The Rocke of Regard, diuided into foure parts.

The first, the Castle of delight: Wherin is reported, the wretched end of wanton and dissolute liuing.

The second, the Garden of Vnthriftinesse: Wherein are many swéete flowers, (or rather fancies) of honest loue.

The thirde, the Arbour of Vertue: Wherein slaunder is highly punished, and ver­tuous Ladies and Gentlewomen, worthily commended.

The fourth, the Ortchard of Repentance: Wherein are discoursed, the miseries that followe dicing, the mischiefes of quareling, the fall of prodigalitie: and the souden ouerthrowe of foure notable cousners, with diuers other mo­rall, natural, & tragical discourses: documents and admonitions: be­ing all the inuention, collec­tion and translation of George Whet [...]tons Gent.

Formae nulla fides.

¶ To all the young Gentlemen of England, to whose perusing this Booke shall happen: George Whetstons wi­sheth both health and good hap.

WOrthy Gentlemē, I haue presented vnto your friend­ly acceptaunce, a worke so worthlesse, (in respect of the homely handling thereof) as will (I feare) neither content you in reading, nor any wayes commend my paines in writing: & yet I am right wel assured (curi­ous contentment set apart) it importeth necessarie matter of directi­on, for vnstayed youth, who hauing the raines at libertie, are so hote [...]n expence, as that they be many times surfited with incumberan­ces, yea, tyred out right with prodigalitie, before they be brought into any perfect order of spending. For whose behalfe and forewarning, I haue collected together a number of my vnlearned deuises (inuented for the most, of experience) and more boldly, then well aduised, haue guarded them, with the title of the Rocke of regarde: not for that it conteineth only needefull matter, but for that you, hauing noted the discommodities of the vnnecessarie, might reade the necessarie con­siderations with more regard. And for that it behooueth the maister of euery feast, to prouide diuers dishes, to please the diuers appetites of his diuers guestes: the like consideration now moueth me, who hauing inuited a number to peruse my vnpolished labours, as neare as I can to vse such Decorum in my doings, as euerie desire may be satisfied. And sure I hold it necessarie, that matters of aduise (to worke atten­tiō) be sometimes mingled with delight: and further, for that I know the most part of youth (to whome I chiefly dedicate the fruite of my trauell) are so carelesse of their commoditie, as they set light of sound aduise, vnlesse such persuasions be sauced (in some respect) with their owne desires, so that to win them to the reading of that which is pro­fitable, I haue likewise presented them with matter of honest plea­sure. And yet, least they lighting on some discourse of worth, shoulde by and by be led away, with the sight of some wanton deuise, I haue published my trauell, vnder these foure following titles.

The first is, the Castle of delight. Wherin (to ioyne commoditie, [Page] with the readers pleasure) are many morall and needefull considera­tions. For who so noteth there, the issue of the Countesse of Zelants hate, may happely feare to execute a strumpets bloudie reuenge. In Cressids complaint, the subtilties of a Courtisan discouered, may forwarne youth from the c [...] ̄panie of inticing dames. The aduentures of Rinaldo (which may verie well be termed a Laberynth of loue) discourseth the inconueniencies of iealousie: and by the ouerthrowe of Frizaldo, is showne the reward of lawlesse lust and trecherie.

Some there be, that hauing eyed my former vnthriftinesse, doe gape (percase) to viewe in this booke, a number of vaine, wanton, and worthlesse Sonets, in some respectes I haue satisfied their expectati­on, moued to suffer the imprinting of them, not of vaine glorie, but of two good considerations: the one to make the rest of the booke more profitable, and (perhaps) lesse regarded, the better saileable. The o­ther & chiefest, in plucking off the visard of self conceit, vnder which I somtimes proudly masked with vaine desires. Other yong gentlemē may reforme their wanton liues, in seing the fond & fruitles successe of my fantasticall īmaginations, which be no other then Poems of ho­nest loue: and yet for that the exercise we vse in reading louing dis­courses, sildome (in my conceit) acquiteth our paines, with any thing beneficiall vnto the common weale, or verie profitable to our selues, I thought the Garden of Vnthriftinesse, the meetest title I could giue them.

The third is, the Arbour of Vertue, the which I chiefly publi­shed, for the delight of vertuous Ladies and Gentlewomen: and yet (my lustie Gent.) it conteineth matter very needfull for you to note: As in making choice of a wife, rather in owed with vertue, then mony, as Syr Vlrico did. And in reading the complaint of Alberto and Vdislao, you may see how foule a fault it is, rashly to iudge ill of womens behauiours.

The fourth is, the Ortchard of Repentance, the which for the most part, I planted with experience: the fruits therin growing (think I) be hoalsome, although to curious appetites, not greatly toothsome. But what for that? the smarting wound is cured with fretting plai­sters. Euen so, abuse is to be refourmed with sharpe reprehension, then sure it were not Decorum, in inueying against a Cousener, Cheter, Dicer, Quareler. &c. (who for the most part) liue without good or­der, [Page] to vse any milde and plausible kinde of writing. The inconuenien­ces that rise of these professions, are the fruites of forewar [...]i [...]g, that my Orchard (gallant Gentlemen) affordeth: and yet to afforde you a good peniwoorth, it marreth the markets of a great many. The Cous­ner will chafe to see his practises published: the Cheter will f [...]me▪ to see his crosbiting and cunning shiftes decyphered: the Dicer will sweare to heare his cogging & foysting aduauntages discouered: the Quareler will stampe to heare his braules and brables bayted at: the Merchaunt will storme to see his new kinde of Vsuries reuealed: the Lawyer wilbe in a wonderfull heate, to heare his double dealings, his dilatorie delayes, and vnconscionable aduauntages disclosed: al these mens displeasures haue I hazarded, in opening (for your behoues) their mischiefous subtilties: and trust mee, not one of these sortes of men, but his teeth watereth with the desire of your lyuinges, yea hee daily studieth to bring you in lash: so that it behoueth you to looke warily into your estates, else you shall light into the snarts, of some of their daungers.

Now, worthy Gentlemen, haue you heard my honest intent as tou­ching the imprinting of this my booke, mine was the paine in framing the plots, wherin these fruits & flowers grow, yours is the pleasure & profite of both, marr [...] if you m [...]suse my welmeaning so farre, that you (where [...]ea roume serueth you to auoyde the sandes of wanton loue) wil wilfully run vpon the rockes of vnlawful lust, the folly is yours, & no fault in me [...]or if you (wher you may gather frendly friuts of admo­nition, that wil cure your woundes of prodigalitie, & preserue you frō the infection of cousening cutthrots) will continually be smelling vn­to vnthriftie flowers, you not onely vamly spend your time, but worke a discredite vnto my painfull labours. Wherefore I earnestly require you, that you vse the first increase of my baren braine so rightly, as I may be incouraged hereafter to bente my head about some matter of more worth, rather then by the misuse of them, to be discouraged, from attempting any honest labour. And thus wishing good successe in your vertuous enterprises, I commit you to the pleasure of the hyest. From my lod­ging in Ho [...]orne the 15. of October 1576.

[...]
That this is such good Reader sée and say,
Bée iudge thy selfe, I cannot tell thée all,
To speake to short, defame the same I may,
And better rest, then rise to catch a fall,
Yet this I say, who so most faults shal finde,
In trying like will come an ace behinde.

R.C. in praise of Whetstons and his Rocke of Regard.

REader reward, this gallant gift with thankes,
Whose worth is much, although the price be small,
Biancaes life, and Cressids subtile prankes,
Of wantons showes, the fortune and the fall,
Frizaldoes foile, at point of all his hap,
Of lawlesse lust, foretells the after clap.
What are the ioyes, and louers daily wronges,
Their swéete, their sowre, Rinaldo here doth showe,
The morall héede, in all these thriftlesse songes,
Doth proue him blest, that least of loue doth know,
But that that beares the pearle of praise away,
This Poet doth, the fall of vice bewray,
Bare faste hée setts, the maskes of péeuish pride,
Hée finds their faultes, that fostereth fraude with pence,
His searching Uerse, the couseners traynes hath spide,
Which hyde their craft, with cloake of plaine pretence,
The end of bralles, the beggery folowing dice,
For [...]warneth youth, from haunting either vice.
The vertuous praisde, the vicious here are blamde,
Here liues their fame, that Uertues souldiours ware,
For your behoofe this worthie worke was framde,
Of more emprice, then gold or iewels farre,
[Page]Loe thus from toyes, hath Whetston weand his Muse,
In thundring Uerse to threaten foule abuse.

Humfrey Turner in commendation of Whetston and his booke.

REader for this his gift, with thankes good Whetston pay,
The worth runnes farre, beyonde the price, as séeing thou wilt say.
The matter in which wooorke at large here to report,
(Unable man) though faine I would, my skill a mile comes short.
Where hée the substance showes, I should a shadowe make,
In prayse of him, yet néedes my Muse, some paines will vndertake.
And first I knowe of zeale, for yonkers héede hée made,
This gallant booke, which setts to sale, the crafte in euery trade.
With moral meaninges saust, delight it yeldeth store,
The vertuous praisde, the vicious checkt, here is: and would you more?
If this may not suffice, your selues peruse the booke,
And you shall finde to please your minde (percase) more then you looke.

Abraham Fleming vppon G. Whetstons worke.

Who wisheth with pleasure refreshed to bée,
A Castle of comfort and passing delight,
Erected of purpose, (loe) here hée may sée,
And painted with colours of pure blacke and white,
No bulworcke, no fortresse more strongly prepard,
And therefore well named the Rock of Regard.
Who wisheth for vauntage, to vewe and behold,
Unthriftines Garden where wéedes do abound,
Hée hath leaue to enter, and is not controld,
[...]
〈1 page missing〉whē …
[...]

whē she perceiued his mistrust, she left him & fled to Pauy, where she interteined Ardisino Valperga, Earle of Masino as her minion: but wearie of his custome, she chose Roberto Sanceuerino, Earle of Giazzo for her louer. Valperga thus scorned, railed at hir inconstācie, Bianca Maria, by Valperga thus opēly defamed, practiseth with Gazzo to murther Valperga, which whē Giazzo neglecteth, with very hate she lea­ueth Giazzo, and falles in loue againe with Valperga, with whom she practiseth to murther Giazzo, which Valperga discouered to Giazzo, and they both in suche sort painted out her lewdnesse, as for very shame she left Pauy, and fled to Mantua, where she interteined one Dom Pietro, a lustie yong captaine, to whom she bewrayed the iniuries of Val­perga and Giazzo. Dom Pietro by and by promised, in pe­nance of their shamelesse reportes, to dispatch their liues, which in part he wilfully performed. For one day, taking Valperga at aduauntage, he soudenly slue him, the murther & the murtherer discouered, Dom Pietro was taken, & con­fessed the whole matter, he in hope of amēdment was pardo­ned, and Bianca Maria Countesse of Celant, was condem­ned to be beheaded, whome you may suppose vp­pon the scaffold, readie to be execu­ted, to complaine as followeth.

¶ THE DISORDERED life, of Bianca Maria, countesse of Celaunt, in forme of her complainte, suppo­sed at the houre of her beheading, for procu­ring the murder of Ardissino Val­perga Earle of Massino.

AMong their falles, by wanton fate vntwist,
Let my lewde hap, remembred be I pray,
To salue whose harme to late coms had I wist,
Bloud cries for bloud, he craues none other pay:
For conscience sake, behould then now I wray,
With trickling teares, my deadly cheakes that warme,
The true report both of my hap and harme.
Good Ladies first, to you this tale I tell,
To you as chiefe this drirye plaint I preach,
Your hie estate, your vices cannot quell:
But as you liue your fame or shame doth streach,
With vauntage sure (such notes doth honour reach)
Your praise is raisde, as farre is blasd your blame:
Thus are your liues, y payst with parcial fame.
Let mée be proofe, and warning for you both,
Whose filthie life, so foule report hath spread,
That loe (constrainde) I showe the shame, I loth,
My wanton toyes, in thousand bookes are read,
My byrth, my blame, how lewde a life I lead,
My passing loue, my péeuish hate withall,
My murderous minde: in fine my filthie fall.
First for my birth, I must confesse, was base,
But bagges I had, this basenesse to supplie,
[Page 2]
The Vicount Hermes her first husband kept her short
My forme was fine, I had a gallant face,
A sugred tongue, a passing pleasaunt eye,
Good gifts besides, to hoyse my happe on hie:
These lures in loue, the Uicount Hermes brought,
Who kept mée short to tame my wanton thought.
But (ah) to soone my Lord to heauen did wend,
Bianca Maria was her name
Who maugre will, Bianca kept in fame,
The coupe thus broke, wherein I long was pend,
Gōsago a lord about Man­tua, an earnest suter.
I set my selfe, to saile with open shame,
Gonsago yet, did like mée with my blame,
But loe I stoopte, vnto the Celant Count,
Hée loude mée well, I likt a loft to mount.
Shee married, the Count of Celant, a lord of Sauoy.
Consent of friendes, accorded with our wills,
And wee forsooth in haste must married bée,
But raisde a loft, I quight forgot what quills.
What feathers first, to honour made mée flee?
As priestes forget, the sillie clearkes degrée,
So I from cart, a Countesse framde by fate,
Throughe scorne abusde, my honour and estate.
A No marueile why: For force the Cur to drawe,
The kest rill kyte, to cause the heron to quake,
Kitt will to kinde.
The rauening wolfe of lambes to stand in awe,
The myllers mare, a mannage good to make,
Or apes to daunce, while mules lie at the stake,
A botelesse toile, in fine you sure shall finde:
For counterfettes will still returne to kinde.
And thinke you those, that weare dame Fortunes crowne,
Whose homely friends, did hould the ploughe of late,
B Can rightly rule, the scepter of renowne?
No, honour stoupes to nature, not to fate:
Yet Fortune heaues, a thousand to estate.
As in good moode, shée did of late by mée,
Who neuer knew, the vse of dignitie.
As by abuse,
Pride.
one proofe shal well appeare,
First for my pride, my betters did mée scorne,
The poore did fawne, godwot, for very feare,
My luring life, did moue my lord to mourne,
Whose ielous sighes, foreshewed he feard the horne:
Yet wisely hée, his shrewde mistrust to show,
Usde secrete nippes, my faultes to make mée know.
I saw, and smilde, to sée his true mistrust,
And yet in showe, I sight throwe sollen will,
As who should say, to thinke thy spouse vniust,
Thou doest her wronge, she neuer ment no ill,
She hath béene true, and so shée wilbe still,
For all his witte, thus found I out a wile,
To quenche suspect, forsoth a little while.
But rauening currs, their chaps can hardly hould,
When carren lies, before their hungry iawes,A
The stragling kite, with chickes will sure be bould.
If once a wynge, shée spies a flight of dawes.
Soe ramping girles, regarde no modest lawes,
As profe appeares, by this my filthie flight,
I left my Lord, and stoale away by night.
Who hearing once, of this my gadding moode,
My vitall thread, vntwiste good care (quoth hée)B
In fine her hate wil sure sucke out my bloode,
She loues me not, there is no third degrée,
Thus ledde with feare, at large hée let mée flée,
I pinchte with néede, to praying forthwith fell,
And for my selfe, I shifted prettie well.
To plant my wares,
Pauie a towne vnder the go­uernement of the Duke of Mantua.
in place of brauest vewe,
In Pauie towne, a stately house I tooke,
I deckte my selfe, with wéedes of lightest hewe,
To lure guestes, I sparde no wanton looke,
Valperga first,
Ardissino Valperga
was choakt, with Cupids hooke:
[Page 4]
Count of Massino, her first mynion at Pauie.
Hée sight, hée sobd, hée curst his sorrie chaunce,
Hée surde, hée searud, he did attendaunce daunce.
But squemish then Bianca Maria was,
His secrete sighes with scorne she quited still.
Note.
A parle yet, at length, was brought to pas,
Where safely hée, might shew his hidden will,
With sugred wordes, he wraid his suites at fill,
His life, his death, all in my power lay,
I was so kinde to loth this Lords decay.
C They say, the mate is apt to mischiefe still,
Whose foule offence, with countenaunce is held,
So wantons forst, with their agréeing will,
When lust assaultes, will after learne to yeald,
Note.
No fame nor shame, can make them kéepe the field,
To true a proofe, appeareth by mine end:
Then sinne not, dames, in hope for to amend.
I showe not this, to shape mine owne excuse,
My life I lothe, to salue my fowle amisse:
But for your héed, I blase this vile abuse,
Beware, beware, of Venus beastly blisse,
It féedes the flesh, and sterues the soule I wisse,
It honour staines, it is a shrine of shame,
A bitter swéete that breadeth nought but blame.
In mée too late, these faultes I did forsée,
Valperga so, my wanton humour fedde,
My fare was fine, I lackt no goulden glée,
The art of Loue, for exercise I redde,
And thus my life, in Venus court I ledde:
With wealth at will, I could but wish and haue,
The toy I lackt, I néede not twise to craue.
And think you dames these visards yeld such sights,
As wanton girles may sighe to sée their shame,
[Page 5]No: méekenes marres the maskes of fond delightes,
And fasting must, their frolicke bodies [...]ame,
To Scriptures read, they must their leasure frame,D
Then loath they will, both lust and wanton loue,
Be sure else, such ryggs my case shall proue.
But at my call, why did Valperga stoupe?
Why did not hée, foresée the fruites of lust?
Why did he come, at euery wanton whoope?
Why, why did hee, Bianca Maria trust?
Which to her Lord, had shewen her selfe vniust,
A man hée was, whom weakenes cannot scuse,
How could hée then, let loue him so abuse.
How could hée (ah:) Perforce I shew my shame,
As one whose tongue, a truth, will neatly tell,
I reaft his life, why slay I then his fame?
No reason why, saue I can nothing well,
For through my lure hée (wonne,) to folly fell,
If not so witcht, who list like case to proue,
Shal find, fine heads, are fraughted first with loue.
Then sith his ioy, all in Bianca lay,
What scuse hath shee, with hate to pay his loue?
Bée not abasht, the truth in wordes to wray,
Which thou in act, vntimely late didst proue:
What sullen moode, this péeuish scorne did moue?
And am I forst, to shew the fault I shame?
Sith néedes I must, Good Ladies, note the same.
They say, who so with dropsie is aprayde,
The more hée drinckes, the more hée doth desire,
The gréedie churle, is neuer well appayde,
Although he reape the gaine hée doth require,
So lust in rampes, is such a raging fire,
That most it heates, when most the same is drencht,
A hellish flame that neuer can be quencht.
Idlenesse and pride, the cause of wan­ton loue.
This fire in mée, was kindled first with pride,
But raysde to flame, with ease and wanton thought,
It raged so, no reason could mée guide,
My husbands sport, so small allayaunce wrought,
A As him I left, for lustier laddes I sought:
Valperga then, a while supprest this fire,
But hée decayde, oor chaunge I did desire.
Roberto San­seuerino Erle of Giazzo, Valpergas great friend, was her second louer. The traynes that intice to loue.
Giazzo next, was fauord in my sight,
Who forst mée not, his friend hee loued soe,
Hée knew I was Valpergas sole delight.
Hée scornde my winckes, my wanton loue in showe,
My priuie sighes, my wilie signes of woe,
But Spaniel like, by stripes to kindnes moude,
The more hée scornd, the more this lord I loude.
And when I sawe hée shunde inticeing baites,
Immodest rigg, I Ouids counsell vsde,
Where cleanly, I did couler shame with sleightes,
B Through loue constrainde, which reason had abusde,
My penne did paint, what bashfull tongue refusde,
Which fewe suffisde, hée knew loue kept no lawe,
Hée was my ioy, of him I stoode in awe.
This proferd grace, did stowpe Giazzo straight,
Hée loude his friend, but more his owne delight,
C The hooke of loue, hee swallowed with the baite,
No marueile why: Biancaes beautie bright,
Her braue arraye, and shée a Countesse hight,
Would force a man, himselfe and all forgoe,
And could hée chuse, when loue was offered soe?
No: néede to runne the créeple sure will teach,
D A pleasaunt pray, a théefe inticeth soone,
As foxes hate the grapes, they cannot reach,
Note.
And wilie saintes, with showes are seldome wonne,
When as assuerde, their squemishnes is donne.
[Page 7]Euen such a saint, Giazzo proued in fine,
Hée loude no grapes, before hée reacht the vine.
Wel, thus at length, I w [...]n my wished ioy,
Hée came, in whome, my heart did wholy dwell,
To make him sport, Bianca was not coy,
She knew her game, and streight to daliaunce fell,
Where as this Lord behaude himselfe so well,
That loe I loath Valpergas drowsy sport,
And so with scorne I stayde his oft resort.
Thus reft (good soule) of her hée heald so deare,
His woonted sutes, a fresh hée put in vre,
Hée sight, hée serued, hée lookt with sorrie cheare,
But when no sute, nor seruice could procure,
My stragling loue, to stoupe vnto his lure,
By néede inforst, his dotage then hée reft,
And so with losse, my wanton pleasures left,
When mystes of lu [...]e, were cleared from his eyes,
Disdaine forthwith, transformd his loue to hate,
Peeuish hate insueth pas­sing loue.
Fye on my life, and lewdnes, lowde hée cries,
Hée heaues mée vp to filthie Faustines state,
A Layis byrde, for Masseline a mate,A
A filth, a flurt, a bitch of Megraes kinde,
A rigg, a rampe, and all that came to minde,
But when I heard, my blame, hée blased thus,
Impatient I, began to stampe and stare,
To waile,
A womans deadly hate.
to wéepe, to wring my handes I wo [...]s,
To freate, to fume, to teare my golden heare,
In fine, as madd as euer was March hare,B
I vowde to reaue Valperga of his life,
Which I performde (aye) me through péeuish strife.
While sporte was quicke, I did Giazzo moue,
To slay this Lord, in grace which whilome stoode,
[Page 8]But disposest, to winne his owne swéete loue,
Unciuil wretch, accoyde through sullen moode,
Hée blasde mée forth, as byrde of Layis broode,
Leaue off (quoth hée) I loth thy heauie chéere,
Valpergas tongue, shall buy this bable deare.
With which suffisde, I fell to kisses straight,
And shewde my selfe, more gamesome then of yore,
Giazzos frēd­ship towardes Valperga.
To tyce him on, I laide this wanton baite,
But hée which long, Valperga held in store,
Within his heart, my hatred did abhore:
Yet nay the lesse, my loue hée so did like.
As still hée said, hée stayde for time to strike.
But when I found, what fine delayes hée vsde,
All sweld, with wrath (quoth I) the prouerbe saith:
Proferde seruice, is euer more refusde,
And offerde loue, is quited syld with faith,
Without the hooke, the baite no poyson hath,
Note.
Yet haplie hée, for all his wiles may proue,
My péeuish hate, oore wayes my passing loue.
C And in disdaine, the secrete gates I bard,
An honest couler to dis­semble a lewd reuenge
Where in and out, Giazzo earst did goe,
I tould him plaine, his market cleane was mard,
I ment my faultes, vnto my lord to showe,
If which suffisde, I would no more do so,
To faine with chaunge, I did Giazzo pray,
With kindnes showne, contented for to stay.
Nigh tyred hée, my gréedie lust to glut,
Full wel appayde, for trueth my fay [...]ings tooke,
Hée tooke no héede, how often-times is shut
In sugred baite, a fowle and filthie hooke,
How hate is hidde full oft, with friendly looke,
Ne how the lewde, when grace is not their stay,
Note.
Refuse no meane, to worke their foes decay.
Euen such a filth I (forst) confesse I was,
I vsde this showe, to chase my foes mistrust,
Thereby to worke his fatall ende (alas)
When least hée thought, I would haue béene vniust,
Such cankered hate, my murdrous heart did rust,
Unto which ende,
She practised with Valperga whom late she scorned, to slay G [...]azzo, who should haue slaine him.
I for Valperga send,
With yll, for good, to quite his faithful frend.
I knew the force, of new reuiued loue,
How péeuish hate, more perfect made the same,
I likewise knew, newe friendship how to moue,
With pleasaunt lookes, y mixt with pretie blame,
I checkt him first, for foyling of my fame,
Perdona moy, ore showes againe with viewe,
Deare dame (quoth hée) I yeld, your tale is true.
Euen so (quoth I) and smiling vsde these wordes,
Confessed crimes, doth open penaunce chuse,
What plague you please (quoth hée) your thrall accordes,
That hée or you, shall execution vse,
Such power (quoth I) I meane not to refuse,
Yet hoping that, those faultes you will amende,
I pardon all, and take you for my frende.
And when I sawe him eager of delight,
A sighe I fetcht, and did Giazzo name,
Valperga said,
A policie.
Giazzo to his might,
UUas sure his friend (quoth I) I thinke in name,
But (ah) his déedes, will neuer proue the same,
And though I, loth, to sowe seditious strife,
Yet néedes I must, for safegard of thy life.
In sooth (swéete friend) thy daungerous state I rew,
This trayterous mate, to moue thine ouerthrowe,A
By guile God wot, with mée in frendship grew,
Betwixt vs friends, he first did hatred sowe,
Hée forged faultes, to kéepe mée still thy foe,
[Page 10]And yet my heart, for al that hée could say,
Did loue thée well, although my tongue said nay.
Which when hée smeld puft vp with furie straight,
Hee vowde thy death, for robbing of his ioy,
Which bloudie wordes, did force mée to vnfraight,
This bitter speach: Auawnt thou peeuish boy,
Thy filthy sight, Bianca doth annoy.
Beléeue mée, Lord, this tale is very true,
Beginne with him, before hée do with you.
These forced wordes, did rayse a soare mistrust,
Or haply else Giazzo might a smoakte,
But yet hée vowde, to féede my filthie lust,
With bloudie blade, his trayterous breath to choake,
And leaue hée toke, hée said to strike this stroake,
Note.
But loe hée went forthwith to Mantua,
Unto his friend, these secretes to bewray,
Which treason when Giazzo vnderstoode,
Who can auoyde (quoth hée) a strompets hate?
And thundring out, the stormes of furious moode,
UUith tearmes of scorne, hée did Bianca rate,
Out filth (quoth hée) twixt friends which sowes debate,
And in despight, a libel hée inuents,
UUhich (Lords) to you, Bianca here presents.

¶ An Inuectiue written by Ro­berto Sanseuerino, Earle of Giazzo, against Bianca Maria, Coun­tesse of Celant.

B WHo euer sawe, a thorne swéete grapes to yéeld?
Or sower slowes, vppon a vine to growe?
UUho euer heard, & coward first in féeld?
The foreward wight, soonste feard with sight of foe?
[Page 11]UUho euer knew, in time of any minde?
Good fall to bad, or kitt to flée from kinde?
If proofe ne peares, who may Bianca blame?
UUhose father rose, to wealth by filthie fraude,
Her mothers life, y shrinde with endles shame,
Whose grandam was, in drowping dayes a bawd:
Shée onely left, of all this beastly store,
Must néedes be worse, then parents were before.
What marueile then, if shée did flée by night,
And sent a horne, vnto her Lord and fere,
To blow the death, of all his braue delight,
That gadding moode, shee learned of sa mere,
UUho lightly vailde, at ery wanton whoope,
How could shée then, but to Valperga stoope?
Ne can shée chuse, but proue the Prouerbe true,
(UUon with a word, and lost with one yll looke)
Giazzo knowes, Bianca séekes for newe,
Hée whilome was, a vowell in her booke,
Giazzo wrought, Valperga out of grace,
Giazzo scornd, Valperga hath his place.
Yet both in lashe, at length this cressed leaues,
And Megra like, pursues their loue with hate,
Such is the fruite, of ruffians, roages, and théeues,
UUhich framde her heart,
Giachemo Scapar [...]one her fa [...]er a great Vserer.
when shée was formde by fate,
Her fathers liue (Scappardone being dead)
And diuers séedes, doth diuers natures breede.
(O happie man) Giazzo scornes her loue,
(Valperga blest) that knowes her murdrous minde,
UUee haue ynough, her truth let others proue,
And rest content, with what wée left behinde,
UUe suckte the swéete, let others drinke the draffe,
UUée eate the corne, what skilles, who chewes the chaffe.

The Countesse of Zeland, continueth in her complaint.

NOw gallants iudge, if it with honour stands
For any Lord, a Lady thus to rate,
Or blase with scorne, their pleasure at her hands,
If it ne grées, with glory of their state,
Helpe to excuse Biancas deadly hate,
Who now beginnes, such bloudy newes to blase,
As endlesse shame, her infamie will raise.
A Or giue her leaue, to vse what cloake she may,
For once report, wil much inlarge her misse,
In womens moodes, there is no meane they say,
They (scorned) loue, so huge their liking is,
Of force as great, their hate must be ywis,
What folly then Giazzos mynd did blame,
To think my wrath, would ceasse through open shame.
How could he wene, my friendship for to force,
B By ringing out the lewdnesse of my life?
Sith shame compelles the bad, to fall to worse.
Where discord is, new wrong increaseth strife.
Reuenge is sought, where iniuries are rife,
Wast then the way, to reaue my wrangling hate,
Inuectiues vile to set vpp on my gate.
O, no, God wot, my mightie litle hart,
Was well nye burst, my blame was blased so,
These rymes I soung, with notes of musickes art,
Bianca namde, in euery wanton shew▪
Constraind me wretch, from Pauie for to go,
To Mantua then, I did my iourney take,
Where open house, I kept for credits sake.
And placed there according to my will,
With bloudie hate my murdrous hart was bent,
Giazzo Lord, Valperga eake to kill,
[Page 13]A thousande feates of murder, I inuent:
As many feares my purpose did preuent:
I loth, yet would, and willing, stoode in awe,
Such brunts they byde that venter breach of lawe.B
Till vice, vertue hath vanquisht in the féeld,
Then reason, lawe, rule, feare, and all adew,
Their minds, their harts, to nought but folly yéeld,
In spoile, they sport, they laugh at mischiefes new:
The proofe of which, alas, to late I rewe,
For when my feare, my furie put to flight,
I liuing dyde, till I had wrought my spight.
And sith this acte to doe, my minde did mase,
This traine I laide, to tyce a trustie frend:
In place of vene I gallants gaue the gase,
Their bonets vaild, Bianca streight did bend,
Through friendly showe, a bon iour for to send,
To parle oft, I did my selfe apply,
Before I trust, by talke each youth to try.
In making loue, they prettie prattle vsde,
But nought it vaild, to hault before the lame,
For I of yore, with wylie woordes abusde,
As children brent doe after dread the flame,
At sugred speache, I made a sporting game,
But ah (ay mée) to worke mine ouerthrow,
Untimely came,
Dom Pietro a lustie younge Capitaine her lustie louer.
to Mantua dom Pietro.
This capitaine stoute, went flaunting too and fro,
Till loe (ill lucke) mée wretched, hée espyes,
My gallant port, beséemde a countesse show,
My beautie then, my braue arraye hée eyes,
While blinded loue into his fancie flyes,
And stryuing (hée) doth cause his fire increase,
Thus warres he founde, when most hée hoapte of peace.
[Page 14]Unarmed yet, to match with Cupids force,
With Conges kinde, hée wrayde his louing moode,
Next sighes he sends, to moue mée to remorse,
Then paintes his pen, thus straunge his fancies stoode,
My yea would saue, my nay should shead his blood,
Quicke aunsweare make, Dom Pietro hath decréede,
To liue in ioy, or else to die with spéede.
These lines receiude, I spyed my nouis heate,
Who lookt and lackt, the recompence of loue,
UUhich scorne in mée, did cause him more to sweate,
Hée sight, I smilde, his ioy, my noy, did moue,
Which thwarting showes (past hope) inforst him proue
If that his lute soone might (his passions showne)
Could force his swéete, his hard mishap to mone,
But when I sawe, his loue did still increase,
As hée one night, lamenting layes did yell,
My gates were ope, in signe and show of peace,
In came this Lord, in minde his griefe to tell,
But loe abashte, he first to blushing fell,
In chamber frayes, of both my selfe the best
This onset gaue, to cheare my chosen guest.
Biancas breach, of chaste and modest lawe,
May séeme full straunge, to you my louing Lord,
To ope my gates, to one I neuer sawe,
UUhen knowen friends, so falsifie their word,
Dread not (quoth he) Dom Pietro doth accord:
From sorrowes frée, yet frée Biancas slaue,
To like but what, his loue, desires to haue.
I aunsweard soone, with sugred showes full ofte,
Such Lords as you, faire Ladies still beguiles,
But suites obtainde, they sillie soules are scofte,
Then choice, in chaunge, your loue, and faith, exiles,
Not so, in mée (quoth hée) I want such wiles,
[Page 15]For proofe, commaund, what seruice pleaseth you,
The which performde, then thinke Dom Pietro true.
In hoape (quoth I) your wordes and déedes are one,
I first will trust, your faith, then after taste,
To quite your loue, Bianca is your owne,
Dom Pietro straight, did execution haste,
And bashfull earst, his best beloude imbraste,
UUith sugred wiles, I so this gallant wrought,
As sure I was, a Goddesse in his thought.
Assurde of which, to sawce his swéetest sport,
A sighe I fetcht, and squemish faynde to bee,
UUoe worth (quoth I) Giazzo lewde report,
Valpergas scorne, two Earles of hie degree,
Their traytrous tongues, so sore haue slaundred mée,
That death I wish, but destnie will not soe,
And they triumph, that wrought my timelesse woe.
Dom Pietro then, did bluster forth this speach,
(Ah) verlets vile, from natures lawe which swer [...]e,
Ere longe I sure, your traytrous tongues will teach,
To slaunder her, whom duetie wills you serue,
And then hee vowde, with spéede their flesh to carue:
Soone shall they proue (quoth hée) if I doe faine,
And you shall sée, if déedes and woordes are twaine.
I glad of which, yet sad I seemde in showe,
And sighing said, looke to your selfe, my sweete,
Your hurt, my death, in hart I loue you soe,
UUhich friendly wordes, his furie more did heate,
Fare well (quoth hee) till I haue wrought this feate,
This hand and blade, their babling tōgues shal worme:
UUhich wordes with deedes, he (cruel) did performe.
For loe one night, hee did foreshaule their way,
But weaklie armde, Valperga was intrapte,
[Page 16] Giazzo blest, was absent at this fray,
Oore wayde, with force, Valperga was intrapt,
That (ah) his death, vntimely there hée rapt,
Who dying cryde, Dom Pietro did the déede,
Streight, hew and crie, to search him out doth spéede.
Hée found, forth with, vnto the Duke was brought,
A And paintes at large, my loue, and lothsome hate,
The suite of friendes, in grace, Dom Pietro wrought,
To salue my misse, repentaunce came to late:
Good Ladies yet, note well my fall, and fate,
My wealth, my weades, my swéete delights to shoe,
Intice, not warne, without the sauce of woe.
But listen well, vnto my filthie fall,
The thought of wonted pleasures in­creaseth the mysers paine.
Payse, blisse with bale, swéete life with sower end,
And you shall finde, my ioy oore wayde with thrall,
Of fréedome rest, in prison closely pend,
Distrest, vnhelpt, forsooke of kinne and frend,
Yea, more then straying, so fowle my follies ware,
As gould, ne vayld, to cleare my clowdes of scare.
Ne could I (wretch) take well in worth my woe,
My former swéete, did so increase my sowre,
My homely cheare, my costly cates did show,
My prison vile, of yore, my princely bowre,
My laughing friends, by foes that then did lowre,
Controwld and scornde, who thousands did commaunde,
Once craue and haue, denyde now eche demaunde.
My lothsome couche, presenteth to my vewe,
My beds of doune: with thought of swéete delights,
Thus day and night, my wilfull harme I rewe:
Ech thought of grace, my conscience guilt affrights,
Yet (loth to die) against repentaunce fightes,
Till due desert, by lawe and Iustice lead,
Did dome my misse, with tosse of my poore head.
The which in place, I ready am to pay,
Acknowledging, my faultes before you all,
God graunt my life with such effect you way,
As you may be forewarned by my fall.
Of lawlesse loue, the end is bitter gall:
I now haue sayd, and for their witnesse crye,
How so I liude, I do repentant dye.

The Argument, for Cres­sids complaint.

THE inconstancie of Cressid, is so readie in euery mans mouth, as it is a needelesse labour, to blase at full her a­buse towardes yong Troilus, her frowning on Syr Diomede, her wanton lures and loue, neuerthelesse, her companie scorned, of thousandes sometimes sought, her beggerie after brauerie, her lothsome leprosie, after liuely beautie, her wretched age, after wanton youth, and her perpetuall infa­mie, after violent death, are worthy notes (for others heede) to be remembred. And for as much as Cressids heires in eue­ry corner liue, yea more cunning then Cressid her selfe, in wanton exercises, toyes, and inticements: to forewarne all men of such filthes, to persuade the infected, to fall from their follies, & to rayse a feare in dames vntainted to offend, I haue reported the subtile sleites, the leaud life, and euill fortunes of a Courtisane, in Cressid: name, whom you may suppose, in tattered weedes, halfe hungerstarued, miserably arrayde, with scabs, leprosie, and mayngie, to complaine as followeth.

Cressids complaint.

YOu ramping gyrles, which rage with wanton lust,
Beholde in me, the bitter bloumes of chaunge.
Forworne with woe, who wallowes in the dust,
And lepre like, is double mayld with maynge,
For my desart, this fortune is not straunge,
Disdaine my life, but listen to my mone,
Without good héede, the hap may be your owne.
Though now I am, anoynted with annoy,
My hyde bepatcht, with scabs of sundry hewe,
I sometime was, the star of stately Troy,
With beautie blist, my venes as Azures blewe,
No fault in me, but that I was vntrue,
In Priams court, who did not Cressid like,
In lue of loue, who gaue she not the gleake.
Where I was lou'd, I séemed alwayes straunge,
A Where litle waide, I won with gleames of grace,
My gadding mynd, had such delight in chaunge,
As seldome twice, the best I did imbrace,
And once beguild, with beautie of my face,
With ebbes of griefe, did fall his flouds of ioy,
He su'd and seru'd, but Cressid then was coy.
I did intice, king Priams sonnes to loue,
And did repine, the poorest, should go frée,
My thralls for grace, a thousand wayes did proue,
On whom I smyld, a happie man was he,
The wisest wits, were thus bewitcht by me,
But as the hawke, in mewe, at randome liues,
Yet diet kéepes her gorge, as seldome greues.
So I that liude, with store of foode at large,
When hunger pincht, on lustie youthes I prayd,
[Page 19]If boystrous lads, my gorge did ouercharge,
For tyring meate, the deintie boyes were wayde,
Thus with a meane, my prime of pride was staide,
Then was I faire, my traine with oyle was strickt
My feathers freshe, were dayly prunde and prickt.
No toy, no gaude, ne straunge deuise I sée,
Though not the first, the same I second had,
Glad was the youth, that fastned ought on me,
Of braue array, in chaunge, I still was clad,
My cost to sée, the courtly dames were mad,
They did repine, the péeres should Cressid loue,
When rascals, scarce, to them did liking moue.
Such fancies straunge, were figurd in my face,
As few there were,
The propertie of a courtesan to mainteine one with the spoile of ano­ther.
but my good will did moue,
I traind them on, with outward shew of grace.
My garter one, another had my gloue,
My colours all, did weare in fine of loue,
But where in hart, I lou'd and liked best,
He euer wore the spoyle of all the rest.B
Syr Diomede got, both brooch, and belt of cost,
The which in right, to Troilus belongs,
An eyesore sure, to him that lou'd me most,
Who might repine, but not reuenge his wrongs,
Least notes of hope, were turnd to desperate songs,
The rest did loue, as courtiers do in showe:
But he good soule, did pine away with woe.
Yet cruell I, did smile to sée his smart,
Who somtime warmd, his woes with slender hap,
Which fréesd againe, with frownings ouerthwart,
And when with ioy, he pratled in my lap,
With péeuish speach, I would his pleasures snap,
For wronging whom, the Troians did me paint,
In hart a fiend, in face and forme a Saint.
[Page 20]Then iudge you may, my beautie bare great sway,
Which thus inthrawld, by loue a Princes sonne,
My state no lesse, that durst his sutes denay,
A world it was, to heare what praise I wonne,
A wonder, more, how soone my pride was donne,
My forme did fade, my beautie prou'd a blase,
Or as a toy, which forced fooles to gase.
Painting common among Courtisans.
Declining yet, I had a present shift,
A painted face, did please a gasinge eye,
But surfled stuffe, prou'd no induring drift,
A My slibber sauce, when wanton girles espie,
With open mouth, the same in court they cry:
Poore Cressid then no sooner came in place,
But fortie frumpes, were framed by her face.
Some said that I a passing picture drue,
Some would haue drawen, the figure of a sot,
The crabtréeface, would haue mée mend his hue,
Some in my chéeke, did faine to cleare a spot,
And all to rub my starche away, godwot,
If messellike, my painting so they pilde,
They smylde and said, my silke no colour hilde.
My selfe did laugh, to sée my painting clearde,
The straung defects, that withered age did bring,
A horseface then, a tawnie hyde appearde,
A wrinkled mumpes, a foule mishapen thing,
A sea of hate, where liuely loue did spring,
Thus beauties beames, to clowdes of scorne to chaunge
So soone, mée thought was sure a myrrour straunge.
How euil the courtesies of a Courtesan is acquited, if she liue to be a­ged.
Yet so I preast, amid the Courtly crew,
Who once espyde, a fresh the sport begon,
Some said I lookt, now of a passing hew,
A scarfe some cryde, to kéepe goodface from sunne,
Thus was I scornd, when youthful pride was don,
[Page 21]Some wild me learne, anew my A.B.C. B
With backward reade, from H. to skip to B.
But as the Hawke to gad, which knowes the way,
Will hardly leaue, to cheake at carren crowes,
If long vnserude, she waites and wants her pray:C
Or as the horse, in whom disorder growes,
His iadish trickes, againe wil hardly loose:
So they in youth, which Venus ioyes do proue,
In drouping age, Syr Chaucers iestes will loue.
My self for profe, whē wanton yeres were worne,
When lookes could yeald, no loue, but lothsome hate,
When in my face appeard the forme of scorne,
Whē lust for shame, with me might sound debate,
Although I did turne tayle to foules of state,
At vauntage yet, with baser byrdes I met,
On kytes I prayde, till I could partridge get.
But I so long, on carren crowes did pray,
My poysoned bloud, in colour waxed pale,
In natures ayde, myne age had wrought decay:
Now listen rampes, for here begins my tale,
Before my blysse, but now I blase my bale,
For Physickes arte, my surffets can not cure
Bound so perforce, the worst I must indure.
In séeking sport,
The diseases that followe wanton and disordered li­uing.
my haire did shed in iest,
A sorrie ioy to ceaselesse sorrowe plight,
French feauers now, in me can take no rest,
From bones to flesh, from flesh in open sight,
With grinckcomes grease, beholde a monstrous wight,
My louers olde, with (fawth) their browes doth bend,
Of Cressids lust, loe here the lothsome end.
Glad is she now a brownebreade crust to gnawe,
Beggerie the end of Cour­tesans.
Who deintie once, on finest cates did frowne,
[Page 22] D To couch vpon soft seames, a pad of straw,
Where halfe mislikt, were stately beds of downe,
By néede enforst, she begs on euery clowne,
On whom but late, the best would gifts bestow,
But squemish then, God dyld ye she sayd no.
From top of state, to tumble thus to thrall,
Too froward sure, dame Fortune was in this,
But highest trées, in fine haue hardest fall,
A merrie meane, her parciall hand doth misse,
She pines wt paine, or bathes her thralles in blisse,
Best therfore then, for to withstand her might,
With sword of fame, in Uertues band to fight.
But (ah) in vaine, I frame excuse by fate,
When due desart, doth worke my ouerthrow,
Ne was I first by Fortune stauld in state,
My roome by byrth, did high renoune bestow,
Though wicked life, hath wrapt me now in woe,
A warning faire, a myrrour full of mone,
For gadding gyrles, a bone to gnaw vpon.
Take héede in time, least Had I wist you rew,
And thus perforce, I hold my tyred tong,
Me thinkes I heare, the bell to sound adew,
My withered corps, with deadly cold is clung,
A happier turne, if I had dyed yong,
My shrouding sheete; then had not béene of shame,
Who dying now, doth liue in filthy fame.
Siu [...] bonu [...] sine malum, fama est.

The Argument, for the discourse of Rinaldo and Giletta.

GOod Reader (to continue thy delight) I haue made chaunge of thy exercise of reading bad verse, with the proffer of worsser prose: requesting (as earst I haue) that thou wilt vouchsafe my well meaning, and mend what thou sindest amisse. This discourse was first written in Italian by an vnknowne authour, the argument of whose woorke in­sueth. Rinaldo masking with faire Giletta (at her brothers marriage) was so straungly surprised with the loue of her, that necessitie inforst him to discouer his sorrowes: Giletta sufficiently persuaded of his constancie (after long suite by Rinaldo made) was in the end contented to loue: After these two (secretely) had thus assured them selues, Rinaldo fel sicke, in whose absence one Seigner Frizaldo ▪ (by her parentes con­sent) was an earnest suter to Giletta ▪ who (inferring on the fa­miliaritie, betweene Rinaldo and Giletta) became iealous, to quench whose mistrust, Giletta (for feare of her friendes dis­pleasure) wa [...] forst to make a shewe of good will towardes Frizaldo, whome she loued not, and to hate Rinaldo, whome she liked as hir life. Rinaldo (vnacquainted with his maistresse meaning) by the peruerse practises of Frizaldo, was driuen in­to despaire, in so muche as he leapt into the riuer of [...], of purpose to drowne himselfe: But wearie of this enterprise, (labouring for life) he recouered the shoare: afterwards was knowne vnto Giletta, and hauing notice of Frizaldos treche­rie, he slue him in a combat, and after, with the consent of her friendes, married Giletta.

The storie at large.

IN Italie (neare to the riuer of Poo) there dwelled a noble man of great reputation, called the Lord de Bologna, who (besides his speciall credite▪ with his Prince, his destered companie: among the noble men, his vncontrouled sway, both in court and countrie: the great possessions, inheritaun­ces, reuenues, annuities, and other commodities he had, [Page 24] to maintaine his honourable calling, to worke his chiefest comfort) had by the Lady Katherine his wife, a toward yong Gentleman, to his sonne called Petro de Bologna, and also a daughter whose name was Giletta, at that time vnmatcht, both for vertue, beautie, and shape.

Petro de Bologna, hauing ouerrun ninetene or twentie yeares (still ouerlookt with the counselling eyes of his natu­rall parents assured friends, and carefull tutors) became not now only desierous of more libertie, but wonne with the in­tising pleasure of the Court, and finding in him self sufficient cause of desart, he bent him selfe wholy to professe the exerci­ses of a perfect courtier, where in in short time, he so greatly profited, as that he was reputed to be one of the gallantest Gentlemen in all Italie. Petro de Bologna (attaining this estimation) liued awhile vnwitcht, with the alluring beau­ties of braue Ladies, yet on the souden, subiected with the sight of fayre Iuliet (a noble mans daughter of the sayd coun­trie) & ioyning her excellēt shape, with ye report of her match­lesse vertue, he foorthwith transformed his late liking, vnto such faythful loue, as secretly he vowed, that neyther change nor chaunce, should (whiles life lasted) remoue his affection, and to make his thraldome knowne, by continuall seruice, he craued reward. Maistresse Iuliet finding his wordes▪ in wor­kes, & perceiuing by the oftē alteratiō of his colour, what hu­mour most of all fead him (ioyning the assured knowledge of his loyall loue, with other his desarts) presently in thought she gaue consent to loue, so that afterward she vsed towardes Petro de Bologna, what honest courtesie she coulde. The newes of this loue, was so [...]denly spread throughout ye whole Court, and in the end it came vnto their parents eares, who waying the equalitie of the matche, gaue willingly consent, vnto that, these two louers most desiered. And to exile all iea­lous mistrust that lingring might bréede, the marriage day was in great haste appointed.

To honour which, a worlde of people resorted vnto the Lord de Bolognas castle. For the intertainment of whiche guestes, there neither wanted costly cheare, curious shewes, [Page 25] or pleasaunt deuises, that eyther money, friendship, or cun­ning might compasse. And to be short, diuers Gentlemen that were the bridegromes companions (the more to honour the marriage) presented him one night with a maske, so curi­ously set foorth, as it yealded a singular delight, vnto all the beholders. Amōg the which maskers, ther was one Roberto Rinaldo (a Gentleman of better qualities and shape, then ei­ther of byrth or liuing) made choice to maske maistresse Gi­letta, the bridegromes sister. But on the souden he was so surprised, with her passing beautie, as he fared as one, whose senses, had forgone their dutifull office, he ofte forgot to vse due reuerenc [...] vnto his maistresse. Sometimes he masked without measure, and many times when the rest presented their Ladies with voluntarie prattle, he vsed silence. Thus continually visited with passionate fits (of the beholders marked, of his maistresse misliked:) time in the ende, forced him and the rest from dauncing, whiche done, the maskers were inuited vnto a costly banquet, who (marching with their La­dies) with manly force encountred with many a monster, whose grose bodies, were trāsformed into a sugred substance. The maskers nowe (on easie request) did off their visardes, as wel to make them selues knowne vnto their maistresses, to manifest their zeale towardes the Lorde of the house, the bridegrome and his faire bride, as to shew their desire, to de­light the whole companie. Rinaldo (greatly ashamed of his disordered masking) with blushing chéekes oftentimes, very earnestly behelde faire Giletta, Maistresse▪ Giletta seeing him in these passions, and knowing his wonted audacitie, was as­sured somewhat was amisse with him, so that to be better acquainted with his malladie, with a prettie smyle she vsed these speaches.

Quoth she: Friend Rinaldo, I suppose your visard did you great wrong this night, for that by your vnperfect sight, you mistooke your choice, so that wroth with your fortunes, or an­grie with poore Giletta, she hath noted a number of souden alterations in you, but if eyther be the cause, remoue your choler, and comfort your selfe, that you tempered your toung [Page 26] so well, as she knoweth none of your secretes.

Rinaldo glad of this opportunitie, answered: My souereine maistresse, in very déede, I greatly mistooke my chocie: For wheras I had thought and determined, to haue made it so in different, as I might haue vsed my tong at will and plea­sure, I confesse it fel out so vnegal, as I (forst) must yeald vn­worthy to be your slaue, so that musing on this mistaking, I not only masked mute, but I forgot to present you with my willing seruice. Rinaldo being newely entered into his an­swere, the Reuels broke vp, and euery man went vnto his rest, so that he was forced to discontinue his suite, and bid his maistresse fare well: which reuerently done, he foorthwith went into his chamber, and so to bed, but his sleepe he diuided on those, whose heades were frée from fancies: For he (God wot) one while, matching his base estate with her highe cal­ling, sawe an impossibilitie of fauour. Anone, ioyning her cur­teous disposition with the force of loue, was fed with slender hope Thus hanging betwene hap & harme, the more he striued, the more he was measht, in the nextes of restlesse fancie: but in the end, resolued to prosecute his suit, he soudenly caused his man to light a candle, and then to pro [...]er his seruice▪ to paint his sorrowes, and to vse excuse for his late silence, he inuented these verses following.

THe pyning wight, presented with reliefe.
With souden ioy, awhile forgoes his sense:
The retchlesse youth, likewise besiegde with griefe,
With feare dismayd, forgets to vse defence:
Such is the force, of hastie ioy or woe,
As for the time, few knoweth what they doe.
And I vnwares, with both extremes forgone,
Subiect to loue, that neuer felt his force,
One while dismayd, I starude in wretched mone,
And straight through hope, I tasted sweet remorse,
Soust wt these stormes, whē I shuld moue my s [...]it,
Small wonder though, a while I masked mate.
And yet (God wot) my sighes did plead amaine,
They broke the cloudes, that cowred all my care,
My ruthfull lookes, presented still my paine,
As who wold say: When wil she cl [...]re thy scare?
Attending thus, when you should note my case,
The time forewent, ere I could sue for grace.
But now (constraynd) néede makes the créeple goe,
My festred sore (of force) some cure must seeke,
My woundes so bléed, I can not hide my woe,
My hurt is heald, if you my seruice like,
Let egall loue, goe bath in wished blisse,
Suffiseth me, my maistresse hand to kisse.
Lo thus, deare dame, you know my case and cure,
It rests in you, my life to saue or sp [...]ll,
If you desire, I should these stormes indure,
Commaund my death, and I will worke you [...] [...],
If not in time, him for your seruant ch [...]se,
Who liuing dies, till you his ser [...]ce vse.
Roberto Rinaldo

This little leasure, together with the disquietnesse of mynde (as appeareth by the plainenesse of this inuention) wrought an alteration in Rinaldos muse, yet for that his de­uise, somewhat answered his owne estate, he was content to present it to maistresse Giletta, and perseuering in the sayde purpose, the next morning he clothed him selfe in russet sat­ten, garded with blacke veluet, whiche witnessed he did both hope, and dread: he thus appointed (chusing a place of moste aduauntage) willingly lost these verses. Giletta by this eue­ning fare well, looking for such a morning welcome, was the first that found them, who soudenly withdrewe her self, with earnest desire, effectually to peruse Rinaldos deuise. Which done, one while she scorned his base estate, and straight she was contented of Rinaldo to be beloued: so that (her mynde [Page 28] distempered with the contrarietie of fancies) neyther angrie nor well pleased, she wrote this following answere.

Although it pleased you this other night (occasion by me vnhappily ministred) to intertaine time with an ordinarie profession of loue, yet (master Rinaldo) you doe both me and your selfe great iniurie, to continue your néedelesse labour with such importunancie to me. For that you trust to ouer­throw my vertues, with the assault of wanton persuasions, your selfe, for that I am assured you warre in vaine, but for that I want wit, to incoūter you, in words or writing. I wil hencefoorth likewise want will, to take knowledge of eyther your exercises. Thus muche (being your firste attempt) I thought good to answere, least you should thinke with néede­lesse nicenesse I acquited your courtesies. And for that you knowe the successe of your faultlesse aduentures, I trust to be no more troubled in answering your idle letters.

Giletta de Bologna.

This letter so soone as Giletta had surely sealed, she pre­sented her selfe in the great chamber: Rinaldo (delighted in nothing so muche, as in the sight of his maistresse) with the first saluted her. Maistresse Giletta, courteously (as she did the rest) acquited him, dissembling as then, her knowledge of his verses, but notwithstanding this carelesse shewe, her mynde was combred with a thousand contrarie fancies, one while she mistrusted the inuention to be his owne deuise, an other while she feared to deliuer her answere: nowe she lo­ued, straight she scorned, and yet in her greatest disliking, she liked to looke on Rinaldo, and as it is the nature of louers (subiect to a thousand distresses) to search all meanes to be as­sured of their choyces loyaltie, so here maistresse Giletta (newly entered into that profession) by the often beholding of Ri­naldo, and marking the colour in his apparell, tooke occasion vnder the colour of a pleasant request, to be acquainted (per­haps) with his inward disposition, in so much, when as other Ladies, charged such as they thought well of, with seruice, Quoth she, for that I know (maister Rinaldo) you are a very [Page 29] good Poet, I inioyne you without further studie, to shewe in vearse, to what ende you weare blacke vpon russet: quoth Rinaldo (willing to obey this iniunction) deare Lady, altho­ugh my sight in Poetrie be but small, yet will I (to satisfie your request,) supply my inabilitie of skill, with the abilitie of good will: and to execute the same, he called for pen, ynke, and paper, in the presence of a number, writing as followeth.

WHen Sommers force is past, and Winter sets in foote,
The hart and strength of hearbs and trées, is nourisht by the roote.
The frostes and froward blasts, doth nip the naked spray,
The Sommer liuerie of the bowes, with colde is worne away,
Yet liues such rootes in hope, that Phoebus glimering beames,
Will once dissolue syr Hiems force, his frostes and ysie streames,
And lend reliefe at length, when he their lacke should sée.
With coates of leaues to cloth their armes, fit garments for a trée.
Euen so both hope and dread, doth wage continuall fight,
Deare dame, in me, whose Sommers ioy, you raisde with friendly sight,
But loue, vnlookt (God wot) to yoke my wanton yeares,
Straight vsde his force, and base desart, consumd my ioy with feares,
It raysed frostes of scorne, my fire to ouerthrowe,
This chaungd the Sommer of your sight, to Winter of my woe:
Yet fled my heart to hope, who faintly féedeth me,
Your pittie passeth poore estate, where faythfull loue you sée,
He shewes by secrete signes, your vertues euery one,
And sayes your beautie bréedes no pride, that brueth all my m [...]ne.
But maugre friendly hope, base hap with me doth striue,
Who weares my flesh, with withered feare, how so my hart doth thriue
Which is the very cause, why I these colours weare,
The ground of hope, bewrayes my heart, the gards my desperate feare:
But if with graunt of grace, my griefes you meane to quite,
Both hope and dread shall soone be chaungd, to colours of delight.
Roberto Rinaldo.

These verses were reasonably liked, both for that they were done of the souden, and that they somewhat answered [Page 30] the demaunde, and yet this proffered loue to Giletta, bred no suspicion, for that euery one thought, Rinaldo on so good oc­casion, could not otherwise choose, but proffer some shewe of louing seruice: After many had thus cōmended ye redinesse of Rinaldos wit, by profe of this inuention, at the length (quoth Giletta halfe smyling) maister Rinaldo, you haue clearkly answered my question, and nowe knowing your cunning, I may haply set you a worke in matters of more importance. Rinaldo (glad of this commendation) made answere, her causes could neuer wearie him, for that he had both left his own, and al other businesse, of purpose, to do her seruice. The musicke now (a while) commaunded them from prattle, and the gallants addressed thē selues to dauncing, where Rinal­do, to make amendes for his other nights negligence, reque­sted to leade maistresse Giletta the measures. Giletta, al­though at the first made the matter coy, yet won by impor­tancie, accepted his courtesie. Rinaldo somewhat incouraged by hope, bestowed him selfe to the best liking he could, and (to report the truth) with the perfection of Arte, he made full sa­tisfaction for his former disorder. The dauncers nowe wea­ried with heate, applied thēselues vnto more cooler pastimes, and Rinaldo and Giletta went to take the ayre at a medowe, where Giletta to bewray her knowledge of his verses, vsed these speaches.

In good fayth (although against my will) I sée it is my for­tune to be acquainted with your secretes, so that before mi­strusting, that I am most assured of, by your passionate ver­ses which (by fortune) I perceiue, that the late mistaking of your loue inraged you, yet for that they appertaine not vnto me, and that ye shall remoue your anger from me (if you wil stay my returne) I will fetch them, and make restitution, as­suring you, that I neyther haue, nor will, reueale the know­ledge of them to any aliue. To stay her departure quoth Rinaldo (softly distrayning her hand) since my fortunes were so euill to lose them, for that séeing an inpossibilitie of hap, I would haue concealed my harme, I am glad my fortune is so good, that they light into her handes, to whome in right they be­long, [Page 31] vnto whose power (with vowe of continuall seruice) I subiect my life, liuing, & libertie. Maistresse Giletta raking vp her conceiued loue, in the ashes of secrecie, thus answered: If I were so simple to be bewitcht with shadowes, your in­tising words, might no doubt worke spoyle of myne honour. In the chiefest hope of my wel doing, quoth Rinaldo, (distur­bing her tale) you haue truly described my present condition: for being reft of heart the only stay of life, and dying through despaire, I am in no better state then a shadow. Well quoth Giletta, since your wit serues you to flourish on euery worde figuratiuely spoken, I will deliuer the rest of my minde in more plaine speaches. First I must confesse, my inabilitie, and vnworthinesse, to entertaine such a seruant: then graunt your wisdome to be such, that you will not bestowe your able seruice, but where you sée sufficient abilitie, for your well de­seruing zeale to haue deserued hyre. Nowe to your verses I thus muche conceiue, that to colour that, your owne colour bewrayes, I meane your loue else where bestowed, for that I (vnhappily) ministred some speaches of mistrust, to dymme mine eyes with a vaine flourish, til time fits your better for­tunes, you vse this fonde profession of loue. Thus much I ga­ther both by your wordes, and workes, and thus much I had thought to haue deliuered in, in embassage, vnto this teltale paper, (making shew of the letter she had written) but knowing (quoth she) letters to be very blabs, I am glad opportuni­tie so serues, that I may deliuer in wordes, both what I thinke of you and your suite, with this she put vp her letter againe, I thinke for that she woulde not discomfort Rinaldo with the sharpnesse thereof, who faine would haue fingered the same, onely to haue bestowed his skill in answere: but to shew his able force to incounter her in wordes, in déed quoth he, letters are but to be vsed in necessitie, & yet where griefs can not otherwise be vttered, necessarie instruments. But I find this benefit in my bondage, yt if I were both bard of tong and pen, my flaming sighes, my frosen teares, my wan lookes, and withered fleshe, would witnesse with what deuotion I serued: which zeale through my chaunging colour by you no­ted, [Page 32] I not a litle ioyed, and I no lesse sorrowed, you would not take notice, to what Saint I vsed this deuotion, when as Ri­naldo calleth heauen and earth to witnesse, that neyther beautie, brauerie, or any other inticement ioyned with the credite, of the greatest Lady in all Italie, coulde subiect his libertie, til Gilettas vertue, matcht with matchlesse beautie, reacht the pitch that stoupt his moūting thoughts, to whom, and for whom he vseth this suite, and suffreth these sorowes. Giletta séeing the continuance of his vehemencie, was preti­ly well persuaded of his loyaltie, in so muche as after a num­ber of other proffers and defences, in hope (quoth she) of your readie dutie, I admit you my seruant, with promise to mea­sure your rewarde beyond desart. Rinaldo glad of this con­quest, after double vowe of faythfulnesse, reuerently kissed his maistresse hand, and for that time committed her, a Dio.

I will nowe ouerleape, what a number of sowre and swéete thoughtes fead these vnfained louers, one while they were distempered with dread: anon quieted with hope: now desierous with secrete vowe to warrant eache other loue: straight hindered by some vnfortunate accident, still meashed in the snares of miserie, till time that eyther (with out condi­tion) might gage the other loyaltie, fayth, and constancie, pro­uided this wished opportunitie, which was: On a day ye Lord Sonsago, father to the late rehearsed bride, to perfect the glory of the sayde marriage, inuited the Lorde of Bologna, and his sonne in law, with other of their friendes, and allies, vnto his castle, at whiche place Rinaldo with the rest of the ruffling youth, on smal warning, & lesse bidding, as ordinarie visitors of such pastimes, presented them selues. The dinner solemnly ended, euery one was addrest vnto ye sport most a­gréeable to his or their fancie, some fell to dauncing, some to putting of purposes, & such volūtarie prattle. But Rinaldo and his Giletta, otherwise affected, then to listen to those cou­terfet contentmēts, (to find opportunitie to discourse of more serious matters) with a chosen companie conueyed them sel­ues, vnto one end of the great chamber, where Rinaldo, to passe the time, in reporting the straunge effects of loue (play­ing [Page 33] on a Lute) soung the following inuention.

In bondage frée I liue, yet frée am fettered faste,
In pleasure paine, in paine I find a thousād pleasures plaste,
I frye, yet frosen am, I freese amid the fire,
I haue my wish, and want my will, yet both as I desire,
I loue and liue by lokes, and loking workes my woe,
Were loue no god, this life were strange, but as he is, not so.
For through his aukward fitts, I suck such swéete in sower,
As I a yeare of dole would bide, to haue one lightning hower.
I like no life, but such, as worketh with his will,
His wil my wish, my wish to loue betyde good luck or ill,
No choyce shall make mée chaunge, or fancie new desire,
Although desire first blew the cole, that set my thoughtes on fire.
But fire, frostes and all, such calme contents doth moue,
As forst I graunt there is no life, to that is led in loue.
Yea base I thinke his thought, that would not gladly die,
To leade but halfe, of halfe an houre, in such delight as I.
Now thou deare dame, that workste, these sweete effectes in mée,
Uouchsafe my zeale, that onely séeke, to serue and honour thée.
So shall my thralled brest, for fancies frée haue scope,
If not, it helpes, I haue free will, to loue, and liue in hope.
Roberto Rinaldo.

These Uerses although they were in number few, yet the swéetnes of the tune, together with the rarenes of the inuen­tion, running altogether vppon contraries, made them to be singularly well liked, especially of mystresse Giletta, who could now no longer dissemble her loue: In somuch as to fur­ther occasion of knowledge, shée requested of her seruaunt, to haue a coppie of the said Uerses. Rinaldo of nothing more desirous, then with courtesie and seruice, to present his my­stresse, hauing this Sonet already faire written, first satis­fied her request, with the deliuery thereof, and next solicited his owne sorrowes, with these persuading wordes.

My good mystresse, I am glad (quoth hee) your eare was so ready, to heare my straunge estate discoursed, as that your [Page 34] heart consenteth (in perusing this worthlesse Sonet) to con­tinue in your remembraunce my sower passions, neuer ap­peased, though sometimes comforted with the swéete effects of hope. So that if it please you to note the sequele of my life, you shal easily sée ye subiection of my libertie, which knowne, I no otherwise conceiue of your courteous disposition, but so often as you reade my crauing woords, seing them confirmed in works, so oftē you wil be ready to perfect my vnsure hope, with assured hap: I meane, bestowe your loue on him, who were it not to do you seruice, would through the extremitie of loue, rather wish to die then liue. My good seruaunt (quoth Giletta) I thinke your cure stands not vppon such necessitie, but reason in time may qualifie your raging fire, and wyse­dome warme your frosen feares, or at the least wise warne you frō such vntemperate affections. O, no (quoth Rinaldo) time hath made both extréemes more extréeme, for when as reason would haue quenched, my burning loue, with the thought of my vnwoorthines, the remembraunce of your worthines, made my heate more feruent: when hope would haue warmed my frosen doubtes with the knowledge of your great pitie and compassion, the consideration of my base desert, streight made my cold more cruell: So that intertay­ning time with these thoughtes, time hath brought both ex­tremities, now to such a mischiefe, that necessitie (perforce) commaundes mée to séeke qualification at your handes, in whose good will, the termperature consisteth.

I thinke (quoth Giletta) my milde disposition, in very déede, makes you a great deale more desirous, yea your knowledge of my inward lyking by my outward lookes discouered, ma­kes you so earnest a suter: But if I were persuaded your loue to be as great in zeale, as in showe, yet for that I know not whether it tends to honestie or my dishonour, I can hardly aunsweare your sute, if any way, with the spoile of my good name, you seeke to féede some foule affectiō, your loue I loth, and so you sue in vaine. O my swéete mystresse (quoth Rinal­do) your words at one instant haue ioynde two cōtraries, in such mortall fight, as to whom the victorie will incline, is as [Page 35] yet doubtful, I meane hope and despaire: for I earnestly be­holding your lokes, when as you said, they shewde you loued, in very déede to my iudgement I sawe in them the very I­mage of loue: therewithall (quoth I) to my selfe: Loue cannot hate the welwillers of loue. But as I was continuing this fan­cie, with the continuaunce of other your comfortable spea­ches, on the soudaine, an Yf, distrusting my loyaltie, cleane altered the case: For trust mée (swete mystresse) my faithful loue, vnspotted with villanous desire, when you vsed those speaches, streight murmured at your suspicion, yea dread still persuades mée, your ouer often mistrust, will hinder the acquitall of my deserte, and yet hope destrous of victory, wills mée not to bée discomforted thorough your wise misdoubte, least silence in mée, should woorke in you a greater suspicion: wherefore before God and you, I protest with my heart, yea if you please, to vse the world for after witnes, I wil sweare vnto you all, I neuer had the thought, that tended vnto your dishonour: then dashe (good Lady) this hard condition of foule desire, from out the other couenaunts of loue, and take my vow of faithfulnes, for the warrantyse of my honest and true intent. Sutes must haue an end, & sorrowes a salue, ei­ther by the benefite of fortune, or violence of death: For I, thorough the extremitie of sorrow, being now brought to the exigent of desperation, am forst to sue vnto you for attone­ment, presenting vnto mee in this case, both the image of good fortune and death: of good fortune if you loue, where you are loued: of death, if you hate where you are honoured. Suffi­cient triall you haue had of my loyaltie. Since so (good Lady) say yea, or no: either answere wil worke appeasement of my sorrowes, the one with death, the other with delighte. Soft (quoth Giletta) haste makes waste, your Haruest is yet in grasse, you may very well stay for aunsweare. These words with a smyling countenaunce deliuered, shée forced to de­parte, yet not in such hast, but that Rinaldo had leysure y­noughe to rob her of a kisse, which fed him with such a swéete conceite, as that hee was persuaded, with the assault of im­portunancie, on ye next aduenture to conquer her straungnes [Page 36] and attaine good will, so that to lay his siedge with the better aduauntage, to her doubtfull woordes hee thus replied.

More haste then néede, doth turne to waste,
and waste doth al thinges marre,
Your Haruest, is in grasse good Syr,
as hastie as you are.
This doubtfull ieast, among my ioyes,
my mystresse late did poppe,
But I reply, that backward haste,
can neuer blast my croppe.
For sith (swéete wench) my séede of loue,
hath taken roote in time,
And cleare escapt the frostes of scorne,
that pincht it in the prime.
Now that the spring time of your grace,
hath raisde it to an eare,
The kindely riping of the same,
in faith I litle feare.
For scorched sythes, like Summers sunne,
will hasten on this wheate,
And stormes of teares, as heauenly dewe,
shall nourish with the heate.
The ielous wéedes of foule suspect,
which louers ioyes doth sting,
Shall cropped bee, with hooke of faith,
that fauour freash may spring.
Then banish dread, from thée déere dame,
my speede will worke no waste,
Since that the season serues so well,
our Haruest for to haste.
Roberto Rinaldo.

[Page 37]These verses were written in hast, & presented in as much haste, such was Rinaldos hastie desire a fresh to followe his sute: and yet not so hastie, as of Giletta hartily wished, the heate of eithers loue, for eithers sight so hastily thyrsted. But now to cut off ciccumstances, Rinaldo, vppon this new onset, charged his maistres with such vehement persuasiōs, as her nicenesse was of no force to make further defence, in so much, vppon a modest occasion, shée yelded to loue. This swéete consent by Giletta pronounced, with soudaine ioy so spoiled Rinaldoes senses, as for a time, hée fared like one in an extasie. But so soone as this fit was ouerblowne (quoth he.) Rinaldo how bountifully hath Fortune dealt with thee? How blessed is thy estate? canst thou tell? O, noe. Thy ioyes so hugely flow, as the least of a thousand comforts, thou canst not vtter. And could good Giletta so much tēder thy distresse? Could shée brooke Rinaldoes pouertie? And could shée loue the wight vnworthie to be her slaue? Her selfe said, yea: Then (as homage of his saued life) most worthie mistresse, of thy vnworthie seruaunt, receiue, with vowe of continuaunce, Faith, honour, loue, and seruice. I craue no more saue faith­full loue (quoth Giletta.) Giletta herselfe, in discharge of her duetie, will vse towards her Rinaldo, honour and obedience. Whom if shée finde constante, let fortune doe her worst, shée hath her contentment, and yet my good Rinaldo (quoth shee) foresight is the onely instrument of quietnes. I knowe my father & other friends, if they knewe of our loue, with stor­mes of displeasure, would hinder the accomplishment of our desires, if whose good will by any meanes, may be wonne, the execution of our ioyes, I meane our mariage day is well de­layed, but if they nill consent, happ wel, happ ill, Giletta sub­mittes her selfe to Rinaldoes good will. My good maistresse (quoth hée) your poore seruaunt (full satisfied for his harde fortunes fore past, as also to come) subiectes himself to your wise consideration: Yea, Rinaldo wil not in one iot, contra­ry Gilettas direction, althoughe hée purchase death with the executiō of her pleasure. Wel quoth Giletta, let time worke her will, yet liue thou Rinaldo assured of thy Gilettas loue, [Page 38] who likewise liueth in hope of thine: But in hope swéete mystresse (quoth Rinaldo) there is no hope withoute mi­struste, and causelesse mistrust woorketh two iniuries: The one in distempering the mistrusters minde, the other in suspecting the well meaninge friend. But the offence to­wardes mee I fréely pardon, so that thou wilte (to woorke thine owne quietnesse) take knowledge, how that my heart is close prisoner in thy breast, which maye not be remoued without thy consente. And for that wée must attende time, for the perfection of oure ioyes, to intertaine time withoute distruste of loyaltie, Deare Lady, of thy poore seruaunte, vouchsafe to take this Diamond, whose poesie is: I will not false my faith: Protestinge before the hyest, to accomplish those woordes in woorkes. Giletta willingly receyuinge this ring, in this sort acquited him: My good Rinaldo (quoth shée) I gratefully accept your gift, and that in absence, you may both thinke of mée, and your vowe, for my sake weare you this Iewell, wherein is written: Fortune may hinder my loue, yet none but death shall breake my vowe. These two louers hauing by secrete othe, thus warranted eche o­thers loue, least their ouerlonge talke, mighte breede suspi­cion, now conueyed themselues into the thickest of the com­pany, where after they had a while shewed themselues, Ri­naldo in respecte of his late conqueste, had the ordinarye pleasures, the which hée sawe in skorne. In somuch that to perfecte his contentemente with swéete imaginations, hée conuayed himselfe into his chamber: where, in praise of his good mystresse, and triumphe of his Fortunes, hée wrote as followeth.

Beautie leaue off to brag, thy brauery is but brayd,
Thou mayst (God wot) thy visard vaile, thy wanton maskes are wrayd.
Thy toyes in thy attyre, thy plumes fortells thy pride,
Thy coyues, thy caules, thy curling cost, thy surfling helpes are spide.
Thy gases are for guestes, that garish showes wil eye,
Else who so blinde, but that hée can a painted visage spie,
[Page 39]Then goe and market kéepe, where chaffe is sowld for corne,
I hould (Got wot) thy vauntes as vaine, thy lures, and loue I scorne,
For I beloued am, of one that thée doth passe,
In faith as much as finest gold, excelles the coursest brasse.
She néedes no frizling feates, nor bumbaste for her breastes,
No glittring spangles for the gase, no ierkyns, iagges, nor iestes,
Her onely selfe a sunne, when thou art iudgde a starre,
Her sober lookes workes more regard, then all thy ruffling farre.
The reason is, the heauens, to reape the praise alone,
Did frame her eyes, her head, and handes of pearle and precious stone,
Which iewells néedes no helpe, their beauties for to blase,
When brauery shadowes fowle defectes, or serues for wanton gase.
Besides her feature rare, her further fame to raise,
Her witt, her wordes, her workes in showe, doth winne a world of praise,
Then beautie haue no scorne, thy roome for to resigne,
To her, whose sundry markes of grace, thus shewes shée is diuine.
If not, thy champion chuse, if any dare auowe,
I doe the wronge, thée to abase, and her so to allowe,
And him I challenge forth, by force of fight to proue,
She hath no match, whom thus in heart, I honour, serue and loue.
Roberto Rinaldo.

These Uerses although they were too affectionately writ­ten, yet for two causes they were of Giletta very well ly­ked: the one was thoroughe the humour, wherewith moste women are infected, desirous to be praised: the other for that Rinaldo was the man that had soe highlye commended her, whom shée wished to be as farre ouerséene, in affection, as in his inuention: & although she acquited not his paines, with her penne, yet with other courtesies shée sufficiently wrought his contentment. In this sort, in absence, with letters, in presence, with lokes, signes, and louing gréetings, now & then, with a stollen kisse interioyned, for a space these louers, ye one the other delighted. But (oh) I sighe to report, how soudainly fortune threatened the spoile of their desires, yea whē they thought themselues of her fauor most assured, [Page 40] such are the chaunges & chaunces of loue. But sith her thret­ning (after a number of griefes by these two louers suffered) tourned into grace: with more willingnes, I enter into dis­course of their sorrowes as followeth.

Rinaldo (vnhappily) matched with an ague, through the extremitie of his malladie, was forst to kéepe his chamber, so that by this accident exiled from the sight of his faire mai­stresse, the furie of his feuer was no sooner ouerpaste, but streight hée was charged with feareful fancies,Passing loue the cause of ielousie. continually dreading how that his absence would turne his Ladies loue to mislyking: thus hourely visited with vntemperate fittes, (poore man) hée was brought so lowe, as that, a liue, hée re­presented the very image of death. Good Giletta sorrowing the long absence of her Rinaldo, in the ende hearing the vn­welcome newes of his daungerous sicknes, presently fared, as though shée had felt the extremitie of his fitts: one while, she determined, to goe her selfe and comfort him, streight she dreaded the suspicion that might growe thereof, especially, for that Seignior Frizaldo, by ye procurement of her friends, was so hot a suter,Frizaldo a su­ter to Giletta. as without some ielous thought he could neuer part her sighte: yet notwithstanding all these hinde­raunces, in the ende shée was resolued, to visite her louinge Rinaldo, not by secret stealth, but with such a chosen compa­nie, as it could be no otherwise thoughte, but that onely for courtesie, she went to comfort him. Seignior Frizaldo (with the rest of the Gentles) would néedes waite of mistresse Gi­letta, whose seruice I am assured was yll accepted, and him­selfe to Rinaldo worse welcome:An vnwel­come guest. But secrete griefes, shado­wed with fained good will, Giletta outwardly for his curte­sie, thanked Frizaldo, and went with him and the rest, to Ri­naldoes lodging: which Courtly company at their first com­ming, were brought into the sickmans chamber, whom when Giletta espyed, to lye languishing in his bedde, to comforte him first of all she vsed this greeting: How fares my good ser­uaunt (quoth shée.) Rinaldo on the soudaine vewing his La­die, was so ouercome with soudaine ioy, as on the soudaine, the aunswere of his estate was farre to séeke: which when [Page 41] Giletta perceiued, in this sort shée continued her comforting woordes: what man (quoth shée) be of good chéere, a lustie hart will soone conquere this sicknes, dismay not your selfe with feare. By this time a sighe had vntyde Rinaldoes tongue, who very softly for feare of suspicion, thus replied: In very déede swéete mystresse (quoth hée) if I had had the vse of my hart, longe or this my griefes had béene eased: but, ah, my hart else where attends, it is Giletta (and none else, that may dispose ye same. Well (quoth shée) since I haue the vse thereof, I am taught by good authoritie, to keepe the sound from the sicke: your body is now distempered with a feuer, your heart with mée fareth no woorse then mine: so that at the least I will haue the bestowing therof, till I see you in perfect health, yet thinke that the comfort both of mine and your owne, shal be applyed for your reliefe. Here Giletta gaue libertie vnto the rest for to gréete Rinaldo, who bestowed their talke (as they thought) to his great delight: But Rinaldo, that rather regarded the sober lookes, and modest behauiour of Giletta, then the shyning brauerie of the rest, gaue small eare, vnto their pleasaunt prattle: Yea, séemed halfe offended with the continuaunce thereof, as who would saye, the sight of their wantonnes, wrought a fresh remembrance of his wretched­nes. And truly there can be no greater torment vnto the pē ­siue wight,Others plea­sures a griefe to the wret­ched. then to be throwne into the companie of the plea­sant: not for that hée repineth at them, but that he cannot at­taine their happinesse. The company perceyuing the small comforte, Rinaldo toke in their persuasions, on the soudaine became silente, so that Giletta had now libertie to make an ende of her tale: who (for that night drue neare) knit it vppe with this farewell. I sée wel good seruaunt (quoth shée) that our company (although wée came for courtesie) is rather a cumber then a comfort to your sorrowes, and therefore wée will now betake you to God. But to witnesse, I alwayes wish your contentment,A secrete ver­tue in giliflo­wers. vouchsafe this posie of Giliflowers, which carrieth this vertue, that about whose head they bee bestowed, the same wighte shal not bee much frighted with fearefull fancies. God graunt that be true (quod Rinaldo) [Page 42] for trust mée, swéete mystresse, the disquietnes of my minde hurtes mée more, then the distemperature of my body, but howe much of this vertue faileth in your flowers, so much I already finde in your friendly woordes, and to continue in remembraunce, your care to cure my miseries, weare you, good mystresse, this Rosemary braunche. Giletta willingly receyuing the same, for that she was to depart, with the help of another Gentlewoman, raised Rinaldoes pillowes, and layde his bedde furniture handsomly about him, where Gi­letta bowing ouer him, to amende some thinge oute of order, by fortune left with Rinaldo a kisse, the comforte whereof exiled the griefe hée should else haue conceiued, by her depar­ture: but I am assured this poore stolen kisse, no more pleased Rinaldo, then it offended Frizaldo, who (god wot) with great impatiencie, murmured at these two louers familiaritie, & although the rest toke no heede of their speaches, yet his ie­lious suspicion, both read the letters of their flowers, and wrested out the sense of their subtile wordes. Neuerthe­lesse (for the place sake at that time) hée hidde his conceyued hatred, towards Rinaldo, with a friendly farewell. But in the waye homeward, hee pincht Giletta, with this scoffinge request: Away with this Rosemary (quoth hée) lest it hide some infection (being sometime sicke Rinaldoes) That maye offende you, (quoth Giletta) if it were any wayes infected, by this time the open ayre hath purged it, but if before this time, I my selfe am infected, it smally helpes to throwe a­way this poore braunch, and so your counsel is out of season, and yet for the same I courteously thancke you. Well quoth Frizaldo snuffinge at this aunsweare, you were best to perfecte your delighte, to weare a Rose with your Rose­marie, meaninge the first letters of those two flowers, aun­sweared her louers name, Roberto Rinaldo. These woor­des stroake poore Giletta dead, and yet shée pretily (dissem­blinge her knowledge of Frizaldoes minde) found out mea­nes, to cutte off those crosse speaches, with argumente that méetely well contented him. But, poore wench, so soone as shée was bestowed alone in her Chamber, solitarinesse [Page 43] wroughte a freshe remembraunce of Frizaldoes doubtfull woordes, but yet after shee had a space bewayled her For­tunes, shée wisely entered into the consideration of her owne estate, and waying, howe greatly that Frizaldo was fauou­red of her friendes, and on the contrarie parte, Rinaldo of small accompte, shée concluded (to please all her friendes, and contente both her louers) to vse this policie. Fri­zaldo whom shee smally esteemed, shée mente to féede with courteous delayes: Rinaldo, whom in déede shée honoured, shée determined in heart to loue, and in showe to hate, thin­king by this meanes that she should extinguish & quench Fri­zaldos ielous suspicion:Ielosie can ne­uer be perfectly quenched. which in very déede, contraried her imagination. For although he liked Gilettas intertaynment, yet hee continually feared her affection towardes Rinaldo, yea hée eyed her with such mistrust, as that shée could hard­ly finde occasion to acquainte her Rinaldo with this deuise: notwithstanding hopinge of fauourable time to execute her purpose, shée continued her fained good will towards Frizal­do, but Rinaldo shée would neither sée, send, nor write vnto: Who wonderinge at this insolencie and straungenes, al­thoughe hée had hardly recouered his empayred health, yet hée aduentured abroade, to learne the cause of this soudaine alteration. But his ouermuch temeritie and makinge hast herein, had wroughte wofull waste of his life, had not God wonderfully saued him. For, repayringe vnto the place of his wonted ioy, and accustomed comforte, hée found his my­stresse dallying with a fresh gallant: On him shée would not vouchsafe to looke: Yea, if on occasion hée saluted her by the name of his mystresse, very disdainful [...]y and scornefully, or not at all shée aunsweared him: On him shée frowned with a curst countenaunce: On his enimie shée fleared with a de­lightsome fauour: with him shee would not speake: with his enimie shée continually talked. Which vnfriendly welcome was far worse (God wot) to Rinaldo, then his late sicknes: But worst of al he digested the report of the Courtiers, who (inferring on their familiaritie) gaue out for certainty, that Segnior Frizaldo, should marie with mystres Giletta. These [Page 44] newes poore Rinaldo was like ynough to credite, himselfe se­ing such apparaunte proofe thereof, yea hée credited them so farre, as hée could not away with any thought of hope. In so much that scorning both Courte and companie, as one forsa­ken of himselfe, hée forthwith went vnto his chamber, wher­as passionately discoursinge on his harde Fortunes, which plaint, hée powdred with a thousand sighes, by chaunce hée fastned his eye, on the Iewel which Giletta had bestowed on him, and with litle lust reading the posie thereof, supposinge she had falsified her vowe, toucht with the proofe of his wret­chednes, hée forthwith wrote these vnder written Uerses.

For faithfull loue, the hate I finde in lue,
My vowe performde, the false of her behest,
The small reward, I reape for seruice true,
Her ioy to sée, mée plunged in vnrest,
Doth force mée say, to finde an ende of paine,
O fancie die, thou féedest hope in vaine.
I sue for grace, shée smyles to sée my smart,
I pleade for peace, shée séekes to sowe debate,
My sowre her swéete, my griefe doth glad her hart,
I fawne, shée frownes, I loue and shée doth hate,
Sith soe, I say, to finde an ende of paine,
O fancie die, thou féedest hope in vaine.
Starue thou desire, which kéepeth life in loue,
And so my thought, from showring woe shall cease,
But loue aliue, while fancie hope may moue,
A lyuing death, my sorrowes will increase,
Wherefore I say, to finde an ende of paine,
O fancie die, thou féedest hope in vaine.
My fancies dead, I end of woes should finde,
My eyes, nay seas (God wot) of brackish teares
Would leaue to loue, whom loue hath made so blinde:
My thorned thoughtes, no more should foster feares.
[Page 45]But oh (aye mée) for to proroge my paine,
My fancies liue, and féedeth hope in vaine.
Doe what I can, I pray on plighted troth,
A (simple) thinke, shée will not breake this bonde,
I vowe to loue, I will not false my othe,
But, ah, I finde her false, and I too fonde:
Wherefore good death, at once delay my paine,
My fancies liue, and féedeth hope in vaine.
Roberto Rinaldo.

Unto these Uerses Rinaldo set a very sollem note, and the nighte following, hée bestowed himselfe vnder Gilettas chamber windowe, where (playing on his lute) hée very mournefully sounge this passionate inuentiō, of purpose (like vnto the Swanne, that sings before her death) to bid his my­stresse adieu for euer.

Good Giletta, hearing this sorrowfull farewell, much la­mented her seruants estate, yet durst shée not at that instant any wayes comfort him. The cause was, Segnior Frizaldo, was then in her chamber, who knew very well, that it was Rinaldo, that with his sollem musicke, saluted mystresse Gi­letta, yea hée knew by the ouer often chaunging of her cou­ler, how (notwithstanding her dissimulation) she greatly sor­rowed Rinaldos distresse: and therefore he thought best, du­ring his discomforture, by some slye policie, at once to ouer­throw him with distrust: and vntil the execution of this trea­chery, he thought best, to giue him this bone to gnaw vppon. First to shew his credite to be admitted into her chamber at that time of the night: Next (to proue his authoritie) hée cal­led Giletta, by the name of his subiect: Who duetifully aun­swered him, with ye title of her souereigne: which done (quoch hée looking out of the window) it is for you sake (faire Lady) wée are presented with this swéete musicke, & although your vnknowen welwiller, maketh show of the sorrowes hée suf­fers not, yet courtesie wills you to intercept his paines with thankes. Poore Rinaldo hearing Frizaldos tongue, made no [Page 46] stay for Gilettas thankes, but returning to his chamber (as one that had foregone his senses (a while in sighes he vttered his plainte. And after his sorrowe was somewhat eased, (quoth hée) alas good Giletta, thy exchaunge is very hard, to leaue to be Rinaldos mystresse, to become Frizaldos subiect, But Rinaldo, worse is thy hap, that thou must serue her, that is subiect to thy mortal enimie, thy thraldome is intolle­rable, thy tornients without end, with violent death dispatch both thy seruitude and sorrowes, so shalt thou force them to pittie, that now triumphe at thy miseries. In this sort Ri­naldo continually raged at his fortunes. Well, how euer Rinaldo fared, Giletta was not frée from sorrowes: for good soule, shée thought it hie time to acquaint her seruaunt with the continuance of her loue, and although shée had attemp­ted many wayes, yet shée found no currant opportunitie for discouerie thereof, till in the end, shée determined, by letters to deliuer the Embassage of her minde, to which effecte, shee one day wrote these lines following.

MY Good seruaunte, I cannot but sighe to thinke on thy sorrowes, who inferring on my straungnesse, hast my faithfull loue in suspicion: and yet I cannot blame thée, that knowest not, what necessitie inforceth my coynesse: Alas, I liue in the gase of Ielous distruste, who with Lynxes eyes, watcheth my behauiour, so that of force, I am forst, to rarrie a shew of hatred, where in heart I loue. But of this assure thy selfe, althoughe Frizaldo (whose familiaritie woorketh thy feare) weareth both my gloue and Garter, yet Rinaldo hath, and shall haue my heart. So that (swéete friend) from hencefoorth (hauing my constancie thus warranted) when most I lowre, contrary my lookes with smiling thoughtes. And thus till more fortunate time, do perfect our wished de­sires, thy louing Mystresse, wisheth thée well to fare.

Giletta de Bologna.

When good Giletta had thus ended her letters, for that shée durst not trust Rosina her wayting woman with the de­liuerie [Page 47] of them, whom shée knewe to be too well affected to­wardes Frizaldo to woorke him such an iniurie, shée deter­mined to be the Embassadour her selfe, to accomplish which deuise, shee made an apple hollowe, wherein shée bestowed this letter, which shée closed so cunningly, that none by the outward show, could perceiue ye inward charge thereof: But oh the force of ielosie, Frizaldo for that he could not alwayes be present to eye Gilettas behauiour, wonne her waytinge woman to watch her so narrowly, as shée might bée able to yeeld accompt of all her doinges. This trayterous mayde to her mystresse, so trustily performed his request, as although Giletta practised this deuise, in her secrete closet, yet through the cranell of a wall, shée had notice thereof, so that the night following, shée came to the fingering of this apple, and fin­ding these louing lines in the body thereof, shée forthwith went to Frizaldo, to whom shée deliuered both the letter and apple, but he that foreknew Gilettas loue, towards Rinaldo, was rather glad, then sadde of these newes: For by this meanes, he spyde occasion presently to ouerthrowe Rinaldo with despaire: To further which villanous trechery, as néere as he could, he counterfeted Gilettas hand, and then in stéede of her courteous lines (in her name) hée wrote this vn­comfortable letter.

RInaldo, A trecherous part. thy dissembling, hath wrought my displeasure, & although I will not shew how nor wherein thou art vn­iust, yet know thou, I know so well thy villanies, as no ex­cuse shall remoue mee from reuenge. And if my vnpleasaunt lookes any way offende thée, assure thy selfe my heart tenne times more abhorreth thee: thereof let this my hand wri­ting be a witnes, which I my selfe deliuer, to this ende, that thou mayst at once, end both thy hope, and vnregarded sute, by her that hates the more, then shee loues herselfe.

Giletta de Bologna.

When Frizaldo had made an ende of this letter, hée be­stowed it in the apple, and wild Rosina, to laye the same [Page 48] where shée found it, the next day, hée brought Giletta where of force shée must sée her louing Rinaldo, and of purpose see­med carelesse of her behauiour, that she might haue opportu­nitie, to salute her sorrowful seruaunt. Poore Giletta vnac­quainted with this treacherie, simplie deliuered Rinaldo the apple: saying, the vertue in the fruite, was of force to end his sorrowes. Herewith shée hasted after Frizaldo, without ei­ther aunswere or thankes, at her seruauntes hands, who re­ceyuing this courtesie, beyond all hope, as one amased, at so soudaine a ioy, it was longe ere hée tasted this apple, and fin­ding a letter inclosed therein, I can hardly report, the one halfe of his delight: But this I am assured, for his faire my­stresse sake, he a hundred times kist both the seale, and super­scription, before he aduētured to take knowledge of the hid­den message therein: but when hée ripped it open, and found the forecited newes, alas poore man, his late swéete moti­ons so increased his sowre passions, that if it were possible, for anye to taste more miseries, his fare excéeded the tor­ments of Hell.

Ah God (quoth hée) how may it so swéete a face, should bée matcht with so cruel a hart, such heauenly lookes, with such hellish thoughts, so faire a creature, with so foule conditions, and so modest a countenaunce, with so mercilesse a minde. O Giletta, what meanest thou so to ecclipse thy honour, darken thy vertue, and spoile thy wonted report of pitie, by murthe­ring of thy faithfull friend? Hadst thou no feare of infamie? no thought of former vow? Might not remorse of conscience, withdrawe thée from disloyaltie? Madest thou no more ac­compte of loue, then like vnto a garment, at thy pleasure to put off and on? Couldest thou doe Rinaldo such iniurie, as to let another deuoure the fruites of his toyle? Wouldest thou suffer Frizaldo to reape the crop of loue, that Rinaldo sowed with sighes, wéeded with faith, did nourish with teares, and ripened with continual seruice. Suppose, I admitt the force of thy second loue, in excuse of all these wronges, with what face, couldst thou triumphe in my miseries? Yea desire my death, that loued thée so deare? Trust mée, cruell Giletta, if [Page 33] thine owne writing had not béene witnesse, I would ne­uer haue thought thee inconstāt, nor had not thine own hāds deliuered the instrument of my destruction, I would hardly a credited thy letters, but on so certaine a proofe, in vayne it were to hope. Ah, God, how rightly didst thou hit my fortune when as thou saidst, thy apple woulde ease my sorrowes: in deed I found in it my death, & only death must cure my grief. And sith so subtily, thou prophesiedst my destruction, since it agréeth with thy wil, thy wretched desire, shal foorthwith be wrought. In this desperate mynde Rinaldo hasted vnto the riuer of Poo, where by the shore side he sawe a simple man, to whome he deliuered a scroll, wherein was written:

Giletta false of faith Rinaldo nipt so nye,
That lo he chose before his time, in stremes of Poo to dy.

Whiche verses he requested the poore man to deliuer at the Lorde de Bolognas castle, to maistresse Giletta, and then without vsing any other speache, he lept into the riuer. The poore man halfe amazed, at this wilful acte, foorthwith hasted vnto the Lorde de Bolognas castle, where after he had deli­uered the writing to Giletta, he shewed for certaintie, he saw Rinaldo drowne him self. The newes was vnwelcome vnto euerie hearer (saue only to Frizaldo, that trayned him into this mischiefe) but especially to Giletta this tydinges was too too grieuous, she weapt, she waylde, she blamed her and his vnlucky fortune, Frizaldos iealousie, her friendes vn­towardnesse, and chiefly her owne nycenesse, as instruments of Rinaldos lamentable destnie: in so much as, neither shew of pleasure, companie of acquaintance, or persuasion of frien­des, could moue her vnto any comfort. Well, leaue we sor­rowfull Giletta, continually bemoning the death of her best beloued seruant: and turne we to Rinaldo, who after he had a while felt the furie of the floudes, was wearie of dying, so that for life he laboured vnto the shoare, which happily re­couered, he felt his stomacke at that instant rather ouerchar­ged with water then loue, yet for that by sight of his sowre-swéete [Page 50] maistresse, he would not renue his sorrowes, nor that he coulde brooke, in the court to be frumpt and slouted at, he consented in a forrest neare adioyning vnto this riuer, in mi­serie to consume the residue of his life. And abasing his mind, vnto the condition of his distresse, he was content to take a hollow caue, for his house, and herbour, the bare ground, both for his bed and bedding. For companions, to make choice of wild beastes: to bemone his fortunes, vnto the wild forrests, to make the night rauen his clocke, his harmonie of hellishe noise of monsters, & his foode the fruits of ye earth, O strange effectes of loue, that could vaile his mynde to vouchsafe these miseries: that lately held at will, almost what he could wish. But leaue I now to write of loue his force (whom no mā hi­therto, could either truly define or describe) and turne againe to poore Rinaldos hard estate, who roming in the wilde for­restes for foode, espied an apple trée, the fruit wherof, put him in remembrance, of the apple Giletta deliuered him, wherin he found a letter that forst him to this penance, ye sight wher­of with sorrow, not only slaked his hunger, but moued him to such impatiencie, that in despaire, and despight of the fruite, vpon the trée he carued this inuention.

O Needlesse fruit (of sinne the meane at first)
Thou forcedst Eue, and Adam didst intice,
To byte their bale, for which the earth was curst,
And headlong they, from vertue fell to vice,
Thou wert the baite, that Paris gaue the Dame,
Who in reward, set stately Troy aflame.
Thou didst conuey, the louing write that woode,
Dianas nymphe, from chaste, to foule desire,
By thée too soone, I (wretched) vnderstoode,
Gilettas scorne, that chaung'd her loue to yre,
And not content, but when my woes were dead,
With former cares, thou combrest fresh my head.
O enuious fruit, in whom few vertues are,
Thy shew is all, but who so on thée féedes,
[Page 51]Shall hardly finde, thée helpe, but health impaire:
Then sith to man, such plagues thy beautie breedes,
Would God thy guilt, vpon each apple trée,
Igrauen were, for euery eye to see.
Roberto Rinaldo.

Rinaldo thus freshly entered, into the consideration of his former loue, likewise felt his former vnquietnesse of mynd, faine would he haue found out some litle sparke of hope, but out alas, the sowre letter his swéete maistresse deliuered, together with her hatefull shewe against him, and her louing zeale towardes Frizaldo, so hugely increased his distrust, as by no means he could away with hope: in so much (quoth he) O cowardly wretch, why dost thou not by death, at once dis­patch thy sorowes: rather thē to die a thousād deaths, by pr [...] ­roging a lothed life, canst thou brooke continual bondage, whē with one blow thou maist rid thy wretchednesse, set feare a­side, vse force vpon thy selfe, thou hast liued an exile too long, since thou séest no hope of attonemēt at home, nor fealest qui­etnesse abroad. In this desperate passion, Rinaldo was deter­mined to commit murder vpon him selfe, and yet he thought best to deferre the execution, vntil he might conuey him selfe neare vnto Gilettas lodging, that there her eyes might be witnesse of his loyaltie, & her owne crueltie. To has [...]ē which follie, the next night he tooke his iourney towardes Bologna castle, and by the way he deuised this petition.

EUen with the bloud, that issues from his hart,
Rinaldo (wretch) this sorrie boune doth craue,
There may be grauen (by some continuing Arte)
These woful words, vpon his timelesse graue.
Loe here he lies, that reaped hate for loue,
Which hard exchaunge, to slea him selfe did moue.

These verses Rinaldo determined to write with bloud yt issued from his deadly wound, & cōming vnto the place, of his desired rest, he drew his dagger, in mind to finish his sorowes But finding his enterprise (by reason of ye dead time of night) vnlikely to be troubled, before he executed this tragedie, he weakely wrested foorth this heauie farewell.

[Page 36]Oh God (quoth he) that the grones, procéeding from my gored hart, might now awake Giletta, that she might sée the vse of my murthering knife, then wold my yawning breath, my bloudy sighs, & deadly gaspes, no dout bedew her chéekes, whiche hitherto my intollerable miseries, with ruthfull teares could neuer wet: so should she knowe my escaped dan­gers, were but lightening ioyes, for to inlarge my sorrowes: so might she sée, the vnfained confirmation of my loyaltie, ac­cuse her of inconstancie: so séeing so vnnaturall a tragedie executed (by the dome of her scorne) vpon her faultlesse ser­uaunt, remorse might happily moue her to repentaunce, and pittie winne her from her wauering fancies. But (oh) I tyre time with too néedelesse a tale: she quietly sléepes, to whom I thus sorrowfully talke. Fare wel Giletta, farewel. These naked wals (besprent with bloud) shal shortly bewray my mone. My breathlesse corps, shal witnesse my constancie, and purchase (I trust) so muche pitie, as (notwithstanding my carelesse prouision) to be bestowed in some forgetlesse tumbe. I can not stay thy answere, and therfore I leaue it to thy curtesie. Come wished death, now vse thy force, my will is made, the time and place fitteth my desire, my teares and sighes are already bestowed, these wa [...]es (my executors) only wanteth their hire: my waste bloud I bequeath thē, only to continue remembrance of my loyaltie. &c. Good Giletta continually la­mēting the losse of her seruant, both night & day was smally disposed to rest, in so much that leaning in her chamber win­dow, she heard (though not perfectly) this sorowful discourse, and being moued with pitie (as Rinaldos complaint grew to an end) she vsed these words. Yonder mans tong, mone, and miseries, workes such fresh remembrance of my good Rinal­dos destruction,An vnlookte for comfort. as for his sake, I wil apply vnto his sorowes what honest comfort I can. Therewithall she prepared her selfe to learne his cause of griefe: Rinaldo amased with this souden comfort, helde his hande from his throte, till Giletta was at his elbowe, who verie modestly demaunded, both what he was, & what forst him so pitiously to cōplaine. Rinal­do, on this small incouragement, began now to mistrust yll [Page 53] measure in others, and yet to trie in whome the fault might be, he at the first, both hid his name, and the true cause of his griefe from Giletta. Giletta earnestly noting the order of his talk, began now to be so distempered with the thought of Rinaldo, as she fell straight thus to bee moue his hard for­tunes. Ah, good Rinaldo (quoth she) whersoeuer thy body lies in thought I so perfectly beholde thy image, as in euery mournefull tale, my thinkes I heare thy tong. Woe worth thée Frizaldo, to coole whole iealous distrust, I vsed shewe of hate where in heart I loued, and yet Rinaldo, thou art not blamelesse in that, when as I made thée priuie to the cause of my straungnesse, thou wilfully afterwards didst drowne thy selfe▪ Herewith, Rinaldo to make Giletta partaker of his newe conceiued ioyes could not choose but discouer him self, whome when she perfectly knewe, And liues Rinaldo yet, (quoth she) and therwithal imbracing her best beloued, with very ioy fell into a swoone. Rinaldo séeing his Lady and loue to faint, spared for no kisses to fetch her againe. She being re­uiued, and the heate of their ioyes somwhat qualified, I want skill, to will, to shewe what desire the one had to delight the other, but this I am assured, they in such sort ouerwent the night, that morning willed them away, ere eyther of them had thought of former sorrowes, or sought to worke for fu­ture ioyes.The womans [...]. But as it is sayde, the womans vnt, is more rea­dier thē ye mans, in practises that answereth their liking: ex­perience here makes proofe of no lesse. For when Giletta espied Rinaldo in a browne studie, with debating, which way they might best, easiest, and soonest, perfect their [...] de­lightes, she comforting him with a pretie smyle, willed him to commit that charge vnto her, but in any case she warned him to liue a while vnknowne. Rinaldo faithfully promised to obey her direction, who after he had giuen, and taken a hundred loth to depart kisses, foorthwith posted vnto the next vncouth place, and Giletta secretly conueyed her self vn­to her chamber: Who the next day forsooke her mourning wéedes, & with a chearefull countenance, she bid her friendes Buon giorno: who reioycing to sée her so pretily comforted, [Page 54] applyed them selues, vnto such exercises and persuasions, as they thought would best worke her contentation. Especially Frizaldo, who (after it was giuen out Rinaldo was drownd) was so muche of Giletta misliked, as that she could neyther abide his sight, nor would patiently heare his name, now see­ing her stormie anger somwhat appeased, by litle & litle renued his louing suite. Giletta nowe to worke sure, (bicause he should no more suspect fraude in her ouermuch familiaritie) made the matter somewhat strange, & yet not so strange, but that Frizaldo might picke out incouragement to continue his bootlesse suite. Who refusing no aduauntage, charged her, and double charged her with importunate persuasions: she at euery assault, séemed somewhat to relent, yea, in the end she was content patiently to heare his request, & if she chaunced to crosse him with froward language, she wold comfort him with some fained good looke. Gilettaes father seeing some like­lyhoode of the match he long desiered, I meane betweene Fri­zaldo and Giletta his daughter, furthered Frizaldos desire in what he could, in so much as coueting a spéedy dispatche, he one day inioyned his daughter to giue him a direct answere off, or on. Giletta modestly answered, ye promise she made Ri­naldo, was such a corsie to her conscience, through ye feare of infamie, as althogh she had sufficiētly tried (& by trying liked) Frizaldos honest and faithfull loue, yet she feared to giue hir willing consent, to yt she hartily wished. Why quoth her fa­ther, your promise died wt Rinaldo, & though he desperately dispatcht his life, neither law of God, nor Nature, can forbid you marriage: and to make you ye more willing to yt I wish, there shalbe proclamation made, yt if Rinaldo wtin one mon­eth come in & make clame to Giletta, he shuld be indifferent-heard, if not, Frizaldo to haue her as his lawful wife: by this means (quoth he) the clattering tongs yt thou fearest, (would note thee of inconstancie) well persuaded of his death, by rea­son of his absence, will sure be staid. Giletta thus proffered, what she had thought to haue requested, set nicenesse aside, & fayning her fathers persuasions to haue conquered her, vpon this condition, yealded to marrie Frizaldo. The Lord de Bo­logna, made no delay, but presently vpon this cōsent, assured [Page 55] Frizaldo to his daughter Giletta, & caused proclamation to be made. This news wrought ioy on al sides: Rinaldo laught to heare this proclamation, for that he knew how to prouide sowre sauce for Frizaldos sweet delights. Giletta smilde to see how wi [...]el [...]ly, she had won her fathers consent, to haue Rinal­do, who she knew was ready to make clame. Gilettas frends reioyced to see her sorowes appeased: but Frizaldo aboue the rest triumphed in shew, he made no account of the prouiso in his assurance. For why, he thought a dround man wold hard­ly clame his right, the kind intertainment of his maistresse, so laded him with ioy, as yt he bad iealouzie go trudge, distrust a­dieu, and al other hinderances auaunt: one while he inuites his friends, another while he makes choice of martiall calen­gers & champions, for iusting, turne, barriers. &c. Now he cō ­sults, wt carpet knights, about curious masks & other delightful shewes: anon he runs vnto the tailers, to sée his apparell made of ye straungest & costliest fashion, thus was he occupied in prouision of brauerie against his marriage day, he had no thought how Rinaldo wold be auēged of his trecherie, ouer­throw him in combat, weare his wéedes, marrie his wife, and vse his prouision of plesure, for ye honor of his own wedding: he wold not sée secret hate yt lay hid in Gilettas louing lookes, as ye snake lurkes in ye swéet grasse: his blinde affection made him forget the villanie he had offered Rinaldo, so that pricke of conscience could moue him to no repentance. For hauing reacht ye height of his desires, he made her the instrument of his destruction, by whose dishonest seruice, he attained this shew of preferment, I meane Rosina, Gilettas waiting wo­man: who séeing ye preparation for her maistres marriage, be­gan to loure on Frizaldo, ye reasō was, at such time as he was out of Gilettas fauor, to currie friendship wt her, he tolde this dāsel, in respect of her curtesies, & in despight of her maistres iniuries, he would marrie her: which faire promise, this fouly falsed, might very wel force ye poore wench to frowne. Which Frizaldo seeing, likewise saw wtout wise foresight a hindrāce to his desires, & deuising how to repaire this breach of amit [...]e, he called to mind what smal trust was in a womans secrecie & waying what mischiefe he had executed, to compasse his [Page 56] louing affaires, now to perfect the successe he long looked for, he concluded (in acquitall of the poore wenches courtesies) to shorten her life. O wretch spoyled of pitie, rest of humani­tie, catyfe more cruell then any Tygre, howe couldest thou professe to loue, with so bl [...]ndy a mynde, especially to acquite her with such crueltie, that spoyled her credit to do thée cour­tesie. But why weare I time to wonder at thy vnnaturall villanies, which spendst thy life without thought of vertue, and diedst without shewe of repentance. And nowe againe, vnto this tyrant Frizaldos actions, with a friendly counte­naunce, he came vnto Rosina, and after his courteous salu­tations,Faire wordes makes fooles faine. he hayted his poysoned enterprise with this swéete persuasiō. Sweete wench quoth he, thou séest a great prepa­ration (supposed) for a marriage betwéene thy maistresse and me, if which were true, in fayth I should do thée too too much wrong, to whome I am in conscience betrothed. But for that thou maist now find performance of that in déeds, yt hitherto I promised in words, I giue thée to wit my intent. Thou ve­ry well knowest my faithful loue once towardes Giletta, her smal regard of me, my suite, her scorne, yea her crosse answe­ring of all my amorous actions, so that my necessitie enforst, I shund her sight, that nothing estéemed my seruice, dayly pleaded with teares, & solicited with sighes, which vncurte­ous (nay cruel) vsage (as thou knowest ful wel) soudenly chā ­ged my loue to hate, so that continuing (or rather increasing) my malice, I haue hitherto sought, how to be auenged. And lo, a happie opportunitie, her coynesse is come downe, & nowe she is content to loue the man, that she so highly hated, yea, to allure him with friendly lookes, whose teares sometimes could purchase no ruth, I meane my selfe, she is thus affected to: Who (in truth) rather séekes to be reuenged, of her for­mer crueltie, then to reward her present courtesie, and to vse auenge more currantly. Upon this newe reconcilement, I shadowed my displeasure, with the shew of wonted kindnesse of purpose, when she thought her selfe most assured, then to giue her the slip, and now the (supposed) wedding day drawes neare, but her delight farre enough off. Nowe, nowe, swéete [Page 57] wench, the accomplishment of my promise, and thy comfort approcheth, it is thou shalt inioy the benefite of this prepara­tion. Frizaldo meanes to marrie none but Rosina, whome he will shortly espouse: Wherfore (quoth he) to worke both secretely and safely in this matter, I meane the night before my (supposed) marriage with Giletta, to conuey thée to my house, and the next morning to make thée my wife▪ This cur­rant tale not a little pleased Rosina. She thought all was gold that glistered, she neuer remembred howe the poysoned hooke, lay wrapt in pleasant bayte, howe the Crocodile ob­taines her pray with pitifull teares, nor howe subtile deui­ses, are ( [...]or the most) compassed with sugred wordes, she ne­uer dreaded insuing danger, but presently consented, to what Frizaldo should demaund, yea, she thought euery day a yere, vntill she had ouertaken this appointed houre: at which time according vnto promise, Frizaldo with two other ruffens, to whome he had deliuered his mynd, repayred to this mistrust­lesse mayde, whome Frizaldo wild quickly to prepare her selfe to ryde with those his men vnto his house, and he him selfe would make what speede he might after. She (that was ready an houre before Frizaldo came) made answere, she was in a readinesse to perfourme his pleasure, and so with more haste, then good successe, away she packs. But so soone as these two ruffens had her in the forrest (to sowre her swéete conceites) they made her acquainted with Frizaldos com­maundement. It was his pleasure she shuld be slaine, whose dome they promist, and would obey, and execute, and there­fore they willed her to vse her prayers, for no persuasions might purchase grace. The poore wench thus beset with na­ked swordes, and séeing (by their stearne countenances) how those traytors were spoyled of pitie, began very lamentably to cry and scrike out: which these gracelesse variets hearing, commaunded her foorthwith to forsake her ouerloude cla­mors, and fall (if she woulde) quietly to her prayers, if not, they would abridge her short time of repentance. Good soule, she séeing them so furiously bent, became foorthwith silent, and only to proroge her life, (I thinke) with small deuotion, [Page 58] she fel a praying, for whē she setled her self to most patiencie, she would soudenly exclame of Frizaldos tirannie. Rinaldo, who (since his owne wilful exile) liued in this forrest, by for­tune hearde Rosinaes pitious complaint, and being well ar­med, hasted to learne the cause of so great an outcrie, who es­pying a gentlewoman, vpon her knées betwéen two ruffens, that with naked swordes were readie to shorten her life, set spurres vnto his horse,A vnlooked for rescue. for her more spéedie rescue. The var­lets séeing an armed knight make towardes them (without damaging the Gentlewoman) foorthwith fled to saue them selues. Rosina thus happily preserued, through very ioy fell into an extasie, but being both reuiued and comforted by Ri­naldo. Rinaldo presētly perceiued, how that he had wrought this saftie vnto Gilettas waiting woman, and greatly won­dering at the rarenesse of the chaunce, was earnest to knowe what led her to this misfortune, she not knowing (by reason he was armed) that whē she had so oftē wronged to pleasure Frizaldo, was the man that saued her life, whiche Frizaldo traiterously sought, from the first to the last, layde open all Frizaldos trecherie, and further she sayde, that to morrowe he should espouse good Giletta. Nay, quoth Rinaldo, I my self hope to hinder that match, and to morrowe (quoth he) we wil both go to Bologna castle, in the meane while he prayed her to rest contented, with his intertainment. This long lookt for morrowe morning, is now at length come, and yet not so fortunate as to some wished for, but to him to whome it was most daungerous, it was best welcome, I meane to Frizaldo who (hauing a lightening delight, against his souden destruc­tion) very early gets him vp, brauely arrayes him selfe, and accompanied with diuers gay gallants, with delicat musike, awakens Giletta. Giletta that liued assured of Rinaldos cha­lenge, séemed greatly contented with Frizaldos readinesse, and with what spéede she might, she decked her self as braue­ly as she could. The bridegrome and the bride being readie, the Lord of the castle, with the Lady his wife, accompanied with other their friends (with what honor they could) accom­panied them both towards the church. But loe (by the way) [Page 59] an vnlookt for let, in viewe of the whole companie, there po­sted towards them a knight, accōpanied with one only Gen­tlewoman, the knight (well mounted vpon a blacke horse) was armed all in blacke armour, saue vpon the left side, a­bout his hearts defence, there was grauen a white Turtle Doue, with this poesie, Once chose, and neuer chaunge, the strangnesse of which sight enforst them to stay, to knowe the knights errant, who being arriued among them, his Gentle­woman was straight waies knowne, which straunge aduen­ture, greatly increast their wonder, and more greatly Fri­zaldos feare. Well, this gentlewoman, vpon her knées re­quested both pardon, and respyt to speake, whiche graunted, she made firs [...] report of the loue betwéene Rinaldo and Gi­letta: then of Frizaldos liking & iealous distrust, further how Giletta fained to fancie him, & to forsake Rinaldo, which de­uise she wrote in a letter, & inclosed it in an aple, thinking by ye deliuery therof, to acquaint Rinaldo wt her mind. But (quoth she) this aple came to my vnhappie fingring, yt which I deli­uered to Frizaldo, who toke out ye cōfortable, & counterfetted in Gilettas name, a cruel letter, yt which he wrapt in ye aple, & wild me to bestow ye same where I found it: ye day folowing, Frizaldo allured Giletta, wher of force she shuld sée Rinaldo, who deliuered Rinaldo this aple. Rinaldo reading the coun­terfetted letter, desperatly drowned him selfe: Which ill ne­wes so discomforted Giletta, as she repined at all the instru­ments of his ill fortune, especially at Frizaldo, whose name she could not abide. Frizaldo séeing his suits so smally regar­ded, wt shew of malice, in despight of her (as he saide) promist me marriage. Since Giletta won frō this displeasure, Frizal­do wt faire words, promist now to perform yt in déed, ye hither­to he promist in worde, I meane, vnder ye colour of marriage, won me to go wt two ruffens to his house, who by Frizaldos appointment, in a forrest not far off, were ready to murther me, had not this knight in happie time recouered me. I nowe haue said, vse your pleasure, & if you please pardon me. This straunge discourse, made them all secretly to grudge at Fri­zaldo. But Giletta, being perplexed, both wt malice & feare, [Page 60] with malice against Frizaldo, for his too apparant trecherie, with feare, for Rinaldos absence, who she little thought to be the instrument of this discouerie. Frizaldo perceiued (by the alteration of countenances) what harts were won from him, by Rosinaes too true a tale: and although he found him selfe guiltie, yet he began to cleare him self with this shame­lesse answere. This strumpet (quoth he) won by some ruffen­ly companiō, that repineth at my good fortune, or thinketh by this meanes, to be auenged, for Rinaldos desperate and foo­lish end, without shame in her selfe, thus shamefully slaunde­reth me: But for that wordes will hardly quench the suspici­on, that her infamous tale hath fired, I wil presently in com­bat proue my innocencie, and (I trust) discouer her trecherie, if any dare mainteine her vntrue sayings true. Frizaldo had scarcely concluded his chalenge, ere Rinaldo thus replyed. Notorious varlet (spoyled of all humanitie) I am he that wil mainteine her sayings true, and in reuenge of thy trecherie, will (I trust) soone seperate thy condēned soule (wtout speedie repentance) from thy carren body. Goe arme thy selfe, I at­tend thy comming. Infamous ruffen, wilt thou (quoth Fri­zaldo) and counterfetting (through necessitie) furie in steade of feare, foorthwith he went to arme him selfe. The rest of the companie, rather desirous to see an end of this accusation, thē the solemnising of the marriage, attended Frizaldos return, who sone came, very richly armed into the field. The knights nowe sweare that eyther quarrell is iust, and at the trum­pets sound so fiercely incountreth other, that both horse and men fal thundering to ye earth. Frizaldo trusting in his force, Rinaldo both in his force & honest quarell, eyther quickly re­couereth him self, and (forsaking their shiuered speares) with arming blade, freshly falles a hewing at others skonce. The knights thus furiously fighting, the standers by pray as they are affected, the indifferent, victory vnto the innocent, Ri­naldos friendes vnto the vnknowne knight: but Giletta a­boue the rest, wisheth Frizaldos ouerthrowe, whome she knowes to be faultie in the quarell. Still they fight, and yet the victorie doubtfull, one while Rinaldo hath the best, and [Page 45] straight a crosse blowe makes him lose his aduauntage. Re­morse of conscience nothing weakeneth Frizaldo, but Rinal­dos honest cause doubleth his strength, so that the longer he fought, the fearcer he was, and yet Frizaldo valiantly main­teines his dishonest quarrell. But what doth might auaile, when God assistes the right. Frizaldo for all his force, in the end beganne to faint: which Rinaldo espying, and eying his Ladies beautie, assaild him with such furie, that ere long he sent him dead to ye earth. The battell thus fortunately won, Rinaldo vnarmes him self, & clames Giletta as his wife, the people at the sight of Rinaldo shoke the earth, with clamors of ioy. Giletta (that lately wondered at Rinaldos absence) now charged her father with his promise: the Lorde de Bo­logna, with the rest of his friends, agréed Rinaldo and Gilet­ta should forthwith be married. The courtly companie that came to honor Frizaldos marriage, had his dishonest actions in such disdaine, as now they would not vouchsafe to sée him honestly buried. But with all their prouision of brauerie, on Rinaldo they willingly attended, glad was be yt could with any curtesie present him. The marriage rites solemnly pro­nounced, these faithfull louers repaired to Bologna castle, where they were welcomed, with what pleasure might be had: yea, to cōclude, for to worke satisfactiō for their long mi­series, there wanted nothing, that coyne, cunning, or credit might compasse. And thus after fortune had long threatned the shipwracke of their delightes, their constancie conducted them to the port of their wished desires.

El fine fa el tutto.

Epilogus.

Vide the fall of the C. of Celant fol. 16. a. Cressids com­plaint [...]o. 22. d Vide C. of Ce­lant. fol. 2. a & fol. 10. b.
LOe here the fruits, of lust and lawlesse loue,
Loe here their faults, that vale to either vice,
Loe Ladyes here, their falles (for your behoue)
Whose wanton willes, sets light by sound aduice.
Here lords may learn, with noble dames to match:
For dunghill Kyte, from kinde wil neuer slye:
The vessell long, will of the liquor smatch,
Wherewith at first, the same we taste or trie.
Here Cressids life, her lucke, and lothsome end,
Their Fortunes paint, that Cressids heires are,
Her fall doth will, all wantons to amend,
Their lightning ioyes, are ioynd with yeres of care:
Vide C. of Ce­lant. fol. 7. b. & fol. 13. b. Vide Frizaldo fol. 45.
Here youths, that sée, a strumpets angrie moode,
May haply feare, to execute her hate:
Their hard luckes héere, yt purchase loue wt bloud,
Are warnings méete, for such as sowe debate.
And to be short, the sowre in swéetest loue,
Doth proue him blest, that least therof doth proue.
Formae nulla fides.
THE GARDEN OF VNthri …

THE GARDEN OF VN­thriftinesse, wherein is reported the dolorous discourse of Dom Diego a Spaniard, together with his triumphe.

Wherein are diuers other flowers, (or fancies) of honest loue. Being the in­uentions and collection of George Whestone, Gent.

Formae nulla fides.

The Argument.

DOm Diego a Spaniard, falling in loue with faire Geneuo­ra, was in the prime of his fancies, with like loue by Geneuora friendly acquainted. Afterwards Geneuora (else where fancying) had Dom Diego in such disdaine, as still she crost both his suite and seruice with scorne. Dom Diego seeing an impossibilitie of fauour, exiled him selfe both from courte and companie, and vowed to liue and dye in the Pyren mountains, vnlesse Geneuora, would both remoue her mis­liking, and friendly fetch him home againe: who solemnely perseuering in this senselesse vowe, you may suppose a­mong the Pyren hilles, to wrest foorth this following com­plaint of his wretchednesse.

DOM DIEGO HIS dolerous discourse.

I (Wretched) weary am of toile, good death delay my paine:
My words in wast, my works are lost, my wishes are in vaine.
I serue with faith, my hire is fraud, I loue & reape but hate,
And yet this woe doth wrong me most, I mourne without a mate.
For if one drop of hope were séene, though dride with scorne in sight,
I might with pyning Tantale ioyne, who sterues in swéete delight.
Or if I could but halfe the hill, roule vp the tumbling stone,
I had a mate of Sisyphus, to match with mée in mone.
But, oh, O not my hap more harde, they haue a scambling ioy,
But I no thought of swéete remorse, my souereigne is so coy.
My ioy in was, my woe in is, and so is like to bée.
My fancies turne, to firie sightes, aliue, my death to sée.
The court, the court, where pleasure liues, with paine increast my care,
Eche blisie séemde bale, eche gleame of grace, did mist my ioyes wt scare.
Eche show of sport, my sorrowes moude, eche pleasure made mée plaine,
Yet there I preast, to féede on sight, digesting dire disdaine.
Were loue not blinde, this life were straunge, for one to loue his foe,
More straunge to haunt a place of harme, but most to ioy in wee.
But (Oh) who féeles, his aukeward fittes, and suckes ye swéete in soure,
Shall bide a yeare of dole with ease, to féele one lightning houre.
Such life I lykt, til sogge of scorne, did rise to dampe my ioyes,
Till secrete sighes, wrought open scoffes, till flontes did quite my ioye.
Untill the colours which I wore, my secrete mourning wrayde,
Till dauntes of friendes, till frumpes of foes, my feeble hope dismayde.
And till her blondie hate was séene, of euery béetell sight,
Till then I neuer shronke, but sought with zeale, to quenche her spight,
[Page 66]But then (quoth I) Dom Diego wretch, bid Court, not care adue,
Some vnkouth haunt, thy fortune séemes, thy harmes alone to rue.
Thou gau'st thy woord, to die her loue, let word, in worke agrée:
Her checking chaunge, her scorne for faith, is no excuse for thée.
A Hermits life, beseemes thy lucke, go haunt the Pyren hills.
To touch the foode, wée may not taste, increaseth hungry wills.
Therwith I vow'de, in desart houltes, alone to rue my harme,
Where fretting sighes, doth serue for fire, my frosen flesh to warme.
My foode, is aples, hawes, and héepes, such fruites as féede a beast,
Wilde monsters are companions mine, in hollow caues I rest.
A crabtrée staffe my surest stéede, my sterued legges to ease,
My thoughts new wounds, increaseth stil, whē cares I would appease.
The watchfull clocke, the warning bell, the harmonie I heare,
Is dreadfull noyes of dreadlesse beastes, of whom I liue in feare.
My studie is to way, and waile, that fortune thus doth lowre,
Wher wealth by wāt, once loue by scorne, my swéete by present sowre.
Where fethers flue, about my helme, a willowe wreath to weare,
My wéedes of worth, by cote of leaues, sharpe flowes, for deintie fare.
My stately home, by hard exile, delight, by wythred woe,
Doth force (god wott) my wasted teares, through griefe, a fresh to flow,
My lute that sometime lent mée ease, hath neither frett nor stringe,
My sugred voice, with howling hoarst, forbids mée now to singe.
My penns are worne, my incke is done, my paper all is writ,
Yet halfe my passions and my paine, vnpainted are as yet,
So that for onely exercise, in trées and Marble stone,
My griefe to case, I forced now, do graue my wretched mone.
Liue longe in blisse thou loftie Béeche, wherein this vow is writt,
No luring friend, nor lowring foe, Geneuras faith shall flitt.
To witnes now, her foule vntruth, Dom Diego writes belowe,
Her vowed faith, from knowen friend, is reft by sawning foe.
But chiefe of all, thou sacred stone, remaine thou sound and safe,
Continue thou these letters fresh, which are my Epitaphe,
Hard by this rough, and ragged stone, Dom Diego (wretched▪ lyes,
Geneuras hate exiled him, yet louing her hee dies.
This homely tumbe, is all my helpe, to bring my death to light,
This must record my faithfull loue, and show my Ladies spight,
In time I trust some forrest Pan, or wandring pilgrime may,
Peruse my woes, and to my swéete, this sowre message wray.
To saue my faithfull boone vnbroke, to show my seruice iust,
My souereignes scorne, with face of faith, her treason cloakt with trus [...],
Me wretched Dom Diego forst, before my time to die,
My bones vnburied by this tumbe, makes proofe it is no lie.
And now good death, with spéede diuorce, my soule from lothed life,
My ioyes are worne, my pleasures past, my peace, is chaung'd to strife,
I sée no meane of quiet rest, but onely death by thée,
Then spare them death, whom pleasure hauntes, & vse thy force on me▪

Dom Diego hauing for the space of 22. monethes, thus li­ued an exiles life, onely accōpanied with sorrow, wretched­nes and miserie, which comfortlesse cōpanions no one houre forsooke him: it chaunced that Dom Roderico (a speciall friend of his) had occasion to trauel into Gascoine, and as hée iourneyed (in the desart forrest, whereof this wretched louer was made frée citizen) he mist of his way: in the end finding out Dom Diegos homely caben, of whom he demaunded the way to Barcelone, & hauing his aunswere, as he departed, hée espied in a corner of his cotage, two faire saddles, vppon the one of them was ingrauen this Poesse in Spanish:

Que brantare la fe, es causamuy fea,
To violate faith, is a thing detestable.

Dom Roderico reading this poesse, called to remembraunce,B how yt his frend Dom Diego, in al his deuises vsed ye same, & to be short, he so handled the matter, as the hermite, whō hée knewe not (so was hée ouergrowne with haire, and worne with woe) confessed himselfe to be Dom Diego his friend, & [Page 68] taking him a side, hée deliuered the whole cause of his exile. Dom Roderico, séeing this foster louers miserable estate, vowed (with what possible speede hée could) to worke his re­medie, who (for more haste) forsooke his iourney, and retur­ned home vnto his owne castle. At his comming home (ma­king no semblaunce of his knowledg) hée roade to the place, where fayre Geneuora with her mother soiourned, of pur­pose to learne what new gallant had wooed her, and finting him to bée a yonge gentleman of Biskaye, who shortly after (by her owne consent) was minded to steale her away, Dom Roderico, so cunningly coyned with Geneuoras Page (who wholy knew his mystresse secretes) that he certainly learned the night of these louers departure. The same night, accom­panied with ix. or x. Gentlemen his cōpanions, and friends, he laye in waite for this Biskayne louer, & his Lady, who (a­bout x. or a xi. of ye clocke, only accompanied with two or thrée gentlemen his companions) came merely on their way. Ro­derico, so soone as he saw ye instrument of Dom Diegos mise­rie, set spurres vnto his horse, & with speare in Rest, so rude­ly welcomed this Biskayne, that for all his coate of plate, hée pearst through both his sides. The souldiers of this amorous captaine, séeing their maister thus infortunately slaine, and waying their vnable force, to incounter with Dom Roderi­cos cōpany, saued thēselues by flight, & left woofull Geneuo­ra to shift for her selfe: on whom Rodericos seruauntes sou­dainly seased▪ & blinding her with a scarfe, with spéed cōuayd her, where wretched Dom Diego liued. Dom Diego some­what comforted with the sight of his swéete mystresse, began amaine to craue recōpence for his faithful seruice. Geneuora so soone as she saw Dom Diego, and knew that syr Roderico for his cause, had murthered her miniō, answered him (& ex­claimed on thē both) wt what opprobrious speach she coulde, yea the more they persuaded her with friendly requestes, ye more peruerse was her refusal. Dom Diego thus seing an impossibilitie of fauour, wt inward sorrow fel into a swoon. Dom Roderico, seig the distresse of his deare friend, and ye continu­ance, or rather increasing of Geneuoras disdaine, cōmaunded [Page 69] presently her throte to be cut. Dom Diego halfe reuiued, se­ing one redie to execute this iudgement, profered what res­kue hée could. Oh good Roderico stay (quoth hée) I allow of thy honest zeale, yet attribute my wretchednes to fortune, not her fault: Wherefore for the loue thou bearest to mee, for the loue I owe to her, sée Geneuora without further da­mage, safely conueyed home. Geneuora seeing him offer res­kue and craue her safe conduite, whose death, her froward­nes well nie had wrought, on the soudaiue was wonne vnto pitie, and louingly imbracing Dom Diego, shée offered satis­faction for his sorrowes, and for an earnest pennie shée freely B kist him. Dom Diego, late the miserablest creature liuing, vnwares became the happiest man aliue, whose matchlesse pleasures appeare in this vnder written triumphe.

Dom Diego his triumphe.

WHo can report that neuer tasted bale?C
What difference is, twéene sorrow and delite?
And who may tell, a more triumphant tale,
Then hée in ioy, that late was kept in spite?
I am the man: in mone there was none such:
My mone is past, my mirth must be as much.
Sith so: alone, I rule in throne of ioy,
Of pleasures mount, I weald the golden Mace,
Then leaue to bragge, you Princes proud of Troy,
Your brayd delights, by mée can haue no place,
Once beautes blisse, to vaunt doth make you bould,
I haue such hap, and tenne times more in hould.
And by your leane, your Ladies blemisht are,
Aske Theseus, who first lopt fayre Hellens loue?
Syr Diomede, the spoile of Troylus ware,
Suppose them true, whom none could euer proue,
Your lightning ioyes, such lasting woes did brue,
As you may wish, your fames to die with you.
But Lady mine, I wrong thée much in this,
To peize thy praise, with such as liu'de or liue,
For natures toile, some wayes disabled is,
Shée frames our forme, but can no fortune giue,
But thou wert shapt (for feare of fortunes spight,)
Of precious moold, by force of heauenly might.
By heauenly might, and worthie well such toyle,
Whose liuely limms, the Indian riches showe,
Her haire fiue gold, her front doth yuorie foyle,
Her eyes giue light, as diamonds there did growe,
Her words of worth (as cause doth cause her speake
Twéene rockes of pearle, their pleasaunt passage breake.
What should I say? of truth from top too to,
These precious gems, in beautie shée doth staine,
And more then that (besides the outward sho)
Their vertues shée, with vauntage doth retaine.
So that of force, I (forst) must her define:
Not bound to kinde, but wholy is diuine.
Thrise happie man (whose loue this Saint did lure)
Dom Diego late, euen very wretchednesse,
Now maist thou daunt (thy vauntage is so sure)
That none aliue thy pleasures halfe possesse,
Through chaunce of loue, do thousands chaunce on death.
But dying I, my loue inlargde my breath.
The scource of woe, is sauourie sauce to taste,
Our swéete delights, if once delight wée féele,
The rough repulse (if battring tyre be plaste)
Amends the spoile, when walles (perforce) do réele,
Of euery thinge, the goodnes doth increase,
If once afore, the losse did vs distresse.
Sufficient proofe, my lingring loue can shoe,
I tyred hope, ere time my truth could trie,
[Page 71]Yea desperate wretch, forworne with wreake of woe,
I left my sute, and sought the meane to die,
Now winning her, whose want wrought such annoy,
On former griefes, I graft my fruites of ioy.
In waxe say I, men easily graue their will,
In Marble stone, the woorke with paine is wonne,
But perfect once, the print remayneth still,
When waxen seales, with euery browse are donne:
Euen so in loue, soone wonne, as soone is loste,
When forst through faith, it bydes both fire & frost.
I can not vaunt of easie conquerd loue:
I graunt with faith, I foyle Geneuras scorne,
But now in peace, Distrust shall neuer moue,
One ielous thought, of wilde Acteons horne,
And yet forsooth, this feare hée liueth in,
To lose the wight, with words, that words did win.
O happie loue, whose torments proue so swéete,
O friendly foes, whose treason, tride my trueth,
O luckie man, Dom Roderic to méete,
Geneura thou, thrise honord, for thy ruth,
Thou, onely thou, (the rest of small auaile)
Didst saue my life, when hope and all did faile.
Now forth, I throw, my Gauntlet for this grace,
To chalenge such, as séeke to foile thy fame,
For sure the Armes, that durst my swéete imbrace,
Dares to defend, the honour of her name,
If which I faile, in prison let mée sterue,
So doome my fault, for so I should deserue.

The complaint of two louers, restrained from their wished desires, by the displeasure of their friendes.

WE lucklesse wightes in thraldome lincked still,
May sit and singe, oure layes of déepe lament,
Whose wayward friendes, accoyde in sullen will,
Both stirre and striue, to sunder our consent,
And yet (God wot) [...] a sting is in vaine,
One will serues both [...] and in paine.
Haue they desire, wée should bée shrinde in clay?
By sundring vs, that loues each other so?
Will they not know, Loue doth no Lawe obey?
Nor how hée wrappes, the wysest wightes in wo?
Thinke they that force, can force our selues to hate?
O, no, in vaine, they séeke to sowe debate.
Our plighted faith, shall neuer falled bée,
Constrainte of will, our wishes cannot yoke,
Our woordes in woorkes, in weale, and woe agrée,
Such care wée haue, to kéepe our vowe vnbroke,
O loue through whom, wée liue in this vnrest,
Once ease thy thralles, that thus obey thy hest.
Remoue their wrath, that woorkes to wrack our will,
That after stormes, wée may some sunne shine sée,
The fault is thine, if loue betyde vs yll,
Which bound our selues, that thou mightst set vs frée,
Wherefore vouchsafe (to sowre our swéete at last)
That gleames of Grace, our clowdes of woe may wast.

¶ The Deuice of a Gentlewoman, to persuade her lo­uer of her constancie, notwithstanding her show of hate, which shee onely vsed to quench the ielous suspicion of her friendes.

A SIth fortune threates, to woorke our wreake of ioy,
By sowsing of our ship, in seas of yre:
[Page 73]Sith sullen thoughtes doth so our friends accoy,
As wayward will, still wresteth our desire:
I sée no meanes, more méete for our behoue,
Then saile to strike, till stormes [...] and gone,
Our lookes must hate, although [...] heart do loue,
Yea farre from wish, our woordes must menace mone.
And yet this shew, of force must néedes séeme straunge,
Unto vs both, twéene whome was neuer strife,
But let it helpe, I neuer meane to chaunge,
But kéepe my vowe, vnfallsed as my life.
These simple shiftes, wée silly wenches worke,
To quenche or coole, our ielous friends suspect.
Whose Lynxes eyes, in euery corner lurcke,
To tric, and spoy, what worketh our defect.
Thus farewell friend, I wilbe short with thée,
Thou knowest my loue, in darkest cloudes will shine.
And though in show, my woordes from woorkes agrée,
Yet thinke I am, and euer wilbe thine.

¶ The reiected louer, with earnest desire, pur­sues the sight of his disdainfull Mystresse.

THe dampe of do [...]le, hath chaoked my delight,
Sharpe frumpes [...] frostes, doth nip my silly ioy,B
My glymering grace, is darkned with despight,
Yea sullen thoughtes, my souereigne so accoy.
As mistes of scorne, still falleth on my faith,
My cleare conceiptes, are clowded oore with care,
And yet my heart, aye mée no power hath,
To shunne the storme, that sheweth all this scare.
O straunge effectes, of blinde affected loue,
To haunt the yll, whereby our mischiefes moue.
Much like the flye, that buzzeth by the flame,
And makes a sport, to sée the candle light,
Till she vnwares, be sindged in the same,
And so with death, doth buy her fond delight.
Or as the mouse, that frisketh by the trap,
At length is mou'd, to medle with the bayt,
Which weaues (God wot) the web of her mishap:
The bridge doth fal, and she is baind with weight,
Such swéete conceits, inticing sorrowes bréede,
To sterue with woe, when ioy makes fare to féede.
With which effectes, I finde my fancies witcht,
I féele the flame, yet can not shun the fire.
Th'inticing trap, I sée on treason pitcht,
And yet the bayte to byte, I haue desire,
But (O yll hap) to worke my harmes increase,
Both mischiefes want, the forerecyted force,
I finde no death▪ my sorrowes to appease,
And so my state, then other misers worse:
But sure my fault, or fate ordaines it so,
And therfore I, do take in worth this woe.

A Gentlewoman falsely deceiued with faire wordes, forsweareth hereafter to be wonne with flattering promises.

A GIue me my worke, that I may sit and sowe,
And so escape, the traines of trustlesse men,
I finde too true, by witnesse of my woe,
How ye faire wordes, wt faithles works they blen,
Much Syren like, with swéete inticing call,
We sillie dames, to witch, and wrap in thrall.
O cruell friend, whose false of faith I rue,
Thou forcest me, to count all men vniust,
For if that vowor othe might make one true,
[Page 75]Thou vsedst such, as well might force to trust:
But I betrayd, by too farre trusting thée,
Wil hencefoorth take, faire words euen as they be.
I will be deafe, though thousands sue for grace.
My sight as dym, if lights in silence plead,
Salt teares, no oath, within my hart shall place,
For this shall be my song, and dayly reade:
Poore I that liu'd, in thraldome linckt of yore,
Vnbound at length, will learne to loue no more.

The pitious complaint of Medea, forsaken of Iason, liuely bewraying the slipperie hold in sugred words.

A Mid the desart woods, I rue and shew my fate,
Exild (O wretch) frō courtly ioyes, bereft of princes state,B
O loue, from whence these plagues procéede,
For seruice true, is this thy méede?
What vaileth now my skil, or sight in Magiches lore,
May charmed hearbs, suffice to help, or cure my festred sore,
A salue I shapt, for others smart,
My selfe to ayde, I want the Arte.
I made the wayward Moone, against the Sunne to striue,
And gastly ghostes, from burial graues, ful oft I did reuiue,
To counterchaunge, the same with death,
In flowre of youth, some yealded breath.
What future harmes insude, I shewd to other wights,
And wanted skil for to preuent, my present pensiue plights.
Why did I leaue my natiue soyle,
In forreine land, to haue the foyle?
Thy loue (O Iason false) to winne I sparde no paine,
Although Medeas loyaltie, be guerdoned with disdaine,
The goulden fléece, thou wert to blame,
To beare away, I wonne the same.
But lordly lookes full oft, and slippry seruice eke,
To harmelesse Ladies haue béene vowde, to catch ye suters séeke.
And then depart, from plighted othe,
Their sugred woordes, yéelde sealdome trothe.
Where be ye carelesse vowes, & feareles othes thou sweare?
Whē I imbarkt frō Colches coast, ye mountaine waues did teare?
Where is thy faith, for goulden fléece,
To crowne mée Quéene, of famous Greece?
Might not thy traytrous mind, in lue of friendships lore,
Forsake me (wretch) among my friends, but yt with saile and ore
Thou me conuaydst to place vnknowne,
Amonge wyld beastes to make my moue.
Who gainst their sauage kinde, do worke me (wretch) no yll,
But séemes for to lament my case, or else the Gods y will.
My lothed life, should lengthned bée,
To guerdon my iniquitie.

¶ The forsaken louer, pretilie nippeth his Ladies in­constancie, for that (as he thought) shee matched with his baser in accompt, wherein cou­lerablie he discouereth both their names.

A THe Gallie slaue, which stil [...] doth stirre the ore,
If haplie hée, his wished hauen espies,
With restlesse toile, doth plie to be on shore,
Haile in a maine, my mates, hée chéerely cries,
But when with rough repulse, from blissefull bay,
Hée is inforst, on seas againe to stray:
Unhappie wight, then drownde in déepe despaire,
Powres forth his plaintes, with flouds of brackish teares▪
With whome I now, do claime a partie share,
[...]
[Page 78]Imbarkt in hope, where will the stearne did wylde,
Thy faith was guide, which falsed me beguylde.
My sailes of sighes, my tackle framde of trust,
With blisse, and bale, thus armed was my barke,
Now vaunst on high, now throwne downe to ye dust,
Now fraught with ioy, now forst to care and carke,
Yet quiet calme, at length of friendships lore,
Did séeme to guide, my shiuered ship to shore,
And entring in, the narrowe brooke of blisse,
Triumph (quoth I) dame Fortune hath the foyle,
The mends is made, that quiteth euery misse,
Aduentrous boy, now reape thy fruits of toyle,
But trust to top, of Fortunes fickle whéele,
Thy faith did slide, and I began to réele.
For bitter blastes, of rage, and déepe disdaine,
My ankers lost, my ship so sore they shooke,
That I againe, was glad broad seas to gaine,
To scape the flats, within thy blisselesse brooke,
And whilste in hope, I winde and weather waite,
A baggish banke, I sawe, to passe thy straight.
Agrieud wherat, through hate I houng the lip,
And sayd too true, that waues, and women grée,
Which saues the boate, and spoiles the gallant ship:
So Ladies loue, lightes oft in base degrée:
And then I vow'd, from which I will not swarue,
To haunt you both, no more then néede shal serue.

The louer attributeth his curelesse wound to chaunce, by louing long.

LOng haue I lost my libertie,
Alas through loue, (long) haue I so.
(Long) haue I stoode in ieopardie,
[Page 78]In louing (long) through pyning woe,
Whose constant truth long, hath den tryde,
Though (long) his suit hath ben denyde.
By batteri [...] (long) the brasen wall,
The cannon shot, doth cleane deface,
The longest trées in time doe fall,
Which (long) before had Boreas base,
The little brooke in running (long)
Doth turne into a riuer strong.
Then may it be I louing (long)
My pyning corps by (long) delay,
Can (long) abide the furie strong,
Of ghastly death which (long) doth stay,
His lingring stroke to haue it so,
That louing (long) should worke my woe.

A Sonet, wherin is showne the straunge effectes of loue.

IN care I ioy, my mirth is mou'd by mo [...]re,
With flouds of want, I weare to ebbe my wo,
Appayd I rest, in restlesse griefe to grone,
By fainting hope, my friendly hap doth growe,
In waues of bale, I bathe in wished blisse,
My wealth in woe, in paine my pleasure is.
But how these hang, if so she search my harme,
These fewe suffice, the same to shew my (swéete)
To rayse her ioy, my selfe I wholy arme,
To fréese, or f [...]y, as she shal déeme it méete,
I bound, am frée, and frée, I yeald her slaue,
That's my delight, that she desires to haue.
And sith my sport, doth make my souereigne [...]oy,
And mirth she finds, to thwart my faith wt fr [...]ps,
[Page 79]I sad, am glad, my noy, may force her ioy,
My sowre, her swéete, my dole may cleare her dumpes,
Yea life I wish, this were to do her good,
Each day to waste, a drop of guitlesse blood.

The louer wearied with a number of delayes, sues vnto his Ladie for pitie, or otherwise her speedie denyall, by death to worke a speedie dispatch of his languishing dayes.

IF pitie may preuaile, to pearse your hart with ruth,
Swéete maistres lend your listning eare, to heare your seruants truth,
Whose faith hath chose you iudge, and iurie if you please,
If not, desart, shal trye this cause, your deintie mynd to ease.
The whole record, is writ, for rafing with my teares,
My witnesse is, my withered corps, ny famished with feares,
A thousand sighes besides, in open court will sweare,
You are the Saint, which with my heart, I honour, loue, and feare.
Disdaine, that workes delayes, mistrust that moues my mone,
No witnesse hath to hinder right, but false suspect alone,
Yet boulstred vp by scorne, they scoffe my loyall loue,
And kept me play, with forreine frumpes, til prickt by méede to proue,
If pitie could procure, your heart, my harme to rue,
I found remorse, was preast to heare, the plaint before your view,
And now good Lady note, my witnesse and my woe,
If I deserue your loue for loue, giue verdite yea, or no,
For daunted with delayes, for hap or harme I iumpe,
And knowe you once if sullen will, my faythful loue doth frumpe:
I will not languish long, in cursed Cupides flame,
Death in despight, shall rid me dole, and you shall beare the blame,
But if with souereigne grace, you may your seruants state
Yeald recompence, of loue betimes, least liking come too late,
To coole his flaming harte, by Cupide set on fire,
Through heate whereof a Whetstone colde, consumes with hote desire.

The thought of wonted ioyes, doubleth the miserable mans griefe.

I That whose youth, was lul'd in pleasures lap,
Whose wanton yeres, were neuer chargd wt care
Who made no flight, but reacht the pitch of hap,
And now besieg'd, with griefe at vnawares,
How can my hart, but bléede to thinke on this?
My ioy with was, my woe is ioynd with is.
With is? (Oh yea,) and euer wil be so:
Such hell is thought, to muse on ioyes forgone,
For though content, would faine appease my woe,
This myrthlesse note, continues fresh my mone,
O deare delight, with whome I dwelt in ioy,
Thy sowrest swéete, my sorrowes would destroy▪
Destroy it would, but Oh, those dayes are past,
When to my wil, I found dame fortune wrought,
My fancies cleare, with cares are ouer cast,
Yet bootelesse hope, will not forsake my thought,
But still proroges, my griefe, that else would dye.
To vaine effect, when I my toyling spye.

The hap, and hard fortune of a carelesse louer.

MY hart on hayh, with carelesse mind, I raūging fréedomes field [...],
Blind Cupide, by arest vnwares, to beautie bad me yeald,
What yeald (quoth I) at beauties becke, as Venus slaue to serue?
May he whome fréedome, alwayes [...], by bondage stoupe to sterue?
No, Cupide, no: with me go tell, dame beautie beares no sway,
Nor pleasure with her painted sheath, can make me Cupide pray:
This answere made, with winged féete he tooke his flight away,
And did impart, to beautie straight, his rest I would not bay▪
With anger fraught, who foorth with wild, an armie should be had,
And captaines hauing charge them selues, in armour should be clad,
Her selfe she plaste in formost front, with Pleasure in her hand,
And Lady Loue elected was, hygh Marshall of her band▪
Faire Venus in the rereward went, her sonne in ambush lay,
Thus Beautie and her warlike crue, did mearch in battel ray,
But I poore I, which feard no force, in fréedomes lease at large,
Pursude my sport, with carelesse mynd, of Loue I tooke no charge,
But all too soone, I heard a sound, of dub, dub, in my eare,
And therewithall I sawe in sight, tenne aunchents to appeare:
Which poudred were with pyned hartes, in bloudy colours set,
Which forst me flée to wisdomes wood, to scape Dan Cupids net.
But craftie (he) in scoute there lay, who first gaue charge on me,
And brought me bound to Beauties barre, her prisoner for to be,
Then stinging loue, enforst me pray, Dame Pleasure plead my case,
But Beautie sayd in vaine I sude, in hope of future grace.
For martiall law, foorthwith (quoth she) thy hart in bale shall bounce,
Therwith she chargd her Marshal high, this sentence to pronounce,
To bate thy pride, which wouldst not stoupe, when beautie bent her lure,
Thy casting shall be clods of care, Saunce hope of happie cure.
With flouds of teares, thy dazeld eyes, thy sickly chéekes shall staine,
And Fancie with his sleating toyes, shall harbour in thy braine,
Thy heart shall poudred be with paine, thy guts with griefe to boyle,
Thy séething sighes, shall scalde thy lippes, to taste of inwarde toyle.
Thy intrales all shall parched be, with flames of fond desire,
The heauie perse of bodyes griefe, thy pyned legges shall tire:
Despaire then was the hangman made, which doome did Beautie please,
And I to bondage was bequeath'd, to liue in little case,
Wherewith the Gem of Venus band, vnprayd of her bon gre.
Did beg me▪ wretch at Beauties hand, her prisoner for to be.
[Page 82]And after vowe of loyaltie, did let me goe at large,
Yea further payd my farewell fée, my bondage to discharge,
In l [...]e whereof at her commaund, my seruice loe is prest,
As homage due, for saued life, yea, more her slaue I rest.

The absent louer in pawne of his constancie, sen­deth his heart to his Ladie.

B REceiue, deare dame, as gage of worthy loue,
This pyned hart, bepoudred all with teares,
Whose poesie is (No fate, my faith can moue)
A rare ascorde, in prime of rouing yeres.
When fancie sets a thousand thoughts on fire,
When faith is choakt, with smoke of filthy change,
When folly fumes, when flameth fond desire,
When raging lust, beyond his bounds doth range,
When euery bayte beguileth, brainsicke youth,
When newe found loue, the olde exileth still,
When sugred wordes, are sauced with vntruth,
What straunge consent, subdude my wanton wil?
Forsooth (swéet wēch) this stay thy vertue wrought
Thy rare report, this Metamorphose made,
And lest my youth, shuld wrōg thée wt som thought
I vse this helpe, all vaine desires to vade,
In absen [...]e loe, to leaue with thée my hart,
That al my ioy, may liue where thou doest rest,
I likewise vse, to frée thy hidden smart,
By secrete sighes, which flies from couert brest,
My hart to send, to ioyne in ayde with thine,
That thou mayst ioy, although in paine I pyne.

The louer neither greatly fauoured, nor openly refused, compareth the wretchednesse of his estate, vnto the paines of hell.

A FUll fearefull is the talke of Tantals griefe,
Who hunger sterues in seas of deintie fare,
[Page 83]Which failes to eb, when he should find reliefe,
And flowes againe, his hope with woes to ware,
And how in vaine, poore Sisyphus doth mone,
To mountaine top, who stil doth roll the stone.
And reaching thus, the point of all his paine,
For ioy he leapes, downe falles his fruites of toyle,
Straight backe he runnes, to fe [...]ch the stone againe,
A new he rolles, but reapes his former foyle,
These be their plagues, which light in sathans trap,
To wish and want, to hope, and haue no hap.
If then it be, a hell, in doubt to liue,
My selfe by proofe, can blase thereof the paine,
Who findeth grace, where scorn but late did grieue,
And fead with hope, with hate is steru'd againe,
For all his suite, who can no answere knowe,
If his swéete maistresse, loues him yea, or no.
If secrete yea, this Item would but giue,
I loue in hart, where most in shewe I hate,
To frée suspect, thus straungely do I liue,
To plight my fayth, where scorne doth faine debate,
Unto my smart, it were a swéete reliefe,
Then should my lute, sound notes of ioy, not griefe.
Then would I laugh, to sée my Lady pout,
And smyle when most, she wroūg her mouth awry,
A signe of fayth, should séeme each thwarting flout,
And iealous feare, farre from my hart should fly,
Although in armes, my foe did her imbrace,
If once she fleard, with fancie on my face.
If open no, would will my suites to cease,
I know the worst, and so adieu to smart,
A hastie death, my sorrowes could appease,
Or languor would soone pierce my pyning hart,
[Page 84]Thus death were worsse, how so my fortune [...]ell,
But nowe aliue, I féele the paines of hell.
By gleames of grace, I reape a hote reliefe,
With storms of scorne, I fréese againe with feare▪
Thus flouds of ioy, do fall to eb with griefe,
And doubtfull hope, desired hap doth weare,
In fauour most, I moue her still to loue,
Soft she replyes, I must your patience proue.
I feare to say, be plaine with yea, or no,
Least in her pettes, no, please her péeuish thought,
And scorne with all, my ioyes do ouerthrowe,
So forward haste, wt backward speed were bought,
Thus am I forst, to daunce attendance still,
God graunt for al, in fiue I get good will.

G.W. to the signe of the brasen bell.

AND not without desart, I thée a tyrant call.
Which saue a scorne thou madst of me, to eache mishape art thrall,
Thy credite is the church, O false vnfriendly bell
When as thou soundest the marridge▪ ioyes, or ringst the carefull knell.
The souldier in distresse, by the alarum makes,
And when good hap doth him aduaunce, thy sides he rudely shakes,
Digressing from his state, to toyle of baser chaunce.
A thrall thou art, to Hick and Steuen, in euery morris daunce,
The hinde doth decke his horse, with belles to make him frée,
The harmelesse foole, vpon his cap doth make a scorne of thée,
Besides to sauage beastes, a seruile slaue thou restes,
The deintie dog in Ladies lap, is iueld with thy iostes.
The mounting faulcon loft, bewrayes by thée her stande,
By thée the hobby dares the larke, before he well be mande.
Of yore this phrase I learnd, when things ne framed well,
A capcase for the foole to call, a cockscomb and a bell,
Then canst that thus arte scornd, besides thy seruile strokes,
A tryumph make vpon his teares, whom loue, ne lust prouokes.
[Page 85]To like thy maistresse lookes, and loue her as his life,
Who wel is bent to quite thy toyle, when stinted is his strife,
He sure would thée aduaunce, from brasse to glittering golde,
If that by pearcing peales thou wouldst, his sorrowes once vnfolde,
Thou séest what sighes I sende, and howe my suites be payd:
Thou séest my maistresse smyle with grace, and graunt she earst denayd,
Thou seest me Cupids thrall, her loue in league with hate,
Thou séest my blisse is wayd with bale, when wrath doth weaue debate:
Thou séest my greatest ioyes, are counterpeisde with paine:
Thou séest my myrth is mixt with mone, when iealousie doth reigne,
Yet when she smyles, thou spar'st, my sorrowes to deface,
And when she frownes, thou fearst to speake, to winne her wonted grace.
Well, sith through feare or scorne, thou lettst me languish still,
I present now will plead for grace, to winne my wished will,
And first good tong prepare, to tell a louers tale,
Sound foorth my ioyes, aduaun'st by hope, by dyre despaire my bale,
And when mistrust infectes my Ladies hautie hart,
Then scalding sighes, giue you the charge, to shew my ceaselesse smart.
But if she list to toy, and smyle with friendly face,
With easie force then armes assay, thy maistresse to imbrace:
Then sorrowe séeke reuenge, vpon her ruby lips,
Then wounded hart receiue the cure of cruell Cupids nips,
Thus forward vaunce your selues, the maister griefes to wray:
The silent man still suffers wrong, the prouerbe olde doth say.
And where aduenture wants, the wishing wight ne thriues.
Faint heart, hath ben a common phrase, faire Lady neuer wiues.

The louer blameth his Ladies mistrust, wher­in is figured the passions of an earnest louer.

WHat fancie fond did force your mynde,
My deare to iudge me so vnkinde,
As one of wits bereau'd,
To breake the bondes of loyaltie,
As one deuoyd of honestie?
No, no, you are deceaud.
[Page 86]For where such perfect amitie,
Is linckt with true fidelitie,
By no meanes Iunos iealousie
A sunder may it part.
For since with you, I fell in loue,
Assigned by the Gods aboue,
My heart did neuer seeke to proue,
From yours once to start.
For proofe to try what I haue sayd,
Marke how my flesh, away doth fade,
And inward parts doth fret:
For who can hide the slankering fire,
But that it will shewe foorth his ire,
By vertue of his heate.
So those ypearst with Cupides dart,
Cannot so closely cloake their smart.
But that they must complaine,
Their scalding sighes, their sorowes shewe,
Their colour fading too and fro,
Beares witnesse of their paine,
Their sowre sitting in secrete nookes,
When others laugh, their lowring lookes,
Declares them caught in Cupides hookes,
And fare as men forlorne.
Their often making of their mone,
Their solemne sitting all alone,
In places secrete and vnknowne,
Still cursing they were borne.
Are tokens true the Peet sayth,
To whome these Turtles vowe their faith,
If fayning we may trust.
Certes these torments all men gréeue,
And therefore sure I do beléeue,
Their sayings to be iust.
Wherfore to guerdon loyall loue,
My deare such fancies from you moue,
As Enuie late did faine.
[Page 87]For truly I protest to you,
The heauens shall fall ere I vntrue,
My loyaltie will staine.
And time I trust will so prouide,
When eluish Enuie shall her hide,
From bale to blisse truth shall vs hide,
To top of Fortunes whéele.
Where we to banishe fell annoy,
Stil liue repleate with blissefull ioy,
Still lauding of the blinded boy,
Whose force we oft did féele.
Till time obtaines that happy day,
Let no conceite your mynd affray,
In iudging me vntrue.
Which blessed houre shall hap with spéede,
Or else my will shall want his méede,
And thus swéete wench adue.

The infortunate louer determineth rather desperately to end his sorrowes, then to proroge them with bootelesse hope.

THe trayterous mate, by law adiudg'd to dye,
If feare of death, should worke this foule effect,
In hope Saunce hap, his secrete to escrye,
Or slaunder forge to peach the vnsuspect,
Proroging thus, his life by dallying death,
Besides his gilt, with shame shuld stop his breath.
In desperate frayes, where raunsome is denyde,
Base were the minde, in hope of grace to yeald,
Whose courage else, might daūt his enimies pride,
And so by force, with fame, to win the field,
For where our wrong, doth worke our ouerthrow,
In vaine we hope, to weare away our woe.
And why shuld I, with hope persuade my thought,
To bath in blisse, past bondes of my desart,
For my base hap, my loue to high is sought,
Whom fauour none, but frownings ouerthwart,
Alas can reape, at my swéete maistresse hands:
I loue, she hates, and thus my fortune stands.
With withered woe, my life I weare away,
Where often I heare, thundring in my thought,
Through loue of her, my friendes and foes to say,
Upon my selfe, I wilfull murther wrought:
Then sith my death, this strange report shal shape,
In vaine for grace, till later gaspe I gape,
Nay, wretche diuorce, delayes from wished death,
Cut through ye thred, which care cōsumes to slowe,
Thy mounting mind, despiseth seruile breath,
And canst thou yeald, to fortunes ouerthrowe?
Thy dome is death, by Ladies scorne decréed,
Néeds most thou dye, then best to dye with spéede.
Some friend wil write, on my vntimely tumbe,
With faithfull zeale, I so my Goddesse seru'd,
My life, my loue, my liuing all and some,
I reaft, and left, before my fancie sweru'd,
And when my suit, her mou'd to angry moode,
To worke amends, I sacrifisde my bloud.

Verses of complaint, deuised for a well meaning louer, to moue his maistresse to pitie.

NOw cease good Lady cease, to weaue my further woe,
Where scorne hath worne my ioyes to eb, let pitie force them flowe.
To you, I sue and serue, to you I waile and wéepe,
For you my restlesse eyes doth watch, when other men do sléepe.
[Page 89]To you my sighes I send, which makes my heart to bléede,
For you my teares, like Tiber streames, from dazeled eyes procéede:
No wealth I do enioy, but that I wish you part,
No griefe doth gaule, your daintie minde, but I do ease your smart.
To rowle in bagges of golde, in choise I would detest,
In faith for to inioy your loue, and harbour where you rest,
If you I might inioy, I now forworne with woe,
To former ioyes would be restorde, in spite of him sayes noe,
No torment then should vexe, or nippe my heauie hart,
All gulfes of griefe, shall soone be damde, which drownes my ioyes in smart,
Of age, I should triumphe, and death I would defie,
And fortunes force I could withstand, for all her crueltie.
In you to saue or spill, in you to make or marre,
In you it restes to end my woes, or cause my further care.
Twixt life and death I stand, twixt hope and déepe despaire,
Till louing lines for pyning woe, returnes a luckie share.

The complaint of a gentlewoman being with child, falsely forsaken.

WHat gulfes of griefe, may well receiue,B
The teares which I in vaine do spend,
What faithlesse wight, durst once deceiue,
By falsehoode foule, so firme a friend,
With lose, who wrayes how well shée lou'de,
When choise for chaunge his fancie moude.
Though reason would, I should refraine,
His blame, my shame, for to bewray,
Good Ladies yet, my pinching paine,
Inioynes mée here, the truth to say,
Whose wretched plight, and pensiue state,
Surmounteth farre, Quéene Didoes fate.
What meanst thou wretch, from ioy exilde,
To yeald vnto his fained teares?
With carelesse vowes why wert begilde,
[Page 90]And fearelesse othes, the traytor sweares,
Ere nuptial rites, whie didst thou trust,
His faith, and yéelde vnto his lust?
Thou Iason false by periurde flight,
Thou Theseus thefte, decypherest plaine,
I Dido wretch (thou Troyan knight)
Here equall griefes, in breast sustaine,
I iustly say, which wordes I rue,
All men be false, and none be true.
The fruites ysprong, by our desire,
My wealth, thou waste, might moue thy hart,
To graunt, the rightes, which loue require,
And search a salue, to cure my smart,
But sith thy faith, thou doest forgoe,
Come death and end my wretched woe.
Yet Ladies all beware by mée,
To rue swéete woordes, of fickle trust,
My heaped harmes, let warning bée,
How filed talke, doth proue vniust,
And rule your loue by reasons lore,
Least future plagues, you do deplore.

Against one which wrote a slaunderous libell in dishonour of a Ladie.

YHacht thou wert in enuies nest,
Whose murthering tongue, might not suffice
To woorke a Ladies great vnrest,
But that with penne thou didst deuise,
Uile vice to paint, in vertues place,
Her spotlesse life, for to disgrace.
Whose sacred head, with wisedome fraught,
Is guided by Dame Pallas skill,
Her deintie minde Minerua taught,
The good to loue, to leaue the ill,
Then may it bée, shée doth deserue,
Report from reasons lore to swerue.
Noe, no, thou wretch, and Uiper vile,
From natures lawe, which dost rebell,
The world doth know, thy giltie gile,
In dungeon darcke, hence forth now dwell,
For all men doth, thy sight repine,
From manly actes, which doest decline.
The heauens do frowne, with earthly foode,
Thy carren corpes, should nourisht bée,
Thou onely byrde of Uipers broode,
And bitter braunch of rankors trée,
A Harpie for thy filthie factes,
For God and man, abhorres thy actes.
Unséene henceforth, thou caitife couche,
Thou murtherer vile of others fame,
How durst thou once presume to touche,
The honour due vnto her name,
And make report that Dian chaste,
Faire Venus knightes in bedde imbraste.
Allotting to her harmelesse tongue,
All rusticke speach, with Stentors voice,
Disdayning them whom loue hath stonge,
For that with chaunge, shée makes her choice:
Not carefull of her curious charge,
But gladly rowes in euerie barge.
How may it hée such fertile soyle,
Well tilde and sowne with happie séede,
[Page 29]Can chuse in recompence of toyle,
But yéeld thée fruites of Venus méede,
Why worke I her so great abuse,
For giltlesse fact, to frame excuse.
My paines herein deserues no praise,
For all men knowes, more then I write,
But thou that didst this rumour raise,
If that thou darst so show thy might,
As truth maintaine thy slaundrous wordes,
Committing triall to our swordes.
Who readie am her to defend,
Till wounded corpes, with bloud begord,
Of worldly woes do make an end,
By froward force, of slaundrous sword,
Or recant, to make will I,
And for offence, her mercie crie.

The vnfortunate louer is persuaded his mis­shap to grow by destinie.

B YEt was not Hellens fa [...]e, ne Parris faire,
Untimely which did weaue the Troyans woe,
For former faultes, the Gods agréede in ire,
With future panges, their vengeance downe to throwe,
And making choyse, as instrument withall,
That Parris loue, should king Priames thrall.
Such heaped harmes, within the Heauens béene,
For one mans case, to cause anothers care,
Unfriendly so, the fates mens happes do spin,
In partiall wise, to yéelde eche wight his share,
Then loue, why should I cursse, or skorne lawe,
Or blame the dame one whom I stande in awe.
Her vertues rare, her pearelesse beautie bright,
Her Pallas witt, I ioynde with Sabas skill,
[Page 93]My restlesse eyes, which couets so her sight,
Are not the fates, which forceth mée this ill,
For hier sprites, deuised long agoe,
My youthfull yeares, should passe in pyning woe.

¶ The discommodities of forst marriages, by the example of Venus and Vulcan: supposed for the more plaine explayning of the in­conueniences, to be written to a couetous carle, hauing but one onely daughter, refused the offers of diuerse gentlemen, some bee­ing of good worship: and married her, vnto an old croked coffing crust, for his great wealthes sake.

IN prime of pride, when Venus minde, to Iunos rites aspirde,
A wealthie cruste, to catch her vp, her father then desirde,
Perusing well his subiectes states, who best might be her feare,
At length hée chus'de a Croydon chuffe, to wooe his daughter deare.
Whose wealth I do confesse was great, y gott by endlesse toyle,
At smithes forge, with daily heate, his apish face did broyle.
This gallant squire, a wooing rid, his face bée grimde with dust,
And comming to her fathers house, this daintie Dame hée bust.
Who at the first this Lady bright, some monster thought to bée,
Retyring backe, affright shée was, his vglye shape to sée.
But in the ende her fathers threates, and Vulcans giftes full braue,
Did force her daintie minde to yéelde, this crabtrée péece to haue.
The marriage rites in hast were wrought, in presence of them all,
Then hee this pearelesse dame conuayde, vnto his rusticke hall.
Whereas the rest solemnised, her friends they did depart,
The which once done, then streight begunne, the summe of all her smart,
For hée fell to his former toyle, before the dawning day,
Where bounsing blowes on stythie smit, the sturdie stéele to fame,
(Debard of rest) did force her wish, to tast of wedlockes game.
And as it is no newes to tell, at all nor séeming straunge,
How louers they do neuer lacke, whose mindes bée bent to chaunge.
Here mightie Mars, y cleaped God of warre and battell ray,
Enforste to yéeld as Cupids thrall, and eke his hestes obey.
Determined to giue attempt, to fraught his heart with blis,
[Page 94]Though conquest hard, yet glorie great, quoth hée the guerdonis.
Before her eyes his siege hée plantes, like Phoebus rayes that shan,
Assault hée gaue, shée did resist, hée made no batterie than.
But one repulse his valiaunt heart, in no respect amasde,
Hée shot againe, the bulwarkes fell, and all the walles were raisde.
The fort thus wonne, as hée did wish, hée trode on pricking thornes,
To gaine the spoile of Vulcans toile, and arme his head with hornes.
The which without resistaunce great, hée ioyed at his will,
But Ielousie the gulfe did force to feare and dread that ill.
Which in the end, when true hée found, hée framed by his arte,
A chaine to tie these louers fast, so that they might not starte.
And then for all the Gods hée sent, to sée this laughing game.
Where they in méede of pleasures past, receiued open shame.
Loe here the bitter fruites wherewith, such mariages be fraught,
Where wealth doth winne the womans will, and vertue set at naught.
Such chaunce may hap to the old snudge, inforst by gréedie gaine,
Where pence possesse the daughters loue, the man shée doth disdaine.
And so fare well at this my verse, mée thinkes I heare thee snuffe,
But doggrell rime, were farre to good, to gréete a dunghill chuffe.

The forsaken louer sheweth to what intent he wea­reth Tawnie, bewraying the bondage that wanton Dames bring their thralles vnto.

MY fancie once in fayre carnation stoode,
And trueth to say, I liued in delight,
But loe (such is the fruites of wanton moode)
Both Dye, and dayes, are chaunged with despight,
In Tawnie now, I forced am to goe,
(Forsaken wretch) my mystresse storne to shoe.
And would to God, who notes my wretched wéedes,
Would wisely shunne, the baites that beautie lay,
Her swéete receites, an ill digestion bréedes,
[Page 95]Once bound ynough, her thralles must néedes obey,
Yea worse then that (though loue séeme nere so hott)
When all is done, forsaken is their lott.
This is the badge, that Cressids heyres do giue,
They lure with grace, and loose with deadly hate,
Beware of them you that in freedome liue,
If not, behold, a patterne of your fate,
Euen I my selfe, do weare this Tawnie hue,
To shewe I seru'd, a Cressid most vntrue.

The reiected louer, determineth, either to purchase his Ladies speedie reconcilement, or els desperatly to die.

OF thée, déere dame, faine would I learne the trueth,
If hée that bringes, the innocent in band,
Or (so betrayde) who slayeth him faunce ruth,
Is thought herein to haue the bloudiest hand▪
If hée that doth, the faultlesse first betray,
Then cruell, note the wordes, that I shall say.
I am the man, that longe can hardly liue,
You with your scorne, betrayde mée to despaire,
Then though my hand the deadly wound do giue,
The murtherer, it wilbe said you are,
But if you shame, such fowle report to proue,
Now yéeld, swéete wench, or neuer graunt to loue.
Behold the blade, that shall confirme my faith,
My woes consent, in wanton yeares to die,
I liue to heare, but what your aunsweare saith,
Once lapt therein, my life or death doth lie,
For trust mée now, I (wretched) haue decréede,
To winne your loue, or else to die with spéede.

The louer being wounded at the Bathe, sues vnto his Lady for pittie.

A I Bathing late, in Bathes of souereigne ease,
Not in those bathes where beauties blisse doth flow [...]
But euen at Bathe, which many a guest doth please,
But loe mishap, those waues hath wrought my woe.
There loue I sawe, her séemely selfe to laue,
Whose sightly shape, so sore my heart did heate,
That soone I shund, those streames my selfe to saue,
But scorching sighes, so set mée in a sweate,
That loe I pine, to please my péeuish will,
And yet I fréese, with frostes of chilling feare,
Thus in extremes, I liue and languish still,
Without reléefe, my restlesse woes to weare.
I blame the bathe, as bruer of my bale,
To giue mée dregges, when others drinke delight
Thus to the streames, I tell a senselesse tale,
Time to beguile, when absence spittes her spite.
But now perforce, I sue to thée (swéete wench,)
With teares I pleade, for pittie and for ruth,
But if thou scornst, my scorched heart to quench,
Doe but commaunde, and death shall trie my truth,
This blemish then, by thée, the bathe shall gett,
Which many one, to health hath helpt of yore,
A meane to mashe men, in dame beauties nett,
And can not giue, a salue to cure their sore,
Which if you shame, then say no more but soe,
I yéeld to loue, those woordes will ease my woe.

The louer to his Ladie in Durance.

B ABandon care, from daintie breast,
bewaile no more your fate,
For why the Gods to pittie dreast,
will chaunge his stormie state.
[Page 97]And graunt you ioy, at your desire,
though rancor rage like Aetna fire.

Her aunsweare.

THe prouerbe saith, whilst grasse doth growe,▪ C
For want of foode the stéede doth sterue,
So hope perplext, with pining woe,
From reasons lore so oft doth swerue,
That dyre despaire, doth winne the forte,
Where hope for succour should resorte.

A description of Ielousie.

A Fearefull thought, which neuer doth remoue,D
But when in armes, hée holdes his heartes delight,
A wrangling hate, where once was passing loue,
Oft cold with hope, yet neuer quenched quite,
More cleare in sightes, then woordes this woe is séene,
Sowne by suspect, but rooted with debate,
Wacht with mistrust, whilst that the eare is gréene,
Through ripe mowne downe, with syth of mortall hate,
Is ielousie.

To a disdainfull Dam.

DIsdainful dame why didst thou scorne, the wight that wisht thée wel,
May péeuish pride a harbour haue, where beautie doth excell?
No rascall here did séeke to sport, or ioyne with gentle race,
Though hautie lookes (thy forme except) were showne in basest place.
The haggard gill, despiseth oft, to pray on princely fowle,
To straggle out at carren crowe, and checke with vglie Owle.
Thy gadding trickes, pursues her trade, with vauntage in defect,
Haile fellowe mett, with basest sort, the best thou dost detect.
Beléeue how that thy forme was framde, by fonde Narcissus glase,
Dame beauties giftes full fickle are, and fade as doth the grasse,
[Page 98]Thy goulden haires, to hoarie graie, will chaunge their glittering hue,
Thy Lays life, and luring lookes, no doubt thy bane will brue.
Thy face so fresh, in prime of youth, will wrinkled be with age,
Then taunting tongue, from scorneful nipps, dame nature will assuage.
Thy mountaine breasts, which beares such bredth, thy pride in princely gate,
Thy graces al in tracte of time, wil chaunge their former state.
Then shalt thou féele the force of scorne, what fruites frō pride procéede,
The Ace of hartes, will haunt the stocke, thy chiefest helpe at néede.

The louer in praise of his Ladie.

B APelles, O, thou famous Greeke,
Thy praise vnto my eares doth sounde,
Since thou so farre abroade didst séeke,
In countries through the world so rounde,
Till thou hadst drawen forth Venus shape,
Whose beautie past, Syr Paris rape.
O that thy fortune had béene such,
To light whereas, my Lady liues,
Whose glistering beautie, is so much,
As to thinke on, my heart it ryues,
For Venus shée doth passe as farre,
As doth the Sunne, each shyning starre.
Eche gift, which nature could deuise,
By arte my Ladie, E, retaynes,
A sacred head, which to surmise,
The trueth, all other farre it staines,
Her haires bée of so glistering hewe,
As gold they stayne, to outward vewe.
Her christall eyes, her sugred tongue.
From whence such pleasaunt wordes do floe,
That lyking binds, both old and younge,
[Page 99]The ground to loue, where shée doth goe▪
Her cherrie chéekes so fresh of hewe,
Her veynes much like to Azurs blewe.
Her Rubie lippes, her snowish necke,
Her proper chin, her christall breast,
Her pleasaunt veynes, whose pappes do decke,
Her comely corpes, so finely preast,
Her slender armes, with milke white hands,
Would catch the Gods in Cupids bands.
Her other partes so finely wrought,
Doe passe my wittes for to recite,
For why it séemde dame Nature sought,
In Court, eche gorgious gearle to spite,
When first of mould, shée did her frame,
Shée is so beautifull a dame.
Noe maruell though, the Graecian king,
Did shape his course, through fishfull floud,
From hatefull Troy, his wife to bring,
Or els in Phrygia leaue his bloud.
If halfe such beautie, in Hellen were,
As is in this my Ladie faire.
If Briseis beautie, were so bright,
Her comely syces, so exceld,
None may blame Achilles flight,
When raging loue, his heart compeld,
To leaue his Lord amid his foes,
A salue to search, to cure his woes.
Nor yet Vlysses none may blame,
Though frencie, hée himselfe did faine,
Because without reprochfull shame,
Hée would avoide the Graecian traine,
[Page 100]The which to Troy, their course did shape,
To fetch againe Syr Paris rape.
If that the beautie, equall were,
Of chaste Penelope his wife,
To match with this my Lady rare,
For whom I hazard would my life,
Amid a troupe of Troyans fell,
My fancie shée doth féede so well.

An aunswere to a Gentlewoman by loue constrained to sue to him whom of late she scorned.

NIe driuen to death by raging loue, reuiu'de by happie meanes,
I smile you séeke, ye earst you scornd, with those your siluer streames.
Now time performes, my words proue true, when as I was your thrall,
Your sugred ioyes, in flowting mée, would turne to bitter gall.
Else not the name of Goddesse iust, dame Venus doth deserue,
Unlesse her seruauntes, shée aduaunce, and makes her foes to sterue.
Your scalding sighes, let witnes bée, what sorrowes I sustainde,
When as with pitious plaintes I shewd, ye panges that most mée painde.
But thou spronge vp of Tygers séede, ingratefull dame I say,
When as with teares, I su'de for grace, wouldst smile & goe thy way.
Now let mée laugh a while I pray, to sée plungde in paine,
This is the salue to cure the smart, that thou art like to gaine.
For why the childe, but younge once burnt, the fierie flame doth dréed,
So I once bounde and now am frée, will tast no louers méed.

The contemptuous louer finding no grace where hee faithfully fauoureth, acknowledgeth his former scorne, vsed toward loue, to be the one­ly cause of his miseries.

IN bondage as I liue, attacht with Cupids mace,
Exilde from ioy, bereft of blisse, past hope of future grace,
[Page 101]My selfe is iudge, I do deserue,
Without reliefe in paine to sterue.
I smilde when I was frée, at those which fettred ware,
But I (God wott) with beauties baite, was caught in Cupids snare.
When least I thought of such a woe,
My choise, in chaunge, was sleating soe.
But now with soaking sighes, to one I sue for grace,
Whose presence when I do approch, she st [...]aight doth shunne the place.
My sight, my sighes, my teares nor truth,
Her stoanie heart can moue to ruth.
Yet loue, that liues by hope, a fresh enforsed mée to proue,
With pen to pleade, what bashfull tongue, dismayed was to moue.
But loe in vaine to her I write,
For loue my guerdon, is despight.
I serue a froward saint, a Tigers whelpe I [...]roe,
Shée smiles to sée mée wade in smart, her wish my wretched woe.
And yet in truth shée blamelesse is,
My onely fault inforceth this.
She is but instrument, my selfe, the very cause,
Why I consume wt cureles griefe, for scorning Cupids lawes,
Wherefore (sith loue is sworne my foe)
Diuorce mée death, from lingring woe.
And then for others héede, this sillie boune I craue,
That I vppon my timelesse tombe, this Epitaphe may haue.
The thing, that causde mee here to lie,
Was scorning loue at libertie.

Epilogus.

Vide fo. 65. fo 73. b. 80. & 95
FOr wantons héede, héere wrayed is the thrall,
Of louing wormes: how both they fréese and frie,
How swéetest thoughtes, are sawst with bitter gall.
Vide▪ 93.
How care, them cloyes, that liue in ielousie,
What yll successe, stolne marriages ensue,
Vide. 93.
How forst consentes, [...]ield beare a louing hart,
Vide 74.75 b.
How sugred woordes to late, faire Ladies rue,
Vide 72. a.
How vaine they striue, that louers séeke to part.
Vide 90. a.
How enuious tongues, are apt to sowe debate,
How fancie bringes, the stoutest mindes in awe,
Vide 97.87.
How louers wrongde, from loue do fall to hate,
Vide 94,
How ramping rigges, regard no modest lawe.
How lingring loue, doth oft mislyking moue,
Vide 93.
How gallants giftes, fond women oft allure,
How pride & ease, preferre mens thoughtes to loue,
Vide 100.
How lawlesse lust, all mischiefe puts in vre.
How scorneful dames (ye set mens sutes at nought,)
Of such as seru'd, are glad to séeke reliefe,
Vide 74.2.100.
How louing thralles, from setters frée are taught,
To shunne the snares, that snarled them in griefe.
And to conclude, in euery Page is wrayde,
A lightning ioy, a life of lacke is loue,
Who loueth least, which proues is best appaide,
For womens mindes as wether cockes will moue.
Wherefore these toyes, who liste to read aright,
Shall finde Loues woes, not how to loue I write.
FINIS.
The Arbour of Vertue …

The Arbour of Vertue A VVORKE CONTEI­ning the chaste and honourable life, of a Bohemian Ladie, to the which is ad­ioyned, the complaint of two Hungarian Ba­rons, that wagerd the spoile of her Chastitie.

¶VVherein, are the seuerall prayses of certaine English Ladies and Gentlewo­men: being the translation, collection, and inuention, of George Whet­stons Gent.

Formae nulla fides.

To the right Honourable, and vertu­ous Lady, Iana Sibilla Greye, now of Wilton, George Whetstons, wisheth a longe and happie life.

RIght honourable, and vertuous Ladie, I find, that our chiefest and greatest incourage­ment vnto vertue, is to heare the memorie of the vertuous, continued with the carefull re­portes of worthy writers: for that such testi­monie is both a president for our liues, and al­so foreshewes after death, our fames. Like­wise it as necessarie, to register the liues of the leaude, that the ter­ror of their punishments and infamie, may feare vs to offend. So that moued with these consideraetions (among a number my leasurable labours) I haue faithfully (though not curiously) translated the mo­dest and noble life of a Boemian Lady, with the fall of two Hun­garian barons: which vnaduisedly wagered the spoyle of her cha­stitie. Which simple toyle of mine, as a testimonie of the reuerent dutie, I owe vnto you (vnder the title of the Arbor of Vertue) I humbly present to your Ladiship, to the intent that when you are wearied, with the dispatch of necessarie cares and causes, you may recreate your honourable minde, with the mylde report of this Ladies good behauiours. Wholy assured that as you liue­ly present her vertues: you wil likewise, both de­fend her fame, and my honest indeuour, with the countenaunce of your regarded name. From my lodging in Hol­borne, the .15. of Octo­ber. 1576.

Your honours during life to dispose. George Wh [...]tstors.
[Page]
The Argument of the following dis­course of Lady Barbaraes vertuous behauiours.

A Boemian knight, named Vlrico, married a vertuous La­dy, called Barbara. Vlrico being a little nipt with pouer­tie, woulde faine haue supplyed his want, by seruice in the warres, which aduenture, he long delayed, through the i [...]a­lous suspicion of his wiues behauiour, notwithstanding his imaginations quieted, by the direction of a cunning Negro­mancer, named Pollacco, hee craued intertainment of the king of Hungarie, the king (vouchsafing his request) imployed him in the warres against the Turke: the warres ended, Vlrico (laden with honour) returned vnto the kings court, where one day the Lord Alberto, the Lord Vdislao, and he reasoned of womens behauiours. The Hungarian barons helde opinion, there was no woman so chaste, but might be won to wantonnesse. Vlrico (in his Ladies behalfe) reasoned to the contrarie. In the end, they grewe into this heate of ar­gument, that both the Lordes wagered their landes to his, that if he durst abyde the triall, that the one of them, with­in two monethes woulde obtaine bodily delight with his wife. Vlrico accepted of their lay, the wager beeing set downe in writing, the King and Queene were both wit­nesses of the match. Alberto gaue the first aduenture in these louing affaires to winne her to wantonnesse. The Lady fin­ding his humour, by policies (as a theefe that sought to rob her honour) caused him to be imprisoned, where to bridle his wanton affections, she made him to spin for his victuals. Alberto (in hope of libertie) discouered to the Lady the whole wager, and how that the Lord Vdislao would come about that enterprise, who in very deede shortly visited her castle: whome she likewise made foorth comming, and in penaunce of his offence, hee reelde the thread Alberto spon: the King and Queene hearing of their successe, had the Lady in high estimation, awarded Vlrico the lande, and banished the barons for their slaunderous opinion.

The Arbour of Vertue.

AS supreme head of Hungarie, a king there whilcome reign'd,
Coruinus hight, whose worthy force, a worlde of praises gain'd,
What law & iustice, once had made, throgh rule he neuer broke
He cherisht friendes, he chast his foes, wt many a sturdy stroke,
Ymou'd through zeale, wt clattering armes, he stoupt S. Mahomes pride,
The Turkish crue from Christian boundes, he chast on euery side,
This noble prince vnto his spouse, a gallant Lady chusde.
A matrone in her mayden yeres, such modestie she vsde.
By whom she had thrée valliant sonnes, thrée vertuous daughters eake,
Which worthy ympes, in wisdomes lore, did liue without their like.
Besides with haps to heape his ioyes, his subiectes gréede so well,
That foes could finde, no hollowe hearts, against him to rebell,
As vassell to which noble king, there was a Boeme knight,
A valiant and a ventrous Lord, Vlrico was he hight.
In prime of force, he plyde the warres, his parents purse to ease,
His parents dead, he home returnd, his tenants pence to fease.
But small was left to pray vpon, his auncestours did desire,
By dint of blade, not bagges of drosse, to honour to aspire.
Which when Vlrico wisely wayde, and wanted on account,
He bent him selfe with hassard life, by seruice for to mount.
But loe by lot, he hit in loue, a wonder small to tell,
Saue that his Ladies vertues did, her beautie braue excell.
Her portion yet (God wot) was small, yet all in wisdome lay,
A dowrie little reackt vpon, where churles doth beare asway,
But Beautie here affection raysde, then Vertue friendship wrought,
These two conioynd, in séemely dame, in loue Vlrico brought.
The earth (quoth he) is sure the Lords, the fruites thereof his wracke,
And may it be, the begger then, shall clawe his seruants backe,
O no, no wight as yet hath séene, the righteous begge his breade,
Although the lewd through foule offence, are often nipt with neade,
And if I should for gaine (quoth he) vnto some wanten bend,
Which venter into Cornewall would, her honestie to send.
Vlrico (haplesse) then should be, a common scorne of men,
Delight to dele, from pleasure paine, should chaunge his fortunes then.
[Page 108]To swimme in wealth he meanes not so, to hassard his delight,
He somewhat hath, and more may get, by manhood, and by might,
Thy choise, if once, thou winst thy choice, in spight of Fortunes wracke,
Will saue what thy aduentures gaines, for to relieue thy lacke.
Then maist thou liue in forreine soyle, without a iealous braine,
Then maist thou taste, at thy returne, sweete pleasure for thy paine.
Why standst thou then amasde (quoth he) thy honest suite to moue,
The silent man, the prouerbe sayth, hath sildome hap in loue,
Confesse that constant, long thou liu'dst, y linckt in beauties bandes,
And challenge fréedome for thy truth, at thy swéete maistresse handes.
This wayd, Vlrico hies in haste, whereas his Lady liues,
And there her friends in her behalfe, him intertainment giues,
As time did serue, he shewd his zeale, vnto his only ioy,
She likte his words, but more him selfe, how so she séemed coy,
His gallant shape, his vertues straunge, his honour neuer stainde,
His truth once knowne, the truth to tell, her loue, had soone obtainde,
And quickly eake, with friendes consent, them Iunoes rites doth glad,
He had his will, and she her wish, and what would more be had?
The nuptiall feastes, y finished, Vlrico with his dame,
Bids friends adewe, to castle his, they do their iourney frame,
Where one doth rayse the others ioy, one rids the others care,
And thus contented with their choice, in ioy their dayes they weare,
Till néede at length Vlrico nips, who was in spending frée,
His rents but small, these two accounts, will hardly well agrée,
And yet to poll his tenants poore, his honest mynde doth greaue,
What then, he faine would serue his leage, but loth his wife to leaue.
Sée here how passing loue is apt, to rayse a iealous feare,
Withouten cause, we so do dread, the thing we hold full deare.
Vlricos mynd, despiseth want, yet dreads to séeke reliefe,
In absence, least his Ladyes chaunge, should worke his greater griefe,
And thus in silence long he mournes, and ebs his ioyes with woe,
Till secrete sighes, and heauie lookes, his inward harmes foreshewe,
Which haply when his spouse espide, to cleare his cloudes of scare,
Swéete heart (quoth she) vnto thy wife, thy hidden sorrowes share,
So shall thy cares abridged be, so shall I knowe thy mynde,
And haply in my counsell thou, some comfort swéete maist finde.
These words Vlrico likte so well, as straight he tels the truth,
[Page 109]Of present want, of meane to wealth, in order as insu'th,
Mine owne (quoth he) you know my state, or present lacke withall,
Our charge is great, our myndes are high, our liuing is but small,
Of force we must our brauerie leaue, or séeke some way of gaine,
And vayling to the valliant mynde, is sure a matchlesse paine,
This is the meane to mend our want, to serue my souereine leage,
Who now is bent with might and maine, the Turke forto besiege,
Those warres, ere this, I well haue tryde, vnder Cilia Count,
Those warres, I trust, shal force thy feare with wealth, & fame to mount,
But ah (aye me) I loth, yet would, vnfolde what makes me stay,
But sith swéete wench, loue is the cause, allowe what I shall say,
Long wisht, at length I won thy loue, O gem of al my ioy,
As loth I am to leaue thée now, least absence make thée coy.
I call to mynd fayre Helens moode, who trudg'd with Troian knight,
When as her Lord was forst from home, with forreine foes to fight.
The ruffling rout at Ithaca, Vlysses farre from home,
Doth force a thousand fearefull thoughts, within my head to rome.
Then Penelopes constancie, this dread would gladly weare,
She plaste alone, without her leake, a fresh doth raise my feare:
The speach of womans méekenesse eake, my thoughtes doth run among,
And straight my thinkes I motions heare, that do Vlrico wrong.
In mynd I viewe, what batterie is, against thy beautie bent,
In thought I sée, what sharpe assaults, in sugred wordes are sent,
What fearelesse othes, what carelesse vowes, do flée, to foyle thy fame,
In sine thou forst, with yealding will, dost blot thy name with blame,
Then rage I straight, ye (harmelesse) gainst, as thogh these toyes wer true
And straight I checke, those raunging thoughts, with reason that insue.
Vlrico fye, why wrongs thy wife, so fouly with mistrust,
Whom hitherto thou couldst not finde, in worde, or déede vniust,
Whose modestie thou séest abhorres, with rufflers for to prate,
To saue thy wealth, whose mynd to worke, giues wanton youth ye mate,
Whose life, with foule and leaude offence, report could neuer spot,
What cause hast thou Vlrico then, her fame with feare to blot?
To breake this brall, faire Barbara (so was this Lady namde)
With prettie nippes, with pardon mixt, this answere foorthwith framde:
Well sayde (quoth she) first faine you feare, to frée my shrewd mistrust,
That choise and chaunge, in wanton court, wil make you proue vniust,
[Page 110]But simple I accept your shewe, and faith I trust to finde,
But to my Lord, if so he please, I yet will shewe my minde,
I long ere this, haue wayde our want, and thought on meanes of gaine,
And sure I sawe, the way for wealth was as you did explaine.
Yet durst I not, vnfolde the same, vnto my louing Lord,
Before his words foreshewd his thoughts, with mine did wel accord,
By seruice you shall credite winne, by seruice likewise fame,
By seruice you shall riches reape, as you deserue the same,
By seruice, fauour with our prince, acquaintance in the court,
You sure shall finde, slacke not these helpes, your wife doth you exhort:
If God with children, blesse our life, their youth from vices fréed,
Your credite after in the court, will stand them in some stéede,
And in your absence I so well, will to your causes sée:
As you shall haue reliefe abroade, sufficient left for mée.
Yea sure, to braue it with the best: yet liue within our boundes,
Such skyll I haue to most auayle, to rate and rent our groundes,
And knowe you once, my hart is high, if liuing, there to stretch,
Yet stoupe I will to please my Lord, to liue as rents will retch.
And thus Vlrico doest thou heare, what thy poore wife can say,
In wealth, in want, abroade, at home, thy will she will obay.
Whose modest tale Vlrico heard, with patience to the end,
And sayd, to vse her sound aduise, long earst his thought did tend:
And now I am resolu'd (quoth he) the warres sweete wife to ply,
Let worst betyde that may befall, I sure with fame shall dye.
Yet ere I go, my friends shall know my mynd, and state at large▪
But of my lande, my house and goods, none shall but you haue charge.
And in this moode, from friend to friend, so long he did resort,
That at the length Pollaccos skill, he heard by fonde report,
Of whome was sayd by secrete Arte, he could such wonders doe,
As none could worke an acte in thought, but he the same would shoe.
He could informe the louing worme, if his faire Ladie fainde,
Or if she lou'd, yea if she had, her honour euer stainde,
For ramping rigges to Venus ioyes, their nature proane that feales,
He could worke meanes of sport without, a Tympanie with heales.
Strange charmes he had to force them loue, that late to hate were bent,
He could foretell, what hap, what harme, the heauens to vs ment,
With thousand sleights of hidden skill, which I omit to write,
[Page 111]Yet turne I to Vlricos thought, when rumour did recite,
Pollaccos learning thus at large, who sayed in his mynde,
To frée my iealous head from feare, a meane now shall I finde,
Pollaccos knowes if that my wife, her selfe will faithfull shewe,
Or if she doth her honour staine, I absent, yea, or no,
If in this iourney she be iust, then dread for aye adue,
If she be false, I fellowes haue, whose wiues are founde vntrue,
Once feare, yet frets my hart as sore, as if such fault were wayde,
With that Vlrico postes with spéede, to craue Pollaccos ayde.
And comming to his homely house, he doth Pollacco gréete,
And craues to speake a worde with him, where he should thinke it méete.
They both vnto a Garden walke, and thus Vlrico sayde,
Your speciall giftes in secrete Artes, to me of late bewrayde,
Compels me now (Pollacco friend) to craue your friendly might:
My sute is small, and yet be sure, great gaine your paine shall quite.
In what I can Pollacco sayd, I rest at your commaund,
Then vse your Arte (quoth he) I pray, to graunt this poore demaund.
Truth is, I meane with spéede to serue, my souereine in the warres,
Yet iealous thoughts, I wot not why, with this accorde still iarres,
Sometime my Ladies zeale in shewe, doth banish dread with hope,
But straight againe, mistrust doth giue, to fearefull fancies scope,
And thus to naught auayle, I weare my golden time in woe,
Such is the force of passing loue, to feare for euery showe,
But now Pollacco to my suite, by arte I craue to knowe,
In absence mine, if that my wife be faithfull, yea, or no,
Let worst betide, yet so I shall, my dread exile (quote he)
Such feates you can, and therfore nowe, let will with skill, agrée,
Pollacco masde, to heare this tale, to this effect replyde,
That Science to, her schollers yet, such secretes had denyde,
And how should I, dissolue this doubt, that learned iudges dread,
Conceiue the best, ne wrongs the worst, saunce knowledge of the dead,
And therefore Syr Vlrico cease, your suite surmounts my skill,
What so (quoth he) of skill befalles, graunt but agréeing will,
Whereon Pollacco thus replyde, sith nycenesse will not serue,
I graunt I know by Arte this acte, but vse from lawe doth swerue.
Yet breach of lawe I hazarde will, to frée Vlricos dout,
Stay here (quoth he) to worke this feate, I will now go about.
[Page 112]Anon he comes, with picture framde, much like Vlricos wife,
So long (quoth he) this forme kéepes faire, she liues an honest life,
If yellowe, tempted then she is, if blacke with merrie gayles,
Unto the Cornish mount god buoy in hast, her honour sayles.
This knowne (appayd) Vlrico sayd, in hope thy words are true,
Holde here thy hyre, my hart is easde, and so good friend adue.
Away he goes, and to his wife, his houshold charge commits,
Which done, while winde and whether seru'd, vnto the seas he gets:
Such spéede he made, as soone he at Albe regale lands.
The king there lay, Vlricoes suite, who shortly vnderstands,
And gladly intertained him, yea, gaue him pay in peace,
Which grace, when foes inforst in fight, did double force increase,
As proofe ere long appeared plaine, the Turke began to sturre,
Which causde the king to cry alar'm, to chase this gracelesse curre.
The valliant wightes, in armour dight, their forward myndes do shewe,
Each thing prepard for souldiers vse, to warres these gallants goe,
Mustapha Basca, had the charge, of all the princes power,
Vlrico was his Colonel, preferd in happie houre.
Post haste they made, vntill they came, within their enimies sight,
Then bustling to their bloudy tooles, they shewe good willes to fight.
At trumpets sound, the horsemen fling, the shot to skyrmish fall,
The archers with their feathred dartes, both horse and man doth gall,
The furie of the forward wightes, to handie stroakes then bring,
Here houlbards hewe, there bloudy swords, on battered targets sing.
Som faint with wounds, some flée for feare, som fight to saue their friend,
Thus eyther side, king Harrie knockes, both doth receiue, and lend:
The battell long continued hote, each would faine victor bée,
But to be short, for all their force, in fine the Mahomes flée,
The Turke his pryde abated well, and all things quiet made,
Mustapha Basca, and his charge, return'd with honour lade.
The Ladies nowe (with many a kysse) receiue their souereine Lords,
And euery man to sée his friend, a buon venu affordes.
In court there doth no triumph want, these captaines to delight,
At iustes, some vse their force in sport, that late did fiercely fight:
Some makes report of wreakefull warres, the blisse, and cake the bale,
Some loytrers in their Ladies lappes, doth tell a wanton tale:
Some haue an ore in others boate, some colours do expound,
[Page 113]And some doth note their heauie lookes, whome Cupides dart did wound,
Syr Vlrico, among this crue, some exercise did vse,
To whome at length Alberto sayde, syr knight, I can but muse,
That you that haue a Ladie faire, two yeares from her haue stayde,
You knowe a womans force (God wot) a long is easily layde,
You knowe that loue with leasure ioynde, makes wantons to be bolde,
She hath her will, health, wealth, and ease, she rules and not contrould,
With all these helpes she sure will wish, to taste some wanton ioy,
Then if she haue her wish at will, thinke you she will be coy?
Whereto Vlrico thus replyde, I answere not for all,
But sure my wife will constant be, what fortune so befall,
She is no gadder farre from home, she helpes not beauties blase,
Her words and workes are modest both, she giues no youthes the gase▪
With honest exercises still, she fansies fonde preuentes,
To heare my good successe abroade, her carefull mynde contents.
Syr knight quoth Vdislao then, [...]ince so you loue your wife,
Beshrewe me if that my reply, do sowe sedicious strife,
You haue enough, what would you more, let others haue a snatch.
Alberto sayde, will he or nill, she would in corners catch:
And to be short, both Lordes affirme, that Ladie liueth not,
If that a wise and valiant knight, her honour can not blot.
Vlrico did deny it flat, they still affirmd it true,
And thus they pleade vntill the quéene, their controuersie knewe,
Who for that these barons so wrought, a slaunder to her sect,
Their foolish, rash, and iudgement false, she sharply did detect,
Alberto (fuming at this cheacke) this answere made the quéene,
Not for to moue your grace to wrath, our argument hath béene,
Yet if Vlrico like the match, my lande to his I lay,
How that ere twice the Moone hath cast, her horned head away,
I battell will his browes so well, as hornes thereon shall growe,
Prouided that his wife afore, the wager doth not knowe.
And further, if I win her loue, his Ladie so he vse,
As if that she her honour did, in no respect abuse.
The yong Lord Vdislao would, the selfe same wager try,
Vlrico armde him selfe to take, their proffers by and by.
Indentures to assure this match, ingrossed were in haste,
The couenants as before exprest, were in the perchment plasie.
[Page 114]The king and Quéene gaue frée consent, the wager should be laid,
Th'indentures seald, by either part, and all thinges sure are made,
It was agréed Alberto should, the battering tyre lay,
If Lady Barbara did resist, Vdislao should assay.
With sharpe assault of wanton wordes, to batter downe her praise,
If two monethes shée could make defence, these Lords, their siege should raise,
And lose their liuing for their hire, which small misliking bréedes,
See, sée, the fonde effectes of hope, Alberto forward spéedes.
And spies in fine the castle walles, wherein this Lady lay,
Who safe arriued at his Inn, streight chaungde his riding ray,
And clothd a newe, as pleasd his minde, it was not longe ere hée,
To sée Vlricos castle hyde, his heartes delight to sée.
To purchase welcome first he tould, Vlricos happie state,
And hauing causes in those coastes, hée durst not passe his gate,
Before hée had, to her his wife, those welcome tidings shard,
To finde occasion to returne, how shée his Lady fard.
Dame Barbara (ioyfull of these newes) requested him to take,
In worth: such intertainement, as her power was to make,
The Lord Alberto made no bones, to be his Ladies guest,
But like a Courtier braue and bould, vouchsafed her request,
Till supper time with honest talke, shée wisely held him tacke,
When supp hée should, of daintie fare, shée sawe he had no sacke,
Alberto (feasted like a prince) prickt forth with pleasaunt braine,
Assayed many times to fall, into some louing vaine,
Dame Barbara though faine shée would, haue broke this botelesse prat­tle,
Least he should thinke, his welcome heard, did hould him tacke in [...]atle,
Which courtesie hée construed thus, The Dame that is content,
To listen to a tale of loue, to loue will soone consent:
Forgetting how of force they must, some such discourses heare,
Or to to coy, their friends forsake, which manners will not beare.
But leaue I that. Alberto thought, his match was meetely sure,
And still to stoupe, this modest dame, hée threw his wanton lure,
Hée flattering questions moued oft, shée pretily answerde all,
At length, into his louing sute, hée soberly did fall.
And with a sighe deare dame (quoth hée) admitt my faithful zeale,
Who forst through loue, must néeds vnfould, that faine I would cōceale,
[Page 115]Your beautie, birth and comely shape, report so hie hath prisde,
That trust mee as I heard you namd, in thought, I thus surmisde,
This Lady staynes, syr Paris rape, in face, in forme and hew,
And as hée lou'd through brute of fame, so I in faith do you,
And try who list, loue wounds so sore, if hée empayreth health,
His thralles can hardly be restord, by reason, witt, or wealth.
Their souereignes grace, must be their salue, naught else cā work their rest,
Unlesse they will abridge their dayes, of both the bads, the best,
I loue I graunt beyond my reach, for to recant I striue,
But loue I must, and loth I am, to liue and die aliue,
My helpe is on my selfe, that I vntimely murther try,
My woes consent, yet haue I vowde▪ in your sweete sight to die.
Despaire hath sped me to this place, my sorrowes to appease,
My tale is tould, you knowe my trueth, preserue mée if you please,
This louing zeale, so sharpely showne, did strike the Lady mute,
Her answere now, was farre to seeke, shée hated so his sute,
Alberto, that did note this chaunge, in words, in lookes and all,
Thought how his shape & friendly shoes, had brought her hart in thrall.
And therefore to vntie her tongue, hée s [...]ily stole a kisse,
She litle said, and yet she thought, there was no woe to this,
And as shée musde, shée found a meane, his follies to reproue,
But yet the feate [...] be wrought, with fained shewe of loue,
Which shée [...], as if shée lou'de in déede,
Or that her [...]use of straungenes late, of passion did procéede,
Alberto thus aduaunst with hope, afresh nowe pleades for ruth,
She stands not greatly on his sute, but falls to faine his truth,
The knight (by proofe of pleasures past) when she this issue tooke,
Though [...] [...] sugred wordes, she had deuoured Cupids hooke,
And (as he thought) to frée suspect, for othes he spared not.
That neither chaunge, or any chaunce, should him, with falsehood blot,
Fewe wordes to waste, she faind at length, shée was content to loue,
And pointed both a time and place, a pleasaunt tast to proue.
But least by absence from your Inn, quoth she, suspicion grow,
I nowe bequeath you to your case, when to returne you know.
Alberto luld with thoughtes of ioy, vnto his lodging goes,
Who thinkes, eche houre a yeare till that, the morrowe morning shoes.
Well yet at length, the houre came, that flattred him with grace,
[Page 116]Who all too hastle hide him selfe, to his appointed place,
Arriued there a pretie minx (directed wel before)
Unto a lodging brought this Lord, and locked fast the dore,
When he was safe awaye she went, for ioy Alberto hopt,
But sée, a chaunge, too late he spyde, he was in prison popt,
The windowes made of yron barres, the walles of stone and clay.
A bed he found, but farre vnfit, he thought for Venus play,
Is this a place of ioy (quoth he) O no I am betrayde,
He had no sooner spake these words, but came saire Barbaras mayde,
Who at a grate Alberto calles, to whom she vsde these words,
This is the courtsie syr knight (quoth she) my Ladie you affordes.
First like a théefe sith that you sought, to rob her of her fame,
She hath in prison layde you fast, your lawlesse loue to tame.
And further (to allay your heate) vnlesse you daily spinne,
This distaffe laden full of flaxe, your fare will be but thinne,
This sayd, the distaffe in she throwes, and bad him thus adieu,
My tale is tolde, you knowe your taske, nowe worke as pleaseth you.
Alberto at these sorrie newes, straight to this choller waxe,
Shall I from martiall exercise, fall nowe a spinning flaxe:
Shall I that liu'd at libertie, in prison thus be pend,
Shall I be sys'd of meate and drinke, that late so much did spend?
And shall a Ladie foyle me thus, whose hart the stoutest quaild,
There with he stroue to breake the doores, but small his force auaild.
His griefe but gréene with termes of hate, he blam'd this Ladie oft,
And supperlesse so went to bed, which was not very soft,
But in respect of other plagues, he thought the hardnesse small,
Who tyred with tormenting thoughts, a sléepe did quickly fall,
When he had sleapt the night away, and cares digested well,
Sharpe hunger so assayld this Lord, as he to spinning fell,
His goutie and yll shapen thredes, so moued him to smyle,
That well he likt the exercise, his sorrowes to beguile.
At dinner time dame Barbaras mayde, was to Alberto sent,
To share his lowance like his worke, to whome this courtoll went,
And rudely calles to sée the yarne, he had that morning sponne,
Alberto (eger of his meate) deliuerd what was donne,
By Saint Marie (quoth this queane) your buswiuerie is good,
And after she had frumpt him well, she fetcht his sorrie foode,
[Page 117]A wéeke or more, these hungrie meales, in worth Alberto tooke,
In hope of grace, which came so slowe, as he his hope forsooke.
Sée, yet desire of libertie, sée nowe the fruites of néede,
Sée here how théeues their fellowes peche, sée, sée, how hope doth féede,
Alberto for dame Barbara sendes, to whom he shewes at large:
The wanton wager, words, and workes, as I haue giuen in charge.
And how that Vdislao would, ere long attempt the like.
Which straunge discourse the Ladie did, into a wonder strike.
Oh God (quoth she) what cause giue I, men should suspect my life,
I neuer clim'd beyonde my reach, I am a louing wife.
And comes there yet another Lord, that would my vertues staine,
Well let him come, he shall abide, hard penance for his paine.
This sayde, she wild the gaylor sée, Alberto spinne apace,
His newes thus recompenced were, whome nowe I leaue a space,
To shewe what rumor in the court, in euery corner roung,
Some say Albertos ioyes were such, as loth to part he soung.
Vlrico oft his image viewd, to sée what hue it bare,
And all the while it yealowe séemd, he liu'd in perilous feare,
But when it turnd to white againe, what so the courtiers say,
He knewe Alberto had the foyle, and he had won the lay,
The other competitor thought, his fellowes ioyes too great.
So that to haue a share with him, he posted till he sweate,
And posting thus he at the length, Vlricos castle spyde,
And making then more haste then spéede, post haste he thether hyde,
Who safe arriu'd where he did wish, to make his welcome more,
He had an errant readie stampt, yea two or thrée in store,
He first commended to this dame, her husbandes happie health,
His speciall credite with his prince, his fame and heapes of wealth,
And how on causes of his owne, into these coastes he came,
And how he heard in happie time, his friend Vlricos name,
And also how not farre from thence, did dwell his Ladie faire,
And howe he bounde by courtesie, to sée her did repaire.
The Ladie smiled in her mynde, to heare this currant scuse.
And yet dissembling what she thought, she friendly did him vse.
Yea courteously she crau'd he would, his causes yet adiourne,
And at his friend Vlricos house, with her awhile soiourne.
Her gentle offer to accept, this Lord was nothing nice,
[Page 119]And yet ere longe her courtesse, he bought at too hie price,
Well both (contented, as it séemd) into the castle goe,
Where as faire Barbara glads her friend, with welcomes great in shoe,
She talkt, she walkt, shee satt, she stoode, as likt this gallant best,
Yea many a straunge discourse, did passe, betwéene her, and her guest,
In sinc to towle, this lord in loue, a sighing shée began,
And asked how Alberto farde, as if shée lou'de the man,
The lord, Vdislao did take, this motion in good part,
Who smyld and said, in secrete thought, Alberto had her heart,
And for to strike her in a mase, quoth hée, I wott not well,
Since last he vew'd these countrye costes, where as my frend doth dwel,
Faire Barbara, as though she feard, this lords welfare did faine,
And is hée not (quoth shée) returnde, vnto your court againe?
This lure thus throwne to worke some hope, in Vdislaos breast,
The Lady broke the prattle off, and fell to feast her guest,
The lusty Hungarian lord, likt well, her kindnes showne,
Yet still he for aduauntage stayde, to make his passions knowne,
Whose subtiltie, when shée espide, t'imbolden him the more,
Against her will, her eyes d [...]d séeme, more wanton then of yore,
And trained thus to treate of loue, at length his tongue found scope,
She made it nice, yet not so straunge, but he might féede on hope,
Hée féeding still, on showe of grace, was loth to leaue the féeld,
She faring, as shée likt his talke, by péece meales gan to yéeld.
In fine she fainde how that his sute, had wonne her to agrée,
And how shée would sometime that night, her louers lodging sée,
Untill which time this frolicke lord, committed her a Dio,
A fainde good night, shée likewise gaue, and wild her seruannts shoe,
Him, where he should that night be lodgde, whose lodging was prepard,
Next chamber to the prison where, Alberto hardly farde,
Well Vdislao went to bedde, full fraught with secrete ioy,
And still he lookt when his faire dame, would kepe her promist foy,
But all in vaine, he gapt for grace, she glad he had him catcht,
Yet sée, the fond conceites in loue, in hope, the night he watcht,
He hard no noyse, no mouse could steare, but streight in thought he smild
O welcome Lady (quoth his heart) but when he was beguild,
He Sopor blamd, for charging her, with to much drowsie sléepe,
But of his faultes, and wager fond, at all he tooke no kéepe,
[Page 118]Wel al this night with fancies tost, no sléepe lodgde in his breast,
When morning came, this comfort came to set his heart at rest,
Dame Barbaras mayde, brought him a réele, and yearne Alberto made,
She tould him he, should reele the same, for that he had assaide
To robbe her Lady of good fame, to her then life more deare,
If he refusde, to doe his taske, he should haue sorrie cheare,
Loke you for neither meate nor drinke, before your worke be donne,
And syr (quoth shée) t'incourage you, the thread Alberto sponne,
Hée is your neighbour, fare you well, I can no longer stay,
These sorrie newes Vdislao nie, out of his wittes did fray,
Alberto toke his pennaunce ill, but he did tenne times worse,
Hée rag'd, he rau'd, the Ladies scorne, himselfe, and all did curse,
But what for that? how so he did, himselfe agréeued feele,
One of these euills, hée néedes must chuse, to ster [...]e or else to réele,
And of both bads, the best he chusde, in fine to worke he fell,
His rash attempt, had this successe, which he deserued well.
Nowe that this vertuous dame hath gott, the conquest of her foes,
These lordinges pennannce for their pride, she to their seruants shoes,
In whose behalfe, her bouutie here, I must of force commende,
They wanted not, for daintie fare, how so they fast were pend,
These barons men, (at libertie) streight posted to the Court,
And of their lords imprisonment, there make they large report,
These newes of note, about the Court, went flinging every where,
So longe as both the king and Quéene, these gallants fortunes heare,
The king to learne the certaine truth, to Lady Barbara sent,
His chauncelour, and other Lords, where as they found fast pent,
Lord Alberto and Vdislao, Alberto spinning thread,
And Vdislao réeting it, with fretting well nie dead,
The Lady shewde the newe come Lords the matter all and some,
And how to tame their lawlesse loue, the barons bid this dome,
The Chauncelor what earst is showne, returned to the king,
Whose pleasure was, he should with him, with spéede both parties bring
They al arriued at the Court, the king iudg'd out of hand,
Vlrico had the wager wonne, and he should haue the land,
And more against the spoiled lords, with iustice to perseuer,
In penaunce of their lauish tongues, they were exilde for euer,
Faire Barbara, for foyling them, did to this honour mount
[Page 120]She was the chiefe about the quéene, in credite and account,
Whereas she liued many dayes, and helde her wish at will,
Nowe being deade in worthy fame, her vertues liueth still.
Virescit vulnere virtus.

The complaint of the Lorde Alberto and Vdislao, the two Hungarian barons, that vnaduisedly wagered their land, to winne the vertuous Ladie Barbara to wanton­nesse: Who hauing the foyle (besides the losse of their liuings) for their slaunderous opinions, were condemned to perpe­tuall exile.

COme gallants come, by both our falles take héede,
With our fonde faults, you most infected are,
You worke more wrong, in slaunder then in déede,
And yet in déede, your flatterie worketh scare.
Learne, learne, by vs, too lauish speach to spare,
Large offers though, faire Ladies ofte intice,
Thinke there be dames, that will not vaile to vice.
First mende your owne, ere others faults you blame,
Sée that your life, before you teach you trie,
Plucke out the beame, that blindes your sighte with shame,
So may you finde a moate in others eye,
What yet you note, reproue not openly,
Obserue this course, heare, sée, and say the best,
For lauish words, procureth much vnrest.
Had we but wayde, that halfe experience shewes,
We might haue liu'd, in honour as of yore,
The want we waile, and warne you by our woes,
The least of which, your hearts would much abhorre,
Their exile.
For what may be, then this a mischiefe more,
Once lustie Lords, nowe prisd at lowest rate,
And frée men borne, to liue in banisht state.
What noble mynde, whose hands could weapons vse?
Would brooke his handes, should eyther réele or spinne,
To féede on crustes, what foole would not refuse?
Whose coursest fare, a messe of meate hath bin,
In this distresse, perforce we liued in,
Too hard a plague, say you for fault so small,
We thinke not so, that haue indurd the thrall.
For who at full, may value honest fame?
Whose wound so déepe, as his that slaunders carud?
Our slaundrous thoughts, suspected euery dame,
Our slaundrous toungs, sayd all from vertue swaru'd,
For which exile, we worthily desaru'd,
She vsde vs well (whose praise we sought to spoyle)
In huswiues trades, for meate to make vs moyle.
Our lande we lost, by lawe and wager both,
He wonne it well, that ventured for the same,
But worse then these (the which to shewe I loth)
Our follies leane, a memorie of shame,
Unto vs both, a corsiue to our name,
Well what is paste, too late we call againe,
Sufficeth nowe, we warne with proofe of paine.
And knowe ye first, what raisd this slaundrous thought,
Forsooth our liues, in loytring daliance spent,
We other doomde, by faults that they had wrought,
And ioynd with this, their spoyles, by fonde consent,
Which yealded bound, vnto our louing bent,
Did make vs thinke, at euery wanton whoope,
To lures of loue, a Ladie faire would stoope.
What yet we thought, our toungs did sore recoyle,
In slaundring them, our liues for to accuse,
For who so vaunts, of any louing spoyle,
Confesseth howe, him selfe he doth abuse,
The greatest vice, that worthy mynds may vse,
[Page 122]Deseruing wel, their worth, who should not praise,
Deseruing ill, much lesse a thousand wayes,
Oh stay we here, what meaneth our aduise?
When we God wot, so much of counsell néede?
And how againe, shall we vnhappie rise?
Alberto speake, what way shall we procéede?
And art thou mute? Vdislaoes hart doth bléede,
Oh (men forlorne) how wretched is our state?
Whome heauen and earth, oppresse with heapes of hate.
Who will estéeme, our manhoode and our might?
By Ladies force, to carde, to spinne, and réele,
Where so we liue, all women will vs spight,
And cause they haue, with such disdaine to deale,
Yet plagues ynow, we else in penance féele,
O slaunder thou, on vs these haste brought,
Foule fall the cause, thou harboredst in our thought.
Had wretched we, for treason banisht bin,
Some would haue ru'de, our miserie and mone,
But slaundrous speach, is such a hatefull sinne,
As slaunders falls, lamented are of none,
In bookes of shame, their faults are rolld alone,
Their names are scornd, their presence ten times more,
All filthy vice, that all men thus abhore.
This resteth then, for vs vnhappie men,
To leade our liues, in houltes and vncouth woods,
A hollowe caue, to make our homely den,
To foyle hunger, with apples, hawes, and buds,
For nobles borne, God wot, but sorrie foodes,
There we, poore we, must rue our harmes alone,
Or monsters make, companions in our mone.
O friendly death, our worldly farewell giue,
From hated fleshe, our loathed life diuorce.
[Page 123]Spare them good death, the which in pleasure liue,
And vse at once, on vs thy matchlesse force,
To thée alone, our woes sues for remorce,
When all is done, our helpe remaines in thée,
Then strike with spéede, our sorrowes for to frée▪

In praise of the right H. the Ladie I.S.G. of Wilton.

WHere loue affects, or flatterie forgeth praise,
There fayles no will, faire Ladies fames to wray,
But Art I lacke, such parciall notes to raise,
Truth guardes the checke, in what I write or say,
And warded thus, when all their wit is showne,
I boldly vaunt (although in barren verse)
This Ladie staines, their Ladies euerie one,
She shewes in workes, what they in wordes rehearse,
Past natures reach (a gift of great imprise)
Her faultlesse life, puts slaunder to his shifts,
And yet she hath what Nature could deuise,
To set a glosse, vpon her gallant gifts,
Besides all this, she hath such fortune lent,
As both commends, and doth her selfe content.

In praise of my L. E. R.

THe pearles of praise, that decke a noble dame,
Excéede the price, of any Iuellers showe,
Yea beauties gifts, are but a glosse of fame,
In vertues soyle, these precious iuels growe,
And that the dame, whome I do here commend,
Hath store of both, my able proofe attend.
A passing wit is, lodged in her head,
The which is deckt, with haires of golden hewe,
Her modest eyes, are sild with gases lead,
And yet they staine, bright Diamonds in viewe,
Her words of worth, doth win her toung such praise,
As when she speakes, the wisest silent slayes.
Besides her shape, which sightly is in showe,
Her mynd is with, these noble gifts possest,
Her bountie doth, beyond her beautie goe,
A care she hath, to ease the thrall distrest,
Thus is she deckt, and this is she I say,
That weares and beares, these pearles of praise away.

In praise of my L. Cecil of Bourlegih.

THe cruell warres, that Nature long did moue,
By force to plucke, good Uertue from her throne,
Appeasd in peace, to shewe the fruits of loue,
Of precious mould, kynde faults to worke anon,
And hauing shapt this séemely dame of clay,
For Uertues helpe, she sent her straight away.
When Uertue viewd, dame Natures worthy skill,
With great delight, she kist this Ladies face,
And then (to shewe, that Nature wisht her will)
She posted to, her treasure house of grace,
Her golden shewes, where she good Ladie spoyles,
To decke this dame, thus was she both their toyles.
And with these gifts, into the world she came,
Whereas she doth, in worthy credite rest,
Yea sure her life, so beautifieth her name,
As Enuie graunts (who sildome sayes the best,
Her wit, her wéedes, her words, her workes and all,
So modest are, as slaunder yealdes her thrall.

In praise of Maistresse M.H. now Bridges.

BEautie with brags of late, wild vertue yeald her thrall,
But soone ye Gods to stay their strife; a parlement did call,
And fame wt thundring tromp, was wild their subiects [...]i [...]e,
By credite of their thrals to shew, who was of gretest might,
Beautie against this day, her prowdest shewes prepard,
[Page 125]And sure a troupe of gallant gyrles, her séemely selfe did gard,
Their spangels, wrought, a gase eche dame in feathers slauntes,
Their straung attyres, their cuts & cost, foreshewd, their scorneful vaūts,
They looked all askaunce, when beautie claymde her right,
That loe the Gods amased were, to see so proude a sight.
Anon good Uertue comes, with traine of bashfull Dames,
Whose modest lookes, wrought more regard, then Beauties blasing fla­mes,
A silence now was made, that they their sutes might moue,
Both Ladies sue for souereigne rule, and thus their titles proue,
Proude Beautie vaunts on powre, poore Uertue on desart,
And by your leaue, for all her bragges, the worst had Beauties part.
Her showes were blemisht much, with surfling and such like,
Which knowne, beautie (through feare of foyle) into a mase did strike.
Who gasing rounde about, faire Brydges did espie,
Whose séemely feature forme and shape, did much delight her eye,
And scorning other proofe, she Bridges calld in place,
Who (to sett foorth, her sightly selfe) apeard with vashfull grace,
Quoth Beautie? see my [...]oyle, you Gods, nowe iudge aright,
Halfe part with you quoth Uertue streight, my gifts adorne this wight:
For bountie guides her thought, which beautie farre excells,
And pittie rules her noble heart, where pride in Beautie dwells,
To loue, and Lawlesse lust, where beauties lures doe traine,
She winns a calme, yet friēndship firme, with showe of chaste disdaine,
A meane contents her minde, where Beautie is extreame,
What botes thée then, good beautie thus, to striue against the streame,
Shée onely shall suffice, if thereto thou agrée,
To showe and proue, by dome of Ioue, the best of thée, or mée,
I will (quoth Beautie) stand, to that that Ioue awards,
Ioue waying wel their worthie worke, thus beth their toile rewards.
Hée ruled Uertue should, be alwayes best in name,
Yet Beautie during Bridges-like, should sway in equal fame.
Loe thus betwéene these Dames the bloudie frayes did seace,
But Bridges bore the praise away, for making of this peace.

The praise of mistresse A. C.

IF Troyians stoute, that fought in Hellens ▪ band,
Small wayd their liues, their Lady to preserue,
[Page 126]What doubt, what death, what hell should mée withstand,
To worke C. will the captaine that I serus,
Who doth in déede, as farre fayre Hellen passe,
As good, doth bad, or gold the corsest brasse.
For first shée hath in feauture, forme and face,
What Hellen had, or beautie could deuise,
And therewithall, she hath so chast a grace,
To hold them backe, with fancies fonde that frie [...],
That (loe) they choose to pine in secrete paine,
Before their sutes, should moue her to disdaine.
She showes them grace, that sorrowes their amis,
Beyonde desert, her bountie doth reward,
Her modest minde, by vertue guided is,
Her sober lookes, doth worke a rare regard,
Although in court, her roume is hie, shée knowes,
Yet likes shée not, to féede on curious showes.
A care shée hath (which showes, a louing wife)
To loue and like, but what contents her fere,
With these good giftes, commended is her life,
Such one is Q. whom I haue praised here,
Euen shée, is shée, denie it who that dare,
That doth both kinds, and vertues iewels ware.

In praise of mistresse A. H.

VAine is the vaunt, that runnes beyonde desert,
Small is the praise, that proofe will not commend,
Shame is their fall, that mounteth fames by arte,
Truth is the gard, that writers doth defend,
And Trueth I haue, my naked Uerse to clothe,
But skill I want, this pear [...]lesse péece to praise,
In fairenes who doth passe the Dame in troth,
Whose beautie wrought, the Troyans bloudye frai [...]s,
Withal to showe, what nature did pretend,
[Page 127]In framing her, an endlesse fame to finde,
She wrought such meanes, as vertue doth commend,
Her gallant shape, with worthy giftes of minde,
What would you more, then faire and vertuous both,
That both she is, but search where shée doth liue,
(Beyonde my reach) report their telling troth,
This modest mayde, a matchlesse praise doth giue,
Loe this is al (though further would my will,)
I write of her, for want of able skill.

The saucie pesaunts present, vnto his souereigne mistresse.

LAdy receiue thy pesaunts gift in grée,
(Whose will is much, although his worth be small)
A gift it is, that best beséemeth thée,
Whose vertues hould, thy beauties rare in thrall,
So that, sith that, your liue without a match,
Garde you your fame, with this well meaning watch.
Thinke that you liue in gase of enuies eyes,
Whose sight [...]oth search, in secre [...]st thought of minde,
Thinke false suspect, about you still hath spies,
Will forge offence, where they no fault can finde,
Thinke déepe disdaine, would blot your life with blame,
For that alone you weare the pearlesse of fame.
And yet fayre dame (incountring all their might)
These following rules, if you imprint in minde,
Your enuious foes, shall pine away with spite.
First choose a friend, whose wordes in workes you finde,
With courtesie, a straunger intertaine,
But louing sutes cutt off with chaste disdaine.
Thinke s [...]gred wordes as Syrens songes, do wound,
All is not gold, in sight that sémeth gay,
In carelesse trust, is euer treason sound,
[Page 128]Then shunne the baites, that philed tongues do lay,
With proude reuenge, racke not your yéelding foe,
Lest nettels doe, amonge swéete flowers groe.
Mount with your minde, by Uertue to the skies,
Uaile yet your eares, the mysers mone to heare,
From all extreames, in spite of enuies spies,
In calme delight, your dayes, so shal you weare,
Thus (souereigne) ends, your sausie pesaunts songe.
Accept it well, or else you do him wronge.

Epilogus.

LOe Ladies heare (if you can vse it well,)
An Arbour fenst, from burning fire and frost,
A place it is where pride shall neuer dwell,
Nor fortune worke a mase, doe shée her worst,
A place wherein the worthie dame should liue,
Whom no extreame, may change from vertuous thought,
Euen such a place, my Muse (faire dames) doth giue,
To you, the which, with double toile is wrought.
Here may you sée, by lampes of others liues,
A president, to liue in worthie name,
Here may you sée, when death your dayes depriues,
In spight of death remembraunce of your fame.
Virescit vulnere virtus.
The Ortchard of repe …

The Ortchard of repentance: Wherein is reported, the miseries of dice, the mischiefes of quarelling, and the fall of prodigalitie.

Wherein is discouered the deceits of all sortes of people.

Wherein is reported, the souden endes of foure notable Cousiners.

With diuers other discourses, necessarie for all sortes of men. The whole worke, the inuention and collection of George Whetstons Gent.

Formae nulla fides.

[...]

am nothing dismayde with such nyce findfaultes misliking. Suffiseth me, if the learned and wel disposed, take my paines in worth: among the which, I chiefly seeke to please your worship: the authoritie of whose patronage, will both de­fende and commend my trauell, desiring you to take it, as a testimonie of the faithfull zeale I beare towardes you, and being incouraged, with your fauourable acceptancu, I will not faile (God willing) to enterprise some worke, that shall better deserue your countenance, content the reader, and commend my paines. From my longing in Hol­borne, where I dayly pray for the prosperous health and hap, both of you, and your good Lady. The 15. of October 1576.

Your worships most bounden G. Whetstons.

The honest minded mans aduen­tures, his largesse: and his farewell to the world. A worke discouering, the subtilties of all sortes of men.

REpyne not, friends, to view the forme of scorne,
Skew not to sée, a figure fresh of ruth,
A crooked péece, with withered age for worne,
In drouping dayes, whome begg [...]ri [...] pursuth,
A sorrie crop, for séede of all his youth,
Who moylde, who toyld, who gaped after gaine,
When losse ensude, a poore reward for paine.
2
Though straunge at first my tale may séeme in sight,
Yet wisely wayde, the cause appeareth playne,
Why backward hap, my foreward hope did quite.
Why losse I found, where I did looke for gayne.
Why pouertie, I reapt in lue of paine,
For trye who list, and he by proofe shall sée,
With honest myndes, the world will hardly grée.
3
Which of it selfe,
The kingdom of the world described.
a kingdome is of sinne,
The deuill is prince, whose pomp doth neuer fade,
Deceite and Craft, his chiefest counsellers bin.
Extortion foule,
The deuils officers.
his treasurer is made,
Couetousnesse, is merchant of his trade.
Uile Usurie, his racking rents doth rake,
As auditour, account doth Briberie take.
4
Within his court, these vipers beareth sway:
First false suspect, high chamberlain they call,
Who raps thē down, which mount by honest way,
Disdaine controuls, the wightes which be in thral.
Then grudge the garde, doth place them in the hal.
Mistrust and spight, doth dayly watch and ward.
And malice is, the captaine of the garde.
5
Enuie and Hate, the presence doore doth kéepe,
Which eluish elfes, dame Uertue still deryde,
Or if she knocke, the sottes will be a sléepe,
Next to the diuel, the court doth Lecherie guyde,
On whom attends, dame Pleasure, Lust, & Pryde.
What office beares, the Glutton with the rest,
Or drunken sot, to shewe it were a iest.
6
Debate and strife, the coastes doth dayly scowre,
B Well meaning mynds, to sée they do repyne,
Though Fortune laugh, ye world on thē doth lowre,
Her subiects sléepe, and snore like fatted swyne,
When hunger sterude, with want the vertuous pyne,
No wonder though they leade this lothsome life,
For worldly rule, with vertue is at strife.
7
But I too long, do tyre you with this tale,
To wray the rule, the worldly wretches haue,
Who bath in blisse, when others boyle in bale,
Who do commaund, when others gladly craue,
Yet shame and all, they leaue to fill their graue,
I ment and meane, to shewe his ouerthrowe,
Whose honest mynd, became his chiefest foe.
8
His first ad­uenture in the court.
I first by cost, did séeke in court to mount,
A néedefull helpe, in court to purchase grace,
But fowly short, I fell vpon account,
The flatterer thriueth in the Court.
I quite forgot, to flatter and to face,
The thrall to scorne, the best for to imbrace,
I su' [...] I seru'd, I did attendance daunce,
And still I thought, desart would me aduaunce.
9
Note.
I lookt aloft, and brau'd it with the best,
The charge mine owne, no countnance did I lacke,
Whilest pence were ryfe, I was a welcome guest:
I ayded those, whom spitefull scorne did sacke,
In vnkind re­compence.
Which one aduaunst, were first yt threwe me backe,
[Page 7]With conges kynde, the gallants would me gréefe,
With cap and knée, the meaner did me méete.
10
The sneaking curres, by bryberie layd a traine,
A myle to catch, before they fell the crumbes,
I thought desart, perforce would fasten gaine,
On me which gape, but gained nought but plumbes,
For former graunts, still nickt me oore the thumbes,
The drawlatch thriu'd, my selfe who helpt to grace,
As well as he, which bare the proudest face.
11
Ne enuide I, of either part the thrift,
Since Fortune smylde, vpon the silly sot,
I thought aloft, no doubt she would me lift,
So spent in hope, for feare I spared not,
By cost I sayd, that worship still was got,
But I so long, did spende vpon the store,
That all was gone, then could I spend no more.
12
Then countnance straight,
For sakt bra­uerie, and leue thy credite in the court.
with sower face did frowne,
And credite next, began to slip aside,
Disdaine and spight, with spéede then threwe me downe,
In this distresse, whom earst I helpt I tryde,
Who gaue good words, but no reliefe applyde:A
Thus quight forsooke, I in the briers stucke,
And cryde perforce, a vengance of yll lucke.
13
I thought mishap, my fortune did withstand,
And méere good hap, to others gaine assignde,
I little thought, that Item in the hand,
Remembrance was, a friend in court to finde,
Or some for some, could leade a stately mynde,
Ne flatterie I, did feare should be prefarde,
Ere seruice true, had reapt his full rewarde.
14
I could not thinke,
Description of the court.
the court two faces had,
In fauour faire, fresh, sweete, fraught with delight,
[Page 8]When in disgrace, the wrongside turnes as sad,
Sullen, sowre, sharpe, the shewe of déepe despight,
As Syrens songs, bewitch the simple wight,
I quite forgot, in short to shewe you plaine,
The prouerb old, faire words do make fooles faine.
15
I simply ment, but subtly was beguilde,
A Crocodile, deceiues with fained teares,
But pray obtaind, it turnes to monsters wilde,
Fained friends
With fayned friends, in fine euen so it fares,
B Which snarled be, in froward fortunes snares,
They crouch & [...]réepe, til they haue that they wish.
In your distresse, they wey you not a rush.
16
But certes they, which neuer ta [...]ted bal [...],
Persuaded be, that all men bathe in blis,
So sure he thinkes, truth séemes each sugred tale,
Whose honest mynd, did neuer meane amis,
C The speach of craft, he counts a mockerie is,
Both losse and gaine (he saith) doth Fortune giue,
And still he hopes, on after hap to liue.
17
My selfe the proofe, which reackt my courtly fal,
A backward blast, a fit of froward fate.
Some other way, to hay she would me call,
With double mendes, to vaunce my poore estate,
As gleames of ioy, do followe cloudes of hate,
Thus lights I held (bewitched with faire wordes)
Or bushes beate, while other lymde the byrdes.
18
I still relie'ud, the wights that were distrest,
Although they would, they could [...] me no good.
Which cold excuse, soone cut off my request,
A night cap sure, or else a lyned hoode,
Beséemde my skonce, I sware by swéete S. Roode,
Which like a foole; on would and could di [...] féede,
When simple I with déede, relieu'd their néede.
19
These hashards hard, might honest mindes defile,
What Haruest worse,
Miserie can hardly winne the vertuous to vice.
then wéedes to reape for corne?
But though the lewde, do laugh if Fortune smile,
And frowne as fast, if that the fyxsen scorne,
Yet wealth, ne woe, no friendly minde can turne,D
For happ they leaue no honest way vnsought,
But féedes on hope, by value of their thought.
20
Wel, thus perforce, I left the costly Court.
Hie time to trudge, when coine, and clothes were spent,
The souldiers gaine, was rounge with swéete report,
By them which wist not, what their losses ment,
At ventures yet, to sée the warres I went,
Resolu'd by them, to rise or léese my breath,
For seruile life, I worse despisde then death.
21
Appointed well,
His seconde aduenture in the warres.
and souldier like arayde,
I left my friends, and throngd amid my foes,
Although at first, the thundring shott mée frayde,
In fine saunce feare, I lent such lustie blowes,
That soone my fame, throughout the Campe arose,
With better pay, to credite then I grue,
And thus a flaunte, to care I badde adue.
22
In desperate frayes, gaue charge my band & I,
By manly force, our eager foes to foyle,
Not one then flie, but rather chus'de to die,
And where they foyld, I let them fléece the spoyle,
For trueth to say, that tythe, deserude their toyle,
I neuer nickt the poorest of his pay,
But if hée lackt, hée had before his day.
23
They chéerisht thus,
A good Capi­taine makes good souldi­ers.
when néede inforst them fight,
On foes they slewe, in face of all the shott,
As wolues the shéepe, doe spoile or sore affright,
Their enimies soe, did flie or goe to pott,
Such lyll they layde, vppon their pates God wott,
[Page 10]Sith fame I reapt, thus by their restlesse paine,
I could not choose, but let them gleane the gaine.
24
Such was my hap, to reach the honour still,
In hie attemptes, I gaue the ouerthrowe,
Thus fortune long, did frame vnto my will,
But I forgot, how soone shée playes the [...]rowe,
Euen where of late shée fauour most did showe,
I ouerslipt the time that seru'd for thrift,
As though the warres, ne did their chaunces shift.
25
In poore repasses, whose courtesie is such,
To leaue to cut, till lurchers old haue caru'd,
They séeldome say, shal surfet of too much,
Yet haply may, with want be hunger staru'd,
Who so in spoile, so stayes till all be seru'd,
Besides his blowes, an easie burthen beares,
Each for himselfe, where souldiers shift and shares.
26
But whilste I stode in tickle fortunes grace,
And swam in wealth, of want I neuer thought,
I toke no héede how age drewe on a pace,
Or brused bones at home for safetie sought,
To liue vppon the gaine that youth had caught,
But when I could, sith then I would not thriue,
Whē faine I would, then could with me did striue.
27
The sowvre sauce of swete reported war.
For when the warres, any chiefest strength had worne,
When wounded flesh did faint at bloudy blowes,
When fortune thwart, her fawning face did turne,
A When faithfull friendes, were reft by raging foes,
When foule debate amonge our souldiers rose,
When treason foyld, where force could neuer spéede,
When hollowe heartes did droupe away at néede.
28
When thus of warres, I felt the sower taste,
Which séemed swéete; by speach I heard of yore,
[Page 11]For worne with toile, I homewards trudgst in haste,
My skinne well paide, with woundes and bruses sore,
But sure of pence, I had but slender store,
Thus did I spend the time that serude for thrift,
And left old age in drowping dayes to shift.
29
Yet simple I, did thus persuade my minde,
How that the warres do naught but honour yéeld,
His last aduē ­ture in the coūtrye made him a starke begger.
And cost in Court, did cast mée farre behinde,
My way to thriue, was tilling of the féeld,
A charge God wott, vnméete for mée to wield
A farmer fresh, I fell then to the plow,
And coste abridgst, yet cares I had ynow.
30
I then did trust, the trueth of euery swayne,
And thought that I, a sight of lubbers kept,
UUhen others housd, my hay lay sowst in raine,
My corne did shead,
Yll seruaunds.
before the same was reapt,
Or spoild with beastes, whilst lasie Robin slept,
I bought at worst, yet sould I vnder foote,
A poore increase, can spring of such a roote.
31
Thus long with losse, the Farmer stoute I playde,
Till out of house and home, pure néede mée prest,
UUith beggerie bitt, then was I sore dismayd,
To trie my friendes, yet I my selfe addrest,
UUith squaymish lookes, who intertainde thei guest,
UUith sower showes,
An old pro­uerb, beggers must be no choosers.
my want could well endure,
For small reliefe, then, none was better sure.
32
In what I could, my host then did I please,
UUith quippes,
In what con­tēpt the riche haue their poore friends.
and nippes, who cutt mée ore the thumbes,
But floutes in faith, could not mée so disease,
That from the borde, I gathered not the crumbes,
For poore men pincht, are glad to pray on plumbes,
Hayted and baited, time thus did I weare,
Hard lodgde, worse clothd, not cloyd with costly fare,
33
This compa­nion was Craft.
And fettered thus (God wot) in chaynes of wo [...],
I sléeping once, mée thought before my vew,
A mate I sawe, that earst I did not knowe,
God spéede (quoth hée) quoth I the like to you,
Acquainted thus, such friendship did insue,
As I to him, my former Fortunes shoe,
My hap, my harme, my want, my weale, my woe.
34
Which to discourse, a tedious tale I tould,
Which well hée marckt, and smyled in his thought,
Good friend hée said, thou waxest very ould,
For whom foresight, some succour should haue sought,
But well I sée, thou youth hast spared nought,
Yet all thy life, thou moyldst and toyl [...]st for gaine,
Hard was thy hap, that losse still aunsweard paine.
35
No fortune yet, but follie in thy selfe,
That losse thou reapst, in recompence of paine,
Thy course was wrounge, a pace to prowle vp pelfe,
For falsehoode must, or flattery compasse gaine,
Or else in faith, thy moyling is in vaine,
Deserte is dasde, with dyrefull enuies driftes,
And honest mindes, are put vnto their shiftes.
36
But listen well, and I will shortly showe,
How that thy want in drowping dayes shall die,
The way I know, how euery state doth growe,
B From base degrée, to wealth and honour hie,
Thy conscience yet, must beare with briberie,
Lewde coun­sell
With falsehoode, fraude, feare not to vse deceites,
To fishe for wealth, those are the sweetest baites.
37
If thou doest loue, a faithlesse priest to bée,
If Courtiers life, in thée hath lyking wrought,
In merchauntes fraude, if thou wouldst deepely sée,
If Lawyers gaine, doth tempt thy gréedie thought,
If through the warres, aloft thou wouldst bée brought,
[Page 15]In countrie cares, if thou wouldst beate thy braine,
If Cheters craft, thou weanst, is full of gaine.
38
If by these trades, reléefe thou meanst to reape,
Doe thus, and thus, and thou with wealth shalt swell,
With that hée wrayed, of huge deceiptes a heape,
The least whereof, would send a man to hell,
At which amasde (quoth I) good frend farewell,
I like theée not, thy counsell is full euill,
I liued well, I will not die a deuill.
39
At which adue, my mate to sigh I sawe,
Who sorrie was,
Note.
hée had bestowde such talke
On mée, whose tale, to no deceite could drawe,
And in this chafe, away the man did walke,
And waking then, I vp and downe did stalke,
Who in my selfe, did finde a hell of thought,
To sée what wyles, to compasse wealth are wrought.
40
Desire of wealth,
Desire of goods draw our mindes frō goodnes.
forthwith my heart did wound,
My honest minde, did blame my gréedie venye,
Thus in my selfe, a heape of harmes I found,
Afraide of fraude, yet glad to compasse gaine,A
Thus both I blamde, and thankt the cousiners paine,
But as by chaunce,
The remem­brannce of death, hinde­reth vs from wickednes.
I looking in my glasse,
Mée thought I saw, how death by mée did passe.
41
With that (quoth I) away with golden glée,
Auaunt desire,
The godly cōremue riches, compassed by deceite.
of gréedie gathering gaine,
Wouldst thou him binde, which whilome liued frée,
Away goe trudge, thy toyling is in vaine,
The world I scorne, with my swéete Christ to raine,
No subiect I, of sathans Emiyre came,
Christ is my leage, to serue the deuill I shame.

¶A Larges to the world.

42
My knowledge yet, vnto the world y knowne,
The know­ledge of dec­ceite, is neces­sarie for the good.
May haply warne, my friends to shunne this baite,
Amonge the lewde, this séede is hugely sowne,
They daily take, this bitter swéete receite,
For why their foode, is rapine and deceite,
My larges yet, to all I franckly giue,
A large larges.
Within this world, that haue desire to liue.
43
The Cleargi.
The Cleargie they, no worldly creatures are,
B They cost contemne, their wéedes but homely bée,
Heauen féedes their soules, their paunche hath pouer fare,
They goodes despise, but what with Scriptures grée,
To helpe the poore, whose want they daily sée,
Well these I sée, estéemeth not my gift,
To get their thankes, and haue I neare a shifte?
44
Yes, yes forsooth: (wel fare the fruits of fraud)
They wedded are (a néedefull helpe gainst sinne)
Their sonnes full oft, desireth more a gaude,
Then at their bookes, their fathers fame to winne,
Their daughters scorne, to knit, to card, or spinne,
They Gentles are, as braue as is the best,
They royst in silkes, and gad to euery feast.
45
With smal expence, this pride is not maintaind,
And when you die, your lyuing bids adue,
If naught you spare, their brauerie then is staind,
They must forsake, their wonted Courtly crue.
Or make some shift, though shame thereof insue.
Which to preuent this counsel Craft doth giue,
To proule for them, whilst you in wealth do liue.
46
Scorne you the Pope: scorne not to clawe his coine,
His titles leaue: lease not the selfe same gaine,
(You colours haue) how so you pence purloine,
Decayed schooles, you may erect againe,
You may relieue, the néedie mysers paine,
[Page 15]With many moe, whom penurie doth pearce,
For lacke of skill, which scapes my worthlesse vearse.
47
The Courtier hée,
The Courtie [...]
will thanke mée for my gift,
Hée spendeth much, yet little hath to spend,
Some say this course doth séeldome compasse thrift,C
Yet fréely here, his state for to amend,
To bragge it out in brauery to the end,
The Courtier younge, a lesson loe I tell,
The elder sort, doth knowe the forme full well.
48
For credite sake, you néedes must brauely serue,
And credite wonne, is quickly worne away,
Get vp your crumbes, therfore, ere grace doth swerue,
Fawne still on them, that beare the greatest sway,
Attendaunce daunce, when others plie their play,
The mightiest please, how so their mindes are ledde,
For wisest wittes, with some conceites are fedde.
49
With lawyer soone, sée thou thy selfe acquaint,
UUhich knowes what giftes, are in the Princes hands,
UUhat lyes conceald, by reason of attaint,
UUhat fée, what farme, amonge his leages landes,
Drawes to an end, that clarkly vnderstandes,
UUhat office yéeldes, a gaine aboue the rest,
UUhat penall lawe, to begge for thée is best.
50
UUho finely drawes a pattent for a néede,
And Pattents sée, you alwayes haue in store,
A time may serue, when haply you may spéede,
UUhich fitted not so well a yeare before,
And by the way, this care haue euermore,
UUell to foresée, to whom you wray your minde,A
Least in your sutes you slender fauour finde.
51
Your charge is great, shift therefore for your selfe,
For facion sake, yet flatter to their face,
[Page 14]But vse no course, in prowling vp of pelfe,
And if mishappe, doth throw one out of grace,
Bée readie preast, to prease into his place,
For why your ioy, comes by your neighbours thrall,
Then be not nyce, to rise where hée doth fall.
52
The souldier stoute, whom fortune still doth tosse,
The souldier.
To shadowe fraude, forsothe hath fynest shoe,
B His swéetest gaynes are sawste, with sower losse,
Yea life full oft, to reach reléefe must goe,
Her faintes his friend, there fightes his mortall foe,
Here bulletes towze, at vnawares him méete,
There hawlberds hewe, here bilmen doth him gréete.
53
If in this dole, hée chaunce to reach a rap,
In faith at home, hée findes a could reléefe,
Best therefore then, whilst fortune fittes for hap,
Hée shift for one, for feare of future gréefe,
The souldier once, is neuer tearmde a théefe,
How so hée wronges, how so hée spoyles and spends,
And reason good, his life oft makes amends.
54
The poorer sort, yet séeldome compasse, thrift,
To helpe whose want, Mast Craft doth vse this way,
(A pettie helpe) for such as loue to shift,
To watch and ward, to filche his fellowes pray,
To sacke the wight, that gladly would obey,
To spoile his friend, as one hée doth not knowe,
If ought be said, hée toke him for his foe.
55
But now to you, which haue both charge and sway,
You must be braue, for fame and credite sake,
Yet must you pinch, no souldier of his pay,
Lest nipt with néede (poore slaue) his héeles hée take,
In heate of blowes, before his head doth ake,
What then (well kept) a few will do more good,
Then store of lowtes, which feare to loose their blood.
56
Dead payes will helpe, to chéerish all the rest,
And likewise you, shall finde therein some gaine,
And when to filch, your souldiers are addrest,
Fléese you their pray, thē chide them for their paine.
For stragling out, from resdue of their traine,
Ne spare to spoile, when force doth foile your foe,
Take time and tide least fortune play the shroe.
57
The lawyer hée,
The Lawyer.
wc doubtes that dulls his braine
For tenne yeares space, his time in studie spends,C
Ere practise his, doth purchase stoare of gaine,
Too long a plague, so long to fawne on friends,
And spend on stoare in hope of after mends,
And therefore sure, deceite deserues no curse,
For working meanes, meane while to fill his purse.
58
And yet in [...]ooth, a grote will buy his gift,
A booke of notes, remembraunce t'is to ease,
Wherein is writ full many a prettie shift,
Post facto stuf, and Non est factum please,
By larger grauntes, the lease away to fease,
Conditioned releases, how to frame,
By former wordes, the latter for to lame.
59
Such quillets nyce, when thus you noted haue,
Some practise néedes, must print them in your thought,
Set such at Lawe, in wordes as late but straue,
And when they both in backhouse ditch are brought,
To poule them both, let some deuise be wrought,
Forget not this, when writings hit your hand,
(If youthes them owe) with doubtes to lame his land.
60
With hope of gaine, his gréedy minde else moue,
To voyde some graunt, or worke some leases wracke.
A lease of trust, then must the title proue,
At leasure yet, this timelesse trust turne backe,
Your interest small, his greatest right will sacke,
[Page 18]For once in proofe, this prouerbe still doth last,
A little lyme, A foule will fetter fast.
61
Physicians.
Physicians now, that weyes how weake wée are,
B Newe cures must search, our griefes are now so straunge,
Old Gallens drugges, our time vnfitteth farre,
Augmented then, his cures abroade must raunge,
For healthlesse men, on euery hope will chaunge,
But once reteynde, be sure thou vse this course,
Another blame, although thy selfe be worse.
62
The practise of a lewde Physician.
Sée your receites, some lightning yéeld at first,
To worke conceites within your patients thought,
Persuade him still, his paine is at the worst,
Yet heale and harme, till wished gaine be wrought,
But for the poore, sée some reléefe be sought,
And for your paines, let rich men (gréeued) pay,
No cure performde, your custome will decay.
63
Officers.
But now to you whom office doth aduaunce,
C For your behoofe, I (forst) imploy my paine,
You come deuaunt, vppon a sorrie chaunce,
Yea stocke you set, vppon a tickle maine,
Durant levie, no longer lastes your gaine,
And ere you sway, some thousand poundes must fle [...],
Which is not raysde (in hast) vppon your fée.
64
In tenne yeares space, fiue hundred markes a yeare,
Unto his heire, who purchase not to leaue,
One officer by honestie, discouereth the deceites of the lewde.
Shall sure be blamde, of mysers euery where,
If truth cause lacke, most say the rest deceaue,
If all be false, few will such faultes conceiue,
Once wronge you must, a thousand for this gaine,
How voyde you then, the penall statutes paine.
65
You are forbid inroulements for to rase,
To fit your friend, or foile your hated foe,
[Page 19]To saue old seales, to giue forg'd writtes their grace,
To chaunge records, a frendly turne to showe,
For once you may both helpe and ouerthrowe,
Yet vse you must, both meanes by slie deuise,
But frosted bée, for feare of slippery yse.
66
Prouide a cloake, to couler stil your crime,
Then worke your will, Apollo oft doth fléepe,
But if your wyles, do come to light in time,
To salue such misse,
A notable cloake.
some carelesse seruaunt kéepe,
Plague him with blame, when you the profite reape
What if sharpe checkes, do put you in some feare,
The gaine remaines, ye tauntes in time doth weare.
67
Mas gaylor,
Gaylors.
néedes, must taste of this my gift,
Extortion cryes, against his yron fées,D
What then in hould, this is your onely shift,
With shackles huge, your prisoners to displease,
Thus pincht (good soules) they will pay, pray, and please,
Pence poucht ne dreade, although they stoutly crake,
To vse redresse, poore prisoners vnde lacke.
68
Now gallants learne, whom brauery still consumes,
To royst in silkes,
Younge Gen­tlemen.
to flaunt in coulers gay,
To pranke your wiues, vp in their Pecockes plumes,E
To snuffe to scorne, to looke beyond your sway,
To finde a mint, to féede your mindes with play,
To hauke, to hunt, to boast, to braule, and fight,
Which are the thoughtes that féede you with delight.
69
This cost is more, then carelesse, youthes forethinke.
But cost, ne care, their hautie mindes can vaile,
Syth not, sée [...]ines, your farmers Eofers shrinke,
Of timber trées, then strike the loftie saile,
The bodies next, will serue for bord and pale,
[Page 20]If all these helpes, your charge will not defraye,
But still your names, in merchauntes iornalls staye,
70
To flote your mindes, if house and land must flée,
To two or thrée, the same giue graunt, and sell,
Caue emptor, to thy assuraunce sée,
Hap well, hap ill, some spéedeth pretie well,
The rest must take their fortune as it fell,
Shift you for one, the world to fraude is bent,
Coyne stayes your friend, when fléering wordes are spent.
71
A Come merchaunts come, and take in worth my gift,
Whose Lynxes eyes, in younge mens state doe prie,
Merchaunts.
Their losse your gaine, their spending is your thrift,
They broche your bagges till all their lyuing flie:
But holla hoe, a bug is Usurie,
Hée houldes you backe, from thrée times tenne to take,
On morgage good, least no returne you make.
72
What resteth then, your coyne will rust saunce vse,
And statute loane, cannot content your thought,
Well fare a shift, both lawe and them t'abuse,
You know in prime, each thing is easily wrought,
The dog to draw, the horse to order brought,
The skillesse youth, is wonne with euery gaude,
The reason is his thought is frée from fraude.
73
To worke this feate, sée that you vse this course,
Religiō with­out deuotion.
When dolefull knell, doth bidde a churle adue,
Send streight to know, on whom death vsd this force,
Not to this end your neighbours fate to rue,
But of his heire in hast so [...] a [...]ew,
If hée be younge, well left and easily wonne,
To feede his dame▪ sée wordes and workes be donne,
74
Some prettie summe on small assuraunce lend,
If youth be slowe, at leasure bid him pay,
[Page 99]Some times bestowe,
Crosbytinge, a cusnage vn­der the couler of friendship.
good counsell as his friend,
But helpe him to ech toy, to make him gay,
To pay for all, at length, will come a day,
By péecemeales thus, in lash hée wilbe brought,
In daunger once, let this deuise be wrought.
75
Get some to rest,
Note this po­licie.
and vexe this thriftlesse youth,
Not at thy sute (although by thy consent)
To frée himselfe from catchpoles litle ruth,A
For thy goodwill, to thée his minde is bent,
To mone his state, his time and coyne mispent,
To faine thy heart, to his behoofe is fixt,
Then let aduise, with prettie tauntes be mixt.
76
But to conclude,
Be dasigerous to enter into a statute to a marchaunt.
lend him his turne to scrue,
Yet binde him sure, least hée do slip away,
In statutes, which, lands, goods and body sterue,
Twentie to one, hée forfets at his day,B
The vauntage then, will double vsaunce pay,
Extent on land, the sale will slaunder soe,
That fée in fine, on easie prise will goe.
77
You Burgoses,
Burgoses.
which sell the costly stuffe,
That wares to ebb, our gallants goodes and land,
This lesson learne, and vtter wares ynough,
Beyonde the price, of paying downe in hand,
His state and stay,
To take ware on trust, a no­table vsurie.
first wisely vnderstand,
Close fisted then, deliuer him thy ware,
But binde him sure, if thou his paiment feare.
78
If day hée breake,
A worthie cu­stom in Lon­don.
let Commens be no Leache,
No forfet once, the citie custome giues,
In the hoystinges, an outlawes note him teache,
Beare with his talk, his crakes, and yreful tauntes,
Lawe will him stoupe,
Selling wares on credite, collusion.
in spight of all his vauntes,
Collusion thoe, this dealing some do reake.
Yet iumpe thou thus, a penal law to breake.
Scriueners.
Come Scriueners come, the frie of all abuse,
C Deceite beséemes you best of any men,
Why blush you so, you néede not frame excuse,
You are to helpe a thousand with your pen,
Chetors, Cousners, merchauntes, your selues like men,
Good reason you haue store of subtile skill,
Sith you are meanes, each misers bagge to fill.
80
Bée sure you haue, the groundes of lawe by ro [...]e,
What wordes unlose, and what as fast do binde,
Eche quillet nyse, sée that you néerely note,
In paper booke, as tendes to fraude you finde,
In morgages, leafes, couenauntes vnkinde,
Conditions, bondes, feoffments, Graunts, & cetera,
In some one point, the craftie lacke still play.
81
For craft is that, that doeth you credite gaine,
Rich Burgoses, your chiefest clients are,
Monie takers
They lay the plot, but you must take the paine,
Monie takers to meash in meates of care,
They fast, farewell, such will no vauntage spare,
Thus sith your trade, doth tend to falsehoode vile,
Good reason you, acquaint your selfe with guile.
82
This monstrous mate, had néede of thousand shiftes,
Cousiners.
To feede the thoughtes of those whose forme hée beares,
A A lawyers head, hée hath full stuft with driftes,
A simple looke, to frée rash youthes of feares,
A flatterers tongue, to féede beléeuing cares,
A harlots face, to witche with wanton sight,
A tyrauntes heart, to wound the harmelesse wight.
83
A scriueners fist, a lackyes legge to trudge,
A merchauntes minde, to mountaines that aspires,
A gluttons throte, to shewe hée is no snudge,
What gaine may bée, vngleand, this monster then desires,
What youth vnspoilde, whose wreake this féend conspires,
[Page 21]And sith this mate, so manyes turne must serue,
This course, for cheates, Craft willes him to obserue.
89
First flatterie thou, must prye abroad for pray,
Thou wily must, eache gallauntes state escrie,
Companion like, with them, thou néedes must play,
If able youth, Dice neede, to nip thou spie,
Unto his helpes, be sure thou haue an eye,
And one some lose, drawe neare and note his mone,
And proferre him, supplie on easy lone.
90
Now merchaunt hide, thy hooke in golden baite,
In plaine, Iohns name, yet let this dealing bée,
His simple show,
Note this po­licie.
will couler foule deceite,
To make false déedes, let maister Lawyer sée,
To get them seald, vse scriueners policie,
To meash him sure, let flatterie still assay,
But be not yet, to eger of your pray.
91
With friendly show, first worke him in conceite,
Then Epicure, thy bountie, let him féele,
To witch his witts, make mystresse Mynxe a baite,
Hée snarled once, ryng out the Cousners peale,
To forge, to rase: such stuffe then make him seale,
As ouer soone, will put him to his shift,
Noe force for that, hée might haue eyde his thrift.
92
But fraude bewrayde,
By the impri­soning of the complainant, the cousiner agreeth with­out open shame.
if wronged youth complaine,
Then tyraunt start, to saue the rest from shame,
To stay his sute, by catchpoles lay a trayne,
With Actions huge, his crased credite lame,
In prison popt, there is no laughing game,
There friends do faile, if monie ebbeth lowe,
His sute is cold, his lawyer wilbe slowe.
Hée nipt with néede, and rest of fréedome both,
As one halfe dead, in hast will sue for ease,
[Page 24]First make it coy, as men to gréement loth,
Right Cousi­ners stand vp­pon their cre­dite.
His slaundrous plaint, so doth your trueth displease,
As trial must this foule report appease,
In fine yet come, and ere you goe agrée,
And featherlesse, let my yonge maister flée.
94
Make shiftes.
An other sort of cheating mates there are,
C By néede inforst, that sues to Craft for ayde,
Whom thriftlesse life, hath wrapt in heapes of care,
In prison throwne, of succour cleane dismayde,
Whose wealth is worne, of friends, whose woe vnwayde,
Whose hautie heartes, gainst thraldome yet do spurne,
Néede workes for these, some shiftes, to serue their turne.
95
If any such, ripe witte, or learning haue,
Want ioynde with Craft, this counsell doth bestow,
(To f [...]aunte it out, in outward shew full braue)
Counterfet Astronomers.
To faine eche acte, yea thought by art they know,
A salue for loue, fooles fortunes for to shoe,
Goods stolne or lost, with a vengeaunce for to fetch,
Phisitian [...]
Or faine thou art for euery griefe a leach.
96
But at the first to make your cunning knowne,
A baude or two, send pryinge round about,
Bandes.
UUhere louing wormes, or sickly wightes are throwne,
Old churles some haue, some loue and reape a flout,
Some sicknes catch, by keeping reuell route,
To wightes thus grieu'd, though slender helpe you giue,
Use shewe of skil, in hope to make them liue.
97
If fortune hap, to hitt some heartes desire,
You néede no trumpe, your knowledge for to spred,
But by the way, giue mother Bée her hire,
Then wil shée prate to bring a patch to bed,
And vouch for proofe, how such and such haue sped,
Although in trueth, this shifting is but theft,
Your coates for this, the hangeman silde hath reft.
98
You holy gyrles,
Courtesans.
the hindmost in my gift,
Be formost yet, in fraud and foule abuse,A
While beautie lastes, in blooming yeares to shift,
For your behoofe, this counsell craft doth vse,
To make it nyce, large offers to refuse,
Alooft to stand, if Vobis (rich) do sue,
The more you flée, the more he followes you.
99
If carelesse boyes, your coynesse cannot brooke,
Such gallants win, with outward shew of grace,
They swallowing vp, with sugred bayte the hooke,
With carelesse toyes, their fancies can not chase,
And when you stoupe, their hote desires t'imbrace,
Looke to your match, the world is full of wyle,
And well you wot, how sugred words beguile.
100
Still haue an eye, to beauties vading blase,
And prye for dames, which soone in prime will be,
On painted stuffe,
Painting, may helpe a cour­tesan, but ther end is a bande and a begge [...].
though often gallants gase,
The wily sort, your surfling straight will sée,
To fit their turnes, stricke not to play the Bée,
Scorne not for gaine, in age to holde the doore,
They once were yong, yt were your bandes before.
101
And now (my larges giuen) farewel foule guile
Farewel (O world) no wile shal make me rich,
My mynd abhorres, welth won by falshoodes vyle,
To mount by fraud, I loth such loftie pitch,
I can not scratch, the harmelesse, ere they itch,
If due desart, proude Flatterie pyneth still,
I list not fawne, play hypocrite that will.
102
Fare wel,
His farewell to the world, a degression that shewes a of al this co­uetousness [...]
fare wel (O world) farewel againe,
Thou now God wot, frō wonted course doest réele
The clergie once, in preaching tooke great paine,
Whose words in works, bare witnes of their zeale
Most now in words, but few in workes reueale,
[Page 26]They teach with toung, when thought on tything is,
O wicked world, thy wealth is cause of this.
103
O world accurst, in court thou settest pryde,
Whose mynions are, fraude, flatterie, and disdaine,
They pyne desart, before his truth be tryde,
They forge offened, well meaning mindes to staine,
They cast at al, yet sildome lose amaine,
Wo worth ye world, thy brauerie works the wracke,
Of such in court, as well deserue, and lacke.
104
The souldier stout, foreséeing small reliefe,
For seruice doone, if spoyled honre he comes,
As forst to play, no souldier but the théefe,
When fortune fits, to gather vp his crumbes,
For once at home, poore store of pence he thumbes,
O world thy wealth, with rulers worketh so,
As what they haue, they hardly will forgo.
105
The lawe first made, to wéede out wrongs for right,
To yeald amends, vnto the poore opprest,
[...]s wrested nowe, for fauour or for spight,
Arbitriment, best for poore men.
Nowe monie, so corrupts the Lawyers breast,
That daying is, for poore mens suits the best:
Yea such effects, in worldly muche doth lurke,
As iudges harme, where helpe they ought to worke.
106
Fine fare and slouth, discases strange do bréede,
And grieued wights, will spare, no cost for ease,
But golden fées, so doth Physicians féede,
As séelde or nere, they rich mens paines appease,
With drinks and drugs, they still do them displease,
O wicked world, thy welth first wrought their grief,
Thy wealth againe, doth hinder their reliefe.
107
Desire of gaine, make offices so heape,
As solde they be, not giuen, who best deserues,
[Page 27]Who buyeth deare, séelde thriues by selling cheape,
Who wrongeth yet, from honest getting swerues,
No force for that, fewe nowe such course obserues,
Thus pelfe (O world) first makes the Doner foule,
To leauie mendes, the Done néedes must poule.
108
Each pleasant paine, each swéete inticing sowre
O world thou workst, our wanton yeres to witch,
And not content, we should our selues deuour,
But churles thou sett'st, to clawe vs ere we itch,
Thou burnst the byrde, and bastes the bacon stitch,
O spiteful world, thou hap frank harts dost grutch,
And grieuest churles, by giuing of too much.
109
The merchant once, bent all his care to seas,
In forreine soyle, he sought desired gaine,
Then was his toyle,
Vsurie, a newe trade of mer­chandise.
to common wealth an ease,
And he deseru'd, his wish in lye of paine,
But nowe at home, he findes a swéeter vaine,
Sance venter nowe, he will in wealth abound,
Foule fall the wight, this second trade that found.
110
The reachlesse héede, youthes haue in large expence,
To flaunt it out, their cost, no care, to thriue,
Inticeth churles, with shewe of good pretence,
In prime of pride,
Cousiners not without friends of cal­ling.
their maintnance to depriue,
For lymed once, small bootes (the wrong'd) to striue,
Right Cousners haue such helps, & friends at néede,
As struange it is, to sée how [...]leare they spéede.
111
Thy pryde, O world, doth bréede such wanton thought,
As most men nowe, receiue dame Venus hyre,
To stoupe faire dames, such sharp assaults are sought,
Such proffers large, such wiles to winne desire,
As wonder t'is, what fortes are set on fire,
Who sinneth not, is such a gnawing bone,
To raise this siege, that fewe will throwe a stone.
112
Fye on the world, fye on thy soule deceites,
Fye on thy fraude, thy flatterie and thy pryde,
Fye on thy shifts, thy subtilties, and sleites,
Fye on thy cloakes, thy filthy crimes to hyde,
Adieu, adieu, I can thée not abyde.
And thee O God, for euermore I laude,
For kéeping me, vntainted so with fraude.
113
A comfort to the godly in miserie.
For though I haue, consumd my dayes in thral,
Now death drawes néere, my coūt is quickly made,
And well I wot, death doth all sorts appall,
The prince, the poore, yea men of euery trade,
Who lewdly liues, with recknings huge is lade,
Thus worldlings griefe, where mine doth eb, doth flowe,
A sorrie swéete, to end with sowre woe.
114
Through conscience, I féele no thought of hell,
A bolde cha­lenge.
I conquer'd haue, of dreadful death the feare,
Where is thy sting, where doth thy furie dwell?
Where is thy force (O Death) wher is thy speare,
Assault say I, that with my Christe I were?
I ready am, both euening, noone, and morne,
The diuell, the world, and all their works I scorne.

Lenuoy.

115
YOu worldlings chiefe, to you this tale I tell,
God graunt my words, be to your woundes a leache,
The fruites of fraude, vntold, you knowe too well,
Yea better then, my naked Muse can teach,
But to this end, this dririe plaintes I preach,
That hencefoorth you, to getting haue such eye,
As you may liue, as though you dayly dye.
116
And least the lewde, should wrest my worde amis,
I do exempt the good of euery trade,
[Page 29]The which I trust, will not repine at this,
To shew thy praise, this checking verse was made,
The Clergie first, at whome a glaunce I had,
Of them there be, great store of preachers good,
To shewe the truth, that will not spare their blood.
117
There are in court, that liue in worthy fame,
And well deserue, renoune, and credite both,
Some officers, will take no bribes for shame,
Some laweyers, are to sowe dissention loth,
And citizens, with whome I séemde so wroth,
I néedes must graunt (how so my Muse did square)
Of euery trade, a number honest are.
118
The souldier now, whom I do honour much,
(How so I toucht) their faults that do offend,
I graunt we haue, of noble souldiers such,
(As maimes to fame) that will those vices shend,
I blame none such, the rest I wish amend,
Physicians good (as many sure there be)
Will not repine, the lewde reprou'd to sée.
119
How so I toucht, some scriueners faults at quicke,
There are of those, I knowe of honest fame,
Such haue no cause, against my Muse to kicke,
Nor yet the lewde; that wisely weyes the same,
I blase abuse, yet touch no creatures name,
Yea to be shore, [...]ypt no foot of men,
That truly can, w [...]th malice charge my pen.
Veritas non querit angulos.

G.W. opinion of trades (as touching gaine) written to his especiall friend, maister R.C.

MIne owne good friend▪ since thou so faine wouldst know,
What kynde of trade, doth yeald the surest gaine,
[Page 30]My iudgement now, of some I meane to showe,
And after toyle, which quiteth best thy paine,
The merchant he, which cuts the mounting seas,
With course direct, as lyes his best auaile,
The Spanish marte, whose mynde sometime doth please,
With further reach, some hoyst their houering saile.
Some passe Marroccos straights, by painful toyle,
Some séeke to reape, the fruites of Ciprus soyle,
But how or where, they rome with oken blockes,
Their liues, their goods, doth rest in Neptunes handes,
In rage some times, who rolles them on the rockes,
Or driuen vnknowne, they sinke on Sillaes sandes,
The gotten gaine they lookt, thus haplesse lost,
In lue of toyle, them selues be quite vndone,
Now vnto him, which furrowes on the coast,
And hassard gaines, on waltering waues doth shun,
Who gropes the oxe, who sheares the shéepe for gaine,
Is often doust, with dewes of rotting raine.
The handie craft, who wins his breade by toyle,
With sweate of browe, he gropes for others gaine,
He tylles the ground, he sowes with séede the soyle,
When others reape, the haruest of his paine,
To lodge the Lord, who buildes the stately hall,
Yet glad to couch, in cabben clad with néede,
For others ioy, who liues him selfe in thrall,
Who killes the shéepe, yet of the [...]oad doth séede,
His summers toyle, doth serue for winters store,
From hand to mouth, good soule he hath no more.
The captaine he, which climbes for high aduaunce,
By piercing blade, imbrude in enimies blood,
In martiall shewes, who formost leades the daunce,
His souldiers trainde, in warlike order good,
The pyke men plaste, to stay the horfemens rage,
The Musket wilde, aloofe, to souse them downe,
[Page 31]The byll men fresh, when handie stroakes must gage,
When gallants hauing charge, doth cry Aloun,
Then tantara, he bids in battell ray,
Be mearching mates, in hope of happie day,
But when to ioyne, the bloudie trumpe doth sounde,
The horsemen fling, to breake the pikemens ray,
The roaring gunnes, doth terrifie the grounde,
The feathred flightes, the enimies face doth fray,
The currier swift, doth rid the skonce of ake,
With streames of bloud, the ioyning vallies flowes,
And wounded wightes, for life their héeles doth shake,
Who scapeth then, next brunt may go to pot,
Thus daungerous standes, the souldier state God wot.
The courtier nowe, which hops vp by degrée▪
And haply heau'd, to heigth of high renowne,
If he do swerue, from top of tickle trée,
His courtly friends, will helpe to throwe him downe,
Who fawned earst, then wrayes the forme of hate,
(He honourd late) nowe glad to crouch and créepe,
Yet Enuie vile, with spite and foule debate,
So wreastes his guilt, that grace doth alwayes sléepe,
Expeuterand toyle, is guerdond with disdaine,
A bare reward, in recompence of paine.
The clowne doth clawe, more coyne out of the ground,
Then he whose skill, doth reach the state of starres,
Of yore though men, though learning were renound,
Wealth with those wit [...] nowe at mortall warres,
By Physicke [...] to credite many amount,
Where lacke of [...],
The three following, are the trade of surest gaine.
doth murther many one,
A sorrie trust, tyde to so hard acount,
To lende him pence, that payes the death for lone,
And yet no doubt, his gaine is gauld with griefe,
When conscience his, doth call him murdring théefe.
Great be the rents, the Clergie doth receiue,
More great their charge, the count if conscience take,
If errours their, the simple doth deceiue,
For both their misse, amendes their soules shall make,
This desperate cure, agrees not with my minde,
Although the gaine, doth tempt my gréedie thought,
If so it be, that my [...]es of feaude doth blynde,
Or falshood faith, from former grace hath wrought,
If trades of gaine, be spyste, with déepe deceit,
The Lawyers hooke, lyes hid in sweetest bayte.
It choketh fooles, which hunger after strife,
Suppose that cra [...]t, doth fore abuse his skill,
He sleas the purse, the others soule and life,
By learnings lacke, and error oft doth kill,
He roystes in sylkes, which merchants fetch a far,
Him glad to please, the simple soule doth moyle,
His sugred charme, witch Angels to the bar,
His piercing pen, the souldier oft doth soyle,
For solace sake, if he will to the court,
If any be, he soone shall sée the sport.
He little weyes, so lawe be on his side,
The thundring threates, which Lordly might doth moue,
If that his cause, with countrie men be tride,
More harts he hath, for feare then they for loue,
He often pulles, a personage from the priest,
And ouerrules, by lawe, both might and right,
A kildowe sure, whom no man dare resist.
God shield, that I with such a b [...]g should fight:
And thus thou hearst, of trades what I can say,
The lawe for game, doth beare the bell away.
Formae [...]ulla fides.

R.C. answere to G.W. opinion of trades.

I Thought (my George) thy Muse would fully fit,
My troubled mynde, with heast of setled doome,
And tell the trade, wherein I sure might sit,
From nipping néede, in wealthy walled roome,
But out alas, in tedious tale,
She telles the toyles of all,
And forgeth fates, t'attend estates,
That séeld or neuer fall.
Bereauing so, the hope that earst I held,
To finde at last, a sight to set me sure,
In profites path, my thriftlesse féete to weald,
Or walke the way, that age might well indure.
Sith haplesse haps, or conscience crackes,
Or toyles of tedious waight,
She proues the fées, of all degrées,
Each course with cares affraight.
And yet I smell, whereto thy tale doth tend,
And smyle to sée, thy queint conceit therein,
I write not here, thy meaning to amend,
Against thy wordes, this answere I begin.
In prime to touch, the merchants trade,
Which furrowes fishfull floodes,
Whose hap thou saist is lightly hurt,
With losse of life and goods.
Thou saist his ship, sits sincking on the sande,
Of Sillas seas, or on Caribdis rockes,
When nothing lesse, the sea more sure then land,
Then fenced fortes, more trustie hollowe blockes.
Let Neptune rage, with wayward waues,
A figge for Aeoles windes,
By anchors stay, in harbour gay,
The merchants succour findes.
As for the man that furrowes in the fielde,
Distrusting gaines, that waltering waues afforde,
The fées that oxe, and fruitfull shéepe doth yeelde,
And parched fieldes, and northren dewes accorde,
His paines do passing pleasure quit,
When gréenie landes appeares,
He smyles in sweate, when haruest heate,
Dries vp the corned eares.
The craftes man, he that liues by handie skill,
By toyle and trade, obtaineth néedefull gaines,
Ynough's as good, as any feast, sith will
And quiet mynde contented so remaines,
He liues at rest in meane estate,
Contemning fortunes blast,
While such as hye aloft to flye,
He sées to fall as fast.
The noble hart, whome nature pricks to prancke,
In martiall fieldes, amid the clattering crewe,
For high renoune, to furnish vp the ranke,
Thy Muse to daunt (oh) how the same I rewe.
Sith pen, ne tong, nor minde can match,
With due deserued hire,
The factes of those, which force their foes,
By helmets helpe retire.
The courtier he, that hops for high degrée,
At last attaines, his wel deserued hap,
For seruice done, he must rewarded be,
And gwerdon his, the marke he leueld at,
Which gotten, if he loose againe,
The fault ascribe his owne,
But setled wits, escape the fits,
To carelesse courtiers knowne.
The masking mynd, that mounts amid the starrs,
And wakes to write, by skill of planets course,
Foretels of dearth, of plentie, peace, and warres,
Of temperate times, of hoarie Hyems force,
Not only skill, but lasting fame,
When death depriues his dayes,
He reapes with groates, to garde his coates,
Art thriues at all assayes.
Physicians dregs, who tasteth not betime,
May come too short, if faintnesse feare to bléede,
Mas'doctours drinke, deserues this praise of mine,
I neuer knewe the man, it stoode in stéede,
Yet one kynde tale, and one kynde drinke,
One doctour sure hath got,
A tawnie veluet coate and pouch,
What others get God wot.
Though rents be great, that runs to clergies share,
And more th'account, their soules doth rest vpon,
Yet Christe his truth, to preach if nere they spare,
But féede the flocke, the account is cast anon,
And in reward of seruice done,
At last appointed houre,
Where Christ doth reigne, they shall attaine,
To shroude in heauenly howre.
The Lawyer he, the man that measures right,
By reason, rule, and lawe, conioynd in one,
Thy rouing Muse, squares much with his delight,
Whose only toyle, all states depend vpon:
For Lawyer gone, good right adieu,
Dicke Swash must rule the reaste,
And madding might, would banish quite,
Tom Troth from English coast.
In corner close mid bookes of crabbed sense,
For ten yeres day, fith sore he beates his braines,
To finde the right, of things from soule offence,
Who can depriue such toyle of hoped gaines.
In doubtfull doomes he reaues the right,
And throweth force along,
With doubtfull praise, his fame to raise,
In fayth thou dost him wrong.

A briefe discourse, of the discommodities of quarelling written at the request of his especiall friend and kinseman, maister Robert Cud­den of Grayes In.

AS manhood is a vertue great, where wisedome rules the sword,
As great a vice it is to brall, for euery trifling word,
The rayling speach, the fearelesse othes, the standers by affright,
When quarellers like curtall curres, do barke before they bite,
But if their brauling turne to blowes, his count comes very scant,
For sixe pence strife, to buy a sword, and buckler if he want,
A reckning worsse to catch a licke, but worst the losse of life,
One of which euils, lightly haunt, the man which liues in strife,
Who so is hurt doth féele the smart, who hurtes in feare doth liue,
His foe to séeke a sharpe reuenge, some desperate stroke will giue,
If lucklesse blowe should plerte the hart, the one to death giues place,
The other liues in slender hope, to haue the princes grace.
Though suite of friendes, his pardon gets, appeale doth pinch his pursse,
But gnawing of the conscience guilt, then all will grieue him worsse,
What greater spite than spoyled limmes, with houghed less to limp,
Or with a wood, or yron hand, the maimed arme to y [...]e.
This mone he findes at straungers handes, a colde amends in fayth,
A proper man, as one shall sée, sée what mishap he hath,
But they that know his bralles, doth say, no force, it skilleth not,
His hassard hap, hath hit the white, at which his solde shot,
His friends do count, by this mischaunce, how he doth nothing loose,
Who else would kyll, or sure be kilde, a sorrie choise to choose.
But (ah) good couse, at this my verse, the reader smyle I sée,
[Page 37]Who sayes, behold how far from words, his déeds doe disagrée,
If halfe this reason rulde his rage, his rashnesse had not caught,
A maimed hand (which true I graunt) nor tryall had me taught,
The goodnesse halfe of such a lym, which by the losse I finde,
But sith mishap would haue it so, this shewes an honest mynde,
To warne his friends the vice to shun, whose proofe be wrayes the woe,
If late repentance wrought him helpe, he would no more do so.

The vnhappie man contemneth Fortune, and cleaueth to Hope, assured once to reach good hap by vertuous Industrie, in the despite of Fortune:

SWéete is the thought, where hope persuadeth hap,
Although the mynd, be fed with faint desire,
The dunghil drone, would mount to honours lap,
If forward thoughts, to Fortune could aspire,
The ventrous knight, whom Vallor doth aduaūce,
First cuts off dread, with hope of happie chaunce.
If hope of fame, supprest not feare of death,
In face of shot, the souldier would not run,
Or recke so small, the losse of liuely breath,
If spoyle thereof, a slender glory won.
Nor merchants would, so séeke out forreine soyle,
If hope of gaine, ne recompenst their toyle.
The murdrous mate, the traitour, and the théefe,
By conscience guilt, that bathes in bitter teares,
In hope of grace, doth sucke out swéete reliefe,
Which wears to eb, their flowing tyde of feares,
Then sith she féeds, the wights forworne with wo,
Why should I faint, though Fortune be my fo.
Whose thought doth climbe, by vertue, not by vice,
To whom perforce, proude Fortune yeldes a thral,
Suppose (sly hap) may hinder my deuice,
Feare féedes the heart, that faintes for euery fall,
[Page 38]If first come short, then frame a newe account,
The forward mynde, a thousand wayes may mount.
Thou séest that doultes, whome only hap aduaunce,
Dare ouerrule their betters farre in wit,
Which vailde their hope, to euery sorrie chaunce,
What may he then, whose hap with skill is knit,
Bare sway by will, as well in wrong as right,
Grudge may his foes, but not withstande his might.
Yet hardly men▪ by vertue do aspire,
Spight sowes suspect, till their desart be tryde,
But once aduaunst, is that the wise desire,
In fauour they, for fortunes chaunge prouide,
Then though at first, thou light in Enuies trap,
Small were thy losse, which neuer earst hadst hap.
If so it be, in hope I forward set,
To raunge the world, as fortune shall me driue,
A happy toyle, if credite so I get,
As sure I shall, for what is he aliue,
But hath good hap, within so large a scope,
God and Saint George, send fortune as I hope.

How great a follie the conceit of ex­cellencie is.

WHere as dame Nature hath bestow'd, a speciall gift of wit,
And learning won by trauell long, with natures lore is knit.
If wisdome then do rule his toung, the tryall of his skill,
A passing praise among the wise, no doubt but win he will,
But once infect, with fonde conceit, how he doth others passe.
So feeding on his painted speach, wil proue a passing asse,
Or if he séekes by reasons rule, the scoffer to disgrace,
Which makes a scorne, of sounde aduice, and loues to floute and face.
Or when his equalles list to sport, to waste their sharpe annoy,
His glorious toung, is grauely bent, to countermaund their ioy.
[Page 39]If once they do espy his veine, their vice they wil him take,
Then sots will straight be on his top, the residue sport to make,
If argument his betters moue, howe so the same doth growe,
If he defende or proue with them, before their mynde he knowe,
Too malapert they will him recke, and so their tale adiourne,
Thus too familiar speach in him, vnto contempt will tourne,
Where haply else, to try his wit, them selues will him request,
To shewe his reasons and his mynde, which side he liketh best,
For ofte the best, the baser choose, and leaues the high estate,
But knowes againe, when to be strange, lest he shuld proue checke mate
In honest myrth, is wisedome séene, as time thereto doth fit,
For grauest heads must haue a meane, for to refresh their wit,
Fewe wordes they say, in order plaste, the wise mans tale doth wray,
And silence is an answere fit, the noddies toung to stay,
But ouer halte in séeking praise, some myndes persuade the still,
Their knowledge silence will conceale, what then auailes their skill?
When as betwéene the both extreames, a modest meane doth lye,
For to direct the wise mans tong, as néedes the vse shall try.

Against ingratitude.

PEriander of Corinth sometime prince,
A lawe ordainde, ingratefull chuffes to paine,
Which was on proofe, who could a churle conuince.
To reape rewardes, vnrecompenst againe,
To leuie mendes, he should no longer liue,
For why (quoth he) suche men deserues no grace,
As gladly take, and grudge againe to giue,
A needefull lawe, this shamelesse sect to chace,
For what may be, a viler fault then this,
To be vnkinde, to father or to friend,
Or how may men, amend their foule amisse,
Which scornes ye wights, which dayly them defend.
A Farmer once, a frozen snake did finde,
With pitie mou'd, who layd her by the fire,
The snake reuiu'd, did shewe her selfe vnkinde,
But what ensu'd, he slue her for her hire.
[Page 40]A morall rule, ingratefull wights to warne,
How thanklesse they, do quite a friendly turne,
But out alas, those varlets be so stearne,
That viper like, they lawe and dutie spurne,
We dayly sée, the parents painfull toyle,
Their restlesse care, their children well to traine.
We likewise sée, how thanklesse children spoyle,
Their parents goods, or wish them dead for gaine.
The good man oft, the friendlesse childe doth kéepe,
And fosters him, with many a friendly grote,
who séekes his spoyle, when he is sound asléepe,
Or giues consent, to cut his maisters throte,
We sée some men, aduaunst to honours hye,
By helpe of such, which once did beare a sway,
Which quite forget, what feathers forst them flye,
If founders theirs, by froward chaunce decay,
The traitrous mate, whose prince doth cal to grace,
Is subiect straight, to sowe seditious strife,
No maruell then, to root out such a race.
If Corinth king, ordained losse of life,
But if in vre, we nowe should put his doome,
Ingratefull gnufes, each gallowes so would cloy,
That scarcely théeues, to hang shuld haue a roome.
To ease the iust, whom dayly they annoy,
Yet doubt I not, some meanes would be preparde,
To cut them off, for both may well be sparde.

The euill fortune of a couetous person, and what profite ariseth by the death of a churle.

A Desperate wight, his fortunes foule to frée,
(By wilfull death) to rid his cares did choose,
But as he trudgd, to totter on a trée,
Untimely there, his loathed life to loose,
(A rare good hap) a pot of golde he found,
[Page 41]The gold hée rapt, his rope hée left behind,
Anon a carle, came sheaking through the ground,
In stéede of gold, a rope who there did finde,
Which haplesse sight, so nipt him at the hart,
That loe for woe, hée pissed where hée stoode,
At length (quoth hée) this cord shall cure my smart,
And so hée hung himselfe in fullen moode.
The sight were fayre, if euery bough did beare,
Such kinde of fruites, till caren churles were choakt,
Whose deathes inforce, a thousand well to fare,
Their liues the poore, as many wayes hath yoakt.
The wormes reioyce, vppon a churle to gnawe,
The poore man then, whom hée did pinch of yore,
Hath pennie dole, and meate to fil his mawe,
Where scarcitie was, forthwith appeareth store.
Pray for his soule, the common people crie,
As for his life, the world full well may spare,
His hordes of gold, about the house then flie,
Catch who catch may, his goods a hundred share.
His heapes of corne, to euery market sailes,
Which close hée kept, in hope of some deare yeare,
And where hée sparde, the parings of his nailes,
His sonne may spend and make his friends good cheare,
If such increase, comes by a carrens death,
Who would not wish, a cord to stop his breath?

A briefe description of death.

DEath is a piller to the Prince,A
true iustice to vphold,
A terrour to the trayterous mate,
his secretes to vnfould,
A stedfast stay to common weales,
a webbe of worldlings woe,
A father to the harmelesse wight,
vnto his friend a foe.

¶ An Epitaphe vppon the death of Henrie Cantrell of Lincolnes Inne Gent. by his friend R. C.

B SIth vertuous life, death neuer may depriue,
But liueth (ay) amidde the glorious crew,
Lament not then, our Cantrell is aliue,
In heauen, on highe, with chaunged life a new,
Then death no dole, sith life therein remaines,
But glad, hee gone, to blisse from worldly paines.
From wreake of woe, from cutt of cares anoye,
From fainting frends, frō dole of doubtful dome,
From vaine delights, the counterfet of ioy,
From sobbing sighes, whence sorrowes séedes do come,
From dread to die, sith death doth cleare vs quit,
Lament not then, good Henrie Cantrells hit.
The dalying dayes, that here wée lead alonge.
On earthlie mould, fills vp the sacke with sinnes,
Here mirth with mone, is alwayes mixt amonge,
To sowre our swéete, here fortune neuer linnes,
Hence pleasure parkes, no ioy can here remaine,
No swalowed swéete, not purgde with pills of paine.
Then laude the Lord, lament no whit at all,
Though it hath pleasd, his will and heauenly [...]est,
From wretched vs, this happie youth to call,
For (sure I say) his soule him liked best.
Thus best hée calls, and leaues the worst alone,
His mercie such, our heaped sinnes to mone.

Howe great a vice it is either for the vertuous, or valiaunt man, to accompanie himselfe with men of base con­dition, when as (acknowledging his dutie) hee may aduenture into the compa­nie of the best.

WHere vertue may, or vallor one aduaunce,A
To base his hap, a loute to liue belowe,
Or credite seeke, with men of meanest chaunce,
A fearefull hart, a dunghill minde doe showe,
On thornes no grapes, but sower flowes doth growe,
Euen so by sottes, no fame, but shame doth rise,
A faire catch, for such to count thée wise,
The forward minde, doth couet this at least,
To prease, where hée is poorest of the traine,
And not to liue, with those (himselfe) the best,
For sure hée shall, a lowsie kingdome gaine,
Where vnder him, do none but beggers raine,
By learninges lore, who doth the idiot schoole,
In fine wil proue himselfe a passing soole.
The highest trées, doth kéepe the vnder spray,
From Phoebus gleames, from, sugred dewes that fall,
So mounting mindes, aloft doth beare the sway,
When meaner wittes, doth liue belowe in thrall,
They sucke the swéete, when sottes do gnawe the gall,
They wrong, by might, their will makes right a mome,
Who prickes at such, but séeldome s [...]ooteth home.
Such is their force, where credite beareth sway,
A perfect tale, although the wronged tell,
Their thwarting speach, what they mislike, will stay,
The wronged wight, with wrath may haply swell,
And pleades a fresh, though not so passing well,
Then sausie knaue, how ma [...]lapeart hée is,
Away go packe, your purpose you shall mis.
But if the sot, which in their fauour stand,
Do slammer forth, a patched tale of lyes,
Their helping speach, will force him vnderstand,
The way and meanes, afresh for to deuise,
To frame his talke, from shew of trueth to rise,
A vertue straunge, their wordes can bring to passe,
A That fooles séeme wise, the wise in shew an Asse.
UUhat fréer life, then others to commaund?
UUhat happier state, then for to liue in rest?
What greater wealth, then what a man demaund?
UUhat credite like, the countnaunce of the best?
For thralles it were, a heauen to reach the left,
But they aloft, whom vertue doth aduaunce,
If more may bée, inioy more happie chaunce.
UUho will not then, both séeke and double séeke,
To reach this hap, with hazard at the first,
The foreward wight, though fortune giue ye gléeke,
A fresh will toyle, till that his har [...] doth burst▪
If still shée frowne, in faith the man is curst,
A fall (saith he) who recketh such a losse,
An asse shall ride, and no hie sturring horsse.
For proofe againe, the huge and mightie oke,
UUhose withered roote, from falling cannot stay,
But downe hee comes, by sturdie Boreas stroke,
His fall god wot, doth crush the vnder spray,
Euen so it fares, with those that beareth sway,
If by mishap they wrapped be in thrall,
The poore doth beare, the burthen of their fall.
For where as mindes, by mischiefe rais [...]e too hie,
Sedition sowe, their natiue soil [...] to wring,
UUhen Princes might doth make such rebels flie,
The leaders chiefe, well horst away do fling,
UUhen pesaunts stay, and Sursum corde sing,
[Page 45]They sue for grace, safe in anothers land,
When toyling thralles, are trussed out of hand.
If in abuse, of both their states be best,
Although the best, in faith is very bad,
Deseruing well, they are farre better blest,
They roist in silkes, whē clownes in raggs are clad,
They haue their will, and what can more be had,
Who will not then, how so sly hap saith nay,
Séeke out this chaunce, if vertue sayes hée may?

¶An Epitaphe on the death of the right worshipful maister Robert Wingfield, of Vpton in the countie of Northampton Esquier.

TO shewe their cause of dole, whom Wingfields death doth pearse,
Good muse take thou a little paine, his vertues to rehearse,
Hée wel was knowne to spring, from house of auncient name,
Yea leaue his Armes, and blase his actes, and you shall sée the same.
His zeale to serue his God, his care to saue his soule,
His stoute contempt of Romish ragges, their taxe, their tyth, and toule.
The Gospell, that hée lou'd, his life that showde no lesse,
Bare witnesse that in words and workes, the trueth he did professe.
Beléeue his blessings else, which hée receyu'd from hie,
The first long life, in happie health, till age inforst him die.
And then this comfort swéete, to frée his age from feares,
Hée sawe his children liue and like, in credite many yeares,
Sufficient wealth hée had, ynough hée thought a feast,
Hée had ynough, hée spent ynough, and with ynough deceast.
His credite with his Prince continued from his youth,
(A sight most rare) in office plast, hée trust, returnde with trueth.
Full fiftie yeares and twoe, a Iustice place hee vsde,
For common peace, and profite both, hée séeldome paynes refusde,
Hée wéeded wronges from right; by law, and not by ame,
Hee kept this course, to helpe the poore, the lewd againe to blame.
His life vpright and iust, hée ioyde in no mans thrall,
His dealings were both lou'd, and likt, among his neighbours all.
[Page 46]His bountie at his bord, his store for euery sort,
The hie, the lowe, the riche, the po [...]re, wrought him a rare report.
And thus long time hée liu'de, in credite and in loue,
Till death to worke, his ioy, our griefe, his force began to proue.
But yet hée sicknes sent, for to forewarne him first,
Whose honest minde, whose conscience cleare, straight bade him doe his worst.
And so with hope of heauen, vnto the graue hee vailde,
Of which hée glad, his friendes as sad, if sorrowe ought preuailde.
Viuit post funera virtus.

¶ An Epitaphe on the death of the right worshipfull maister Iohn Ayleworth Esquier.

IF men may waile their losse, that death hath ridde from woe,
Then giue mée leaue to wéepe my fill, my sorrowes so to showe.
And though to bathe in teares, small botes, now hée is gone,
Yet none can leaue, so firme a friend, and showe no signe of mone.
When brainesicke I a bruse, with ouer brauery caught,
Hée first did cure my néede with coyne, then soundly thus mée taught,
Bée stayde: for rowling stones, do sildome gather mosse.
I tryde his ayde, I likt his wordes, and still shall rue his losse.
His losse not I alone, but thousands more lament,
His children, friends, & seruaunts poore, with brackish teares are sprent.
But Oh you fillie poore, whom néede doth nip and pearce,
With hart, with hand, with might & maine, your heapes of woe rehearse.
Crye, out of cruell death, for reauing your reliefe,
You are the wightes, that haue (God wott) the greatest cause of griefe.
When hunger faintes your heartes, when you with cold shall frease,
The lacke of Ayleworths foode and fire, your starued limms to ease.
When might would marre your right, his counsell sound and sure,
His open purse to pleade your cause, the paines hée but in vre.
When you (poore soules) shall misse, with him that was your stay,
Then shall your griefes appeare as gréene, as hée had dyde to day.
These were his fruites of faith, these almes hée did of zeale,
Hee wayde no showe, his woordes, in workes, the Gospell did reueale.

EXHORTATIO.

O life of much auaile, O worldlings it insue,
So shall you not be ledde by gold, but gold be rulde by you,
So shall you kéepe him bright, that mouldeth in your chest,
So shall the world speake well of you, your conscience so in rest.
The swéetest ioyes of all, though death your farewell giue,
So, so: your soules with his in heauen, your fames on earth shal liue.

¶An Epitaphe in the order of an admonition, written on the death of his verie friend Iohn Note of Grayes Inne Gent. Vntimely flaine the 2. of Nouember 1575.

WIth teares in thought imprint, both frem and knowen frende,
Thrée speciall notes of much auaile, by Notes vntimely ende.
1.
Note first his honest life, of euery sort was lou'd,
Learned hée was and vertuous both, his manhoode throughly prou'd,
A gallant witte hee had the which hée gouernde so,
As did content all sortes of men, when cause the vse did show.
Hée had both health and wealth, his fortune was to hard,
And yet in spite of froward chaunce, Fame shall his vertues gard.
2.
His life would followed bée, his death forwarnes his friends,
(A note of worth) of quarreling, that still with mischiefe endes.
And yet with such abuse, I meane not him to tuch,
But this I say (hée prou'd it true) by once hée fought to much,
3.
An other note hée leaues, the which to showe I quake,
His spéeding wound so reft his sense, as word hée neuer spake.
Gods pleasure in the cause, I leaue for to dispute,
Hée knewe his thoughts, wée knowe his life: then iudge t'were better mute.
Yet learne you by his fate, (if you examples feare,)
You haue no charter of your life, then best you do prepare,
Your selues eche houre to die, least you be tarde tooke,
You are here warnd, with ouer proofe, into your conscience looke.
Hora mortis incertissima.

¶An Epitaphe on the death of his especiall friend, Thomas Cornelius Gent slaine in the Prince of Orenge his seruice in Holland.

YOu lustie youthes that sometime were his friends,
Cornelius life, here may you liuely reade,
In spite of death his vertues neuer endes,
Whose worthie pathes, are méete for you to treade,
At home hée séeld, in any quarels fell,
All sortes hée pleasd, hée vsde himselfe so well.
When Flushing frayes, were roung with swéete report,
Our English youthes, post hast them thether hie,
Where as they found (God wot) but sorrie sport,
Farre from the speach, that of the gaine did flie,
With whom in hope, who hap did well deserue,
Away hée goes the Orenge Prince to serue.
And plaste at length, amonge the drunken Dutch,
Hée quite forgot, hée went to fight for pence,
The marke of fame, was that hée sought to touch,
The which he hit, before hée parted thence,
With slender pay, at first hée was content,
And yet his minde, stil with the foremost went.
Though harebrainde youthes, at such preferment spurne,
And gape for charge, ere they them selues can guide,
Although hée had, of friends to serue his turne,
Hée l [...]t such sute, till his desert were tride,
In all Al-armes, to fight hée soone was prest,
In heate of blowes, as forward as the best.
That hée vnsawe, syld, skirmishes there were,
(Such paines hée tooke, to scale the fort of fame,)
The coine hée had▪ hée grudged not to share,
For their reliefe, that sickly were or lame,
[Page 49]Of euery sort thus wonne hée worthie praise,
From best to worst, that seru'd in Holland fraies.
Two yeares and more hée tasted souldiers toiles,
And did escape when other men were slaine,
But kéeping still a coile in bloudie broiles,
(I sighe to show,) God wot hée caught his baine,
Who being dead, though no man may reuiue,
Yet shall my Muse, his vertues kéepe aliue.
Mors honesta ignominiosae vitae praeferenda.

VVhetstons inuectiue against Dice.

MY Muse to mount Parnassus hill,
Which whilom tokst delight,
Faire Venus ioyes to set to vew,
And wray blind Cupids spite.
Go shrowde thy selfe in Limbo lake,
This dririe tale to tell,
Of Dice, to figure forth the frute,
A second showe of hell.
There craue the ayde of wrathfull sprites,
The Authors of this art,
And ioyne with them such hellish impes,
As waytes to woorke our smart.
For sure their plagues to paint aright,
Beséemeth well the toile,
Of him that pend the paines of hell,
How Plutoes thralles do broile.
The lustie youth, with lyuing left,
Whose woe is wealth and ease,
To line his purse with powling fines,
His tenaunts pence doth fease,
[Page 50]Then doth hée beare a loftie saile,
As one that dreads no want,
These sneaking curs now raunge abrode,
A cheating merchaunt lokes like a sneaking cur.
To finde this nouis haunt.
One bitten dog aboue the rest,
Doth great acquaintaunce craue,
Whose kindred blasde, and friendship voucht
Hée treates of counsell graue.
Trust mée good cus, trust mée hée cries,
Crosbiting a kinde of cousoning vnder the couler of frendship.
When first I left my guide,
This towne did weaue my webbe of cares,
Before that craft I spyde.
Eche shifting slaue, did search the meane,
A mate to make mée méete,
Then hée the names bewrayes of some,
Himselfe to make him swéete.
The lustie brute which feares no fraude,
Doth count his cunning blist,
Who thinkes he hath a saint in hand,
Yet shakes syr Sathans fist.
Their friendship new, by gréeting oft,
Now grafted in their brest,
His kindred coynde in cousners stampe,
Inuites him as his guest.
Who kindly thankes him for his cost,
And craues amends to make,
Then trudge they to some tabling house,
Their hunger for to slake.
Where daintie fare great store they finde,
Their naperie faire and swéete,
And gallants gay, with Conges kinde,
Their comming for to gréete.
A bounsing gyrle they sildome misse,
To furnish forth their messe,
Whose chyrping tongue, with pleasaunt speach,
Doth cheare her chosen gesse.
There shall you heare described plaine,
[Page 51]Eche forreine towne and towre,
The table exercise.
Augmented newes of warlike frayes,
Where fortune late did lowre.
As cold as snow, some couch their scoffes,
And some to rayling prest,
In plesaunt speach some play the K.
And makes thereon a ieast.
And some so plainly figures forth,
The fruites of Venus court,
That honest eares doth scorne to heare,
Their vaine and vile report.
Their dinner done, they leaue this speach,
The gamsters call for dice,
Where posting Iacke to rub the bord,
Doth come euen with a trice.
To you, you furies, now I leaue,
This foule abuse to wray,
Their foysting shiftes my Muse doth mase,
Their othes my pen doth fray.
Tenne mine alowde some cogger cryes,
The feare­lesse othes that dicers vse.
Thrée mine some youth doth say,
Gods bloud eleuen, (well sworne in faith,)
The caster cryes to pay.
Sixe is the maine, what do you sett,
Well tenne to sixe I haue,
Two flues (gods hart) then for the house,
The boxer streight doth craue.
And nine: Come ye and nine this crowne,
Well, chaunce at it I say,
Aumes ase (gods wounds) t'is not my lucke,
Two maynes to throwe this day.
Murderers of othes.
Some hypocrites, do murder othes,
Faire Gamsters for to séeme,
But of both euils, to choose the best,
The doubt were hard I déeme,
Perhaps some gallant fortune hauntes,
Good hap his hand doth guide,
[Page 52]His purse aflote, within his brest,
Doth lurke disdainfull pride.
Monie lig­htly wonn, is as lightly spent.
Then roists hée in his ratling silkes,
And sortes with Venus dames,
Whose luring lookes, inforce his heart,
To frie in Cupids flames.
To traine him in, hee shall inioy,
Eche outward show of blisse,
In secrete sport they wilbe coy,
They feare to do amisse.
A sute of Laune my Lady lackes,
Luers to stoupe a Curtisane.
Or else some trifling cheane,
A cawle of gold, and other knackes,
My nouis purse must gleane.
The haggard then that checkt of late,
Will stoupe to fancies lure,
And inward bend at euery becke,
No storme shall chaunge procure.
Her christall eyes shall still be fixt,
To stare vppon his face,
Her daintie armes shall try their force,
Her louer to imbrace.
Her Rub [...]e lippes, by stelth shée will,
Bée ioyning vnto his,
With courage vaunst, her friend to force,
To fall to Venus blisse.
Then will shée play Galatheas part,
To make his ioy more swéete,
By striuing yéeld, who neuer thought,
A rape vn­punisha­ble.
From such deuise to fléete.
To frame excuse for late offence,
The queane will cog apace,
She will alledge his sugred woordes,
His gallant giftes of grace:
So wrought within her horish minde,
As naught auailde defence,
For to withstand his sharpe assaultes,
[Page 53]Shee lyes it was his pence.
Naught crauing for her kindnes showen,
Saue constancie in him,
Then shée that rues her chastice spoild,
In seas of ioyes shall swim.
Which subtile speach doth force her friend,
Fairewords makes foo­les faine.
Within his minde to say,
In beuties showe, my choice doth passe,
Syr Paris pearelesse pray,
Aduentrous boye, now bathe in blisse,
In scorne of Fortunes rage,
Thy good successe, in former sutes,
Good happe doth still presage,
But all this while, his purse is sicke,
It purgeth more and more.
Then runnes hée to his former vaine,
To cure his soudaine sore.
Where coemates, if hee chaunce to lacke,
The deuill is in the rome,
The maister will supply the want,
Till more resort doth come.
Who chiefely in this hellish house,
Like mai­ster, like scholers.
Doth God in péeces teare,
With quicke repentaunce then hée cries,
A beast hée is to sweare.
Which woordes more true is then his othe,
When most hee cogs and scowle,
For one may shape an Oxes sconce,
By patterne of his iowle,
My younge mans purse, that earst was sicke,
Here reapes but small reliefe,
His newe receite doth scowre to fast,
Cheape side must cure his griefe.
Then to the Goldsmithes straight hée runnes,
Where most his credite is,
A notable vsurie.
Crackt Angels there be currant coyne,
Eight shillinges worth a péece.
[Page 54]Foure pound in twentie, for a moneth,
In faith is pretie gaine,
The lender may well liue thereon,
The paiment is the paine.
Then as a man with loue once matcht,
At length yet wonne the fort,
His Lady yéelding to his lust,
Both infec­tions can hardly bee cured.
Doth thyrst for Venus sport.
So doth this youth to be at dice,
Thinke euery houre thrée,
One bone was sure, the frame of both,
In nature so they grée.
Now fortune frownes, that late did laughe,
There is no certain­tie in dicers fortunes.
To quite him for his scorne,
Ill lucke doth chaunge his chaunce of gaine,
Good lott is quite forlorne,
One by and maine, at euery throw,
His Angell runnes astray,
He fretts & fumes, he stamps & stares,
Hée leaues a maine to pay.
His setters some, they loosers bée,
They will not so be seru'd,
They wilbe paid gods wounds his hart
Forthwith shall els be caru'd.
With monie lost, his couler stirde,
Hée bids them do their worst,
And if they dare appoint the place,
Gods bloud hée wilbe first.
Dicers quarrells.
The box then at his bosom goes,
His dagger now hée drawes,
They parted are, they do agrée,
Abrode to try them dawes.
Then Smithféeld ruffians flocke apace,
And Fletestrete hacksters hew,
The enimies méete, of ircksom hell,
They do present the shew.
Draw, draw, the villaines kill, they cry,
[Page 55]Then some do shewe their strength,
Some thrust fiue yeards ere foe do come,
To kéepe him out at length.
The broken blades they busse about,
An il wind that driues no man to profite.
The more the Cutlers gaine,
Some hops for néede, which faine would go
Some lies in streate nie slaine.
Some siouins sleues will buttoned bée,
That downe theyr weapons fall.
The Barber waites, the wounded wights
Lookes like the whited wall.
To rue his hap on euery side,
His fained friends do flocke,
His minion kinde to wrap his wounds,
Will now bestow her smocke.
Not all for gréefe of his mischaunce,
Some visite the sicke more in hope of gaine, then deuotion.
This kindnes they do showe,
But gréedie gaping after gaine,
If death should ease his woe.
His daunger past, by Surgions art,
They do present their bill,
The which defraide (with other charge)
His féeble purse doth kill.
He kéeping home when debtes were due.
And payment none was made,
Doth bréede mistrust in Merchants minds,
His credite ginns to vade.
To sell his land, full loth hée is,
A thred hée fairely spinnes,
What en­sues after morga­ging.
To morgage it hée fully minds,
To thriue hée now beginnes.
Now blewberds bagges doth beare the sway,
Old snudges smell him out,
Good simple soules they plainly meane,
Yet trauerse euery doubt.
An hundreth pound they venter will,
On land fiue hundreth worth,
[Page 56]In Scriueners craft consist their lawe,
Poore subtile men forsooth.
The ruddockes redde do tempt his eyes,
The instruments be made,
In faith to sowre his swéete receite,
Before digestion had,
A statute a perilous bonde.
Some vnaduised statute hée,
Without defesaunce wrought,
Doth enter in, their gold to gaine,
Their guiles hée feareth nought,
They perchment reape, hée gold doth gleane,
Who toyles in straitest yoke,
For present state, I will not iudge,
Hereafter strikes the stroke.
Now hée for feare of sergeants sauce,
That sicknes late did faine,
In euery streate, which sight presents,
His presence you may gaine,
The Mercers bookes for silkes bée crost,
A welcome guest.
His debtes bée now befraide,
The remnaunt doth the dice consume,
Of all, which worst is paide,
Redéeming day, drawes on a pace,
His monie cleane is gone,
Credite once lost is not easilie obtained a­gaine.
His creditors through late mistrust,
Forsooth will lend him none.
Then doth hée trudge to Holdfastes house,
His great distresse to wray,
Of him to get a longer time,
His monie for to pay.
Who aunswers, fayre, that God forbid,
My conscience I should stretch,
To take aduauntage of a day,
(Oh false dissembling wretch,)
The fained woordes hée simply trustes,
The merchaunt did accord,
[Page 57]As though bare wordes were good discharge,
Bare words an yll plea, against matter of re­corde.
For matters of recorde,
Now is he forst to try his friendes
His monie to prouide,
Where he on flocks may sée them fléete,
Which fawned in his pride.
Yet some there be for his distresse,
Necessitie tries frend [...]
Whose harts with bale wil bléede,
And findes the meane to lend him coyne:
Well fare a friend at néede.
Aduaunst with ioy, to pay his pence,
In haste now is he gone,
But cut throte giues a cooling carde,
For monie he will none,
A cooling carde.
His lande is his, by forfaite plaine,
Which is too swéete to lose,
For kindnesse yet, he will be franke,
He playes now with his nose,
Holde twentie poundes, besides to drinke,
How like ye of this match.
For fiue to haue fiftene with him,
In faith is but a snatch.
The youth againe, will haue his lande,
Or else (Gods wounds) he sweares,
The pillorie for cousining him,
Shall moth eate both his eares,
And in this chafe, he doth depart,
Sub penas for to fetch,
Which raunge abroade in euery streate,
To catch the cousining wretch,
Who caught, his prankes of déepe deceite,
The youthlings p [...]aint bew [...]yes,
And shewes ere time of forfeit cam [...],
He gaue him longer dayes,
To answere which denying all,
The craftie carle now spéedes.
With rough reply, the plaintine soothes,
[Page 58]His plaint of truth procéedes,
The gnawing worme, of conscience vile,
Now bites at Blewbeards brech,
He feares sol fa, in cousners cliffe,
His eares too hye shall stretch,
Which makes him trudge, to finde his mates,
The frie of Sathans crue,
For to consult how to avoyde,
The shame that might ensue.
The packe of knauerie then they ope,
Their craftie bondes▪ they viewe,
One shifting knaue, a forfeit findes,
To make their enimie rue.
Lewde coū sell.
The rest with open mouth doth crye,
To catch poore cousenée,
By durance hard, to make him yeald,
Which else would not agrée.
Then lay they traines, of Comin séede,
Comin a Gauntalias a Serpent.
To toll this pigeon in,
Whose chiefest feathers soone be pulde,
Once snarled in their gin.
The counter serues, him for a cage,
Where bréeding holes there be▪
But louer lights, to scape away,
This doue cote lackes we sée,
For him that ear [...]t did raunge abroade,
This ayre is not fit.
The Bench he thinks, more fréedome hath,
For to refresh his wit.
More haste then néedes, he findes a meane,
His cause [...] to reméeue,
And that the body come with him,
The writ doth charge the shréene,
Well mand then comes he to the barre,
The iudge commaundes away,
Then tipstaues snatch him vp in haste,
They make no long delay.
[Page 59]Safe lockt they leaue him vnder charge,
Untill the court doth rise,
Then guarded to the mershals house,
This lustie gallant hies,
Who passing through the porters lodge,
Then findes no iesting game,
For Burton with his booke of doome,
Requesteth him his name.
Roger Woodcocke of vnthriftes rowe,
What gentleman or squire,
Ten grotes and two pence you must pay,
A gentle admittance
I do but right require.
Which payd, a while to viewe the house,
He lets him go at large,
But soone the vermine comes againe,
To giue the second charge.
Your worship knowes the losse sayth he,
A gentle persuasion.
My maister should sustaine,
If any prisoner should escape,
Their ease his little gaine,
And therefore each of you he may,
By lawe in yrons lay,
Yet he for pitie trusteth you,
Your penance is to pay.
For them thrée halfpence in the pound,
Your actions yeald thus much,
Which trifle for your ease to giue,
Your worship néede not grutch.
Then may you in the garden walke,
When you haue payd your fées.
Thus euery way the poore is pincht,
To plucke him on his knées.
An answere faire the prisoner makes.
Which doth content the time,
Then he to séeke his fellow mates,
The stayres straight doth clime,
Some subtile lawyer soone he findes,
[Page 60]
The Kings Benche ne­uer with­out a subtil Lawyer.
Who great acquaintance craues,
To whome he shewes, his lucklesse lot,
Enforst by shifting slaues.
And lastly, to his skill commends,
If yron fées be due.
Extortion plaine, the Lawyer sayth,
His wordes be very true,
The statute here at large I haue,
Set downe for prisoners ease.
The Gaylor can by lawe receiue,
A groate, no more for fées,
And in your other causes I
The snudge will sharply yoke,
But looke your counsell lackes no coyne,
For monie strikes the stroke.
Which monie killes the heart of him,
Whome present néede doth pine,
Yet he at first, do share him fées,
As though he had a mine,
And all on hoyh, he rashly reakes,
His prisonment a scorne,
And vainely vaunts, to plague his foe▪
Saturday a heauie daye to needie prisoners.
Till Saturday at morne.
Corrections then be sharply giuen,
To them which monie lackes,
Now Burton comes for yron fées,
My youth now stoutly crakes,
If he extort where is no right,
The statute to prepare,
And sweares to make him pay the paine,
And damage for his share.
Might o­uercomes right.
But here no lawē nor right do rule,
N [...] vaileth threats nor crakes.
With boltes and shackles on his shins,
His loade & héeles he shakes.
Where late was golde, an yron chaine,
Do well beseeme the necke,
[Page 61]His wrystes in steade, of braslets braue,
With manacles be deckt,
And nowe they will him coole his féete,
He cloyde with yrons great,
For all his lawe,
Necessitie obeys not lawe.
is glad to pay,
Yea more then that entreate.
Thus he that thought Caribdis rockes,
By wisedome to escape,
By follie fell in Sillaes gulfe,
His greater griefes to shape,
How spéedes he nowe in all his suites,
When all his pence be spent?
Unféed do Lawyers ply his cause,
Till newe receit of rent?
Nay,
Nihil dicet, a vauntage a cousiner seekes.
Niclas nihil dicet sure,
To nip him to the hart,
In execution layes him vp,
For feare that he should start,
He fast, his fained friends yet frée,
To sée him be not rash,
And Mynx his minion hath a mate,
And leaues him in the lash.
For Haggard like, she will not stoope,
But where she gets her pray,
His coyne consumd, his courage coolde,
In hope she will not stay.
What restes nowe, to this lucklesse man,
What pen his woes can wray,
Of friends forlorne,
A misera­ble estate.
of fréedome reft,
And he at beggers bay.
Thus gaulde with griefe his Lawyer yet,
This slender shift doth vse,
And sayth that prisoners be opprest,
And all men do refuse,
To ease their wants, and therefore sure,
The best is to agrée,
He may the better plague his foes,
[Page 62]Abroad when he is frée.
Which freedome so doth féede his hart,
Whome present bondage nippes,
That he through hope before his hap,
For ioy now hops and skips,
And then in hast, for holdfast sends,
Agréement for to make,
A nyce cō ­panion.
But once or twise he must be praid,
Ere hée the paines will take,
And then with one or two he comes,
And vp and downe he iets,
Nowe do I smile to shewe the speach,
Betwixt these counterfets.

The one through necessitie, the other thro­ugh hypo­crisie.

The pro­uerbe veri­fied.

The youth that roughly rayld of late,
A pitious plaint doth paint,
The diuell him selfe in Christian shewe,
Doth counterfet a Saint,
But after many wordes of griefe,
That either part can say,
The youth perforce the candle holdes,
And beares the blame away,
And gladly yealdes him selfe in fault,
Whose crauing suite nowe is,
That cutthrote will, release him of
The penance of his mis,
And take such order as they both,
In friendly league may liue.
The more that he in prison spendes,
The lesse he hath to giue,
As though that conscience mou'd his mynd,
The merchant doth lament,
Through péeuish pride and hautie hart,
His pence and time mispent,
And order takes his owne the gaine,
The losse he leaues to him,
Which thought wtout dame wisdomes bark
In seas of ioyes to swimme.
[Page 63]From prison frée he nothing myndes,
The lawe prouides a remedy, for extortion, &c. but the lacke of ex­ecution emboldeneth churles to breake thē,
The statute to prefare,
Nor for the cousning shiftes he vsde,
To cloy the churle with care.
But runnes vnto his former vaine,
If ought he haue to play,
To posting then he somewhat puts,
His commons to defray,
Some Cheater haply will him teach,
Some coging trickes at dice,
Whereby he may mainteine him selfe,
If therein he be wise.
Then is he set a sale to toule,
Some other yonkers in,
To make them bite at vnthrifts bayte,
While he their pence doth win.
Some can not brooke this seruile life,
Ventures barge.
But néedes in ventures barge,
Will séeke a price, but howe they spéede,
I leaue to shewe at large.
The swéete report of souldiers gaine,
Souldiers gaine.
By them that lacke the sower,
Persuadeth straight some ventrous mynde,
To scale dame Fortunes bower.
But Flushing frayes,
Flushing.
hath wrought such feare,
That they suspend their hope,
If one did gaine, then two were slaine,
The thirde did stretch a rope,
And beggers most returnd againe,
Unto their natiue soyle,
For Holland yealded litle thrift,
In lue of all their toyle.
And some with trifles séekes to thriue,
But fewe do spéede so well,
And with a litle haply learnes;
Repentance for to spell.
The seruing man,
Of ser­uingmen.
that plyes this vaine,
[Page 64]A shorter cut doth make,
He hath no fines to fill his purse,
Nor racked rents to rake,
His way for to supply his want,
Is by the Scottish cog.
But finely he must strike his dye,
Least yrons do him clog.
And worse then that, to make him sure.
The hang­mans cog.
In haste doth hangman spéede,
Where he in cogging winnes the coate,
For that he strikes him dead.
Of hus­bandmen. &c.
The plowman, and the poorest sort,
Which toyles and sowes the soyle,
And sixe pence by the day doth gaine,
In recompence of toyle,
If he at night, consume at play,
The price of all his hire,
His wife with hunger well may sterue,
His children fréese for fire.
O horned hap, of hatefull harme,
O venom vile to tell,
O gréedie gulfe of endlesse griefe,
O horror next to hell,
O foule infection, fraught with care,
O sinke of such a sent,
Which neuer leau'st thy poysned thrals,
Till all their wealth be spent
For not in vaine, Agrippa writ,
The fiends of yre you made,
An Art most fit for hellish ympes,
And not for Christians trade.
Pride.
A spring from whence all vice did flowe,
Of péeuish Pride the nurse,
For note the dicer, roystes in silke,
Lecherie.
When pence be pert in purse.
Then must he prease in pleasures court,
To be of Venus traine,
[Page 65]Which soone will purge his foggie purse,
From all their pinching paine.
His body earst that able was,
Sloth.
To serue at eache assay,
By sloth, &c. is so weake,
That faintnesse bids him stay,
To shewe the valure of his mynde▪
Till natures griefe be easde.
His fearelesse othes will feare the diuell,
Blasphemie
When losse hath him displeasde,
When malice moues him to reuenge,
Wrath.
His quarels do excell,
His carelesse slashing at his foe,
Doth wray the fourme of hell.
An Epicure for his fare,
Gluttonie. Couetous­nesse.
Such is his costly cates,
His mynde is bent to snatch and catch,
Yea more to rob his mates,
When all is spent and credite crackt,
Despaire.
Despaire then strikes the stroke,
And makes him gape in hope of plumbes,
For pence will shun his poke.
And thus you heare in ragged ryme,
For so be séemes the worke,
What veines of vice, what lakes of losse,
In dogged dice doth lurke,
For loftie verse vnfitly serues,
To paint the plagues of hell,
Though not the same, yet next thereto,
This dogrell rime doth tell.
How youthes from rod,
The sum of the whole discourse.
to fréedome leapt,
Are thrall to sharper whips,
Whom cousner first, whom cutthrote next,
Whome lawyer lastly nips.
The braunches of the cousners trée,
Are whordome, theft, and pride,
From rutthrotes rout, doth bondage spring,
[Page 66]With losse on euery side.
The Lawyer lickes that they haue left,
And lets him sinke or swim,
Pure néede then makes him leane on those,
That earst did liue by him.
Although at large I here do touch,
Each vice in his degrée,
Exceptions
A speciall meaning hath my wordes,
To graunt that some there be,
By rules of lawe, which rightly liue,
And not which rules the lawe,
To wrest the sense to serue their turne,
Their clyents coyne to clewe,
Some merchaunts rise by honest meanes.
And not by craftie shiftes,
Some tabling halles in fayth I iudge,
Are frée from cheters driftes,
The which I trust will not repine,
Or quite my toyle with blame,
Nor yet the guiltie well may grudge,
Which wisely wayes the same.
Quod nocet docet.

Fiftie apples of admonition, late growing on the tree of good gouernment: bestowed on his especiall friends and companions, the Gentlemen of Furniuals In.

SErue, loue, and dread you God on high, obey your Prince on earth,
God 1. Prince. 2. Officers. 3
Unto your betters dutie shewe, be they by rule or byrth.
Lawe. 4. Ex­pence. 5. Scar­citie. 6.
Liue you within the bounds of lawe, and tether of your fée,
For lightly after one yeares store, of scarcitie commeth thrée.
Studie. 7. Fraude. 8.
Use studie when your wits are fresh, and aptest to conceiue,
But studie not the fruites of fraud, your neighbour to deceiue.
Use exercise with such a meane, as workes your bodies wealth,
And too much toyle doth hinder strength,
Exercise. 9. Sloth. 10.
& sloth impayreth health,
Make choice to choose such companie,
Companie. 11. Vnthrifts. 12.
as are of honest fame,
For to be séene with thriftlesse men, impayreth your good name.
Use modestie in all your wordes, despraise no man too much,
For lauish speach bréeds great vnrest,
Modest talke. 13. dispraise. 14
in you and them you tuch.
Make you no shewe of such conceit,
The cōceit of excellencie. 15.
how others you excell,
For if you doe, the wise will say, wit with a foole doth dwell.
Inforce your selfe, silence to vse, when others tell a tale,
For babble then,
Silence. 16.
both troubleth them, and sets your wits to sale.
Haue care to vse some recompence,
Recōpence. 17 Ingratitud. 18
where you beholding are,
For trust me with ingratitude, no honest mynde can bare.
What so your friend commits to you,
Secretnes. 19. Toung. 20.
be euer secrete found,
Who giues his toung much libertie, doth all his body wound.
Beware of taylers curious cuts, for they will shake your bags,
The merrie meane I holde for best,
Taylers. 21. Apparel. 22.
tweene roysting silkes & rags.
The tipling tauerne,
Tauernes. 23. Drunkenes. 24
and such like, to haunt haue small desire,
Of all reports it is the worst, to be a drunken squire.
Who quarels much hath care enough, with mischiefe oft he ends,
Saūce néed throw not your selus in brals,
Quareling. 25 Pertaking. 26▪
in néed assist your friēds
Shun you ye trains of wantō dames,
Wanton dames. 27.
whose bayts are swéet in tast
But yet in truth, helth, welth, and fame, the courtesan doth wast.
As high way vnto beggerie, beware of dogged dice.
The greatest cause of blasphemie,
Dice. 28.
a vaine of filthy vice.
Out of the merchants iurnals kéepe,
Wares on trust. 29.
buy sildome wares on trust,
[Page 68]Such vsurie bites aboue the rest, do try it who so lust.
Morgage. 30. Cutthrots. 31.
In néede make choice to sell out right, before you morgage lande.
What so befalls, looke for no grace, at any cutthrotes hande.
Sealing and safe keping of writings. 32.33
Looke what you seale, read ere you seale▪ therin trust no mās truth
And writings seald, kéepe safe your owne, lest had I wist ensuth.
Suretiship. 34. Friendship. 35
Haue great regard to suretiship, all is not golde that shines,
Yet stretch your selues, to help your friend, wt penurie that pines.
Whē wedlock life, doth like your mynd, match wt a vertuous maid
Marriage. 36. An ill wife. 37
The mischiefe of the contrarie, a plague next hell is sayd.
Countrie. 38. London. 39.
And married wel, the citie leaue, sing then Pierce Plowmans song,
For women vsde, to London once, will euer thether long.
Neghbors. 40 Good report. 41.
Where so you liue, haue great regarde, to vse your neighbor well,
A good report in my conceit, doth riches farre excell.
House kee­ping. 42. Poore. 43.
What some consume in painted pride, good house kéep you withal.
Relieue the poore in any case, let chaps walke in your hall.
Seruant. 44. Flatterer. 45.
Intreate your honest seruant well, giue him his hired due,
The flatterer and the make bate wretch, in any wise eschue.
Wrangling in the lawe. 46.
Account that wrangling in the lawe, is enimie to rest,
A spoyle of fame, a losse of time, a théefe that robs your chest.
Duties of an honest mā. 47
This reckoning make to serue your selues, you are not only born,
Your countrie, friends, & children looke, each one for som good turn.
Reliefe. 48.
Thrée sorts of men, with speciall care, salue you their néedy grie [...]e,
The scholer forced from his booke, abroad to séeke reliefe.
The souldier spoyled in ye wars, whose hassard works your peace,
And next the simple husbandman, who toyles for your increase.
So spend your time,
Fame. 49. Death. 50.
as you may leaue, some monument of fame,
Preferre an honest death, before a life prorog'd with shame.
Quod cauere possis, stultum est admittere.

A caueat to G. W. at his going into Fraunce, written by his friend R.C.

POst haste, since so thou mak'st, the coast of Fraunce to sée,
Thy frends aduice in baren verse, good George yet take wt thée,
Haue thou a haught disdaine, which art a Bryttan bred,
At thy returne, to proue howe that, French follies filles thy hed,
In natiue soyle disguis'd, thy selfe God shield thou showe,
In coate, in cloake, in hat, in hose, a French man like to go,
French shoes, made fast with pointes, in doublets syde and wide,
Which French men weare (God wot) for ease, sute not thy selfe through pride
What tendeth to thy thrift, to folow, not refuse,
Kéepe thou one seruant and no more, but not as french men vse,
For wages pay not words, as is the guise of Fraunce.
Array him not, in tattered rags, french like, or nakt to daunce.
One meale, no more a day, is pittance very small,
To like wel of, such french like fare, few English yeomen fall,
Let gesture, words, nor wéedes, inforce thy friends to say,
Behold a frenchman wher he flaunts, if face be turn'd away.
Which face french like to sute, good George take special héede,
In taste the baites are very swéete, that do such cankers bréede.
For to pronounce thy wordes, yea french and all first lose,
Afore thou spoyle thy English tong, with snufling in the nose,
Thou knowest what I meane, thy wit is good and quicke:
Yet wise men oft before they looke, fast in the myre sticke.
But ere thou rashly leape, the ditches I reueale,
The plainesse of my Muse bewrayes, my warning is of zeale.
My ioy thy profite great, if thy returne do showe,
Thy trauell tends to countries good, not french man like to goe.
The rage of retchlesse youth, thy trauell did allay,
And not thereby with proudest shewe, to royst in garments gay,
That thou canst yeald account, what is the countries state,
[Page 70]What newes of note, do run abroade, as well of loue as hate.
These fruits thy friends expect, at thy returne to reape,
But stay I here, into aduice, my Muse too farre doth créepe,
She ment not to direct, how thou shouldst vse thy time,
She ment french follies, for thy heede, to touch in naked rime,
Well, since she rou'd so farre, alowe what she hath sayde,
M [...] inward wish (for thy auayle) she hath no more but wrayde.
Viue & vale.

Whetstons Dreame.

I Waying once, my harmes by others health,
By iust account, I found the selfe same thing,
Which weaud my wo, did worke anothers wealth,
Which wrought my pain, to some did pleasure bring
Thus cloyd with care, to s [...] my lucklesse lot,
My senses fayld, as though I [...]ere a sot.
Yet Sopors beames, so could not cleare my brest,
But stormes of care, did shower in my thought,
Thus slumber swéete, did yeald but little rest,
For pinching paine, supprest that pleasure wrought,
But as my woes, did wander here and there,
My thought I sawe, an aged man appeare.
Yet such a one, as care me séemd to cloy,
Patience.
And Patience, he did name him selfe to me,
Who bad me straight, to bannish all annoy,
And of these doubtes, I soone an end should sée,
Then I with him, pursude the most resort,
Unto a place, which séemde a princes court.
Whereas my thought, sat crownd a famous quéene,
By due desart, to beare the regall sway,
Whose princely rule, hath seldome earst ben séene,
[Page 71]As though the Gods, dame nature did obey.
That iustice should, degrade them of each grace,
Her to inuest, with rule of vertues mace.
Upon whose grace, did nobles graue attend,
By whose foresight, in peace her subiects liue,
And valiaunt péeres, were ready to defend,
If forreine force, would once aduenture giue,
By warlike frayes, to worke our great vnrest,
With fire, sworde, and piercing speare in rest.
Within this court, clothed in honest shewe,
Was Enuie, Hate, Ambition, and Deceit,
On whome to waite, whereas these fiends did go,
Base minded wights, were ready at the gate,
Which neuer sought, that vertue should aduance,
Their hautie mindes, to heigth of happie chance.
There might I sée, of men another race,
Which séemd to wayle, their woes wt wéeping eye,
Whom these same sprites, had shakē once of grace,
By false suspect, and filthy slatterie,
And well I markt, how they did crouch & créepe,
And all for grace, which euermore did sleepe,
Then I espide, another valiant crewe,
Which lookt aloft, by vertue to aspire,
Unto the roome, to their desart ydewe,
If due desart, had reapt deserued hire,
But vertue gapt, and gained nought but plums,
For flatterie catcht, before they fell the crums.
Quoth grayberd then, such once was my good hap,
To be aduaunst, to heigth of great renoune,
But I too soone, was caught in Enui [...]s trap,
Where false suspect, by flatterie kept me downe,
Then patience I, perforce a vertue made,
[Page 72]And left with losse the countries tickle trade.
The foorth we go, into another place,
By outward shew, wher saints my thought did sit,
Whose gentle speach, presaged endlesse grace,
There loose their gaine, they voucht by sacred writ,
These prelates were, their words deseru'd their roome,
But sure their déedes, I leaue to others doome.
Hypocrisie did beare a vengeance sway,
His double tong, did bleare the clergies eye,
He still affirmde, t'was true that they did say,
Gainst their deuice, a thousand woes did cry,
Mas Ignoraunce, a minister was made,
Who babbled much, yet wist not what he sayd.
Yet sure this clarke, did so in scriptures créepe,
As voucht the same, to cloake each crime he could,
Pasce oues, he tooke for grasing sheepe,
Which well he fed, and daily viewd his fould,
And yet this sot, with pence procur'd such grace,
As oft he wrought, true preachers out of place.
A Then out we goe, into a pleasant plaine,
In armour bright, where gallants we espy,
The captaine stird, the souldiers rawe to traine,
Of some vnwisht, vnwares their foes drewe nye,
The cannon crackes, like thunder claps did sing,
At trumpets sound, the horse men forward fling.
In formost frunt, the fearelesse youthes did fight,
Which honour sought, and so with honour dyde,
The fencer there, prou'd not the forwardst wight,
Base minded Dick, the spoyle, not blowes applyde,
The coward yet, a loofe did catch a licke,
As soone as he, which throngd among the thicke,
When fearelesse blowes, had driuen their foes away,
To slash and slay the cowards did not spare,
When spoile was giuen, the souldiers paines to pay,
Who best deseru'd, did reape the barest share,
Thus vallor fought, and falshoode fléest the spoile,
The coward thriu'de, who least of all did toile.
These bloudie broiles mée thought, wée then forsooke,
And soone wée slipt into a stately hall,
Now well apayde about the same I looke,
For glad I was, I scapt the souldiers thrall,
And proudly then, I throngd amid the preace,
For that their wéedes bewrayde, the men of peace.
Within this hall, were kept the Princes courtes,
Where Lawyers sate, as Iudges in the same,B
To shew their griefes, more hast then néedes resortes,
Both hie and lowe, the riche and poore of name,
Pro et contra, for pence at euery barre,
In right and wronge, the lawyers were at iarre.
In faith quoth I, these men deserueth praise,
For Iustice cause, which thus imployes their paine,
But I to hie a note, their names did raise,
In right or wrong, they still did gape for gaine,
And as I walkt, I saw one wrapt in woe,C
Which much complainde, of matter de post facto.
Speake English man, what meanes these words (quoth I,)
Oh syr hee said, a quillet in the lawe
Alas it is, which makes mée howle and crie.
And looking backe another man I sawe,
Of whom I askt, why hée did looke so glum,
Hée plagued was, with plées of non est factum. D
I smyling then, to heare the clownish drone,
By néede inforst, to talke hée wist not what,
[Page 74]But as I learnd the cause of all his mone,
More pittie sure, a lawyers friend how that,
To pay him pence did enter into band,
The which hée seald, and liuered with his hand.
But after catcht, by craft the selfe same bill,
The former seale, he falslie toke away,
An other seald, the same which he did spill,
And vnsuspect the bond there downe did lay,
Which forfet once, in law they fall at iarre,
The seale was off, was pleaded then in barre.
There might I sée releasses finely framde,
Prouided yet, that if such thinges were done,
Which latter wordes, by former force were lamde,
Who so releast, a faire thred then hée spunne,
With thousand toyes, which I do here omitt,
Did cousening Craft within his capcase knitt.
I lately feard, to sée the fearelesse blowes,
The proud attempes, assayd by desperate men,
Here rouled bookes, my manhoode ouer throwes,
I durst not bide, the truncheon of a pen,
Yet well I markt, how mercie bared sway,
The conquerd wightes, were prisoners sent away.
But for this grace, their raunsome sure was great,
The gaylor fléest, the lawyer had a share,
If pence were spent, cold yrons made him sweate,
Hard beds well payde, poore chéere was costly fare,
Agréeued much, extortion bare such sway,
To patience, I, mée thought these words did say.
Can cousening shiftes, thus conscience foyle in sight?
Where is no right, may hellhoundes thus extort?
Shall periurie condemne the guiltlesse wight?
And may it bee, subor [...]ing, should support?
[Page 75]The lewde in lies, when grace is not their stay?
Can Iustice rule, a right, with parciall sway?
Content thy selfe, quoth patience then to mée,
Good lawes are made, to punish their amisse,
But pence their wronge, doth couler oft wée sée,
And want doth ware, the poore mans right I wisse,
And thus thou séest, presented to thy sight,
The prouerbe old, how might doth maister right.A
Then out wée goe, I glad to leaue this hell,
But soone wée shipt into as hard a vaine,
Where Usurie with bagges of gold did swell,B
Who much complainde of penall statutes paine,
And ioynde with craft, the same for to preuent,
Now this, now that, the myser doth inuent.
On casuall chaunce, I may my monie lend,
A perilous casualtie.
Yet hassard small, shall happen by my marte,
If I my wife, my seruaunt, child or friend,
Do goe to Powles, and home againe reuert,
Then twentie in the hundred you shall pay,
This gaine is small, forsooth doth Holdfast say.
Collusion then, did catch him by the backe,
And feasde his pence, which songe loth to depart,C
To leuey mends, the harmles went to wracke,
Thus salued was his sore by others smart,
Couetousnes, went myching vpp and downe,D
His iacket pilde, and threadbare was his gowne.
But banckrowte sure, did braue it with the best,
His cape of cloth, with veluet linde within,E
His hoase of silke, with stitches straunglie drest,
More cost hée said, more worship did him win,
But well I markt, how soone this pride decayd,
his héeles he tooke, when debtes should be defrayd.
Some kept their house, and durst not shewe their face,
Some were betrayde, and came in cutthrotes handes,
Then plees of néede, did purchase, litle grace,
Past starting now, they tyde in Darbyes bandes,
In prison vile, of force must lye and rott,
Till they haue paid, their debt and cost God wott,
A Then forth wée goe, into a paltrie towne,
Where vnderprops, eche stagering house did stay,
I chaunste to méete, a sillie countrie clowne,
Of whom I askt, what wrought their townes decay,
Who aunswerd straight, your mast [...]ips honour sees,
Yond goodly place, that pluckt vs on our knées.
Yond stately walles, our chiefest stones did steale,
UUhich were the stay vnto our féeble farmes,
For want of strength, then did our houses reale,
And worse then that to worke our greater harmes,
Inclosures great, so in our commons créepe,
UUhere kine wée kept, wée scase can kéepe a shéepe.
Yet racked rentes, increase our landlords gaine,
UUée moile, wée toile, wée worke, both morne and Euen,
Our landlords reape, reward for all our paine,
To pay our rentes, and make the world euen,
Doe what wee can, wée compasse very hard,
UUith farmers now, the wonted world is mard.
UUhen hée did raise, besides his Landlords rent,
Old gold good store, to serue him at his néede,
The cribel loafe, about his bord then went,
Salt béefe, good souce, their hungrie mawes did féede,
A stand of ale, hée euer had in store,
UUell come gossipe, a cruse of ale to the dore.
Then droyling Dicke, and toyling Tom did sturre,
To mucke his ground, to make a fatter croppe,
[Page 77]To serue his hogges, poore Madge his maide did spurre,
For winters cold, he hedge rowes large might loppe,
To ride abroade, he seeldome lackt a mare,
And in this sort the fermers life did ware.
But now god wott, our rentes we hardly pay,
To barlie crustes is turnde our cribel bread,
Where béefe, brawne, souce, our hungers did allay,
On cruddes and chéese, wée hungerly do féede,
A pecke of malte, doth make him ale good store:
Wellcome gossip, no drinke now to the dore.
Where Hicke and Tom, his boyes about did moyle,
He delues, hée digges, he labours for his hire,
And Ioane his wife, perforce herselfe doth droyle,
In steede of woode, now pestrow makes good fire,
Where earst hée ridde abroade vppon his nagge,
For falling now, on tenne toes hee doth lagge.
Thus Iohn Adroynes, did wray the farmers woe,
And I mée thought did pittie much their want,
Quoth patience then, now time doth serue to showe,
The cause why care, thy heauie hart doth haunt,
Thou sayest thy want, is weade with others wealth,
Thy harmes are payste, with weighes of others health.
Good reason why, thou viewdst in courtiers trade,
Both good and bad, a like did gaine expecte,
A like, not so▪ the good by vertuous ayde,
The bad did s [...]ke by traynes of false suspect,
The best to throw, from grace despite to spell,
Whilst they by craft, did catch such crummes as fell.
How hypocrites with shew of honest life,
In fauour créepes, when goodmen be disdainde,
How souldiers winne the field with bloudy knife,
When cowards filch, which their aduenture gainde,
[Page 78]How cutthrotes thriue, where conscience beares no sway,
When simple men, with want are worne away.
Loe thus thou séest the toyle of good and badde,
Thy owne the choice, their want or wealth to shunne,
The good with care, when craft with cost is cladde,
Yet if thou meanst the good mans race to runne,
Of patience here receiue dame vertues shéeld,
Which to thy fame, a sure force will yéeld,
A Noe poore mans cry, the conscience large shal blame,
Ne common speach a cutthroate wil thée call,
Report of craft, then shall not wronge thy fame,
Ne men will say, thy pride will haue a fall,
This bone he cast, for mée to gnaw vpon,
And said Adieu, of force I must begon.
I waking then amased in my minde,
Through this my dreame, gan checke my busie braine,
But better wayde, some fruite therein I finde,
Which aunswers full, of this report the paine,
And craues a place, of dutie with the rest,
Prouided yet, the reader do not wrest,
My wordes amisse, which doe no euill import,
To taunt the lewde, to praise the good a worke,
A fancie framde, to teach the simple fort,
What huge deceite, in honest shew doth lurke,
A toy to warne, the lewd by others shame,
To shunne such faultes, as bréedeth filthie blam [...]

¶Inuentions of P. Plasmos touching his hap and hard fortune, vnto the which is annexed the sundrie cōplaintes [...] oure notable cou­seners, the instrumentes of his greatest troubles: which in the prime of their mischieuous enterprises, with sou­daine death and vexation were straungelie visited. At the end of euery of the said inuentions, for the more plaine knowledge of them, is the reporters admonition in prose both pleasant and profitable.

The reporter.

I Haue (good Reader) at large reported the ad­uentures of P. Plasmos intermixte with these following inuentions, together with the com­plaint of certaine couseners. And sure the la­bour stande very well with my owne content­ment, for that the accidents of his euil fortunes, might haue forewarned other younge Gentlemen to haue shunde the like follies: and that the fall of ye said Couseners might haue taught other gréedie carrens, to haue respect vnto their con­sciences. And nowe to the condition of P. Plasmos in the Prime of his vnthriftines it appeareth by his fonde triumph that hée was infected with (selfe lous) the ouerthrow of ma­ny younge Gentlemen, who séeing sufficiencie in themselues to bee aduaunced, to winne credite and acquaintaunce, so farre passe the boundes of their abilitie, that longe before, countenaunce taketh notice of their desertes, by the inforce­mente of necessitie, they are gladde of meane maintenaunce, at home with their friendes. Such Gallantes by the se­quele of P. Plasmos Fortunes, maye learne to vnderstande [Page 80] their mishappes, and in reading of his fantasies may likewise sée the counterfet of their owne follies: whose fond triumph in this sort beginneth.

P. Plasmos triumphe.

PAris vsurped roome resigne, in Lady Pleasures Court.
Thy mungrell choice in such a slurte, deserues a foule report,
Whose kytish trickes, in gadding moode with euery checke to stray,
God knowes I want both Art and witt, in coulers fresh to wray.
Sufficeth yet, thy mart to mare, shée bitt at euery baite,
Wher one good turne, in toile thou reapst, thy passage was not straight,
Why wronge I thus, poore Hellen now, shée was to good for thée,
Whom fate did cast from Priams court, a sheepeherd poore to bée.
Whereas in Ida mount, thou wraydst thy willful will ywisse,
Which wealth and wisedome didst refuse, to bathe in wanton blisse,
Yet sure thy blisse was brude with bale, thy selfe will iudge the fame,
What blush not man to blase a truth, in faith it is no shame.
Thy ielous thought supprest thy ioy, thy foes increast thy feare,
Thy loue in Armes, lou'de larumes wilde, imbracements to forbeare,
Thy kinsemen slaine, thou rest of loue, and life in litle time,
What péeuish pride then moues thy thought, dame pleasures mount to clime?
Auaunt, auaunt, giue place to him, whom fortune still doth guide,
Whose choice doth passe without her plague, faire Hellen in her pride,
Within whose hart doth pittie rule, in whom dame bountie dwells,
To whom faire Venus yeeldes her ball, her beautie so excels.
Her constant loue, longe wisht I wonne, she mou'de no goddis yre,
She shed no bloud, shée slue no friend, shée set no towne on fire,
Her modest life eriles mistrust, and ielousie doth chace,
In faith I feare no lowde Al'armes, when I my loue embrace.
And yet I dare with Paris ioyne, if Paris scorne her praise,
I enter now the listes of loue, my Ladyes fame to raise,
[Page 81]And proudely there my gauntlet throwes, a quarell streight to snatch,
UUith him y dare maintaine she liues, which may faire Lymos match.
Let lingring louers reft of rest, whom scorne hath left in lash.
Let carelesse suters try their force, to praise their painted trash.
Let happie wightes, which bath in blisse, my sharpe incounter proue,
UUhom Venus with aspect of grace, hath linckt to yéelding loue.
And let them eake through passing ioy, which stands in pleasures grace,
Bestow their force if that they dare, my fortunes to deface.
UUho bathes in waues of wished blisse, wt braue delight who maskes:
UUho findes amends for euery misse, who hath but what hée askes.

The reporter.

It séemeth by this deuise folowing, that Plasmos triumph was but a voluntarie inuention, otherwise if it had beene de­uised of any certaintie, his pleasures would a béene of longer continuaunce. Likewise it seemeth his Lady Laymos that he so highly commended, was in very déede as fayre as Flora, as faithful as Faustine, as louing as Layis, as meeke as Medea, as honest as Hellen, as constant as Cressed, and as modest as Maria Bianca, and therefore worthie of estimation. But di­gressing from the cause of the inuention, for that the circum­stāces be long and not greatly materiall, ye Reader may vew the vanities of a number: who either bewitched with ye out­ward blase of beautie, or blinded with the desire of riches (ne­uer examining the behauiour of their best beloued) hap well, or hap ill, aduenture to marrie, who for the most parte are haunted with Plasmos hard fortune, who pretily toucheth his Laymos inconstancie as followeth.

I Dreaming once (me thought) dame beautie bad me craue,
The thing that fed my fācie best, & I the same should haue.A
My choice was quickly made, I beautie likt so well,
And yet I su'de my maistresse might, her séemely selfe excell.
[Page 82]Who smyling in her thought, to sée my small foresight,
Such one (quoth shée) thou shalt inioy, make much of thy delight:
Unto which ende forsooth, for fortune straight shée sought,
UUho did present a sightly girle, vnto my wanton thought.
My promise is performde (quoth shee) sweete friend adieu,
My fancie rendred forth with thankes, as though it had béene true:
But when I wooke and miste, this passing louely wight:
A murdred sighe, the fancie checkte, that raisde my late delight,
And fretting, forth I goe, fonde fancies for to chase,
But loe by Lady fortune signde, I chaunst to spy thy face.
Then to my selfe I said, cease Plasmos to be sad,
This is the Dame, thou didst possesse, in dreame that earst thou had,
Acquaintaunce for to craue, aduentrous boy assay,
Thou wert not nise, ne I abasht, my secretes to bewray,
I showde thée all and some, what I in vision sawe,
Thou wart mine owne by beauties dome, vnlesse thou scorndst her law,
My wordes did like thée well, or praises that I vsde,
And smyling saidst, Dame beauties hest, must no wayes be abusde;
Thus after slender sute, thou knowste, whom I euioyde,
But easily wonne, as soone thou wert, through sullon will accoyde,
And in thy wrangling rage, I sawe thée raunge for newe:
I chafte through sight, Dame beautie blamd, cause Laymos was not true.
UUhich soone I did recant, and yéelded for to haue,
My sute performde at beauties hands, in forme as I did craue.
I askst a gallant gyrle, which vaild at first assault,
I askte no faith, nor none I found, in whom was then the fault?
In him who now will learne, to make his match more sure,
And as for thée thou dost but kinde, to stoupe to euery lure.

The reporter.

This wrangling hate séemeth to be but a passion, procée­ding of Plasmos passing loue, the which digested, made his af­fection more perfect: Neuerthelesse this following inuention, wrayeth the euill fortunes of rash beléefe and cholericke re­uenge, after which (for the most) insueth repentaunce: yet for [Page 83] that ye Sonet it selfe, foresheweth but a fitt of disquiet minde by loue occasioned, it shal passe for mée without any preface.

FOwle fall thée false suspect, so thriue thou ielous thought,
UUoe worth you both, you reard the hate, that all my harme hath wrought:
You did enuie my hap, when late I liu'de in ioy,
You slaunder forg'd, you mou'd mistrust, you made my souereigne coy.
Shée wronged saunce offence, good reason hath to hate,
But you no cause of filthie strife, twixt friends to set debate,
But sith my heart did yeeld such motions to beléeue,
Both heart, head, and euery veine, with fretting thoughtes to gréeue:
First loue renue thy force, my ioyes for to consume,
And when desire hath blowen the cooles, till all my fancies fume:
Then conscience guilt, detect my follies day and houre,
And base desert exile remorse, sée dreade, my swéete thou soure,
Disdaine, persuade my minde, my Ladies passing loue
Is chaungd to scorne, from scorne to hate, from hate reuenge to proue.
Tormenting passions eake, abate my pride in showe,
Then scaulding sighes present my state, vnto my friendly foe:
UUhich when shée once hath séene, with wrecke of my delight,
Despaire, end me dole with death, in my swéete mistresse sight▪
But least shée beare the blame, of this my bloudy hand,
I craue vpon my timelesse tumbe, this Epitaphe may stand.
Loe heare doth lie his corps,
Himselfe for woe who slue,
That Ielous thoughts, his Lady blamde,
She euer liuing true.

The reporter.

These passionate verses wittingly lost, wheras fayre Lay­mos might find them, of likelyhoode she perceiuing his singu­lar good loue, hauing sufficient cause of quarell, waxed euery day more straunger then other, vntil poore Plasmos purse to make attonemēt, prouided some pretie deuise, that appeased her anger: these louers thus reconciled, it séemeth Plasmos to requite the friendship of his purse, in praise whereof, hée wrote these verses insuing.

P. Plasmos in praise of his Purse.

COme prettie purse, the iewell of my ioy,
The daintie soile, wherein delight is sowen,
Thou well deseru'st the title of a Ioy,
Who doth not feare, whereas thy force is knowen?
UUho dare rebell, where thou dost rule and reigne?
Thou foylest kinges, by force of treason vile,
Thou clokest craft, with flattrie, feare or gaine,
UUhen Iustice should vncase his crooked guile.
By thée escapes the traytour and the théefe,
The murdrous mate, which languisht late in woe,
Thou werst to ebb, their tossing tydes of gréefe,
And graftest myrth, where mone but late did growe.
To maske with pride, thou art a visard fitt,
Thou heau'st him vp, which held the plough of late,
Thou telst his tale, which wants both Art and witt.
Thou wodcocke setst, before the wise estate,
The wilie churle, which wronges the wretch full oft.
The cousening mate whose mischiefe neuer endes,
Should sol fa singe in couseners cliffe aloft.
But that thou cloakst their craft with wealthie friends,
The thriftlesse childe by thée doth looke full hie,
UUhose sparing friends at home the plough doth hold,
In Court thou art the badge of brauerie.
UUho doth not fawne on gentle maister gold?
Deformed girles, by thée are made full faire,
Dame Venus stoupes through thée to Vulcans lure,
The coffing churle, doth match with beauties heire▪
Such straunge consents can Lady Coyne procure,
UUhy stay I then, swéete purse thée to embrace?
UUhose ayde I vsde, when fortune most did lowre▪
My clowdes of scare, thou cleardst with gleames of grace,
My bale to blisse, to swéete, thou chaungst my sowre,
Thou sa [...]'dst my life, with passing loue nie pinde,
UUhich friendly turnes, are written in my minde.

The reporter.

It is hie time to digresse from the report of Plasmos wan­ton deuises, vnto other his inuentions, touching his miseries, and repentance, which immediatly followed, his wanton ex­pences: and for that want, is the contrarie vnto wealth, I thought good to pla [...]e after the praise of his purse, his com­plaint of wante, the commodities of the one, and the discom­modities of ye other dulie considered, are meanes to persuade the wise in prosperitie, to haue an eye vnto aduersitie, and once in fauour to make prouision for Fortunes chaunge. For fewe are so happie, but in their time they are visited with miserie: so wel beloued, but once in their life they are as deadly hated: so highly fauoured, but are as vnhappily scorned: not withstanding all these chaunces and chaunges, Coyne in the coffer is an assured friend, whereas if thou haue respect, but to serue thy present tourne, in prosperitie thou art so ouer prodigal, that when pouertie pincheth, the remembraunce of thy former swéete delights, doth increase thy sower passions: proofe appeareth by Plasmos, who being nipped with neede, calleth to remembrance what pleasures he had receiued by his purse, and crossed euery of the said commodities, with the inconueniences occasioned by his want as followeth.

P. Plasmos complaint of want.

I Whilome writ a iest, what ioyes my purse did plant,
But now I wray with litle lust, the woes of withered want.
When Purse with pence did flow, a thousand friends I found,
Now wōted wealth doth weare to ebb, their frēdship runnes aground.
When Coyne I had in claw, my wronges weare doomde for right,
Since néede did nippe, my rightfull sutes was ouer [...] ayde with might.
When wealth I had at wil, my wished ioyes were wrought,
Now want doth choke those iestes with care, & cloyes my braynes with thought.
With wealth I fréedome wonne, by wealth my woes did weare,
Through lacke, restrainte of libertie, doth foyle my hope with feare.
[Page 86]With Coyne I seruaunts kept, which serued for mine ease,
By néede inforst, now am I faine, to pray, to pay, and please.
I ratlted then in silkes, by brauerie of my bagges,
But pouer man, now am I glad, to royst in rotten ragges.
My purse me oft prelerd, to play, in pleasures lappe,
Wel may I wish, but want I shal, by wāt to reach such hap.

The reporter.

This complaint folowing, sufficiently sheweth that Plas­mos being somwhat behind hand by reason of his former vn­thriftines, hauing notwithstāding very proper liuing, vnhap­pilie hit in acquaintaunce with certaine couseners, who seing his sufficiente abilitie, supplied his want from time to time with monie, till they had wrapt him in very daungerous and cumbersome bonds, so that hée had no way to winde himselfe out of their daunger, but either by long leasure, or sellinge some parcell of his land: but by reason that it was intayled, none would deale with him, vntil a recouerie were had ther­of. Plasmos hauing no experience in those causes, and repo­sing a great confidence in one Liros, one of the said compani­ons committed the trust of his recouery vnto him,Note. who trai­terously persuaded and instructed by Frenos his confederate A by chaunging and counterfetting o [...] déedes, had purchaste all Plasmos liuing for nothing, if he and his felowes eagre desire of the possession, by Plasmos vntimely destruction, had not decyphered their deuilish deceites. But sith the circumstan­ces be longe, and in reporting them I should passe my pur­pose, I leaue their lewdnes vnto their owne reporting: who in the prime of their mischiefes, worthily visited with mise­ries, to disburden their consciences of a number of villanies, hereafter shall make discourse of their owne dealinges. In the meane while Plasmos hauing new knowledge of (and not yet remedied) their indirect practises: and also being a litle before maymed on his right hande, by reason of a certaine quarel that Liros had raysed betwéene certaine youthes, and [Page 87] himselfe, the said Plasmos ioyning the said mischiefes with other his euill fortunes, complayneth as followeth.

P. Plasmos to his mishap.

HOw should I frame my plaint, how shall I tell my tale?
Whom should I blame, whom shall I bane as worker of my bale?
Sith heauen and earth, are bent to bruse mée with their hate,
What bootes mée (wretch) to rage at fraude, or raile on lucklesse fate?
Whom neuer hap did haunt, but thousand harmes affraide,
In prime of youth, vntimely death, first tooke my surest ayde,
Then rose a lawlesse friend, that likt my rouing youth,
Hée gaue mée will, to sucke my wealth (alas the more the ruth.)
I lothed forced thrift, hée liked no expence,
And Tutors loue not for to toile, without reward of pence,
Which lacke to late I rue, The greater mischiefe mine,
But yet my thought, at which offence, perforce doth thus repine.
Why scornde I merchaunts trade, with baites of fraude to fish?
Sith craft doth onely compasse wealth, and wealth is that wée wish,
Or placed at my booke, why plide I not the same?
Why sought I not by morall rules, my madding yeares to tame.
Sith rule must leade our life, or els wée liue awry,
Why Aristotles wise precepts, then did I not apply?
Why likt I not the Lawe, where huge deceites are sowen,
Sith wée by lawe, do hurt our foe, and hold that is our owne.
But leapt to libertie, that longe I did desire,
Why was my hart, so set on hoygh, beyond my reach t'aspire?
Why was I wedded so to péeuish will and pride?
Sith pride are will and foes to wit, and witt our wayes should guide.
But most of all to loue, why was I wretch so thrall?
Why sought I so, by raging lust, my gadding yeares to gall?
[Page 88]Sith neither loue nor lust, doth yéeld a quiet rest,
Why made I choice of both the euills, when bad was very best?
Ah (Laymos) once my loue, by froward fate my foe,
Ah (Laymos) first by the I knew, the workers of my woe,
But (Liros) most vnkinde, both spoild of loue and ruthe,
Ah (Liros) thou doest wound my hart, to thinke on thine vntruth.
Why did I trust thy faith, or fearelesse othes thou sware,
Thy fayned vowes, thy sugred woords, of my welfare thy care,
Sith faith is turnde to fraude, and woordes to workes vniust,
Why likte I wretch thy wilye tongue, sith treason quiteth trust.
And did I thus deserue? in faith thy selfe be iudge:
If Plasmos had, did Liros lacke? O no hée did not grudge,
To giue thée what thou wouldst, yea more then thou couldst craue,
What cankred thought then mou'de thy minde, his life and all to haue?
Whose murdrous marke (ay mée) my maymed fist can showe.
Although thou feardst, to strike the stroake, the strife thy hart did sowe,
And should I spare thee then, of death to stand in awe?
O, Noe, my conscience bids mee strike, betide what may of lawe.
Although the worst befall, death quites but death againe,
And sure there is no ioy to death to such as piue in paine,
Why miste my hart the blowe, that hitt my harmelesse wrist,
My hart it was that wrought offence, and not my faultlesse fist.
My hart did trust these mates, my hart did sturre this strife,
My hand did naught, but make defence, to saue my sillie life,
My hart deuisde the toyes, which puft mée vppe with pride,
My hart inforst my eye to loue, which manly fist defide.
And yet my hand, not hart, is plagued for others mis,
Too parcial sure, in my conceite, the heauens were in this,
Too parcial (wretch) not so, t'was neither heauen nor happe,
But harebrainde youth, which leapt the hedge, and left the open gappe.
T'was youth which stouped first, to Laymos wanton lure,
T'was youth that likt the wily wordes, which Liros put in vre,
T'was youth through smal forsight, that wrought poore Plasmos thral,
T'was youth, so present want were scrud, that feard no future fall.
T'was youth that made him maske, with visard of delight,
Delight (not so) but dririe dread, to shunne the merchants sight,
And Dread the scourge of youth, for safegard of me wretch,
Did lodge me vp with néedie griefe, while craft did play the leach,
In déede he playde the leach, to ease my present lacke,
But what should serue for future store, his physicke put to sacke.
He toylde in my behalfe, God wot I durst not steare,
Least, craftie traine should tol me in, the merchants wily snare.
And dread did daunt me so, that death I did desire,
Before a life of fréedome reft, my hart did so aspire,
A tayle yet cloyde the land, which should me frolike make,
Where (Timeles trust) to curtoule it, did so the ioynt mistake.
That land will bléede to death, if conscience worke no cure,
Such waste wrought haste, for fréedomes sake, to trust ere I were sure,
A pestleuce blowe, forsooth it hurt not lande alone,
But spoyld my fist by filthy strife, and maymd my hart with mone.
Of which I youth may thanke, he snarld me in this snare,
Of force to trust, or else to sterue, with dread, distresse, and care,
Where Trust for best I chusd, although it prou'd the worst,
Such backward hap, doth euer haunt, the man that is accurst.

The reporter.

Plasmos digression from one action of miserie vnto ano­ther, yea vnto all the actions of his mishap, (although it be some what tedious) duely considered, is tollerable for the na­ture of the distressed man, is to call to remembraunce euery [Page 90] speciall matter of his misfortune, to the intent (although too late) he may knowe the commodities of their contraries: and sure, although it was inuented to ease his mynde of griefe, there be a number of caueats therein, to forewarne other young Gentlemen, to forestand with good gouernment, their folowing yl fortunes, especially the reprehēsion of his youth, for this is once, brainsicke brauerie (besides his own great ex­pence) inticeth the gréedie churle, to hūger after the gallants liuing, and for truth, if his cōscience be corrupted with craft, it is an easie matter for him, to ouerthrowe the mistrustlesse and welmeaning man. But the mischiefe is insuing shame, without a cloke to couer his deceits, who can haue no better colour, to answer any complaint of cousnage preferd-against him, then to say the compleynant is an vnthrift, a quareler, a proude and prodigall person. &c. Who to maintaine his bra­uerie, departed, bona fide, vnto him being defendaunt, such & such parcels of lande, the compleynants monie wasted by vnthriftinesse, & knowing the defendant, to be desirous of quiet­nesse, to wring more monie frō him to haue the matter qui­etly ended, surmiseth these true and slaunderous complaints against him, &c. and although that wise men vpon the ripping vp of matters, will smell out such merchants, yet at the first shewe, yea during the tryall, the wronged youth is blamed, so that in the meane time, the gréedie carrion by vnkind ver­ations, enforceth the compleynant to agréement, some proofe appeareth by this inuention folowing, wherein Plasmos sup­poseth iustice to be diuorced: and Ladie wrong, to be matcht with might. It séemeth on this occasion, being wronged by di­uers lewd and deceitfull cōpanions, he preferd his complaint to certaine Commissioners, against them the defendaunts colouring their cousenage, with the report of his vnthrifti­nesse, & hauing their answeres soothed with the countenance of more wealthy then honest friendes, with suche cheating varlots, haue euermore in store, lead the saide magistrates with such indifferēcie, that in stead of redressing, they increa­sed his iniuries, by giuing countenance to his enimies, which Plasmos perceiuing, (prouoked to impatience) whereas he [Page 91] came to complaine of one of the two, he departed exclayming on them all, and at leasure, inuented as followeth.

WHy do I liue (quoth he) to sée this lothsome light,
Sith iustice is this day diuorst, and wrong is matcht with might,
Where cousnage was the clarke, where pollage was the priest,
Where déepe deceit, which gaue this dame, was father of the feast,
Where bryde men were abuse, where briberie bare the cup,
Where gréedie earls as chiefest guestes, in euery boll did sup,
Where coyne was cater made, where cost the cookerie drest,
Where catchpoles false did fill the cups, at this great marriage feast,
Where parasites did prate, to frée each sullen moode,
Wher cheting churles did fill their paūch, where poore mē steru'd for food,
Where countenance once dynde, and might haue cheard his mates,
Wide open then, but not before, the porter set the gates,
Yet thousandes preast to sée, the res'due of the sport,
Some cloyd by craft, lome foyld by force, for succour did resort,
But well I sawe (quoth he) which sight I sore did rue,
How blastes of scorne the belly Gods, among the needie blue,
How wealth did smile at want, how riches railde on right,
How vertue was supprest by vice, how pitie by despight,
How false suspect did forge, a thousand flim flam stayes.
In rightfull suites to tyre the poore, with cost and long delayes.
Anon the musicke soundes, and force his office shewd,
Well meaning mindes he wrapt so hard, that they his hart beshrewd,
First falshoode makes his choice, next flatterie takes his chaunce,
Then tag and rag about the house, deceitfull measures daunce.
A curious maske at night, the bridemen doth ordaine.
With shews of fraud to féed their thoghts, which care not how they gain,
Abuse did leade the bride, extortion maskt with craft,
To sée deceit come hobbling on, a hundred carrens laught.
Pure néede to get a place, was glad to holde a torch.
But iustice during all this sport, was placed in the porch,
Good Ladie then (quoth he) alas and well away,
You sometime did possesse this place, this whilome was your day.
[Page 92]How hapneth Lucre, hath infected so your mate,
How chaunceth Truth, did suffer Craft, to enter in your gate,
What though that gaine did sowe, some seedes of Iealousie,
Might not (Remorse) attonement make, betwéene thy féere and theée?
Is Conscience nowe exilde, who sometime counseld Might,
For to regard dame Iustice suite, and not to striue with right?
Are honest myndes nowe fled, doth rigour rule the roft?
Is Iustice nowe diuorst from might, doth wrong nowe scoure the coste?
Doth countenaunce cloake such crimes, as iustice did vncace?
Dare couseners false defende their faults, with shew of honest face?
They dare and doe God wot, by maintenaunce of might,
Why liue I then alas, he sayd, sith no man fauours right?
With that adieu good hope, and welcome woe (quoth he)
I sée no gleames of grace appeare, my cloudes of scare to frée.

The reporter.

It is more then straunge to sée, the filthy confederacle of couseners, how the wealthy churle, to saue him selfe from shame, when his deceites are discouered, vseth the names of such lewd and carelesse persons, as to compasse gaine haue a regard neither to open shame, nor to their secret consciences: and to tire the compleynant with delayes, such as with bold countenaunce (bolstred with the credite of the wealthy cou­siner and his friendes) will abide the tryall of the matter, be­ [...]ide the worst that may, he can be but punished, for once the benefits of the deceit, is in holdfastes handling, so that light­ly, he that is wronged, is like to reape but a colde amendes, by his complaint. Among which fellowship of fiendes, there is euer an odde lawyer, who secretly draweth their subtile déedes and craftie conueyances, and priuily giueth them in­structions, how to deale in their lewd causes, to forewarne all men of this packe of pickpurses (making proofe by his owne hinderaunces) Plasmos describeth a cousiner as fol­loweth.

P. Plasmos description of couseners.

A Lawyers head, to drawe a craftie déede.
A Harlots looke, to witch with wanton sight,
A Flatterers toung, with sugred words to féede,
A Tyrants hart, to wound the harmelesse wight,
To toll with cheare, a gréedie gluttons gorge.
A Merchants mouth, of falshoode truth to forge.
A Scriueners fist, by nimblenesse to race,
To scrape, to forge, to counterfet a name,
A Lackies leg, to trudge in euery place,
A desperate mind, which dreads no kinde of shame:
These lims well linckt, and set on couseners soyle,
A worke were sure, of all the diuels the toyle.
For each of them, a fiende in force can binde,
Yet some I graunt, by vertue guides their place,
But sildome tis, that Kit ne followes kinde,
If one be good, a score doth want the grace,
But all in league, their dealings lewde beware,
For then they do, the diuell and all of scare.

The reporter.

The Philosopher Diogenes sayth, that Nature to this intent bestowed two eyes, and two eares, and but one toung on any man, that he should heare and sée, more then he should speake. And sure, who soeuer vnaduisedly slaundereth ano­ther, hurteth him selfe. In matters of controuersie, who so feeleth his suite colde, straight séeketh by pretie traines, to take some aduauntage of his aduersaries wordes, to whiche effect, the craftie churle complained on, for any notable couse­nage, to knowe the compleynants secretes, worketh meanes to bring him into extreame passions of choler, who being greatly wronged, will not onely giue knowledge, by what [Page 94] countenaunce, and in what court he will trounse the defen­dant for his deceit, but lightly vnaduisedly voweth to strike him, or calleth him craftle knaue, cousening churle, &c. Wherevpon the defendant, to worke the compleynants dis­credite, declareth to some iustice of account, in what daunger of life he stoode in the compleynant being mischiefously & ruf­fenly disposed, & hauing colour of wrōg for slaūderous words he claps such vnkynde actions on the compleynant, that will he, or nyll he, he enforceth him to agréement: who so, is so wronged, may take warning to temper his toung, by Plas­mos penance, who being hugely abused, gaue out hard (yet true) speaches of one of his aduersaries, not withstanding, by his owne negligence, together with the extremitie of Lawe, he payde roundly for recompence, who to discharge his stomache of griefe, a [...]orrie amendes in fayth, blamed his toung as followeth.

P.P. Inuectiue against his toung.

THy rash reuenge (O tatling toung) I rue,
Although with truth, thou slaundredst late thy foe,
The prouerbe olde, by proofe I finde too true,
Who fightes with words, doth wound him selfe with woe,
The ciuil lawe, so fauours fame and name,
As strumpets knowne, by wantons oft resort,
Are sildome put to any open shame.
Les open sight, makes proofe of Venus sport,
Who so is toucht, with any foule abuse,
Though common speach, the same for truth confirme,
The common lawe, the guiltie will excuse,
If proofe by oth, ne makes the knowledge firme,
Thus wanton fylthes, and wily churles are scus'd,
If secretly, they worke their foule amis,
Yet néedely they, which are by these abus'd,
Must haue a meanes, to vse reuenge ywis,
Where oft their toung, is first addrest to fight,
[Page 95]Whose furious threats, forewarnes their foe of yre,
Which knowne he straight, doth séeke to match their might,
And first begins, their griefes for to conspire,
My selfe by such makes proofe, this tale is true,
Who wéend to feare, with threatning words my foe,
At which he smilde, preuenting what he knewe,
Woulde be a m [...]ane, to worke his ouerthrowe,
Yea worse then that, he tryst me for me toung,
With actions houge, for slaundering of his fame,
For which my purse, an honest quest so stuong,
That euer since, in faith it hath béene same.
Thus losse to me, no hurt to him at all,
O babbling toung, thy rash reuenge hath wrought,
Else blowes in lawe, had giuen him cause to brall,
Of both the best, though best reuenge be naught,
For bobs do feare, when words not ioynd with déede,
In wrangling mynds, more [...]nackred thoughts doth bréede.

The reporter.

I may now without offence, enter into the plaine discourse of Plasmos, following for tunes, and inuentions, for I haue hetherto, layde the cause of his miseries, vnto his youthfull vnthriftinesse, the which I confesse was an instrument: but there were ouerthriftie executioners of his harde fortunes, whose names and doings, for that it was supposed some of them were aliue, according to my commission, I haue lefte vnreported, wishing them well to fare, vpon their recom­pence and repentance.

Nowe returning againe vnto P. Plasmos estate, who be­ing wrapped in a thousand miseries and mischiefes, barde of the benefit of his owne liuing, to worke his quietnesse, forsa­ken of friends in his distresse, & daily tormented with his eni­mies vnkind vexations, looking vnto the condition of his for­mer life, his exercises and studies, and finding his life full of lewdnesse, his exercise to be dallying, dauncing, and suche [Page 96] counterfet delightes, his studie. Wanton Comedies, Tra­gedies, and discourses, acknowledging the [...]e [...], the in­struments of his mishap, sought if the refourming of these a­buses, would be a meane of his better fortunes, so that vsing one day the reading of scripture for his studie, and lighting on the 102. Psalme, intituled, Domine exaodi orationē me­am, imploying his Muse vnto a more better vse. then of yore, he made his humble submission vnto the highest, for the re­lease of his miseries, as followeth.

IN gayle of griefe in clos [...]e, of worldly friendes forlorne,
Thy mercy Lord to ease my mone, vnto my prayers turne,
Hide not thy heauenly face, from him that lies in thrall,
High time and tide good God it is, to heare my plaint & cast,
My dayes consume with griefe, my myrth is maid wt mone,
My hart doth wast like withred grasse, my graue & I am one
My flesh with thoughts doth fret, in shew I am a ghoste,
I drencht in bale, my foes in blisse, I harmd, of hap they bost,
The world cōmends their welth, & spites my withered woe,
Yea dooms my doings by my dole, theirs by delight in showe
Thus wrongd, and scornd I am, which crosse I do imbrace,
Attending when thy mercy (Lord) my miseries shall chace,
Which ioyne with iustice thine, to foyle my foes in sight.
So shall I praise, and others feare, thy maiestie and might.

The reporter.

Plasmos in time, wringing him selfe out of all the trou­bles and mischiefes, that his enimies had wrapt him in, and seing his estate for his troubles; so sufficient, as with good go­uernment, he might liue in indifferent good credite. On the contrarie part, seing some of his enimies, through their lewd­nesse starke beggers, and other some of them, to dye souden­ly, and miserably, as well to giue God thankes for his deli­uerie, as for the ouerthrowe of his enimies, made this sonet following.

[Page 97]
TO thée (O Lord) with hart and voice I sing,
Whose mercy great, from dole to sweete delight,
From mone to myrth, my troubled spirite did bring,
Yea more thy yre, hath foyld my foes in sight,
They liue in want, that flourisht late in wealth,
They grone with griefe, yea lacke both help & helth,
Their conscience guilt, doth gall them through their gaine,
And yet they waste, more faster then they winne,
Thus swéete prou'd sowre, their pleasure turnd to paine,
Yea liuing dyde, to thinke vpon their sinne,
Their shadowes feard, so souden was their fall,
But more their death, when destenie did them call.
Their mone amasd, a thousand wretches moe,
Who sight and shrynkt, through motions of deceit,
To heare report, this thundring threat to throwe,
Foule fall the fraude, to bréede our bale a baite,
A bitter swéete that rots, ere it be ripe,
A liuing care, to souls a deadly stripe.
But how with hap, the pikes of harme I past,
Of murdrous mates, of myndes on mischiefe set▪
Whose snares for me, them selues did fetter fast,
Whose baites for me, them measht in beggers net,
Inforst men say, of God, loe here the might,
Which heales the harmd, and lames ye lewd in sight.
But I whose scare, thy heauenly helpe did cleare,
Will daily sing, with mynd, with hart and voyce,
To thee (O Lord) be honour, laude, and feare,
Which foyldst my foes, and madst me to reioyce,
Laude for thy grace, and honour to thy name,
Feare cause thy wrath, doth put the lewde to shame.

The reporter.

After that P. Plasmos had throughly passed the pikes of his troubles, he foorthwith professed, a newe course of life: to witnesse which reformation (making pouertie his excuse) he sent this following farewell, vnto fayre Laymos, and other fine dames, of his olde acquaintance▪ which inuention, he termed his farewel to wanton pleasures.

P. Plasmos farewell to wanton pleasures.

DAme Venus be content, thy seruant should depart,
Who long hath bath'd in brauties blisse, yet swam in seas of smart,
And willing nowe with losse, to leaue his wanton sport,
Repentance hath reclaimed him, from pleasures statly court,
Good loue my gouernesse, thy charge that erst did raunge,
Is well content, to carelesse youth, to leaue his choice in chaunge,
My colours fresh and gay, my pride in peacocks plumes,
I now resigne to Cupides thralls, whose head with fancie fumes,
My sugred wordes that earst, did wray my suites at large,
My scalding sighes, to quench mistrust, when iealousie gaue charge,
I will to salue their sore, whome false suspect doth byte,
My vaunting speach I giue to those, which soiourne with delight,
And fansie earst my friend, of force I must forsake.
And lust my choice, I leaue to those, which rowes in leachers lake,
For wisdome rules my will, and reason bids retire,
Least frosen feares, through faythlesse loue, doth followe hote desire,
Expence doth nip my purse, my pride is pincht with paine,
Aspiring mynde hath caught a fall, my lacke is linckt with gaine,
Yet losse this lesson learnd, how pence my pleasure wrought,
Not pleasure pence, but purses paine, when néede the bottome sought,
A noddie for the nonce, for faithlesse flurtes to flout.
Poore want was rayd, in ragged clothes, amongst dame pleasures rout.
Which picture when I sawe, in fauour like my lacke,
Disdaine my thought, did drowne my ioy, despaire did bruse my backe.
Pure néede then prickt me foorth (in faith) good mistresse mine,
[Page 99]Ere scorne should worke me out of grace, my seruice to resigne.
For if you rightly wey, my want by former wealth,
Your selfe will iudge, I can not serue, without the ayde of stealth.
Then wrong will séeke reuenge, with tryall of his bande,
And iustice soone will sentence giue, to truce me out of hande.
Then conscience will accuse, my coste in Venus court,
And warne my friendes by these my woes, to shun dame pleasures sport,
And (loth to dye) will curse, the causers of my smart,
Thus with your blame, my one the shame (perforce) I shall depart.

The reporter.

After P. Plasmos had bid adieu to these counterfet delightes, he made this ensuing recantation, and sith it behoueth euery man that recanteth, to shew with what errours he was led, as well to discharge his owne conscience, as to forewarne o­thers of the like, P. Plasmos in the saide recantation, maketh discourse of loue betwixt faire Laymos and him self. Where­in is discouered the subtile sleights of a cunning courtisane.

P. Plasmos recantation.

BEfore the world, I here recant my life,
I do renounce, both lingring loue and lust,
My wanton will, with wisedome once at strife,
Hath lost the fielde, the type of fansies trust.
My sugred toung, bepoudred all with teares,
To chase mistrust, from my swéete maistresse mynde,
With simple speach, from humble sprite now weares,
That fauour I, with my swéete Christ may finde.
My seattered sighes, which I on earth did strowe,
I gather vp, and sende them to the starres,
As messengers, of my lamenting woe,
Twixt sine and soule, so mortall is the warres.
Sith I repent, no shame it is to wray,
My former life, how farre from grace it swern'd,
Although from truth, I silly shéepe did stray,
As good men God, so I my Goddesse seru'd.
Her fauour heauen, I reckt her frowning hell,
I swam in ioy, when I attaind her grace,
I sunke in noy, when she with wrath did swell,
Such strange effectes, were shrowded in her face.
The religion of wanton lo­uers like the papistes.
Saint Pandor then, my aduocate I made,
Who pynde my purse, yet fead my foolish vaine,
A thousand scornes, with my fond sight did fade,
My suite in wordes, such slender grace did gaine,
As Gods of olde, my Goddesse honoured is,
Which sacrifice, of kine and calues did craue,
But she inioynd, in penance of my mis,
For fashion sake, that first I yeald her [...]laue.
With vowe of fayth, my suite then must I showe,
But suites of lawne with toyes of déeper coste,
The duties were, which I for grace did owe,
Such costly grace, then found were better loste.
But mi [...]es of loue, did so bedim my eyes,
That wealth was slaue vnto my wanton thought,
Glad was my purse, when he the toy espies,
Which with my loue, a perfect liking wrought.
But I too sharpe, did spurre so frée a wretch,
He pynde to naught, to please her péeuish mynde,
Then lacke too late, this lesson did me teach,
I seru'd no saint, but one of Sathans kynde.
Who when she fawe, pure néede to play his part,
With iealous speach, gan straight to faine debate,
[Page 101]My second choice she sayde, possest my heart,
As though pure loue, had hatcht this souden hate,
But well I sawe, despight did forge suspect,
And iealous speach, was set to colour scorne.
My charge not change, did frame with foule defect.
She fained griefe, I wretch with woe forworne.
My plées of want, then purchase little grace,
She wild me loue, where I my wealth did waste,
For my nice choice, she reckt her selfe too base,
Which here and there, in change a new was plast.
Fonde fansie then, presented to my will,
In desperate panges, to pine away with paine,
Or purchase pence, on top of Shooters hill,
If I escape, my bootie grace would gaine.
For him that earst, both hope and hap did vaunce,
To desperat thoughts, to vayle his former blisse,
Blame not his mynde, to cure this sorrie chaunce,
If ventur'd life, did worke amends of misse.
And syth (quoth I) I must a martyr be,
Then burne to naught, wt blase of Cupides brands,
A gentler death, is hanging on a trée,
I may escape, the bowget makers hands.
In spight of scorne, which haunts my Ladies hart,
Then shall I swim, in seas of former grace,
And sorrow shall finde, recompence of smart,
With foulded armes, when I my ioy imbrace.
These drousie dumps, which driues me to despaire
Shall purged be, with drugs of droynses store,
I glad, he mad, then mumping in his chaire,
When stéede is stolne, too late shall shut the dore.
Thus I vile wretche, led on by wanton lust,
A triumphe made, within my wicked thought,
How I by hap, the harmelesse threw to dust,
Ere I escapt, or had the mischiefe wrought,
But oh (swéete Christ) thy grace this folly stayd,
Thou cleardst my sight, which mistes of loue did bleare,
Unto whose praise, my conscience hath bewrayd,
My former life, deuoyde of godly feare.
Thou crau'st (good Lord) no other aduocate,
But prayer mine, to purchase heauenly grace,
The which thou sayst, doth neuer come too late,
If I repent, when prayer pleades my case.
A contrite hart, is the swéete sacrifice,
That thou dost séeke, ere we thy fauour winne,
The which, deare God, with sighes & wéeping eyes,
I offer vp in recompence of sinne.
Attending still, when triall of my fayth,
Shall treade downe death, & Sathan force to réele,
And boldly say, till latter gaspe of breath,
My soul through faith, ye ioyes of heauen doth féele.

The reporter.

To make this recantation or repentance more perfect in shewe and in déede, he wrote this following admonition, vn­to him selfe, which he termed his farewel to follie.

P. Plasmos farewell to folly.

FArewell you fading ioyes,
Which fancie forst me loue,
Adieu'go trudge, your tickle toyes,
Though late, too soone I proue.
O wandring head leaue off,
Fonde fancies to imbrace,
And sugred toung nowe cease to scoffe,
Or others to disgrace,
Forsake, O luring eyes,
To faine the louing art,
And scalding sighes be you no spies,
To wound a womans hart.
O mynde with verses vaine,
No more thy selfe acquaint,
Forsake in time, faire Venus game,
Ere age doth thée attaint.
O hart on hoyh y set,
Be warnd by wisedomes lawe,
So shalt thou scape blinde Cupides net,
Of which thou stoodst in awe.
Beware of tenne and foure,
Which be the cheaters fare,
Least hassards hard, thy swéete do soure,
And make thy purse full bare.
This double charge I giue,
To you vnhappie handes,
From quarels fond, y frée to liue,
As foe to life and landes.
Now last to you my legges,
Which be my bodies stay,
Frame not your gate as men on egges,
Whome busting doth affray.
Nor yet so stoutly stride,
As mens that beares would binde,
[Page 104]For stately steps bewrayes the pride,
Which harbours in the mynde.
My other members all,
Be rulde by reasons lore:
Let vertue reigne, where vice did stall,
And former faults deplore.
Least future plagues you pricke,
To worke your greater paine,
For why against the thornes to kicke,
I count it more then vaine.
Nunquam sero.

The reporter.

I thinke it good to leaue P. Plasmos in this good moode, vn­till time fitteth (he thus forewarned) for the report of his better fortunes, naythelesse for others héede, I will make discourse of the souden fal of foure of his enimies, whō Gods iustice worthily cut off, in the prime (or before the accōplish­ment) of their lewde desires: the first of them was Lyros, the only executioner of al his copartners deceites, who vpon the reuealement of his and their mischieues, fell into an ex­treme quarterne ague, which haunted him vntill his death, he hauing but one only childe, which soudenly, without any shew of sicknesse died, he for feare of arrest, forsooke his house and liued in corners. And yet to comfort his solitarie life, he oft song a counter tenure, he being before a lustie and able man, became soudenly a most weake and miserable creature to accompanie whiche, he lost the vse both of memorie and wit. And to make an end of his miseries, in steade of drinke, he dronke poyson, so that shortly after he was in shewe a most lothsome lepre, who thus distrest, forsaken of friendes, and vexed with his foes, for want of succour miserably (yet [Page 105] repentauntly) died, whose complaint almost in order as hée confessed insueth.

The complain [...] of one Lyros a notable Cou­sener, supposed at the houre of his death.

AMonge their falles, by filthie fraude which fell,
Let my mishappe, registred be I pray,
Whose wanton toyes, whose wily trickes to tell,A
But chéefe of all, whose wofull plight to wray,
No doubt the lewde, will bring to better stay,
For whose behoofe, loe here I paint my thrall,
My happ, my harme, my life, my death and all.
Noe shame it is for mée to showe my euill,
Though gracelesse life, from wisedomes lore did swerue.
A sinne it were to liue and die a deuill,
So soule and all, with Tantals hope should sterue,
My warning here, for others héede may serue:
Fresh harmes they say, will force men to beware,
When had I wist, comes after still the faire.
Then couseners first, to you my tale I streach,
God graunt my wordes, to heale your woundes auaile,
But you will say, my selfe doth néede a Leach,
To heire my head, to helpe eche perisht naile,
To ridde my scabbes, my Leprosie to scaile,
To cleare my eyes, which are now darke and dim,
My nummed ioyntes, to make both lith and trim.
I néede God wot, if néede could fauour winne,
But out alas, too late doth come the cure,
When God is bent to punish filthie sinne,
Though longe hée stayes in fine hée striketh sure,
Best therefore then, ere you his wrath procure,
You sée your helpe (with his precept agrée)
Ante languorem, medicinam adhibe.
Prouide a salue, before that sicknes come,
Prouide a mends, for sinne and foule amisse,
Before Gods wrath, your due desert doth dome,
For note deare friends, I whilome bathde in blisse,
I swam in ioy, my heart at woe did hisse,
I then had strength, with health, and wealth at will.
My hap was cleare, I sawe no clowdes of ill.
Then muse you will, to sée so rare a chaunge,
As manly force, to faile in prime of youth,
As faire to foule, as health to scabbes and maunge,
As hap to harme, as ioy to gréefe and ruth,
But listen well and marke what woordes ensuthe,
And you shall sée what forced mée to fall,
What wrought my woe, what turnde by ioy to thrall.
B First wéene that wealth did puffe mée vp with pride,
Next forme and force, enforst me to aspire,
Then loue and lust, into my brest did glide,
Last fretting thought so set my heart on fire,
That mariage néedes, must coole my hoate desire,
He was a wanton liuer.
My choice was good, if chaunge had béene exilde,
But follie, faith and fancie, truth begilde.
My wandring will directed mée this course,
Which brainesicke youth, did duelie treade and trace,
And entred once, I fell from bad to worse,
I made a pray, of euery yéelding face▪
Such wanton lust, doth follow want of grace,
Ne was this life, defrayde with small expence,
And I (God wott) had not a mine of pence.
While coyne did last, yet carelesse did I spend,
A poore increase, can spring on such a roote,
When coyne was spent ne did my fancies end,
With youth to striue, for reason t'was no boote,
No lacke could treade my follies vnder foote:
[Page 107]While land did last, my want I did supplie,
With [...]urchases,
A backward purchase.
of Dedi, concessi.
My liuing sould, and monie in my purse,
My lauish minde, had neuer thought of lacke,
To ge [...]t or saue, I quite forgot the course,
For euery toy my Testours went to wracke,
Which did my bagges, vnto the bottome sacke,
My coyne consumde, and yearely rents thus gon [...]
What refuge then? once credite had I none.
Yet liue I must, néede doth obey no lawe,
To worke for wealth, yet wi [...]t I not the way,
The scourge for sinne, did kéepe mée still in awe,
I durst not steale, for feare of Tyborne play▪
And other shiftes, I knewe not to assay,
But to be short, to soone, to soone t'was knowne,
My will was good, to take more then mine owne.
Then wily mates, whose subtile eyes did sée,
In yonkers states, and markt, their youthfull vaine,
Made choice of mee,
He was made an instrument to execute o­ther cousners deuises.
the Instrument to bée,
In wanton trackes, vnwayed youthes to traine,
Their wiles, my wishe, so swéete was speach of gaine,
My tongue was good, my manhoode had in price,
My life was lewde, I knewe and vsde eche vice.
Companion fitt, for rufflers nowe adayes,
Whose wills rule witt, and rage, doth reason yoke,
Of which I searcht, a crue of thriftlesse strayes,
Whom lewdly I to lewdnes did prouoke,
They bitt my baite, but other did them choke,
I bore the name, when others layde the bane,
The shame was mine, and others gleande the gaine.
But,
Plasmos the man hee abu­sed,
Oh, I sigh, to wray what wrought my thrall,
O Plasmos nowe, I swoone through thought of thée,
[Page 108]I must confesse, the goad that did the gall,
Was too too sharpe for friendship thine so frée,
I turnde my coate, ere thou couldst fettered bée,
My wanton toyes, could hardly thée intrap,
My falsed trust (aye mée) wrought thy ill hap.
And must I shewe, wherein I was iniust?
Shame sayes, conceale, my conscience wil not soe,
I was a friend, whose treason quited trust,
A counseller lewde, that wrought my clientes woe,
Where I was lou'd, I hated saue in shoe,
Yea twise accurst, for mucke his life I sought,
Whose bloud and good, for me hée ventred oft.
Hee forged deedes.
I forged déedes, when fayled frée consent,
I rased roules, to mend what hast did marre,
I put in vre, what coemates mine inuent,
My woordes, were graue, as firme my friendship ware,
And yet forsooth, to showe what mould I bare,
I prou'de it true, how Cito ad suam.
Redierint, res fictae naturam.
For though my wéedes, foreshewde a settled minde,
God knowes, my woorkes, my wanton humour wraide,
The wyser sort, my follies soone did finde,
They sawe full well, my fancies were not staide,
Yet Plasmos hée of fraude was not afraide,
And truth to tell, I baynde him with such baite,
As hardly hée, could smell out my deceite.
Officers a­bout the reco­uery of P.P. land suspected the deceite.
Wise officers, my falsehoode yet suspect,
To purchase land, they thought my store to small,
And all to late, to Plasmos they detect,
(As they supposde) I sought to worke his thrall,
Their sorrie newes, did nip him to the gall,
Who like a man of hope, of helpe dismayde,
Reportes the trust, through which I him betraide.
Our foule deceite amas'de the hearers much,
They Plasmos wild, from greement kept aloofe,
That open shame our villanies might tuch.
Our falles would be a warning of behoofe,
Our fraude thus found, before it came to proofe.
What course were best? should wée confesse our fault?
Noe, noe: wée ment to bide the first assault.
In euery Court our cousenages did ring▪
Which bouldly wée,
Periurie.
vppon our othes denide,
For wée that dar'd commit so foule a thing,
Uppon our othes, ne cared though wée lyde,
Yet durst wée not abide till trueth were tride,
In couseners clyffes, wée feard sol fa to chaunt,
Howe so wée séemde, on honestie to vaunt.
Yea (wretched) I, that bore the blame of all,
Peccaui soung, through pricke of conscience griefe,
How others scapt, I sawe my shamefull fall,
I mou'de my mates, to salue our great mischiefe,
In time: or wée, should suffer much repreafe,
But they that vsde, their [...]on [...]enage in my name,
If worst befell, knewe I [...]hould bide the shame.
To make amends, would neuer yéeld consent,
What should I doe? still Plasmos shot at mee,
False Frenos,
Frenos the Scriuener tha [...] deuisde the cousenage.
yet the mischiefe did inuent,
I plowde the lande, the profite reaped hée,
Hée bounde me so, saunce him I could not grée,
And thus through néede (which I to show abhorre)
Against my will, looke what hée would I swore.
Our cousenage knowen, our likelyhoode of paine,
My earnest sute, to some good end to growe,
Once mou'd him not, to leaue ill gotten gaine,
Hée neuer blusht, in conscience nor in showe,
But craft on craft, hée layde to heape our woe,
[Page 110]T'ware straunge to heare, the wealthy friends hée found,
Which ioynde with him, to make our fraude séeme sound.
And boulstred thus, for slaundring vs with truth,
Our actions huge, poore Plasmos ouerlayde,
Wée knewe in néede, friends faild, the more the ruth,
Thus double wrong'd (his huge distresses waide)
To cleare his land, good store of coyne hée paide,
Least share whereof, in faith, to mée did fall,
Yet of this end, I was the glad'st of all.
From open shame, my selfe I iudged frée,
I tooke no héede, to salue my conscience gall,
But God that doth all secrete dealinges sée,
Prouided whippes to scourge our sinnes withall,
And I that bare the blame of Plasmos thrall,
As sure I was the instrument of it,
The first man was, that God with vengeaunce smit.
His miseries.
My onely child, which should haue had the land,
With Plasmos bloud, that faine I would haue bought,
His sonne so­dainly died.
Not sicke in sight, first dyed out of hand,
Which heauie hap distempered so my thought,
As straight I was into a quarterne brought,
A quarterne ague.
Whose frosen fittes, brought downe my youthfull pride.
Do what I could, it held mée till I dide.

He brought himselfe in daunger, to play the cou­sener for o­thers commo­ditie.

His instrumēt

A house I kept, till I to cousening fell,
But loe beguilde, euen with mine owne deceite,
My house I left, and did in corners dwell,
To lay mée vp▪ still Plasmos lay in waite,
Sometimes I was caught with a Sergeaunts baife.
And through a grate, Presta quesimus sounge,
With care on care, thus daily was I stounge.
He lost his wit He lost his memorie.
I that sometime, had wily witt good store,
As one bestrackt, forgot what late I spake,
[Page 111]For all my cheates,
His friendes forsoke him in pouertie.
still was I very poore,
My friends did faile, none would relieue my lacke,
On euery side, I (wretched) went to wracke,
Yea Frenos he that drue the cousening plott,
Deuourde the gaine, and gaue mée neuer a iott.
Two yeares well nie, I liued in this woe,
God wot, not worth the ground whereon I went,
And when I thought, my ioyes againe would flowe,
Unhappie I, (that Plasmos murder ment)
Unto such ire, the hie Iehoua bent,
That (ah) in stéede of drinke my thrist to slake,
I poyson dronke, my timelesse ende to make.
Sée couseners sée, my present lothsome state,
Loe here the ende of all my wanton race,
Behold the man, that was so frolicke late,
A leaper foule, in body, legges and face,
At point of death, cryes out to God for grace,
A warning fayre, a mirror full of mone,
For greedie churles, a bone to gnawe vppon.
Amende in time, before Gods wrath you sturre,
Beware by mée, false Frenos and the rest,
Quod diffeertur, be sure, non aufertur,
Unlesse euen from the bottome of your breast,
You both repent, and to amends are preast,
Loe here my tale, and life will haue an ende,
God pardon mée, and graunt you to amende.

The reporter.

The miserable end of Liros, rather wrought a feare in strā ­gers vnto ye horrible cousenage, then any repentance in false Frenos, and other his confederats: So hardeneth, the deuil ye heartes, and blindeth the sightes of the raprobate, as neither [Page 112] the example of other mens miseries, nor pricke of their owne consciences, can reclaime them from lewdenes. And yet al­though a while they wallowe in their wickednes, and seeme to holde the intising dr [...]sse (I meane wealth) of this world at will, in ye pride of their prosperitie (ye most part of such world­linges) throughe Gods iustice are diuorced from their vaine delightes. The soudaine fall of this Frenos, proueth both the one and the other, for notwithstanding he sawe the wretched death of Liros, and knew that Liros did execute nothing but his deuise and direction, yet séemed hée no wayes to be vexed in conscience for this offences, being the author and only ad­uauntage reaper of his deceite: and yet in ye heate of his vn­conscionable prouision, he was soudainly arested with death: Whom you may suppose as one amased with such soudaine visitation, striuing for life, to tell this disordered tale follo­wing.

Frenos complaint.

A I Sée (quoth hée) death spares no sortes of men,
Our bagges of drosse, may not withstand his might,
To moyle and toile for pelfe what bootes it then?
No whit, God knowes, if wée could sée aright.
But worldly cares our minds bewitched soe,
As thoughtes of heauen, silde in our brestes do dwell,
The prouerbe saith (the more such fathers woe)
Happ'is the childe, whose father goes to hell.
But such prouerbes, more common are then true,
Silde children kéepe, that fathers lewdly gett,
Goods ill got are lewdlye spent.
And trust mée wealth, if after want ensue,
With double griefe, the néedie thrall doth frett,
To what ende then, for mucke, take wée such care?
To damne our selues, and worke our childrens scare,
O wicked world, so swéete thy torments séeme,
That when men tast, thy drugges of vaine delight,
Their onely heauen, thy thralles do thée estéeme,
[Page 113]With mistes of mucke, thou blindest so their sight,
That (wretched) they, whilst that in health they liue,
As Swine in myre, do wallowe in their faultes.
An others fall, nor conscience can them méeue,
To waile their sinnes, till grislie death assaultes,
The thought of whom, as thornes do pricke mée (wretch)
Alas,
When death attacheth the wicked, the thought of their sinne is more greuous then death.
mée thinkes, I sée his ghastly shape,
What did I meane, to name him in my speach,
And can I not his furious force escape,
Oh noe, my sinnes, beginneth now to swarme,
To matche with him, my selfe howe should I arme?
My conscience cryes, confesse thy wicked life,
My wicked life, such monstrous fraude presents,
As in my selfe, I finde a hell of strife,
My gracelesse déedes, the hope of grace preuents,
I sée, I sée, howe fierie fiendes do yell,
Before hie Ioue my wicked soule to haue,
My secrete sinnes,
Our owne sinnes giue e­uidēce against vs afore the highest.
condemnes mée (wretch) to hell,
They be so huge, that nothing can me saue,
Where is the booke, wherein Gods will is writ?
They say there in, is balme that sinne can cure,
What ment I (wretch) I neuer studied it?
The booke is large,
Bible.
my life will not indure,
So longe, as I may reade, and reape such grace,
The fault is mine, I might, while I had space.
I faint, I faint, my life will néedes away,
False Frenos now, of force must yéeld to death,
These farewell woordes, good friends yet note I pray,
Prepare your selues ere latter gaspe of breath,
So spend your liues, as if you daily dyde,
Leste tarde you, by death (perhaps) be tane,
Note well my fall, in top of all my pride,
Before I wist, hée gaue mée (wretch) my bane,
My worldly wealth, for which I tooke such care,
I néedes must leaue, in no good order sett,
[Page 114]A soudaine chaunge, the chaunce yet nothing rare,
This is the proofe of goods, that fraude doth get,
Loe this is all, that death will let mée say,
But what is short, may best be borne away.

The reporter.

This disordered complaint of Frenos, is answerable vnto his disordered dealing, but most of all vnto his sodaine death, who hauing his conscience vnprepared, tormented with the multitude of his sinnes, stoode amazed what to say: and yet howsoeuer it hange together, it conteyneth matter of note, which I leaue to the censure of the discrete reader. And now to the rest of this report, the next that death mett with, in this Tragedie of couseners, was Caphos a merchant, whose name Frenos vsed in diuers of his craftie conueyaunces, for that (if néede so required) hée had friendes to countenaunce, monie to defend, and an indifferent honest report, to couler their lewde practises. But notwithstanding his monie, couler, and countenaunce, to set an honest shewe in the sight of the world, of his subtile practises, now that death attacheth him, to make his accompt before the hiest, you shall heare in what arerages he findes himselfe.

Caphos complaint.

A THe Prouerbe saith, as good wée eate the deuill,
As sup the broth, wherein his body boilde,
As good wée do, as giue consent to euill,
Which sorrie doome, my coloured scuse hath foild,
My conscience throbs, though I no fraude deuis'de,
My onely name, that shadowed foule deceite,
In God his sight with Frenos fall is pris'de,
I féele my sinnes, pluckes downe my soule with weight,
Yea Lyros and false Frenos both I knowe,
But leade the way, that I must shortly goe.
Farre yet I am vnfit for such a iournie,
My compt falls short, that I to God must giue,
If hée charge mée, with filthie periurie,
It will not serue (to saue mée from repreue,)
To say how that, for feare of after shame,
A manifest vntrueth,
A pretie kind of periurie.
I durst not sweare,
But Frenos gott, a post knight of my name,
In stéede of mée, that did both sweare and steare,A
I must confesse, I gaue thereto consent,
And God no doubt, will punish my intent.
My subtile steightes, to shadowe foule abuse,
May well lye hid, and no man knowe the same,
But God doth knowe, the fraude I put in vse,
(For others heede) deserued open shame.
The man that is with sicknes neuer vext,
No [...].
Hath séeldome care what kinde of meate hée eates,
When such as are, with surfets oft perplext,
Séeme daintie still, to féede on diuers meates,
In worldly churles, obserued is the like,
They feede on fraude, till infamie them strike,
Marke well my woordes, you (worldlinges) of all sortes,
But citizens, your natures best I knowe,
There are of you haue méetely good reportes,
For riches sake, and outward honest showe,
But how you get, your monstrous heapes of gold,
Your conscience knowes, and I can somewhat tell,
Your secret craft, so séeldome is controld,
As what you gett, you thinke you gett it well,
But how so héere, your reckonings séemeth true,
A day will come, when you shall count a newe.
Bée you reclaymde, by others soudaine fall,
Sighe for your owne, when others shames you sée,
Thinke that they are but patternes of your thrall,
If iustice should on you auenged bée,
[Page 116]A thousand wayes, the highest séekes to winne,
Our worldly mindes, from loue of worldlie ioyes,
But if wée still, will wallowe in our sinne,
The plagues are sharpe, with which he vs destroyes,
To stay whose wrath, I hould the next way is,
While wée haue space, to sorrowe our amis.
B Death comes God wot, euen like a myching théefe,
With conscience cleare, some wardes his wily blowe,
And some againe hee gawls with soudaine gréefe,
Whose thoughtes of sinne, doth worke their double woe,
Had I but wayde, the halfe, that now I wray,
My coemates endes, had made mée fitt for death,
A sweete com [...]orte.
But that is past, this is my onely stay,
Gods mercie salues, at latter gaspe of breath,
And yet thereof, let no man hope to farre,
Presumptious sinnes.
Presumptious sinnes, of all, the greatest are.

The reporter.

It séemeth by the deposition in Caphos complaint, that ye direction from time to time, (as concerning the afore repor­ted cousenage) came from some subtile head. But whose de­uise or direction soeuer it were, there is yet an other (a law­yer it séemeth by the order of his complaint) that findes his conscience infected, with Lyros, Frenos, and Caphos fellow­ship: who likewise attached with death you may suppose with a troubled minde, to wreast out this following complaint.

Pimos complaint at the houre of his death.

A AYe mée (quoth hée) the case is altered quite,
My wylie skill, that chaungde the sense of lawe,
My cunning Pleas, that made a wronge seeme right,
Are nowe the bones, whereon my conscience gnawe,
[Page 117]They force mée graunt, the good from euill I knewe,
The good I left, the euill too late I rue,
The common lawe,
The common lawe, was ta­kē out of Gods la [...]
the which I studied longe,
I finde condemnes mée wretch of many a crime,
The lawe it selfe (how so we wreast it wronge)
Of God his lawe, was founded in the prime,
Then since in one, they both agrée in troth,
Abuse of one, must be abuse of both.
And sure the one I turned as I list,
If I were wrong'd, the lawe amends could make,
If I did wronge▪ the lawe such power mist,
The case was chang'de the wronged might go packe.
Such helpes I had, such quillets of delay,
That all séemde true, that (subtile) I did say,
But now I am, attached to appeare,
Afore a Iudge, at no mannes faultes that winkes,
The diuell declares,
The diuel de­clares our of­fences before God, our conscience is the witnes of our wickednes.
how I haue liued here,
My conscience guilt, giues euidence me thinkes,
To learne the lawe, sith studie I did vowe,
For breach of lawe, I am indited nowe.
Before my God mée séemes I charged am,
For ayding those, with credite, coyne, and skill,
Whose lewde deceites, deserued whippes of shame,
And that to make me guiltie of their ill,
Consentientes (your lawe sayth Io [...]e doth say,)
Et agentes, plectentur pari pena.
My guiltie minde, confesseth streight the act,
False Frenos fraud, was boulstered vp by mée,
Condemnde of this, streight comes an other fact,
I wronged men, against all equitie,
When lawe doth say, Hoc facias alteri,
In right and wronge, quod vis tibi sieri.
This bitter doome, giuen by the doome of lawe,
Mae sinnefull wretch, as guiltie striketh mute,
The men I wrong'd within my conscience gnawe▪
I spared none, through pittie, nor through sute,
What lawe did giue, since I for vauntage tooke,
In breach of lawe, should I for fauour looke?
Note.
O noe, I must, in proper person pleade,
Plaine not guiltie, or guiltie of the crime,
No forreine Plea, may now delayaunce bréede,
Untrauerst goes, the Venu and the time,
No aduocate, or letters here may serue,
The Iudge is bent to iudge as I deserue.
I guiltie am, I must of force confesse,
Ignoraunce will not serue.
By ignoraunce, these faultes, yet would I scuse,
But I, vile I, that had men in distresse,
And did their Pleas of ignoraunce refuse,
Mee thinkes that God, doth rule mée ore with this,
Non excusat, ignorantia iuris.
And thus I lye, with deadly sicknes pinde,
Yea more, my soule beseng'd, with sinnefull gréefe,
The more I séeke, to pacifie my minde,
The further off, I (wretched) finde reléefe,
My dealinges great, or rather great deceite,
Fall out so lewde, as I no count can streight.
Do what I can, the cause that causde my ioy,
When fleshe, and bloud, was fedde with worldly gaine,
Is nowe the cause, that causeth my annoye,
Now feare of hell, in place of fleshe doth raigne,
The soule & flesh are at cō tinuall warre.
The soule, and fleshe, impugnes the other so,
As what likes one, doth worke the others w [...]e.
What meane wée then (sith th'one wée must displease,
To serue the flesh, that beares no lasting sway?
[Page 119]And leaue the soule, that couets still our ease,
Who (foyling flesh) in heauen doth liue for aye,
What worser match, can any creature make,
Incerta then, pro certis thus to take.
O sinfull wreth, had I this ende foreséene,
I had not nowe, come short vpon account,
I would haue lik't, and lou'd the merrie meane,
Which euer doth, to reckoning best amount.
For violents, do sildome long indure,
They alwayes come, from fortune most vnsure.
O wicked man, had I séene heauen in thought,
Had I seru'd God, like as in shewe of zeale,
I had not thus, for poore mens liuings sought,
Nor purchast hell, for lande for others weale,
Had I well wayde, how tickle was my life,
I had ere this, appeasd my conscience strife.
Or had I thought, (O most vnhappie wight)
Looke what I gaue, that measure should I reape,
I sure had giuen, to euery man his right,
This wicked world, had not luld me asleape,
I had not then, bene carelesse of my end,
My soule had watcht, deathes furie to defend.
But (oh) in me, the contrarie was plaste,
I was intyste, on baytes of sinne to feede,
Which charm'd receits, séemde suger swéete in taste,
But (oh) they say, sweete meate sowre sauce doth néede,
Néede or not néede, I proue the prouerbe true,
My brittle ioyes, my endlesse woes do brue.
My conscience loathes, what liked well my life,
My conscience rues, the gaine I got by guile,
My conscience féeles, the woes of wrangling strife,
My conscience wéepes, at that my life did smile,
[Page 120]My conscience bléedes, through that life thought a blisse,
My conscience wailes, what life thought not amisse.
Well, sith my life, this wretched woe hath wrought,
Would God my life, (nay death through foule abuse)
Were noted so, as all men might be taught,
By scriptures rule, their talents here to vse,
And specially, about their studies wall,
For lawyers héed, would God were writ my fall.
Through sight whereof, no doubt they would refuse,
To fish for gaine, with nets of foule deceit,
To worke delayes, they would no pleadings vse,
They sure would thinke, they had account to straight,
My vexed mynde, at death still in their eye,
Would will them liue, as they did dayly dye.
If to such good, my souden fall would proue,
Would life would last, to tell a larger tale,
But how it proue, in vaine for life I moue,
Death nowe assaults, and (wretched) I must vale,
My breath doth fade, the bell doth sound away.
From whence I came, I néedes must turne to clay.

The reporters conclusion, as touching the report of Paulus Plasmos aduentures, and Lyros, Fre­nos, Caphos, and Pimos falles.

WHo telles a tale at large, of others smart,
In his report, some errour néedes must shape,
Some blamed are, some praisde, beyond desart,
In this discourse (such slaunder to escape)
It séemd me best, to vse but notes of héede,
And leaue at full, for to report the déede.
Yet some will say, I wrong poore Plasmos here,
To make his youth, the cause of his mishaps,
[Page 121]When he good soule (who fraude did little feare)
Was slily snarld, in sneaking couseners traps,
In déede, my heart did bléede, his plaints to showe,
And much I blamde, the workers of his woe.
And yet forsooth, what so of him is sayde,
In my conceit, is nothing sayde but truth,
For sure his woes, if they be wisely wayde,
Some wayes may be, imputed to his youth,
For first of all, his brauerie was the bayte,
These couseners mindes, that egged with deceite.
Then sith him selfe, was guiltie of his thrall,
His fortunes wrayd, may wanton gallants warne,
From rash clyming, for feare they catch a fall,
And by his woes, vnwayed youthes may learne,
To trust them selues, fewe others out of sight,
For timelesse trust, wrought Plasmos much despight.
And for their falles, by fraude that sought to mount,
Although that they, not halfe their faults report,
Yet in their plaints, are notes of good account,
Forewarnings faire, and words of mylde exhort,
And for the rest (how so they liu'd awry,
Let it suffice, they did repentant dye.
R.v.

Epilogus.

Vide fol. 38.
LOe here the fruits, that growe of selfe conceits,
Vide fol. 80. vsque. 96.
Loe here their falles, that leape before they looke,
Loe gallants here, the swéete inticeing baytes,
Vi. 24. A. &. 50
Wherein lyes hid, the couseners poysoned hooke.
Vide. 50. vs. 66
From maskes of pryde, here are the visards pluckt.
Vide. 50.
Of dogged dice, loe here the deadly yll.
Sée here how drie, the louers purse is suckt,
Vide. 98. &. 99
That yealdes to please, a wanton Ladies will.
Vide. 87.
Who noteth here, what treason lurkes in trust,
Before he trust, may haply learne to trie.
Vide. 7. A.
Who sées faire words, saust here with workes vniust,
May haue in scorne, the shewes of flatterie.
Who marketh here, the bitter end of frayes,
Vide. 36.47.
Of more emprise, may holde a quiet life.
Who séeth here,
Vide. 73. B.
in lawe the long delayes,
May loue the worse, to liue in wrangling strife.
Vide. 6.
Without good héede, who so in court doth plant,
May here perceiue, his beggerie in the end.
Vide. 85.
Who wayeth here, the woes of withered want,
Were worse then mad, beyond his boundes to spend.
Vide. 17. C. vs­que. 25. &. 49. vs. 66. &. 70. vs. 78. Vide. 66.78. Vide. 46.
Who would auoyde, the snares that worldlings set,
And who would knowe, their wiles and foule abuse,
Who hath desires, an honest fame to get,
Who in his kinde, inticing golde would vse,
May here finde rules, his life for to direct,
Vide. 45. vs. 49
Here liues their fames, that vertues souldiers ware,
[Page 121]And here againe,
Vide. 16.49.70.
their dealings I detect.
To swimme in wealth, that will no vauntage spare.
Here here discourst,
Vide. 105. A. vsque ad finē.
may worldlings sée their falles,
Which wey not how, so riches they may winne,
Here may they sée, how sore Gods vengeance galles,
When he is bent, to punish filthy sinne,
All this and more, my Muse at large reports.
All this my Muse (for your auaile) did hit,
In [...] whereof, she friendly you exhorts,
To take in worth, what of good will is writ.
Quod cauere possis, stultum est admitter [...].
FINIS.

¶Imprinted at London for Robert Waley.

Anno. 1576.

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