A BANQVET OF DAINTIE CONCEITS.
Furnished with verie delicate and choyse inuentions, to delight their mindes, who take pleasure in Musique, and there-withall to sing sweete Ditties, either to the Lute, Bandora, Virginalles, or anie other Instrument.
Published at the desire of bothe Honorable and Worshipfull personages, who haue had copies of diuers of the Ditties heerein contained.
Written by A. M. Seruaunt to the Queenes most excellent Maiestie. HONOS ALIT ARTES.
AT LONDON Printed by I. C. for Edwarde White, and are to be sold at the signe of the Gunne, at the little North doore of Paules. Anno. 1588.
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To the worshipfull and his especiall good freend, Maister Richard Topcliffe, Esquire. A. M. commendeth this small motion of his vnfeigned good will and affection. (⸫)
IN respecte of the manifolde good turnes, and fauourable deedes of freendship, that not onely I, but others, to whom I am somewhat beholding, haue receiued at your worshippes handes, albeit my dishabilitie will not permit me to make aunswerable requitall, yet such is the estimation I make of my duetie, that fayling in that I would, I will remaine ready in any thing I may: not that your worshippe hath any neede of mee or mine, but for I would bee lothe that ingratitude should so much insult vppon me, as neither deedes nor dueties shoulde remaine to him, who hath so well deserued. I will therefore containe the mind that poore Irus did, who comming into the Temple of the Goddesse Pallas, and seeing her to holde a Booke in the one hand, & a Launce in the other, made as great account of her secrete vertues, as her outward valliauncie: [Page] and therefore sayd, Despitefull Pouertie, thou shalt not keepe me from honouring Pallas, though thou with-holdest me from giuing her Presents. Euen so worshipfull Syr, though the world so frowne vpon me, that I cannot as I woulde: yet that poore Talent which God hath lent me (if it were suffycient for so many courtesies) shall at all times expresse, that I am loth to be vnthankfull. I therefore desire your worshyppe to accept of thys slender gift, which measured in your wonted freendlie iudgment, I doubt not but shall speede according to my expectation, and the rather, for that there is nothing heerein contayned that may eyther offend the vertuous, or giue any encouragement to the vicious: for if there were any such matters, they shoulde neuer come in your worshippes view.
Not doubting therefore, but to find your worshyppe as I alwayes haue doone, I committee you to the continuall protection of the Almightie, who defende you from all your enemies, and blesse you in remembring the labours of them that haue well deserued.
Your worships poore Freende to commaund. Anthony Monday.
❧To the Gentle and freendlie Reader.
BEfore thou readest this small trauaile of mine, (gentle Reader) I am a little to admonish thee, least otherwise thou maist happen to falout of loue with my Booke, and so thinke it not woorthy the reading. Fyrst, thou art to consider, that the Ditties heerein contained, are made to seuerall set Notes, wherein no measure of verse can be obserued, because the Notes will affoorde no such libertie: for looke how they rise and fall, in iust time and order of Musique, euen so haue I kept course therewith in making the Ditties, which will seeme very bad stuffe in reading, but (I perswade me) wyll delight thee, when thou singest any of them to thine Instrument. Secondlie, though thou finde them not sette downe in excellent verse, as perhaps many are curious in sifting such matters, yet I am sure thou shalt finde in them sence sufficient, and matter woorth the reading: though not fantasticall, and full of loue quirkes & quiddities, vet stored with good admonitions and freendly documents, so canst thou not say, that there is neither time not reason in them, but if thou marke them wel, thou shalt finde both.
[Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] Lastly, if any Dittie shall chaunce to lympe a little in the Note (as I doo not know that any one of them dooth, because they haue beene tryed by them of iudgment, and those that haue not a little esteemed of them) yet I pray thee condemne mee not, in that I haue no iote of knowledge in Musique, but what I haue doone and doo, is onely by the eare: for had I skill in Musique, they should haue beene farre better then they be. But I thanke God of that which I haue, it is not for euery man to goe to Corinth, therefore I content my selfe with that poore Talent which I haue, & which is thine to commaund, so thou entertaine my labours with courtesie. Farewell.
Thine to vse in freendship, A. Munday.
❧A Breuiate of the Notes of the Ditties contained in this Booke.
- THe first Dittie may be sung after the note of Les guanto di Hispania.
- The 2. to Primero.
- The 3. to Iohnsons Medley.
- The 4. to the Earle of Oxenfords March.
- The 5. to Monsieures Allemaigne.
- The 6. to the flatte Pauin.
- The 7. to Prima visto.
- The 8. to the newe Scottish Allemaigne.
- The 9. to the high Allemaigne Measure.
- The 10. to the Spanish Pauin.
- The 11. to the Venetian Allemaigne.
- The 12. to the note of Deeme all my deedes.
- The 13. to the Quadrant Pauin.
- The 14. to the Olde Allemaigne.
- The 15. to the newe Hunt is vp.
- The 16. to the Earle of Oxenfords Galliard.
- The 17. to Dowlands Galliard.
- The 18. to the Countesse of Ormonds Galliard.
- The 19. to Wigmores Galliard.
- The 20. to La vechia Pauin.
- The 21. to Mondaies Galliard.
- The 22. to Monday his Toy.
A Dyttie expressing a familiar controuersie between Wit and Will: wherein Wit mildlie rebuketh the follies of VVill, and sheweth him (as in a Glasse) the fall of wilfull heads.
This Dittie may be sung after the note of a Courtlie Daunce, called Les guanto.
WHen I behold the rechles race of youth:
How Wit and Will doo vainly séeme for to cō tende,
about the tried trueth.
And then againe when I haue pondred well:
How fraile desire subuerteth Wils deuises still
and reason saine would quell.
Good Lord (thinke I) great néede had Wil beware
Least suddame woe his daungers doo prepare.
Wit dooth forecast what after shall betide:
But Will bewitcht with too too much of follies charmes,
Wits counsell dooth deride.
Wit saith vaine heads are alwaies apt to fall:
But Wil that séekes to build his dwelling in the ayre,
regardeth not at all.
He will not heare, the golden meane is best:
And content minds enioy the swéetest rest.
Will be warie and that in tune,
Least had I wist happen to late:
[Page] Idlenes wasting thy youthfull prime,
brings beggerlie age to the gate.
Séeke then for profit while leysure is lent thée:
The tunes staies no man, and slacknes wil shent thée.
Looke into pleasure, and thou shalt beholde,
the end of her pastimes are nothing but paine:
Looke into profit there maist thou be bolde,
to finde out such swéetnes as will be thy gaine.
It is not brauery that can auaile,
if needines tie vppe the strings of thy pursse:
For if thy state séeme once to quaile,
thy credite will after be alwaies the wursse.
Beauty is vading and will not endure,
faire Absolons warning may well suffise:
Set not thy fancie on things so vnsure,
for beautie full often hath blamed the wise.
Beautie with charges must be maintaind,
and charges eates déepe where riches is scant:
Then count the costes that thou hast gainde,
and all thy sicknes will be but of want.
Therefore if thou wilt be warned by me,
according to cloth, so cut out thy coate:
And as thy getting let spending so be,
and suffer fond yonkers to liue all a-flote.
Equall thy selfe with none of those,
althought they scorne to sée thée chaunged:
Thou shalt sit smiling at their woes,
when thou perceiuest how they haue raunged.
Shake of their freendship, and know them no more
it is no shame to turne to doo well:
The flatterer eateth a man very sore,
yea, to the bare bones as some can well tell.
A freends rebuke farre better is,
then the swéete kisse of an enemie.
[Page] The one would gladly work thy blisse,
the other thy death, farre contrarie.
A prouerbe there is both auncient and true,
while welth will hold out, thou shalt haue freends store,
But money once failing they bid thée adiew,
they scorne then to know thée as they did before.
Such is now the fréendship that this world dooth vse:
Trust not to others least they doo deceiue thée,
but to thine owne selfe, then maist thou be bolde,
Fayrest lookes flatter, in lurche they will leaue thée,
good Will leaue the newe fréende, and cleaue to the olde,
All this hath béene prooued. Will, I tell no newes.
When thine owne rod hath beaten thée well,
then wilt thou remember what Wit hath bewraid:
That better it is in quiet to dwell,
then climing to fall, and so be dismaid,
Kéepe thee on the ground, and then thou canst not fal:
He that presumeth aboue his degrée,
the holy writ telleth, shall be brought full lowe,
And he that is humble, content so to be,
he shall be exalted and happy also.
Thus thou séest humilitie is best of all.
If thou doost doubt of that which I say,
Behold the examples full greeuous to sée:
The Children of Folly, how they doo decay,
and as their beginnings, their endings so be.
What is then the cause that they doo spéede so ill?
Folly first bred them, then Daintinesse lulde them,
and Idlenes brought them to horror and strife:
Impietie taught them, and Wilfulnesse plud them,
from vertuous delighting to dissolute life,
Then their ende to tell, it gréeueth me good Will.
Séeke then by Labour thy selfe to maintaine,
for Labour gets Learning, the chéefest of all:
[Page] And learning will bée thy profit and gaine,
Whereby to preferre thée when other things fall.
Cleaue to this, and then be sure thou doo [...]ot ill:
For nothing is gotten except thou take paine,
And when thou hast got it, then kéepe it as well:
Prouide in an honest estate to remaine,
And so thou maist hazard at all times expell
Thinke on this, and so farewell good gentle Will.
FINIS.
A Dittie declaring the vncertaintie of our earthly honor, the certaine account that we must all make of death: and therefore that we should make our selues ready at all times, because we are ignoraunt of our latter howre.
This Dittie is sung after a very prettie set note, which is called Primero.
WHat state so sure, but time subuarts?
what pleasure that is voide of paine:
What chéerefull change of former smarts,
but turnes straitwaie to gréefe againe?
What credite may a man repose,
vppon so fraile a clod of clay:
Which as to daie in sollace goes,
to morrowe is brought to earthly bay?
Thinke O man,
How thy glasse is daily sette to runne:
And how thy life shall passe, when it is doone,
Thy graue hath then thy glory wun,
and all thy pompe in cinders laide full lowe:
[Page] Take example
By the fragrant flower in the féeld,
Which as to daie in brauery to beheld,
The parching Sun hath ouer-queld,
O wretched man, euen thou thy selfe art so.
Howe then?
How canst thou bragge, or canst thou boast,
How that thou maiest,
Or that thou shalt
Enioy thy life vntill to morrow day:
Thou seest,
That death subdues the strength of Kings,
Of high and lowe,
Of rich and poore,
And all as one he dooth call awaie.
Tantara, tantara, tantara,
Thus dooth the Trompet sounde:
The Bell bids prepare a, prepare a, prepare a,
Your bodies to the ground.
Euen so,
While we are sporting, sporting, sporting,
Amidst our earnest play:
Death commeth stealing, stealing, stealing,
And takes our liues awaie,
To goe,
Put on your black aray, for needes you must away,
Vnto your house of clay,
Prepare your conscience gay, against the dreadfull day,
That you may be.
Christes chosen flocke and sheepe,
Whom he will safely keepe,
Whether you doo wake or sléepe,
Then shall the hellish foe,
Away in terror goe,
This ioy to sée.
[Page] Remember this, amidst your blisse,
that Christ hath redéemed vs by his blood:
Then let vs kill, our affections so ill,
to be elected his Seruants good.
Then shall we be sure, for aye to endure:
On Gods right hand among the pure.
When as the ill, against their will:
the endlesse paine shall passe vntill.
God graunt vs feruent constancie,
to auoide so great extremitie:
That by his grace continuallie,
we may purchase heauens felicitie.
FINIS.
❧In this Dittie is expressed, the sundry and daily mishaps that chaunce in Loue: deciphered by him that felt them, to his paine.
This Ditty is sung to Iohnsons Medley.
WHen fond desire, had drawne my mind to Loue:
Hard was my happe, and fierce the fittes,
I was enforst to proue.
When Beautie gaue her becke,
and Fancie held me thrall:
Then Will had conquered Wittes deuise,
Loue had me at her call.
Quoth Wisdome ware thy woe,
thy daunger is at hand:
Runne not too rash, be ruld in time,
least perill thée withstand.
These are the snares of Loue,
her doome a lasting ill:
[Page] Her sleights are nought but thriftlesse shifts,
for to allure thy will.
Therefore respect, the hard effect,
that may, thee stay,
When thou wouldst it reiect.
Set hatch before, the wilfull doore,
for blame, and shame,
Keepe still a shift in store.
So shalt thou espy it, when foes would say nay:
When skill dooth desery it, tis good to obey.
Sure footing, good booting, the bargaine well made,
returneth thy trauaile and charges:
Forewarned hath learned, deceite would inuade,
when libertie crieth a larges.
Youths wales are vnsteddy, he runneth on heady,
and scorneth the hazard to sée:
Loue leadeth to caring, and often dispayring.
wherefore fréend, be warned by mée.
The child once toucht with paine:
Will feare the like againe.
And proouing this too true:
Willed me bid Loue adiew.
¶But yet alas, this warning would not serue:
for vaine delight had wunne me so,
From Wisdome I did swerue:
Boldnesse dyd egge me on,
the vtmost harme to trie:
Loue had enchaunted me within,
when she had wunne mine eye.
Selfe-will perswaded me,
the passage would be fayre:
And Dalliaunce fedde my fancie so,
I little past for care.
[Page] Such was my venterou [...] mind,
built on affections blaze:
When Wisdome cryed, I could not heare,
mine eyes were set to gaze.
My hart was bent, with full consent,
to craue, to haue,
This motion of content.
For none but she, did please mine eye,
Wherefore, I swore,
For her to liue and dye.
But see how it chaunced, fell Fortune did scorne me,
My woes were aduaunced and loue had for lorne me.
My loouing, in proouing, was turned to hate,
My sute and seruice dispised:
Then thought I, how might I, beene warned of late,
When Wisdome this platforme disguised.
I might haue preuented, and stayed me contented,
the daunger was told me before:
But selfe will did leade me, till folly deceiud me,
but so shall she neuer doo more.
Yong heads I wish beware:
Of this deceitfull snare.
Least you as well as I:
The like mishap do [...] try.
FINIS.
¶A Dittie, which sheweth by example of diuers worthy personages past in auncient time, that neither strength, wit, beautie, riches, or any transitory things (wherein worldlings put any confidence) can saue them from the stroke of Death.
This Dittie may be sung to a very gallant note, called the Earle of Oxenfords March.
A Diew my former pleasure,
for I of force must leaue thée:
I see my state is most vnsure,
and thou hast long deceiude me,
Time bids me minde my latter end,
and that I am but clay:
And euerie howre I doo offend,
in manie a wicked waie.
Then farewell sinne,
I will beginne.
To sorrowe for my wicked life at the last,
and feare to sinne any more:
For when I remember all that is past,
my hart dooth bleede therefore.
¶I sée that valiant Sampson,
who vaunted of his stature:
His strength hath failde, and he is gone,
Tyme forst him yéeld to nature.
And all the courage he possest,
amidst his flowring dayes:
[Page] When Death did call him home to rest,
did vade from him strait waies.
Then why should I,
On strength relie?
Perceiuing that the stoutest hart dooth obay,
when death dooth shew his power:
And so must I néedes (as all flesh) passe away,
for strength is but a flower.
¶I sée that wise King Salomon,
whose wisedome was most excellent:
Among the rest is dead and gone,
for all his prudent gouernment.
And what is he that liueth now,
in wisedome most profound:
But Death compelleth him to bow,
and brings him to the ground:
If strength then faile?
And wit dooth quaile.
Vnwise were I once for to think that I might
escape the stroke of Death:
And knowe that there is on the earth no one wight
but must resigne his breath.
¶I sée that faire yong Absolon,
beautie did nought auaile him:
The welthy Glutton eke is gone,
his riches could not baile him
And he that had his Barnes so thwal [...]t,
and bad his soule take rest:
In one night from his wealth was rapt,
and so was dispossest.
Thus sée you plaine:
It is in vaine.
[Page] To make anie certaine account of this life,
or in your selues to trust:
Therefore make you ready to part from this strife,
for to the earth you must.
FINIS.
❧A Dittie, deliuering a freendlye admonition to VVomen, to haue care of theyr own estates, to shunne such vaine occasions, as oftentimes call theyr good names in question: and after the example of Sara, to order themselues in all their actions. (⸪)
This Dittie is sung to a pleasaunt new note, called Mounsieures Allemaigne.
LIst a while faire Ladies,
your freend dooth heere salute you:
With notes of elder ages,
whereto he would impute you.
As nature hath you framed,
with beautie in your faces:
He is loth you should be blamed,
with any close disgraces.
But this he wisheth,
your vertues may be such:
As no ill tongue may challenge meanes,
your credite for to touch.
[Page] For Women once defamed,
are subiect while they liue:
To euery loose and light report,
yong heads of them shall giue.
¶Remember good olde Sara,
though she be dead and rotten:
Shee left a lesson to all Wiues,
which should not be forgotten.
Shée reuerenced her Husbande,
and called him her Lord:
And feared least she should offend,
either in déede or word.
She did not like some Women,
her wedded mate despise:
But as olde Abraham had her hart
so did he please her eyes.
Neither would she cloath her selfe
beyond her Husbands state:
As now some Women vainly doo,
and rue if all too late.
¶She did regard her houshold,
least any thing should lacke:
And would not let her Seruants want,
to lay it on her back.
She did not gad on gossipping,
for she could neuer learne it:
To spend away her Husbands thrift,
so fast as he coulde yearne it.
Nor would she on the Sunday,
her time so vainely spend:
In playting her apparrell on
till seruice were at end.
[Page] Her face was neuer painted,
her haire laid foorth to view:
Her ruffes were neuer starched,
such toyes she neuer knew.
¶And when she lay in child-bed,
she vsed no such chéere:
To spend so larglie on a Feast,
and lacke it all the yeere.
Such fine and daintie lynnen,
as now some Women vse:
And such vaine cost in banquetting,
all this to her was newes.
She cared not for such fashions,
as now some Women doo:
That cannot sée a garment worne,
but they must haue it too.
She did regard her Husband,
and houshold charge beside:
Remembring that such vaine expence,
woulde greater needes prouide.
¶She spent in youth aduisedly,
least she in age should want:
For age hath manie miseries,
yet none so great as scant.
Beside she had another minde,
which manie Women lacke:
Who iet about in others goods,
and payment is full slacke.
Wherefore be wise faire Women,
and where these follies be:
It is no shame to leaue them off,
as Sara did you sée.
[Page] For if you still frequent them,
your daunger is the more:
And time will roote your credite vp.
be well aduisde therefore.
FINIS.
❧A Dittie, wherein may be seene by many and sundry examples, that no man ought to giue ouer-much credite to this fraile and transitorie life: but as all other things soone vade and decay, so the life of man hath no greater assuraunce. (⸪)
This Dittie is sung after the note of the flat Pauin, which is playd in Consorte.
WHen I sometime begin to thinke vpon
the frailtie of this present life:
Howe soone the pompe of man is gone,
how soone his ioyes are chaunged to gréefe.
Good Lord (think I) what mind hath man,
to trust to such a state:
Which frailtie at the first began,
and knowes no certaine date?
Now in ioy, then annoy,
Thus our time we doo destroy,
not minding that we be:
Like the grasse, which soone dooth passe,
Or as our Image in a glasse,
euen so good freends are we.
¶Behold how Summer yéerely bloometh foorth,
the goodlie blossomes of the Tree:
Which wastfull Winter counteth little woorth,
and therefore will not suffer them to bee.
And Natures mantell which she spread,
so gréene vpon the ground:
Vpon a suddaine wexeth dead,
that whilome grew full sound.
Thus are we, if we sée,
To things according as they be,
for our example left:
That as they, passe away,
So hath man as little stay,
when course hath him bereft.
¶Think on the Ship, that cutteth through ye seas,
and on her suddaine state with all:
Nowe doo the Sailers ride on at their ease,
not fearing what mischaunce may fall.
But in a moment then behold,
when swelling flawes doo rise:
The Ship is split, their harts were cold,
and eche for mercie cries.
Thus ere while, they did smile,
When time their fancies did beguile,
now, swallowed in the déepe:
Euen so we, in health now be,
Anon, a lumpe of clay (to sée,)
thus death on vs dooth créepe.
¶When thou doost lay thee dow [...] to take thy rest.
and sleepest soundly void of care:
An Image of thy death is there exprest,
which steales on thée before thou canst beware.
[Page] What thing so ere thou takest in hand,
doo thus thy selfe prouide:
That death dooth at thine elbow stand,
and waites no time or tide.
Yong or old, be not too bold,
For life cannot be bought or sold,
For fréendshippe or for fée:
The Lordly minde, the homely hind
All flesh must yeeld vnto their kind,
Death spareth no degrée.
Then happy is that man (in sooth) say I,
that can his time so well dyrect:
As at eache howre, he is prepard to dye,
and fleshly hope dooth cleane reiect.
For he that dooth regard the place,
whence all our comfort springs:
Accounts this earthlie, honor base,
he mindeth heauenly things.
For there is ioy, without annoy,
Let vs then so our times imploy,
that there may be our rest:
Thus wish I all, both great & small,
To such repentance they may fall,
to liue among the blest.
FINIS.
❧A Dittie, wherein is contained a very proper discourse, of a certaine welthy Merchaunt, who forgetting his profite, gaue his mind to pleasure.
The Dittie may be sung after a pleasant newe note, called Prima visto.
in Surria (as I reade:)
Whose yeerely traffique to the Cair,
full well susfisde his néede.
[Page] For bringing precious Stones from thence,
the profit rose so much:
By his account, vnto himselfe,
as very fewe had such.
¶This Merchaunt to giue greater grace,
to Iewels of such price:
Compounded with a skilfull man,
both excellent and wise.
To sette these stones in finest Golde,
agreeing by the daie:
Because he should not slack his worke,
a certaine summe to pay.
¶This cunning workman euerie daie,
applied his busines well:
And euery night receiu'de his wadge.
At last it so befell,
Vnto the Merchants house was brought,
a goodly Instrument:
Which for the Beauty and the sound,
did highly him content.
¶The workeman (as his custome was)
vnto his businesse came:
When as the Merchaunt tooke the Harpe,
and shewed him the same.
His skill in Musicke beeing great,
did take the Instrument:
Demaunding if that he should play,
the Merchaunt was content.
¶So sweetly did he play thereon,
and with such rare delight:
[Page] That thus he wasted foorth the day,
vntill it was darke night.
Then for his duetie he dooth call,
and as much dooth require:
As if he had applyed his worke,
seruing for dailye hire.
¶The Merchaunt saies, he had not wrought
but played all the day:
The workman saies, you did commaund,
then I must needes obay.
Your bargaine is for daily wadge,
all day I haue béene heere:
And doone what you commaunded me,
my wadges then is cleere.
¶In breefe, they fell so much at square,
and so farre did proceede:
That by the Iudges of the Towne,
sentence must be decreed.
Which went against the Merchant flatte,
and so much he must pay:
The workeman, as if he had wrought,
and laboured all the day.
¶The Merchaunt scant digested this,
that he so much must pay:
And might haue gotten twise so much,
if he had wrought all day.
His folly nowe he dooth repent,
and biddes such gaudes farewell:
He finds more swéetnesse in the Nutte,
then in the outward shell.
FINIS.
In this Dittie, is set downe the morrall iudgment of the great and learned Philosopher Sendebar, on the storie before passed: which will be found, both worth the reading and regarding
This Dittie may be sung to the newe Scottish Allemaigne.
SUch men as betake them to pleasure and ease,
may sée by this story what issue it brings:
And noting their folly, they may if they please,
contrary their humor, with durable things.
Forsaking such fondnesse as dooth them beguile,
When they should remember their soules in meane while:
To keepe it most pure, least ought it defile.
¶Howe great is the number that profite forsake,
and séeke after folly, and vanities vaine?
What high estimation doo worldlings make,
of toyes and of trifles that cannot remaine?
And all to winne credite in wanton folkes eyes,
Whose prayses are counted as death (with the wise:)
Because light coniectures, swéete counsell despise.
¶The Grey-hound that swiftly pursuing the Hare,
receiues his aduanutage, and holdeth her fast:
And séeing another, dooth after prepare,
and so looseth both, and labours in waste.
So fares it with couetous men now a daies,
Who gape after all thinges, which promise thē praise:
And yet are deceiued by many like waies.
¶May not this world be myserable namde?
nay, rather our willes most wretched and vile?
That sée what attempts will make vs be blamde,
and blindly will let them our fancies beguile.
But if we remembred how short is our stay,
And that we possesse, must vanish away:
These worldly affections could not vs betray.
¶Where is the good beginning of vs?
where is our excellent middest likewise?
Where may we our perfect end discus?
O man, learne in dealing to be more precise.
For euen on thy birth day, Death dooth embrace thée,
And all thy life time, at his will doth chace thee:
And when thou least thinkest, then doth he displace thée
¶In darknesse and in corruption we are borne,
and when the light of this world we first enioy:
Myserie dooth compasse vs, and holdes vs in scorne,
and cloggeth vs daily with greefe and annoy.
Th' Elements with heate and cold doo offend vs,
Diseases oppresse vs, till Phisick doo mend vs:
And troubles hang on vs, ech howre for to end vs.
¶If we be alone, then sollemnes killes vs,
if we be in companie, somewhat dooth mollest vs:
If we be wealthy, then feare of Théeues spilles vs,
if we be needy, dispayre dooth arest vs.
To die we are loth, or to part from our treasure,
To leaue fréends, wife and children, we greeue out of measure
To sin we are ready, but we repent at leisure.
¶And what will one man doo for an other?
but grieue and repine, that his neighbour dooth well?
[Page] For gaine he will cut the throate of his Brother,
and for preferment his soule he will sell.
The fooles beares aware the credite of the wise,
Trueth is trode downe by him that telles lyes:
And ill will for good will is now the worlds guise.
¶All vertuous actions are in small account,
Mercie is dead, and Charitie colde:
Selfe-loue dooth neighbourly kindnesse surmount,
and Vsury hurteth both yong and olde.
Good Lord amend this, when thy will may be,
And quicken againe true Loue and Charitie:
For good men are sicke, these disorders to sée.
FINIS.
¶A Dittie, wherein is contained diuers good and necessary documents, which beeing embraced and followed earnestly, may cause a man to shunne manie euilles and mischaunces, that may otherwise fall vpon him, ere he can beware.
This Ditty may be sung to the high Allemaigne Measure, singing euery last straine twise with the Musicque.
SOfte fire makes sweete Mault, they say:
Few words well plast, the wise will way.
Time idle spent, in trifles vaine:
Returnes no guerdon for thy paine.
[Page] But time well spent, doth profite bring:
And of good works will honour spring.
Bestow thy time then in such sort:
That vertue may thy déedes support.
The greater profite thou shalt sée:
And better fame will goe of thée.
¶In talke be sober, wise and sadde,
Faire to thy Freend, kind to the badde.
And let thy words so placed bée:
As no man may finde fault with thée.
Nor meddle not in any case,
With matters which thy witte surpasse.
With things that not to thée pertaines,
It folly were to beate thy braines.
For suddaine blame may hap to thee:
In medling vnaduisedly.
¶Take heede in any wise, I say:
What things thou goest about to day.
That thou to morrow not repent,
And with thy selfe be discontent.
Speake not such words to others blame:
As afterward may turne thee shame.
To day thou speakest and doost not care:
But of to morrow still beware.
For then thou canst not call againe,
What lauishly did passe thy braine.
¶Kéepe secrete closely in thy minde:
Things that thy state and credite binde.
Beware, if thou doo them disclose:
To whom and where, for feare of foes.
[Page] Especially of him take heede,
Whose trueth thou doost not know in déede.
For hard it is thy freend to know:
From him that is a flattering foe.
And many men in showe are kind,
Yet worse then Serpents in their mind.
¶Be not too hasty in thy déedes,
Of too must haste, oft harme procéedes.
Be sober, mute, take good aduise:
For things too much are full of vice.
With moderation rule thée so:
As thou aside no way maist goe.
For haste makes waste, as proofe dooth say:
And little said, soone mend ye may.
Forecast what after may befall:
So shalt thou not be rashe at all.
¶Haue mind still of thine owne offence:
Regard thy faults with good pretence.
Séeke not a moate in one to spie:
First pull the beame out of thine eye.
And find no fault with any man:
Except amend thy selfe thou can.
And when thy faults amended be:
The good that others see in thée.
Will learne them so their déedes to frame:
As they may likewise scape from blame.
¶Of no man giue thou bad report:
Backbite not any in thy sport.
For words doo wound as déepe as swords:
Which many vse in iesting boordes.
[Page] And slaunder is a hainous hate:
Which dooth nought els but stirre debate.
And twixt good freendes makes deadly strife:
To hazard one anothers life.
And all this may procéede of thée:
Except thou wilt aduised bée.
¶Beare freendly with thy neighbours fault,
Remember thou thy selfe maist halt.
If he hath ought offended thée:
Forgiue, as thou the like wouldest be.
And thinke if thou hast gone awrie:
Thou for forgiuenesse must apply.
So with thy neighbours faults doo beare:
And of thine owne stand still in feare.
Pardon as thou wouldest pardoned be:
So God will pardon him and thee.
¶Be gentle vnto euery wight:
Let courtesie be thy delight.
Familiar be with few, I say,
For sure it is the wisest waie.
Too much familiaritie,
May bring thy sorrowes suddainly.
Therefore keepe gentlenesse in mind,
To rich and poore be alwaies kind.
So pride shall neuer conquere thée:
Which is mans chéefest enemie.
FINIS.
A pleasant Dittie, wherein is described, what falsehood oftentimes is found in felowship, verified by a couetous minded man, who laboured to deceiue his deere freende, but yet deceiued himselfe in the ende.
This Dittie may be sung to the note of the Spanish Pauin.
one daie did part it equally:
But left it in the Garner still,
for want of other remedie.
[Page] One of them thought his freende had most,
which caused him discourteously:
To seeke to steale it thence,
not minding fréendly am itie.
¶His freend that not mistrusted him,
did walke about his busines:
The other to the Garner comes,
to make assur'de his craftinesse.
And on his freends heape cast his cloake,
least he should misse of his deuise
For he that steales in the darke,
may be deceiued twise.
¶He being gone, within a while,
the other partner thether came:
Who séeing his freends cloake on his heape,
did very kindly take the same.
Thinking his freend had left his Cloake,
to saue his portion from the dust:
Therefore he thought again,
to shew his freendship iust.
¶Quoth he, how kind a fréende haue I,
that deales with me thus courteously?
His owne Corne héere he leaueth bare,
and couers mine full gentlie.
I needes must shew some loue againe,
vnto so good a freend and Brother:
So he takes of the Cloake,
and laies it on the other.
¶At night this false freend comes againe,
who with a Théefe compacted had:
[Page] To haue halfe bootie of the Corne,
I iudge his freendship verie bad.
Because he would deceiue his freend,
he was content the halfe to lose:
They béeing thus agreed,
the Théefe then with him goes.
¶This false freend groped in the darke,
to find the heape his Cloake lay on:
And iudging it had béene his fréends,
became a Theefe vnto his owne.
Betweene them they conuaied it thence,
eche to his house where he did dwell:
Thus was the man deceiu'de,
the Theefe he sped full well.
¶Next morning both the partners came,
according as they were agreed:
Vnto the Garner for their Corne,
to carry it thence away with spéede.
But when the false fréend saw the heape,
and how himselfe he had deceiu'de:
He wist not what to say,
his witts were nie bereau'de.
¶His partner carried thence his Corne,
and he went home full heauily:
Not daring to reueale his harme,
least all should know his trecherie.
Sée how deceit deceiu'de himselfe,
marke well the practise and the end,
I would the like might hap,
to euery faithlesse freend.
FINIS.
❧A Dittie, wherein the breuitie of mans life is described, how soone his pompe vanisheth away, and he brought to his latest home.
This Ditty may be sung to the Venetian Allemaigne.
by winde or weather wasted is at length:
[Page] The sturdie Dake that clymeth in the ayre,
in time dooth lose his beautie and his strength.
The sayrest Flower that florisht as to daie:
To morrow séemeth like the withered haie.
¶So fares it with the present state of man,
whose showe of health dooth argue manie yeeres:
But as his life is likened to a span,
so, suddaine sicknes pulles him from his peeres.
And where he séemde for longer time to daie:
To morrow lies he as a lumpe of clay.
¶The Infant yong, the milke white aged head,
the gallant Youth that braueth with the best:
We sée with earth are quickly ouer-spreade,
and both alike brought to their latest rest.
As soone to market commeth to be solde:
The tender Lambes skin, as the Weathers olde.
¶Death is not partiall, as the Prouerbe saies,
the Prince and Peasant, both with him are one:
The sweetest face that's painted now a daies,
and highest head set forth with pearle and stone.
When he hath brought them to the earthly graue:
Beare no more reckoning then the poorest slaue.
¶The wealthy Chuffe, that makes his Gold his God,
and scrapes and scratches all the mucke he may:
And with the world dooth play at euen and od,
when Death thinks good to take him hence away.
Hath no more ritches in his winding shéete:
Then the poore soule that sterued in the stréete.
¶Vnhappie man that runneth on thy race,
not minding where thy crased bones must rest:
[Page] But woe to thée that doost forget thy place,
purchast for thée, to liue amongst the blest.
Spend then thy life in such a good regard:
That Christes blessing may be thy reward.
FINIS.
A Dittie, discoursing the communication betweene Christ and the woman of Samaria, that came to drawe water at Iacobs well, according as it is sette downe in the 4. chapter of Saint Iohn. (⸪)
This Dittie may be sung to the note of Deeme all my deedes.
AS Iesus went to Galilee,
his iourney chaunced so:
Thorow Samaria as he went,
by Iacobs Well to go.
Where béeing faint and wearied,
with labouring on the waie,
He sate him downe on Iacobs Well,
at midde time of the day.
¶Not long had Iesus sitten there,
but (as the text dooth tell:)
A woman of Samaria came,
for water to the well.
[Page] His Disciples were gone for meate,
least faintnesse shoulde force them shrinke:
When Iesus to the woman said,
Woman giue me some drinke.
¶How is it (said the woman) then?
a Iewe thou seem'st to be:
How happens it, that thou doost thus,
demaund for drinke of me?
The Iewes make small account of vs,
and we estéeme them so:
They meddle not with Samaritanes,
I thinke thy selfe doost know.
¶Said Iesus then, if thou didst knowe,
the gift of God on hie:
And who he is that asketh drinke,
I thinke assuredlie,
Thou wouldest haue asked drinke of him,
to ease thy inward strife:
And he woulde haue bestowed on thée,
the swéete water of life.
¶Quoth she, thou nothing hast to draw,
the well is déepe likewise:
From whence hast thou the water of life,
I cannot well deuise.
Art thou greater then our Father Iacob,
who gaue to vs this well?
He and his Children dranke thereof,
and so did his Cattell.
¶Quoth Iesus then, this water héere,
can no mans thirsting slake:
[Page] But who so of the water drinks,
that I to him shall take.
Shall neuer thirst, but shall in him,
a well of water raise:
Springing vnto eternall life,
where he shall see good daies.
¶Sir (said the Woman) giue to me,
of this sweete water cléere:
That I may neuer thirst againe,
nor come to draw more heere.
Then Iesus thus to her replied,
Thy Husband goe and call:
And then come hether vnto me,
and answer thée I shall.
¶I haue no husbande, Sir (said she)
Quoth he, Thou saiest well:
Thou hast no husband, but hast had,
fiue husbands I can tell.
And for the man whom now thou hast,
thy husband is not he:
I knowe as much as thou hast said,
the very certaintie.
¶The Woman then amazed was,
to heare her fault descried:
Thou art a Prophet, sir I sée,
thus she to him replied.
Our Fathers worshipped in this Mount,
so long as they did liue:
But you say at Ierusalem,
that men should worship giue.
¶Woman (said Iesus vnto her,)
the howre draweth néere:
When neither at Ierusalem,
nor in this Mountaine heere.
Shall you the Father reuerence,
his worshippe you abuse:
We know our worshippe, and that life,
procéedeth of the Iewes.
¶But sure the howre is at hand,
and nowe it is likewise:
When the true seruaunts of the Lord,
shall with themselues deuise,
To worship him in spirit and trueth,
such worship would he haue:
He is a Spirit, and the trueth,
like worship doth he craue.
¶Then said the woman vnto him;
I knowe assuredly:
That the Messias soone shall come,
and Christ his name must be.
When he is come, as come he will,
all things he will reueale:
And he will tell vs by what waies,
our actions we must deale.
¶Quoth Iesus vnto her againe,
take this for certaintie:
I am Messias and that Christ,
that talketh heere with thée.
With that came his Disciples straite,
who meruailed much to sée:
That he would with the woman talke,
and so familiar bee.
¶The Woman left her water pot,
and to the Cittie ran:
Where she disclosde what Christ had said,
willing them come sée the man.
Which when they did, they by this meanes,
were brought vnto beléefe:
And he remaind with them two daies,
to yéeld them more reléefe.
FINIS.
¶Of the three wise sentences, which three yong men of the Guarde of King Darius presented to him. The first said: VVine is strongest. The second said: The King of strongest. The third said: VVomen are strongest, but Truth ouercommeth all things.
The first that spake of the strength of VVine, began to prooue his argument first as foloweth, according as it is written in the third and fourth Chap. of Esdras.
Wyne is strongest.
This Ditty may be sung to the Quadrant Galliard.
O What a thing of strength is wine?
of how great power and might?
For it deceiueth euery one,
that takes therein delight.
The minde of King and fatherlesse:
It maketh equall in likenesse.
¶The bond-man and the frée-man bothe,
Wine maketh in equality:
The poore-man and the welthy wretch,
Wine knitteth in affinity.
The Lordly péere and homely hind:
In Wine but slender difference finde.
¶Wine turneth euerie pensiue thought,
to ioy and gladnesse presentlie:
So that all they which drinke thereof,
doo cleane cast out of memorie.
All sorrow, greefe, debt or distresse:
Wine sets them in such pleasantnes.
¶Wine maketh euery hart so ritch,
that they forgette immediatly:
Their King, their Gouernour, and all,
and pleade their owne authoritie.
And all their words weigh verie déepe:
Till wine haue brought them fast a sléepe.
¶When men are entred in their drink,
they haue no minde at all:
Of loue to Brethren, fréends or kin,
but some to weapons fall.
But when they are from Wine at last:
They not remember what hath past.
¶Is not Wine strongest now thinke you,
that carrieth with it such a might:
As forceth men to doo these things,
without regard of wrong or right?
This said, he paused for a space:
And to the second man gaue place.
FINIS.
¶The second man, who spake of the strength of the King, after his fellow had ended, beganne to declare his minde.
The King is strongest.
This Ditty may be sung to the Maskers Allemaigne, commonly called the olde Allemaigne.
IF Wine be strong, what strength haue men,
which rule by land and Sea?
And ouer all things in them too,
they needes must strongest be.
But yet the King farre stronger is,
for he dooth rule all men:
And all things that he dooth commaunde,
they doo fulfill it then.
¶If he bidde warre amongst themselues,
they graunt to doo it presently:
Or els against their enemies,
they goe, and that couragiously.
They breake downe Mountaines, walles, and Towres,
they kill and killed be:
And looke what spoyles they winne in fight,
they bring the King to see.
¶And they that deale not in these broyles,
but till the earth at home:
They sowe, they reape, and to the King,
they bring it as his owne.
[Page] They one another force to pay,
theyr tribute to the King:
And looke what he commaundeth them,
they doo it euerie thing.
¶And yet the King is but one man,
but if he bidde them kill:
They kill: And if he bid them spare,
they spare with right good will.
If he bid smite, then doo they smite,
if he bid desolate.
They doo it: and if he bid build,
they doo obey it strait.
¶If he say, cut off, they cut off,
if he say: plant, they plant:
And all things els that he commaunde,
in them shall be no want.
Thus all his people and his Realme,
one onely man obey:
Meane while, he sitteth, eates and sléepes,
and if he list may play.
¶For these doo kéepe him round about,
their toyles they set apart:
And doo what he commaundeth them,
they reuerence him in hart.
Is not the King strongest of all,
beeing honored in this sort?
Thus brake he off, and then the third,
his sentence did report.
FINIS.
Then the third, whose sentence was: that, women were strongest, but Trueth ouercommeth all things, and whose name was Zerobabell, began to speake as followeth.
Women are strongest: but Trueth ouercommeth all things.
This Dittie may be sung after the note of the Queenes Maiesties new Hunt is vp.
IT neither is the mightie King,
nor any men beside:
Nor wine that may be strongest namde,
alas you are too wide.
Who is it that dooth gouerne these,
and ruleth ore them all:
Women they are, and Womens strength,
may not be counted small.
The King himselfe of Woman came,
and they that rule the earth:
Men of what state so euer they be,
of Women had their birth.
Yea, they that tooke the paines to plant,
the Vines that beare the Wine:
They came of Women at the first,
and vnto them encline.
They make mens garments, and beside,
they make them honorable:
No man without a Woman can,
long time to liue be able.
They that haue Siluer and Gold at will,
or ought that they may déeme:
When they faire Women doo behold,
more déere they them estéeme.
For all those things they doo forsake,
to gaze on beauties face:
Not weighing any precious thing,
faire beautie to embrace.
A man forsakes his Father déere,
that kept him all his life:
Yea, Kinne and Countrey dooth forgoe,
and cleaueth to his wife.
For her he ieoperdeth his life,
and dooth great hazards finde
He recks not Countrey, Dad nor Dame,
so he may please her minde.
By this you plainlie may perceiue,
Women ouer you doo sway:
At night you bring them home your hyre,
for labouring all the daie,
Manie sticks not to kill and steale,
and saile vpon the Seas:
To bring home booties for their Loues,
and glad their mindes to please.
Manie for Women haue runne mad,
and so haue seru'de in thrall:
Yea, some haue sinned and perished,
and thus (for Women) all.
I graunt the King is great in power,
all stand of him in awe:
Yet Apame the Kings Concubine,
not long sithence I sawe:
Her sit on the right hand of the King,
and verie pleasantlie:
She tooke the Crowne from off his heade,
which he endur'de famlliarlie.
And on her head she put his Crowne,
and lifting vp her hande:
Therewith she gaue the King a stroke,
all this I stood and scande.
And in meane season what did he,
but on her gaze and looke?
And when she laughed, then he laught,
so well he could her brooke.
But if that she did frowne on him,
then would he flatter her:
That she might into good conceit,
the King againe prefer.
How thinke ye now of Women kinde:
are they not strong indeede:
The King and Princes lookt apace,
as though they were agreed.
But then againe he did beginne,
great is the earth (quoth hee)
The Heauen hie, the Sunne in course,
doth passe full spéedilie.
For in one daie he compasseth,
the Heauen round about:
And turnes againe vnto his place,
where he first issued out.
Is not he great that made these things,
so wonderfull to see?
Then say that Trueth is strongest of all,
for very Trueth is hee.
All the whole earth dooth call for Trueth,
and Heauen blesseth it:
All things doo shake and tremble thereat,
it is not false one whit.
The Wine, the King, yea Women too,
and Men are wicked all:
Theyr works are naught, no Trueth in them,
they perrish and they fall.
But Trueth dooth constantlie abide,
and strongest is for euer:
She liues and raignes, and euer shall,
can be confounded neuer.
With her no choyse of person is,
she dooth the things are iust:
From wicked works she dooth abstaine,
men ought in her to trust.
Her iudgments euermore are sound,
her Maiestie ensueth:
Ouer all ages by her power,
Blest be the God of Trueth.
Thus brake he off, and then began,
the people all to cry:
Trueth greatest is, and strongest of all,
and Trueth shall neuer die.
FINIS.
A Glasse for all men to behold themselues in, especially such proude and prodigall minded men, and such delicate and daintie women who building on the pride of their beautie, and amiable complexion, thinke scorne to become aged, and that their sweete faces should be wrinckled, or their youthfulnes brought into subiection by age.
This Ditty may be sung to the Earle of Oxenfords Galliard.
YOu youthfull heads, whose climing mindes,
doo séeke for worldly praise:
Whose yong desires doo séeme to scorne,
Olde ages slaied waies.
Beare with she plaine-song of my note,
which is so plaine in déede:
As daintie mindes will scant endure,
so harshe a tale to reade.
¶As nature hath endued your shapes,
with exquisite perfection:
And giues you choyse of sweete delights,
wherein you haue affection.
When Time hath runne his course in you,
the selfe-same Nature saies:
That all these daintie toyes must die,
whereof you made your praise.
¶Marke how the yeere in course doth passe,
note first the pleasant Spring:
The earth by Nature then affoordes,
full many a precious thing.
Of fruits, of flowres, of wholsome hearbes,
we gather as we please:
And all things els we lacke beside,
our needfull wants to ease.
¶And likewise in this pleasant time,
we take delight to walke:
To run and play at barley breake,
and in our Gardens talke.
One freend an other dooth inuite,
they seast and make good chéere:
Both rich and poore doo make pastime,
at this time of the yéere.
¶But wreakfull Winter drawing on,
withdraweth these delights:
And robbes vs of them one by one,
as toyes and trifling sights.
The Seith cuttes downe the goodlie grasse,
that grew so greene to day:
And all the swéete and pleasant flowers,
are changed then to hay.
[...] [...]
¶The Trées that bragged in their leaues,
the bitter blasts doo bight:
And chaunge them from their goodly state,
to olde and withered plight.
And they that flocked to the Féeldes,
when Summer was so braue:
Nowe closelie creepe about the fire,
for Winter warmth will haue.
¶Compare we now the yéerely chaunge,
with mans appointed race:
Who in the Aprill of his age,
greene humours dooth embrace.
And as Maie flowers glad the eye,
so in his youthfull time:
Man compasseth a world of ioyes,
whereto his though is doo clime.
¶Behold likewise Dame Beauties gyrles,
whose daintie mindes are such:
As not the Sun-shine nor the wind,
must their faire faces touch.
Theyr Maskes, their Fannes, and all the toyes,
that wanton heads can craue:
To maintaine Beautie in her pride,
these prancking Dames must haue.
¶But elder yeeres approching on,
a little euery daie:
Their daintie Beautie dooth decline,
and vanisheth away.
And as colde Winter chaseth hence,
the pleasant Summer daies:
So withered Age encountreth Youth,
amidst his wanton waies.
¶You that thinke scorne of auncient age,
and hold him in contempt:
To make of Beautie such a price,
and to vaine thoughts are bent.
Remember Nature yéelds to course,
and course his race will haue:
From the first howre of your byrth,
vntill you come to graue.
¶Age is an honour vnto them,
that liue to sée the same:
And none but vaine and foolish heads,
will blot olde Age with blame.
Who oftentimes are soone cut off:
and not so happy blest:
To see the dayes their Fathers did,
before they went to rest.
¶Thrise happy they that spend their youth,
in good and vertuous wise:
Forsaking all such vaine desires,
as wanton heads surmise.
And wholie doo direct themselues,
vnto his will that made them:
Then Folly neuer can haue power,
from vertue to disswade them.
FINIS.
A Ditty, wherin is expressed a notable example of a slothfull man, who wilfully suffered himselfe to be robbed and dyspoyled of his goods by slothfulnes, which otherwise he might very well haue saued.
This Dittie may be sung to Dowlands Galliard.
IT chaunced on a time, that a lewde Theefe:
Did enter in a mans house for some reléefe.
Where séeking busilie what he might finde:
At length he found such things as pleasde his minde.
Sorting them earnestly what he did lacke:
At last of all the best he made a packe.
¶The good man of the house lay in his Bedde,
And heard how fast his goods abroade were spread.
He thought to let the Théefe take his owne pleasure,
And for to fill his bagge at his owne leysure.
And when he suddainly should packe away:
Then would he manfullie cause him to stay.
¶For (quoth he) if I should now goe and fray him:
He might escape away, and I not stay him.
I will therefore suffer him yet for a while:
And when he thinketh least, will him beguile.
As he lay thinking thus the Théefe to keepe:
He quite forgot himselfe, and fell a sleepe.
¶The Théefe had filled his bagge to his content:
Which casting on his backe, away he went.
The man at last awakt, and then did sée:
His Chests were broken vp, and left all emptie.
And his house robbed cleane in euery place:
He sate him downe and sight in heauie case.
¶Quoth he, I wretched man might this haue eased:
And might haue staied the Théefe, if I had pleased.
For when I heard the noyse, if I had hasted:
I might haue sau'de my goods, which nowe are wasted.
But thinking to deceiue and take him tardie:
I haue deceiu'de my selfe through mine owne follie.
¶By this we may perceiue how good it is:
To take time while time lastes, least we doo misse.
In driuing off our time we may repent vs:
When our owne rod worthily commeth to shent vs.
Therefore be warie, and vse time well:
Else may it to you as to this man befell:
FINIS.
A Dittie, wherein may be discerned the troublesome daungers, & vneasie passages in this world: exampled by a very proper discourse of a Trauailer in his iourney, howe many and sundry mischaunces happened vnto him.
This Dittie may be sung to the Countesse of Ormonds Galliard.
A Certaine yong man, as I reade,
that trauelled on his way:
[Page] On such affayres and businesse,
as his occasions lay,
Passing through waste and desart soyles,
which drew his mind in sadnesse:
At last he spied a pleasant plaine,
which gaue some cause of gladnesse.
¶Walking along this pleasant plaine,
more merrie then before:
Feeding his eyes with pleasant sighes,
whereof this place had store.
At last, on suddaine he espyed,
foure Lyons very fiercelie:
Preparde themselues to runne at him,
which he did brooke but scarcelie.
¶He seeing refuge on no side,
his life in daungerous plight:
Did take himselfe vnto his legges,
to shun them if he might.
But well he knewe that running long,
his strength perforce must fayle him:
And then his rauenous enemies,
might easilie assayle him.
¶He thought it better (if he could)
some where in secrete hid him:
So running on, he sawe a place,
whereof he did prouide him.
A Well besette with little twigges,
which catching hold vpon:
He thought to hang there by the hands,
vntill the Beastes were gone.
¶So casting both his legges abroade,
on either side the Well,
Where best he might sustaine himselfe,
what happe so euer fell.
With hands and feete such shift he made,
as well he could not fall:
Nor yet the Lyons if they came,
might come at him at all.
¶The Lions hauing lost the fight,
of this perplexed man:
Followed no more, but to the woods,
againe they swiftly ran.
He looking downe into the Well,
a hideous Dragon sawe:
With yawning mouth waighting his fall,
to glutte his greedie mawe.
¶The yong man nowe more fearefull was,
then at his first mishappe:
Perceiuing where he lookt for ayde,
he found the doubtful'st trappe.
If he should fall, the Dragon stoode,
at hand for to receiue him:
The Lyons were without (he thought)
of life for to bereaue him.
¶In this so great extremitie,
he wist not what to doo:
Séeing his death before his eyes,
and by such tyrants too.
Besides, there had he hung so long,
and in such greeuous paine:
His hands could hardly longer time,
his heauie weight sustaine.
¶But as we know that life is sweete,
and lothe we are to leaue it:
So this poore soule was very lothe,
these rauenous beasts should reaue it.
Which made him raise himselfe aloft,
desiring long to sée:
Whether the Lyons yet were gone,
or should his Butchers be.
¶He sawe them gone, but then alas,
a newe mishappe began.
Threatning more daunger and distresse,
to this poore wretched man.
For looking out, he did behold,
two other Beasts were by:
The one was white, the other blacke,
now thought he sure to die.
¶For these two beasts stood gnawing ye roots.
of those two litte Trees:
Whereby he did vphold himselfe,
which when (poore man) he sées.
And still the Dragon was belowe,
awayting for his fall:
We well may iudge this yong mans gréefe,
may not be counted small.
¶He struggles hard to kéepe his holde,
because his ioynts did faint:
His legges likewise full often slippe,
such numnesse did them taint.
Then looking round about the Well,
he chaunced to espie:
A potte of Honnie in a hole,
that was to him full nie.
¶This Pot some Shéepheard had left there,
in passing by the way:
And iudging this a place so fitte,
did there the same conuay.
Which when this yong man did behold,
he presently forgotte:
In what hard case he stoode of life,
and lusted to the potte.
¶One of the twigges he dooth forsake,
and hangeth by one hand:
Because he would the Honnie taste,
that did so neere him stand.
Thus hauing quite forgot the beastes
that gnawed the twigges without:
He sweetlie of the Honnie lickes,
not minding anie doubt.
¶So long he did delight himselfe,
in tasting of the potte:
The twigges by one and one doo breake,
and he so ouer-shotte.
That to the other twigges againe,
he could by no meanes come:
Nor could his footing longer held,
because his strength was doone.
¶So falles he downe into the Well,
and there poore soule he died:
You that haue heard how many woes,
did this yong man betyde.
And yet how many shifts he made,
the perrill to preuent:
Let his mis-fortune teach you all,
whereto this world is bent.
FINIS.
In this Dittie, is reuealed the morrall iudgment of this notable and excellent History, sette downe by the famous and learned Philosopher Tyabonus: wherein may be seene the very full course and wretched race of man in this transitory life.
This Ditty may be sung to Wigmores Galliard.
THe Well this man for refuge tooke,
the World dooth represent:
Wherein we seeke by diuers meanes,
to worke our owne content.
And where we struggle and we striue,
eche one for his auaile:
Liuing in hope of many things,
whereof great numbers faile.
¶The Lyons which did force this man,
vnto his fearefull flight:
Signifie the foure Elements,
which séeke both day and night.
To chase man into contraries,
now well, then sicke againe:
With many alterations,
whereof man féeles the paine.
¶The Dragon that with gaping mouth,
did watch this yong mans fall:
Dooth represent our earthly Graue,
whereto in ende we shall.
How braue or stoute so euer we be,
how pollitique or wise:
The Graue must shroude our bones at last,
for so is Natures guise.
¶The Two young twigges wherby he held,
the one is named Loue:
The other may be Temporall goods,
whose strength we often proue.
By Loue we beare vnto this drosse,
so long we hang thereon:
That heauie sinne dooth weigh vs downe,
till faith is well néere gone.
¶The Little Beastes that gnawed the twigs
of couller blacke and white:
May be compared very well,
vnto the Day and Night.
For they consume the time so fast,
that goods nor wealth can saue vs:
But these two cuts vs off at length,
and then the earth must haue vs.
¶The Pot with Honnie may be tearmd,
The pleasure in this life:
Wherewith we glutte our selues so full,
we recke no stormes of strife.
Nor manifold calamities,
which threaten mans decay:
The lust of Pleasure gluttes vs so,
we feare them by no way.
¶So at the length, the Day and Night,
cuttes off our Pleasure too:
And then into our Graue we fall,
as all mankind must doo.
For be we poore, or be we ritch,
this is the end of all:
The Graue must be our shrowding shéete,
when dreadfull Death dooth call.
FINIS.
A Dittie, wherein is liuely and amply described, the Mansion or Castel of vaine exercises & delights, which being maintained by Pride, Prodigalitie, Lust, Ambition, Contempt of Vertue, and such other, is the ouerthrow of many that resorte thither, rather then to vertuous studies and exercises.
[Page] This Dittie may be sung to the note of La vechia Pauin.
WHo list to sée a patterne of abuse,
Or reade a tale, which manie rue with teares:
Or who will sée into the verie sluce,
That leadeth man into a world of feares.
Let him regard what I shall heere report,
in blazing forth vaine Pleasure and her mates:
Whose odious liuing (with the vertuous sort,)
is namde the fall of many mennes estates,
And noting well her fetches and her sleights,
he may himselfe beware:
For Vanitie hath choyse of déepe deceits,
to wrappe a man in care.
¶First settes she Pride in forefront of her Forte,
Trickt in her fines, yea, more then super-fine:
Daliaunce her wanton giues her choyse of sport,
Some while with Musique, then with notes diuine.
The goers by doo gaze on this prospect,
which she perceiuing calleth for Delight:
Whom she commaundeth with a subtill becke,
to féede their eyes with some new-fangled sight.
Which she performes with such a gallant grace,
as they that sée the same:
What with his toyes, and Prides alluring face,
their sences are made lame.
¶Then comming into this delightfull place,
where all abuses in the world abounds:
Flatterie telles them with a goodly grace,
Such tales as quite their memory confounds.
Then launch out yonkers while your liuings last,
for Beautie must be braue againe.
[Page] He that with sparing shall be héere disgrast,
may not, or ought in this place remaine.
Then spend they that their Parents got with care,
in riotous excesse:
And launch so farre till they be worne thread-bare,
through their owne wilfulnesse.
¶Thus hauing spent, till they can spend no more,
These daintie darlings byd them then farewell:
Then Beggerie comes knocking at the doore,
To thriftlesse youth their follies past to tell.
Thus walke they thence in care and heauinesse,
despisde of them on whom they spent so much:
The world likewise that sawe their foolishnesse,
dooth scorne to mone or pittie any such.
Then howe they ende their liues in Miserie,
I néede not heere report:
Beware therefore my fréends of Vanitie,
or any of her sort.
FINIS.
A Dittie, wherein the Author giueth his farewell to Fancie, hauing learned the auncient Prouerbe: that it is good to take warning by other mens mis-fortunes.
This Ditty may be sung to A. Munday his Galliard.
FArewell sweet Fancie,
Thou maist goe play thee,
Wisedome saith, I may not stay thée:
I am vnskilfull,
[Page] And thou too wilfull,
And Time dooth thy sports denay me.
Olde men haue learned:
And I my selfe haue this discerned.
That Sports and pleasure:
Must be applyed to time and measure.
For youthfull heads,
Runne so farre till blame doth shent them:
Then theyr owne red,
Makes them glad in the ende to repent them.
¶I see that many,
Haue followed Fancie,
To their owne great losse and daunger:
Some in aspyring,
To vaine desiring,
Wherein Reason hath béene a stranger.
Some thirst for fauour,
And yet find hate in th'end for their labour.
Some looke for liuing,
And yet come short when tis in giuing.
And some I see,
Well deserue, yet doo speede but badly:
and others reape,
The reward (they) should haue of duetie.
¶Thus time is tyckle,
and fancie fickle,
Neuer abyding in assuraunce:
Who then would trust thée,
That dealst vniustlie,
With thy freends of longest duraunce?
Others mens warning:
Shalbe sufficient for my learning.
[Page] And thy vnkindnesse,
Shall make me feare to folow blindnes.
For thou that hast,
Beene a cause to deceiue so manie:
Wilt serue me so,
And therefore fare thou well swéete Fancie.
FINIS.
A pleasant Dittie, of a familiar communication, that passed betweene certaine Ladies, as they walked abroade into the fields for their recreation: wherein is prooued, that Beautie is nothing worth, except it be coupled with vertue.
This Ditty may be sung to A. Munday his Toy.
IT was my chaunce to walke abroade,
where Ladies were a sporting:
And youthfull yonkers on a row,
from euery place resorting.
And sitting downe vpon the bancks,
where Flowers grew full swéetlie:
By one and one they did begin,
to speake their seuerall fancie.
One did Beautie much commend,
Saying such a daintie fréende:
deserued estimation:
And they that were not Beauties freends,
Should reape dishonour for amendes:
sooner then commendation.
¶The second Lady then replied,
and said, I like well Beautie:
If vertue be conioynd therewith,
it then becomes it fitly.
For what may better beare the name,
of Beauties soueraigne gracing:
Then Vertue which so decks the same,
there can be no defacing.
But beauty that's maintaind by pride
Hath no assuraunce to abide,
but quickly is confounded:
Let Vertue dwell in Beauties breast,
And then must Beautie néeds be blest,
that is so surely grounded.
¶We must not name them beautifull,
which beare a gaye complexion:
And make no reckoning of their states,
but liue without discretion.
And wound their honor with disgrace,
in companie lasciuious:
Who onely praise their daintie face,
to worke them treason tretcherous.
Faire beauty liketh none of this,
That with pure Vertue ioyned is,
but highly dooth disdaine it:
Then let vs name that Woman faire,
That of her credite hath a care,
least any spot should staine it.
¶Your iudgment (Sister) quoth the third,
is not to be despised:
For Beautie walketh now a daies,
me thinks too much disguised.
[Page] For they that seeme in outward show,
as Saints in their profession:
So carelesse out of course doo goe,
as it is past suspition.
And yet are these accounted faire,
Who dare not looke into the ayre,
least that the Sun should show them:
Faire Beautie that is faire indéede,
Accounts this Beautie as a weede,
and thinketh scorne to know them.
¶Me thinks those men are worse then mad,
that doo so much abase them:
To haue affiance in such Dames,
whose very déedes disgrace them.
But some say men are cause of all,
who flatter them so kindly:
Tush, vertuous Women will not fall,
let men speake nere so fréendly.
With that there fell a showre of raine,
Which made thē trudge away amaine,
and so brake off their talking:
I would be glad the rest to heare,
If I might méete these Ladies there,
when they goe next on walking.
FINIS.