ALCILIA.Philoparthen …


Philoparthens louing Folly.

WHEREVNTO IS ADDED Pigmalions Image.

WITH The Loue of AMOS and LAVRA.

And also EPIGRAMMES BY Sir I. H. and others.

Neuer before imprinted.

LONDON: Printed for Richard Hawkins, dwelling in Chancery Lane, neare Sarjeants-Inne. 1613.

A LETTER, written by a Gentleman, to the Author his friend.

FRiend Philoparthens, in perusing your Louing-folly, and your declining from it, I doe behold Reason conquering Passion. The infirmitie of louing argu­eth you are a man; the firme­nesse thereof discouereth a good wit, and the best nature; and the falling from it, true vertue, Beautie was al­wayes of force to mislead the wisest, and men of grea­test perfection haue had no power to resist Loue. The best are accompanyed with Vices, to exercise their Vertues, whose glory shineth brightest in resisting motiues of pleasure, and in subduing affections. And though I cannot altogether excuse your Louing-folly; yet I doe the lesse blame you, in that you loued such a one as was more to be commended for her vertue then beautie; albeit euen for that too, shee was so well accomplished with the gifts of nature, as in mine owne conceit (which, for good cause, I must submit as inferiour to yours) there was nothing wanting, ey­ther in the one or the other, that might adde more [Page] to her worth, except it were a more due and better regard of your loue, which [...]hee requited not accor­ding to your deserts, nor answerable to her selfe in her other parts of perfection: Yet herein it appea­reth you haue made good vse of reason, that being heretofore lost in youthfull vanitie, haue now by timely discretion found your selfe. Let me intreate you to suffer these your passionate Sonnets to be pub­lished, which may peraduenture make others, posses­sed with the like humour of Louing, to follow your example in leauing, and moue other Alciliaes (if there be any) to imbrace deseruing loue while they may. Hereby also she shall know, and (it may be) in­wardly repent the losse of your loue, and see how much her perfections are blemished by ingratitude, which will make your happinesse greater, by adding to your reputation, then your contentment could haue beene in inioying her loue: At the least wise the wiser sort, howsoeuer in censuring them, they may dislike of your errors; yet they cannot but commend and allow of your reformation; and all others that shall vvith indifferency reade them, may reape thereby some benefit or contentment: Thus much I haue written as a testimony of the good will I beare you, with whom I doe suffer or reioyce, according to the qualitie of good hap, or misfortune, and so I take my leaue, resting, as alwayes,

Yours most assured PHILARETES.

Author ipse Philopartheos ad Libellum suum.

PArue Liber Domini vanos dicture labores,
Insomnes noctes, sollicitos (que) dies,
Errores varios, sanguentis taedia vitae,
Moerores certos, gaudia certa minus,
Peruigi [...]es curas, suspiria, vota, querelas,
Et quaecunque pati dura coegit amor.
I precor intrepidus, duram comiter (que) salutans
Haec me eius causa sustinuisse refer.
Te grato excipiet vultu rubicundula, nomen
Cum titulo inscriptum viderit esse suum.
Forsitan & nostri miserebitur illa doloris,
Dicet, & ah quantum deseruisse dolet:
Se (que) nimis saeuam, crudelemabque; ipsa vocabit,
Cui non est fidei debita cura meae;
Quod siquidem eueniet, Domino solaminis illud,
Et t [...]bi surremi muneris instar erit.
Si quis (vt est aequum) f [...]tuos damnauerit ignes,
Pigritiae[?] fructus ingnij (que) leuis:
Tu Dominum caecis tenchris errasse, sed ipsum
Err [...]ris tandem pae [...]uisse sui,
Me quoque re v [...]ra nec tot, nec tauta tulisse,
Se [...] ficta ad placitum multa fuisse refer.
Ab quanto satius (nisi mens mihi vana) fuisset
Illa meo penitùs delituisse sinu:
[Page]Quam leuia in lucem prodire, aut luce carentis
Insanam Domini prodere stultitiam.
Nil Amor est aliud, quàm mentis morbus, & error.
Nil sapienter agit, nil bene, quisquis amat.
Sed non cuique datur sapere, aut melioribus vti,
Forte erit alterius, qui meus error erat.
Cautior incedat, quinanquam labitur, atqui
Iam proprio cuadam cautior ipse malo.
Si cui dilicto granior mea poena videtur,
Illius in laudes officiosus eris.
Te si quis simili qui carpituri i [...] ne videbit,
Ille suam sortem flebit, & ille meam.
ALCILIAE obsequium supplex praestare memento,
Non minima officij pars erit illa tui.
Te fortasse sua secura recondet in a [...]ca,
Et Solis posthaec luminis orbus eris.
Nil referet, fateor me non prudenter amasse;
Vltima deceptae sors erit illa spei.
Bis proprio Phoebus cursu lustrouer at orbem,
Conscius erroris, stultitiae (que) meae,
A quo primus Amor coepit penetrare medullas,
Et falsa accensos nutrijt arte focos.
Desino iam nugas amplecti, seria posthaec
(Vt Ratio monet) ac vtiliora sequar.

AMORIS PRAELVDIVM: VEL, Epistola ad Amicam.

TO thee Alcilia, solace of my youth,
These rude and scattered rimes I haue addressed:
The certaine witnesse of my loue and truth,
That truely cannot be in words expressed;
VVhich if I shall perceiue thou tak'st in gree,
I will from henceforth write of none but thee.
Here may you find the wounds your selfe haue made
The many sorrowes I haue long sustain'd:
Here may you see that Loue must be obey'd;
How much I hop'd, how little I haue gain'd:
That as for you the paines haue beene endur'd,
Euen so by you they may at length be cur'd.
I will not call for aide to any Muse,
It is for learned Poets so to doe:
Affection must my want of Art excuse,
My workes must haue their patronage from you,
VVhose sweet assistance if obtaine I might,
I should be able both to speake and wright.
Meane while vouchsafe to reade this, as assignde
To no mans censure, but to yours alone:
Pardon the faults, that you therein shall finde,
And thinke the Writers heart was not his owne.
Experience of examples daily proue
That no man can be well aduis'd, and loue.
And though the worke it selfe deserue it not,
Such is your worth with my great wants compar'd:
Yet may my Loue vnfained, without spot
Challenge so much, (if more cannot be spar'd,)
Then (louely Virgin) take this in good part,
The rest vnseene is seal'd vp in the hart.
Iudge not by this the depth of my Affection,
VVhich farre exceedes the measure of my skill:
But rather note herein your owne perfection,
So shall appeare my want of Art, not VVill.
VVhereof, this now as part, in lieu of greater
I offer as an insufficient debter.

Sic incipit stultorum Tragicomedia.

IT was my chance (vnhappy chance to mee)
As all alone I wandred on my way:
Voyd of distrust, from doubt of dangers free,
To passe a groue, where LOVE in Ambush lay.
VVho ayming at mee with his feather'd Dart,
Conuey'd it by mine Eye vnto my Hart.
VVhere (retchlesse Boy) he let the Arrow sticke,
VVhere I, as one amazed, senselesse stood:
The hurt was great, yet seemed but a pricke,
The wound was deepe, and yet appear'd no bloud,
" But inwardly it bleedes, Proofe teacheth this,
" VVhen wounds doe so the danger greater is.
Pausing a while, and grieued with my wound,
I look'd about, expecting some reliefe:
Small hope of helpe, no ease of paine I found,
Like all at once to perish in my griefe:
VVhen hastily I plucked forth the Dart.
But left the head fast fixed in my Hart.
Fast fixed in my Hart I left the head;
From whence I doubt it will not be remoued:
Ah what vnluckie chance that way me lead?
O Loue, thy force thou might'st else-where haue pro­ued,
And shew'd thy power, where thou art not obey'd;
" The Conquest's small, where no resist is made.
But nought (alas) auayles it to complaine,
I rest resolu'd with Patience to endure:
The Fire being once disperst through euery veyne,
It is too late to hope for present cure.
Now Philoparthen must new follyes proue,
And learne a little, what it is to loue.

These Sonnets following, were written by the Author, (who giueth himselfe this fained name of Philoparthen, as his accidentall at­tribute) at diuers times, and vpon diuers occasions, and therefore in the forme and matter they differ, and sometimes are quite contrary one to another, considering the nature and qualitie of LOVE, which is a Passion full of varietie, and contrarietie in it selfe.

VNhappy Eyes that first my Heart betraid,
Had you not seene, my griefe had not bin such:
And yet how may I iustly you vpbraid,
Since what I saw delighted me so much?
But hence, alas, proceedeth all my smart,
Vnhappie Eyes that first betray'd my Hart.
To seeke aduentures, as Fate hath assign'd,
My slender Barke now flotes vpon the Maine:
Each troubled thought an Oare, each sigh a winde,
VVhose often puffes haue rent my Sayles in twaine.
LOVE steeres the Boat, which, for that sight he lacks,
Is still in danger of tenne thousand wracks.
VVhat sodaine chance hath chang'd my wonted
VVhich makes me other then I seeme to be? (chear,
My dayes of ioy, that once were bright and cleare,
Are turn'd to night, my mirth to miserie.
Ah, well I weene that somewhat is amisse,
But sooth to say, I know not what it is.
VVhat, am I dead? Then could I feele no smart:
But still in me the sense of griefe reuiueth.
Am I aliue? Ah no, I haue no heart;
For she that hath it, me of life depriueth.
Oh that she would restore my heart againe,
Or giue mee hers, to counteruayle my paine.
If it be LOVE, to waste long houres in griefe;
If it be LOVE, to wish, and not obtaine;
If it be LOVE, to pine without reliefe;
If it be LOVE, to hope, and neuer gaine:
Then may you thinke that he hath truely lou'd,
VVho for your sake, all this and more haue prou'd.
If ought that in mine Eyes haue done amisse,
Let them receiue deserued punishment:
For so the perfect rule of Iustice is,
Each for his owne deedes should be prais'd or shent.
Then doubtlesse it is both 'gainst Law and sence
My Heart should suffer for mine Eyes offence.
I am not sicke, and yet I am not sound;
I eate and sleepe, and yet me thinkes I thriue not:
I sport and laugh, and yet my griefes abound;
I am not dead, and yet me thinkes I liue not.
What vncouth cause hath these strange passions bred,
To make at once, sicke, sound, aliue, and dead?
Some thing I want, but what I cannot say;
O now I know, it is my selfe I want:
My Loue with her hath tane my Heart away.
Yea, Heart and all; and left me very scant.
Such power hath LOVE, & nought but LOVE alone,
To make diuided Creatures liue in one.
Philo. Come gentle Death, & strike me with thy dart
Life is but loathsome to a man opprest.
Death. How can I kill thee when thou hast no heart?
That which thou hadst is in anothers breast.
Philo. Then must I liue, and languish still in paine?
Death. Yea, till thy Loue restore thy heart againe.
VVere Loue a fire, my teares might quench it lightly;
Or were it water, my hot heart might dry it;
If Ayre, then might it passe away more slightly,
Or were it Earth, the world would soone descry it.
If Fire, nor VVater, Ayre nor Earth it be,
VVhat then is it that thus tormenteth me?
To paint her outward shape and gifts of minde
It doth exceed my wit and cunning farre:
She hath no fault, but that she is vnkinde.
All other parts in her so compleate are
That who to view them thoughly would deuise,
Must haue his body nothing else but Eyes.
Faire is my Loue, whose parts are so well framed
By Natures speciall order and direction:
That shee her selfe is more then halfe ashamed,
In hauing made a worke of such perfection.
And well may Nature blush at such a feature,
Seeing her selfe excelled in her creature.
Her bodie is straight, slender, and vpright;
Her visage comely, and her lookes demure,
Mixt with a chearfull grace that yeelds delight;
Her eyes like starres, bright shining, cleare, and pure,
VVhich I describing, Loue bids stay my pen,
And sayes it's not a worke for mortall men.
The auncient Poets write of Graces three,
VVhich meeting altogether in one Creature,
In all points perfect make the same to bee,
For inward vertues, and for outward feature.
But smile Alcilia, and the world shall see,
That in thine eyes an hundred graces bee.
As Loue had drawne his Bow ready to shoote,
Ayming at me with resolute intent:
Straight Bow and Shaft he cast downe at his foote,
And said, why needlesse should one Shaft be spent?
Ile spare it then, and now it shall suffice
In stead of Shafts to vse Alciliaes eyes.
Blush not my Loue, for feare least Phoebus spie,
VVhich if he doe, then doubtlesse he vvill say
Thou seek'st to dim his clearnesse with thine eye,
That clearnesse which from East brings gladsome day.
But most of all, least Ioue should see I dread,
And take thee vp to heauen like Ganymede.
Philo. VVhat is the cause Alcilia is displeased?
Lo. Because she wants that which shold most content her
Phil. O did I know it, soone should she be eased.
Loue. Perhaps thou dost, and that doth most torment her.
Phil. Yet let her aske what she desires to haue.
Loue. Gesse by thy selfe; for maidens must not craue.
My Loue by chance her tender finger pricked,
As in the darke I striued for a kisse:
VVhose bloud I seeing, offerd to haue licked,
But halfe in anger she refused this.
O that she knew the difference of the smart,
Twixt her prick'd finger and my wounded hart.
Philo. I pray the tell, what makes my hart to tremble
VVhen on a sodaine I Alcilia spye?
Loue. Because thy heart cannot thy ioy dissemble,
Thy life and death are both lodg'd in her eye.
Phil. Dost thou not her with self-same passion strike?
Loue. O no, her heart and thine are not alike.
Such are thy parts of body and of minde,
That if I should not loue thee as I doe;
I should too much degenerate from kinde,
And thinke the world would blame my weaknes to.
For he, whom such perfections cannot moue,
Is eyther senslesse, or not borne to loue.
Alcilia's eyes haue set my heart on fire,
The pleasing obiect that my paine doth feede:
Yet still to see those eyes I doe desire,
As if my helpe should from my hurt proceede.
Happy were I, might there in her be found,
A will to heale, as there was power to wound.
Vnwise was hee that painted Loue a Boy,
VVho for his strength a Gyant should haue beene:
It's strange a childe should worke so great annoy:
Yet howsoeuer strange, too truely seene.
" But what is he that dares at Loue repine
" VVhose workes are wonders, and himselfe diuine?
My faire Alcilia, gladly would I know it,
If euer louing passion pierc'd thy hart:
Oh no; for then thy kindnesse soone would shew it,
And of my paines thy selfe would beare some part.
Full little knoweth hee that hath not proued,
VVhat hell it is to loue, and not be loued.
Loue, art thou blinde? nay, thou canst see too well;
And they are blinde that so report of thee:
That thou doest see, my selfe by proofe can tell,
A haplesse proofe thereof is made by mee:
For sure I am, had'st thou not had thy sight,
Thou neuer could'st haue hit my heart so right.
Long haue I languish'd, and indur'd much smart,
Since haplesse I the cruell faire did loue,
And lodg'd her in the center of my heart,
VVho there abiding, reason should her moue,
Though of my paines she no compassion take,
Yet to respect me, for her owne sweet sake.
In midst of VVinter season, as the Snow,
VVhose milk-white mantle ouer-spreds the ground:
In part the colour of my loue is so,
Yet their effects I haue contrary found.
For when the unneappeares, Snow melts anone,
But I melt alwayes when my Sunne is gone.
The sweet content at first I seem'd to proue,
VVhile yet Desire vnfledg'd could scarcely flye:
Did make me thinke there was no life to Loue,
Till all too late Time taught the contrarie.
For, like a Flye, I sported with the flame,
Till, like a Foole, I perish'd in the same.
After darke night, the chearfull day appeareth;
After an ebbe, the riuer flowes againe;
After a storme, the cloudy heauen cleareth:
All labours haue their end, or ease of paine;
Each creature hath reliefe and rest, saue I,
VVho onely dying liue, and liuing dye.
Sometimes I seeke for company to sport,
VVhereby I might my pensiue thoughts beguile:
Sometimes againe I hide me from resort,
And muse alone; but yet alas the while,
In changing place I cannot change my minde,
For where so e'er I flye, my selfe I finde.
Faine would I speak, but straight my hart doth trēble
And checkes my tongue that should my griefes re­ueale:
And so I striue my passion to dissemble,
VVhich all the Art I haue cannot conceale:
Thus standing mute, my hart with longing sterueth
It grieues a man to aske what he deserueth.
Since you desire the cause of me to know,
For which these diuers passions I haue proued:
Looke in your glasse[?], which will not faile to show
The shadowed portrait of my best beloued.
If that suffice not, looke into my hart,
VVhere it's ingrauen in a new-found Art.
The painefull Plow-man hath his hearts delight,
VVho through his daily toyle his body tyreth:
Yet merrily comes whistling home at night,
And sweetly takes the ease his paine requireth.
But neyther dayes nor nights can yeeld me rest,
Borne to be wretched, and to liue opprest.
O well were it, if Nature would deuise,
That men with men together might engender:
As Grafts from Trees, one from another rise,
Then nought of due to women should we render,
But vaine conceit, that Nature should doe this,
Since well wee know, her selfe a woman is.
Vpon the Altar where Loues fire burned;
My sighs and teares for sacrifice I offer'd:
When Loue in rage from me his countenance turned,
And did reiect, what I so humbly proffer'd.
If hee my heart expect, alas it's gone,
How can a man giue that is not his owne?
Alcilia said, she did not know my minde,
Because my words did not declare my loue:
Thus where I merit most, least helpe I finde,
And her vnkindnesse all too late I proue.
Grant Loue, that shee of whom thou art neglected,
May one day loue, and little be respected.
The Cynicke being ask'd when he would loue,
Made answere, when hee nothing had to doe:
For Loue was sloath; but he did neuer proue
By his experience what belong'd thereto.
For had he tasted but as much as I,
He would haue soone reform'd his heresie.
O iudge me not, sweet Loue, by outward show,
Though sometimes strange I seeme, and to neglect thee:
Yet didst thou but my inward passions know,
Thou shouldst perceiue how highly I respect thee.
" When lookes are fixed, the hart oft times doth trem­ble,
Little loues he that cannot much dissemble.
Parting from thee, euen from my selfe I part,
Thou art the starre by which my life is guided:
I haue the body, but thou hast the hart;
The better part is from it selfe diuided.
Thus doe I liue, and this doe I sustaine,
Till gracious fortune make vs meet againe.
Open the sluces of my feeble eyes,
And let my teares haue passage from their fountain:
Fil all the earth with plaints, the aire with cries,
Which may pierce rocks, & reach the highest moun­tain
That so Loues wrath by these extreames appeased,
My griefes may cease, and my poore heart be eased.
" After long sicknes, health brings more delight;
" Seas seem more calm, by storms once ouerblowne;
" The day's more chearfull by the passed night;
" Each thing is by his contrary best knowne;
" Continuall ease is paine; Change somtimes meeter;
" Discords in Musicke, make the Musicke sweeter.
Feare to offend, forbids my tongue to speake,
And signes and sighes must tell my inward woe:
But (aye the while) my heart with griefe doth break,
And she by signes my sorrowes will not know,
The stillest streames we see in deepest foords;
And loue is greatest when it wanteth words.
" No paine so great, but may be eas'd by Art,
" Though much we suffer, yet despair we should not
" In midst of griefes Hope alwayes hath some part,
" And Time may heale, what Art & Reason could not.
Oh what is then this passion I indure,
VVhich neither Reason, Art, nor Time can cure?
" Pale Iealousie, fiend of eternall night,
" Mishapen creature, borne before thy time,
" The Impe of horror, foe to sweet delight,
" Making each error seeme a haynous crime:
" Ah too great pittie (were there remedie,)
" That euer Loue should keepe thee companie.
The dayes are now come to their shortest date,
And must in time by course increase againe:
But onely I continue at one state,
Voide of all hope of helpe, or ease of paine.
For dayes of ioy must still be short with me,
And nights of sorrow must prolonged be.
Sleepe now my Muse, and henceforth take thy rest,
VVhich all too long thy selfe in vaine hast wasted:
Let it suffice I still must liue opprest,
And of my paine the fruit must ne'er be tasted.
" Then sleepe my Muse: Fate cannot be withstood,
" It's better sleepe then wake and doe no good.
VVhy shold I loue, since she doth proue vngrateful?
Since for reward I reape nought but disdaine:
Loue thus to be requited it is hatefull,
And Reason would I should not loue in vaine.
Yet all in vaine, when all is out of season,
For Loue hath no societie with Reason.
Harts-ease and I haue beene at ods too long,
I follow fast, but still he Hyes from mee:
I sue for grace, and yet sustaine the wrong,
So gladly would I reconciled bee.
Loue make vs one: so shalt thou worke a wonder,
Vniting them, that were so farre asunder.
Vncouth, vnkist, our auncient
Poet said,
And he that hides his wants, when hee hath neede:
May after haue his want of wit bewraid,
And faile of his desire, when others speede.
Then boldly speake: the worst is at first entring;
" Much good successe men misse for lack of ventring.
Declare thy griefes wherewith thou art opprest,
And let the world be witnesse of thy woes:
Let not thy thoughts lye buryed in thy brest,
But let thy tongue thy discontents disclose.
" For who conceales his paine when he is grieued,
" May well be pittied, but no way relieued.
VVretched is hee, that louing sets his hart
On her, whose loue from pure affection swerued:
VVho doth permit each one to haue a part
Of that which none but he alone deserueth.
Giue all or none: For once of this be sure,
Lordship and Loue no partners may endure.
VVho spends the weary day in pensiue thought,
And night in dreames of horror, and affright:
Whose welth is want, whose hope is come to nought;
Himselfe the marke for Loue and Fortunes spight:
Let him appeare, if any such there bee,
His case and mine most fitly will agree.
Faire tree, but fruitlesse, sometimes full of sap,
VVhich now yeelds nought at all that may delight me:
Some cruell frost, or some vntimely hap
Hath made thee barren, onely to despite me.
Such Trees in vaine with hope doe feede desire,
And serue for fuell to increase Loues fire.
In company, while sad and mute I sit,
My thoughts else-where, then there I seeme to be
Possess'd with some deepe Melancholy fit,
One of my friends obserues the same in me,
And sayes in iest, (which I in earnest proue)
Hee lookes like one, that had lost his first Loue.
Twixt Hope and Feare in doubtfull ballance peazed,
My Fate, my Fortune, and my Loue depends:
Sometime my Hope is rais'd, when Loue is pleased.
Which feare weighs down, whē ought his wil offends
The heauens are somtimes cleer, and somtimes lowre
" And he that loues, must tast both sweet and sowre.
Retyre my wandring thoughts vnto your rest,
Doe not henceforth consume your selues in vaine:
No mortall man in all poynts can be blest,
VVhat now is mine, may be anothers paine.
The watry clouds are cleere, when stormes are past,
And things in their extreames long cannot last.
The fire of Loue is first bred in the eye,
And thence conuayes his heate vnto the hart:
VVhere it lies hid, till Time his force descry:
The tongue thereto addes fuell for his part.
The touch of lips, which doth succeed the same,
Kindles the rest, and so it proues a flame.
The tender sprigs that sprowted in the field,
And promis'd hope of fruit to him that planted:
In stead of fruit doth nought but blossomes yeeld,
Though care and paine to prune it neuer wanted,
Euen so my hopes doe nought but blossomes proue,
And yeeld no fruits to recompence my loue.
Though little signe of loue in show appeare,
Yet thinke true loue of colours hath no neede:
It's not the glorious garments which men weare
That make them others then they are indeede.
" In meanest show the most affection dwels,
And richest pearles are found in simplest shels.
Let not thy tongue thy inward thoughts disclose,
Or tell the sorrowes that thy heart endures:
Let no mans eare be witnesse of thy woes,
Since pittie neyther helpe nor ease procures.
And onely hee is truely said to mone,
VVhose griefes none knoweth but himselfe alone.
A thousand times I curse these idle rimes,
VVhich doe their makers follies vaine set forth:
Yet blesse I them againe as many times,
For that in them I blaze Alcilia's worth.
Meane while I fare as doth the Torch by night,
VVhich wastes it selfe in giuing others light.
Enough of this: for all is nought regarded,
And she not once with my complaints is moued:
Dye haplesse Loue, since thou art not rewarded;
Yet ere thou dye, to witnesse that I loued,
Report my truth, and tell the faire vnkinde,
That she hath lost, what none but she shall finde.
Louers lament you that haue truely loued;
For Philoparthen now hath lost his loue:
The greatest losse that euer Louer proued;
O let his hard hap some compassion moue.
VVho had not rued the losse of her so much,
But that he knowes the world yeelds no more such.
Vpon the Ocean of conceited error,
My weary spirit many stormes haue past,
VVhich now in harbour, free from wonted terror,
Ioy the possession of their rest at last:
And henceforth safely they may lye at road;
And neuer roue for had-I-wist abroad.

Loues Accusation at the Iudgement-seate of Reason, wherein the Authors whole successe in his loue is couertly described.

IN Reasons Court, my selfe being Plaintiffe there,
Loue was by processe summon'd to appeare.
That so the wrong which he had done to mee
Might be made knowne; and all the world might see,
And seeing, rue, what to my cost I proued,
While faithfull, but vnfortunate I loued.
After I had obtained audience,
I thus began to giue in euidence.

The Authors Euidence against Loue.

MOst sacred Queene, and Soueraigne of mans heart,
Which of the minde doest rule the better part:
First bred in Heauen, and from thence hither sent
To guide mens actions by thy regiment;
Vouchsafe a while to heare the sad complaint
Of him that Loue hath long kept in restraint:
And as to you it properly belongs,
Grant Iustice of my vndeserued wrongs.
[Page]I [...] two yeeres (as I remember well)
Since first this wretch, sent from the neather hell,
To plague the world with new-found cruelties,
Vnder the shadow of two Christall eyes,
Betraid my sense; and as I slumbring lay,
Felloniously conuay'd my heart away,
Which most vniustly he detain'd from me,
And exercis'd thereon strange tyrannie.
Sometime his manner was to sport and game;
With Bry'rs and Thornes to rase and pricke the same;
Sometime with Nettles of desire to sting it;
Sometime with Pinsons of despaire to wring it:
Sometime againe, hee would annoynt the sore,
And heale the place that hee had hurt before;
But hurtfull helps, and ministred in vaine,
Which serued onely to renue my paine:
For after that more wounds hee added still,
Which pierced deepe, but had no power to kill.
Vnhappy med'cine, which in stead of cure,
Giues strength to make the patient more indure!
But that which was most strange of all the rest,
My selfe b [...]ing thus twixt life and death distrest,
Oft times when as my paine exceeded measure,
Hee would perswade mee that the same was pleasure.
[Page]My solemne sadnesse, but contentment meete;
My trauell, rest; and all my sower, sweet;
My wounds, but gentle strokes: whereat he smild,
And by these sleights my carelesse youth beguil'd.
Thus did I fare, as one that liuing dy'd;
(For greater paines I thinke hath no man try'd,)
Disquiet thoughts, like Furyes, in my brest
Nourish'd the poyson that my spirits possest.
Now griefe, then ioy, now warre, then peace vnstable:
Nought sure I had, but to be miserable.
I cannot vtter all, (I must confesse,)
Men may conceiue more then they can expresse.
But to be short, (which cannot be excus'd,)
With vaine illusions Loue my hope abus'd,
Perswading me I stood vpon firme ground,
When vnawares my selfe on sands I found.
This is the poynt which most I doe inforce,
That Loue without all pitty or remorse
Did suffer me to languish still in griefe,
Void of contentment, succour, or reliefe:
And when I look'd my paynes should be rewarded,
I did perceiue that they were nought regarded:
For why (alas) these haplesse eyes did see,
Alcilia lou'd another more then mee:
[Page]So in the end, when I expected most;
My Hope, my Loue, and Fortune thus were crost.
Proceeding further, Reason bad me stay;
For the defendant had something to say.
Then to the Iudge, for Iustice loud I cride,
And so I paused, and Loue thus replide.

Loues Reply to the Author.

SInce Reason ought to lend indifferent eares
Vnto both parts, and iudge as truth appeares:
Most gracious Lady, giue me leaue to speake,
And answere his complaint, that seekes to wreake
His spight and malice on me without cause,
In charging me to haue transgress'd thy Lawes.
Of all his Follies he imputes the blame
To me poore Loue, that nought deserues the same:
Himselfe it is that hath abused me,
As by mine answere shall well proued be.
Fond youth, thou knowst what I for thee effected,
(Though now I finde it little be respected)
I purg'd thy wit which was before but grosse,
The mettall pure I seuer'd from the drosse:
And did inspire thee with my sweetest fire.
That kindled in thee courage and desire.
[Page]Not like vnto those seruile Passions
Which cumber mens imaginations
With auarice, ambition, or vaine-glory,
Desire of things fleeting and transitorie.
No base conceit, but such as Powers aboue
Haue knowne and felt, I meane th'instinct of Loue:
Which making men all earthly things despise,
Transports them to a heauenly Paradise.
Where thou complain'st of sorrowes in thy heart,
Who liues on earth but therein hath his part?
Are these thy fruits? Are these the best rewards
For all the pleasing glances, slye regards,
The sweet stolne kisses, amorous conceits,
So many smiles, so many faire intreats,
Such kindnesse as Alcilia did bestow
All for my sake, as well thy selfe doest know?
That Loue should thus be vsed it is hatefull,
But all is lost that's done for one vngratefull.
Where he alledgeth that hee was abus'd,
In that he truely louing was refus'd:
That's most vntrue, and plainely may be tride:
Who neuer ask'd, could neuer be denide.
But he affected rather single life,
Then yoke in Marriage, matching with a wife.
[Page]And most men now make loue to none but heyres:
Poore loue (God wot) that pouertie impaires:
Worldly respects Loue little doth regard;
Who loues, hath onely loue for his reward.
He meriteth a Louers name indeede
That casts no doubts, which vaine suspicion breede,
But desperately at hazard threwes the Dice,
Neglecting due regard of friends aduice;
That wrestles with his Fortune and his Fate,
Which had ordain'd to better his estate;
That hath no care of wealth, no feare of Iacke,
But venters forward, though he see his wracke;
That with Hopes wings, like Icarus, doth flye,
Though for his rashnesse he like fortune trye;
That to his fame the world of him may tell,
How, while hee soar'd aloft, adowne he fell.
And so true Loue awarded him this doome,
In scaling heauen, to haue the Sea his Tombe:
That making shipwracke of his dearest fame,
Betrayes himselfe to pouertie and shame:
That hath no sense of sorrow, or repent;
No dread of perils farre, or imminent,
But doth preferre before all pompe or pelfe,
The sweet of Loue, as dearer then himselfe:
[Page]Who were his passage stop'd with sword or fire,
Would make way through to compasse his desire.
For which he would (though heauen and earth forbad it,)
Hazard to lose a Kingdome, if he had it.
These be the things wherein I glory most,
Whereof this mine accuser cannot boast:
Who was indifferent in his losse or gaine,
And better pleas'd to faile then to obtaine.
All quallified Affection Loue doth hate,
And likes him best that's most intemperate.
But hence proceedes his malice and despight,
While he himselfe barres of his owne delight:
For when as he Alcilia first affected,
Like one in shew thou little loue respected,
He masqu'd disguis'd, and entertain'd his thought,
With hope of that which he in secret sought:
And still forbare to vtter his desire,
Till his delay receiu'd her worthy hire.
And well we know what Maides themselues would haue.
Men must sue for, and by petitions craue.
But he regarding more his wealth then will,
Had little care his fancie to fulfill.
Yet when he saw Alcilia lou'd another,
The secret fire which in his brest did smother,
[Page]Began to smoake, and soone had prou'd a flame
If Temperance had not allay'd the same:
Which afterward so quench'd he did not finde
But that some sparke remained still behinde.
Thus when time seru'd hee did refuse to craue it,
And yet enuy'd another man should haue it:
As though faire Maids should waite at yong mens pleasure,
While they, twixt sport and earnest, loue at leasure.
Nay, at the first, when it is kindly proffer'd
Maides must accept, lest twice it be not offer'd:
Else though their beauty seeme their good t'importune,
Yet may they lose the better of their fortune.
Thus as this fondling coldly went about it,
So in the end he cleerely went without it:
For while hee doubtfull seem'd to make a stay,
A Mungrell stole the Maidens heart away:
For which though he lamented much in show;
Yet was he inward glad it fell out so.
Now Reason, you may plainely iudge by this,
Not I, but he the false dissembler is:
Who while fond loue his luke-warme bloud did feede,
Made signe of more then he sustain'd indeede:
And fill'd his Rimes with fables and with lyes,
Which without passion he did oft deuise.
[Page]So to delude the ignorance of such
That pittied him, thinking hee lou'd too much,
And with conceit rather to shew his wit,
Then manifest his faithfull loue by it.
Much more then this could I lay to his charge,
But time would faile to open all at large.
Let this suffice to shew his bad intent,
And proue that Loue is cleare and innocent.
Thus at the length, though late, he made an end,
And both of vs did earnestly attend
The finall iudgement Reason should award,
When thus he gan to speake: With due regard
The matter hath beene heard on eyther side,
For Iudgement you must longer time abide:
The cause is waightie and of great import,
And so she smiling did adiorne the Court:
Little auail'd it then to argue more:
So I return'd in worse case then before.

Loue decyphered.

LOVE, and I, are now diuided,
Conceit by Error was misguided:
Alcilia hath my loue despised,
" No man loues that is aduised.
Time at length hath Truth directed,
Loue hath miss'd what hee expected:
Yet missing that which long he sought,
I haue found that I little thought.
Errors in time may be redrest;
" The shortest follies are the best.
Loue and Youth are now asunder,
Reasons glory, Natures wonder.
My thoughts long bound are now inlarg'd,
My follies pennance is discharg'd.
Thus Time hath altered my state,
Repentance neuer comes too late.
Ah well I finde that Loue is nought
But folly, and an idle thought:
The difference is twixt Loue and mee,
That Loue is blinde, and I can see.
Loue is honie mixt with gall;
A thraldome free, a freedome thrall;
A bitter sweet, a pleasant sowre,
Got in a yeere, lost in an howre;
A peacefull warre, a warlike peace,
VVhose wealth brings want, whose want increase;
Full long pursuite, and little gaine;
Vncertaine pleasure, certaine paine;
Regard of neyther right nor wrong;
For short delights, repentance long.
Loue is a sicknesse of the thought,
Conceit of pleasure dearely bought;
A restlesse passion of the minde;
A Labyrinth of errors blinde;
A sugred poyson, faire deceit;
A baite for fooles, a furious heate;
A chilling cold; a wondrous passion
Exceeding mans imagination:
VVhich none can tell in whole nor part,
But onely he that feeles the smart.
Loue is sorrow mixt with gladnesse,
Feare with hope, and hope with madnesse.
Long did I loue, but all in vaine,
I louing was not lou'd againe;
For which my heart sustain'd much woe,
It fits not Maides to vse men so.
Iust deserts are not regarded,
Neuer loue so ill rewarded:
But all is lost that is not sought,
Oft wit proues best that's dearest bought.
VVomen were made for mens reliefe,
To comfort, not to cause their griefe.
VVhere most I merit, least I finde,
No maruell, since that Loue is blinde.
Had she beene kinde as she was faire,
My case had beene more strange and rare:
But women loue not by desart,
Reason in them hath weakest part.
Then henceforth let them loue that list,
I will beware of had-I-wist,
These faults had better beene conceal'd,
Then to my shame abroad reueal'd:
Yet though my youth did thus miscarry,
My harmes may make others more wary.
Loue is but a youthfull fit;
And some men say it's signe of wit;
But he that loues as I haue done,
To passe the day and see no Sunne,
Must change his noate, and sing, Erraui,
Or else may chance to cry Peccaui.
The longest day must haue his night,
Reason triumphs in Loues despight,
I follow now Discretions lore,
Henceforth to like, but loue no more.
Then gently pardon what is past,
For Loue drawes onward to his last.
He walkes (they say) with wary eye,
VVhose foote-steps neuer tread awry.
My Muse a better worke intends,
And here my Louing-folly ends.
After long stormes and tempests past,
I see the Hauen at the last,
VVhere I must rest my weary Barke,
And there vnlade my care and carke:
My paines and trauels long indur'd,
And all my wounds must there be cur'd:
Ioyes out of date shall be renew'd,
To thinke of perils past eschew'd:
VVhen I shall sit full blithe and iolly,
And talke of Louers and their folly.
Then Loue and Folly both adieu,
Long haue I beene misled by you:
Folly may new aduentures trie,
But Reason sayes that Loue must dye:
Yea, dye indeede although it grieue him,
For my cold heart cannot relieue him:
Yet for her sake, whom I once loued,
(Though all in vaine, as Time haue proued)
Ile take the paines (if shee consent)
To write his VVill and Testament.

Loues last Will and Testament.

MY spirit I bequeath vnto the ayre;
My body shall vnto the earth repaire;
My burning brond vnto the Prince of hell,
T'increase mens paines that there in darknes dwell:
For well I weene, aboue nor vnderground,
A greater paine then that may not be found:
My sweet conceits of pleasure and delight
To Erebus, and to eternall night:
My sighs, my teares, my passions, and laments,
Distrust, despaire, all these my hourely rents,
With other plagues that Louers mindes inthrall,
Vnto Obliuion I bequeath them all.
My broken Bow and Shafts I giue to Reason;
My cruelties, my sleights, and forged treason,
To women-kinde, and to their seede for aye,
To wreake their spight, and work poore mens decay;
Reseruing onely for Alcilia's part,
Small kindnesse, and lesse care of Louers smart:
For shee is from the vulgar sort excepted,
And had shee Philoparthens loue respected,
[Page]Requiting it with like affection,
She might haue had the praise of all perfection.
This done; if I haue any faith or troth
To Philoparthen I assigne them both;
For vnto him of right they doe belong,
Who truely louing suffred too much wrong.
Time shall be sole Executor of my Will,
Who may these things in order due fulfill.
To warrant this my Testament for good,
I haue subscrib'd it with my dying bloud.
And so hee dy'd that all this bale had bred,
And yet my heart misdoubts hee is not dead:
For sure I feare should I Alcilia spie,
She might eftsoones reuiue him with her eye.
Such power diuine remaineth in her sight,
To make him liue againe in Deaths despight.

The Sonnets following were written by the Author, after he beganne to decline from his pas­sionate affection, and in them he seemeth to please himselfe, with describing the vanitie of LOVE, the frailtie of Beautie, and the sower fruits of Repentance.

NOw haue I spun the web of my owne woes,
And labour'd long to purchase my owne losse:
Too late I see, I was beguil'd with showes,
And that which once seem'd gold, now proues but drosse.
Thus am I both of help and hope bereaued,
He neuer tryed that neuer was deceiued.
Once did I loue, but more then once repent,
When vintage came, my grapes were sower, or rotten
Long time in griefe and pensiue thoughts I spent,
And all for that which Time hath made forgotten.
O strange effects of Time, which once being lost;
Makes men secure of that they loued most.
Thus haue I long in th'ayre of error houer'd,
And runne my ship vpon Repentance shelfe:
Truth hath the vale of Ignorance vncouer'd,
And made me see, and seeing, know my selfe.
Of former follies now I must repent,
And count this worke part of my time ill spent.
" VVhat thing is Loue? A Tyrant of the minde,
" Begot by heate of youth, brought forth by sloth;
" Nurst with vain thoughts, & changing as the wind
" A deepe dissembler, voyd of faith and troth:
" Fraught with fond errors, doubts, despite, disdaine,
" And all the plagues that earth and hell containe.
Like to a man that wanders all the day
Through waies vnknown, to seeke a thing of worth
And at the night sees he hath gone astray:
As neare his end as vvhen he first set forth,
Such is my case, whose hope vntimely crost,
After long errors, proues my labour lost.
Fail'd of that hap, whereto my hope aspired,
Depriu'd of that which might haue bin mine owne,
Another now must haue that I desired,
And things too late by their euents are knowne:
Thus doe vve vvish for that cannot be got,
And vvhen it may, then vve regard it not.
Ingratefull Loue, since thou hast plaid thy part,
Enthralling him, vvhom Time hath since made free,
It rests for me to vse both wit and Art,
That of my wrongs I may reuenged be:
And in those eyes where first thou took'st thy fire,
Thy selfe shalt perish through my cold desire.
Grieue not thy selfe for that can not be had,
And things once curelesse, let them carelesse rest:
Blame not thy fortune, though thou deeme it bad,
VVhat's past and gone, can neuer be redrest.
" The onely helpe for that can not be gained,
" Is to forget it might haue beene obtained.
How happy once did I my selfe esteeme,
VVhile Loue with hope my fond desire did cherish?
My state as blissefull as a Kings did seeme,
Had I beene sure my ioyes should neuer perish.
The thoughts of men are fed with expectation,
" Pleasures themselues are but imagination.
VVhy should we hope for that which is to come,
VVhere the euent is doubtfull and vnknowne?
Such fond presumptions soone receiue their doome,
VVhen things expected we count as our owne.
VVhose issue oft times in the end proues nought
But hope, a shadow, and an idle thought.
In vaine doe we complaine our life is short,
VVhich well dispos'd, great matters might effect:
VVhile wee our selues in toyes and idle sport,
Consume the better part, without respect:
And carelesse, as though time should neuer end it,
Twixt sleepe and waking prodigally spend it.
Youthfull desire is like the Summer season,
That lasts not long, for winter must succeede:
And so our passions must giue place to reason,
And riper yeares more ripe effects must breed.
Of all the seede youth sowed in vaine desires,
I reaped nought but thistles, thornes, and bryers.
To erre, and doe amisse, is giuen to men by kinde:
VVho walkes so sure, but sometimes treads awry?
But to continue still in errors blinde,
A bad and beastiall nature doth descry.
Who proues not, fails not, and brings nought to end;
VVho proues and failes, may afterward amend.
There was but one, and doubtlesse she the best,
VVhom I did more then all the world esteeme:
She hauing fail'd, I disauow the rest:
For now I finde things are not as they seeme.
" Default of that wherein our will is crost,
" Oft times vnto our good auaileth most.
I fare like him, who now his land-hope spent,
By vnknowne Seas sayles to the Indian shore,
Returning thence no richer then he went,
Yet cannot much his fortune blame therefore,
Since who so venters forth vpon the Mayne,
Makes a good Mart[?], if he returne againe.
Louers conceits are like a flatt'ring Glasse,
That makes the lookers fairer then they are:
VVho pleas'd in their deceit, contented passe,
Such one was mine, who thought there was none faire,
None witty, modest, vertuous but she.
Yet now I finde the Glasse abused me.
Adiew fond Loue, the mother of all error,
Repleate with hope and feare, with ioy and paine:
False fire of fancy, full of care and terror,
Shadow of pleasures fleeting, short and vaine,
Dye loathed loue, receiue thy latest doome,
Night be thy graue, Obliuion be thy tombe.
VVho so would be rapt vp into the heauens,
To see a world of strange imaginations;
VVho carelesse would leaue all at sixe and seauen,
To wander in a Labyrinth of passions;
VVho would at once all kindes of folly proue:
VVhen he hath nought to doe, then let him loue.
" VVhat thing is Beautie? Natures dearest Minion,
" The snare of youth; like the inconstant Moone,
" VVaxing and wayning; error of opinion;
" A mornings flower, that withereth ere noone;
" A swelling fruit, no sooner ripe then rotten,
" Which sicknes makes forlorne, and time forgotten.
The Spring of youth which now is in his prime.
VVinter of age with hoary frosts shall nip:
Beautie shall then be made the prey of Time,
And sower remorse deceitfull pleasures whip.
Then henceforth let Discretion rule Desire,
And Reason quench the flame of Cupids fire.
O what a life vvas that sometime I led,
VVhen Loue vvith passions did my peace incumber
VVhile like a man neyther aliue nor dead,
I was rapt from my selfe, as one in slumber?
VVhose idle senses charm'd with fond illusion,
Did nourish that vvhich bred their owne confusion
The childe for euer after dreads the fire
That once therewith by chance his finger burned:
VVater of Time, distill'd, doth coole desire,
And farre hee ran (they say) that neuer turned.
After long stormes I see the Port at last,
Folly farewell, for now my loue is past.
Base seruile thoughts of men too much deiected,
That seek, and crouch, & kneele for womens grace,
Of vvhom your paine and seruice is neglected,
Your selues despis'd: Riuals before your face:
The more you sue, the lesse you shall obtaine,
The lesse you win, the more shall be your gaine.
In looking backe vnto my follies past,
VVhile I the present with times past compare:
And thinke how many houres I then did wast,
Painting on clouds, and building in the ayre:
I sigh within my selfe, and say in sadnes,
This thing, which fooles call Loue, is nought but madnes.
" The things we haue, we most of all neglect;
" And that we haue not greedily we craue;
" The things we may haue little vve respect;
" And still we couet that we cannot haue:
" Yet howsoe'er in our conceit we prise them,
" No sooner gotten but vve straight despise them.
VVho seates his loue vpon a womans will,
And thinkes thereon to build an happy state:
Shall be deceiu'd, vvhen least he thinkes of ill,
And rue his folly vvhen it is too late.
He plowes on sand, and sowes vpon the winde,
That hopes for constant loue in women kinde.
I will no longer spend my time in toyes,
Seeing Loue is error, folly, and offence:
An idle fit for fond and retchlesse boyes,
Or else for men depriu'd of common sense,
Twixt Lunacy and Loue these ods appeare,
Th'one makes fools monthly, th'other all the yeare.
VVhile season seru'd to sow, my plough lay still;
My Grafts vnset, when others Trees did bloome;
I spent the Spring in sloath, and slept my fill:
But neuer thought of Winters colde to come,
Till Spring was spent, and Summer well nigh gone,
Then I awak'd, and saw my Haruest none.
Now Loue sits all alone in blacke attyre,
His broken Bow and Arrowes lying by him;
His fire extinct, that whilome fed desire,
Himselfe the scorne of Louers that passe by him:
VVho this day freely may disport and play,
For it is Philoparthens Holy-day.
Nay, thinke not Loue, with all thy cunning slight,
To catch me once againe: thou com'st too late:
Sterne Industry puts Idlenesse to flight,
And Time hath changed both my name and state:
Then seeke else where for Mates that may befriend thee;
For I am busie, and cannot attend thee.
Loose Idlenesse, the nurse of fond Desire;
Roote of all ils that doe our youth betide,
That whilome didst through Loue my wracke con­spire,
I banish thee, and rather wish t'abide
All austere hardnesse, and continuall paine,
Then to reuoke thee, or to loue againe.
The time will come, when looking in a Glasse,
Thy riueled face with sorrow thou shalt see:
And sighing say, it is not as it vvas,
These cheeks were wont more faire and fresh to be:
But now what once made me so much admired,
Is least regarded, and of none desired.
Though thou be faire, thinke Beauty is a blast,
A mornings dewe, a shadow quickly gone,
A painted flower, vvhose colour vvill not last:
Time steales away when least we thinke thereon;
Most precious Time, too vvastfully expended,
Of vvhich alone the sparing is commended.
How vaine is youth, that cross'd in his desire,
Doth fret and fume, and inwardly repine,
As though 'gainst heauen it selfe he would conspire,
And vvith his frailtie 'gainst his Fate combine:
VVho of it selfe continues constant still,
And doth vs good oft times against our will.
In prime of youth vvhen yeeres and vvit vvas ripe,
Vnhappy VVill to ruine led the vvay:
VVit daunc'd about, vvhen Folly gan to pipe,
And VVill and hee together vvent astray.
Nought then but pleasure was the good they sought
VVhich now Repentance proues too dearly bought.
Hee that in matters of delight and pleasure
Can bridle his outragious affection:
And temper it in some indifferent measure,
Doth proue himselfe a man of good discretion.
In conquering VVill true courage most is showne,
And sweet temptations make mens vertues known.
Each naturall thing by course of kinde vve see,
In his perfection long continueth not:
Fruits once full ripe vvill then fall from the Tree,
Or in due time not gathered soone vvill rot.
It is decreed by doome of Powers diuine,
Things at their height must thence againe decline.
Thy large smooth forehead wrinckled shall appeare
Vermilion hue, to pale and wan shall turne;
Time shal deface what Youth hath held most deare;
Yea those clear eyes vvhich once my hart did burne,
Shall in their hollow circles logde the night,
And yeeld more cause of terror then delight.
Loe here the record of my follies past,
The fruits of wit vnstaid, and houres misspent:
Full wise is hee that perils can fore-cast,
And so by others harmes his owne preuent.
All worldly pleasure that delights the sense,
Is but a short sleepe, and times vaine expence.
The Sunne hath twice his annuall course perform'd,
Since first vnhappy I beganne to loue:
VVhose errors now by Reasons rule reform'd,
Conceits of Loue but smoake and errors proue.
VVho of his folly seekes more praise to winne,
VVhere I haue made an end, let him beginne.
I. C.



LONDON: Printed for Richard Hawkins, dwelling in Chancery-Lane, neare Sarjeants-Inne. 1613.

THE ARGVMENT of the Poeme.

PIgmalion whose chaste minde all the beauties in Cy­prus could not ensnare, yet at the length hauing carued in Iuory an excellent proportion of a beau­teous woman, was so deepely enamored on his owne workemanship, that he would oftentimes lay the Image in bed with him, and fondly vse such petitions and dallyance, as if it had beene a breathing creature. But in the end, finding his fond dotage, and yet perseuering in his ardent affection, made his deuout prayers to Venus, that shee would vouchsafe to inspire life into his Loue, and then ioyne them both together in mar­riage. Whereupon Venus graciously condiscending to his ear­nest sute, the Maid (by the power of her Deitie) was metamor­phosed[?] into a liuing woman. And after, Pigmalion (being in Cy­prus) begat a Sonne of her, which was called Paphus ▪ whe [...]e­upon, that Iland Cyprus, in honour of Venus, was after, and is now, called by the Inhabitants, Paphos.

To his Mistresse.

MY wanton Muse lasciuiously doth sing
Of sportiue loue, of louely dallying.
O beauteous Angell, daine thou to infuse
A sprightly wit into my dulled Muse.
I inuocate none other Saint but thee,
To grace the first bloomes of my Poësie.
Thy fauours, like Promethean sacred fire,
In dead and dull conceit can life life inspire.
O [...], like that rare and rich Elixar stone,
Can turne to Gold, Leaden inuention:
Be gracious then, and daine to show in mee
The mighty power of thy Deitie.
And as thou read'st (Faire) take compassion,
Force me not enuy my Pigmalion.
Then when thy kindnesse grants me such sweet blisse,
Ile gladly write thy Matamorphosis.


PIgmalion, whose high Loue-hating minde,
Disdain'd to yeeld seruile affection,
Or amorous sute to any woman-kinde,
Knowing their wants and mens perfection.
Yet Loue at length forc'd him to know his Fate,
And loue the shade, whose substance hee did hate.
For hauing wrought in purest Iuory
So faire an Image of a womans feature,
That neuer yet proudest mortalitie
Could shew so rare and beauteous a Creature,
(Vnlesse my Mistresse all-exceeding face,
[...]hich giues to beautie beauties onely grace.)
He was amazed at the wondrous rarenesse
Of his owne workmanships perfection:
He thought that Nature ne'er produc'd such fairenes
In which all beauties haue their mansion.
And thus admiring was enamored
Of that faire Image himselfe portrayed.
And naked as it stood before his eyes,
Imperious Loue declares his Deitie:
O what alluring beauties he descries
In each part of his faire imagerie!
Her nakednesse each beauteous shape containes,
All beautie in her nakednesse remaines.
He though he saw the bloud run through the veyne,
And leape, and swell with all alluring meanes:
Then feares he is deceiu'd; and then againe
He thinkes he sees the brightnesse of the beames
VVhich shoote from out the fairenesse of her eye,
At which hee stands as in an extasie.
Her Amber-coloured fayre shining hayre,
Makes him protest, the Sunne hath spread her head
VVith golden beames and made her far more faire:
But when her cheeks his amorous thoughts haue fed
Then hee exclaymes such red, and such pure white
Did neuer blesse the eye of mortall sight.
Then view'd her lips, no lips did seeme so faire
In his conceit, through which hee thinkes doth flye
So sweet a breath, that doth perfume the ayre.
Then next her dimpled chinne he doth descry,
And viewes and wonders, and yet viewes her still:
" Loues eyes in viewing neuer haue their fill.
Her brests like polish'd Iuory appeare,
VVhose modest mount, doe blesse admiring eye,
And makes him wish for such a Pillow beare.
Thus fond Pigmalion striueth to descry
Each beauteous part, not letting ouer-slip
One parcell of his curious workmanship.
Vntill his eye descended so farre downe,
That it descryed Loues Pauillion;
VVhere Cupid doth inioy his onely crowne,
And Venus hath her chiefest mansion:
There would he winke, and winking looke againe,
Both eies and thoughts would gladly there remaine.
VVho euer saw the subtle Citie Dame
In sacred Church, when her pure thoughts should pray,
Peire through her fingers, so to hide her shame,
VVhen that her eye her minde would faine bewray.
So would he view and winke, and view againe,
A chaster thought could not his eyes retaine.
Hee wondred that she blusht not when his eye
Saluted those same parts of secrecie:
Conceiting not it was imagerie
That kindly yeelded that large libertie.
Oh that my Mistresse were an Image too,
That I might blamelesse her perfections view.
But when the faire proportion of her thigh
Beganne appeare: O Ouid would he cry,
Did ere Corinna shew such Iuorie,
VVhen she appear'd in Venus liuorie?
And thus enamored doates on his owne Art,
VVhich he did worke to worke his pleasing smart.
And fondly doating oft he kist her lip,
Oft would he dally with her Iuory brests:
No wanton Loue-tricke would he ouer-slip,
But still obseru'd all amorous behests,
VVhereby he thought he might procure the loue
Of his dull Image, which no plaints could moue.
Looke how the peeuish Papists crouch and kneele
To some dumbe Idoll, with their offering,
As if a senslesse carued stone could feele
The ardor of his bootlesse chattering:
So fond he was, and earnest in his sute
To his remorcelesse Image, dumbe, and mute.
He oft doth wish his soule might part asunder,
So that one halfe in her had residence:
Oft hee exclaimes, ô beauties onely wonder,
Sweet modell of delight, faire excellence,
Be gracious vnto him that formed thee,
Compassionate his true-loues ardencie!
Shee with her silence seemes to grant his sute,
Then he all iocund like a wanton Louer,
VVith amorous imbracements doth salute
Her slender waste, presuming to discouer
The vale of Loue, where Cupid doth delight
To sport, and dally all the sable night.
His eyes, her eyes, kindely encountered,
His brest, her brest, oft ioyned close vnto,
His armes imbracements oft she suffered:
Hands, armes, eies, tongue, lips, & all parts did wooe;
His thigh with hers, his knee plaid with her knee:
" A happy consort when all parts agree.
But when he saw poore soule hee was deceiued,
(Yet scarce he could beleeue his sense had failed,)
Yet when he found all hope from him bereaued,
And saw how fondly all his thoughts had erred,
Then did he like to poore Ixion seeme,
That clipt a cloud in stead of heauens Queene.
I oft haue smil'd to see the foolerie,
Of some sweet Youths, who seriously protest
That Loue respects not actuall luxurie:
But onely ioyes to dally, sport, and iest,
Loue is a childe contented with a toy,
A Busk-point, or some fauour stils the Boy
Marke my Pigmalion whose affections ardor
May be a mirror to posteritie:
Yet viewing, touching, kissing, (common fauour)
Could neuer satiate his loues ardencie.
And therfore (Ladies) thinke that they ne'er loue you
VVho doe not vnto more then kissing moue you.
For my Pigmalion kist, view'd, and imbraced,
And yet exclaimes; VVhy were these women made
(O sacred Gods) and with such beauties graced?
Haue they not power as well to coole and shade,
As for to heate mens hearts? Or is there none?
Or are they all, like mine, relentlesse stone?
VVith that hee takes her in his louing armes,
And downe within a Downe-bed softly laid her:
Then on his knees hee all his senses charmes,
To inuocate sweet Venus for to raise her
To wished life, and to infuse some breath,
To that which dead, yet gaue a life to death.
Thou sacred Queene of sportiue dallying,
(Thus he beginnes) Loues onely Empresse,
VVhose kingdome rests in wanton reuelling,
Let me beseech thee shew thy powerfulnesse
In changing stone to flesh; make her relent,
And kindely yeeld to thy sweet blandishment.
O gracious Gods, take compassion,
Instill into her some celestiall fire,
That she may equalize affection,
And haue a mutuall loue, and loues desire.
Thou know'st the force of Loue, then pitty me,
Compassionate my true loues ardencie.
Thus hauing said, hee riseth from the floore,
As if his soule diuined him good fortune,
Hoping his prayers to pittie mou'd some Power;
For all his thoughts did all good lucke importune:
And therefore straight he strips him naked quite,
That in the bed he might haue more delight.
Then thus, Sweet sheetes, he sayes, which now doe couer
The Idoll of my soule, the fairest one
That euer lou'd, or had an amorous Louer,
Earths onely modell of perfection:
Sweet happy sheetes daine for to take me in,
That I my hopes and longing thoughts may win.
VVith that his nimble limbs doe kisse the sheetes,
And now he bowes him for to lay him downe;
And now each part with her faire parts doe meet,
Now doth he hope for to inioy Loues crowne:
Now doe they dally, kisse, imbrace together,
Like Leda's Twinnes at sight of fairest weather.
Yet all's conceit: but shadow of that blisse,
VVhich now my Muse striues sweetly to display
In this my wondrous Metamorphosis.
Daine to beleeue mee, now I sadly say;
The stony substance of his Image feature,
VVas straight transform'd into a liuing Creature.
For when his hands her faire form'd limbs had felt,
And that his armes her naked waist imbraced,
Each part like VVaxe before the Sunne did melt:
And now, oh now, he findes how he is graced
By his owne worke. Tut, women will relent
VVhen as thy finde such mouing blandishment.
Doe but conceiue a Mothers passing gladnesse,
(After that Death her onely sonne hath seazed,
And ouerwhelm'd her soule with endlesse sadnesse)
VVhen that she sees him gin for to be raised
From out his deadly sound to life againe:
Such ioy Pigmalion feeles in euery veyne.
And yet hee feares he doth but dreaming finde
So rich content, and such celestiall blisse:
Yet when he proues, and findes her wondrous kinde
Yeelding soft touch for touch, sweet kisse for kisse,
Hee's well assur'd no faire Imagerie
Could yeeld such pleasing loues felicitie.
O wonder not to heare me thus relate,
And say to flesh transformed was a stone;
Had I my Loue in such a wished state
As was afforded to Pigmalion,
Though flinty hard, of her you soone should see
As strange a transformation wrought by mee.
And now me thinkes some wanton itching eare
VVith lustfull thoughts and ill attention,
List's to my Muse, expecting for to heare
The amorous description of that action
VVhich Venus seekes, and euer doth require,
VVhen fitnesse grants a place to please desire.
Let him conceit but what himselfe would doe
VVhen that he had obtained such a fauour
Of her to whom his thoughts were bound vnto,
If she, in recompence of his loues labour
VVould daine to let one payre of sheetes containe
The willing bodies of those louing twaine.
Could he, oh could he, when that each to eyther
Did yeeld kinde kissing, and more kinde imbracing;
Could he when that they felt, and clipt together,
And might inioy the life of dallying,
Could he abstaine, midst such a wanton sporting,
From doing that which is not fit reporting?
VVhat would he doe when that her softest skinne
Saluted his with a delightfull kisse?
VVhen all things fit for loues sweet pleasuring,
Inuited him to reape a Louers blisse?
VVhat he would doe, the selfe-same action
VVas not neglected by Pigmalion.
For when he found that life had tooke his seate
VVithin the brest of his kinde beauteous Loue,
VVhen that he found that warmth and wished heat,
VVhich might a Saint and coldest spirit moue,
Then armes, eyes, hands, tongue, lips, and wanton thigh,
VVere willing agents in Loues luxurie.
VVho knowes not what ensues? O pardon me
Yee gaping eares that swallow vp my lines,
Expect no more. Peace idle Poesie:
Be not obsceane, though wanton in thy rimes.
And chaster thoughts, pardon if I doe trip,
Or if some loose lines from my penne doe slip.
Let this suffice, that that same happy night
So gracious were the Gods of Marriage,
Mid'st all their pleasing and long wish'd delight,
Paphus was got: of whom in after age
Cyrus was Paphos call'd, and euermore
Those Ilanders doe Venus name adore.


Written by S. P.



LONDON Printed for Richard Hawkins, dwelling in Chancery-Lane: neere Sarieants-Inne, 1613.


TO thee thou more then thrice beloued friend,
I too vnworthie of so great a blisse:
These harsh tun'd lines I he [...]e to thee commend,
Thou being cause it is now as it is:
For hadst thou held thy tongue by silence might,
These had bene buried in obliuions night.
If they were pleasing, I would call them thine,
And disavow my title to the verse:
But being bad, I needs must call them mine,
No ill thing can be clothed in thy verse.
Accept them then, and where I haue offended,
Rase thou it out, and let it be amended.
S. P.


GO little booke into the largest world,
And blase the chastnes of thy maiden Muse:
Regardles of all enuie on thee hurld,
By the vnkindnes that the readers vse:
And those that enuie thee by scruples letter,
Bid them take pen in hand and make a better.

THE LOVE OF Amos and Laura.

IN the large confines of renowned France
There liu'd a Lord, whom Fortune did aduance,
VVho had a Daughter, Laura call'd the faire;
So sweet, so proper, and so debonaire,
That strangers tooke her for to be none other,
Then Venus selfe, the God of Loues owne Mother.
Not farre from thence was scituate a Towne,
The Lord thereof a man of great renowne;
VVhom likewise Fortune blessed with a Sonne,
Amos by name, so modest, ciuill, yong,
And yet in fight so wondrous and so bold,
As that therein he passed vncontroul'd:
So kinde to strangers, and so meeke to all;
Of comely grace, and stature somewhat tall.
As the wide world not two such Impes affords,
As were the off-springs of these happy Lords.
[Page]Hunting he lou'd, and therefore in a morne
He shakes off sleepe (for case he laughes to scorne)
Before the sable Curtaines of the East
Proclaim'd the Sunnes approach vnto the west;
Or Tytan, Lordly Ruler of the morne,
Had in his Chariot, left the night forlorne;
[...]he An­ [...]odes.
Or sounded sleepe to them, with whom (men say)
It's dark some night when we enioy the day:
He brac'd his Hounds, and striding o'er his Steed,
Hope with a conquest did the youngster feed:
VVhich done, he hyes him to a mighty wood,
That ioyn'd where Laura's Fathers Pallace stood.
Thither being come, a Bore he rais'd, whose pace
Did make our hunts-man loose his Hounds in chase:
Ranging the woods, he light into a Groue,
More pleasant farre then that where Venus stroue
To win Adonis to her hearts desire,
Moued by the burning zeale of sweet Loues fire.
In this sweet Groue God Pan did keepe his Court,
And summon'd all the petty Gods resort,
As Satyres, Nymphes, and others, to the same,
VVhere all sing prayses vnto Laura's name.
Into this Groue (neare to her chamber side)
(To take the Ayre) she comes forth; soone espide
[Page]Of the yong Hunts-man, who made haste vnto her,
And thus the Nouice there beginnes to wooe her:
Parragon of beauty, diuine, though earthly creature,
And yet Celestiall in thy heauenly feature.
This sodaine courting, and vnwelcome sight,
Made her adde wings to feare, and to that, flight:
He following after, caught her by the traine,
That in a rage the Maide turn'd backe againe,
And did demaund why he without remorse,
Durst cause her stay, against her will, by force.
Mou'd by the rosiate colour of thy face,
(VVherein consists (quoth he) all heauenly grace)
I was too bold, I must confesse indeede,
To touch the seluage of thy sacred weede:
For which my selfe Ile punish as thou wilt,
VVith any paine, for my deserued guilt.
Doe but pronounce the sentence of my death,
These hands shall be the butchers of my breath:
But since the merit of my fault's no deeper,
Oh let me be thy Prisoner, thou my Keeper;
So shall thine eyes be witnesse of the woe,
VVhich for my bold offence Ile vndergoe.
Pronounce thy sentence then. VVherwith she spake,
You are your Crafts-man Sir: and there she brake.
[Page]Yet turning backe, quoth she, ô would twere true,
Your loue were firme to me, as mine to you!
And here she ceased: for when he came neare her,
She was afraid that he would ouer-heare her.
And art thou so vnwilling then, quoth hee,
To doome the sentence which I aske of thee?
Perswade thy selfe it is thy purer minde
That will not let thy heart proue so vnkinde:
O would that minde were mine, to ioyne thy hart
Eyther to end my life, or ease my smart.
Loue is my sute. Nor hate is my reply,
Quoth she. Quoth hee, I cannot court it I;
They which but view the error in my lookes,
May finde I neuer learn'd in Cupids bookes:
But like a stone rough hewen from the rockes,
And after polish'd by the Masons knockes,
The former shewes but base then in compare,
So to my loue my speech disgraces are:
For were my speech true patterne of my minde,
Not as it doth, should't come, but farre more kinde.
Like as the Marchant hearing of a losse,
Is vvondrous sory for so great a crosse;
And after heareth by a true report,
His goods are safely landed in the Fort,
[Page]Cannot expresse the ioy he doth conceiue:
For why? it doth his senses quite bereaue;
And yet with signe of sorrow blames th'euent,
Although it seeme most plaine and euident.
Or like a Ship toss'd by tempestuous weather,
Now here, then there; now back againe, then thither
That whirle-windes meeting (roaring out aloud)
Make watry mountaines shew the ship each cloud:
Then with such fury they descend the deepe,
From top of triple-Cedar-mountaines steepe,
As of the Seas rich orientall shew,
Against their vvils they take a counterview.
So fares his minde, which tossed to and fro,
Sometimes doth ioy, and other times is woe:
Sometimes from depth ascends into the ayre,
And though he hope, he hides it vvith despayre.
So long with feruent zeale he mou'd his sute,
Onely for want of vvords his tongue was mute.
" VVhere true affection rules in hottest fires,
" Dumbe signes and tokens then shew mens desires▪
For vvhat he thought he shew'd, he could not vtter,
Which made him oft when he shold speak to mutter.
She that was wounded with the selfe-same dart,
Reueal'd with tongue that which she wisht with hart
[Page]And fram'd her answere, so much't could not grieue him,
For 'twas a salue to wound and to relieue him.
Say I could loue, quoth she, my milder minde,
(Vnlesse you further moue) cannot vnkinde,
Frame you an answere: for wee are by nature
So much addicted to mans heauenly feature,
That though your faults are great by your abuse,
To blinde the same it is our womans vse.
Then as thou found'st me, leaue me, if thou wilt;
That shall be all I render for thy guilt:
Further I will not credit thy report:
Farewell; be gone, for I am mist in Court.
VVith that shee flyes, and in her flight she leaues
A well wrought Scarfe, which straight the winde vp heaues;
And proud of such a prise, they doe infer
VVith their embassage vnto Iupiter,
And there presented it: who, as 'twas right,
Did make the windes returne't with swiftest flight,
Vnto the place where Amos stood amazed
At that which hapt, who like a mad-man gazed,
VVondring what she by this illusion meant,
VVhen to allure him was her whole intent:
But led in admiration most of all,
At the rich Scarfe which from the Maide did fall.
[Page]He viewes the worke, where finding of Apollo
Chasing a Nymph, who swifter then a Swallow
Flyeth his armes, for feare did lend her wings
To flye from him which after her soone flings.
Himselfe a foole he cals, that wanting skill,
Being allur'd, he had not knowne her will.
Doubtfull, he feares offence committed to her,
That he so rashly, gain'st her will, durst wooe her.
To cleare himselfe of which offence he flyes,
Resolu'd to winne the Maide, or lose the prize,
VVith prosperous hast. Oh may thy hast well speed,
VVhose wondrous loue did vertuously proceed:
Not from the flames of filthy lusts desire,
As vvas that Rome-borne Tarquins lustfull fire:
But as vnspotlesse from that filthy thought,
From that most hell-deseruing thing of nought,
As euer heart lodg'd in a loyall brest,
Or tongue, vntaught to lye, euer exprest.
But why doe I digresse the path I tread,
Cloying your eares with that your eyes doe read?
Pardon my boldnesse, and giue eare a while
To that, of him, which my inferiour stile
Shall now expresse: though't not with honor stands,
He thinkes one paire of legs worth twice two hands.
[Page]The arrow swift sent from the sturdy bow,
May be accounted (to his flight) but slow:
At last he gain'd the Court, to vvhich being come,
It shew'd like to the Pallace of the Sunne
Describ'd in Ouid: for in length and fairenesse,
None might surpasse the workmanship and rarenes.
Through which his way lies, & he needs must passe,
The pauement Marble vvas, the vvals of Glasse:
VVhereunder vvas so liuely caru'd the Story
Of great Ioues loue, his vvondrous vvorks, & glory,
VVith many others loue: vvhich to rehearse
VVould adde a mighty volume to my Verse,
Besides mine owne weake vvit: for I doe know it,
He vvas a better workeman, then I Poet.
Yet could not this abate the Louers pace:
For he still holds the louely Maide in chase.
Passing the Court, he comes into a greene,
VVhich vvas in middest of the Pallace seene:
Thorough the midst there ranne a pleasant Spring,
On each side with a vvall of Bricke hemm'd in,
Onely in midst, a Stile; beyond, a Plancke,
VVhich for a Bridge did serue to eyther bancke.
Ouer this Stile as Laura lightly skips,
In her rent garment happily it slips,
[Page]And held her there a while till hee came to her,
VVhere once againe the Nouice gins to vvoe her.
Flye not thy friend, our Maker vvilleth so,
Things reasonlesse approue and vvish it to;
If vvithout sense and reason all things then
Obserue a better course then humane men,
How sauage were we then offending so,
Committing that vvhich vve offence doe know?
O were my tongue a second Orpheus Harpe,
That to my loue I might allure thy hearr!
Or vvere thy loue but equall vnto mine,
Then vvould thou seeke his fauor vvho seeks thine!
Me thinkes vnkindnesse cannot come from thence,
VVhere beauty raignes vvith such magnificence,
I meane from thee, vvhom nature hath endow'd
VVith more then Art would vvillingly allow'd:
And though by nature you are borne most faire,
Yet Art would adde a beautie to your share:
But it being spotlesse doth disdaine receipt
Of all vnpolish'd painting counterfeit.
Your beautie is a snare vnto our wayes,
VVherein once caught, wee cannot brooke delayes;
VVhich makes vs oft through griefe of minde grow sad,
Griefe follows grief, then malecontent & mad.
[Page]Thus by deniall doe you cause our woe,
And then doe triumph in our ouer-throw.
VVhat is it to be fayre? onely a vanitie,
A fading blossome of no perpetuitie.
Consider this; for beautie is a flower,
Subiect to ill occasions euery hower;
It is a tenure holden as wee lee
Durante Dei placito, not in fee.
Measure my Loue then, proue it by a tryall:
Let me not languish still by your deniall.
If in my suite I erre, as by mischance,
Blame not my Loue but count it ignorance.
The tongue is but an instrument of nought,
And cannot speake the largenesse of the thought:
For when the minde abounds, and almost breaketh,
Then through abundance of the heart it speaketh:
No man can speake but what he hath in minde,
Then what I speake I thinke, be not vnkinde
Vnto your seruant, who obedience proffers,
And makes firme loue the obiect of his offers.
I will not boast of Parentage, or Lyne,
For all are base, respecting thee diuine:
Nor will I boast of wealth, or riches store,
For in thy face consists all wealth, and more.
[Page]Pure are my thoughts as skin betweene thy browes,
And eke as chaste my speech, my oathes, & vowes.
Speake sweetest fayre, but one kinde word to me,
How can alas that be offence in thee?
There was a Dame a moderne Poet sung,
Hero by name, like thee, both faire and young:
And both so faire, that you did others passe
As farre as rarest Dyamonds common glasse.
VVhom young Leander courted on a greene,
A Maide so faire (but thee) was neuer seene.
She granted loue, which he (alas) to gaine,
To reape those ioyes, did crosse the brinish Maine.
My loue to thee, I now compare to his;
Accounting danger, so requited, blisse.
There are no Seas to separate our ioy,
No future danger can our Loue annoy:
Then grant to me what she denide not him;
If good in her, in thee it is no sinne.
The Sunne hath shin'd thus long, ô let not now
The Sunne be darkened by thine angry brow.
But rather let each looke a Comet be
That may presage my happy destinie.
I could to you a short discourse impart,
That would relent the direst stony hart,
[Page]VVer't not offence. It's no offence quoth she.
Then thus the same Ile briefely tell, quoth he:
A poore old man by chance did breake his leg,
And he was told where he was wont to beg,
That such a Surgion (telling of his name,)
If that he pleas'd, could quickly cure the same.
VVhich when he heard, to him for helpe he goes,
And craues for Gods sake he would ease his woes.
The Surgion greedy to haue coyne therefore,
But finding none, he would not heale the sore:
VVhich caus'd the poore old man to keepe his bed,
That he for want of helpe in time was dead.
Alas poore soule; (quoth shee) and did he dye?
VVould I were Iudge, or hee were such as I,
I so would vse the Surgion, as that hee
Should feele the griefe which he before did see.
Thus you confesse your wrong to me sweet Maid,
If you performe (quoth he) the vvords you said.
I am the man, who wounded, seeke reliefe:
And you, the causer of my endlesse griefe;
You are the Surgion, whom I vrge the more
To cure the wound because you made the sore:
Be not obdurate then, sith my disease
Is quickly cured, if the Surgion please.
[Page]And this I vow water shall turne to fire,
Huge massie mountaines to the clouds aspire;
The Sun shall leaue his course, the Moon her bright­nes,
Night turne to day, and day shall lose his lightnes;
Fishes shall flye, birds swimme; and Hare shall hunt
The Hound, which to pursue the Hare vvas wont:
Ayre, Earth, Fire, VVater, all things which you view
Shall change their natures, ere I turne from you:
And longer then I breathe a loyall friend,
Let me (ô heauens) endure a wicked end.
Silence (quoth she) and here let cease thy sute,
Cause of distrust in loue did make me mute:
Aske why I yeelded in so short a season,
Because I loue, that is a womans reason.
Yet Maides are fearefull; for by mens abuse,
Courting is turned to a common vse,
How is he held, that cannot in these dayes
Fash'on his words to each fantasticke phrase?
VVhich makes vs oft with one word to debase
Him from our bosomes, whom our hearts imbrace:
And, as you men doe for a Prouerbe make it,
That which we loue we oft say nay and take it.
Delayes breede danger, wherefore what I said,
And what agrees with Honour, and a Maid,
[Page]I yeeld to thee, but yet on this condition,
Thou shalt not dare t'attempt the least fruition
Of my chaste thoughts, by drawing them aside,
Before in wedlocke I am made thy Bride.
This said; shee to the Court, hee to his Hounds,
Where they had slaine a Bore, whose bloud abounds:
Glad of his prey, he hastneth home amaine,
VVith short returne he comes to her againe,
And hauing ioyn'd themselues in Hymens bands,
The sacred Priest vniteth heart and hands:
They reape those ioyes which elder louers know,
And thus my Tale doth end, thus ends their woe.


Don Pedro's Debt.

DON Pedro's out of debt, be bolde to say it;
For they are said to owe, that meane to pay it.

Sextus Wit.

TO haue good wit is Sextus thought by many;
But sure he hides it all, hee shewes not any.

Of casting out Spirits by Prayer, without Fasting.

A Vertuous Dame, who for her state and qualitie,
Did euer loue to keepe great Hospitalitie;
Her name I must not name in plaine reciting,
But thus, The chiefe Instrument of writing,
Was by Duke Humphrey's Guests so boldly hanted,
That her good minde therewith was sorely danted:
She sighing said, one day, to a carelesse lester,
These ill-bred guests my boord and house so pester,
That I pray God oft times with all my heart,
That they would leaue their haunt, and hence depart.
He that by his owne humour haply ghest,
What manner Sprite these smell-feasts had possest;
Tolde her the surest way such Sprites out-casting,
Was to leaue Prayer a while, and fall to Fasting.

Of wicked Prayers.

A Husband and a Wife oft disagreeing,
And eyther weary of the others being,
In choller great eyther deuoutly prayes
To God, that he would shorten th'others dayes:
But more deuout then both their Sonne and Heyre
Prayes God that he would grant them both their prayer.

The Author, of his Fortune.

TAke Fortune as it fals, so one aduiseth,
But Heywood bids me take it as it riseth:
And while I thinke to doe as both doe teach,
It fals and riseth quite besides my reach.

Of Misse-pointing.

DAmes are indu'd with vertues excellent:
What man is he can proue that? they offend
Daily, they serue the Lord with good intent
Seld, they displease their Husbands to the end
Alwayes, to please them well they doe intend
Neuer, in them one shall finde shrewdnesse much,
Such are their humours, and their grace is such.

To his Wife.

MY Mall, the former Verses this doth reach you,
That some deceiue, some are deceiu'd by shewes:
For this that in your prayse so firmely goes,
With one false poynt and stop will ouer reach you,
And turne the prayse to scorne, the Verse to Prose,
By which you may be slandered, all as shrewes,
And some perhaps may speake, and say no treason,
The Verses had more time, the Prose more reason.

Of a Precise Taylor.

A Taylor thought a man of vpright dealing,
[...] but for lying, honest but for stealing:
Di [...] fall one day ext [...]eamely s [...]cke by chance,
And on the sudden, was i [...] wondrous trance.
The fiends of hell mustring in fearefull manner,
Of sundry coloured [...]lkes displaid a banner
Which he had stol [...]e, and wisht as they did tell,
That he might finde it all one day in hell.
The man affrighted with this apparision,
Vpon recouerie gre [...] a great precision:
He bought a Bible of the best translation,
And in his life he shewde great reformation.
He walked mannerly, he talked meekely[?],
He heard three lectures, and two sermons weekly.
He vou'd to shun all companie vnruly,
And in his speech he vs'd no oath but truly.
And zealously to keepe the saboths rest,
His meate for that day on the eue was drest.
And least the custome which he had to steale,
Might cause him sometime to forget his zeale,
He giues his Iournyman a speciall charge,
That if the stuffe allowance being large,
He found his fingers were to filch inclind,
Bid him to haue the banner in his mind.
This done, I scant can tell the rest for laughter,
A captaine of a ship came three daies after,
And brought three yardes of veluet, and three quarters,
To make venetians downe belowe the garters.
He that precisely knew what was ynough,
Soone slipt aside three quarters of the stuffe.
His man espying it, said in derision,
Maister remember how you saw the vision.
Peace knaue quoth he, I did not see one ragge,
Of such a coloured silke in all the flagge.

Of a Cittizen and his Sonne

A Cittizen that dwelt neare Temple barre,
By hap one day fell with his sonne at iarre[?]:
Who for his euill life and lewd demerit,
He oft affirm'd he would quite disinherit.
And vow'd his goods and lands all to the poore:
His sonne what with his play, what with his ( )
Was so consumed at last, that he did lacke,
Meate for his mouth, and clothing for his backe.
O craftie pouertie, his father now,
May giue him all he hath, yet keepe his vow.

Mistaking a word.

AN English Lad long woed a lasse of Wales,
And entertain'd her with such prettie tales,
As though she vnderstood not, yet to try him,
She gaue consent at last to vnderly him.
Both hauing dallied to their full societie,
The wench to show some womanly sobrietie,
Told in her language she was well ypaide,
And Diggon, Diggon once or twise she said.
Digge on in welch doth signifie ynough,
Which he mistaking, answeres thus in snuffe:
Diggon that can (quoth he) for I so sore
Haue diggde alreadie, I can digge no more.

Of his Cooke, named Cornish.

MY Cornish Cooke in rage and fury great,
Did chase, and chide, and curse & sweare, and sweate.
Because the turne-broach burned had the meate.
And with the basting ladle did him beate.
Was not my Cooke a rash and angry Cullion,
When he should bast the meate, to bast[?] the Scullion

Of his Writings.

MY Writings oft displease you. What's the matter?
You loue not to heare truth, nor I to flatter.

Of a Ladyes Cabinet.

A Vertuous Lady sitting in a muse,
As oftentimes faire vertuous Ladyes vse,
Did leane her elbow on her knee full hard,
The other distant from it halfe a yard.
Her Knight to taunt her with some priuie token,
Said, Wife, awake, your Cabinet stands open.
Shee rose, and blusht, and smil'd, and soft did say,
Then looke it if you list, you keepe the key.

Of Wiues ruling.

COncerning Wiues, hold this a certaine rule,
That if at first, you let them haue the rule,
Your selfe at last, with them shall haue no rule,
Except you let them euermore to rule.

Of Gella's Periwig.

SEe you the goodly hayre that Gella weares
'Tis certaine her owne hayre, one would haue thought it.
Shee sweares it is her owne, and true she sweares:
For hard by Temple-barre last day she bought it.
So faire an hayre vpon so foule a fore-head,
Augments disgrace, and shewes her grace was borrow'd.

Of a Prater, out of Martiall.

WHo so is hoarse, yet still to prate doth presse,
Proues he can neyther speake, nor hold his Peace.

Of trusting to his Friend.

IF you will shrowd your selfe from all mishaps,
And shun the cause of many after-claps;
Put not in any one too much beliefe,
Your ioy will be the lesse, so will your griefe.

Of Faustus, a stealer of Verses.

I Heare that Faustus oftentimes rehearses
To his chaste Mistresse certaine of my Verses:
In which, by vse, so perfit he is growne;
That shee, poore foole, doth thinke they are his owne.
I would esteeme it (trust me) grace, not shame,
If Danyel, or if Dauies did the same.
Nor would I storme, or would I quarrels picke,
I when I list, to them could doe the like.
But who can wish a man a fouler spight,
Then haue a blinde man take away his sight?
A begging theefe is dangerous to my purse,
A beggage Poet to my Verse is worse.

An Epitaph by a man of his Father.

GOD workes wonders now and than,
Here lyes a Lawyer was an honest man.

An Epitaph of Aretine.

HEere lyes Aretine that poysonous Toade,
Whose spightfull tongue and Pen, all Saints beshrow him,
Did raile on Prince and Priest, and all but God,
And said for his excuse he did not know them.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.