, might abash with a blush to beholde hir.
Phoebus wyers compard to hir haires vnworthy the praising.
Iunoes state, and Pallas wit disgracde with the graces,
That gracde hir whom poore Coridon did choose for a louemate,
Ah, but had Coridon now seene the starre that Alexis
Likes and loues so deare, that he meltes to [...]ighes when he sees hir,
Did Coridon but see those eies, those amorous eielids,
From whence flie holy flames of death or life in a moment,
Ah, did he see that face, those haires that Venus Apollo
Basht to beholde, and both disgracde, did greeue, that a creature
Should exceed in hue, compare both a god and a goddesse:
Ah, had he seene my sweete Paramour the taint of Alexis,
Then had he saide, Phillis, sit downe surpassed in all points,
For there is one more faire then thou, beloued of Alexis.

These verses doe the Shepheards say Alexis made by Ro­samond, for he ofte times sung them on his Pipe, and at last, they came to the eares of Rosamond, who tooke them passing [Page 19] kindely: for swéete wordes, and high praises, are two great arguments to winne womens willes, insomuch, that Alexis stoode so high in her fauour, that no other Shepheard coulde haue any good looke at hir hand. At the last, as Fame is blab, and Beautie is like smoake in the straw, that can not be con­cealed: the excellencie of Rosamond came to the Courte, where it was set out in such curious manner, and desciphered in such quaint phrases, that the King himselfe coueted to sée hir perfection, and therefore vppon a day disguised him selfe, and went to the house of Sydaris, where, when he came, and sawe the proportion of Rosamond, he counted Fame partial in hir prattle, and mans tongue vnable to discouer that wherein the eie by viewing might surffet: he that was wel skilled in court­ing, made Loue to hir, and found hir so prompt in wit, as shée was proportioned in body, insomuch, that the King himselfe was in loue with her. The Noble men that were with him, doated vpon hir, and each enuied other as iealous, who should court her with the most glaunces, but all in vaine, her heart was so set vppon Alexis, as she respected King nor Keisar in respecte of hir Countrie Paragon, in so much, that the King returned home with a flat denyall. This caused not his Noble men to cease fro their sutes, but they daily followed the chase, insomuch, that the house of Sydaris was a second court, some offred hir large possessions for hir dowrie, other, as great reuenues, some were caualiers, and men of great value. Thus euery way was she hanted with braue men, that poore Alexis durst not come néere the sight of the smoake that came out of the chimney, past all hope of his Rosamond, thinking wo­men aymed to be supremes, that they prise gold before beauty, and wealth before loue, yet he houered a farre off, while the Courtiers fell together by the eares, who shoulde haue most fauour, in so much, that there arose great mutinies. Where­vpon the King fearing some manslaughter would grow vpon these amorous conuents, and that Rosamond like a second Helena would cause the ruine of Thessalie, thought to preuent it thus: he appointed a day, when all the Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen, with the countrie swains of his land, should méet, [Page 20] and there before him take their corporall oath, to be content with that verdicte Rosamond should set downe, which amon­gest them all to choose for hir husband, he to possesse hir, and the rest to departe quiet. Uppon this they were resolued, and sworne, and Rosamond set vpon a scaffolde, to take viewe of all, the King charging hir to take one, and, quoth he, if it bée my selfe (swéete heart) I will not refuse thée. Here Rosamond dying all hir face with a Uermillion blush, stoode, and viewed all: the King in his pompe commaunded all the Realme, and asked her if she woulde be a Quéene, and weare a Crowne: but she thought ouer high desires had often hard fortunes, and that such as reached at the toppe, stumbled at the roote, that inequalitie in marriage was ofte enemy to Loue, that the Li­on, howsoeuer yoked, would ouerlooke al beasts but his phere, and therefore the meane was a merry song. Beautie, though she is but a flash, and as soone as that withers, the King is out of his bias, I must be loathed, and he must haue another lem­man. Then she looked lower amongest the Lords, and consi­dered how swéete a thing wealth was, that as riches was the mother of pleasure, so want and pouertie was a hatefull thing, yet quoth she, all is but trash, I shall buy Gold too déere, in subiecting my selfe to so high a husband, for if I anger him, then shall he obiect the basenesse of my birth, the newenesse of my parentage, and perhappes, turne me home into my for­mer estate, then the higher was my seate, the sorer shall bée my fall, and therefore will I content me with meane desires, as I was borne, to lowe fortunes. Thus she surueyed them all, séeing many braue youths, and lusty Caualiers, that were there present for hir loue. But as she looked round about hir, a farre off on a hill sawe she Alexis sit with his pipe laide dawne by him, his armes folded, as a man ouergrowen with discontent, and vpon his arme hung a willow garland, as one in extreme dispaire to be forsaken, séeing so many high degrées, to snare the thoughts of his Rosamond, his lookes were such as Troilus cast towards the Gréekish tents to Cressida, su­ing for fauour with teares, and promising constancie wyth coutinuall glaunces, so sate poore Alexis, expecting when Ro­samond [Page 21] should breathe out the fatall censure of his dispayring fortunes. Rosamond séeing hir louer thus passionate, com­forted him thus. She tolde the King that she had taken a ge­nerall view of al the Thessalians, that Loue with hir alluring battes had presented hir with many shews of Beautie, and Fortune had there sought to inuegle hir with the enticing pro­mises of dignities: but sir, quoth she, my parents are base, my birth low, and my thoughts not ambitious, I am neither tou­ched with enuie, nor disdaine, as one that can brooke superi­ours with honor, and inferiours with loue. I am not Eagle flighted, and therefore feare to flie to nigh the Sunne: such as will soare with Icarus, fall with Phaeton, and desires aboue fortunes, are the forepointers of déepe falles. Loue, quoth she, is a queasie thing, and great Lordes hold it in their eies, not their hearts, and can better drawe it with a penseil then a passion. Helena shall be but a hang-by, when age [...]its in her forehead. Beautie is momentanie, and such as haue onely loue in their lookes, let their fancies slip with time, and kéepe a calender of their affection, that as age drawes on, loue runs away. Séeing then high estates haue such slipperie fancies, let honors and dignities goe: Venus holdes the néedefull, but not necessarie, and welcome the meane estate, and the Shep­heards loues, who count it religion to obserue affection: and therefore séeing I must choose one, and of al these but one, yon­der [...]its the lord of my loue, and that is the young Shepheard Alexis. With that he started vp, and the King and all the rest of the company looked on him, and sawe him the dapperest swaine of all Thessalia, being content to brooke the choice of Rosamond, for that they were bounde thereto by othe and promise, all accusing Loue, that had made so faire a creature looke so lowe. Well, home went the King with his traine, and Alexis a proude man garded with the Shepheards, went towards the house of Sydaris, where with great feasting the match was made vp. Alexis remaining thus the possessor of the fairest Nymph of Thessalie, went to his cottage, deter­mining with himself when the wedding day should be. As thus he was about to resolue, it chaunced that Loue and Fortune [Page 22] armed themselues to giue poore Rosamond the frumpe, and that on this manner. Alexis going one day abroad, met with a shepheards daughter called Phillida, a maide of a homelie hue, nutbrowne, but of a wittie and pleasant disposition, with hir he fell in chat, and she, to tell you the truth, with her Alexis fell in loue. In loue did Alexis fall with this nutbrowne Phil­lida, that he quite forgote his [...]ire Rosamond, and Phillida perceiued that she had wonne the faire shepheard, lefte not to inuegle him with hir wit, til she had snared him in, that Alexis could not be out of hir sight, which at last came to the eares of Rosamond, but she incredulous, would not beléeue, nor A­lexis confesse it, till at last Sydaris espied it, and told it to his daughter, wishing hir to cast off so inconstant a louer. But Loue that was setled in the centre of hir heart, made hir pas­sionate, but with such patience, that she smothered the heate of hir sorrowes, with inward conceit pining away, as a wo­man forlorne, till on a day Alexis ouerdoating in his fancies, stept to the Church and marryed him selfe to Phillida: which newes for certaine brought vnto the eares of Rosamond, she cast hir selfe downe on hir bedde, and passed away the whole day and night in sighs and teares: but as soone as the Sunne gaue light to the worlde, she leapt from hir couch, and began to wander vp and downe the fieldes, mourning for the losse of hir Alexis, wearied at last with tracing through the fieldes, she sate hir downe by Tempe, and there wrote these mournful verses.

Hexametra Rosaemundae in dolorem amissi Alexis.

Tempe the Groue where darke Hecate doth k [...]ep hir abiding.
Tempe the Groue where poore Rosamond bewailes hir Alexis,
Let not a tree nor a shrub be greene to shew thy reioicing,
Let not a leafe once decke thy boughes and branches, O Tempe,
Let not a bird record hir tunes, nor chaunt any sweete Notes,
But Philomele, let hir bewaile the losse of hir amours,
And fill all the wood with dolefull tunes to bemone hir,
Parched leaues fill euery spring, fill euery fountaine,
All the meades in mourning weede fit them to lamenting.
[Page 23]Eccho sit and sing dispaire i'the vallies i'the mountaines,
All Thessaly helpe poore Rosamond mournefull to bemone hir,
For sh'is quite bereft of hir loue, and left of Alexis,
Once was she likte, and once was she loued of wanton Alexis:
Now is she loathed, and now is she left of trothlesse Alexis.
Here did he clip and kisse Rosamond. and vowe by Diana.
None so deare to the swaine as I, nor none so beloued,
Here did he deepely sweare, and call great Pan for a witnesse.
That Rosamond was onely the Rose belou'd of Alexis,
That Thessaly had not such an other nymph to delight him.
None, quoth he, but Venus faire shall haue any kisses.
Not Phillis, were Phillis aliue should haue any fauours.
Nor Galate, Galate so faire for beauteous eiebrowes,
Nor Doris that lasse that drewe the swaines to behold hir,
Not one amongst all these, nor all should gaine anie graces,
But Rosamond alone to her selfe should haue hir Alexis.
Now to reuenge the periurde vowes of faithlesse Alexis,
Pan, great Pan, that heardst his othes, and mightie Diana,
You Dryades and watrie Nymphs that sporte by the fountaines,
Faire Tempe the gladsome Groue of greatest Apollo,
Shrubs, and dales, and neiboring hils, that heard when he swore him,
UUitnes all, and seeke to reuenge the wrongs of a virgin,
Had any swaine bene liefe to me but guileful Alexis,
Had Rosamond twinde Myrtle boughes, or Rosemarie branches,
Sweete Holihocke, or else Daffadill, or slips of a Baie tree,
And giuen them for a gift to any swaine but Alexis:
UUell had Alexis done t'haue left his rose for a giglot.
But Galate nere lou'd more deare hir louely Menalcas.
Then Rosamond did dearly loue hir trothlesse Alexis.
Endimion was nere beloued of his Citherea,
Halfe so deare as true Rosamond beloued her Alexis.
Now seely lasse, hie downe to the lake. haste downe to the willowes.
And with those forsaken twigs go make thee a Chaplet,
Mournefull fit and sigh by the springs by the brookes by the riuers,
Till thou turne for griefe, as did Niobe to a Marble,
Melt to tears, poure out thy plaints, let Eccho reclame them,
How Rosamond that loued so deare is left of Alexis.
Now die, die Rosamond, let m [...]n ingraue o'thy toombe-stone,
Here lies she that loued so deare the yongster Alexis,
Once beloued, forsaken late of faithlesse Alexis.
Yet Rosamond did die for loue false hearted Alexis.

These verses she wrote, and many daies after she did not liue, but pined away, and in most pittifull passions gaue vp the Ghost, hir death did not onely gréeue hir father Sydaris, [Page 24] but was bruted abroade vnto the eares of Alexis, who, when, he heard the effectuall essence of her loues, and entred in to con­sideration of his wrongs, hée went downe vnto the water side, and in a fury hung himselfe vppon a Willow trée. This tragicke newes came vnto the eares of the King, who being certified of the whole trueth by circumstaunce, came downe, and in mourning attire lamented for the losse of faire Rosa­mond, and, for that he woulde haue the memorie of such a Uirgine to bée kept, hée erected this Toombe, and set vp this Monument.

The shepheard had scarce ended his tale, but they were within ken of a towne, which gladded the heart of young Phi­lador, for had not this Historie of Rosamund made the way somewhat short, he had béene tyred long before: well, the Towne once descryed, yonder (quoth the shepheard) sir, is your place of rest, a prettie Citie it is, and called Saragunta, good lodging you shall find, but the people within it are passing false, especiall (if a plaine countrie mans counsaile might auaile) take héede of the signe of the Unicorne, there sir is a house of great ryot and prodigalitie in youth, it is like rust in yron that neuer leaues fretting till it be consumed: besides there be thrée sisters, all beautifull and wittie, but of small honestie: their eyes are hookes that draw men in, and their wordes birdlyme that tyes the feathers of euerie stranger, that none can escape them, for they are as daungerous as the Syrens were to Vlisses. Some saies they are like Circes riches, and can turne vaine glorious fooles into Asses, gluttonous fooles in­to Swine, pleasant fooles into Apes, proude fooles into Pea­cockes: and when she hath done, with a great whip scourge them out at doores, take héede Master (quoth the shephearde) you come not there, vnlesse you haue the herbe that Vlysses had, least you returne someway transformed. Thus Maister I haue brought you to the foot of the hill, now will I take my leaue and home to my wife, for the sunne will set ere I can get to my little cottage. The Gentleman gaue the swaine heartie [Page 25] thankes both for his paines and his prattle, and rewarded him well, and so sent him away. The shepheard gone, Philador takes his way to the Citie, and for that he had heard him tell of the thrée sisters, he went to take vp his lodging there, and so make experience of the orders of the house, and qualities of the women: in he rode and inquired to the place, and there a­lighted: these merry mynions séeing such a frolick gallant come ryding in, thought that now their purses should be filled if his abiding were long there, and his coffers full of any crownes, his boy no sooner held his styroppe and he lept from his horse, but the Eldest of them all, a gallant and stately Dame, came and saluted him, and gaue him a heartie welcome, shewing him her owne selfe straight to his chamber, where he found all thinges in such order, that he thought he was not come into a common I [...]e, but some stately pallace. Philador séeing so faire an Hoastis, and such good lodging, saide to him selfe the olde text.

Bonum est nobis esse hic,

And so thought to set vp his rest for a wéeke or two, as hée was in a quandarie what he should doe, came in the seconde si­ster more braue then the first, a woman of such comely perso­nage, and so swéete a countenance, that Philador turned his doubt to a peremptorie resolution, that there he would stay for a while: this cunning Courtesan gaue him friendly intertain­ment and a welcome with a smyle, and a cup of wine to wash downe, all which, Philador tooke kindly and desired her they might haue good cheare to supper, and to promise that both she and her sisters would be his guests, a little intreatie serued, and she made faithfull promise, which indéede was perfourmed: for when supper time came, and Philadors seruants had serued vp the meate, in came (for the last dish) the thrée sisters, verie sumptuously attyred, but the youngest excéeded them all in ex­cellencie, vpon whom Philador no sooner cast his eye, but hée felt himselfe fettered. He that could his courtesie intertayned them all as gratiously, and welcomed them on this manner. Faire Gentlewomen (quoth he) I would by outward demon­stration you could coniecture how kindly I take it, that all [Page 26] thrée of you would vouchsafe so friendly to come and heare a Gentleman and a straunger companie, now I haue no other meanes to requite you, but thankes, and such simple cheare as you haue taken paines to prouide, but where so euer I come I shall make report what fauourable intertainement I haue found in this place, and giue me leaue to seate you. The eldest straying backe a little, before she sate made this reply: I am glad sir if any waies we haue wrought you content, but sir I pray you thinke it not a common fauour that we vse to euerie straunger thus to beare him companie, for our custome is to attend belowe, and to be séene little aboue, especially altoge­ther, in such equipage: if your fortune be better then the rest, then say you came in a luckie houre: but we are not so blinde but we can discerne of cullours, and though they be both chri­stallaine, yet discouer a Diamond from a Saphir, and so sir I will take you this night for mine Hoast, with that she and both her sisters sate downe to supper. Philador séeing these, thought on the thrée Goddesses that appeared to Paris in the vale of Ida, and though he were passing hungry with long tra­uaile, yet had fedde his eyes with beautie, as well as he did his stomacke with delicates, so that euery sense for supper time was occupied. When he had well victualed himselfe, and that his belly beganne to be full, he thought to try their wits with chat, and therefore began thus. Now Gentlewomen doe I finde the olde Prouerbe true, better fill a mans belly then his eye, for your sauorie vituals hath staied my stomacke, but mine eye restlesse, takes such gréedie suruey of your beau­ties, as I feare by long looking he will surfet, but I am in good hope, if I should fall loue-sicke, I might finde you fauourable Physitions. It is sir (quoth the eldest) a daungerous disease, and we haue little skill in herbes, yet in what we might we would séeke to ease your maladie with weomens medecines: I pray you quoth Philador, let me aske you all a question without offence, you may sir (quoth the eldest) if it be not offensiue, and how if it be (quoth Philador) then pardon sir (quoth she) if we be as lauish to reply as you to demaund. Howsoeuer you take it (quoth Philador) then this it is, I pray you faire Ladies, [Page 27] are you all maides, at this they blusht, and the Eldest made answere they were. And so (quoth Philador) long may you not continue, for feare any of you should die with her virgi­nitie, and leade Apes in hell, but it is no matter, maides or not maides.

Bene vixit qui bene latuit, Caute si non Caste.

The Cat may catch a mouse and neuer haue a bell hanged at her eare, & what néedes the hand a Taber when he meanes to catch the Hare, I beléeue and holde it for a principle that you are all maides: now then let me craue so much fauour at your handes, as to tell me if you were to chuse husbandes at your owne voluntarie, and it stoode in your frée election, what manner of husbandes would you chuse: I (quoth the Eldest) would haue one that were beautifull, the second saide, wittie: the youngest, valiant. We haue nothing to doe (quoth Phi­lador) after supper, and therefore may it please you seuerally to shewe mee the reasons that doe induce you to this choyce. The Gentlewomen agréed to this, and the eldest began thus.

The discourse of the eldest sister.

I Hope sir (quoth she) you expect no Rhethoricall insinuati­on, nor no curious Circumquaque to fetch my exordium in with figures, onely you consider I am a woman, and therfore looke for no more but bare reasons without Sophistrie or elo­quence. Such Philosophers generally as haue written de sensu as Aristotle and other Naturalistes, or such Physitions as by anotomizing haue particularly set downe the partes of man, affirme that the sight is the most pure, quickest, and busiest of all the senses, and therefore most curious in the choice of his obiect: and so precious a sense it is that nature to comfort it made all thinges vpon the face of the greene, because the sight aboue all, delighteth in that cullour. The eye being the sur­uayour of all exteriour obiects, pleaseth himselfe in those that are most beautifull, and coueteth that euery superficies be faire and pleasing, commending it straight to the phantasie as a thing of worth. For in flowers it alloweth with fauour of [Page 28] the fairest as the Carnation, the Rose, the Lyllie, and the Hia­cynth. In trées the eye liketh of the tail Cedar, before the low Béech, and prayseth the stature of the Oake, before the smal­nesse of other plantes. So in stones the Diamond is preferd before the flint, the Emerauld before the Marble, and the Sa­phir highlier estéemed for the hue, then the Porphuer for his hugenesse: and so by consequence in humanie creatures, loue being of all the passions in man the most excellent, allotteth her selfe to the eye of all the partes the most pure, thinking that the fight will be soonest imi [...]agled with the fayrest, and what fairer thing can there be then beautie: so that loue bring­ing a beautifull creature, presentes it to the eye, and that liking it for the propertie, conueyes the affect thereof to the heart, and there is knit vp the simpathie of desires. By these premises sir then I inferre that the eye is loues Cator, and who so plea­seth his eye contenteth his affectes, then why should not I choose a beautifull man to my husband, whose exquisite perfec­tion euery way may content my fancie, for if the eie finde any blemish in deformitie, straight loue begins to waxe colde, and affection to take his farewell. A beautifull man why he is a pearle in a womans eye, that the lyneaments of his feature, makes her surfet with delight, and there can be no greater con­tent then to enioy a beautifull and comely personage: and in my opinion by so much the more are well proportioned men to be loued, by how much the more they excell she deformed. In all things the perfection of the inward qualities is knowen by the exteriour excellence, the rose being the fairest of flowers, hath the most precious sauour, the brightest Diamonde the most déepest operation, the gréenest herbe the most secret ver­tue: nature hath euer with a prouident foresight harboured the most excellent qualities in the most beautifull carkasse: Diogenes had a deformed bodie, so had he a crooked minde: Paris welfauoured and full of courtesie. Thirsites ill shapen, and none (sayth Homer) full of more bad conditions, Achil­les comely and courteous: if then sir, the more a man be beau­tifull, the more he is vertuous:

Gratior est pulchro v [...]niens è corpore virtus.

[Page 29]Let me haue for my husbande, such a one as may content mine eye with his [...]utie, and satisfie my sight with his pro­portion.

The discourse of the second Sister.

I Can not denie (quoth the second) but beautie is a precious thing, and Metaphusicall as being diuinely infused vppon man from aboue, but yet he that commended it most writt vpon it this distichon.

Forma bonum fragile est quantúmque accedit ad annos,
Fit minor & spatio carpitur ipsa suo.

The fayrest Rose hath his canker, the brauest, braunch his Caterpillers, the brightest sunne his clowde, and the greatest beautie his blemish. Helena had a skar, Leda a wenne, Layes a spott in her brow, and none so faire but there is some fault: but graunt all these be graces, as Paris called Helens skar, Cos amoris, yet at length she looking in a glasse, sight to sée age triumphant in her forehead. There is none so faire but the sunne will parch, the frost nippe, the least sicknesse will change, or the least exteriour preiudice blemish, and then where is loue that growes from the pleasure of the eye, vaded, and vanisht, and turned to a colde mislike. But giue me that which is per­manent that féedeth the eare with delight, and increaseth with age, and that is wit, farre excelling beautie, for by how much the more the interiour senses are more precious, and th [...] giftes of the minde more excellent then the exteriour organes and in­struments of the bodie, by so much the more is wit to be pre­ferred before the outward proportion of lineaments: wit is a simpathie of those perfections that growes from the minde, and what can delight a woman more then to haue a man full of pleasant conceites, wittie answeres, and eloquent deuises: were not the Philosophers for their wits fellowe companions to Kinges. Ouid that was the grand-master of loue, wanne he not Corinna more with his wit then his beautie: yes wée find that as the herbes are more estimated by the inward ver­tue, then the outward collour: so the glories of the minde are [Page 30] more then the glosses of the bodie, the Cedar is beautifull, yet lesse vaiued then the crooked Synamond, for that men mea­sure the pro [...]ite more then the proportion, wéedes are gathe­red for their oper [...]tion, not for their outward excellence, and such stones, whose secret nature worketh most, are worth most, and so in men, Cicero was not so anuable, but he was eloquent, and that pleased Terentia, Vlysses whom Homer so highly commendes in his Odissea, wounded Ci [...]ces, not with his beautie, but with his wisedome, in so much that hee is called facundus Vlysses. How swéete a thing is it when eue­ry word shall as a harmony [...]all in a cadence to please the eare, euery sillable weighed with a pleasant wit, either turned is a graue sentence, or a pleasant [...]est, hauing that salem ingenij which intangleth more the all the curious features in ye world: Pallas helpt Pari [...] more then Venus, or else Helena had still remayned in Gréece, Mercurie was fame in all Amours to be Iupiters messenger, & to wi [...]ch more with his wit, then he could do with his Dietie. Therefore séeing wisedom is so plea­sing a thing, if euer I marry God send me a witty husband.

The discourse of the third sister.

YOu haue saide well sisters, quoth the youngest, to haue made a good choice, both to please the eare, and the eie, in electing wit and beautie, as two obiects fit for such excellent senses, but yet to féede my fancie, giue me a man of valour, a Souldier, a Caualire, one, that with his sworde dare maine­taine right, and reuenge wrong. What is it for me to pinne a faire meacocke, and a wittie miski [...]p on my [...]éeue, who dare not answere with their swordes in the face of the ennemy? Shall I braue mine ennemy with beautie, or threaten him with wit? He will then either thinke I bring him a faire foole, or a wise Coward. Was it the wit of Alexander that won him so much fame, or his courage? Was it Caesars penne, or his sworde that installed him Emperour? Paris gote Helena, but who defended hir? Hector. When the Gréekes lay before [...]ro [...] might not Andromache stand on the walles, and sée [Page 31] Hector beating Achylles to his tent, with more honour then Helena Paris [...]etting in his silkes. Yes, and therefore she re­sted her whole estate in his prowesse, and saide:

Tu dominus, tu vir, tu mihi fraier eris.

The Oake is called Arbor Iouis for the strength, the Ea­gle king of Birds for his courage, the Lion for his valour, the Diamond is estéemed for the hardnesse, and men estéemed for their magnanimitie and prowesse. Hercules was neither famoused for his beautie, nor his wit, but his valiant resoluti­on, made him Lorde of the worlde, and louer of faire Deiani­ra. Thesus was a Souldier, and therefore Ledas daughter first liked him, and rewarded him with her virginitie. Tush, Venus will haue Mars to be hir paramour. Loue careth not for cowards, faint heart neuer wonne faire Lady, a man is the marke all wée aime at, and who is a man without valour? Therefore a Souldier for my money, or else none.

Philador hearing them discourse so wittely, beganne to [...], and iumpte in with them thus. Gentlewomen, so ma­ry heads so many censures, euery fancie liketh a sundry friend, and what is an Antidote to one, is an Aconito [...] to another: you like a faire man, you a wise, you a valiant, but tell mée, what if there came in a man indued with wealth, who like to Mydas could turne al to gold with a touch, should he be thrust out for a wrangler, or might he not rather displace beauty, disgrace wit, and put downe valour: I speake this for that I haue heard them say, that womens eyes are of the nature of Chrisocoll, that wheresoeuer it méeteth with gold, it mingleth with it, and their hearts like the hearbe Aurifolium, that if it be not rubbed with golde once a yeare, it dirth. I knowe sir, quoth the yongest, the conclusion of this induction, you would with these enigmaticall allusions prooue, that women are couetous, and care more for an ounce of giue me, then a pound of heare me. I deny it not sir, but wealth and women would be Relatiues, and therefore sir, in our choice, Quod subintelligitur non deest, when my sister chose a beautiful man, she meant he should be rich, and when the second spake of wit, [Page 32] she vnderstoode wealth, and thinke you me so simple sir, that I woulde haue a beggarly Souldier? No, no sir, whether hée be beautifull, wise, or valiant, let this stand for a principle:

Si nihil attuleris ibis Homere foras.

Gramercy for that, swéete wench, quoth Philador, giue vs one cuppe of claret more, in vino veritas. I sée women are no liers, they will tell trueth in those matters that require no con­ceited secrecie, so he drunke to them all: and for that it was late in the night, they all tooke their leaue of him, and went to bedde. Philador once being alone, beganne to commende his fortune that had brought him to so good a lodging, where, with thrée such wittie Wenches he might make his dinners and suppers with pleasant chat philosophica conuiuia, but espe­cially he highly had in his thought the excellencie of the youn­gest, being already ouer the shooes in a little loue forsooth, ta­king but a little sléepe for his newe entertained fancie. The nexte morning he vp very early, and bade the Gentlewomen good morrow with a cuppe of hipocras, and after, calling the youngest aside, where he courted hir a great while, and at the first found hir coy, but at the last they ended with such a cour­teous close, that he commanded his horses to be put to grasse, intending for a time there to make his residence. The Gen­tlewomen séeing the foole caught, thought to be quicke Bar­bers, and therefore spared for no good cheare, and the more daintely they fared, the more he thanked them, so it might con­tent his young Mistresse, on whose fauour depended his whole felicitie, he was not content in gluttonie to spend his patrimo­nie, but sent for such copesmates as they pleased, who with their false dice, were oft sharers with him of his crownes. Thus sought they euerie way to disburden him of that store with which he was so sore combred. Tush his purse was well lyned, and might abide the shaking, and therefore as yet hée felt it not. The young Courtesan his Paramour, thinking all too litle for her selfe, beganne as though she had taken care of his profite, to wish him, séeing he ment there to make some aboad, to liue with a lesse charge, and cassier some of his men, which Philador séeing it would spare him somewhat, and to [Page 33] please his Mistresse fancie and for his owne profite, put them all out of seruice but one boy. The Seruingmen séeing the vaine of their young Maister, were sorrie that hee tooke that course of life, to be ouer-ruled with women, but his will stood for a law, and though it were neuer so preiudiciall, yet would he be peremptorie, and therefore they brookt their discharge with patience, but one of them that before time had serued his father, hearing what farewell olde Rabbi Bileisi gaue him, thought to take his leaue with the like adew, and so being so­litarie with his Mistresse at his departure, he tolde him thus: Sir (quoth he) I sée well if Vlisses stops not his eares, the Syrens will put him to shipwracke, if he carrie not Moly a­bout him, Circes will inchaunt him, and youth if he bush not at beautie and carrie antidotes of wisedome against flatterie, follie will be the next Hauen he shall be in. I speake this by ex­perience, as séeing the Syrens of this house following your eares with harmony that will bring you to split vpon a rocke, and here I finde be such Circes as will not onely transforms you, but so inchant you, that you will at last buy repentance with too déere a price. Ah Master doe you not remember the precepts that your father gaue you, especially against women, nay chiefely against such weomen as these, whose eyes are snares, whose words are charmes, whose hands are birdlime, whose deceipt is much, whose desires are insatiable, whose co­uetousnes is like the Hidaspis, that the more it drinkes, the more thirstie it is, whose conscience is like a Pomice stone, light and full of hoales, whose loue is for lucre, whose heart is light on your person, whose hand heauie on your purse, being Uultures that will eate men aliue. Ah master be not blinded with a Courtezan, there are more maydes then maulken, if you will néeds be in loue, loue one and marry, so shall you haue profite and credite, if not lie not here in a consuming laborinth, the idle life is the mother of al mischiefe, it fretteth as rust doth yron, and eateth as a worme in the wood, till all perish. Liue not here Maister without doing somewhat, Mars himselfe ha­teth to be euer on Venus lappe, he scorneth to lie at racke and maunger. Consider how the Caldes haue set downe in their [Page 34] writings, that from the first creation of the world idlenes was had in hatred, and man was commaunded to satisfie his thirst with his hands thrift. Adam tilled the earth, and fed himselfe with his labours: Iuball exercised Musike, and spent his time in practising the simpathy of sundry soundes: Tubalcaine did worke in mettalles, and was a graner in brasse: Noe hauing the worlde before him for his inher [...]ance yet planted Uine­yardes, tush, all the holy Israelites liued by their labours, and men hated to haue an houre idlely spent: Traian numbred not that day amongst the date of his life, which he had wholy con­sumed in idlenesse. If then this lasciuious kinde of life be so o­dious, shake off these Calip [...]es, trauell with Vlysses, sée coun­tries, and you shall as he did returne to Ithaca with credite. Be a Souldiour, winne honour by armes: a Courtier winne fauour of some King with seruice, a Scholler, get to some v­niuersitie, and for a while apply your booke, sit not here like Sardanapalus amongest women, be not bewitched wyth Hercules, to spinne by Omphales side, leaue all, yet may yée stop before you come to the bottome, but if you be so besot­ted, that no counsaile shall preuaile, I am glad that I may not sée your future misfortunes. Although these words of his man driue him into a dumpe, and made him call to remembraunce his fathers farewell, yet did he so doate on his yong loue, that he bade his man be iogging, and so went downe into the par­lour to shake off melancholy with company. Thus did Phi­lador lie in the fire, and dally in the flame, and yet like the Salamander not féele the fire, for this is an olde theologicall action.

Consuetudo peccandi tollit sensum peccati.

He counted fornication no sinne, and lust, why he shadow­ed that with loue, he had a vaile for euery vanitie, till that he might sée day light at euery hole. While thus he liued in his iollitie, there fell a great dearth in the land, corne was scant, and the poore were oppressed with extreame penurie, and in such sorte, that they dyed in the stréetes. Philador heard by the chapmen how the market went, and might perceiue by the crie of the poore, what famine was spread throughout the [Page 35] whole Countrey, but hée had gold, and want could not wring him by the [...]ingar, the blacke Oxe could not treade on his foote, and therefore he stopped his eares, and prooued halfe merci­lesse: onely his care was to spend the day as deliciously, as hée thought the night delightfull, hauing euer his paramour in his presence, whose finger was neuer farre from his pursse: tush, all went vpon whéeles, till on a day looking into his cof­fers, hée found a great want, and sawe, that his store was in the waining: whereupon he put away his boy, and solde his horses, he had enough of him selfe, and too many by one. This yongsters pursse drewe lowe, but as long as hée let angelles flie, so long they honoured him as a god. But, as all thinges must haue an ende, so at last his Coffers waxed empty, and then the post beganne to be painted with chalke. The score grewe great, and they waxed wearie of such a beggarlie guest. Whereuppon on a day, the eldest of them tolde him, that either hée must prouide money, or else to furnish him of a newe lodging, for there was a great dearth thoroughout the whole countrie, victualles were deare, and they coulde not pay the Baker and the Brewer with chalke. Upon this hée went vnto his truncke, and all his rich apparell and iewelles walked to the Broakers, and for that time he cleared the score. Which, when hée had done, he gote him into his Chamber, and sitting downe, beganne to call to remembrance the pre­ceptes of his olde Father: but as soone as his young Mistresse was in sight, she banished all such thoughts out of his remem­brance. Long it was not before he grewe déepely indebted a­gaine in the house, and so farre, that he had not wherewithall to discharge it, and then very earely in the morning the thrée sisters came vp into his Chamber, seised of his truncke, and that apparell that was lefte: yea, so neare they went him, that they tooke his Doublet that was on his backe. Philador séeing the crueltie of his hostesse, and espetially, howe forward his Mistresse was to wrong him, rose out of his bedde, and putting on his hose, sitting on the bedde side, beganne thus:

Why (Gentlewomen) haue I béene so ill a guest, that I [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page 36] deserue such extremitie, or so bad a paie-maister, that so hard­ly you holde Bayarde in the Stable? Are these the fauoures that I was promised at my first welcome? Are womens courtesies such sharpe showers? Nowe I doe sée, although too late, that all is not Golde that doth glister, that euerie Orient stone is not a Diamond, all Drugges that are deare, are not pretious, nor euerie woman that can flatter, is not faithfull. Did you at the first decke mée with Roses, and now doe you beate me with Nettles? Did you present me with Perfumes, and nowe doe you stiffle mée with Hemblocke? Did yoou say, I shoulde neuer want, and nowe doe you wrong me, when I doe want? Then must I brooke it with patience, and accuse you of periurie. I haue spent my portion in this house, my reuenues are all fallen into your pursses, and now for a fewe pence will you séeke my preiudice? Be not (and with that hée looked on the yongest swéete Mistresse) so cruell, if you cannot reléeue mée, yet intreate for me to your sisters, that they bereaue me not of my cloathes, to the disparagement of my credit: remember the fauours I haue shewed you in my prosperitie, and requite them with some courtesies in my ad­uersities, thinke what promisses and protestations haue pas­sed betwéene vs. No sooner had hée spoken these wordes, but shée cryed out: What a beggarlie Knaue is this, quoth shée, for to challenge promisses at my handes? and for to tell mée of fauours, If thou hast spent thy money, thou hast had meate, and peny woorthes for thy pence. Couldest thou not (like a prodigall patch) haue looked better into thine owne life, but thou must straine further then thy sléeue would reach? Repentaunce is a whippe for such fooles [...] and therefore, were thy Hose off, thou shouldest goe in thy Shirte, vnlesse that thou doest paie the vttermost Farthing. Philador hearing this, fetched a verie greate sigh, and saide, Is there anie griefe to a troubled Soule? Or anie mischiefe vnto the mis­chiefe of a woman? Why? insatiable are hir fetches. You haue had here my bloud, will you haue my heart? My li­uing you haue amongest you, and nowe doe you ayme at my life. Fie vppon such gripes as cease not to pray vppon poore [Page 37] Prometheus, vntil they haue eaten his very entrailes. What sister, quoth the youngest, shall wée suffer this Rascall for to ra [...]le against vs, and be in our debtes? Come, let vs beate him out at the doores: with that they doe call vp the Ser­uantes, and so thrust him out of the Chamber, naked as hée was, and beate him sore, in so much, that they did shut him out comfortlesse and wounded. Being ashamed of himselfe, he durst not tarrie in the cittie where he was knowne, but in all the haste he gote him [...]ut of the Gates and hied him farre from the cittie, least that he shoulde be discouered by some of his acquaintance. In the meane while, the thrée sisters be­ganne for to count what gaines they had gotten by their no­uice: and as they did smile at his pelfe, so they laughed at his penurie, and wished that they might haue manie such guestes. Thus were they verie pleasaunt, whilest Phi­lador like vnto a poore Pilgrime wandered on still vppon his waie, going nowe naked that [...]arst came riding with such pompe, and séeing himselfe to be in the depth of miserie, that thought no frowne of Fortune coulde shake him from Feli­citie: after that hée had wandered a long while, being wea­rie, hungrie, and thirstie, with griefe, hée sate him downe by a Brookes side, where hée did drinke his fill, and for verie sorrowe he fell asléepe, and when hée awaked, and entered into the consideration of his present misfortune, looking vp­on himselfe, he melted into teares, and at last burst foorth into these passions.

Infortunate Philador, and therefore infortunate, because thou wouldest neither be directed by aduise, nor reclaimed by counsaile. Thy Father, whose yeares had reaped much ex­perience, whose white haires were instances of graue insight, whose age contained a multitude of reuerent aduertisementes, foretolde these misfortunes, and with forepointing actions, gaue thée caueats of these most bitter Crosses. The Fawne dooth choose his [...]oo [...]e by the laie of the olde Bucke: the Li­ [...]n dooth teach his young Whelpes: and the young Eagles [Page 38] make not flight, but as the olde ones do learne them to carrie wing, yet I instructed by my father, both flie from nature as a haggard, and refuse nurture as one that would euer prooue ran [...]ning. Selfeloue is a fault that followes youth, and like the [...]ng of the Tarantala fretteth inwardly before it paineth outwardly: I thought my fathers counsaile to be good, but too graue for my young yeares, quoth I, these preceptes are too [...]e [...]ere for the Kalendes of my youth. What? hée doth measure my quicke coales by his dead [...]ders, and thinketh that I shoulde [...]ée in the prime as he is in the wane. No, his Aphorifanes are to farre fetcht for mée, and therefore, Quae suprae nos nihil ad nos: What? I can sée what is good for my selfe, and also preuent a preiudice if it bée imminent. Thus did I flatter my selfe, vntill such tyme as too late Re­pentaunce hath giuen mée a Mouening Garment. Oh now I doe plainely sée, when my Father gaue vnto mée preceptes, he gaue me more then pence, for counsaile is more woorth then co [...], but I did then [...]ightly regarde it, and therefore do I now heau [...]ly repent it. Ah Philador, thou werte war­ned not to bée prodigall, and who more riotous? Not for to straine aboue thy reach, and yet thou wou [...]est néeds beyond the Moone. Nowe dooest thou sorrowe at thy [...]osse, and they doe smile that haue gained: whilest that thou haddest Crownes [...]rammed in thy coffers, thou haddest friendes e­now at commaundement, and wert able to take many flat­terers with trencher-flies, thou haddest such as soothed thée in thy follies, and fedde vppon thy fortunes, that did ordi­narilie paie thée wyth a cappe and a knée, and that coulde tricke thée vp with Titles of honour. But nowe (Philador) nowe that thou arte in wante, they are all vanished like vnto an emptie Clowde: nowe that ther [...] is no wealth lefte, they are all lost, thy Golde is flowne, and they are fiedde: thus ( [...]ore man) sittest thou comfortlesse and friendlesse, hauing haught witte too deare, and onely gotten this verse for all thy golde:

Nullus ad amissas ibit ami [...] [...]

Thus as Philador sate debating with him selfe of his for­mer [Page 39] Fortunes, and present miserie, such melancholy entred in­to his thoughts, that he feared to fall in dispaire, and therefore rose vp and went trauelling into the Countrie, passing ouer thrée or foure dayes without any so [...]e, that he was almost fa­mished, till at last it was his good happe to méete a citizen that had a farme in the countrie, him Philador humbly saluted, and desired him of seruice, the Citizen looking earnestly vpon him, séeing he had a good face, p [...]ttied the extremitie of the poore yong man, and answered him thus: My friend (quoth he) thou [...]ée­est there is a generall dearth ouer the whole Countrey, and many perish through pe [...]ie, [...]od is so scant that our seruants are readie to famish, and therefore euerie man coueteth to make his charge lesse, yet for that I pittie thy youth, and fauor [...]y personage, I will place thée in a farme house of mine hard by adioyning, where thy labour shall be to féede my swy [...]e, wherein if thou shewest thy selfe [...], thy recompence shall be the greater. Philador glad of this, with teares in his eyes for ioy, made this answere. Master (quoth he) pe [...]ie is a sore pinch, and I thinke there is no sharper sling, then necessi­tie, therfore doubt not of my labour, for I will take any paines to please, and brooke any toyle to content, and so I beséech you to fauour me, as you shall finde me dutifull. With that the Citizen tooke him into seruice, and sent him to his farme house, where Philador kept the swyne, but himselfe had verie hard fare, in so much that for extreame hunger he eate the huskes with the hogges, & yet had not enough to satisfie his stomack. Sitting downe at last, and séeing the hogges féede, hauing a huske in his hande, he wept and blubbered out these passionate complaintes.

Ah hunger hunger, the extreamest of all extremes, now do I sée that high desires haue low fortunes, that thoughts which reach at starres, stumble at stones: that such as gase at the heauens, fall on the earth: that pride will haue a fall, and e­uery fault is punisht with the contrarie. Ah Philador thou that of late didst swimme in gluttony, art now pinched with penurie, thou that didst inuent what to eate, hast not now any [Page 40] thing to eate: thine eye could not be contented with meane cates, that now demisheth for want of any fare, where be thy dainties, thy excesse, thy wines, thy delicates, all past with Philexenus, through thy throat, and thou left to eate huskes with swine in the déepest extremitie of hungar: ah miserable Philador how art thou Metamorphosed, where be thy costly abyliments, thy rich roabes, thy gorgeous attyre, thy chaines & thy ringes, Omnia vanitas, they are [...]allen to the Lombard, left at the Brokers, and thou here [...]ittest poore and naked broo­king this miserie as patiently, as thou diddest spend thy goods riotously. But now Philador, enter into consideration of thy hard happe, and sée into the cause of thy frowarde Fortunes. What shall I attribute it to my natiuitie, and say the Planets did calculate as much at my birth? no, there is no necessitie in their influence, the starres determine, but God disposeth, tush

Sapiens dominabitur Astris.

What then shalt thou accuse, ah nothing but the folly o [...] my youth, that would neither accept of aduice, nor vouchsafe of counsaile. Loue Philador loue, ah no, shadowe not vanitie with the vale of vertue, not loue but lust brought me to this bane, wanton affectes forced me to this fall, and the pleasure of mine eye procured these bitter passions. Beautie, ah beauty the bane that poysoneth worse then the iuyce of the Baaron. Beautie the Serpent that infecteth worse then the Basiliske. Beauty the Syren that draweth vnto death. Beautie that lea­deth youth captiue into the laborinth, where resteth that mer­cilesse mynotaure. But rather fond man that delightest in such a fading flowre, in such a manifest poyson, in such an open pre­iudice. The Déere knoweth Tamariske to be deadly, and will not brouse on the branches, the mouse hateth the trappe, the Bee hemlocke, the Serpent the Oliphant: but man runneth gréedely after that which worketh his fatall disparagement. Ah Philador, did not thy father forewarne [...]hée of weomens beautie, did he not say they were Adamants that drew, Pan­thers that with their painted skinnes doe al [...]ure, if my sonne (quoth he) thou surfetst with their beautie, thou drinkest Aco­nitum and so doest perish. Tush, but I little regarded his pre­cepts, [Page 41] but now haue I bought his axiomes with déepe repen­tance: now doe I finde that their faces are painted sepulchres, whereas their mindes are tombes full of rotten bones and ser­pents, their browes containe like the Diamant, vertue to re­léeue, and poyson to kill, their lookes are like Calendes, that can determine no certaintie, but as the leafe of the Liquonico when it lookes most moyst, is then most drie, so when they smyle, they imagine deceipt, & their laughters are tempered with enuie and reuenge. Ah Philador, what are weomens vowes? wordes written in the winde: what are their promi­ses? carracters figured in the ayre: what are their flatteries? fi­gures grauen in the snowe, which are blowen with the winde or melted with the Sunne: what are their loues? like the pas­sage of a Serpent ouer a stone, which once past can neuer be séene. They will promise mountaines and performe moul­hilles, saye they loue with Dido, when they fayne with Cresida, and followe Demophon with Phillis, when they are more stragling then Luna, they haue teares at com­maunde as the Crockadile to betray, and smyles at volun­tarie to bewitch: as long as thou hast gould they are horse-leaches, and will not out of thy bosome: but they hat [...] an emptie purse, as the Hiena doeth the sight of a man, and will flie from thée when thou art poore, as the fowle from the Faulcon. Ah Philador mightest thou be the last who were intrapt by their loue, it were well, & happy wert thou to be an instance to all other gentlemen, nay might young youth bridle their follies by thy fall, they would ere day say to themselues:

Faelix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum.

But alas Philador, Troilus fortunes could not make others feare the like foolish ende. Though Theseus bought Helens loue déere, yet Paris would not be warned, but brought her home to Troy, so thou art but one Swallowe, and makest not sommer: and yong gentlemen will say, thy folly will not be e­uery mans fortune: but when repentance shall couer thē with a Mourning Garment, then they will say had I wist is a litle too late. But Philador why sitst thou here discoursing against loue, against womē, against beauty, leaue thē as refuse & things [Page 42] too low for thy lookes, and prouide for thy bodie, for thou art here almost famished, and sittest eating of husks with the hogs, whereas the meanest of thy fathers seruants, his hynd Merce­naries hath bread enough to eate, and thou sittest and féelest the extremitie of hunger. What shall I doe, shall I home? will my father vouchsafe of such a prodigall sonne, who in so short a time hath consumed so large a portion: can he looke on him with fauour that hath committed such folly, or receiue him in­to his house, that hath despised his counsaile. Ah why not Phi­lador, loue is more vehement in descent then in ascent, nature will pleade for me, if nurture condemne me, fathers as they haue frownes to chastice, so they haue smyles to pardon: as they can lowre, so they can laugh: and they are as readie to forgiue, as thou to be penitent. Then will I home to my fa­ther, and say to him, father, I haue sinned against heauen and before thée, & am no more worthie to be called thy sonne, make me as one of thy hired seruantes: with this hee fell into bitter teares, and in this resolution continued, and taking leaue of his master hied him home towardes the lande of Hauilath, by the way trauersing many Countries, and noting the maners of men, he sawe howe folly had wrapt many in the snares of weomens beauties, amongest the rest one day as he lay in a thicke to shrowde him from the heate of the sunne, hearing a great noyse, he heard the complaint of a forsaken louer, who exclaymed against ye crueltie of weomen, that denyed to grant loue for loue, and grew so far into passions, that pulling foorth his rapier, there he resolued both to ende his loue and his life. As he was readie to haue fallen on his sworde, Philador stept out of the thicke, and caught hould of him: the Gentleman turning his head, and séeing such a poore snake to hinder his at­tempt, thought to check him with a frowne: but Philador vsed these spéeches vnto him. Sir, maruaile not that so meane a man hath dared to stay you from so bad a déede, for to this I am compeld by manhood, desperation is a double sinne, and fi­nall impenitence hath no remission. There is no happe past hope, and therefore bewray your griefe, perhaps I may per­swade with reason, or relieue with counsaile, measure me not [Page 43] by my ragges, ne estimate not my present fortunes, but thinke as the fowlest wéedes hath oft the most vertuous operation, so the hoode makes not the Monke, nor the apparell the man, but I may sooner apply a medicine for your meladie, then a séeme­lier Physitian. The Gentleman hearing such a sensible induc­tion did straight coniecture that whatsoeuer his present estate was, his nourture had béene good, and there looking him in the face, and leaning on his rapier, he beganne to discourse vnto him how long time he had béene a votarie vnto Venus, and a seruant vnto loue, that he was snared in the beautie of a yong Damsell, who the more she perceiued him passionate, the lesse she was pittiful, and by how much the more he sought to shew manifest signes of his affection, by so much the more she made little regard of his fancie: in so much that wearied with loue, and séeing no hope of fauour, he thought with a momentarie death, to ende those passions wherein still to linger were worse then any death. At this Philador sell into a great laughter, and after into these tearmes: what (quoth hée) art thou so madde to die for loue, or so fonde to grieue thy selfe at the frowne of a woman. I tell thée sir (quoth he) if thou knewest howe Fortune fauours thée, and howe the starres agrée to make thée happie, thou wouldest count thy selfe not the most miserablest, but the most fortunate of all men: ah my friend diddest thou as well as I knowe the effectes of loue, and the wyles of women, thou wouldest say:

O me felicem quantis me periculis fortunae mea eripuit.

If she be faire whom thou louest, first consider that beau­tie is a flower to day fitte for the eye, to morrowe withered and to be cast into the fornace: that loue which growes from such a fading obiect is momentarie, and subiect to euery acci­dent: besides beautie bringes with it suspition, feare, and gelo­sie, séeing euerie mans eye will féede on a faire face, and euerie mans thought will séeke to be partner in thy fancies, and how weake vesselles weomen be, especially if they be beautifull: I referre thée to Helena and Cressida. But thou saiest she is coy, ah my friend, weomens faces are not ye Christals of truth, [Page 44] nor their wordes Gospell, what she hates in outwardly, shée likes inwardly, and what she thrustes away with one finger, she will pull againe with both her handes: but as long as thou fawnest vpon her, she will be froward, but be but a litle absent and she wil wish thy presence: weomens thoughts are like ba­bies fancies, that will and will not, proffer them meate, and they refuse it, offer it to an other, and they crie after it, so weane thou thy selfe but from hir for a while, and frequent the companie of some other as faire as she, and so eyther shalt thou drawe her on to be fonde, or else by such absence, shake off thine owne follie. But suppose loue and fortune fauour thée, that thou hast her loue, diddest thou knowe what a worlde of woes thou doest enter into by taking a wife, thou woul­dest say, fie on loue, and farewell to weomen. Be she neuer so faire, thou shalt finde faultes enough in her face shortly to mislike: and besides, the fairest flower hath oft the most infe­ctious sauour, the Cedar is beautifull, but beares no fruite, the Christolite of an orient hue, yet of a deadly operation: and so in the fairest proportion shalt thou finde oft the least perfec­tion, and the swéetest face, the most preiudiciall qualities. Who was fayrer then Venus, but such a wanton as shee would neuer want one. Clytemnestra beautifull, but a gig­lot. I tell thée sir they are sullen, and be Morosae, as was Ze­nia the wife of Antisthenes, or scouldes as she that ouer-ruled Socrates, or froward, as Marpesia: deceiptfull, flattering, contentious, sicke with the puffe of euerie winde, and lowring at the shewe of euerie storme. These vices are insident by na­ture, though they séeme neuer so vertuous by nourture. Pe­nelope had furrowes in her brow, as well as she had dimples in her chinne, Artemisia could frowne, as well as shee could smile, and Lucrece though she were chast, yet she could chyde. Sir, beléeue me, I speake it by experience, if thou marrie one faire and dishonest, thou weddest thy selfe to a worlde of mise­ries, if thou marriest one beautifull, & neuer so vertuous, yet thinke this, thou shalt haue a woman, & therfore in despight of Fortune a necessarie euill. At this period the passionate Gen­tleman put vp his Rapier into his sheath, and tolde Philador [Page 45] his medecine had somewhat eased his maladie, and his coun­saile mittigate the force of his dispayring passions, in so much that his hoat loue was waren a little colde, and the heate of his fancie was qualified with the lenatiue plaisters that grew from his experience aduice. Therefore sir (quoth he) as the Date trée is not knowen by the barke, but by the bloomes: and the precious balme not by his cullour, but by the operati­on: so the outward shew did not alwaies manifest the inward man, but the effects of his vertues: and therefore not measu­ring your parentage by your present estate, nor your calling by your aduerse fortune, I first (as one that coueteth not to be vngratefull) render thankes for your Patheticall preceptes, and séeing you haue kindely reléeued me with your counsayle, as Terence wisheth:

Remeate adiuuabo:

I will supply your want with my wealth, and change your Fortunes with my possessions, so that what I haue in trea­sure shall be parted betwéene vs with a friendly proportion. Philador gaue him great thankes for his courteous proffer, and tolde him, that such vrgent haste of his iourney called him away, as no alteration of his fortune howe beneficiall so euer, might stay him. My way (quoth he) is long, and my wearinesse great, I haue many places to tread, and ma­ny thoughts to meditate vpon, I goe laden with much sor­row, and little hope: yet dispaire I must not, for though my miseries be many, and my friendes few, yet do say in my selfe to salue my passion:

O passi grauiora? dabit Deus his quoque finem.

Therefore sir, if my counsaile haue done you any comfort, or my wordes béene so effectuall, as to mittigate your affects, thinke loue hath brought me to these Fortunes, and there­fore beware of the like follies, for he that shunnes Scilla, and falles into Charibdis: that will accuse Circes for an in­chauntresse, and yet wed himselfe to Calipso, that thinkes he may shake off fancie for a moment, and entertaine loue for a moneth, shall tread vpon glasse, and worke himselfe into a laborinth of ouerwéening fooleries. The sunne waxeth low [Page 46] and my Inne is farre hence, therefore must I leane you, and yet quoth he, because I sée you are willing to learne, take this scrowle as a president how to eschewe much preiudice, the on­ly fauour that I request, is that you will be as readie to deli­uer precepts of vertue, as I haue b [...]ene to set downe axiomes to you, with that he gaue him a paper soulded vp, and shaking him by the hande, bad him farewell. The Gentleman with great courtesie bad him adew, and so they parted, Philador to­wardes his fathers, and he towards his lodging: yet longing to sée what was in the scrowle, he sate him downe and vnfoul­ded it, where he found these strange Aphorismes.

The Contents of Philadors scrowle, Ouidius. Hei mihi quod nullis Amor est medicabilis herbis.

Loue is a thing I know not of what it commeth, I know not from whence: it groweth, but vnknowen whereof: goeth we know not whether, and beginneth and endeth I knowe not which way: yet a passion full of martyrdome, miserie, griefe, and discontent, hauing pleasures, but tempered with paines, and a short delight mixed with a long repentance.

The Hidaspis hath a faire skinne and a swéete breath, but his sting is fatal, gaze not too much least thou attempt to touch and so perish.

The Crockadile wéepes, but then she worketh wyles, for her teares pretende reliefe, but intende destruction, rue not her sorrowes, least when she reioyceth, thou repentest.

The Syrens fits and singes in a calme bay, but her seate to [...]uironed with rockes, beware of her melodie, for if it please the eare, it pincheth the heart.

When the Tigre hideth her clawes, then she menaceth for her pray, sée either her claw open, or hould her at thy rapiers point.

The eye of a Basiliske is as bright as a stone, but as [Page 47] preiuditiall as a thunder-bolte, whilest thou lookest with de­light, it woundeth with death, holde thine eies from such ob­iects, least thou become an abiect.

Cyrce [...] amongst all hir potions had one most swéete, and that turned men to asses, taste not of that, without before thou chaw on Moly.

The Hiena will fawne on thée and smile, but if thou folow hir, she leades thée to a demie full of Serpentes, either shunne hir flatteries, or weare the horne of a Hart that driues away infectious vermine.

There are no Hawkes sooner manned then they of India, none eate more, and flie lesse, while she is full gorged she kéeps the fist, but kéepe hir lowe, and she proues rauening, either be not a Falconer, or beware of such foules.

Giue a Cammell store of prouender, and she will strike thée with hir foote, beate hir, and she will knéele till thou get­test vpon hir backe, for such a beast, weare a cudgell, then whē thou séest it hir lift hir héele, thou maiest strike.

If these Aphorismes be too enigmaticall, become a Louer, and experience will quickely set thée downe a comment, but if thou canst, find them out, and be philosopher to thy selfe.

The Gentleman read these obscure principles, and per­ceiued they all tended to the discouerie of womens qualities, wherefore he helde them most pretious: but looking vpon the page, there he perceiued certaine verses, which were these.

Philadors Ode that he left with the des­pairing louer.

When merrie Autumne in hir prime,
Fruitefull mother of swift time
Had filled Ceres lappe with store
Of Uines and Corne, and wickle more,
Such needeful fruites as do growe
From Terras bosome here belowe,
Tytirus did [...]
A gawdy Chaplet on her head,
A Chaplet that did shrowd the beames,
That Phoebus on hir beautie streames:
For Sunne it selfe desired to see
So faire a Nymph as was shee,
For, viewing from the East to West,
Faire Galate did like him best:
Hir face was like to Welkins shine,
Christall brookes, such were hir eine,
And yet within those brookes were fires,
That scorched youth and his desires.
Galate did much impaier
Venus honour for hir faire [...]
For stately stepping Iunos pace,
By Galate did take disgrace:
And Pallas wisedome bare no prise,
Where Galate would shew hir wise.
This gallant girle thus passeth by
Where Tytirus did sighing lie:
Sighing sore for loue straines
More then sighes from louers vaines,
Teares in eie, thought in hart,
Thus his griefe he did impart.
Faire Galate but glaunce thine eie [...]
Here lies he that here must die,
For loue is death, if loue not gaine
Louers salue for louers paine.
Winters seuen and more are past
Since on thy face my thoughts I cast,
When Galate did haunt the plaines,
And fed her sheepe amongst the swaines [...]
When euery shepheard left his flockes,
To gaze on Galates faire lockes.
When euery eie did stand at gaze.
When hart and thought did both amaze.
When heart from body would asunder,
On Galates faire face to wonder.
Then amongst them all did I
Catch such a wound as I must die,
If Galate ofte say not thus,
I loue the shepheard Tytirus [...]
Tis loue (faire nymph) that doth paine
Say Galate, oft smile and saie,
Twere pitty loue should haue a naie:
But such a word of comfort giue,
And Tytirus thy loue shall liue:
Or with a piercing frowne replie,
I can not loue, and then I die,
For louers nay is louers death,
And heartbreake frownes doth stop the breath.
Galate at this arose,
And with a smile away she goes,
As one that little carde to ease
Tytir, paind with Loues disease.
At hir parting Tytirus
Sighed amaine, and saied thus:
Oh that women are so faire,
To trap mens eies in their haire,
With beauteous eies Loues fires,
Venus sparkes that heates desires:
But, oh that women haue such hearts,
Such thoughts, and such deepe piercing darts,
As in the beauty of their eie,
Harbor nought but flatterie:
Their teares are drawne that drop deceit,
Their faces, Kalends of all sleight,
Their smiles are lures, their looks guile,
And all their loue is but a wile.
Then Tytir leaue, leaue Tytirus
To loue such as scornes you thus:
And say to Loue, and women both,
What I liked nowe I do loath,
With that he hied him to the flockes,
And counted Loue but Venus mockes.

The Gentleman hauing read ouer this Ode, helde it as a treasure, and went home as frée from Loue as Tytirus was from affection, wondering what this poore pilgrime should be that had giuen him such enigmaticall precepts, and praying, that his fortune might be answerable to his qualities. Wel, leauing him thus, frée from his passion, againe to Philador, who wandering homewardes mette with many aduentures, and sawe many sights that had made him for to wonder at the follies of the worlde, at the last he came within the sight of his fathers house, the which he no sooner sawe, but it was such [Page 50] a piercing obiect to his eie, striking such remorse to his heart, that he sate him downe and melted into teares, thinking on the prosperity of his former estate, and the miserie of his pre­sent fortunes, as thus he sate in a déepe passion, lifting vp his eies, he saw where his aged Father was walking in the pas­tures to take the aire, although his aduerse fall were a meanes to make him bashful, yet the sight of his father kindled so the fewell of nature in him, that imboldned, he arose vp, and went towards him in those robes of distresse, that he was banished out of his Inne. And when he came neare, naked, and poore, he went to his father, and falling flat vpon the ground, saide: Father, I haue sinned against heauen and against thée, I am no more worthie to be called thy sonne. Olde Rabby Bilessy looking in his visage, and séeing it was his sonne, Nature that hath neuer such dead cindars, but there be Quaedam scintillulae certaine sparkles of secrete affection, beganne to draw remorse into his face, pity into his heart, and teares into his eies, that, throwing downe his staffe, he stepped to his sonne, and fell on his necke, wéeping bitterly, and yet with such an extasie, as the storme pretended both ioy and sorrow, the one for his hard fortunes, the other, for his happy recouery. Philador séeing his father thus passionate, tooke heart a grasse, and on his knée began thus.

Philadors submission to his father at his returne.

I Know not (sir) what insinuation to vse for your fauor, so ma­ny, & so monstrous are the number of my follies, nor can I pleade any excuse, the distresse of my present fortunes are so manifest, onely submission must sue to nature for a pardon, and my repentant sorrowes put in plea for some fatherly re­morse. Ah the wanton desires of youth, why they be like to the giddinesse of rauening Hawkes, that bate at the sight of e­uerie bush: and the prime of yong age is as the flowers of the Pine trée, that are glorious to the sight, but vnsauourie, and without smell. Uanitie is the maske wherein it marcheth, and follie is the Page that waits attendance vpon the actions of youth, so that all his affects are slippernes, and the effects ful [Page 51] of preiuditiall disparagement, had I regarded the graue Aphorisms of your aduised counsaile on the golden preceptes deliuered from the experience of your yéeres, or the swéete actions that drop as balme from the siluer tr [...]sses of your haire, neyther had my fall béene such, my distresse so great, nor my fortune so miserable: fooles are they which say: bought wit is best, espetially, if it be rated at my prise. Counsaile is the swéete conserue, and aduise the purest antidote: hap­piest is he that is ware by other mens harmes, and such most mise­rable, that are wise by their owne woes.

Piscator ictus sapit.

But hard is his hap that flies from the viper for hir sting, that hateth the Tarantala, for that he hath felt hir venome, and infor­tunate is that man that can anotomise miserie by his own distresse: Ah father, had I reuerenced my God as I honored my goddesse, and offered as many Orisons to his deity, as I powred out passions for hir beauty: the [...] had I bin graced with as many fauours as I am crossed with misfortunes. But I thought he had not séen my faults, and therefore went forward, in hue I thought their faces to be A­damants, their beauties to be like the spots of deuouring Panthers, had I déemed them to be preiudiciall Syrens, had I beléeued what I was foretold, Philador had béene lesse miserable, & more fortunate. But I counted their beauties metaphisicall, their qualities diuine, their proportions heauenly, themselues Angelles: I thought, as the Phenix had none but pretious fethers, as the Myrrh trée hath no ca­terpillers, as the Topas hath no operatiō but excellent, so I thoght women to be such perfit creatures as had nothing in them but super­naturall. But at last I found the preceptes of Rabby Bilessy to bée authentical, that as the Sinamon trée, though it hath a swéet barke, yet it hath bitter leaues, & the Pirite stone, though it haue one ver­tue hath twenty preiudiciall operations, so womē though they were neuer so beautifull, yet were they the painted continents of flattery, of deceit, inconstancie, and the very guides that leade men vnto the pernicious labyrinth of endlesse distresse. Had I thought prodigali­tie superfluous excesse, my coffers had béene full of Crownes, and my heart void of cares, but I counted expense the empresse of a gen­tleman, and gifts the thing that graced a traueller: as Traian num­bred not that day amongest the date of his life, wherein he had not [Page 52] done something worthy of memorie, so I did hold that Nefanda dies wherein I did not triumph in magnificall prodigalitie. Tush, I did thinke come to be called currant à currendo, golde, why I held it as drosse, and counted it the déepest dishonor to be counted frugall: Par symonia, why, quoth I it is pal [...]y, and spa [...]ing it is the badge of a pesant. The Chaldes in their Hierogliphickes described a Gentle­man with his hand alwayes open, meaning, that to giue was he­roicall. And T [...]tus the Emperour said, giue, if thou wilt bée woor­thy the worldes monarchy: I counted Cyancynatus the Dictator a foole for his frugality: I discommended the small diet of Ca [...]s Fabritius, and sayd A [...]athocles was base-minded that drunke in earthen vessels. But for Lucullus, I commended his sumptuous fare, and the prodigall thoughtes of [...]ulinus. Thus did I glorie in excesse, and thought not that measure was a merry meane. While thus I flowed in the conceit of my folly, I had many that like tren­cher [...]es waited vppon my person, more for the hope of my pursse, then for any perfect loue. And as the Doues fl [...]cke where the house is faire, so where the c [...]rrion is, thither such hungry Eagles resorte. I can best compare them vnto empty Uesselles that haue l [...]wde soundes, to painted sheathes that haue rusti [...] [...]des, vnto glorious flowers that haue no smell, and so they pretend much friendship, and containe nothing but superficiall flatterie. For as soone as by draw­ing too o [...]te the well waxed drie, that my pursse beganne with so ma­ny purging glisters to waxe not onely laxatiue, but quite emptie: then these insinuating hangbies flew away like vapours, and left me vnto the déepe fall of my fortunes. This experience hath poore-Philador bought with much sorrowe, and this Witte hath hée purchased with great Repentance, in so much, that the loathsom­nesse of my faultes is more then the pleasure of my follies, and the hate of such vanities is greater then the desire of such vices: [...], thou graunt pardon vnto him that is penitent, haue remorse vpon him that groaneth vnder the burthen of his sinnes, let thine eie beholde mée, and thy heart pittie the extreamitie of my dist [...]esse, And if my offences be so great that thou wilt not entertain me as a sonne, yet make me as one of thy hired seruants.

Rabby Bilessy hearing the penitent passion of his sonne, felte nature pleading for the reconciliation of so sorrowfull a Pilgrime, [Page] and therefore folding his armes about his necke, and wetting his chéekes with teares, he made this fatherly reply.

Rabby Bilessy his comfortable answere to his sonne.

I tell thée Philador, quoth he, though I haue teares in mine eies, yet I haue ioy in my heart, these droppes are not signes of sorrowes, but instances of content: I conceiue as much pleasure in thy penitence, as I reaped gréefe at thy disobedience. Ah Phila­dor, haddest thou followed thy fathers counsaile, thou haddest not tasted of this care, and my preceptes suncke into thy heart, these misfortunes had not béene rewardes of thy follies. But to rubbe the sore afresh, by recounting thy offences, is but to make thée more passionate, and me déeper perplexed. Therefore omitting all matters that are past, hoping these protestations are not present sorrowes, but continuall penitence, I admit thée into former fauor, forgiuing and forgetting the follies of thy youth. With that lifting vp Philador he imbraced him afresh, couered him in a newe robe, but with a garment of blacke, as a man mourning at his hie faults and lowe fortunes, and so carried him home to his house, where he commaunded all his seruantes to make preparation for a solempne feast, which was done with all dilligence. Sophonos being from home, and at his returne hearing of this, had his face full of frowns, and his heart of griefe, that such a prodigall vnthrift sh [...]ulde so soone be reconciled, and so boldelie entertained, in so much, that discon­tent, he sate him downe at the doore, and woulde not come in. Newes was brought vnto Rabby Bilessy, that Sophonos was malecontent. With that the olde man stumbled out of the doores, and comming to his sonne, perswaded him to thinke nothing if hee gratiously accepted of his penitent brother. Sophonos wyth a lowring countenaunce made him this answere.

Sophones to olde Rabby Bilessy.

Why sir, quoth he, haue I not reason to frowne when I sée you so fond, and to be deepely discontent when I see you so diuers in your [Page] actions? one while with Diogenes to exclaime against pride, an [...] straight with Aristippus to [...]et in surcoats of golde, aged thoughtes should haue but one period, and the resolution of gray haires ought always to be perēptory: hath not Rabby Bilessy inueighed against the follies of youth? and doth he not now mainetaine it in his owne son? hath he not said, that a prodigall man is like to a floud that ouer floweth, which inforceth preiudice to the whole plains? and now he welcoms him with feasting that hath spent all in riotous expence. What is this but to foster follie, and to nurse vp vice? I speake not this as enuying my brothers reconciliatiō, but that Sophonos hath deserued more grace, and yet hath found lesse fauor. Ah sonne, quoth Rabby Bilessy, hast thou not heard that inexpected chāces, are most welcome, that losses recouered are most swéet, that nature likes best seldoms séene? Ah Sophonos, and art thou angry then with thine olde father, for entertaining his son that was lost, and is found, that was dead and is aliue again, for welcoming home of Philador, that returns backe poore, but penitent, crossed with ill fortunes, but care­ful for his faults, distressed, but vowed to deuotion, his mind hath al­tered with a strange Metamorphosis, he hath (Sophonos) bought wit, and now will beware, better late then neuer: Nunquam se [...]a est ad bonos mores via. Then (my sonne) if thou be sonne to Rab­by Bilessy, and béest as kind as I am naturall, [...]eme, and welcome home with me, thy brother Philador, gréete him with fauours, as I haue done with teares, be as glad to sée him come home, as thou werte sory to sée him depart, and for thy courtesie thou shalte haue his brotherly loue, and my fatherly blessing. With that Sopho­nos was content, and his olde Father carried him in: and then Sorphonos as kindly as his stomacke woulde suffer entertained Phila­dor, and then frolickely they went to feasting. Olde Rabby reioi­cing at the great change of his sons manners, in that he went foorth ful of vanity, and returned home tempered with grauity: al the com­pany were pleasant, and a feast it could not be without musike: the shepheards they came in with their Timbrelles and Cimballes, and plaide such melodie, as the Countrie then required: amongst them all one swaine slept foorth, and as they sate, reuiued them with this song.

The song of a countrie Swaine at the returne of Philador.

THe silent shade had shadowed euery tree,
And Phebus in the west was shrowded lowe:
Ech hiue had home her busie labouring Bee,
Ech bird the harbour of the night did knowe.
Euen then,
When thus:
All things did from their wearie labourlinne,
Menalcas sate and thought him of his sinne.
His head on hande, his elbowe on his knee,
And teares like dewe be drencht vpon his face,
His face as sad as any Swaynes might bee:
His thoughts and dumpes befitting well the place
Euen then,
When thus:
Menalcas sate in passions all alone,
He sighed then, and thus he gan to mone.
I that fed flockes vpon Thessalia plaines,
And bed my lambes to feede on Daffadill,
That liued on milke and curdes poore shepheardes gaines,
And merry fate, and pyp'd vpon a pleasant hill.
Euen then,
When thus:
I sate secure and fear'd not fortunes ire.
Mine eyes eclipst, fast blinded by desire.
Then loftie thoughts beganne to lift my minde,
I grudgd and thought my fortune was too lowe;
A shepheards life twas base and out of kinde,
The taulest Cedars haue the fairest growe.
Euen then,
When thus:
Pride did intend the sequell of my ruth,
Beganne the faultes and follies of my youth.
I left the fieldes and tooke me to the towne,
Fould sheepe who list, the hooke was cast away,
Menalcas would not be a countrie clowne,
Nor shepheards weedes, but garments farre more gay,
Euen then,
When thus:
Aspiring thoughts did followe after ruth,
Beganne the faultes and follies of my youth.
M [...]iutes were silke, my talke was all of state,
[...] stretcht beyound the compasse of my sleeue,
The brauest Courtier was Menalcas mate,
Spend what I could I neuer thought on griefe.
Euen then,
When thus:
I lasht out lauish then beganne my ruth,
And then I feit the follies of my youth.
I cast mine eye on euery wanton fa [...]e,
And straight desire did hale me on to loue,
The louer like I prayd for Venus grace,
[...] [...]he my mistresse deepe affects might moue.
Euen then,
When thus,
Loue trapt me in the fatall bandes of ruth,
Beganne the faultes and follies of my youth.
No cost I spar'd, to please my Mistresse eye,
No time ill spent in presence of her sight,
Yet oft we fround [...] and then her loue must dye,
But when she smyl'd, oh then a happie wight.
Euen then,
When thus,
Desire did drawe me on to deeme of ruth,
Beganne the faultes and follies of my youth.
The day in poems often did I passe,
The night in sighes and sorrowes for her grace,
And she as fickle as the britt [...]e glasse,
Helde sunshine showers within her flattering face.
Euen then,
When thus,
I spied the woes that weomens loues ensueth,
I sawe and loath, the follies of my youth.
I noted oft that beautie was a blase,
I saw that loue was but a heape of cares,
That such as stoode as Deare doe at the gase,
And sought their wealth amongest affectious thares.
Euen such,
I sawe,
Which hoat pursute did follow after ruth,
And fostered vp the follies of their youth.
Thus clog'd with loue with passions and with griefe,

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