1. Our pleasures are vanities.
BEholde the blast, which blowes the blossomes from the tree,
The end whereof, consumes and comes to nought we see:
Ere thou therefore, be blowen from life that may not last,
Begin for grace to call, for time mispent and past.
Haue mind on brittle lyfe, whose pleasures are but vayne,
On death likewise bethinke, how thou maiest not remayne:
And feare thy Lord to greeue, which sought thy soule to saue,
To sinne no more be bent, but mercy aske and haue.
For death who dooth not spare, the kings on earth to kill,
Shall reape also from thee, thy pleasure, life, and will:
That lyfe which yet remaynes, and in thy brest appeares,
Hath sowen in thee such seedes, you ought to weede with teares.
And life that shall succeede, when death is worne and past,
Shall spring for euer then, in ioy or payne to last:
Where death on life hath power ye see, that life also,
Hath mowen the fruites of death, which neuer more shall grow.
FINIS.
W. Hunis.
2.
Who wayteth on this wauering world, and veweth each estate.
By tryall taught shall learne it best, to liue in simple rate.
AMid the vale the sclender shrubbe, is hid from all mishap,
When taller tree that standes aloft, is rent with thunder clap.
The Turrets tops which touch the cloudes, are beat with euery blast,
Soone shiuered are their stones with storme, and quickly ouer cast.
Best bodyed tree in all the wood, for tymber beame is found,
And to the axe the sturdiest Oxe, dooth yeeld and fall to ground.
The highest hill dooth soonest feele, the flash of lightnings flame,
And soone decayes the pomp and pryde, of high renowmed name.
Of all the heard the huntman seekes, by proofe as dooth appere,
With double forked arrowe head, to wound the greatest Deare.
The hautiest head of all the droue, enioyes the shortest life,
And staines the slaughter house with blood, at pricke of butchers knife.
[Page 1]Thus what thing hyest place atteynes, is soonest ouerthrowne,
What euer Fortune sets a loft, she threates to throw it downe.
And though no force resist thy power, nor seeke thee to confound,
Yet dooth the payse of weighty things, decline it selfe to ground.
For restlesse tipe of roulling wheele, example hath it tryde,
To heauy burden yeelde it must ful soone, and slip asyde.
What vayles the rich his bed of down, yt sighes for sleplesse thought,
What time in couch of flock the poore, sleepes sound & feareth nought.
At homely boord his quiet foode, his drinkes in treene be tane,
When oft the proud in cuppes of gold, with wine receiue their bane.
The bed, the boord, the dread in dout, with trayne to be opprest,
When fortune frounes, their power must yeelde, as wyre vnto ye wrest.
If Icarus had not presumed to high to take his flight,
He had not yet ben drowned in Seas, that now Itarion hight.
If Phaeton had not enterprised to guide his fathers seate,
His fires had not enflamed the world, nor ben destroyed with heate.
But who so climes aboue the meane, there is no hope of stay,
The higher vp the sonner downe, and nearer his decay.
Then you that here in pompe or place, to guide the golden mase,
Let crowne and Septer both obay the meane of Vertues race.
For neither shall renowmed Vertue see the pit of hell,
Nor yet in toombe of Marble stone, she may abide to dwell.
But from Sepulcher flies she hence, beyond the skies aboue,
And glistering in the blisful stares, she raines with mighty Ioue.
FINIS.
Iasper Heywood.
3. The perfect tryall of a faythfull freend
NOt stayed state, but feeble stay, not costly robes, but bare aray:
Not passed welth, but presēt wāt, not heped store but sclēder skāt
Not plenties purse, but poore estate, not happy hap, but troward fate:
Not wish at wil, but wāt of ioy, not harts good helth but harts annoy:
No fredomes vse, but prisoners thrall, not costly seate, but lowest fall:
Not weale I meane, but wretched wo, doth truely try, ye feend frō foe:
And nowght but frowarde Fortune prooues, who fauning faines, or simply loues.
FINIS.
M. Yloop.
4. Being asked the occasion of his white head, he annswereth thus.
WHere seething sighes and sorow sobbes,
Hath slaine the slippes that nature set:
And skalding showers with stony throbbes,
The kindly sappe from them hath fet.
What woonder then though that you see,
Vpon my head white heares to be.
Where thought hath thrild and throwne his speares,
To hurt the hart that harmeth him not:
And groning griefe hath ground forth teares,
Myne eyne to staine, my face to spot.
What woonder then though that you see,
Vpon my head white heares to be.
Where pinching payne himselfe hath plaste,
There peace with pleasures were possest:
And where the walles of wealth lye waste,
And pouertye in them is prest.
What woonder then though that you see,
Vpon my head white heares to be.
Where wretched woe will weaue her webbe,
Where care the clewe can catch and cast:
And flooddes of ioy are fallen to ebbe,
So loe, that life may not long last.
What woonder then though that you see,
Vpon my head white heares to be.
These heares of age are messengers,
Which bidde me fast, repent, and pray:
They be of death the harbingers,
That dooth prepare and dresse the way,
Wherefore I ioy that you may see,
Vpon my head such heares to be.
They be the lines that lead the length,
How farre my race is for to runne:
They say my youth, is fled with strength,
And how olde age is weake begunne.
The which I feele, and you may see,
Vpon my head such lines to be.
They be the stringes of sober sound,
Whose musicke is harmonicall:
Their tunes declare a time from ground
I came, and how there to I shall.
Wherefore I ioy that you may see,
Vpon my head such stringes to be.
God graunt to those that white heares haue,
No worse them take then I haue ment:
That after they be layde in graue,
Their soules may ioy their liues wel spent.
God graunt likewise that you may see.
Vpon your head such heares to be.
FINIS.
W. Hunis.
5. Beware of had I wyst.
BEware of had I wyst, whose fine brings care and smart,
Esteeme of all as they deserue, and deeme as deemd thou art;
So shall thy perfect freend, enioy his hoped hyre,
And faithlesse fawning foe, shall misse theffect of his desyre.
Good will shall haue his gayne, and hate shall heape despite,
A faithlesse freend shall find distrust, and loue shall reape delite.
Thy selfe shall rest in peace, thy freend shall ioy thy fate,
Thy foe shall fret at thy good happe, and I shall ioy thy state.
But this my fond aduise, may seeme purchaunce but vayne,
As rather teaching how to lose, then howe a freend to gayne.
But this not my intent, to teach to find a freend,
But safely how to loue and leaue, is all that I entend.
And yf you prooue in part, and find my counsell true,
Then wysh me well for my good wyll, tis all I craue adue.
FINIS.
‘My lucke is losse.’
6. M. Edwards MAY.
WHen MAY is in his prime, then MAY eche hart reioyce,
When MAY bedecks eche branch with greene, ech bird streins forth his voice
The liuely sappe creepes, vp into the bloming throne,
The flowres, which cold in prison kept, now laughes ye frost to skorne.
All natures Impes triumphes, whiles ioyful may doth last,
When MAY is gone, of all the yeere the pleasant time is past.
MAY makes the cheerfull hue, MAY breedes & bringes new blood.
MAY marcheth throughout euery lim, MAY makes ye mery mood.
MAY pricketh tender harts, their warbling notes to tune,
Ful strange it is, yet some we see, doe make their MAY in Iune.
Thus thinges are strangly wrought, whiles ioyful MAY doth last,
Take MAY in time, when MAY is gone, the pleasant time is past.
All ye that liue on earth, and haue your MAY at will,
Reioyce in MAY, as I doe now, and vse your MAY with skill.
Vse MAY, whyle that you may, for MAY hath but his time,
When all the fruite is gone, it is to late the tree to clime.
Your liking and your lust, is freshe whyles MAY dooth last,
When MAY is gone, of all the yeere, the pleasant time is past.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
7. Faire words make fooles faine.
JN youthful yeeres when first my young desyres began,
To pricke me forth to serue in Court a sclender tal young man:
My fathers blessing then I askt vpon my knnee,
Who blessing me with trembling hand, these words gan say to me:
My sonne, God guide thy way, and shild thee from mischaunce,
And make thy iust desartes in Court, thy poore estate to aduaunce:
Yet when thou art become one of the Courtly trayne,
Thinke on this prouerbe old (qd he) that faire words make foles fain.
This counsell grauely giuen, most straunge appeares to me,
Till tract of time with open eyes, had made me plainely see:
What subtill fleightes are wrought by painted tales deuise,
When hollow harts with freendly shewes the simple do entise.
[Page 3]To thinke all gold that shines to feede their fond desire,
Whose sheuering cold is warmde with smoke, in stead of flaming fire:
Sith talke of tickle trust, dooth breede a hope most vayne,
This prouerbe true by profe I find, that faire words make fooles fain.
Faire speach alway doth wel, where deedes insue faire words,
Faire speach agayn alway dooth euill, that bushes giues for birdes.
Who hopes to haue faire words, to trye his lucky lot.
If I may counsell, let him strike it whyle the iron is hot.
But them that feede on cloddes, in stead of pleasant grapes,
And after warning often giuen, for better lucke still gapes
Ful loth I am, yet must I tel them in words playne,
This prouerbe old proues true in them, that faire words makes fooles fayne.
Wo worth the time that words, so slowly turne to deedes,
Wo worth the time ye faire swete flouers, are growen to rotten weedes
But thrise wo worth the time, that truth away is fled,
Wherein I see how simple harts, with words are vaynely fed.
Trust not faire words therfore, Where no deedes do ensue,
Trust words, as skilful falkeners do trust Haukes that neuer flewe.
Trust deedes, let words be words, which neuer wrought me gaine,
Let my experience make you wise, and let words make foles faine.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
8. In his extreame sicknesse.
WHat greeues my bones, and makes my body faint?
What prickes my flesh and teares my head in twayne?
Why doe I wake, when rest should me attaint?
When others laugh, why do I liue in payne?
I tosse, I turne, I chaunge from side to side,
And stretch me oft, in sorowes linkes betyde.
I tosse, as one betost in waues of care,
I turne, to flee the woes of lothsome life:
I change, to spy if death this corpes might spare,
I stretch, to heauen to ridde me of this strife:
Thus doe I stretch, and change, and tosse, and turne,
Whyle I in hope of heauen my life do burne.
[Page]Then hold the still, let be thy heauinesse,
Abolish care, forgeat thy pining woe:
For by this meanes soone shalt thou find redresse,
When oft betost, hence thou to heauen must goe.
Then tosse, and turne, and tumble franke and free,
O happy thryse, when thou in heauen shalt be.
FINIS.
L. Vaux.
9. For Christmas day.
Reioyce reioyce with heart and voyce,
In Christes birth this day reioyce.
FRom Virgins wombe this day did spring,
The precious seede that only saued man:
This day let man reioyce and sweetely sing,
Since on this day saluacion first began.
This day did Christ man soule from death remoue.
With glorious saintes to dwell in heauen aboue.
This day to man, came pledge of perfect peace,
This day to man, came loue and vnitie:
This day mans griefe began for to surcease,
This day did man receiue a remedie.
For each offence and euery deadly sinne,
With guiltie hart that erst he wandred in.
In Christes flocke, let loue be surely plaste,
From Christes flocke, let concord hate expel:
Of Christes flocke let loue be so embraste,
As we in Christ, and Christ in vs may dwel.
Christ is the authour of all vnitie,
From whence proceedeth all felicitie.
O sing vnto this glittering glorious king,
O prayse his name let euery liuing thing:
Let hart and voyce like Belles of siluer ring,
The comfort that this day did bring.
Let Lute, let Shalme, with sound of sweete delight,
The ioy of Christes birth this day resight.
FINIS.
F. Kindlemarsh.
10. For Easter dcy.
ALl mortal men this day reioice, in Christe that you redemed hath,
By death wt death sing we wt voice, to him yt hath appesd gods wrath
Due vnto man for sinful path, wherein before he went astray,
Giue thankes to him with perfect faith that for man kinde hath made this glorious day.
This day he rose frō tombe again, wherin his precious corse was laid,
Whom cruelly ye Iewes had slaine, with blooddy wounds ful il araid:
O man be now no more dismaid, if thou henceforth from sin do stay,
Of death thou needest not be afraide, Christe conquered death for thys his glorious day.
His death preuailed had not whitt, As Paule ye apostle wel doth write:
Except he had vprisen yet, from death to life by Godlike might:
With most triumphant glittering light,
This day his glorye shined I say, and made vs brighte as sunne thys glorious day
O man arise with Christ therfore, since he from sin hath made thee fre,
Beware thou fall in sinne no more, but rise as Christ did rise for thee:
So maist thou him in glory see, when he at day of doome shall say,
Come thou my child and dwell with me, God graunt vs all to see that glorious day.
FINIS.
qoth Iasper Haywood.
11. For Whitsunday.
COme holy ghost eternall God, and ease the wofull greefe,
That through the heapes of heauy sin, can no where find releefe.
Doo thou O God redresse
The great distresse
Of sinful heauinesse.
Come comfort the afflicted thoughtes of my consumed hart,
O ryd the pearcing pricking paynes of my tormenting smart:
O holy ghost graunt me
That I by thee
From sinne may purged be.
[Page]Thou art my God, to thee alone I will commend my cause,
Nor glittering gold nor precious stone, shall make me leaue thy laws:
O teach me then the way
Whereby I may
Make thee my onely stay.
My lippes, my tongue, my hart and al, shall spread thy mighty name,
My voyce shall neuer cease to sound, the prayses of the same:
Yea euery liuing thing
Shall sweetely sing
To thee (O heauenly king.)
FINIS.
F. K.
12. No pleasure without some payne.
SWeete were the ioyes that both might like and last,
Strange were the state exempt from all distresse:
Happy the life that no mishap should tost,
Blessed the chaunce might neuer change successe.
Were such a life to lead, or state to proue,
Who would not wish that such a life were loue.
But O the soury sauce of sweete vnsure,
When pleasures flye and flit with wast of wind:
The trustlesse traynes that hoping harts allure,
When sweete delightes do but allure the mind.
When care consumes and wastes the wretched wight,
Whyle fancie feedes and drawes of her delight.
What life were loue, if loue were free from paine?
But O that paine with pleasure match should meete:
Why did the course of nature so ordayne,
That sugred sowre must sause the bitter sweete.
Which sowre from sweete might any meanes remoue,
What hap, what heauen, what life, were like to loue.
FINIS.
W. R.
13.
Who mindes to bring his Shippe to happy shore
Must care to know the lawes of wisedomes love.
MY freend, if thou wilt credite me in ought,
To whom the truth by tryall well appeares:
Nought worth is wit til it be dearely bought,
There is no wisedome but in hoary heares.
Yet if I may of wisedome oft define,
As well as others haue of happinesse:
Then to my words my freend thy eare encline,
The thinges that make thee wise are these I gesse,
Feare God, and know thy selfe in each degree,
Be freend to all, familiar but to fewe:
To light of credite see thou neuer be,
For tryall ought in trust dooth treason shewe.
To others faultes cast not too much thy eye,
Accuse no man of guilt, amend thy owne:
Of medling much doth mischiefe ought arise,
And oft debate by tickle tongue is sowne.
What thing thou wilt haue hyd, to none declare,
In word or deede beware of had I wist:
So spend thy good that some thou euer spare,
For freendes like Haukes doo soare from emptie fist.
Cut out thy coate according to thy cloth,
Suspected persons see thou alwayes flee,
Beleeue not him that once hath broke his troth,
Nor yet of gift with out desert be free.
Time quickly slips beware how thou it spend,
Of wanton youth repents a paynful age:
Begin nothing without an eye to thend,
Nor how thine eare from counsell of the sage.
If thou too farre let out thy fancy slip,
And witlesse will from reasons rule outstart:
Thy folly shall at length be made thy whip,
And sore the stripes of shame shall cause the smart.
To doo too much for old men is but lost,
Of freendship had to women comes like gayne:
Bestow not thou on children too much cost,
For what thou doest for these is all in vaine.
The olde man, or he can requite, he dyes,
Vnconstant is the womans wauering mind:
Ful soone the boy thy freendship will despyse,
And him for loue thou shalt vngreatfull sind.
The aged man is like the barraine ground,
The woman like the Reede that wagges with wind:
There may no trust in tender yeeres be found,
And of the three, the boy is most vnkind.
If thou haue found a faithful freend in deede,
Beware thou lose not loue of such a one:
He shall sometime stand thee in better steede,
Then treasure great of gold or precious stone.
FINIS.
Iasper Heywood.
14. Of the vnconstant stay of Fortunes giftes.
Jf Fortune be thy stay, thy state is very tickle,
She beares a double face, disguised, false, and fickle:
This day she seemes to smile, to morow will she frowne,
What now shee sets aloft, anone she throweth downe:
Fly Fortunes slye deceytes, let Vertue be thy guide,
If that you doo intend in happy state to abide.
Vpon the setled rocke thy building surest standes,
Away it quickly weares, that resteth on the sandes:
Dame Vertue is the rocke, that yeeldes assured stay,
Dame Fortune is the sand, tha skoureth soone away:
Choose that is certaine, let thinge vncertayne passe,
Preferre the precious gold, before the brittle glasse.
Sly Fortune hath her slightes, she plaies vpon the packe,
Looke whom she fauours most, at length she turnes to wracke:
[Page 6]But Vertue simply deales, she shuns deceitful trayne,
Who is by Vertue raysed vp, shall neuer fal agayne:
Sticke fast to Vertue then, that giues assured trust,
And flye from Fortunes frekes, that euer proue vniust
FINIS.
F. K.
15. Promise is debt.
JN my accompt the promise that is vowed,
Among the good is holden such a debt:
As he is thought no whit to be allowed,
That setteth light his promise to forget.
And for my part I will not linke in loue,
With fickle folke whose fancies ought remoue.
My happy gaine I do esteeme for such,
As fewe haue found in these our doubtful dayes:
To find a freend I thinke it be as much,
As to win a fort ful fraught of noble prayse.
Of all the goods that there may be possest,
A faithfull freend I iudge to be the best.
O freendly league although to late begun,
Yet time shall trye our troth as well imployed:
And that we both shall see that we haue won,
Such fastned faith as can not be destroyed.
By enuious rage or slaunders bitter blowe,
That alwayes seekes the good to ouerthrowe.
FINIS.
R. Hill.
16. No words, but deedes.
THE wrong is great, the payne aboue my power,
That yeeldes such care in doubtfull dens to drowne:
Such hap is hard wher Fortune doth so lower,
As freendly looke is turnd to froward frowne.
[Page]Is this the trust that faithfull freendes can finde?
With those that yet haue promise broke?
By deedes in dout, as though no wordes can binde,
A vowed freend to hold him to his yoke.
O faithlesse freend, what can assure your mind,
That doubtes so soone before you haue cause why?
To what hard hap doth Fortune here me bind,
When words nor deedes can no where satisfye.
What can I write? that hath not oft bine saide,
What haue I sayd? that hath not bind affyrmed:
What not approued? that ought to be assayed,
Or what is vowed? that shall not be perfourmed.
Cast of mistrust, in hast no credite giue,
To this or that, that breedeth freendes vnrest:
No doubt at all, but trust me if I liue,
My deedes shall proue, that all is for the best.
And this beleeue, the Sea shall cease to flowe,
The Sunne to shine within the setled skye:
All thinges on earth shall leaue to spring and growe,
Yea euery Foule shall want his winges to flye.
Eare I in thought shall seeme once to retyre,
If you my freend remaine as I desyre:
Nowe lose no time, but vse that while you may,
Forget not this, a dogge shall haue a day.
FINIS.
R. D.
17. He desyreth exchange of life.
THE day delayed, of that I most do wishe,
Wherewith I feede and starue in one degree:
With wish and want still serued in one dishe,
Aliue as dead, by proofe as you may see.
To whom of old this prouerbe wel it serues,
While grasse dooth grow, the selly horse he sterues.
Tweene these extreames thus doo I rome the race,
Of my poore life, this certaynly I know:
Tweene would and want vnwarely that do passe,
More swift then shot out of Archers bow.
As Spider drawes her line all day,
I watch the net, and others haue the pray.
And as by proofe the greedy dogge doth gnawe,
The bared bone all onely for the taste:
So to and fro this lothsome life I draw,
With fancies forst and fed with vaine repast.
Narsissus brought vnto the water brinke,
So aye thirst I, the more that I do drinke.
Loe thus I dye, and yet I seeme not sicke,
With smart vnseene my selfe, my selfe I weare:
With prone desire and power that is not quicke,
With hope aloft now drenched in dispayre.
Trained in trust for no reward assignd,
The more I hast, the more I come behind.
With hurt to heale, in frozen yse to frie,
With losse to laugh, this is a wonderous case:
Fast fetred here, is forst away to flie,
As hunted Hare, that Hound hath in the chase.
With winges and spurres, for all the hast I make,
As like to lose, as for to draw the stake.
The dayes be long that hang vpon desert,
The life is irke of ioyes that be delayed:
The time is short for to requite the smart,
That dooth proceede of promise long vnpayed.
That to the last of this my fainting breath,
I wish exchange of life for happy death.
FINIS.
L. Vaux.
18. Of the instabilitie of youth.
WHEN I looke backe and in my selfe behold,
The wandring wayes that youth could not descry:
And markt the fearful course that youth did hold,
And mette in mind, eache steppe youth strayed a wry.
My knees I bowe, and from my hart I call,
O Lord, forget these faultes and folies all.
For now I see, how voyde youth is of skill,
I see also his prime time and his end:
I doo confesse my faultes and all my ill,
And sorow sore, for that I did offend,
And with a mind repentant of all crimes,
Pardon I aske for youth, ten thousand times.
The humble hart, hath daunted the proud mind,
Eke wysedome hath giuen ignorance a fall:
And wit hath taught, that folly could not find,
And age hath youth, her subiect and her thrall.
Therfore I pray, O Lord of life and truth,
Pardon the faultes committed in my youth.
Thou that diddest graunt the wise-king his request,
Thou that in the Whale, thy prophet didst preserue:
Thou that forgauest the wounding of thy brest,
Thou that didst saue the theefe in state to sterue.
Thou onely God, the giuer of all grace,
Wipe out of mind, the path of youthes vaine race.
Thou that by power, to life didst raise the dead.
Thou that restorest the blind to sight:
Thou that for loue, thy life and loue out bled,
Thou that of fauour, madest the lame goe right.
Thou that canst heale, and helpe in all assayes,
Forgiue the gilth, that grewe in youthes vaine wayes.
And now since I, with faith and doubtlesse mind,
Doo flye to thée by prayer to appease thy yre:
And since that thee I onely seeke to finde,
And hope by faith to attayne my iust desire.
Lord mind no more youthes error and vnskill,
And able age, to doo thy holy will.
FINIS.
L. Vaux.
19.
Most happy is that state alone,
Where words and deedes agree in one.
BY paynted words, the silly simple man,
To trustlesse trap, is trayned now and than:
And by conseyt, of sweete alluring tale,
He bites the baits, that breedes his bitter bale.
To beawties blaze, cast not thy rouing eye:
In pleasant greene, doo stinging serpents lye.
The golden Pill, hath but a bitter tast,
In glittering glasse, a poyson ranckest plaste.
So pleasant wordes, without performing deedes:
May well be deemed to spring of Darnel seedes.
The freendly deede is it, that quickly tryes:
Where trusty faith, and freendly meaning lyes.
That state therefore most happy seemes to be:
Where wordes and deedes, most faithfully agree.
My freend yf thou wilt keepe thy honest name:
Fly from the blot, of barking slaunders blame.
Let not in word thy promise be more large:
Then thou in deede, art willing to discharge.
Abhorred is that false dissembling broode:
That seemes to beare two faces in one hoode.
to say a thing, and not to meane the same:
Wyll turne at length to losse of thy good name.
Wherefore my freend, let double dealing goe:
In stead whereof, let perfect playnenesse flowe.
[Page]Doo thou no more, in idle wordes exceede:
Then thou intendes to doe, in very deede.
So good report, shall spread thy worthy prayse:
For being iust in word and deede alwayes.
You worldly wightes that worldly dooers are:
Before you let your word slip out to farre,
Consider well, what inconuenience springes:
By breache of promise made, in lawfull thinges.
First, God mislikes where such deceit doth swarme:
Next, it renoundeth vnto thy neighboures harme.
And last of all, which is not least of all:
For such offence, thy conscience suffer shall.
As barren groundes, bringes forth but rotten weedes:
From barren words, so fruitlesse chaffe proceedes.
As sauery flowres, doo spring in fertil ground:
So trusty freendes, by tryall soone are found.
To shunne therefore the woorst, that may ensue:
Let deedes alway, approue thy sayings true.
FINIS.
F. K.
20.
Who wyll aspire to dignitie.
By learning must aduaunced be.
THE poore that liue in needy rate, by learning doo great riches gayne:
The rich that liue in welthy state, by learning do their welth maintayne.
Thus rich and poore, are furthered still,
By sacred rules of learned skill.
All fond conceites of franticke youth, the golden gift of learning stayes:
Of doubtfull things to search the truth, learning sets foorth the reddy wayes.
O happy him doo I repute,
Whose brest is fraught with learning fruite.
There growes no corne within the fielde, that Oxe and Plough did neuer tyll,
Right so the mind no fruite can yeeld, that is not lead by learnings skill.
Of ignoraunce comes rotten weedes,
Of learning springes right noble deedes.
Like as the Captayne hath respect, to trayne his souldiers in aray:
So learning doth mans mind direct, by Vertues staffe his life to stay.
Though Freendes and Fortune waxeth skant,
Yet learned men shall neuer want.
You Impes therfore in youth be sure, to fraught your mindes wt learned thinges,
For learning is the fountayne pure, out from the which all glory springes.
Who so therefore will glory win,
With learning first must needes begin.
FINIS.
F. K.
21.
Mans flittyng life findes surest stay.
Where sacred Vertue beareth sway.
THE sturdy Rocke for all his strength, by raging Seas is rent in twayne:
The Marble stone is pearst at length, with little droppes of drifling rayne.
The Oxe dooth yeeld vnto the yoke,
The Steele obeyeth the hammer stroke.
The stately Stagge that seemes so stout, by yalping hounds at bay is set:
The swiftest bird that flees aboue, is caught at length in Fowlers net.
The greatest Fish in deepest Brooke,
Is soone deceiued with subtill hooke.
[...]e man him selfe, vnto whose will, all thinges are bounden to obey:
For all his witte and worthy skill, dooth fade at length and fall away.
There is nothing, but time doth wast,
The Heauens, the Earth, consume at last.
But Vertue sittes triumphing still, vpon the Trone of glorious Fame:
Though spitfull death mans body kill, yet hurtes he not his vertuous name.
By life or death, what so betides,
The state of Vertue, neuer slides.
FINIS.
M. Y.
22. Nothing is comparable vnto a faithfull freend,
SIth this our time of Freendship is so skant,
Sith Freendship now in euery place doth want.
Sith euery man of Freendship is so hollowe,
As no man rightly knowes which way to followe.
Sease not my Muse, sease not in these our dayes,
To ring loude peales, of sacred Freendships prayse.
If men be now, their owne peculier freendes,
And to their neighbours freendship none pertendes.
If men of Freendship shewe them selues so bare,
And of their brethren take no Freendly care.
Forbeare not then my Muse, nor feare not then,
To ring disprayse of these vnfreendly men.
Did man of Freendship know the mighty power?
How great effectes it worketh euery houre.
What store of hidden freendship it retaynes,
How still it powreth forth aboundaunt gaines.
Man would with thee my muse in these our dayes,
Ring out loude peales, of sacred Freendships prayse.
Freendship releeueth mans necessitie,
Freendship, comforteth mans aduersitie.
Freendship augmenteth mans prosperitie,
Freendship preferres man to felicitie.
Then ring my muse, ring out in these our dayes,
Ring out loude peales, of sacred freendships prayse.
Of Freendship, growes loue and charitie,
By Freendship, men are linked in amitie:
From Freendship springeth all commoditie,
The fruite of Freendship, is fidelitie.
Oh ring my muse, ring out in these our dayes,
Peale vpon peale, of sacred Freendships prayse.
That man with man, true freendship may embrace,
That man to man, may shew a freendly face:
That euery man, may sow such freendly seedes,
As freendship may be found in freendly deedes.
And ioyne with thee my Muse in these our dayes,
To ring loud peales of sacred Freendships prayse.
FINIS.
F. K.
23. Remember thy ende.
TO be as wise as CATO was, or rich as CRESVS in his life:
To haue the strength of Hercules, which did subdue by force or strife.
What helpeth it when Death doth call,
The happy ende exceedeth all.
The Rich may well the Poore releeue, the Rulers may redresse each wrong:
The learned may good counsell giue, but marke the end of this my song:
Who doth these thinges, happy they call,
Their happy end exceedeth all.
The happiest end, in these our dayes, that all do seeke, both small and great:
Is ey [...]ther for Fame, or els for Prayse, or who may sitte in highest seate.
But of these thinges, hap what hap shall,
The happy end exceedeth all.
A good beginning ought we see, but seeldome standing at one stay:
For few do like the meane degree, then prayse at parting some men say.
The thinges wherto each wight is thrall,
The happy end exceedeth all.
The meane estate, that happy life, which liueth vnder gouernance:
Who seekes no hate, nor breedes no strife, but takes in worth his happy chance.
If contentation him befall,
His happy end exceedeth all.
The longer-life that we desire, the more offence doth dayly grow:
The greater payne it doth require, Except the Iudge some mercy shew.
Wherfore I thinke and euer shall,
The happy end exceedeth all.
FINIS.
D. S.
24.
He perswadeth his freend,
from the fond Affectes of loue.
WHY art thou bound & maist go fre, shal reason yeld to raging wil?
Is thraldom like to libertye? wilt thou exchange thy good for ill?
Then shalt thou learne a childish play, and of each part to tast and proue:
The lookers on shall iudge and say, loe this is he that liues by loue.
Thy wittes with thoughts, shall stand at stay, thy head shall haue but heauy rest.
Thy eyes shal watch for wanton prayes, thy tongue shall shew thy harts request.
Thy eares shall heare a thousand noyse, thy hand shall put thy pen to payne:
And in the ende, thou shalt disprayse, thy life so spent, for such small gaine.
If loue and list might euer cope, or youth might runne in reasons race:
Or if strong sute might win sure hope, I would lesse blame a louers case.
For loue is hotte, with great desire, and sweete delight makes youth so fond,
That little sparkes will proue great fyre, and bring free harts to endlesse bond.
First count the care and then the cost, and marke what fraude in faith is found:
Then after come and make thy bost, and shew some cause why thou art bound.
For when the wine doth runne full low, you shall be faine to drinke the lies:
And eate the flesh ful well I know, that hath ben blowne with many flies.
We see where great deuotion is, the people kneele and kisse the crosse:
And though we find small fault of this, Yet some will gilld a bridles bosse.
A foole his bable will not change, not for the septer of a king,
A louers life is nothing strange, for youth delightes none other thing.
FINIS.
Tho. Churchyard.
25. Wanting his desyre he complayneth.
THe sayling ships with ioy at length, doo touch their long desired port,
The hewing axe the Oke doth wast, the battring Canon breakes the fort.
Hard hagard haukes stoope to the lure, wild coltes in time the bridle tames:
There is nothing so out of vre, but to his kind long time it frames.
Yet this I find in time, no time can winne my sute,
Though oft the tree I climbe, I can not catch the fruite.
And yet the pleasant branches oft, in yeelding wise to me do bow,
When I would touch they spring aloft, soone are they gone I wot not how
Thus I present the fleeting floode, like Tantalus in hel below,
Would God my case shee vnderstoode, whirh can full soone releeue my woe
Which if to her were knowen, the fruite were surely mine,
She would not let me grone, and brouse vpon the rine.
But if my ship with tackle torne, with rented sailes must needs retire.
And streame and wind hath plainly sworn, by force to hinder my desire
Like one yt stricks vpon ye rocks, my wearie wracke I shoulde bewayle
And learn to knowe false fortunes mockes, who smiles on me to small auaile.
Yet sith she onely can, my rented ship restore,
To helpe her wracked man, but once I seeke no more.
FINIS.
M. Ewardes.
26. Trye before you truste.
IN freendes are found a heape of doubts, that double dealing vse,
A swarme of such I could find out, whose craft I can accuse:
A face for loue, a hart for hate, these faigned freendes can beare,
A tongue for troth, a head for wyles, to hurt each simple eare.
In humble port, is poyson pact, that plainenesse can not spie.
Which creadites all, and can not see, where stinging serpents lye.
Through hastie trust, the harmelesse heart, is easely hampred in,
And made beleeue it is good gold, when it is lead and tin.
The first deceit that bleares myne eyes, is faigned faith profest,
The second trappe is grating talke, that gripes each strangers brest.
The third deceite is greeting wordes, with colours painted out,
Which bids suspect to feare no smart, nor dread no dangerous doubt.
The fourth, and last is long repaire, which creepes in freendships lap,
And dayly hauntes, that vnder trust, deuiseth many a trap.
Loe how false freendes can frame a fetch, to win the will with wils,
To sauce their slightes with sugred sops, and shadow harme wt smiles.
To serue their lustes, are sundry sorts, by practise diuers kindes,
Some carries honnie in their mouthes, and venime in their mindes.
Mee thinkes the stones within the streetes, should cry out in this case,
And euery one that doth them meete, should shunne their double face.
FINIS.
D. S.
27. A Lady forsaken complayneth.
JF pleasures be in paynfulnes? in pleasures dooth my body rest,
If ioyes accord with carefulnes? a ioyful hart is in my brest:
If prison strong is libertie? in libertie long haue I bene,
If ioyes accord with miserye? who can compare a life to mine.
Who can vnbind yt is sore bound? who can make free yt is sore thrall,
Or how can any meanes be found to comfort such a wretch withall.
None can, but he yt hath my hart, conuert my paynes to comfort then.
Yet since his seruant I became, most like a bondman haue I beene:
Since first in bondage I became, my words & deedes were euer such,
That neuer once he could me blame, except from louing him too much.
Which I can iudge no iust offence, nor cause that I deserue disdaine,
Except he mean through false pretence, through forged loue to make a train.
Nay, nay, alas, my fained thoughts, my frēded & my fained ruth
My pleasures past my present plaints, shew wel I mean but to much truth
But since I can not him attain, against my wil I let him goe.
And lest he glory at my paine, I will attempt to cloke my woe.
Youth, learn by me, but do not proue, for I haue proued to my paine,
What greeuous griefes do grow by loue, & what it is to loue in vaine.
FINIS.
M. D.
28. Finding worldly ioyes but vanities, he wisheth death.
FOrlorne in filthy froward fate, wherin a thousand cares I find,
By whom I do lament my state, annoid with fond afflicted minde
A wretch in woe, and dare not cry,
I liue, and yet I wish to dye.
The day in dole, that semeth long, I pas with sighes & heauy cheere.
And with these eyes I vewe the wrong, that I sustain by liuing here:
Where my mishaps as rife doo dwell,
As plagues within the pit of hell.
A wailing wight I walke alone, in desart dennes there to complaine,
Among the sauage sort to mone, I flee my freends wher they remain:
And pleasure take to shun the sight,
Where erst I felt my great delight.
[Page 12]A captaine clapt in chaynes of care, lapt in the lawes of lethal loue,
My flesh and bones consumed bare, wt crauling greefes full strange to proue:
Though hap doth bid me hope at least,
Whyles grasse doth grow, yet starues the beast.
A seeged fort with forrain force, for want of ayde, must yeeld at last,
So must my weried pined corse, submit it selfe to bitter tast:
Of crauling care, that carkes my brest,
Till hope or death, shall breede my rest.
FINIS.
F. M.
29. A replie to M. Edwards MAY.
J Read a maying rime of late delighted much my eare,
It may delight as many moe, as it shall reade or heare.
To see how there is shewed, how May is much of price,
And eake to May when that you may, euen so is his aduice.
It seemes he meant to may himselfe, and so to vse his skill,
For that the time did serue so well, in May to haue his will.
His onely May was ease of mind, so farre as I can gesse,
And that his may his mind did please, a man can iudge no lesse.
And as himselfe did reape the fruites, of that his pleasant May,
He wils his freende the same to vse, in time when as he may.
He is not for him selfe it seemes, but wisheth well to all,
For yt he would they should, take May in time when it doth fall.
So vse your May, you may, it can not hurtful be,
And May well vsed in time and place, may make you mery gle:
Modest maying mettest is, of this you may be suer,
A modest maying quietnes, to Mayers doth procure.
Who may and will not take, may wish he had so done,
Who may and it doth take, may thinke he tooke too sone.
So ioyne your May with wisedomes lore, and then you may be suer,
Who makes his May in other sort, his vnrest may procuer.
Some May before May come, some May when May is past,
Some make their May to late, and some doe May posthast.
Let wisedome rule I say your May, and thus I make anende,
And May, that when you list to May, a good may God you sende.
FINIS.
M. S.
30. Hauing marryed a worthy Lady, and taken away by death, he complayneth his mishap.
JN youth when I at large did lead, my life in lusty libertie,
When heuy thoughts no one did spread, to let my pleasant fantasy:
No fortune seemd, so hard could fall,
This freedome then, that might make thrall.
And twentie yeeres I skarse had spent, whē to make ful my happy fate
Both treasures great were on me cast, with lands & titles of estate:
So as more blest then I, stoode than,
Eke as me thought was neuer man.
For of Dame Fortune who is he, could more desire by iust request,
Then health, with wealth, and liberty, al which at once I this possest:
But masking in this ioly ioy,
A soden syght, prooud al a toy.
For passing on these mery dayes, wt new deuice of pleasures great,
And now and then to view ye rayes of beauties works wt cunning feat:
In heauenly hewes, all which as one,
I oft behelde, but bound to none.
And one day rowling thus my eyes, vpon these blessed wights at ease,
Amongst ye rest one did I se, who straight my wādring lokes did sease:
And stayed them firme, but such a sight,
Of beauty yet saw neuer wight.
What shal I seke to praise it more, wher tongs cannot wel praise ye sāe
But to be short to louers lore, I straight my sences all did frame:
And were it wit, or were it chaunce,
I woonne the Garland in this daunce.
And thus wher I before had thought, no hap my fortūe might encrese
A double blis this chāce forth brought, so did my ladies loue me please
Her faith so firme, and constant such,
As neuer hart, can praise too much,
But now with torments strange I tast, ye fickle stay of fortunes whele,
And where shee raised from high to cast, with greater force of grefe to feele:
For from this hap of soden frowne,
Of Princes face she threw me downe,
[Page 13]And thus exchange now hath it made, by liberty a thing most deare,
In hateful prison for to fade, where sundred from my louing feare,
My wealth and health, stands at like stay,
Obscurely to consume away.
And last when humain force was none, could part our loue wherin we liued,
My ladies life alas is gon, most cruel death hath it bereued:
Whose vertues, her, to God, hath wonne,
And left me here, a man vndone.
FINIS.
F. G.
31. A worthy ditie, song before the Queenes Maiestie at Bristowe.
MIstrust not troth, that truely meanes, for euery ielous freke,
In stead of wrong, condēne not right, no hidden wrath to wreke:
Looke on the light of faultlesse life, how bright her vertues shine,
And measure out her steppes each one, by leuel and by line.
Deeme eche desert by vpright gesse, wherby your prayse shall liue,
If malice would be match with might, let hate no iudgement giue:
Enforce no feare with wresting wittes, in quiet conscience brest.
Lend not your eares to busie tongues, which breedeth much vnrest.
In doubtfull drifts wade not to farre, it weries but the mind,
Seeke not to search the secreat harts, whose thoughts are hard to finde
Auoide from you those hateful heads, that helpes to heape mishap,
Be slow to heare the flatterers voice, that creepeth in your lap.
Embrace their loue that wills you good, and sport not at their prayse,
Trust not too much vnto your selfe, for feeble are your stayes:
How can your seate be setled faste, or stand on stedfast ground,
so propped vp with hollow harts, whose surety is vnsound.
Giue faith to those that feare for loue, and not that loue for feare,
Regard not them that force compels, to please you euery where:
All this well waid and borne away, shall stablish long your state,
Continually with perfect peace, in spite of pussing hate.
FINIS.
D. S.
32. An Epitaph vpon the death of Syr Edward Saunders. Knight, Lord cheefe Boron of the Exchequer.
YOV Muses weare your mourning weeds, strike on ye fatal Drome
Sound Triton out the trumpe of fame, in spite of Pareas dome.
Distill Parnassus pleasant drops, possesse Pierides plase,
Apollo helpe with dolefull tune, to wayle this wofull case.
Wring hard you hands, waile on you losse, lament the fate that fell,
With sobs and sighes to Saunders say, oh Saunders now farewell.
Whom Phaebus fed with Pallas pappe, as one of Sibils seede,
Loe here where death did rest his corpes, the vermine foule to feede.
Whom Impes of Ioue with Necter sweete, long in Libethres noursht,
Behold how dreadful death him brought, to yt whence he came first.
Lycurgus he for learned lawes, Rhadamanthus race that ranne,
Another Nestor for aduise, Zalucus fame that wanne.
A Damon deare vnto his freend, in faith like Phocion found,
A Cato that could counsel giue, to prince a subiect sound.
Not Athens for their Solon sage, not Rome for Numa waile,
As we for Saunders death haue cause, in fods of teares to saile.
Not Sparta card for Chilos death, ne proud Prienna prest,
To weepe for Bias as we wayle, for Saunders late possest.
His learned pathes his talentes rare, so now by death appeares,
As he that Salomon sought to serue, in prime and youthful yeeres,
His counsel sad, his rules, his lawes, in country soyle so wrought,
As though in Cuma he had benn, of sage Sibilla taught.
His vertuous life was such I say, as Vertue did embrace,
By Vertue taught in Vertues schoole, to grow in vertues race.
Might tender babes, might orphants weak, might widows rere yt cry,
The sound thereof shoulde pearce the cloudes, to skale ye empire sky.
To bid the gods to battel bend, and to dissend in sight,
Though ffarre vnfit, and mates vnmeete, with mortal men to fight.
Too late (alas) we wish his life, to soone deceiued vs Death.
Too little wit we haue to seeke, the dead agayne to breath.
What helplesse is, must carelesse be, as Natures course doth shewe,
For death shal reape what life hath sowen, by nature this we know.
What is be come of Priamus state, where is Periander proude:
Hector, Hanno, Hanibal, dead, Pompei, Pirrhus spild,
Scipio, Cirus, Caesar slaine, and Alexander kild.
So long there Fortune fast did floe, and charged Fame to sound,
Tyll frowning Fortune foyld by fate, which fawning fortune found:
Shun Fortunes feates, shake fortune of to none is fortune sound,
Sith none may say of Fortune so, I Fortune faithful found.
Beholde where Fortune flowed so fast, and fauoured Saunders lure,
Till fickle Fortune false again did Saunders death procure.
Lo clothed could in cloddes of clay, in drossy dust remaine,
By fate returnd from whence he came, to his mothers wombe againe.
Who welnigh thirtie yeeres was Iudge, before a Iudge dyd fall,
And iudged by that mighty Iudge, which Iudge shall iudge vs all.
The heauens may of right reioyce, and earth may it bewayle,
Sith heauen wan, and earth hath lost, the guide and arke of vaile.
There gaine is much, our losse is great, there mirth our mone is such,
That they may laugh as cause doo yeeld, and we may weepe as much:
O happy he, vnhappy we, his hap doth aye encrease,
Happy he, and haplesse we, his hap shall neuer cease.
We liue to dye, he dyed to liue, we want, and he possest,
We bide in bands, he bathes in blisse, the Gods aboue him blest.
Being borne to liue, he liued to dye, and dyed to God so plaine,
That birth, that life, that death, doo shew, that he shall liue againe:
His youth to age, his age to death, his death to fame applied,
His fame to time, his time to God, thus Saunders liued and dyed.
O happy life, O happier death, O tenne times happy he,
Whose hap it was, such hap to haue, a Iudge this age to be.
Oh ioyfull time, oh blessed soyle, where Pallas rules with witte,
O noble state, O sacred seate, where Saba sage dooth sitte.
Like Susan sound, like Sara sad, with Hesters mace in hand,
With Iudiths sword Bellona like, to rule this noble land.
I had my will, you haue your wish, I laugh, reioyce you may,
I wan now much, you gaine no lesse, to see this happy day.
Wherein I dyed, wherein you liue, Oh treble happy cost,
Wherein I ioyed in glory great, wherin you triumpth most.
[Page]Kneele on your knees, knock hard your brests, sound forth ye ioyful drome
Clap loude your handes, sound Eccho say, the golden world is come.
Reioyce you Iudges may of right, your mirth may now be such,
As neuer earst you Iudges had, in England mirth so much.
Here Cuma is, here Sibill raignes, on Delphos seat to sitte,
Here shee like Phaebus rules, that can Gordius knot vnknitte.
I liued to nature long ynough, I liued to honor much,
I liued at wish, I died at will, to see my country such.
As neither needes it Numas lawes, nor yet Apollos sweard,
For Mauger Mars, yet Mars shalbe of this our Queene afeard.
O peerlesse pearle, O Diamond deer, O Queene of Queenes farwell,
Your royall maiestie God preserue in England long to dwell.
Farwell the Phaenix of the world, farwel my soueraigne Queene,
Farwel most noble vertuous prince, Mineruas mate I weene.
No Iuel, Gemme, no Gold to giue, no pearles from Pactolus lo,
No Persian Gaze, no Indian stones, no Tagus sands to show.
But faith and will to natiue soyle a liue and dead I find,
My hart my mind, my loue I leaue vnto my prince behind.
Farwel you nobles of this land, farwel you Iudges graue,
Farwel my felowes, frends and mates, your Queene I say God saue.
What rise in time, in time doth, fal, what floweth in time doth ebbe,
What liues in time, in time shall dye, and yeelde to Parcas webbe.
The sunne to darknes shalbe turnd, the starres from skies shall fall.
The Moone to blood, the world with fire shalbe consumed all.
As smoke or vapour vanish streight, as bubbles rise and fall.
As clowdes do passe or shadow shiftes we liue, we dye so all.
Our pompe our pride, our triump moste, our glory great herein,
Like shattering shadow passe away, as though none such had bin.
Earth, water, ayre, and fire, as they were earst before,
A lumpe confused, and Chaos calld, so shall they once be more,
And all to earth, that came from earth, and to the graue descend,
For earth on earth, to earth shall goe, and earth shall be the end.
As Christ ascended vp in clowdes, so Christ in clowdes shall come,
To iudge both good and bad on earth, at dreadful day of dome.
From whence our flesh shall rise again, euen from the drossy dust,
And so shall passe I hope, vnto the mansion of the iust.
FINIS.
Lodowick LLoyd.
33. His good name being blemished, he bewayleth.
FRamd in the front of forlorne hope, past all recouery.
I stayles stand tab ide the shocke of shame and infamy.
My life through lingring long is lodge, in lare of lothsome wayes.
My death delayd to keepe from life, the harme of haplesse dayes:
My sprites, my hart, my witte and force, in deepe destresse are dround,
The onely losse of my good name, is of these greefes the ground.
And since my mind, my wit, my head, my voyce, and tongue are weake:
To vtter, mooue, deuise, conceaue, sound forth, declare, and speake:
Such pearsing plaintes, as aunswere might, or would my wofull case,
Helpe craue I must, and craue I will, with teares vpon my face:
Of all that may in heauen or hell, in earth or ayre be found,
To waile with me this losse of mine, as of these greefes the ground.
Helpe gods, helpe saintes, helpe sprits & powers, yt in ye heauen do dwell,
Helpe ye the are to waile aye woont, ye howling houndes of hell:
Helpe man, helpe beasts, helpe birds, & wormes, that on ye earth doth toile
Helpe fishe, helpe foule, that flockes and feedes vpon the salt sea soyle.
Helpe eccho that in ayre doth flee, shril voyces to resound,
To waile this losse of my good name, as of these greefes the ground.
FINIS.
E. O.
34. Of Fortunes power.
POlicrates whose passing hap, causd him to lose his fate,
A golden ring cast in the seas to change his constant state,
And in a fish yet at his bourd, the same he after found,
Thus Fortune loe, to whom she takes, for bountie doth abound.
The myzers vnto might she mounts, a common case we see,
And mighty to great misery, she sets in low degree:
Whom she to day doth reare on hie, vpon her whirling wheele,
To morrow next shee dingeth downe, and casteth at her heele.
[Page]No measure hath shee in her gifts, shee doth reward each sort.
The wise that counsell haue, no more, then fooles that maketh sport.
She vseth neuer partiall handes, for to offend or please,
Geue me good Fortune al men sayes, and throw me in the seas.
It is no fault or worthines, that makes men fall or rise,
I rather be borne Fortunate, then to be very wise.
The blindest man right soone, that by good Fortune guided is,
To whom that pleasant Fortune pipes, can neuer daunce amis.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
36.
Though Triumpth after bloudy wars, the greates brags do beare.
Yet Triumph of a conquered mind, the crowne of fame shall weare.
WHo so doth marke the carelesse life, of these vnhappy dayes,
And sees what smal and slender hold, the state of vertue stayes,
He findes, that this accursed trade, proceedeth of this ill,
That men be giuen too much to yeeld, to their vntamed will,
In lacke of taming witlesse wil, the poore we often see,
Enuies the rich, because that he, his equal cannot be:
The rich aduauncd to might by wealth, from wrong doth not refraine,
But will oppresseth weaker sort, to heape excessiue gaine.
If Fortune were so blind to giue to one man what he wil,
A world would not suffice the same, if he might haue his fill:
We wish, we search, we striue for all, and haue no more therein,
Then hath the slaue, when deth doth come, though Cresus welch he win.
In getting much, we get but care, such brittle wealth to keepe,
The rich within his walles of stone, doth neuer soundly sleepe:
When poore in weake and slender house, do feare no losse of wealth,
And haue no further care but this, to keepe themselues in health.
Affection may not hide the sword of sway in iudgement seate,
Least partiall fauor execute, the law in causes greate:
[Page 16]But if the mind in constant state, affection quite do leaue,
The higher state shall haue their rights, the poore no wrong receaue.
It is accompted greater prayse to Caesers loftie state,
Against his vanquist foes, in warres to bridle wrekeful hate:
Then when to Rome he had subdued the people long vnknowne,
Whereby as farre as land was found, the same abrode was blowne.
If honor can selfe will refuse, and iustice be vpright.
And priuate state desires but that, which good appeares in sight:
Then vertue shall with soueraigne show, to euery eye reueale,
A heauenly life, a wealeful state, a happy common weale.
Let vertue then the triumph win, and gouern all your deedes,
Your yeelding to her sober heastes, immortall glory breedes:
Shee shall vpreare your worthy name, shining into the skies,
Her beames shall blaze in graue obscure, where shrined carkasse lyes.
FINIS.
M. Edwards.
37. Of perfect wisedome.
WHo so wil be accompted wise, and truely claime the same,
By ioyning vertue to his deedes, he must atchieue the same:
But few there be, that seeke thereby true wisedome to attaine,
O God so rule our harts therfore, such fondnesse to refraine.
The wisedome which we most esteeme, in this thing doth consist,
With glorious talke to shew in words, our wisedome when we list.
Yet not in talke, but seemely deedes, our wisedome we should plase,
To speake so faire, and doe but ill, doth wisedome quite disgrace,
To bargaine well, and shunne the losse, a wisedome counted is,
And thereby through the greedy coyne, no hope of grace to mis:
To seeke by honor to aduaunce his name to brittle prayse,
Is wisedome, which we dayly see, increaseth in our dayes.
But heauenly wisedome sower seemes to hard for them to win,
And weary of the sute they seeme, when they do once begin:
It teacheth vs to frame our life, while vitall breath we haue,
When it dissolueth earthly masse, the soule from death to saue.
By feare of God to rule our steppes, from sliding into vice,
A wisedome is, which we neglect, although of greater price:
A poynt of wisedome also this, we commonly esteeme,
That euery man should be in deede, that he desires to seeme.
To bridle that desire of gaine, which forceth vs to ill,
Our hauty stomackes Lord represse, to tame presuming will:
This is the wisedome that we should, aboue each thing desire,
O heauenly God from sacred throne, that grace in vs inspire.
And print in our repugnant harts, the rules of wisedome true,
That all our deedes in worldly life, may like therof insue:
Thou onely art the liuing spring, from whome this wisedome flowes,
O wash therwith our sinful harts, from vice that therin growes.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes:
38. A freendly admonition.
YE stately wightes, that liue in quiet rest,
Through worldly wealth, which God hath giuen you.
Lament with teares and sighes from doleful brest:
The shame and power that vice obtaineth now.
Behold how God doth dayly profer grace,
Yet we disdayne repentance to embrace.
The suddes of sinne do soke into the mind,
And cancred vice doth vertue quite expel:
No change to good alas can resting finde,
Our wicked harts so stoutly do rebel.
Not one there is that hasteth to amend,
Though God from heauen his dayly threates downe send.
We are so slow to change our blameful life,
We are so prest to snach aluring vice:
Such greedy harts on euery side be rife,
So few that guide their will by counsel wise,
To let our teares lament the wretched case,
And call to God for vndeserued grace.
You worldy wightes, that haue your fancies fixt,
On slipper ioy of terreine pleasure here:
Let some remorse in all your deedes be mixt,
Whiles you haue time let some redresse appeare.
Of sodaine death the houre you shall not know,
And looke for Death although he seemeth slow.
Oh be no iudge in other mens offence,
But purge thy selfe and seeke to make thee free,
Let euery one apply his diligence,
A change to good within him selfe to see.
O God direct our feete in such a stay,
From cancred vice to shun the hateful way.
FINIS.
R. Hill.
39. Sundry men sundry affectes.
JN euery wight some sundry sort of pleasure I do find,
Which after trauaile he doth seeke to ease his toyling minn.
Diana with her trayning chase, of hunting had delight,
Against the fearful Deare, she could direct her shotte aright.
The lofty yeeres in euery age, doth stil embrace the same,
The sport is good, if vertue doo assist the cheereful game.
Minerua in her chattering armes her courage doth aduaunce,
In trial of the bloudy wars, she giueth luckie chaunce.
For sauegard men imbrace the same, which do so needful seeme
That noble harts their cheefe delightes in vse thereof esteeme,
In warlike games to ride or trye the force of armes they vse,
And base the man we do account that doth the same refuse.
The siluer sound of musickes cordes, doth please Apollos wit,
A science which the heauens aduaunce, where it deserues to sit,
A pleasure apt for euery wight, celeefe to careful mind,
For woe redresse, for care a salue, for sadnes helpe we find.
The soueraigne praise of Musicke stil, doth cause the Poets faine.
That whirling Spheres, and eake the heauens do hermonie retaine.
I hard, that these three powers, at variance lateli fel,
Whiles each did prayse his owne delight, the other to excel.
Then Fame, as an indifferent iudge, to end the case they call,
The praise pronounced by her to them, indifferently doth fall.
Diana health and strength maintaine, Minerua force doth tame,
And Musicke giues a sweete delight, to further others game.
These three delightes to hawtie mindes the worthiest are estemed,
If vertue be annexed to them, they rightly be so deemed.
With ioy they do reuiue the witte with sorow oft opprest,
And neuer suffer solempne greefe to long in mind to rest.
Be wise in mirth, and seeke delight, the same doe not abuse,
In honest mirth a happy ioy we ought not to refuse.
FINIS.
R. Hill.
40. Of a Freend and a Flatterer.
A Trustie frend is rare to find, a fawning foe may sone be got:
A faithful frend bere stil in mind, but fawning foe regard thou not
A faithful freend no cloke doth craue, to colour knauery withal:
But Sicophant a Goun must haue, to beare a port what ere befal.
A nose to smel out euery feast, a brasen face to set it out:
A shamles child or homly geast, whose life doth like to range about.
A fauning foe while wealth doth last, a thefe to rob and spoile his freend:
As strong as oke til wealth doth last, but rotten sticke doth proue in the end
Looke first, then leape, beware the mire:
Burnt Child is warnd to dread the fire.
Take heede my freend, remember this.
Short horse (they say) soone curried is.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
41. Of sufferaunce commeth ease.
TO seeme for to reuenge each wrong in hasty wise,
By proofe of guiltlesse men, it hath not bene the guise.
In slaunders lothsome brute, where they condemned be,
With ragelesse moode they suffer wrong, where truth shal try them free.
These are the pacient pagnes, that passe within the brest,
Of those, that feele their cause by mine, where wrong hath right opprest.
I know how by suspect, I haue bene iudgd awry,
And graunted gilty in the thing, that clerely I deny.
My faith may me defend, if I might loued be,
God iudge me so, as from the guilt I know me to be free.
I wrote but for my selfe, the griefe was all mine owne,
As, who would proue extremitie, by proofe it might be knowne.
Yet are there such, that say they can my meaning deeme,
Without respect of this olde troth, things proue not as they seeme.
Whereby it may befall, in iudgement to be quicke,
To make them selues suspect therewith, that needed not to kicke.
Yet in resisting wrong, I would not haue it thought,
I do amisse, as though I knew by whom it might be wrought.
If any such there be, that herewithall be vext,
It were their vertue to beware, and deeme me better next.
L. Vaux.
43. All thinges are Vaine:
ALthough the purple morning, bragges in brightnes of the sunne,
As though he had of chased night, a glorious conquest wonne:
The time by day, giues place againe to force of drowsie night,
And euery creature is constraind to change his lusty plight.
Of pleasures all, that here we taste:
We feele the contrary at laste.
In spring, though pleasant Zephirus, hath fruteful earth inspired,
And nature hath each bush, each branch, with blossomes braue attired:
Yet fruites and flowers, as buds and blomes ful quickly withered be,
When stormie winter comes to kill, the sommers iolitie.
By time are got, by time are lost,
All thinges wherin we pleasure most.
[Page]Although the Seas so calmely glide, as daungers none appeare,
And dout of stormes, in skie is none, king Phaebus shines so cleare:
Yet when the boistrous windes breake out, and raging waues do swel,
The seely barke now heaues to heauen, now sinckes againe to hel.
Thus change in euery thing we see,
And nothing constant seemes to be.
Who floweth most in worldly wealth of welth is most vnsure,
And he that cheefely tastes of ioy, doth sometime woe endure:
Who vaunteth most of numbred freendes, forgoe them al he must,
The fairest flesh and liuelest bloud, is turnd at length to dust.
Experience giues a certen ground,
That certen here, is nothing found.
Then trust to that which aye remaines, the blisse of heauens aboue,
Which Time, nor Fate, nor Wind, nor Storme, is able to remoue,
Trust to that sure celestial rocke, that restes in glorious throne,
That hath bene, is, and must be stil, our anker hold alone.
The world is but a vanitie,
In heauen seeke we our suretie.
FINIS.
F. K.
44. A Vertuous Gentlewoman in the praise of hir loue.
J Am a Virgin faire and free, and freely doe reioyce,
I sweetely warble sugred notes, from siluer voyce:
For which delightful ioyes, yet thanke I curtesie loue,
By whose almighty power, such sweete delightes I proue.
I walke the pleasant fieldes, adornd with liuely greene,
And view the fragrant flowers, most louely to be seene:
The purple Columbine, the Couslippe and the Lillie,
The Violet sweete, the Daizie and Daffadillie.
The Wodbines on the hedge, the red Rose and the white,
And each fine flowres els, that rendreth sweete delight:
Among the which I choose, al those of seemeliest grace,
In thought, resembling them to my deare louers face.
His louely face I meane, whose golden flouring giftes,
His euer liuing Fame, to loftye skie vpliftes:
Whom louing me I loue, onely for vertues sake,
When vertuously to loue, al onely care I take.
Of al which fresh faire flowers, that flower that doth appeare,
In my conceit most like to him I hold so deare:
I gather it, I kisse it, and eake deuise with it,
Such kind of louely speach, as is for louers fit.
And then of all my flowres, I make a garlond fine,
With which my golden wyer heares, togither I do twine:
And sette it on my head, so taking that delight,
That I would take, had I my louer stil in sight.
For as in goodly flowres, mine eyes great pleasure find,
So are my louers giftes most pleasant to my mind:
Vpon which vertuous giftes, I make more sweete repast,
Then they that for loue sportes, the sweetest ioyes do tast.
FINIS.
F. K.
45. Oppressed with sorow he wisheth death.
JF Fortune may enforce, the careful hart to cry
And griping griefe constraine, the wounded wight lament:
Who then alas to mourne, hath greater cause then I,
Against whose hard mishap, both Heauen and earth is bent.
For whom no helpe remaines, for whom no hope is left,
From whom all happy happ is fled, and pleasure quite bereft.
Whose life nought can prolong, whose health, nought can procure.
Whose passed proofe of pleasant ioy,
Mischaunce hath chaunged to greefes anoy:
And loe, whose hope of better day,
Is ouer whelmd with long delay.
Oh hard mishap.
[Page]Each thing I plainly see, whose vertues may auaile,
To ease the pinching paine, which gripes the groning wyght:
By Phisicks sacred skill, whose rule doth seldome fayle,
Through labours long inspect, is playnly brought to light.
I know, there is no fruite, no leafe, no roote, no rind,
No hearbe, no plant, no iuyce, no gumme, no metal deepely mind:
No Pearle, no precious stone, ne Ieme of rare effect,
Whose vertues, learned Gallens bookes, at large do not detect.
Yet al their force can not appease,
The furious fittes of my disease:
Nor any drugge of phisickes art,
Can ease the greefe that gripes my hart.
Oh strange disease.
I heare the wise affirme, that Nature hath in store,
A thousand secrete salues, which Wisedome hath out found:
To coole the scorching heate of euery smarting sore,
And healeth deepest scarce, though greeuous be the wound.
The auncient prouerbe sayes, that none so festred greefe,
Doth grow, for which the gods them selues, haue not ordayned releefe.
But I by proofe do know, such prouerbs to be vaine,
And thinke that nature neuer knew the plague that I sustaine.
And so not knowing my distresse,
Hath left my greefe remedilesse:
For why, the heauens for me prepare,
To liue in thought, and dye in care.
Oh lasting paine.
By chaunge of ayre I see, by hant of healthful soyle,
By dyet duely kept, grose humors are expeld:
I know that greefes of mind, and inwards harts turmoile,
By faithful freendes aduise, in time may be repeld.
Yet al this nought auailes, to kil that me anoyes,
I meane to stop these flouds of care that ouerflow my ioyes.
No none exchange of place, can change my lucklesse lot,
Like one I liue, and so must dye, whom Fortune hath forgot.
No counsel can preuaile with mee,
Nor sage aduise with greefe agree:
[Page 20]For he that feeles the panges of hel,
Can neuer hope in heauen to dwel.
Oh deepe despaire.
What liues on earth but I, whose trauaile reapes no gaine,
The wearied Horse and Oxe, in stal and stable rest:
The Ante with sommers toyle beares out the winters paigne,
The fowle that flyes al day, at night returnes to rest.
The Ploughmans weary worke, amid the winters mire,
Rewarded is with sommers gaine, which yeeldes him double hire:
The silly laboring soule, which drudges from day to day,
At night his wages truely payd, contented goth his way.
And comming home, his drowsie head,
He cowcheth close in homely bed:
Wherein no sooner downe he lyes,
But sleepe hath straight possest his eyes,
Oh happy man.
The Souldier biding long the brunt of mortall warres,
Where life is neuer free, from dint of deadly foyle:
At last comes ioyful home, though mangled all with scarres,
Where frankly, voyde of feare, he spends the gotten spoyle.
The Pirate lying long, amid the fooming floods,
With euery flaw in hazard is to loose both life and goods:
At length findes view of land, where wished Porte he spies,
Which once obtained, among his mates, he partes the gotten prise,
Thus euery man, for trauaile past,
Doth reape a iust reward at last:
But I alone, whose troubled mind,
In seeking rest, vnrest doth find.
Oh lucklesse lotte.
Oh cursed caitife wretch, whose heauy hard mishappe,
Doth wish tenne thousand times, that thou hadst not ben borne:
Since fate hath thee condemned, to liue in sorrowes lappe,
Where waylings waste thy life, of all redresse forlorne.
What shal thy griefe appease? who shal thy torment stay?
Wilt thou thy selfe, with murthering hands, enforce thy owndecay?
No, farre be thou from me, my selfe to stoppe my breath,
The gods forbid, whom I beseech, to worke my ioyes by death.
[Page]For lingring length of lothsome life,
Doth stirre in me such mortal strife:
That whiles for life and death I cry,
In death I liue, and liuing dye.
Oh froward fate.
Loe here my hard mishap, loe here my strange disease,
Loe here my deepe despaire, loe here my lasting paine:
Loe here my froward fate, which nothing can appease,
Loe here how others toyle, rewarded is with gaine.
While lucklesse, loe I liue, in losse of labours due,
Compeld by proofe of torment strong, my endlesse greefe to rue:
In which, since needes I must, consume both youth and age,
If olde I liue, and that my care no comfort can asswage.
Henceforth I banishe from my brest,
All frustrate hope of future rest,
And trthlesse trust to times reward,
With al respects of ioyes regard.
Here I forsweare.
47.
Where reason makes request, ther wisedome ought supply
With freendly aunswere prest, to grant or els deny.
I Sigh, why so? for sorrowe of her smart.
I morne, wherfore? or greefe that she complaynes:
I pitie, what? her oppressed hart,
I dread what harme? the danger she sustaines.
I greeue whereat? at her oppressing paines.
I feele, what force the fittes of her disease,
Whose harme doth me and her, alike displease.
I hope, what happe? her happy healthes retyre,
I wish, what wealth? no wealth, nor worldly store:
But craue, what craft? by cunning to aspire,
Some skil, whereto? to salue her sickly sore.
What then? why then would I her health restore,
Whose harme me hurtes, how so? so workes my will,
To wish my selfe and her, like good and yll.
What moues thy mind, whereto? to such desire,
Ne force, ne fauour, what then? free fancies choyse:
Art thou to chose? my charter to require,
Each Ladyes loue is fred by custumes voyce,
Yet are there grauntes, the euidence of their choyse.
What then, our freedome is at large in choosing,
As Womens wils is froward in refusing.
Wotes shee thy wil? she knowes what I protest,
Daynde she thy sute? she daungerd not my talke:
Gaue she consent? she graunted my request,
What didst thou craue? the roote, the fruite, the stalke,
I asked them all, what gaue shee, Cheese, or chalke?
That tast must try, what tast? I meane the proofe,
Of freendes, whose wils withhold ther bowe aloofe.
Meanst thou good faith? what els, hopest thou to speede?
Why not, O foole vntaught in carpel trade,
Knowest not what proofes from such delayes proceede,
Wilt thou like headlesse Cocke be caught in glade?
Art thou like asse, too apt for burden made?
Fy, fy, wilt thou for saint adore the shrine?
And woo her freend, eare she be wholy thine?
Who drewes this drift? moued she, or thou this match?
Twas I: oh foole vnware of womens wyles,
Long maist thou waite, like hungry hounde at hatch,
She crafty Foxe, the seely Goose beguiles.
Thy sute is shaped so fit for long delay,
That she at wil may chek, from yea to nay.
But in good soothe, tel me her freendes intent:
Best learne it first, their purpose I not know,
Why then thy wil to worse and worse is bent,
Dost thou delight, the vnkindled cole to blow?
Or childlike louest, in anckred bote to rowe,
[Page]What meane these termes? who sith thy sute is such,
Know of or on, or thou afect too much.
No haste but good, why no, the meane is best,
Admit she loue, mislike in lingring growes:
Suppose she is caught, then Woodcocke on thy crest,
Til end approues, what skorneful seedes she sowes.
In loytring loue, such daugers ebbes and flowes,
What helpe herein? why wake in dangerous watch,
That too, nor fro, may make thee marre the match:
Is that the way to end my weary worke?
By quicke dispatch, to lesson long turmoyle,
Well wel, though losse in lingering wontes to lurke,
And I a foole, most fitte to take the foyle:
Yet proofe from promise, neuer shall recoyle.
My words with deedes, and deedes with wordes shall wend,
Til shee or hers, gainsay that I intend.
Art thou so fond? not fond, but firmely fast,
Why foole her freendes wote how thy wil is bent:
Yet thou like doult, whose witte and sence is past,
Sest not what frumpes, do follow thy entent.
Ne know, how loue in lewe of skorne is lent,
Adewe, for sightes such folly should preuent.
Wel wel, their skoffes with scornes might be repayd,
If my requestes were fully yead or nayd,
Wel, wel, let these with wisedomes payse be wayd,
And in your chest of cheefest secreates layd.
FINIS.
‘My lucke is losse.’
48. What ioy to a contented mind.
THe faith that fayles, must needes bethought vntrue,
The freend that faines, who holdeth not vniust,
Who likes that loue, that changeth stil for new:
Who hopes for trueth, where troth is voyde of trust,
No faith, no freend, no loue, no troth so sure,
But rather failes then stedfastly endure.
What head so stayed? that altereth not intent,
What thought so sure? that stedfast doth remaine,
What witte so wise? that neuer needes repent:
What tongue so true? but sometime wonts to faine,
What foote so firme? that neuer treades awrie.
What soner dimde? then sight of clearest eye.
What hart so fixt? but sone enclines to change,
What moode so milde? that neuer moued debate:
What faith so strong, but lightly likes to range,
What loue so true? that neuer lernd to hate.
What life so pure? that lasts, without offence,
What worldly minde? but moues with ill pretence.
What knot so fast? that may not be vntide,
What seale so sure? but fraude or force shall breake:
What prop of stay? but one time shrinkes aside,
What ship so stauche? that neuer had a leke.
What graunt so large? that no exception makes,
What hoped helpe, but freend at neede forsakes.
What seate so high? but low to ground may fall,
What hap so good? that neuer found mislike:
What state so sure? but subiect is to thrall.
What force preuailes? where Fortune list to strik.
What wealth so much? but time may turne to want,
What store so great? but wasting maketh skant.
What profites hope in depth of dangers thrall.
What ruste in time, but waxeth worse and worse:
What helpes good harte, if Fortune froun withall,
What blessing thriues, against heauenly helples curse.
What winnes desire to get and can not gayne,
What botes to wish and neuer to obtaine.
FINIS.
‘My lucke is losse’
47.
Donec eris Felix multos numerabis amicos.
Nullus ad a missus ibit amicus opes.
EVen as the Rauen, the Crow, and greedy Kite,
Do swarming flocke, where carren corpes doth fall:
And tiring teare with beak and talentes might,
Both skin and flesh to gorge their guttes withall.
And neuer cease, but gather moe to moe,
Doe all to pull the carkase to and froe,
Till bared bones at last they leaue behinde,
And seeke elsewhere some fatter foode to find.
Euen so I see, where wealth doth waxe at will,
And Gold doth grow to heapes of great encrease:
There freendes resort, and profering freendship still,
Ful thicke they throng, with neuer ceasing prease.
And slilie make a shewe of true intent,
When nought but guile, and inward hate is ment:
For when mischance shall change such wealth to want,
They packe them thence to place of richer haunt.
FINIS.
‘My lucke is losse.’
49. Amantium irae amoris redinti graciae est.
IN going to my naked bed as one that would haue slept,
I hard a wife sing to her child, that long before had wept:
She sighed sore and sang ful sweete, to bring the babe to rest,
That would not cease but cryed stil, in sucking at her brest.
She was full wearie of her watch, and greeued with her child,
She rocked it and rated it, til that on her it smilde:
Then did she say now haue I found, this prouerbe true to proue,
The falling out of faithfull frends, renuing is of loue.
Then tooke I paper, penne and ynke, this prouerbe for to write,
In regester for to remaine, of such a worthy wight:
As she proceeded thus in song vnto her little bratt,
Much matter vttered she of waight, in place whereas sh [...]e satt.
And proued plaine, there was no beast, nor creature bearing life,
Could well be knowne to liue in loue, without discord and strife:
[Page 23]Then kissed she her little babe, and sware by God aboue,
The falling out of faithfull frendes, renuing is of loue,
She sayd that neither king ne prince, ne lord could liue aright,
Vntil their puissaunce the did proue their manhod and their might.
When manhode shal be matched so, that feare can take no place,
Then weary workes make warriours, each other to embrace,
And leaued their forse that fayled them, which did consume the rout,
That might before haue liued their time, and nature out:
Then did she sing as one that thought, no man could her reproue,
The falling out of faith ful freendes, renuing is of loue.
She sayd she saw no fishe ne foule, nor beast within her haunt,
That mett a stranger in their kind, but could giue it a taunt:
Since fleshe might not endure, but rest must wrath succede,
And forse the fight to fall to play, in pasture where they feede,
So noble nature can well ende, the worke she hath begone,
And bridle well that will not cease, her tragedy in some:
Thus in song she oft reherst, as dyd her wel behoue,
The falling out of faithful frendes, is the renuing of loue.
I meruaile much pardy quoth she, for to behold the route,
To see man, woman, boy & beast, to tosse the world about:
Some knele, some crouch, some beck, some chek, & some can smothly smile
And some embrace others in arme, and there thinke many a wile.
Some stand aloufe at cap and knee, some humble and some stoute,
Yet are they neuer freendes in deede, vntill they once fall out:
Thus ended she her song, and sayd before she did remoue,
The falling out of faithful freends, is the renuing of loue.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
43. Thinke to dye.
THe life is long, which lothsomly doth last,
The doleful dayes draw slowly to their date:
The present panges, and painful plages sorepast,
Yeldes grefe aye grene, to stablish this estate.
[Page]So that I feele in this great storme and strife,
That death is sweete, that shortneth such a life.
And by the stroke of this strange ouerthrowe,
All which conflict in thraldome I was thrust:
The Lord he praysed, I am well taught to know,
From whence man came, and eke whereto he must.
And by the waye, vpon how feeble force.
His terme doth stand, till death doth end his course.
The pleasant yeeres that seemes so sweetely ronne,
The mery dayes to ende, so fast that flete:
The ioyfull wightes, of which dayes drawes so sone,
The happy howres which [...] do misse then mete.
Do all consume as snowe against the Sunne,
And death makes end of all that life begunne.
Since death shall dure till all the world be wast,
What meaneth man to dreade death then so sore?
As man might make, that life should alway last,
Without regard the Lord hath ledde before.
The daunce of death, which all must runne on rowe,
The hower wherin onely himselfe doth knowe.
If man would mind, what burdeins life doth bring,
What greeuous crimes to God he doth commit:
What plagues, what perill thereby spring,
With no sure hower in all his dayes to sit.
He would sure thinke, as with great cause I doe,
The day of death is happier of the two.
Death is the doore whereby we draw to ioy,
Life is the lake that drowneth all in payne:
Death is so dole it seaseth all away,
Life is so leude, that al it yelds is vayne.
And as by life, in bondage man is brought,
Euen so by death is freedome likewise wrought.
Wherefore with Paule let all men wish and pray,
To be disolued of this foule fleshly masse:
Or at the least be armd against the day,
That they be found good souldiers prest to passe.
From life to death, from death to life againe,
And such a life as euer shall remaine.
FINIS.
D. S.
51.
If thou desire to liue in quiet rest,
geue care and se but say the best.
If thou: delight, in quietnes of life,
Desire: to shoun, from bralls, debate and strife,
To liue: in loue with god, with frend and foe,
In rest: shalt sleepe: when others cannot so.
Giue eare: to all, yet doo not all beleeue,
And see: the end, and then do sentence ge eue:
But say: for truth of happy liues assind,
The best: hath he that quiet is in mind.
FINIS.
M. Hunnis.
52. Beeing forsaken of his frend he complaineth.
WHy should I lenger long to liue,
In this desease of fantasie,
Sins fortune doth not cease to giue,
Thinges to my mind most contrarie.
And at my ioyes doth lowre and frowne,
Till she hath tourned them vpsidowne,
A freende I had to me most deere,
And of long time faithfull and iust:
There was no one, my hart so neere,
Nor one in whome I had more trust.
[Page]Whom now of late without cause why,
Fortune hath made my enemy.
The grasse me thinkes should grow in skie,
The starres, vnto the earth cleaue faste:
The water streame should passe awrie,
The winds should leaue their strength of blast.
The Sunne and Moone by one assent,
Should both forsake the firmament.
The fishe in ayre should flye with finne,
The foules in floud, should bring forth fry:
All thinges methinkes should erst beginne,
To take their course vnnaturally.
Afore my frend should alter so,
Without a cause to be my foe:
But such is Fortunes hate I say,
Such is his will on me to wreake:
Such spite he hath at me alway,
And ceasseth not my hart to breake.
With such despite of crueltie,
Wherefore then longer liue should I.
FINIS.
E. S.
53. Prudens. The history of Damacles, & Dionise.
WHo so is set in princely throne, and craueth rule to beare,
Is still beset on euery side, with peril and with feare.
High trees by stormy windes are shakt, and rent vp from the ground,
And flashy flackes of lightning flames on turrets do rebound.
When little shrubs in sauetie lurke, in couert all alowe,
And freshly florish in their kind, what euer wind doe blowe.
The cruel king of Scisili: who searing Barbars hands.
Was wont to sings his beard himselfe, with cole and fire brands.
Hath taught vs this, the proofe whereof, ful plainly we may see,
[Page 25]Was neuer thing more liuely touched, to shewe it so to be.
This king did seeme to Damacles, to be the happiest wight,
Because he thought none like to him, in power or in might.
Who did alone so farre excell the rest in his degree,
As doth the Sunne in brightnes cleare, the darkest starre we see.
Wilt thou (then sayd this cruell king) proue this my present state,
Possesse thou shalt this seate of mine, and so be fortunate.
Ful gladly then this Damacles, this proferd honour tooke,
And shooting at a princely life, his quiet rest forsooke.
In honours seat then was he plast, according to his will,
Forthwith a banquet was prepard, that he might feast his fill.
Nothing did want wherin twas thought, that he could take delite,
To feede his eye, to fill his mouth, or please the appetite.
Such store of plate, I thinke in Grece, there scarsly was so much,
His seruitours did angels seeme, their passing shape was such.
No daynty dish but there it was, and thereof was such store,
That through out Greece so princly cheere, was neuer seene before.
Thus while in pompe and pleasures seat, this Damacles was plast,
And did begin with gladsome hart, each dainty dish to tast.
At length by chaunce cast vp his eyes, and gan the house to vewe,
And saw a sight that him enforst, his princely state to rewe.
A sword forsooth with downeward poynt, that had no stronger thread,
Then one horse heere that peised it, direct vpon his head.
Wherewith he was so sore amasde, and shoke in euery part,
As though the sword that hong aboue, had stroke him to the hart.
Then all their pleasures tooke their leaue, & sorrow came in place,
His heauie hart the teares declard, that trickled down his face.
And then forthwith with sobbing voyce, besought the king of grace,
That he would licence him with speede, to depart out of that place.
And sayd that he full long enough, had tried now with feare,
What tis to be a happy man, and princely rule to beare.
This deede of thine oh Dionise, deserues immortal fame,
This deede shall alwayes liue with prayse, though thou didst liue wt shame
Whereby both kinges be put in mind, their dangers to be great,
And subiects be forbid to clime, high steppes of honours seat.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
48. Fortitude. A young man of Aegypt, and Valerian.
EChe one deserues great prayse to haue, but yet not like I thinke,
Both he that can sustaine the yoke of paines, & doth not shrinke.
And he whom Cupids couert craft can nothing moue at all,
Into the hard and tangled knottes of Venus snares to fall.
Besturre you then who so delightes in vertues race to ronne,
The flying boye with bow ibent, by strength to ouer come.
As one dyd once when he was young, and in his tender dayes,
Whose stoute and noble deede of his, hath got immortall prayse.
The wicked Romaines did pursue the sely Christians than,
What time Valerian Emperour was a wicked cruel man.
Who spared not with bloudy draughtes, to quench his owne desire,
Dispatching all that stucke to Christ with hote consuming fire.
At length a man of tender yeeres was brought before his sight,
Such one as Nature seemed to make a witnes of her migh.
For euery part so well was set, that nothing was depraued,
So that the cruell king himselfe, would gladly him haue saued.
So loth he was to see a worke, so rare of Natures power,
So finely built so sodainly destroyed within an howre.
Then meanes he sought to ouercome, or win him at the lest,
To slip from Christ whom he before had earnestly profest.
A bedde preparde, so finely dect, such diuers pleasant smels,
That well it might appeare a place, where pleasure onely dwels,
By him he layd a naked wench, a Venus darling sure,
With sugred speach & louely toyes, that might his mind allure.
Such wanton lewres as these he thought, might easly him entise,
Which thinges he knew with lustie youth, had alwayes ben in prise.
Such wayes I thinke the Gods themselues, could haue inuented none,
For flattering Venus ouercomes the sences euery chone,
And he himselfe was euen at poynt, to Venus to consent,
Had not his stout and manly mind resisted his entent.
When he perceiued his flesh to yeeld to pleasures wanton toyes,
And was by flight almost prouoked, to tast of Venus ioyes.
More cruel to himselfe then those, that glad would him vndoo,
With bloudy toth, his tender tongue, bote quite and cleane in twoo.
[Page 39]Thus was the paine so passyng greate of this his bloudie bite,
That all the fire and carnall luste, was quenched euery whitt.
Doe ill and all thy pleasures then full sone will passe awaie,
But yet the shame of those thy dedes, will neuermore decaie.
Doe well and though thy paines be great, yet sone eche one will cease,
But yet, the praise of those thy deedes will euermore increase.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
58. Iustice. Zaleuch and his Sonne.
LEt rulers make moste perfect lawes, to rule bothe greate and smal
If thei them selues obeye them not, it boteth not at all.
As lawes be nought but rulers dome, continyng egall might,
So rulers should bee speakyng Lawes, to rule by line of right.
Zaleuch the Prince of Locrine once, appoincted by decree,
Eche Lecherer should bee punished, with losse of either eye.
His sonne by chaunce offended first, whiche when his father sawe,
Lorde God how earnest then was he, to execute the Lawe.
Then ranne the people all by flocks, to hym with weepyng eyes,
Not one emong the route there was, but pardon, pardon cries.
By whose outcries and earnest sute, his sonne in hope did stande,
That he thereby should then obtaine, some pardon at his hande.
But all in vaine, for he is founde to bee the man he was,
And maketh haste so muche the more, to haue the Lawe to passe.
The people yet renued their sute, in hope of some relief,
Whose faces all besprent with teares, did testifie their grief.
And cried all for pities sake, yelde now to our request,
If all you will not cleane remit, yet ease the paine at least.
Then somewhat was the father moued, with all the peoples voyce,
And euery man did giue a shoote, to shewe thei did reioyce.
Well then ꝙ he, it shall bee thus, the Lawe shall bee fulfilde,
And yet my sonne shall fauour haue, accordyng as you wilde.
One eye of his shall bee pulde out, thus hath his leudnesse got,
And likewise so shall one of myne, though I deserue it not.
This worde no soner was pronounced, but straite the deede was doen,
Twoo eyes, no mo were lefte, betwene the father and the sonne.
Saie nowe who can, and on my faithe Apollo he shall bee,
Was he more gentle father lo? or iuster Iudge trowe ye.
This man would not his Lawes belike, the webbs the Spiders weue,
[Page]Wherein thei lurke when thei intende, the simple to deceiue.
Wherewith small flies full sone be caught, and tangled ere thei wiste,
When greate ones flie and scape awaie, and breake them as thei liste.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
59. Temperaunce. Spurina and the Romaine Ladies.
IF nature beare thée so greate Loue, that she in thee haue beautie plast
Full hard it is as we doe proue, to keepe the bodie cleane and chast:
Twixt comelinesse and chastitie,
A deadlie strife is thought to be.
For beautie whiche some men suppose, to be as tware a golden ill,
Prouoketh strief and many foes, that seke on her to worke her will:
Assaults to Tounes if many make,
No Toune so strong but maie be take.
And this Spurina witnesse can, who did for beautie beare the bell,
So cleane a wight so comely made, no dame in Rome but loued well
Not one could coole her hote desire,
So burnyng was the flame of fire.
Like as when baite caste in the floud, forthwt doeth cause the fishes come
Tha [...] pleasauntly before did plaie, now presently to death to runne:
For when thei see the baite to fall,
Straight waie thei swallowe hooke and all.
So when Spurina thei did see, to hym thei flocked out of hande,
She happest dame was thought to be, that in his fauour moste did stand
Not knowyng vnder sweete deceits,
How Venus hides her poisoned baits.
But whē he sawe them thus to range, whō loue had linked in his chain
This meanes he sought for to asswage, these Ladies of their greeuous pain.
His shape intendyng to disgrace,
With many wounds he scorcht his face,
By which his deede it came to passe, that he that semed an angell bright
Euen now so cleane disfigured was, that he became a lothsome wight.
And rather had he be foule and chaste,
Then faire, and filihie ioyes to taste.
What pen can write, or tong expresse, the worthy praises of this déede,
Me thinke that God cā do no lesse, then graūt him heauē for his méede
Who for to saue hym self vpright,
Hym self hath first destroied quite.
Finis
M. E.
60. A bunche of hearbes and flowers.
IF that eche flower, the Gods haue framed, or shapt by sacred skill,
Where as I would (no wrong to wishe) and myne to weare at will.
Or els eche tree, with lustie top, would lende me leaue to Loue,
With spriggs displaied to spread my sute, a wailyng harte to proue.
Vpon my helme sone should you see, my hedde aduaunced hie,
Some slipp for solace there to set, and weare the same would I.
Yet would I not for greate delight, the Daises straunge desire,
The Lillie would not like my luste, nor Rose would I require.
The Marigolde might growe for me, Rosemarie well might reste,
The Fenell to, that is more fitt, for some vnfrendly geste.
Nor Cowslopps would I craue at all, sometymes thei seem to coye,
Some ioly youth the Gelliflower, estemeth for his ioye.
The Lauender sometymes alofte, alures the lookers eyes,
The Paunsie shall not haue the praise, where I maie giue the prise.
And thus no flower my fansie feedes, or liketh so my luste,
As that I maie subiecte my self, to toyes of tickle truste.
For flowers though thei be faire and freshe, of sent excellyng sweete,
Yet growe thei on the grounde belowe, we tread them with our feete.
And shall I then goe stoupe to suche? or els goe seke to those,
Shall flowers enforce me once to faune, for feare of frends or foze.
Yet rather yelde I to the right, as reason hath assinde,
Myne aucthour saied there was no salue, in flowers for me to finde.
And yet perhaps some Tree there is, to shroude me from the shower,
That with her armes maie salue the soule, that yeldeth to her power.
Where I maie finde some pleasaunt shade, to salue me from the Sunne
Eche thyng we see that reason hath, vnto the Trees doe runne.
Bothe men and beasts suche foules as flyes, the treasures are the trees,
And for my parte when braunches fall, I wishe no other fees.
But when that stormes besett me rounde, suche succour God me sende.
That I maie finde a frendlie Tree, that will me well defende.
No Tree there is whiche yelds no good, to some that doeth it seke:
And as thei are of diuerse kinds, their vses are vnlike.
The Eue tree serues the Bowyers tourne, the Ashe the Coupers arte,
The puissaunt Oke doeth make the poste, the Pine some other parte.
The Elme doeth helpe to hide the birds, in wearie Winters night,
The Briers I gesse are nothyng worthe, thei serue but for despight.
[Page]The Willowe wisht I farre from hence, good will deserue no wrong,
The Sallowe well maie serue their states, that syng so sad a song.
The Boxe and Beeche eche for hym self, aboue the reste doeth boste,
The Eglantine for pleasure ofte, is pricked vpon the poste,
The Hauthorne so is had in prise, the Baies doe beare the bell,
And that these Baies did bryng no blisse, I like it not so well.
As erst I doe that semely Tree, by whiche those Baies I founde,
And where withall vnwittyngly, I tooke so greate a wounde.
As if the Tree by whiche I lent, doeth lende me no relief,
There is no helpe but doune I fall, so greate is growne my grief.
And therefore at the laste I craue, this fauour for to finde,
When euery Tree that here is tolde, beginns to growe vnkinde.
The B. for beautie whom I boste, and shall aboue the reste,
That B. maie take me to her trust, for B. doeth please me beste.
It liks me well to walke the waie, where B. doeth keepe her bower,
And when it Raines to B. I runne to saue me from the shower.
This braunche of B. whiche here I meane, to kepe and chiefly craue,
At becke vnto this B. I bowe, to serue that beautie braue.
What shall I saie the tyme doeth passe, the tale to tedious is,
Though lothe to leaue, yet leaue I must, and saie no more but this.
I wishe this B. I might embrace, when as the same I see,
A league for life then I require, betwene this B. and me.
And though vnworthy, yet good will, doeth worke the waie herein
And B. hath brought the same about, which beautie did begin.
Finis.
62. In commendation of Musick.
WHere griping grief ye hart would woūde, & dolfull dūpes ye mind oppresse,
There Musick with her siluer soūd, is wont wt spede to giue redresse:
Of troubled mynds for euery sore, sweete Musick hath a salue in store.
In ioy it maks our mirth abound, in grief it chers our heauie sprits,
The carefull head relief hath found, by Musicks pleasant swete delits:
Our senses, what should I saie more, are subiecte vnto Musicks lore.
The Gods by Musick hath their praie, the foule therein doeth ioye,
For as the Romain Poets saie, in seas whom Pirats would destroye,
A Dolphin saude from death moste sharpe, Arion plaiyng on his harpe
Oh heauēly gift, yt turnes the minde, like as the sterne doeth rule ye ship,
Of musick whō the gods assignde to cōfort mā, whom cares would nip
Sith yu both man & beast doest moue, what wisemā thē will thée reproue.
FINIS.
63. A dialog betwene the auctour and his eye.
Auctour.
MY eye why didst thou light on that, whiche was not thyne?
Why hast thou with thy sight, thus slaine an harte of myne?
O thou vnhappie eye, would God thou hadst been blinde,
When first thou didst her spie, for whom this grief I finde.
Eye.
Why sir it is not I, that doe deserue suche blame,
Your fancie not your eye, is causer of the same:
For I am readie prest as page that serues your ease,
To searche what thyng is beste, that might your fancie please.
Aucthour.
I sent thée forthe to see, but not so long to bide,
Though fancie went with thee, thou wert my fancies guide:
Thy message beyng doen, thou mights retourne againe,
So Cupid Venus sonne, no whit my harte should paine.
Eye.
Where fancie beareth swaye, there Cupid will bee bolde,
And reason flies awaie, from Cupids shafte of golde:
If you finde cause thereby, some deale of painfull smarte,
Alas blame not your eye, but blame consent of harte.
Auctour.
My harte must I excuse, and laye the fault on thee,
Because thy sight did chuse, when harte from thought was free:
Thy sight thus brought consente, consent hath bred my grief,
And grief bids bee content, with sorrowe for relief.
FINIS.
M. Hunnis.
64. Fyndyng no ioye, he desireth death.
THe Conie in his caue, the Feret doeth annoye,
And fleyng thence his life to saue, hym self he doeth destroye.
His Berrie rounde about beset, with Hunters snares,
So that when he to scape starts out, is caught therein vnwares,
Like choise poore man haue I, to bide and reste in Loue,
Or els from thence to flie, as badde a death to proue.
I see, in Loue to reste, vnkindnesse doeth pursue,
To rent the harte out of his breast, whiche is a Louer true:
[Page]And if from Loue I starte, as one that Loue forsaks,
Then pensiue thoughts my harte doeth pearce, and so my life it taks.
Then thus to flie or bide, hard is the choise to chuse,
Since death hath campd, and trenched eche side, & saith life now refuse.
Content I am therefore, my life therein to spende,
And death I take a salue for sore, my wearie daies to ende.
And thus I you require, that faithfull Loue professe,
When carcas cased is in cheste, and bodie laied on hearse.
Your brinishe teares to saue, suche as my corse shall moue,
And therewith write vpon my graue, beholde the force of Loue.
FINIS.
M. Hunnis.
Hope well and haue well.
IN hope the Shipman hoiseth saile, in hope of passage good,
In hope of healthe the sicke man, doeth suffer losse of blood:
In hope the prisoner linckt in chaines, hopes libertie to finde,
Thus hope breds health, and health breds ease, to euery troubled mind.
In hope desire getts victorie, in hope greate comfort spryngs,
In hope the Louer liues in ioyes, he feares no dreadfull styngs:
In hope we liue and maie abide, suche stormes as are assignde,
Thus hope breds health, & health breds ease, to euery troubled mynde.
In hope we easely suffer harme, in hope of future tyme,
In hope of fruite, the paine semes sweete, that to the tree doeth clime:
In hope of Loue suche glorie growes, as now by propfe I finde,
That hope breds health, & health breds ease to euery troubled mynde.
FINIS.
M. Hunnis.
He requesteth some frendly comfort, affirmyng his constancie.
THe mountaines hie whose loftie topps, doeth mete the hautie sky
The craggie rocke that to the sea, free passage doeth deny:
The aged Oke that doeth resist, the force of blustryng blaste,
The pleasaunt hearbe that euery where, a fragrant smell doeth caste.
The Lions force whose courage stout, declares a princelike might,
The Eagle that for worthinesse, is borne of kyngs in fight:
The Serpent eke whose poisoned iaws, doeth belche out venime vile,
The lothsome Tode that shumeth light, and liueth in exile.
These these I saie and thousands more, by trackt of tyme decaie,
And like to tyme doe quite consume, and bade from tyme to claie:
[Page 34]But my true harte and seruice vowed, shall laste tyme out of minde,
And still remaines as thyne by dome, as Cupid hath assingde.
My faithe loe here I vowe to thee, my trothe thou knowest right well,
My goods my frends, my life is thyne, what neede I more to tell?
I am not myne, but thyne I vowe, thy hests I will obeye,
And serue thee as a seruaunt ought, in pleasyng if I maie:
And sithe I haue no fliyng wyngs, to see thee as I wishe,
Ne sinnes to cut the siluer streames, as doeth the glidyng fishe.
Wherefore leaue now forgetfulnesse, and sende againe to me,
And straine thy azured vaines to write, then I maie gretyng see:
And thus farewell more deare to me, then chiefest frende I haue,
Whose Loue in harte I minde to shrine, till death his fee doe craue.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
His complaneth his mishapp.
SHall rigour raigne where ruth hath run, shall fansie now forsake?
Shall fortune lose that fauour wonne, shall not your anger slake?
Shall hatefull harte be had in you, that frendly did pretende,
Shall slipper thought and faithe vntrue, that harte of yours defende?
Shall nature shewe your beautie faire, that gentle semes to bee?
Shall frowardnesse your fancies heire, be of more force then she?
Shall now disdaine the dragg of death, directe and leade the waie?
Shall all the imps vpon the yearth, reioyce at my decaie?
Shall this the seruice of my youth, haue suche reward at laste?
Shall I receiue rigour of ruthe, and be from fauour caste?
Shall I therefore berent my heares, with wights that wishe to dye?
Or shall I bathe my self with teares, to feede your fickle eye.
No, no, I shall in paine lye still, with turtle Doue moste true,
And vowe my self to witt and will, their counsels to ensue:
Good Ladies all that Louers be, and that to be pretende,
Giue place to witt, let reason seme, your enemie to defende.
Lest that you thinke as I haue thought, your self to stroue in vaine,
And so to be in thraldome brought, with me to suffer paine.
FINIS.
M. Hunnis.
No foe to a flatterer.
I Would it were not as I thinke I would it were not so,
I am not blinde although I winke, I feele what winds doe blowe:
[Page]I knowe where crafte, with smilyng cheare, creps into boldned breaste.
I heare how fained speache speaks faire, where hatred is possesse.
I see the Serpent lye and lurcke, vnder the greene alowe,
I see hym watche a tyme to worke, his poyson to bestowe.
In frendly lookes suche fraude is founde, as faithe for feare is fled,
And frendship hath receiude suche wounde, as he is almoste ded.
And hatefull harte with malice greate, so boiles in cankred mynde,
That flatterie flearyng in the face, had almoste made me blinde.
But now I see all is not golde, that glittereth in the eye,
Nor yet suche frends as thei professe, as now by proofe I trye.
Though secret spight by crafte, hath made a coate of Panter skin,
And thinks to finde me in the shade, by sleight to wrapp me in,
Yet God bee praised my eye is cleare, and can beholde the Sunne:
When falshood dare not once appeare, to ende that he begunne,
Thus tyme shall trie the thyng amisse, whiche God saue shortly sende,
And tourne the harte that fained is, to bee a faithfull frende.
FINIS.
M. Hunnis.
His comparison of Loue.
THe Spider with greate skill, doeth trauell daie by daie,
His lymmes no tyme lye still, to set his house in state:
And when he hath it wrought, thinkyng therein to raigne,
A blaste of winde vnthought, doeth driue it doune againe.
The proofe whereof is true, to make his worke indure,
He paines hym self a newe, in hope to dwell more sure:
And in some secret place, a corner of a wall,
He frameth hym self a pace, to builde and rest withall.
His pleasure sweete to staie, when he to rest is bent,
An vgly shamble Flee, approcheth to his tent:
And htere entendes by force, his labours greate to win,
Or els to yelde his corse, by fatall death therein.
Thus is the Spiders nest, from tyme to tyme throwne downe,
And he to labour prest, with endlesse paine vnknowne:
So suche as Louers bee, like trauell doe attaine,
Those endlesse works ye see, are alwaies full of paine.
FINIS.
M. Hunnis.
A Louers ioye.
I Haue no ioye, but dreame of ioye, and ioye to thinke on ioye,
A ioye I withstoode, for to enioye, to finishe myne annoye,
I hate not without cause alas, yet Loue I knowe not why,
I thought to hate, I can not hate, although that I should dye.
A foe moste sweete, a frende moste sower, I ioye for to embrace.
I hate the wrong, and not the wight, that workt my wofull case:
What thyng it is I knowe not I, but yet a thyng there is,
That in my fancie still perswads, there is no other blisse.
The ioyes of life, the pangs of death, it make me feele eche daie,
But life nor death, this humour can, deuise to weare awaie.
Faine would I dye, but yet in death no hope I see remaines,
And shall I liue? since life I see, a course of sorie paines:
What is it then that I doe seeke, what ioye would I aspire,
A thyng that is deuine belike, to high for mans desire.
FINIS.
F. K.
Euill to hym that euill thinketh.
THe subtill stilie sleghts, that worldly men doe woorke,
The friendly showes, vnder whose shade, moste craft doeth often lurke:
Enforceth me alas, with yernfull voyce to saie,
Wo worthe the wilie heads that seeks, the simple mans decaie,
The birde that dreads no guile, is sonest caught in snare,
Eche gentle harte deuoide of crafte, is sonest brought to care:
Good nature sonest trapt, whiche giues me cause to saie,
Wo worthe the wilie heads, that seeks the simple mans decaie.
I see the Serpent vile, that lurkes vnder the grene,
How subtilly he shroods hym self, that he maie not be sene:
And yet his fosters bane, his leryng lookes bewraie,
Wo worthe the wilie heads that leeks, the simple mans decaie.
Wo worthe the feinyng looks, on fauour that we doe waite,
Wo worthe the feined frendly harte, that harbours deepe deceite:
Wo worthe the Vipers broode, oh thrise wo worthe I saie,
All worldlie wilie heads, that seeks the simple mans decaie.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
He assureth his constancie.
WIth painted speache I list not proue, my cunnyng for to trie,
Nor yet will vse to fill my penne, with gilefull flatterie:
With pen in hand, & hart in brest, shall faithful promise make
To loue you beste, and serue you moste, by your greate vertuts sake.
And sure dame Nature hath you deckt, with gifts aboue the reste,
Let not Disdaine a harbour finde, within your noble breste:
For Loue hath lead his lawe alike, to men of eche degrre,
So that the Begger with the Prince shall Loue as well as he.
I am no Prince I muste confesse, nor yet of Princes line,
Nor yet a brutishe Begger borne, that feeds emong the Swine:
The fruite shall trie the Tree at laste, the blossomes good or no,
Then doe not iudge of me the worse, till you haue tried me so.
As I deserue, so then reward, I make you iudge of all,
If I be false in woorde or deede, let Lightnyng Thunder fall:
And Furies fell with franticke fi [...]ts, bereue and stay my breathe,
For an example to the reste, if I shall breake my faithe.
FINIS.
M. Hunnis.
Complainyng his mishapp to his frende, he complaineth wittely.
A.
THe fire shall freze, the frost shall frie the frozen moūtains hie
B.
What straunge things hath dame natures force, to turne her course awrie
A.
My Loue hath me left, and taken a newe man:
B.
This is not straunge, it happes ofte tymes, the truthe to scan,
A.
The more is my paine,
B.
her Loue then refraine.
A.
Who thought she would flitt,
B.
eche one that hath witt,
A.
Is this not straunge,
B.
light Loue will chaunge.
A.
By skilfull meanes I here reclaime, to stoope vnto my lure,
B.
Suche haggard Haukes will soare awaie, of them who can be sure
A.
With siluer bells and hoode, my ioye was her to decke,
B.
She was full gorgde, she would the soner giue the checke,
A.
The more is my paine,
B.
her Loue then refraine:
A.
Who thought she would flitt,
B.
eche one that hath witt,
A.
Is not this straunge,
B.
light Loue will chaunge.
A.
Her chirpyng lips should chirpe to me, swete words of her desire
B.
Suche chirpyng birdes who euer sawe, to preach still on one brire,
A.
She saied she loued me beste, and would not till she die,
B.
She saied in wordes, she thought it not, as tyme doeth trie.
A.
[Page 36]The more is my paine,
B.
her Loue then refraine:
A.
Who thought she would flitt,
B.
eche one that hath witt,
A.
Is not this straunge,
B.
light Loue will chaunge.
A,
Can no man winne a woman so, to make her Loue endure,
B.
To make the Foxe his wiles to leaue, what man will put in vre?
A.
Why then there is no choise, but all women will chaunge,
B.
As men doe vse, so some women doe Loue to raunge.
A.
The more is my paine,
B.
her Loue then refraine,
A.
Who thought she would flitt,
B.
eche one that hath witt,
A.
Is not this straunge,
B.
light Loue will chaunge.
A,
Sith slipper gaine falles to my lot, farewell that glidyng praie,
B.
Sith that the dice doeth runne awrie, betymes leaue of thy plaie.
A.
I will no more lamente, the thyng I maie not haue,
B.
Then by exchaunge the losse to come, all shalt thou saue.
A.
Loue will I refraine,
B.
thereby thou shalt gaine,
A,
With losse I will leaue,
B.
she will thee deceiue:
A.
That is not straunge,
B.
then let her raunge.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
No paines comparable to his attempt.
LIke as the dolefull Doue, delights alone to bee,
And doeth refuse the bloumed branche, chusyng the leaflesse tree.
Whereon wailyng his chaunce, with bitter teares besprent,
Doeth with his bill, his tender breaste ofte pearse and all to rent.
Whose greeuous gronyngs tho: whose grips of pinyng paine,
Whose gastly lookes, whose bloudie streams out flowyng frō ech vain.
Whose fallyng from the tree, whose pantyng on the grounde,
Examples bee of myne estate, tho there appere no wounde.
FINIS.
W. Hunnis.
He repenteth his follie.
A Lacke when I looke backe, vpon my youth thatz paste,
And deepely pouder youthes offence, and youths reward at laste.
With sighes and teares I saie, O God I not denie,
My youth with follie hath deserued, with follie for to die.
But yet if euer synfull man, might mercie moue to ruthe,
Good Lorde with mercie doe forgiue, the follies of my youthe.
In youth I rangde the feelds, where vices all did growe,
[Page]In youth alas I wanted grace, suche vise to ouerthrowe,
In youth what I thought swéete, moste bitter now do finde,
Thus hath the follies of my youth, with folly kept me blind
Yet as the Egle casts her bill, whereby her age renueth,
So Lorde with mercie doe forgiue, the follies of my youth.
FINIS.
M. Hunnis.
No pleasure without some paine.
HOw can the tree but wast, and wither awaie,
That hath not sometyme comforte of the Sunne:
How can that flower but fade, and sone decaie,
That alwaies is with darcke clouds runne.
Is this a life, naye death you maie it call,
That feeles eche paine, and knoweth no ioye at all.
What foodlesse beast can liue long in good plight?
Or is it life, where sences there be none:
Or what auaileth eyes without their light?
Or els a tongue, to hym that is alone.
Is this a life? naye death you maie it call,
That féeles eche paine, and knowes no ioy at all.
Wherto serue eares, if that there be no sound
Or suche a head, where no deuise doeth growe:
But all of plaints, since sorrowe is the grounde,
Whereby the harte doeth pine in deadlie woe.
Is this a life, naye death you maie it call,
That feles eche paine, and knowes no ioy at al.
FINIS.
L. Vaux.
The fruite of feined frendes.
IN choise of frends what hap had I, to chuse one of Cirēs kind
whose harp, whose pipe, whose melody could fede my ears & make me blind
Whose pleasant voice made me forget, yt in sure trust is gret deceit.
In trust I see is treason founde, and man to man deceitfull is,
And whereas treasure doeth abounde, of flatterers there doe not misse:
Whose painted speache, & outward show, do seme as frends & be not so.
Would I haue thought in thee to be, the nature of the Crocadill:
Whiche if a man a slepe maie see, with bloudie thirst desires to kill:
And then wt teares a while gan wepe, the death of him thus slain a slepe
O fauell false, thou traitor borne, what mischief more might yu deuise
Then thy deare frend to haue in scorne, & hym to wound in sundry wise
Whiche still a frende pretends to bee, and are not so by proofe I see,
Fie, fie, vpon suche trecherie. W. H.
If suche false Shippes doe haunte the shore,
Strike doune the saile and trust no more.
M. Edwardes.
A dialogue betwene a Gentleman and his Loue.
A.
SHall I no waie winne you, to graunt my desire?
B.
What woman will graunt you, the thyng you require:
A.
You onely to Loue me, is all that I craue,
B.
You onely to leaue me, is all I would haue.
A.
My deare alas, now saie not so,
B.
To Loue you beste I must saie no:
A.
Yet will I not flitt,
B.
then plaie on the bitt.
B.
I will,
B.
doe still,
A.
yet kill not,
B.
I will not.
A.
Make me your man,
B.
beshrewe me than.
A.
The swifter I followe, then you flie awaie,
B.
Swift hauks in their fliyng, oft tymes misse their praie,
A.
Yet some killeth deadly, that flie to the marke:
B.
You shall touche no feather, thereof take no carke.
A.
Yet hope shall further my desire,
B.
You blowe the coales, and raise no fire,
A.
Yet will I not flitt,
B.
then plaie on the bitt,
B.
I will,
B.
doe still,
A.
yet kill not,
B,
I will not,
A.
Make me your man,
B.
beshrewe me than.
A.
To Loue is no daunger, where true Loue is ment,
B.
I will Loue no ranger, least that I repent:
A.
My Loue is no raunger, I make God auow,
B.
To trust your smothe saiyngs, I sure knowe not how.
A.
Moste truthe I meane, as tyme shall well trie,
B.
No truthe in men, I ofte espie,
A.
Yet will I not flitt,
B.
then plaie on the bitt.
B.
I will,
B.
doe still,
A.
yet kill not,
B.
I will not,
A.
Make me your man,
B.
beshrewe me than.
A.
Some women maie saie naie, and meane Loue moste true,
B.
Some women can make fooles, of as wise men as you:
A.
[Page]In tyme I shall catche you, I knowe when and where:
B.
I will sone dispatche you, you shall not come there.
A.
Some speds at length, that ofte haue miste,
B.
I am well armde, come when you liste.
A.
Yet will I not flitt,
B.
then plaie on the bitt.
A.
I will,
B.
doe still,
A.
yet kill not,
B.
I will not,
A.
Make me your man,
B.
beshrewe me than.
A.
Yet worke your kinde kindly, graunt me Loue for Loue,
B.
I will vse you frendly, as I shall you proue:
A.
Moste true you shall finde me, I this doe protest,
B.
Then sure you shall binde me, to graunte your request.
A.
O happie threede, now haue I spunne,
B.
You syng before the conquest wonne.
A.
Why then, will you swarue,
B.
euen as you desarue:
A
Loue still,
B.
I will,
A.
yet kill not,
B.
I will not,
A.
Make me your man,
B.
come to me than.
FINIS.
M. Edwardes.
Exclamyng vpon his vnkinde Loue, his frende replieth wittely.
M.
WHat death maie bee, compared to Loue?
H.
What grief therein, now doest thou proue?
M.
My paines alas, who can expresse,
H.
I see no cause of heauinesse.
M.
My Ladies looks, my woe hath wrought:
H.
Then blame thyne eyes, that firste hath sought,
M.
I burne alas, and blowe the fire,
H.
A foole consumes by his desire,
M.
What shall I doe than?
H.
come out and thou can.
M.
Alas I die,
H.
what remedie?
M.
My sugred sweete, is mixed with gall,
H.
Thy Ladie can not doe with all:
M.
The more I seeke, the lesse I finde,
H.
Then striue not with the streame and wind.
M.
Her must I Loue, although I smarte,
H.
With her owne sworde, thou slaiest thy hart
M.
Suche pleasaunt baits, who can refraine,
H.
Suche baits will sure breede thee greate paine,
M.
[Page]What shall I doe than?
H.
Come out and thou can.
M.
Alas I die,
H.
what remedie.
M.
Her golden beames, myne eyes doe daze,
H.
Vpon the Sunne thou maiest not gaze:
M.
She might reward my cruell smarte,
H.
She thinks thou hardst a fained harte.
M.
She laughs to heare my wofull cries,
H.
Forsake her then, in tyme bee wise:
M.
No, no, alas, that maie not bee,
H.
No wise man then, will pitie thee,
M.
What shall I doe than?
H.
come out and thou can.
M.
Alas I die,
H.
what remedie.
M,
A liuyng death, loe thus I proue,
H.
Suche are the fruits of froward Loue:
M.
O that I might her Loue once gaine,
H.
Thy gaine would not, halfe quite the paine.
M.
Her will I Loue, though she be coye,
H.
A foole hym self, will still annoye:
M.
Who will not die, for suche a one?
H.
Bee wise at length, let her alone:
M.
I can not doe so,
H.
then be thy owne fo,
M.
Alas I die,
H.
what remedie.
FINIS.
E. S.
The complaint of a Louer, wearyng Blacke and Taunie.
A Croune of Baies shall that man weare,
That triumphs ouer me:
For Blacke and Taunie will I weare,
Whiche mournyng coulers bee.
The more I followe on, the more she fled awaie,
As Daphne did full long agoe, Apollos wishfull praie:
The more my plaints resounde, the lesse she pities me,
The more I sought, the lesse I founde, that myne she meant to be.
Melpomene, alas with dolefull tunes helpe than,
And syng Bis woe worthe on me forsaken man:
[Page]Then Daphnes Baies shall that man weare, that triumphs ouer me,
For Blacke and Taunie will I weare, whiche mournyng colours be.
Droune me you tricklyng teares, you wailefull wights of woe,
Come helpe these hands to rent my heares, my rewfull hap to showe:
On whom the scorchyng flames of Loue, doeth feede you see,
Ah a lalalantida my deare Dame, hath thus tormented me.
Wherefore you Muses nine, with dolefull tunes helpe than,
And syng Bis woe worthe on me forsaken man:
Then Daphnes Baies shall that man weare, that triumphs ouer me,
For Blacke and Taunie will I weare, whiche mournyng colours be.
An Ancres life to leade, with nailes to scratche my graue,
Where yearthly wormes on me shall feede, is all the ioyes I craue:
And hide my self from shame, sithe that myne eyes doe see,
Ah a lalalantida my deare dame, hath thus tormented me.
And all that present bee, with dolefull tunes helpe than:
And syng Bis woe worthe on me, forsaken man,
FINIS.
E. O.
Findyng no releef, he complaineth thus.
INquest of my releef, I finde distresse,
In recompence of Loue, moste depe disdaine:
My langour suche, as words maie not expresse,
A shower of teares, my watrishe eye doeth raine.
I dreame of this, and doe deuine of woe,
I wander in the thoughts of my sweete foe.
I would no peace, the cause of warre I flie,
I hope, I feare, I burne, I chill in Froste:
I lye a lowe, yet mounts my mynde on hie,
Thus doubtfull stormes, my troubled thoughts haue toste,
And for my paine, this pleasure doe I proue,
I hate my self, and pine in others Loue.
The worlde I graspe, yet holde I nought at all,
At libertie I seme, in prison pent:
I taste the sweete, more sower then bitter gall,
My shipp semes sounde, and yet her ribbs bee rent.
And out alas, on Fortune false I crie,
[Page 51]Looke what I craue, that still she doeth denie.
Bothe life and death, be equall vnto me,
I doe desire to die, yet craue I life.
My witts with sondrie thoughts doe disagree,
My self am with my self at mortall strife.
As warmth of Sunne, doeth melte the siluer Snowe,
The heate of Loue, beholde consumes me so.
FINIS.
R. Hall.
A Louer disdained, complaineth.
IF euer man had loue to dearly bought,
Lo I am he that plaies within her maze:
And finds no waie, to get the same I sought,
But as the Dere are driuen vnto the gaze.
And to augment the grief of my desire,
My self to burne, I blowe the fire:
But shall I come nye you?
Of force I must flie you.
What death alas, maie be compared to this,
I praie within the maze of my sweete foe:
And when I would of her but craue a kis,
Disdaine enforceth her awaie to goe.
My self I checke: yet doe I twiste the twine,
The pleasure hers, the paine is myne,
But shall I come nye you.
Of force I must flie you.
You courtly wights, that wants your pleasaunt choyse,
Lende me a floud of teares, to waile my chaunce:
Happie are thei in Loue, that can reioyse,
To their greate paines, where Fortune doeth aduaunce,
But sith my sute alas, can not preuaile,
Full fraight with care, in grief still will I waile:
Sith you will nedes flie me,
I maie not come nye you.
FINIS.
L. Ʋaux.
Beyng in Loue, he complaineth.
IF care or skill, could conquere vaine desire,
Or reasons raignes, my strong affection staie
Then should my sighs to quiet brest retire,
And shunne suche signes, as secret thoughts bewraie.
Vncomely Loue, whiche now lurks in my breast,
Should cease my grief, through wisedomes power opprest.
But who can leaue, to looke on Venus face?
Or yeldeth not, to Iunos high estate:
What witt so wise, as giues not Pallas place,
These vertues rare, eche Gods did yelde amate.
Saue her alone, who yet on yearth doeth raigne,
Whose beauties stryng, no God can well destraine.
What worldly wight, can hope for heauenly hire,
When onely sights, must make his secret moue:
A silent sute, doeth selde to grace aspire,
My haplesse happ doeth roule the restlesse stone,
Yet Phebe faire, disdainde the heauens aboue,
To ioye on yearth, her poore Edimions loue.
Rare is reward, where none can iustly craue,
For chaunce is choise, where reason maks no claime:
Yet lucke sometymes, dispairyng soules doeth saue,
A happie Starre made Giges ioye attaine.
A slauishe Smithe, of rude and rascall race,
Founde meanes in tyme, to gaine a Goddes grace.
Then loftie Loue, thy sacred sailes aduaunce,
My sithyng seas shall flowe with streames of teares:
Amidds disdaine, driue forthe my dolefull chaunce.
A valiaunt mynde, no deadly daunger feares.
Who loues alofte, and setts his harte on hie,
Deserues no paine, though he doe pine and die.
FINIS,
E. O.
A Louer reiected, complaineth.
THe tricklyng teares, that falles along my cheeks,
The secret sighs, that shewes my inward grief:
The present paines perforce, that Loue aye seeks,
Bidds me renewe, my cares without relief.
[Page]In wofull song in dole displaie,
My pensiue harte for to bewraie.
Bewraie thy grief, thy wofull harte with speede,
Resigne thy voyce, to her that causde thy woe:
With irksome cries, bewaile thy late doen deede,
For she thou louest, is sure thy mortall foe,
And helpe for thee, there is none sure,
But still in paine, thou must endure.
The striken Deare hath helpe to heale his wounde,
The haggerd Hauke, with toyle is made full tame:
The strongest Tower, the Canon laies on grounde,
The wisest witt, that euer had the fame.
Was thrall to Loue, by Cupids sleights,
Then waie my case with equall weights.
She is my ioye, she is my care and wo,
She is my paine, she is my ease therefore:
She is my death, she is my life also,
She is my salue, she is my wounded sore.
In fine, she hath the hande and knife,
That maie bothe saue, and ende my life.
And shall I liue on yearth to be her thrall?
And shall I sue, and serue her all in vaine?
And kisse the stepps, that she letts fall,
And shall I praie the Gods, to keepe the paine.
From her, that is so cruell still.
No, no, on her woorke all your will.
And let her feele the power of all your might
And let her haue her moste desire with speede:
And let her pine awaie, bothe daie and night,
And let her mone, and none lament her neede,
And let all those, that shall her see,
Despise her state, and pitie me.
FINIS.
E. O.
Not attainyng to his desire, he complaineth.
I Am not as seme to bee, nor when I smile, I am not glad:
A thrall although you count me frée, I moste in mirth, most pēsiue sad:
[Page]I smile to shade my bitter spight, as Haniball that sawe in sight:
His coūtrie soile with Carthage toune: by Romain force defaced doun.
And Cesar that presented was, with noble Pompeis princely heade,
As twere some iudge to rule the cace a flould of teares he semde to shed
Although in deede it sprong of ioye, yet other thought it was annoye,
Thus contraries be vsed I finde, of wise to cloke the couert mynde.
I Haniball that smiles for grief, and let you Cesars grief suffice,
The one that laughs at his mischief, the other all for ioye that cries:
I smile to see me scorned so, you weepe for ioye to see me woe,
And I a harte by Loue slaine deade, presents in place of Pompeis head.
O cruell happ, and harde estate, that forceth me to loue my fo,
Accursed bee so foule a fate, my choyse for to prefixe it so:
So long to fight with secret sore, and finde no secret salue therefore,
Some urge their paine by plaint I finde, but I in vain doe breath my winde.
FINIS.
E. Ox.
His mynde not quietly setled, he writeth thus.
EVen as the waxe doeth melte, or dewe consume awaie
Before the Sunne, so I behold through carefull thoughts decaie:
For my beste lucke leads me, to suche sinister state,
That I doe waste with others Loue, that hath my self in hate.
And he that beats the bushe, the wished birde not getts,
But suche I see as sitteth still, and holds the foulyng netts.
The Drone more Honie sucks, that laboureth not at all,
Then doeth the Bee, to whose moste paine, least pleasure doeth befall:
The Gardner sowes the seeds, whereof the flowers doe growe,
And others yet doe gather them, that tooke lesse paine I knowe.
So I the pleasaunt Grape haue pulled from the Vine,
And yet I languishe in greate thirste, while others drinke the wine.
Thus like a wofull wight, I woue the webb of woe,
The more I would weede out my cares, the more thei seme to growe:
The whiche betokeneth, forsaken is of me,
That with the carefull Culuer climes, the worne and withered tree.
To entertaine my thoughts, and there my happ to mone,
That neuer am lesse idle loe, then when I am alone.
FINIS.
E. Ox.
That Loue is requited by disdaine.
IN searche of thyngs that secret are, my mated muse began,
What it might be, molested moste the head and mynde of man.
The bendyng brow of princes face, to wrathe that doeth attende,
Or want of parents, wife or childe, or losse of faithfull frende.
The roryng of the Canon shot, that makes the peece to shake,
Or terrour suche as mightie Ioue, from heauen aboue can make.
All these in fine maie not compare experience so doeth proue,
Vnto the torments sharpe and strange, of suche as be in loue.
Loue lookes a loft and laughs to scorne all suche as grefe anoye.
The more extreme their passions be, the greater is his ioye.
Thus Loue as victor of the felde, triumps aboue the rest,
And ioyes to see his subiects lye, with liuyng death in brest.
But dire disdaine letts driue a shaft, and gauls this braggyng foole,
He plucks his plumes, vnbendes his bowe and sets hym newe to scole,
Whereby this boye, that bragged late, as conquerer ouer all,
Now yelds hym self vnto disdaine his vessall and his thrall.
FINIS.
W. Hunnis.
Of a contented state.
IN wealth we se some wealthie men, abound in wealth moste welthely
In wealth we se those men again, in wealth do liue moste wretchedly.
And yet of wealthe hauyng more store,
Then erst of wealth thei had before.
These welthy men do seme to want, thei seme to want ye most thei haue
The more postes, ye more thei craue, the more thei craue ye greater store
That moste thei haue, thei thinke but skant.
Yet not content, wo be therefore,
The simple men that lesse wealth haue with lesser wealth we se contēt,
Content are thei twixt wealth and scath, a life to lead indifferent.
And thus of wealth these men haue more,
Then those of whiche we spoke before.
FINIS.
W. Hunnis.
Beyng disdained, he complaineth.
IF frendlesse faithe? if giltlesse thought maie shielde?
If simple truthe that neuer meant to swarue:
If deare desire accepted fruite doe yelde,
If greedie luste in loyall life doeth sarue.
Then maie my plainte bewaile my heauie harme:
That seekyng calme, haue stumbled on the storme.
My wonted cheare, ecclipsed by the cloude,
Of deepe disdaine, through errour of reporte:
If wearie woe enwrapped in the shroude,
Lies slaine by tongue of the vnfrendly sorte.
Yet heauen and yearth and all that Nature wrought,
I call to vowe of my vnspotted thought.
No shade I seeke in parte, to shield my tainte,
But simple truthe, I hunte no other sute:
On that I gape, the issue of my plainte,
If that I quaile, let Iustice me confute.
If that my place, emongs the giltlesse sorte,
Repaie by dome, my name and good reporte.
Goe heauie verse, pursue desired grace,
Where pitie shrinde in cell of secret brest:
Awaits my haste, the rightfull lot to place,
And lothes to see, the giltlesse man opprest.
Whose vertues greate, hath crounde her more with fame,
Then kyngly state, though largely shine the same.
FINIS.
L. Ʋaux.
Of the meane estate.
THe higher that the Ceder tree, vnto the heauens doe growe,
The more in daunger is the top, when sturdie winds gan blowe,
[Page 46]Who Iudges then in princely throne, to bee deuoide of hate,
Doeth not yet knowe, what heapes of ill, lies hid in suche estate.
Suche dangers great, suche gripes of minde, suche toile do thei sustain
That often tymes, of God thei wishe, to bee vnkyngde again.
For as the huge and mightie rockes, withstande the ragyng seas,
So kyngdomes in subiection bee, whereas dame Fortune please:
Of brittle ioye, of smilyng cheare, of Honie mixte with Gall,
Alotted is to euery Prince, in freedome to bee thrall.
What watches long, what steps vnsure, what grefes and care of minde
What bitter broiles, what endlesse toiles, to kyngdomes bee assingde.
The subiect then maie well compare, with prince for pleasant daies,
Whose silent nighe bryngs quiet rest, whose steps no storme bewraies:
How muche bee we, then bounde to God, who suche prouision makes,
To late our cares vpon the Prince, thus doeth he for our sakes.
To hym therefore, let vs lifte vp our harts, and praie a maine,
That euery Prince that he hath plast, maie long in quiet raigne.
FINIS.
W. H.
Of a contented mynd.
WHen all is doen and saied, in the ende thus shall you finde,
The moste of all doeth hath in blisse, that hath a quiet minde:
And cleare from worldlie cares, to deame can bee content,
The sweetest tyme, in all this life, in thinkyng to bee spent,
The bodie subiecte is, to fickle Fortunes power,
And to a million of mishapps, is casuall euery hower:
And death in tyme doeth chaunge it to a clodde of claie,
When as the mynde whiche is deuine, runnes neuer to decaie.
Companion none is like, vnto the mynde alone,
For many haue been harmde by speach, through thinking few or none:
Fewe often tymes restraineth words, but maks not thoughts to cease,
And he speaks beste that hath the skill, when for to holde his peace.
Our wealth leaues vs at death, our kinsmen at the graue,
But vertues of the mynde, vnto the heauens with vs haue:
Wherefore for vertues sake, I can be well content,
The sweetest tyme of all my life, to deeme in thinkyng spent.
FINIS.
L. Ʋaux.
Trie before you trust.
TO counsell my estate, abandonde to the spoile,
Of forged frendes whose grosest fraude, it set with finest foile.
To verifie true dealyng wights, whose trust no treason dreads,
And all to deare thacquaintaunce be, of suche moste harmfull heads.
I am aduised thus who so doeth frende, frende so,
As though to morrowe nexte he feared, for to become a fo.
To haue a fained frende, no perill like I finde,
Oft fleryng face maie mantell best, a mischief in the minde:
A paire of angels eares oft tymes, doeth hide a serpents harte,
Vnder whose gripes who so doeth come, to late complaines the smart.
Wherefore I doe aduise, who so doeth frende frende so,
As though to morrowe next he should become a mortall fo.
Refuse respectyng frends, that courtly knowe to faine,
For gold that winnes for golde, shall lose, the self same frende againe:
The Quaile needes neuer feare, in foulers netts to fall,
If he would neuer bende his eare to listen to his call.
Therefore trust not to sone, but when you frende frende so,
As though to morrowe next, ye feard for to become a fo.
FINIS.
L. Vaux.
He renounceth all the affectes of Loue.
LIke as the Harte that lifteth vp his eares,
To heare the hounds, that hath hym in the chase:
Doeth cast the winde, in daungers and in feares,
[Page 47]With fliyng foote, to passe awaie apace,
So must I flie of Loue the vaine pursute,
Whereof the gaine is lesser then the fruite.
And I also must lothe those learyng looks,
Where Loue doeth lurke still with his subtill slaite,
With painted mocks, and inward hidden hoks,
To trapp by trust, that lieth not inwaite.
The ende whereof, assaie it who so shall,
As sugred smart, and inward bitter gall.
And I must flie suche Cirian songs,
Wherewith that Circes, Vlisses did enchaunt:
These wilie Watts I meane, with filed tongs,
That harts of steele, haue power to daunt,
Who so as Hauke, that stoupeth to their call,
For moste desarte, receiueth least of all.
But woe to me that first behelde these eyes,
The trapp wherein I saie, that I was tane:
An outward salue, whiche inward me destroies,
Whereto I runne, as Rat vnto her bane.
As to the fishe, sometyme it doeth befall,
That with the baite, doth swallow hooke and al.
Within my breast, wherewith I daiely fedd,
The vaine repast of amourous hott desire:
With loitryng lust, so long that hath me fedd,
Till he hath brought me to the flamyng fire.
In tyme as Phenix ends her care and carks,
I make the fire, and burne my self with sparks.
FINIS.
L. Ʋaux.
Bethinking hym self of his ende, writeth thus.
WHen I beholde the baier, my laste and postyng horsse,
That bare shall to the graue, my vile and carren corsse.
Then saie I seely wretche, why doest thou put thy truste,
In thyngs eithe made of claye, that sone will tourne to duste,
Doest thou not see the young, the hardie and the faire,
That now are paste and gone, as though thei neuer were:
Doest thou not see thy self, drawe hourly to thy laste,
As shafts whiche that is shotte, at birds that flieth faste.
Doest thou not see how death, through smiteth with his launce,
Some by warre, some by plague, and some with worldlie chaunce:
What thyng is there on yearth, for pleasure that was made,
But goeth more swifte awaie, then doeth the Sommer shade.
Loe here the Sommer floure, that sprong this other daie,
But Winter weareth as faste, and bloweth cleane awaie:
Euen so shalt thou consume, from youth to lothsome age,
For death he doeth not spare, the prince more then the page.
Thy house shall be of claie, a clotte vnder thy hedde,
Vntill the latter daie, the graue shall be thy bedde:
Vntill the blowyng trumpe, doeth saie to all and some,
Rise vp out of your graue, for now the Iudge is come.
FINIS.
L. Ʋaux.
Beyng in Loue, he complaineth.
ENforst by Loue and feare, to please and not offende,
Within the words you would me write, a message must I sende:
A wofull errande sure, a wretched man muste write,
A wrecched tale, a wofull head, besemeth to endite.
For what can he but waile, that hath but all he would.
And yet that all, is nought at all, but lacke of all he should:
But lacke of all his mynde, what can be greater grief,
That haue and lacke, that likes hym best, must neds be moste mischief.
Now foole what makes thee waile, yet some might saie full well,
That haste no harme but of thy self, as thou thy self canst tell:
To whom I aunswere thus, since all my harmes doe growe,
Vpon my self, so of my self, some happ maie come I trowe.
And since I see bothe happ, and harme betids to me,
For present woe, my after blisse, will make me not forget thee:
Who hath a fielde of golde, and maie not come therein,
Must liue in hope till he haue forse, his treasure well to winne.
Whose ioyes by hope of dread, to conquere or to lose,
So greate a wealth doeth rise, and for example doeth disclose,
To winne the golden Flese, stoode Iason not in drede,
Till that Medeas hope of helpe, did giue hym hope to spede.
Yet sure his mynde was muche, and yet his feare the more,
That hath no happ but by your helpe, maie happ for to restore:
The ragyng Bulls he dread, yet by his Ladies charme,
He knewe it might be brought to passe, thei could doe little hame.
Vnto whose grace yelde he, as I doe offer me,
Into your hands to haue his happ, not like hym for to be:
But as kyng Priamus, did binde hym to the will,
Of Cressed false whiche hym forsoke, with Diomed to spill.
So I to you commende my faithe, and eke my ioye,
I hope you will not bee so false, as Cressed was to Troye:
For if I bee vntrue, her Lazares death I wishe,
And eke in thee if thou bee false, her clapper and her dishe.
FINIS.
R. L.
Beyng in trouble, he writeth thus.
IN terrours trapp with thraldome thruste,
Their thornie thoughts to taste and trie:
In conscience cleare from cause vniuste,
With carpyng teares did call and crie.
And saied O God, yet thou art he,
That can and will deliuer me. Bis.
Thus tremblyng there with teares I trodd,
To totter tide in truthes defence:
[Page]With sighes and sobs, I saied O God,
Let right not haue this recompence.
Lest that my foes might laugh to se,
That thou wouldest not deliuer me. Bis.
My soule then to repentance ranne,
My ragged clothes all rent and torne:
And did bewaile the losse it wanne,
With lothsome life so long forlorne.
And saied O God, yet thou art he,
That can and will deliuer me. Bis.
Then comfort came with clothes of ioye,
Whose semes were faithfull stedfastnesse:
And did bedecke the naked boye,
That erst was full of wretchednesse.
And saied be glad for God is he,
That shortly will deliuer thee. Bis.
FINIS.
W. H.
Beyng troubled in mynde, he writeth as followeth.
THe bitter sweate that straines my yelded harte,
The carelesse count, that doeth the same emrace:
The doubtfull hope, to reape my due desarte,
The pensiue pathe that guids my restlesse race.
Are at suche warre within my wounded brest,
As doeth bereue my ioye and eke my rest.
My greedie will, that seeks the golden gaine,
My lucklesse lot, doeth alwaie take in worthe:
My mated mynde, that dreades my sutes in vaine,
My piteous plaint, doeth helpe to set it forthe.
So that betwene twoo waues of ragyng seas,
I driue my daies in troubles and desease.
My wofull eyes doe take their chief delight,
To feede their fill vpon the pleasaunt maze:
My hidden harmes that growe in me by sight,
With pinyng paines, doe driue me frō the gaze.
And to my hope I reape no other hire,
But burne my self, and I doe blowe the fire.
FINIS.
I. Haiwood.
Looke or you leape.
IF thou in suertie safe wilt sitt,
If thou delight at reste to dwell,
Spende, no more words then shall seme fitt,
Let tonge in silence talke expell,
In all things that thou seest men bent,
Se all, saie nought, hold thee content.
In worldly woorks degrees are three,
Makers, doers, and lookers on:
The lookers on haue libertie,
Bothe the others to iudge vpon,
Wherefore in all, as men are bent,
See all, saie nought, holde thee content.
The makers ofte are in faulte founde,
The doers doubte, of praise or shame:
The lookers on finde surest grounde,
Thei haue the fruite, yet free from blame,
This doeth perswade in all here ment,
See all, saie nought, holde thee content.
The Prouerbe is not South and West,
Whiche hath bee saied, long tyme agoe:
Of little medlyng cometh rest,
The busie man neuer wanteth woe.
The beste waie is, in all worlds sent,
See all, saie nought, holde thee content.
FINIS.
Iasper Heywood.
Though Fortune haue set thee on hie,
Remember yet that thou shalt die.
TO die, Dame nature did man frame,
Death is a thyng moste perfecte sure:
We ought not natures workes to blame,
She made nothyng, still to endure.
That lawe she made, when we were borne,
That hence we should retourne againe:
To render right, we must not scorne,
Death is due debt, it is no paine.
The ciuill lawe doeth bid restore,
That thou hast taken vp of truste:
Thy life is lent, thou must therefore,
Repaie, except thou be vniuste.
This life is like a pointed race,
To the ende wherof when man hath trode,
He must retourne to former place,
He maie not still remaine abrode.
Death hath in all the yearth a right,
His power is greate, it stretcheth farre:
No Lorde, no Prince, can scape his wight,
No creature can his duetie barre,
The wise, the iust, the strong, the hie,
The chast, the meke, the free of hart,
The riche, the poore, who can denie,
Haue yelded all vnto his darte.
Could Hercules that tamde eche wight?
Or els Vlisses with his witte?
Or Ianus who had all foresight?
Or chast Hypolit scape the pitte?
Could Cresus with his bagges of golde?
Or Irus with his hungrie paine?
Or Signus through his hardinesse bolde?
Driue backe the daies of Death againe.
Seyng no man then can Death escape,
Nor hire hym hence for any gaine:
Wee ought not feare his carraine shape,
He onely bryngs euell men to paine,
If thou haue ledde thy life a right,
Death is the ende of miserie:
If thou in God hast thy delight,
Thou diest to liue eternallie.
Eche wight therefore while he liues here,
Let hym thinke on his diyng daie:
In midst of wealthe, in midst of chere,
Let hym accompt he must awaie.
This thought makes man to God a frende.
This thought doeth banishe pride and synne:
This thought doeth bryng a man in thende,
Where he of Death the field shall winne.
FINIS.
T. Marshall.
The complaint of a Synner.
O Heauenly God, O Father deare, cast doune thy tender eye,
Vpon a wretche that prostrate here, before thy throne doeth lye:
O powre thy precious oyle of grace, into my wounded harte,
O let the dropps of mercie swage, the rigour of my smarte.
My faintyng foule suppressed sore, with carefull clogge of synne,
In humble sorte submitts it self, thy mercie for to winne:
Graunt mercie then O Sauiour sweete, to me moste wofull thrail,
Whose mornfull crie to thee, O Lorde, doeth still for mercie call.
Thy blessed will I haue despised, vpon a stubborne mynde,
And to the swaie of worldly thyngs, my self I haue enclinde:
Forgettyng heauen and heauēly powers, where God & saincts do dwell
My life had like to tread the pathe, that leads the waie to hell.
But now my Lorde my lode starre bright, I will no more doe so,
To thynke vpon my former life, my harte doeth melte for woe:
Alas I sigh, alas I sobbe, alas I doe repent:
That euer my licencious will, so wickedly was bent.
Sith thus therefore with yernfull plaint, I doe thy mercie craue,
O Lorde for thy greate mercies sake, let me thy mercie haue:
Restore to life the wretched soule, that els is like to die,
So shall my voyce vnto thy name, syng praise eternallie.
Now blessed be the Father first, and blessed be the Sonne,
And blessed be the holie Ghoste, by whom all thyngs are doen:
Blesse me O blessed Trinitie, with thy eternall grace,
That after death my soule maie haue, in heauen a dwellyng place.
FINIS.
F. Kindlemarsh.
The fruite that sprynges from wilfull wits, is ruthe and ruins rage:
And sure what heedelesse youth committes, repentaunce rues in age.
I Rage in restlesse ruthe, and ruins rule my daies,
I rue (to late) my rechlesse youth, by rules of reasons waies:
I ranne so long a race, in searche of surest waie,
That leasure learnde me tread the trace, that ledde to leude decaie.
I gaue so large a raine, to vnrestrained bitt,
That now with proofe of after paine, I waile my want of witt:
I trifled forthe the tyme, with trust to self conceites,
Whilst plenties vse prickt forthe my prime, to search for sugred baites
Wherein once learnde to finde, I founde so sweete a taste,
That due foresight of after speede, self will estemed waste.
Whiche will through wilfulnesse, hath wrought my witlesse fall,
And heedelesse youthes vnskilfulnesse, hath lapt my life in thrall.
Whereby by proofe I knowe, that pleasure breedeth paine,
And he that euill seede doeth sowe, euill fruite must reape againe.
Let suche therefore whose youth, and purses are in Prime,
Foresee and shun the helpelesse ruthe, whiche sues misspence of tyme.
For want is nexte to waste, and shame doeth synne ensue,
Euill speedyng proofe hath heedelesse haste, my self haue proued it true.
When neighbours nexte house burnes, tis tyme thereof take heede,
For Fortunes wheele hath choise of turnes, whiche change of chances breede
My saile hath been a lofte, though now I beare but lowe,
Who clims to high selde falleth softe, dedst ebbe hath highest flowe.
FINIS.
ꝙ Yloop.
1578.