A hundreth sundrie flowres bounde vp in one small poesie Gathered partely (by translation) in the fyne outlandish gardins of Euripides, Ouid, Petrarke, Ariosto, and others: and partly by inuention, out of our owne fruitefull orchardes in Englande: yelding sundrie svveete sauours of tragical, comical, and morall discourses ...

Written vppon a reconciliation be∣twene two freendes

THe hatefull man that heapeth in his mynde, Cruell reuenge of wronges forepast and done, May not (with ease••) the pleasaunt pathway finde, Of friendly verses which I haue now begone, Unlesse at first his angry brest vntwinde, The crooked knot which canckred choller knit, And then recule with reconciled grace. Likewise I find it sayed in holy write, If thou entend to turne thy fearefull face, To God aboue: make thyne agrement yet, First with thy Brother whom thou didst abuse, Confesse thy faultes thy frowardnes and all, So that the Lord thy prayer not refuse. When I consider this, and then the brall, Which raging youth (I will not me excuse) Did whilome bréede in mine vn••ellowed brayne,

I thought it méete before I did assay, To write in ryme the double golden gayne, Of amitie: first yet to take away The grutch of grief, as thou doest me constrayne. By due desert whereto I now must yéeld, And drowne for aye in depth of Lethes lake, Disdaynefull moodes whom frendship cannot wéeld: Pleading for peace which for my parte I make Of former strife, and henceforth let vs write The pleasant fruites of faythfull friends delight.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

¶Two gentlemen did roon three courses at the rynge for one kysse, to be taken of a fayre gentlewoman being then pre∣sent, with this condicion▪ that the winner shold haue the kisse, and the loser be bound to write some verses vppon the gayne or losse therof. Now it fortuned so that the wynner triumphed saying, he much lamented that in his youth he had not seene the warres. VVhereuppon the looser compiled these following in discharge of the condicion aboue rehea••sed.

THis vayne avayle which thou by Mars hast woon, Should not allure thy flittering mynd to féeld: Where sturdie Stéedes in depth of daungers roon, With guts wel gnawen by clappes that Cannons yéeld. Where faythlesse friends by warfare waxen ware, And roon to him that geueth best rewarde: No feare of lawes can cause them for to care, But robbe and reaue, and steale without regard The fathers cote, the brothers stéede from stall: The déere friends purse shall picked be for pence, The natiue soyle, the parents left and all, With Tant tra Tant, the campe is marching hence. But when bare beggrie hids them to beware, And late repentaunce rules them to retyre.

Like hy••elesse Bées they wander here and there, And hang on them (who earst) might dread their yre. This cutthro••e life (me séemes) thou shouldst not like, And shoon the happie hauen of meane estate: High Ioue (perdie) may send what thou doest séeke, And heape vp poundes within thy quiet gate. Nor yet I would that thou shouldst spend thy dayes, In idlenesse to teare a golden time: Like country loutes which compt none other prayse, But grease a shéepe and learne to serue the swine. In vayne were then the giftes which nature lent, If Pan so preasse to passe Dame Pallas lore: But my good friend let thus thy youth be spent, Serue God thy Lord, and prayse him euermore. Search out the skill which learned bookes do teach, And serue in féeld when shadowes make thée sure: Hold with the head, and rowe not past thy reach. But plead for peace which plenty may procure. And (for my life) if thou canst roon this race, Thy bagges of coyne will multiply apace.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

¶Not long after the writing hereof: he departed from the company of his sayd friend (whom he entirely loued) into the west of England, and feeling himselfe so consu∣med by womens craft that he doubted of a safe retorne: wrote before his departure as followeth.

THe féeble thred which Lachesis hath spoon, To drawe my dayes in short abode with thée, Hath wrought a webb which now (welneare) is don••, The wale is worne: and (all to late) I sée That lingring life doth da••ly but in vaine, For Atrop••s will cut the twist in twayne.

I not discer••e what life but lothsome were, When faithfull friends are kept in twayne by want: Nor yet perceyue what pleasure doth appéere, To déepe desires where good successe is skant. Such spight yet showes dame fortune (if she frowne,) The haughty harts in high mishaps to drowne.

Hot be the flames which boyle in friendly mindes, Cruell the care and dreadfull is the doome: Slipper the knot which tract of time vntwynds, Hatefull the life and welcome were the toome. Blest were the day which migh deuower such youth, And curst the want that séekes to choke such trueth.

This wayling verse I bathe in flowing teares, And would my life might end with these my lynes: Yet striue I not to force into thine eares, Such fayned plaintes as fickell fayth resignes. But high forsight in dreames hath stopt my breath, And causd the Swanne to sing before his death.

For lo these naked walles do well declare, My latest leaue of thee I taken haue: And vnknowen coastes which I must séeke with care Do well diuine that there shalbe my graue. There shall my death make many for to mone, Skarce knowne to them, well knowne to thée alone.

This bowne of thée (as last request) I craue, When true report shal sounde my death with fame: Uouchsafe yet then to go vnto my graue, And there first write my byrth and then my name▪ And how my life was shortned many yeares, By womens wyles as to the world appeares.

And in reward of graunt to this request, Permit O God my toung these wordes to tell▪ (When 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his pen shall write vppon my chest) With shriking voyce mine owne deare friend farewell. No care on earth did séeme so much to me, As when my corps was forst to part from thée.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

He wrote to the same friend from Excester, this Sonet following.

A Hundreth sonnes (in course but not in kind) Can witnesse well that I possesse no ioye: The feare of death which fretteth in my mynd Consumes my hart with dread of darke anoye. And for eche sonne a thousand broken sléepes, Deuide my dreames with fresh recourse of cares: The youngest s••••ter sharpe hir sheare she kepes, To cut my thred and thus my life it weares. Yet let such dayes, such thousand restlesse nightes, Spit forth their spite, let fates eke showe their force: Deathes daunting dart where so his buffets lights, Shall shape no change within my friendly corse: But dead or liue, in heauen, in earth, in hell I wilbe thine where so my carkase dwell.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

¶He wrote to the same friend from Founteine belle eaü in Fraunce▪ this Sonet in commendation of the said house of Fountaine bel' eaü.

NOt stately Troy though Priam yet did liue▪ Could now compare Founteine bel eaü to passe▪ Nor Syrriane towers, whose loftie steppes did striue, To clymbe the throne where angry Saturne was.

For outward shew the ports are of such price, 〈…〉〈…〉 Such works within as stayne the rare deuise▪ Which whillome he Apelles wrought on toome. Swift Tiber floud which fed the Romayne pooles, Puddle to this where Christall melts in streames, The pleasaunt place where Muses kept their schooles▪ (Not parcht with Phaebe, nor banisht from his beames) Yéeld to those Dames, nor sight, nor fruite, nor smell, Which may be thought these gardens to excell.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

¶He wrote vnto a Skotish Dame whom he chose for his Mistresse in the french Court, as followeth.

LAdy receyue, receyue in gracious wise, This ragged verse, these rude ill skribled lynes: Too base an obiect for your heauenly eyes, For he that writes his fréedome (lo) resignes Into your handes: and fréely yéelds as thrall His sturdy necke (earst subiect to no yoke) But bending now, and headlong prest to fall▪ Before your féete, such force hath beauties stroke. Since then myne eyes (which skornd our English) dames In forrayne courtes haue chosen you for fayre, Let be this verse true token of my flames, And do not drench your owne in déepe dispayre. Onely I craue (as I nill change for new) That you vouchsafe to thinke your seruaunt trew.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

¶VVritten to a gentlewoman who had refused him and chosen a husband (as he thought) much inferior to himself, both in knowledge byrth and parsonage. VVherin he bewrayeth both their names in cloudes, and how she was woon from him with sweete gloues and broken ringes.

I Cannot wish thy griefe, although thou worke my woe Since I profest to be thy friend, I cannot be thy foe: But if thinges done and past, might wel be cald againe, Then woulde I wishe the wasted wordes, which I haue spent in vaine: Were it vntold to thée, in earnest or in game, And that my doubtfull musing mind, had neuer thought the same. For whyles I thée beheld, in carefull thoughts I spent My liking lust, my lucklesse loue which euer truly ment▪ And whyles I sought a meane, by pitie to procure, Too late I foūd that gorged haukes, do not esteme y^• lure. This vaūtage hast thou then, thou mayst wel brag & b••st Thou mightst haue had a lusty lad, of stature with the most, And eke of noble mind: his vertues nothing base, Do well declare that descends, of auncient worthy race. Saue that I not his name, and though I could it tell, My friendly pen shall let it passe, bycause I loue him wel. And thou hast chosen one of meaner parentage, Of stature small & therwithall, vnequall for thine age. His thewes vnlike the first, yet hast thou hot desire, To play thée in his flitting flames, God graūt they proue not fyre. Him holdest thou as deare, and he thy Lord shall bée, (Too late alas) thou louest him, that neuer loued thée. And for iust proofe hereof, marke what I tell is true, Some dismold day shall change his mind, and make him séeke a new. Then wilt thou much repent thy bargaine made in hast, And much lament those parfumd gloues, which yéeld such sower tast. And eke the falsed faith, which lurkes in broken ringes, Though hand in hand say otherwise, yet do I know such thinges.

Then shalt thou sing and say, farewell my trusty Squier▪ Wold god my mind had yéelded once, vnto thy iust desire▪ Thus shalt thou waile my want, and I thy great vnrest, Which cruel Cupid kindled hath, within thy broken brest. Thus shalt thou find it griefe, which earst thou thought∣est game, And I shal hear y^• weary newes, by true reporting fame▪ Lamenting thy mishap, in source of swelling teares, Harding my hart w^t cruel care, which frosen fācy beares. And though my iust deserte, thy pitie could not moue, yet wil I wash in waylīg words, thy careles childish loue And say as Troyl••s sayd, since that I can no more, Thy wanton wil did wauer once, and wo is me therfore.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

In prayse of a gentlewoman who though she wer•• not very fayre, yet was she as hard fauored as might be.

IF men may credite giue, to true reported fames, Who douts but stately Roome had store of lusty louing Dames? Whose eares haue bene so deafe, as neuer yit heard tell How farre the fresh Pompeia, for beautie did excell. And golden Marcus he, that swayde the Romaine sword, Bare witnesse of Boemia, by credite of his word. What neede I mo reherse? since all the world did know How high y^• flouds of beauties blase, within those walles did flowe. And yet in all that choyce a worthy Romaine Knight, Antonius who conquered proude Egypt by his might. Not all to please his eye, but most to ease his minde, Chose Cleopatra for his loue, & left the rest behinde. A wondrous thing to read, in all his victory. He snapt but hir for his owne share, to please his fātasie.

She was not faire God wot, y^• coūtry bréeds none bright, Well maye we iudge hir skinne the foyle, bycause hir téeth were white. Percase hir louely lookes, some prayses did deserue, But brown I dare be bold she was▪ for so y^• solle did serue. And could Antonius forsake the fayre in Roome? To loue this nutbrowne Lady best, was this an equall doome? I dare wel say dames there, did beare him deadly grudge, His sentence had bene shortly sayed, if Faustine had bene iudge. For this I dare auow, (without vaunt be it spoke) So braue a knight as Anthony, held al their necks in yoke I leaue not Lucrece out, beleue in hir who list, I thinke she would haue lik'd his lure, & stooped to his fist. What mou'd the chieftain then, to lincke his liking thus? I wold some Romaine dame were here, the question to discusse. But I that read hir life, do find therin by fame, How cleare hir curtisie did shine, in honour of hir name. Hir bountie did excell, hir trueth had neuer péere, Hir louely lookes hir pleasāt spéech, hir lusty louing ••here. And all the worthy giftes, that euer yet were found, Within this good Egiptiā Quéen, did séeme for to aboūd▪ Wherfore he worthy was, to win the golden fléece, Which scornd the blasing sterres in Roome, to conquere such a péece. And she to quite his loue, in spite of dreadfull death, Enshrinde with Snakes within his tombe, did yéeld hir parting breath.

Allegoria.

IF fortune fauord him, then may that man reioyce, And think himself a happy man by hap of happy choice. Who loues and is belou'd of one as good, as true, As kind as Cleopatra was, and yet more of bright hewe.

Hir eyes as grey as glasse, hir téeth as white as mylke, A ruddy lippe, a dimpled chyn, a skinne as smoth as silke. A wight what could you more y^• may content mās mind, And hath supplies for eu'ry want that any man can find. And may himselfe assure, when hence his life shall passe, She wilbe stong to death with snakes, as Cleopatra was.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

¶He began to write by a gentlewoman who passed by him with hir armes set bragging by hir sides, and left it vnfinished as followeth.

WEre my hart set on hoygh as thyne is bent, Or in my brest so braue and stout a will: Then (long ere this) I could haue bene content, With sharpe reuenge thy carelesse corps to kyll. For why thou knowest (although thou know not all) What rule, what reigne, what power, what segnory, Thy melting mind did yéeld to me (as thrall) When first I pleasd thy wandring fantasie. What lingring lookes bewray'd thyne inward thought, What pangs were publisht by perplexitie, Such reakes the rage of loue in thée had wrought And no gramercy for thy curtesie. I list not vaunt, but yet I dare auowe (Had bene my harmelesse hart as hard as thyne) I could haue bound thée then for sterting now, In bonds of bale, in pangs of deadly pyne. For why by proofe the field is eath to win, Where as the chiefteynes yéeld themselues in chaynes: The port or passage playne to enter in Where porters list to leaue the key for gaines. But did I then deuise with crueltie, (As tyrants do) to kyll thy yéelding pray?

Or did I bragge and boast triumphantly, As who should say, the field were myne that day? Did I retire my self out of thy sight To beate (a fresh) the bulwarks of thy brest? Or did my mind in choyse of change delight, And render thée as refusd with the rest? No Tygre no▪ the Lion is not lewd, He showes no force on séely wounded shéepe, &c.

VVhiles he sat at the dore of his lodging▪ deuysing these verses aboue rehearsed, the same Gentlewoman passed by agayne, and cast a longe looke towards him, wher∣by he left his former inuention and wrote thus.

HOw long she lookt that lookt at mée of late, As who would say, hir lookes were all for loue: When God he knowes they came from deadly hate, To pinch me yit with pangs which I must proue. But since my lookes hir liking may not moue, Looke where she likes: for lo this looke was cast, Not for my loue, but euen to sée my last.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

An other Sonet written by the same Gentlewoman vppon the same occasion.

I Lookt of late and saw thée looke askance, Upon my dore to sée if I satt there, As who should say▪ If he be there by chance, Yet may he think I looke him euery where. No cruell no, thou knowst and I can tell, How for thy loue I layd my lookes a side: Though thou (percase) hast lookt and liked well Some new found looks amid this world so wide. But since thy lookes my loue haue so enchaynd That in my lookes thy liking now is past:

Looke where thou likest, and let thy hands be staynd, In true loues bloud which thou shalt lack at last. So looke so lack, for in theis toyes thus tost, My lookes thy loue, thy lookes my life haue lost.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

Enough of this Dame. And let vs peruse his other doings which haue come to my hands, in such disordred or∣der, as I can best set them down. I will now then pre∣sent you with a Sonet written in prayse of the brown beautie, which he compyled for the loue of Mistresse E. P. as foloweth.

THe thriftles thred which pampred beauty spinnes, In thraldom binds the foolish gazing eyes: As cruell Spyders with their crafty ginnes, In worthlesse webbes doe snare the simple Flies. The garments gay, the glittring golden gite, The tysing talk which floweth from Pallas pooles: The painted pale, the (too much) red made white, Are smyling baytes to fishe for louing fooles. But lo, when eld in toothlesse mouth appeares, And whoary beares in stéed of bauties blaze: Than Had I wist, doth teach repenting yeares, The tickle track of craftie Cupides maze. Twixt faire and foule therfore, twixt great and small, A louely nutbrowne ••ace is best of all.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

Written by a Gentlewoman in court, who (when shee was there placed) seemed to disdain him, con∣trary to a former profession.

WHen daūger kepes the dor••, of lady beauties bowre, Whē ielouse toys haue chased Trust out of hir strō∣gest towre: Then faith and troth may flie, then falshod wins the field

Thē féeble naked faultlesse harts, for lack of sence must yeld. And thē preuailes as much to hop against the hil, As séeke by suite for to apease a froward Ladies will. For othes and solemne vowes, are wasted then in vain, And truth is cōpted but a toy, whē such fond fācies reign. The sentence sone is said, when will it self is Iudge, And quickly is the quarel pickt whē ladies list to grudge. This sing I for my selfe, (which wrote this weary song) Who iustly may cōplain my case, if euer man had wrong A Lady haue I seru'd, a Lady haue I lou'd, A Ladies good will once I had, hir ill will laie I pr••u'd. In country first I knew hir, in coūtrie first I caught hir, And out of coūtry now in court, to my cost haue I sought hir. In court where Princes reign, hir place is now assingd, And well were worthy for the roome, if she were not vn∣kind. There I (in wonted wise) did shew my self of late, And found y^• as the soile was chang'd, so loue was turnd to hate. But why? God knowes, not I: saue as I said before, Pitie is put frō porters place, & daunger kéepes the dore. If courting then haue skill, to chaunge good Ladies so, god sēd ech wilful dame in court, som wōd of my like wo That with a troubled head, she may both turne and tosse, In restlesse bed whē she should sleepe & féele of loue y^• losse. And I (since porters put me from my wonted place)▪ And déepe deceit hath wrought a wyle to wrest me out of grace: wil home agein to cart▪ as fitter wer for me, Then thus in court to serue and starue, wher such proud porters be.

Si fort••natus infoelix.

From this I will skip to certaine verses written to a Gentlewomā whom he liked very well, and yit had neuer any oportunity to discouer his affection, being always brydled by ielouse lookes, which attended them both, and therfore gessing by hir looks, that she partly also liked him: he wrot in a booke of hirs as fo∣loweth.

THou with thy lookes on whom I looke full ofte, And find therin great cause of déepe delight: Thy face is faire, thy skin is smooth and softe, Thy lippes are swéet, thine eyes are cleere and bright, And euery part séemes pleasant in my sight. Yit wote thou well, those lookes haue wrought my wo▪ Bicause I loue to looke vpon them so.

For first those lookes allur'd myne eye to looke, And streight myne eie stird vp my hart to loue: And cruell loue with déepe deceitfull hooke, Chokt vp my mind whom fancie cannot moue, Nor hope reléeue, nor other helpe behoue: But still to looke, and though I looke too much, Néeds must I looke, bicause I sée none such.

Thus in thy lookes my loue and life haue hold, And with such life my death drawes on apace: And for such death no medcine can be told, But looking still vpon thy louely face, Wherein are painted pitie, peace, and grace. Then though thy lookes should cause me for to dye, Néedes must I looke, bicause I liue therby.

Since then thy lookes my lyfe haue so in thrall, As I can like none other lookes but thine: Lo here I yéeld my life, my loue, and all Into thy hands, and all things else resigne, But libertie to gaze vpon thyne eyen. Which when I doe, then think it were thy part, To looke again, and linke with me in hart.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

VVith these verses you shall iudge the quick ca∣pacity of the Lady: for she wrot therunder this short aunswer.

Looke as long as you list, but surely if I take you looking, I will looke with you.

And for a further profe of this Dames quick vnderstā∣ding, you shall now vnderstand, that soone after this answer of hirs, the same Author chaūced to be at a supper in hir cō∣pany, where were also hir brother, hir husband, and an old louer of hirs by whom she had bin long suspected. Nowe, al∣though there wanted no delicate viands to content them, yit their chief repast was by entreglancing of lookes. For G. G. being stoong with hot affection, could none otherwise re∣lie••e his passion but by gazing. And the Dame of a curteous enclinatiō deigned (now and then) to requite the same with glancing at him. Hir old louer occupied his eyes with wat∣ching: and hir brother perceyuing all this could not absteyne from winking, wherby he might put his Sister in remēbrāce, least she should too much forget hirself. But most of all hir husband beholding the first, and being euill pleased with the second, scarse contented with the third, and misconstruing the fourth, was constreyned to play the fifth part in froward frowninge. This royall banquet thus passed ouer, G.G. knowing that after supper they should passe the tyme in pro¦pounding of Riddles, and making of purposes: contryued all this conceipt in a Riddle as followeth. The which was no sooner pronounced, but she could perfectly perceyue his in∣tent, and draue out one nayle with another, as also ensew∣eth.

His Riddle.

I Cast myne eye and saw ten eies at once, All séemely set vpon one louely face: Two gaz'd, two glanc'd, two watched for the nonce, Two winked wyles, two fround with froward grace▪ Thus euery eye was pitched in his place. And euery eye which wrought eche others wo, Said to itself, alas why lookt I so? And euery eye for ielouse loue did pine, And sigh'd and said, I would that eye were mine.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

In all this louely company was none that could and would expound the meaning herof. At last the Dame hirself answered on this wise. Sir, quod she, bicause your dark speech is much too curious for this simple cōpanie, I wilbe so bold as to quit one question with an other. And when you haue answered myne, it maye fall out peraduenture, that I shall somewhat the better iudge of yours.

Hir Question.

What thing is that which swims in blisse, And yit consumes in burning grief: Which being plast where pleasure is, Can yit recouer no relief. Which sées to sighe, and sighes to sée, All this is one, what may it bée?

He held himselfe herwith contented: and afterwardes when they were better acquainted, he chaunced once (groping in hir poc∣ket) to find a letter of hir old louers: and thinking it wer better to wincke than vtterly to put out his eyes, seemed not too vn∣derstand this first offence: but soone after finding a lēman (the which he thought he saw hir old lemman put there) he deuised therof thus, and deliuered it vnto hir in writing.

I Groped in thy pocket pretty peat, And found a Lemman which I looked not: So found I once (which now I must repeat) Both leaues and letters which I liked not. Such hap haue I to find and séeke it not, But since I sée no faster meanes to bind, then I will (henceforth) take lemmans as I find them.

The Dame within very short space did aunswere it thus.

A Lymone (but no Lemmane) Sir you found, For Lemmans beare their name to broad before: The which since it hath giuen you such a wound, That you séeme now offended very sore:

Content your self you shall find (there) no more. B••t take your Lemmans henceforth were you lust, For I will shew my letters where I trust.

This Sonet of his shall passe (for me) without any preface.

WHen stedfast friendship (bound by holy othe) Did parte perforce my presence from thy sight. In dreames I might behold how thou wert loth With troubled thoughts to parte from thy delight. When Popler walles enclos'd thy pensi••e mind, My painted sh••dow did thy woes reuiue: Thine euening walks by Thames in open wind, Did long to sée my sayling boate ariue. But when the dismold day did séeke to part From London walles thy longing mind for me. The sugred kisses (sent to thy deare hart) With secret smart in broken sléepes I sée. W••erfore in teares I drenche a thousand fold, Till these moist eyes thy beauty may behold.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

He wrote (at his friends request) in prayse of a Gent∣lewoman, whose name was Phillip, as followeth.

OF all the byrds that I do know, Phillip my sparow hath no peare: For sit shée high or lye shée low, Be shée far off, or be she neare, There is no bird so fayre, so fyne, Nor yit so fresh as this of myne.

Come in a morning merely When Phillip hath ben lately fed, Or in an euening soberly,

When Phillip list to goe to bed: It is a heauen to heare my phippe, How she can chirpe with chery lippe.

She neuer wanders far abrode, But is at hand when I doe call: If I commaund she layes on lode, With lips, with téeth, with tonge and all. She chants, she chirpes, she maks such chéere, That I beléeue she hath no péere.

And yit besides all this good sport, My Phillip can both sing and daunce: With newfond toyes of sundry sort, My Phillip can both prycke and prance: As if you say but fend cut phippe, Lord how the peat will turne and skippe

Hir fethers are so fresh of hew, And so well proyned euery day: She lacks none oyle, I warrant you: To trimme hir tayle both tryck and gay. And though hir mouth be somewhat wyde, Hir tonge is swéet and short beside.

And for the rest I dare compare, She is both tender, swéete and soft: She neuer lacketh daynty fare, But is well fed and féedeth oft: For if my phip haue lust to eate, I warrant you Phip lacks no meat.

And then if that hir meat be good, And such as like do loue alway: She will lay lips theron by the••rood,

And sée that none be cast away: For when she once hath felt a fitte, Phillip will crie still, yit, yit, yit.

And to tell trueth he were to blame, Which had so fyne a Byrde as she, To make him all this goodly game, Without suspect or iellousie: He were a churle and knew no good, Would sée hir faynt for lacke of food.

Wherfore I sing and euer shall, To praise as I haue often prou'd, There is no byrd amongst them all, So worthy for to be belou'd. Let others prayse what byrd they will, Swéete Phillip shalbe my byrd still.

Si fortunatus infoelix.

Now to begin with another man, take these verses written to be sent with a ryng, wherein were engraued a Patrich in a Merlines foote.

THe Partridge in the pretie Merlines foote, Who feeles hir force supprest with fearefulnesse, And findes that strength nor strife can do hir boote, To scape the danger of hir déepe distresse: These wofull wordes may séeme for to reherse Which I must write in this waymenting verse.

What helpeth now (sayeth she) dame natures skill, To die my fethers like the dustie ground? Or what preuayles to lend me winges at will Which in the ayre can make my bodie bound?

Since from the earth the dogges me draue perforce, And now aloft the Hauke hath caught my corse.

If chaunge of coollors, could not me conuey, Yet mought my wings haue scapt the dogges despite: And if my wings did fayle to flie awaye, Yet m••ught my strength resist the Merlynes might. But nature made the Merlyne mée to kyll, And me to yéeld vnto the Merlines will.

My lot is like (déere Dame) beleue me well, The quiet life which I full closely kept: Was not content in happie state to dwell, But forth in hast to gaze on thee it lept. Desire the dogge did spring me vp in hast, Thou wert the Hauke, whose tallents caught me fast.

What should I then, séeke meanes to flie away? Or striue by force, to breake out of thy féete? No, no, perdie, I may no strength assay, To striue with thée ywis, it were not méete. Thou art that Hauke, whom nature made to hent me, And I the Byrd, that must therwith content me.

And since Dame nature hath ordayned so, Hir happie heast I gladly shall embrace: I yéeld my will, although it were to wo, I stand content to take, my griefe for grace: And seale it vp within my secrete hart, Which seale receiue, as token of my smart.

Spraeta tamen viuunt.

To a Dame which challenged the aucthor bycause he held his head alwayes downe, and looked not vppon hir in his wonted wise.

YOu must not wonder, though you thinke it straunge, To sée me hold, my lowring head so lowe: And that mine eyes, take no delight to raunge, About the gleames, which on your face do growe. The Mouse which once hath broken out of trappe, Is seldome tysed▪ with the trustlesse bayte: But lieth aloofe, for feare of more mishappe, And feedeth still in doubt of déepe disceipt. The skorched flie, which once hath scapt the flame, Will hardly come, to play againe with fire: Wherby I learne, that greuous is the game, Which followes fancie dazled by desire. So that I wincke, or els hold downe my head, Bycause your blazing eyes, my bale haue bred.

Spraeta tamen viuunt.

A louing Lady being wounded in the spring time, and now galded eftsones with the remembrance of the spring, doth therfore thus bewayle.

THis tenth of March when Aries receyu'd, Dame Phoebus rayes, into his horned head: And I my selfe, by learned lore perceyu'd, That Ver approcht, and frostie wynter fled. I crost the Thames, to take the cherefull ayre, In open féeldes, the weather was so fayre.

And as I rowed, fast by the further shore, I heard a voyce, which séemed to lament: Wherat I stay'd, and by a stately dore, I left my Boate, and vp on land I went. Till at the last by lasting payne I found, The wofull wight, which made this dolefull sound.

In pleasaunt garden (placed all alone) I sawe a Dame, who sat in weary wise, With scalding sighes, she vttred all hir mone, The ruefull teares, downe rayned from hir eyes: Hir lowring head, full lowe on hand she layed, On knée hir arme: and thus this Lady sayed.

Alas (quod she) behold eche pleasaunt gréene, Will now renew, his sommers liuery, The fragrant flowers, which haue not long bene séene, Will florish now, (ere long) in brauery: The tender buddes, whom colde hath long kept in, Will spring and sproute, as they do now begin.

But I (alas) within whose mourning mynde, The graffes of grief, are onley giuen to growe, Cannot enioy the spring which others finde, But still my will, must wyther all in woe: The cold of care, so nippes my ioyes at roote, No sunne doth shine, that well can no them boote.

The lustie Ver, which whillome might exchange My griefe to ioy, and then my ioyes encrease, Springs now elsewhere, and showes to me but strange, My winters woe, therfore can neuer cease: In other coasts, his sunne full clere doth shyne, And comfort lends to ey'ry mould but myne.

What plant can spring, that féeles no force of Ver? What flower can florish, where no sunne doth shyne? These Bales (quod she (within my breast I beare, To breake my barke, and make my pyth to pyne: Néeds must I fall, I fade both roote and rynde, My braunches bowe, at blast of eu'ry wynde.

This sayed: she cast a glance and spied my face, By sight wherof, Lord how the chaunged hew? So that for shame, I turned backe a pace And to my home, my selfe in hast I drew: And as I could hir woofull wordes reherse, I set them downe in this waymenting verse.

Now Ladies you, that know by whom I sing, And féele the wynter, of such frozen wylls: Of curtesie, yet cause this noble spring, To send his sunne, aboue the highest hilles: And so to shyne, vppon hir fading sprayes, Which now in woe, do wyther thus alwayes.

Spreta tamen viuunt.

The careful louer combred with pleasure, thus complayneth.

NOw haue I found the way, to wéepe & wayle my ••••ll, Now can I end my dolefull dayes, & so content my will. The way to wéepe inough, for such as list to wayle, Is this: to go abord y^e ship, where pleasure beareth sayle. And there to marke the iests, of euery ioyfull wight, And with what wynde and waue they fleete, to nourish their delight. For as the striken Deare, that séeth his fellowes féede, Amid the lustie heard (vnhurt,) & féeles him selfe to bléede. Or as the séely byrd, that with the Bolte is brusd, And lieth a loofe among the leaues, of al hir péeres refusd. And heares them sing full shrill, yet cannot she reioyce, Nor frame one warbling note to passe, out of hir mourn∣full voyce. Euen so I find by proofe, that pleasure dubleth payne, Unto a wretched wounded hart, which doth in woe re∣maine.

I passe where pleasure is, I heare some for sing ioye, I sée som laugh, some other daūce, in spight of dark anoy. But out alas my mind, amends not by their myrth, I déeme al pleasures to be paine, that dwel aboue y^• earth. Such heauy humors féede, y^• bloud that lends me breath, As mery medcines cannot serue, to kepe my corps from death.

Spraeta tamen viuunt.

¶The louer being disdaynfully abiected by a dame of high calling, who had chosen (in his place) a playe fel∣lowe of baser condicion: doth therfore determine to step a side, and before his departure giueth hir this farewell in verse.

THy byrth, thy beautie, nor thy braue attyre, (Disdainefull Dame, which doest me double wrong) Thy high estate, which sets thy hart on fire, Or new found choyce, which cannot serue thée long, Shall make me dread, with pen for to reherse, Thy skittish deedes, in this my parting verse.

For why thou knowest, and I my selfe can tell, By many vowes, how thou to me wert ••ound: And how for ioye, thy hart did séeme to swell, And in delight▪ how thy desires were drownd. When of thy will, the walles I did assayle, Wherin fond fancie, fought for mine auayle.

And though my mind, haue small delight to vaunt, Yet must I vowe, my hart to thée was true: My hand was alwayes able for to daunt, Thy slaundrous fooes, and kepe their tongues in mew. My head (though dull) was yet of such deuise, As might haue kept thy name alwayes in price.

And for the rest my body was not braue, But able yet, of substaunce to allay, The raging lust, where in thy limbes did raue, And quench the coales, which kindled thée to play. Such one I was, and such alwayes wilbe, For worthy Dames, but then I meane not thée.

For thou hast caught a proper paragon, A théefe, a coward, and a Peacocke foole: An Asse, a mylksop, and a minion, Which hath none oyle, thy furious flames to coole, Such one he is, a pheare for thée most fit, A wandring guest, to please thy wauering wit.

A théefe I compt him, for he robbes vs both, Thee of thy name, and me of my delight: A cowerd is he noted where he goeth, Since euery child, is matcht to him in might. And for his pride no more, but marke his plumes, The which to princke, he dayes and nights consumes.

The rest thy selfe, in secret sort can iudge, He rydes not me, thou knowest his sadell best: and thogh these tricks of thine, mought make me grudge And kyndle wrath, in my reuenging brest: Yet of my selfe, and not to please thy mind, I stand content, my rage in rule to bind.

And farre from thée now must I take my flight, Where tongues may tell, (and I not see) thy fall: Where I may drincke these dragges of thy despight, To purge my Melancholicke mind withall. In secrete so, my stomacke will I sterue, Wishing thée better than thou doest deserue,

Spraeta tamen viuunt.

An absent Dame thus complayneth.

MUch like the séely Byrd, which close in Cage is pent, So sing I now, not notes of ioye, but layes of déepe lament. And as the hooded Hauke, which heares the Partrich spring, Who though she féele hir self fast tyed, yet beats hir bating wing: So striue I now to showe, my féeble froward will, Although I know my labour lost, to hop against the Hill. The droppes of darke disdayne, did neuer drench my hart, For well I know I am belou'd, if that might ease my smart. Ne yet the priuy coales, of glowing iellosie, Could euer kindle néedlesse feare, within my fantasie. The rigor of repulse, doth not renew my playnt, Nor choyce of change doth moue my mone, nor force me thus to faynt. Onely that pang of payne, which passeth all the rest, And canker like doth fret the hart, within the giltlesse brest. Which is if any bée, most like the panges of death, That present griefe now grypeth me, & striues to stop my breath. When friendes in mind may méete, and hart in hart embrace, And absent yet are fayne to playne, for lacke of time and place: Then may I compt, their loue like séede, that soone is so wen, Yet lacking droppes of heauēly dew, with wéedes is ouergrowen. The Greyhound is agrée••'d, although he sée his game, If still in slippe he must be stayde, when he would chase the same. So fares it now by me▪ who know my selfe belou'd Of one the best, in eche respect, that euer yet was prou'd. But since my lucklesse lot, forbids me now to taste, The dulcet fruites of my delight, therfore in woes I wast. And Swallow like I sing, as one enforced so, Since others reape the gaineful crop, which I with pain did sowe. Yet you that marke my song, excuse my Swallowes voyce, And beare with hir vnpleasant tunes, which cannot well reioyce. Had I or lucke in loue, or lease of libertie, Then should you heare some swéeter notes, so cléere my throte would be.

But take it thus in grée, and marke my playnsong well, No hart féeles, so much hurt as that: which doth in absence dwell.

Spreta tamen viuunt.

¶This question being propounded by a Dame vnto the writer therof, to wit, why he should write Spreta tamen viuunt▪ he aunswereth thus.

DEspysed things may liue, although they pyne in payne: And things ofte trodden vnder foote, may once yit rise again. The stone that lieth full lowe, may clime at last full hye: And stand aloft on stately tow'rs, in sight of euery eye. The cruell axe which fe••les the trée that grew full streight: Is worne with rust, when it renewes, and springeth vp on height. The rootes of rotten Réedes in swelling seas are seene: And when ech tyde hath toste his worst, they grow agein ful gréene. Thus much to please my self, vnpleasantly I sing: And shrich to ease my mourning minde, in spyte of enuies sting. I am now set full light, who earst was dearely lou'd: Som newfound choyce is more estéemd, thā y^• which welwas prou'd Some Diomede is crept into Dame Cressydes hart: And trustie Troylus now is taught in vayne to playne his part. What resteth then for me? but thus to wade in wo: And hang in hope of better chaunce, when chaunge appointeth so. I sée no sight on earth, but it to Chaunge enclines: As little clowds oft ouercast, the brightest sunne that shines. No Flower is so fresh, but frost can it deface: No man so sure in any seate but he may léese his place. So that I stand content (though much against my mind) To take in worth this lothsome lot, which luck to me assynd, And trust to sée the time, when they that now are vp: May féele the whirle of fortunes whéele, and tast of sorrows cup. God knoweth I wish it not, it had ben bet for mée: Still to haue kept my quiet chayre in hap of high degrée. But since without recure, Dame Chaunge in loue must reign:

I now wish chaunge that sought no chaunge, but cōstant did remain. And if such chaunge do chaunce, I vow to clap my hands, And laugh at them which laught at me: lo thus my fancy stands.

Spreta tamen viuunt.

A straunge passion of another Author.

AMid my Bale I bath in blisse, I swim in heauen, I sink in hell: I find amends for euery misse, And yit my moane no tonge can tell. I liue and loue, what would you more? As neuer louer liu'd before.

I laugh sometimes with little lust, So iest I oft and féele no ioye: Myne ease is builded all on trust, And yit mistrust bréedes myne anoye. I liue and lack, I lack and haue: I haue and misse the thing I craue.

These things séeme straūge, yit ar they trew Beléeue me (swéete) my state is such: One pleasure which I would eschew, Both slakes my grief, and bréedes my gruch. So doth one pain which I would shoon Renew my ioyes where grief begoon.

Thon like the Larke that past the night In heauy sléepe with cares opprest: Yit when shée spies the pleasaunt light, She sends swéete notes from out hir brest. So sing I now because I think How ioyes approch, when sorrowes shrink.

And as faire Philomene ageine

Can watch and singe when other sléepe: And taketh pleasure in hir payne, To wray the woo that makes hir wéepe. So sing I now for to bewray The lothsome life I lead alway.

The which to thée (deare wench) I write, That know'st my mirth, but not my moane: I pray God graunt thée déepe delight, To liue in ioyes when I am gone. I cannot liue, it will not bée: I dye to think to part from thée.

Ferenda Natura.

The Louer leaning onely to his Ladies promises, and fi••∣ding them to fayle, doth thus lament.

THe straightest trée that growes vpon one only roote: If that roote fayle, will quickly fade, no props can do it boo••e▪ I am that fading plant, which on thy grace did growe. Thy grace is gone wherefore I mone, and wither all in woe. The tallest ship that sayles, if shée to Ancors trust: When ancors slip and cables breake, hir helpe lyes in the dust. I am the ship my selfe, myne An••or was thy faith: Which now is fled, thy promise broke, and I am driuen to death. Who clymeth oft on hie, and trusts the rotten bowe: If that bowe break may catch a fall such state stand I in now. Me thought I was aloft, and yit my seate full sure: Thy hart did séeme to me a rock which euer might endure. And sée, it was but sand, whom seas of subtiltie: Haue soked so with wanton waues, that faith was forst to flye. The Fluds of ficklenesse haue vndermyned so, The first foundation of my ioy, that myrth is ebb'd to wo. Yit at lowe water ••arkes, I lye and wayte my time:

To mend the breach, but all in vayn, it cannot passe the prime. For when the primeflud comes which all this rage begon: Then waues of will do work so fast, my piles are ouerron. Dutie and diligence which are my workmen there, Are glad to take vp tooles in haste and run away for feare. For fancie hath such force, it ouerfloweth all: And whispring ••ales do blow the blasts that make it ryse and fall. Thus in theis tempests ••ost, my restles life doth stand: Because I builded on thy words, as I was borne in hand. Thou weart that onely stake, wherby I ment to stay: Alas, alas, thou stoodst so weake, the hedge is borne away. By thee I thought to liue, by thée now must I dye: I made thee my Phisicion, thou art my mallady. For thée I longd to liue, for thée now welcome death: And welcome be that happie pang, that stops my gasping breath. Twice happie were that are, would cut my rootes down right: And sacred were that swelling sea, which would consume me quight. Blest were that bowe would break to bring downe clyming youth, Which craks aloft, and quakes full oft, for feare of thine vntruth.

Ferenda Natura.

The constancie of a louer hath thus sometymes ben briefly declared.

THat selfe same tonge which first did thée entreat To linke thy liking with my lucky loue: That trustie tonge must now these words repeate, I loue the styll, my fancie cannot moue. That dreadlesse hart which durst attempt the thought To win thy will with myne for to consent, Maintaines that vow which loue in me first wrought, I loue thee still and neuer shall repent. That happy hand which hardely did touch Thy tender body, to my déepe delight: Shall serue with sword to proue my passion such

As loues thee still▪ much more than it can write. Thus loue I still with tonge, hand, hart and all, And when I chaunge, let vengeance on me fall.

Ferenda Natura.

Now I must desire you with patience to hearken vnto the works of another writer▪ who though he may not compare with the rest passed, yit such things as he wrote vpon sundrie occa∣sions, I will rehearse, beginning with this prayse of a Countesse.

DEsire of Fame would force my féeble skill, To prayse a Countesse by hir dew desert: But dread of blame holds back my forward will, And quencht the coales which kindled in my hart. Thus am I plongd twene dread and déepe desire, To paye the dew which dutie doth require.

And when I call the mighty Gods in ayd To further forth some fine inuention: My bashefull spirits be full ill afrayd To purchase payne by my presumption. Such malice reignes (sometimes) in heauenly mynds▪ To punish him that prayseth as he fynds.

For Pallas first whose filed flowing skill, Should guyde my pen some pleasant words to write▪ With angry mood hath fram'd a froward will, To dashe deuise as oft as I endite. For why? if once my Ladies gifts were knowen, Pallas should loose the prayses of hir own.

And bloudy Mars by chaunge of his delight Hath made Ioues daughter now myne enemie: In whose conceipt my Countesse shines so bright, That Venus pynes for burning ielousie.

She may go home to Vulcane now agayne: For Mars is sworne to be my Ladies swayne.

Of hir bright beames Dan Phoebus stands in dread, And shames to shine within our Horizon: Dame Cynthia holds in hir horned head, For feare to loose by like comparison. Lo thus shée liues, and laughes them all to skorne: Countesse on earth, in heauen a Goddesse borne.

And I sometimes hir seruaunt, now hir friend, Whom heauen and earth for hir (thus) hate & blame: Haue yit presumed in friendly wise to spend, This ragged verse in honor of hir name. A simple gift, compared by the skill: Yit what may séeme so deare as such good will.

Meritum petere, grauè.

The Louer declareth his affection, togither with the cause thereof.

WHen firs•• I thée beheld in coulors black and whyt, Thy face in forme wel framed w^t fauor blooming stil: My burning brest in cares did choose his chief delight, With pen to painte thy prayse; contrary to my skill. Whose worthinesse compar'd with this my rude deuise, I blush and am abasht, this work to enterprise.

But when I call to mind thy sundry gifts of grace, Full fraught with maners méeke in happy quiet mind: My hasty hand forthwith doth scribble on apace, Least willing hart might think, it ment to come behind. Thus do both hand and hart these carefull méetres vse, Twixt hope and trembling feare, my deutie to excuse.

Wherfore accept these liues, and banish dark disdayn,

Be sure they come from one that loueth thée in chief: And guerdon me thy friend in like with loue agayne, So shalt thou well be sure to yéeld me such relief, As onely may redresse my sorrowes and my smart: For profe whereof I pledge (deare Dame) to thée my hart.

Meritum petere, grauè.

Another shorter discourse to the same effecte.

IF euer man yit found the Bath of perfect blisse, Then swim I now amid the Sea where nought but pleasure is. I loue and am beloued (without vaunt be it told) Of one more fayre than shée of Grece for whō proud Tr••y was sold▪ As bountifull and good as Cleopatra Quéene: As constant as Penelope vnto hir make was séene. What would you more? my pen vnable is to write The least desart that séemes to shine within this worthy wight. So that for now I cease, with hands held vp on hye, And craue of God that when I chaunge, I may be forst to dye.

Meritum petere, grauè.

The louer disdaynefully reiected contrary to former pro∣mise, thus complayneth.

THe deadly droppes of darke disdayne, Which dayly fall on my desarte. The lingring suite long spent in vayne, Wherof I féele no fruit but smart: Enforce me now theis words to write: Not all for loue, but more for spyte.

The which to thée I m••st rehearce, Whom I did honor, serue and trust. And though the musick of my verse

Be plainsong tune both true and iust: Content thée yit to heare my song, For else thou doest me doobble wrong.

I must alledge, and thou canst tell How faithfull I vowed to serue, And how thou séemdst to like me well: And how thou saydst I did deserue To be thy Lord, thy Knight, thy King, And how much more I list not sing.

And canst thou now (thou cruell one) Condempne desert to déepe dispayre? Is all thy promise past and gone? Is faith so fled into the ayre? If that be so, what rests for mée? But thus in song to say to thée.

If Cressides name were not so knowen, And written wyde on euery wall: If brute of pryd were not so blowen Upon Angelica withall: For hault disdain thou mightst be she, Or Cressyde for inconstancie.

And in reward of thy desart, I hope at last to sée thée payed: With déepe repentance for thy part, Which thou hast now so lewdly playd. Medoro he must be thy make, Since thou Orlando doest forsake.

Such is the fruit that groweth always Uppon the root of rype disdayn: Such kindly wages Cupide payes,

Where constant harts cannot remayne▪ I hope to sée thée in such bands, When I may laugh and clappe my hands.

But yet for thée I must protest, That sure the fault is none of thine, Thou art as true as is the best, That euer came of Cressedes lyne: For constant yet was neuer none, But in vnconstancie alone.

Meritum petere, graue.

An absent louer (parted from his Lady by Sea) thus complayneth.

BOth déepe and dreadfull were the Seas, Which held Leander from his loue, Yet could no doubts his mind appease, Nor saue his life for hir behoue: But giltlesse bloud it selfe would spyll, To please the waues and worke his will.

O gréedie gul••e, O wretched wau••s, O cruell floods, O ••inke of shames, You hold true louers bound like s••aues, And kéepe them from their worthy Dames: Your open mouth gapes euermore, Till one or both be drownd therfore.

For proofe wherof my selfe may sing, And shrich to pearce the loftie skies, Whose Lady left me lang••ishing, Uppon the shore in woofull wise: And crost the Seas out of my sight, Wherby I lost my chiefe delight.

She sayd that no such trustlesse flood, Should kéepe our loues (long time) in twayne: She sware no bread should do hir good, Tyll she might sée my selfe againe. She said and swore these words and mo, But now I find them nothing so.

What resteth then for me to doo, Thou salt sea foome come say thy mind? Should I come drowne within thée too, That am of true Leanders kind? And headlong cast this corps of mine, Into those gréedy guttes of thine?

No cruel, but in spite of thée, I will make Seas where earst were none, My teares shall flowe in full degrée, Tyll all my myrth may ebbe to mone. Into such droppes I meane to melt, And in such Seas my selfe to swelt,

Lenuoie.

Yet you déere Dame for whom I fade, Thus steruing still in wretched state: Remember once your promise made, Perfourme it now though all to late. Come h••me to Mars who may you please▪ Let Vulcane bide beyond the Seas.

Meritum petere, graue.

A Lady being both wronged by false suspect, and also wounded by the durance of hir husband, doth thus bewray hir grief.

GIue me my Lute in bed now as I lye, And lock the doores of mi••e vnluckie bower: So shall my voyce in mournefull verse des••rie▪ The secrete smart which causeth me to lower. Resound you walles an Eccho to my m••ne, And thou cold bed wherin I lye alone: Beare witnesse yet what r••st thy Lady takes, Whē other sléepe which may enioy their make••,

In prime of youth when Cupid kindled fire, And warmd my wil with flames of 〈…〉〈…〉 To further forth the fruite of my desire▪ My fréends deuisd this meane for my 〈◊〉〈◊〉. They made a match according to my mind▪ And cast a snare my fansie for to bind: Short tale to make the deed was almost doon, Before I knew which way the worke begoon▪

And with this lot I did my selfe content, I lent a lyking to my parents choyse: With hand and hart I gaue my frée consent, And hung in hope for euer to reioyce. I liu'd and lou'd long time in greater ioy, Thē she which held kyng Pri••ms sonne of Troy: But three lewd lots haue chāg••d my heauē to hel And those be these, giue eare & mark thē well.

First slaunder he, which alwayes beareth hate, To happy harts in heauenly state that byde: Gan play his part to stirre vp some debate, Wherby suspect into my choyse might glyde. And by his meanes the slime of false suspect, Did (as I feare) my dearest friend infect. Thus by these twayn lōg was I plungd in pain, Yet in good hope my hart did still remaine.

But now (aye me) the greatest grief of all, (Sound loud my Lute, and tell it out my tongue) The hardest hap that euer might befall, The onely cause wherfore this song is song, Is this alas: my loue, my Lord, my Roy, My chosen pheare, my gemme, and all my ioye, Is kept perforce out of my dayly sight, Wherby I lacke the stay of my delight.

In loftie walles, in strong and stately towers, (With troubled mind in sollitary sorte, My louely Lord doth spend his dayes and howers, A weary life deuoyde of all disport. And I poore soule must lie here all alone, To tyre my trueth, and wound my will with mone: Such is my hap to shake my blooming time, With wynters blastes before it passe the prime.

Now haue you heard the summe of all my grief, Wherof to tell my hart (oh) rends in twayne: Good Ladies yet lend you me some relief, And beare a parte to ease me of my payne. My sortes are such, that waying well my trueth, They might prouoke the craggy rocks to rueth, And moue these walles with teares for to lament, The lothsome life wherin my youth is spent.

But thou my Lute, be still now take thy rest, Repose thy bones vppon this bed of downe: Thou hast dischargd some burden from my brest, Wherfore take thou my place, here lie thée downe. And let me w••lke to tyre my restlesse minde, Untill I may entreate some curteous wynd: To blow these wordes vnto my noble make, That he may see I sorowe for his sake.

Meritum petere, graue.

Eyther a needelesse or a bootelesse compari∣son betwene two letters.

OF all the letters in the christs crosse rowe, I feare (my swéete) thou louest B. the best, And though there be good letters many mo, As A.O.G.N.C.S. and the rest, Yet such a liking bearest thou to B. That fewe or none thou thinckest like it to be.

And much I muse what madnesse should thée moue, To set the Carl before the comely horse: Must A. giue place, to B. for his behoue? Are letters now so changed from their course? Then must I learne (though much vnto my paine,) To read (a new) my christ crosse rowe againe.

When I first learnd, A. was in high degrée, A captaine letter, and a vowell too: Such one as was alwayes a helpe to B, And lent him sound and taught him what to doo. For take away the vowels from their place, And how can then the consonants haue grace▪

Yet if thou like a consonant so well, Why should not G. seeme better farre then B? G. spelleth God, that high in heauen doth dwell, So spell we Gold and all good thinges with G. B. serues to spell bold, baw••y, braynsicke, bolde, Blacke, browne, and bad, yea worse than may be tolde.

In song, the G. cliffe kéepes the highest place, Where B. sounds alwayes (or too sharpe or) flat: In G. sol, re, vt: trebles haue trimme grace,

B. serues the base and is content with that. Beleue me (swéete) G. giueth sound full swéete▪ When B. cries buzze, as is for bases méete.

But now percase thou wilt one G. permit, And with that G. thou meanest B. to ioyne: Alas, alas, me thinkes it were not fit, (To cloke thy faulte) such fine excuse to coyne. Take dooble G. for thy most louing letter, And cast of B. for it deserues no better.

Thus haue I played a little with thy B. Wherof the brand is thine, and mine the blame The wight which woundes thy wandring will is he, And I the man that séeke to salu•• thy name: The which to thinke, doth make me sigh sometime, Though thus I striue to iest it out in rym••.

Meritum petere, graue.

An absent louer doth thus encourage his Lady to continew constant.

COntent thy selfe with patience perforce, And que••th no loue with droppes of darke mistrust: Let absence haue no power to diuorce, Thy faithfull fréend which meaneth to be iust, Beare but a while thy constance to declare, For when I come one ynch shall breake no square.

I must confesse that promise did me bind, For to haue séene thy séemely selfe ere now: And if thou knewst what gréeues did galde my mynde, Bycause I could not kéepe that faithfull vowe: My iust ••xeuse▪ 〈…〉〈…〉 selfe assure, With little payne thy 〈◊〉〈◊〉 might procure.

B••t call to mind how long Vlisses was, In lingring absence, from his louing make: And how she deigned then hir dayes to passe, In sollitary silence for his sake. Be thou a true Penelope to me, And thou shalt soone thine owne Vlisses sée.

What sayd I? soone? yea soone I say againe, I will come soone and sooner if I may: Beleue me now it is a pinching payne, To thinke of loue when louers are away. Such thoughts I haue, and when I thinke on thée, My thoughts are there, whereas my bones would bée.

The longing lust which Priames sonne of Troy, Had for to sée his Cressyde come againe: Could not excéede the depth of mine anoye, Nor séeme to passe the patterne of my payne. I fryse in hope, I thaw in hot desire, Farre from the flame, and yet I burne like fire.

Wherfore deare friend, thinke on the pleasures past, And let my teares▪ for both our paynes suffise: The lingring ioyes, when as they come at last, Are bet then those, wh••ch passe in posting wise. And I my selfe, to proue this tale is true, In hast, post hast, thy comfort will renew.

Meritum petere, graue.

A letter deuised for a young louer.

REceiue you worthy Dame this rude & ragged verse, Lēd willīg eare vnto y^• tale, which I shal now reherse. and thogh my witles words, might moue you for to smile Yet trust to that which I shal tel, & neuer mark my stile.

Amongst fiue hundreth Dames, presented to my view, I find most cause by due desert, to like the best of you. I sée your beautie such, as séemeth to suffise, To bind my hart in lincks of loue, by iudgment of mine eyes. And but your bountie quench, the coales of quicke desire, I feare y^• face of youres wil set, ten thousād harts on fire. But bountie so aboundes, aboue all my desert, As y^• I quake & shrink for fear, to shew you of my smart. Yet since mine eye made choyce, my hart shal not repent, But yéeld it selfe vnto your will, & therwith stand cōtent. God knowth I am not great, my power it is not much, The greater glory shal you gain, to shew your fauor such. And what I am or haue, all that I yéeld to you, My hād & sword shal serue alwaies, to proue my toung is true. Then take me for your owne, & so I wilbe still, Beleue me now, I make this vow, in hope of your good will. Which if I may obtein, God leaue me when I change, This is the tale I ment to tell, good Lady be not strange.

Meritum petere, graue.

¶Three Sonets in sequence, written vppon this oc∣casion. The deuiser hereof amongst other friends had na∣med a gentlewoman his Berzabe: and she was content to call him hir Dauid▪ The man presented his Lady with a Booke of the Golden Asse, written by Lucius Apuleius, and in the beginning of the Booke wrote this sequence. You must conferre it with the Historie of Apuleius, for els it will haue small grace.

THis Apuleius was in Affricke borne, And tooke delight to trauayle Thessaly, As one that held his natiue soyle in skorne, In foraine coastes to féede his fantasie. And such a gaine as wandring wits find out, This yonker woon by will and weary toyle, A youth mispent, a doting age in douvt,

A body brusd with many a beastly broyle, A present pleasure passing on a pace, And paynting playne the path of penitence, A frollicke fauour foyld with foule disgrace, When hoarie heares should clayme their reuerence. Such is the fruite that growes on gadding ••rées, Such kynd of mell most moueth busie Bées. For Lucius he, Estéeming more one ounce of present sporte, Than elders do a pound of perfect witte: Fyrst to the bowre of Beautie doth resort, And there in pleasure passed many a fitte, His worthy race he (recklesse) doth forget, With small regard in great affayres he réeles, No counsell graue nor good aduice can set, His braynes in brake that whirled still on whéeles. For if Birhena could haue held him backe, From Venus Court where he now nousled was, His lustie limbes had neuer found the lacke Of manly shape: the figure of an Asse, Had not béene blazed on his bloud and bones, To wound his will with torments all attonce. But Fotys she▪ Who sawe this Lording whitled with the cuppe, Of vaine delight wherof he gan to tast: Pourde out apace and fild the Mazor vp, With dronken dole, yea after that in hast. She greasd this gest with sauce of Sorcery, And fed his mind with knacks both queynt and strange: Lo here the treason and the trechery, Of gadding gyrles when they delight to raunge. For Lucius thinking to become a foule, Became a foole, yea more then that, an Asse, A bodding blocke, a beating stocke, an owle, Well wondred at in place where he did passe:

And spent his time his trauayle and his cost, To purchase paine and all his labour lost. Yet I poore I. Who make of thée my Fotys and my fréend, In like delights my youthfull yeares to spend: Do hope thou wilt from such sower sauce defend, Dauid thy King.

Meritum petere graue.

A Ryddle.

A Lady once did aske of me, This pretie thing in priuetie: Good sir (quod she) fayne would I craue, One thing which you your selfe not haue: Nor neuer had yet in times past, Nor neuer shall while life doth last. And if you séeke to find it out, You loose your labour out of doubt: Yet if you loue me as you say, Then giue it me, for sure you may.

Meritum petere, graue.

To a gentlewoman who blamed him for writing his friendly aduise in verse vnto another lo∣uer of hirs.

THe cruell ha••e which boyles within thy burning brest, And séekes to shape a sharpe reuenge, on them that loue thée best: May warne all faythfull friendes, in case of ieoperdie, How they shall put their harmelesse hands, betwene y^• barck & trée. And I among the rest, which wrote this weary song, Must needes alledge in my defence, that thou hast done me wrong. For if i•• simple verse, I chaunc••d to touch thy name,

And toucht the same without reproch, was I therfore to blame? And if (of great good will) I gaue my best aduise, Then thus to blame w^t out cause why, me thinkes thou art not wise. Amongst old written tales, this one I beare in mind, A simple soule much like my selfe, did once a serpent find. Which (almost dead for colde) lay moyling in the myre When he for pittie toke it vp and brought it to the fyre. No soner was the Snake, cured of hir grief, But streight she sought to hurt the man, that lent hir such relief. Such Serp••nt séemest thou, such simple soule am I, That for the weight of my good will, am blam'd without cause why. But as it best beséemes, the harmelesse gentle hart, Rather to take an open wrong, than for to playne his part: I must and will endure, thy spite without repent, The blame is myne, the tryumph thine, and I am well content.

Meritum petere, graue.

An vncurteous farewell to an vncon∣stant Dame.

IF what you want, you (wanton) had at will, A stedfast mind, a faythfull louing hart: If what you speake you would perfourme it still, If from your word your déede could not reuert. If youthfull yeeres your thoughts did not so rule, As elder dayes may skorne your friendship frayle: Your doubled fanfie would not thus recule, For p••euish pride which now I must bewayle. For Cressyde fayre did Troylus neuer loue, More deare than I estéemd your framed cheare: Whose wauering wayes (since now I do them proue) By true report this witnesse with me beare: That if your friendship be not too deare bought, The price is great, that nothing giues for nought.

Meritum petere, graue.

A louer often warned, and once againe drouen into fantasti∣call flames by the chase of company, doth thus bewayle his misfor tunes.

I That my race of youthfull yeares had roon Alwayes vntyed, and not (but once) in thrall, Euen I which had the fieldes of fréedome woon, And liu'd at large, and playde with pleasures ball: Lo now at last am tane againe and taught, To tast such sorowes, as I neuer sought.

I loue, I loue, alas I loue in déede, I crie alas, but no man pitties me: My woundes are wyde, yet séeme they not to bléede, And hidden woundes are hardly heald we sée. Such is my lucke to catch a sodeyne clappe, Of great mischaunce in séeking my good happe.

My mourning mind which dwelt and dyed in dole, Sought company for sollace of the same: My cares were cold, and craued comforts coale, To warme my wile with flakes of fréendly flame. I sought and found, I crau'd and did obteyne, I woo•• my wish, and yet I got no gaine.

For whiles I sought the cheare of company, Fayre fellowship did woonted woes reuiue: And crauing medcine for my malladie, Dame pleasures plaster prou'd a corosiue. So that by myrth, I reapt no fruite but mone, Much worse I feare than when I was alone.

The cause is this, my lot did light too late, The Byrdes were flowen, before I found the nest:

The stéede was stollen, before I shut the gate, The cates consumd, before I smelt the feast. And I fond foole with emptie hand must call, The gorged Hauke, which likes no lure at all.

Thus still I toyle, to till the barreyne land, And grope for grapes among the bramble briers: I striue to sayle and yet I sticke on sand, I déeme to liue, yet drowne in déepe desires. These lots of loue, are fitte for wanton will, Which findes too much, yet must be séeking still.

Meritum petere, graue.

The louer encouraged by former examples, determineth to make vertue of necessitie.

WHen I record within my musing mind, The noble names of wightes bewicht in loue: Such sollace for my selfe therin I find, As nothing may my fixed fansie moue: But paciently I will endure my wo, Because I sée the heauens ordayne it so.

For whiles I read and ryfle their estates, In eu'ry tale I note mine owne anoye: But whiles I marke the meanings of their mates, I séeme to swimme in such a sugred ioye, As did (percase) entise them to delight, Though turnd at last, to drugges of sower despite.

Peruse (who list) Dan Dauids perfect déedes, There shal he find the blot of Berzabe, Wheron to thinke, my heauie hart it bléedes, When I compare my loue like hir to be:

Vrias wife, before myne eyes that shynes, A••d Dauid I, from dutie that declines.

Then Salomon this princely Prophets sonne, Did Phara••s daughter make him fall or no? Yes, es, perdie, his wisedome could not shoon, Hir subtill snares, nor from hir counsell go. I nam (as he) the wisest wight of all, But well I wot, a woman holdes me thrall.

So am I like the proude Assirian Knight, Which blasphem'd God, and all the world defied: Yet could a woman ouercome his might, And daunt his force in all his pompe and pride. I Holyferne, am dronken brought to bead, My loue like Iudith, cutting of my head. If I were strong, as some haue made accompt, Whose force is like to that which Sampson had? If I be bold, whose courage can surmount, The hart of Hercules, which nothing dread? Yet Dalila, and Deyanyraes loue, Did teach them both, such pangs as I must proue.

Well let these passe, and thinke on Nasoes name, Whose skilfull verse did flowe in learned stile: Did he (thinke you) not dote vppon his Dame? Corm•• fayre▪ did she not him beguile? Yes God he knowes, for verse nor pleasaunt rymes, Can cons••an•• kéepe, the key of Cressides crimes.

So that to end my tale as I began, I sée the good, the wise, the stoute, the bolde: The strongest champion and the learnedst man, Haue be••e and be, by lust of loue controld.

Which when I thinke, I hold me well content, To liue in loue, and neuer to repent.

Meritum petere, graue.

The absent louer (in ciphers) disciphering his name, doth craue some spedie relief as followeth.

L'Escü d'amour, the shield of perfect loue, The shield of loue, the force of stedfast faith, The force of fayth which neuer will remoue, But standeth fast, to byde the broonts of death: That trustie targe, hath long borne of the blowes, And broke the thrusts, which absence at me throwes.

In dolefull dayes I lead an absent life, And wound my will with many a weary thought: I plead for peace, yet sterue in stormes of strife, I find debate, where quiet rest was sought. These panges with mo, vnto my paine I proue, Yet beare I all vppon my shield of loue.

In colder cares are my conceipts consumd, Than Dido felt when false Enaeas fled: In farre more heat, than trusty Troylus fumd, When craftie Cressyde dwelt with Diomed. My hope such frost, my hot desire such flame, That I both fryse, and smoulder in the same.

So that I liue, and dye in one degrée, Healed by hope, and hurt againe with dread: Fast bound by fayth when fansie would be frée, Untyed by trust, though thoughts enthrall my head. Reuiu'd by ioyes, when hope doth most abound, And yet with grief, in depth of dollors drownd.

In these assaultes I féele my féebled force Begins to faint, thus weried still in woes: And scarcely can my thus consumed corse, Hold vp this Buckler to beare of these blowes. So that I craue, or presence for relief, Or some supplie, to ease mine absent grief.

Lenuoie.

To you (deare Dame) this dolefull plaint I make, Whose onely sight may sone redresse my smart: Then shew your selfe, and for your seruauntes sake, Make hast post hast, to helpe a faythfull harte. Mine owne poore shield hath me defended long, Now lend me yours, for elles you do me wrong.

Meritum petere, graue.

I will now deliuer vnto you so many more of Master Gas∣coignes Poems as haue come to my hands, who hath ne∣uer beene dayntie of h••s doings, and therfore I conceale not his name: but his word or posie he hath often changed and therfore I will deliuer his verses with such sundrie po∣sies as I receiued thē. And first I will begin with Gascoigns Anatomie.

TO make a louer knowne, by playne Anatomie, You louers all that li•••• beware, lo here behold you me. Who though mine onely lookes, your pittie wel might moue, Yet euery part shall play his part to paint the pangs of loue. If first my féeble head, haue so much matter left, If fansies raging force haue not his féeble skill bereft. These locks that hang vnkempt, these hollowe dazled eyes, These chattring téeth, this trēbling tongue, wel tewed with carefull cries, These wan & wrinckled chéeks, wel washt w^t waues of wo, May stand for patterne of a ghost, where so this carkasse go. These shoulders they susteyne, the yoke of heauie care, And on my brused broken backe, the burden must I beare.

These armes are braunfalne now, with beating on my brest, This right hand weary is to write, this left hand craueth rest: These sides enclose the forge, where sorow playes the smith, And hot desire, hath kindled fire, to worke his mettall with. The anuile is my hearte, my thoughtes they strike the stroke, My lights & lungs like bellows blowe, & sighs ascēd for smoke. My secrete parts are so with secrete sorowe soken, As for the secrete shame therof, deserues not to be spoken. My thighes, my knées, my legs, and last of all my féete, To serue a louers turne, are so vnable and vnméete, That scarce they can beare vp this restlesse body well, Unlesse it be to sée the boure, wherin my loue doth dwell, And there by sight eftsoones to féede my gazing eye, And so content my hungrie corps tyll dolours doe me die: Yet for a iust rewarde of loue so dearely bought, I pray you say, lo this was he, whō loue had worne to nought.

Euer or neuer.

Gascoignes araignement.

AT Beauties barre as I did stande, When false suspecte accused mée, George (quod the Iudge) holde vp thy hande, Thou art araygnde of Flatterie: Tell therfore howe thou wylte be tryde? Whose iudgement here wilte thou abyde?

My lorde (quod I) this lady here, Whome I estéeme aboue the rest, Dothe knowe my guilte if any were: Wherefore hir doome shall please mée beste, Let hir be Iudge and Iurour bothe, To trie mée giltlesse by myne othe.

Quod Beautie, no, it sitteth not, A Prince hir selfe to iudge the cause:

Here is oure Iustice well you wote, Appointed to discusse our lawes: If you will guil••lesse séeme to goe, God and your countrey quitte you so.

Then crafte the cryer call'd a queste, Of whome was falshode formoste féere, A packe of pickethankes were the rest, Whiche came false witnesse for to beare, The Iurie suche, the Iudge vniust, Sentence was sayde I shoulde be trust.

Iealous the Iayler bounde me fast, To heare the verdite of the bill, George (quod the Iudge) now thou art cast, Thou muste goe hence to heauie hill, And there be hangde all but the head, God reste thy soule when thou art dead.

Downe fell I then vpon my knée, All flatte before dame beauties face, And cryed, good Ladie pardon me, Whiche here appeale vnto your grace, You knowe if I haue ben vntrue, It was in too muche praysing you.

And though this Iudge doe make suche haste▪ To shead with shame my giltlesse bloud: Yet lette your pitie firste be plaste, To saue the man that ment you good, So shall you shewe your selfe a Quéene, And I may be your seruant séene.

(Quod beautie) well: bicause I guesse What thou doest meane henceforth to bée,

Although thy faultes deserue no lesse Than Iustice here hath iudged thee, Wyl••e thou be bounde to stint all stryfe, And be true prisoner all thy lyfe?

Yea madame (quod I) that I shall, Lo faith and truthe my suerties: Why then (quod she) come when I call, I aske no better warrantise. Thus am I Beauties bounden thrall, At hir commaunde when she doth call.

Euer or Neuer.

Gascoignes prayse of Bridges, novve Ladie Sandes.

IN Court who so demaundes what dame doth most excell, For my conceit I must néeds say, faire Bridges beares y^e bel•• Upon whose liuely chéeke, to proue my iudgement true, The Rose and Lillie seeme to striue for equall change of hew: And therwithall so well hir graces all agrée, No frouning chéere dare once presume in hir swéet face to bée. Although some lauishe lippes, which like some other best, Will say the blemishe on hir browe disgraceth all the rest: Thereto I thus replie, God wotte they little knowe The hidden cause of that mishap, nor how the harm did grow. For when dame nature first had framde hir heauenly face, And thoroughly bedecked it with goodly gleames of grace. It lyked hir so well: Lo here (quod she) a péece, For perfect shape that passeth all Apelles worke in Greece. This bayt may chaunce to catche the greatest god of loue, Or mightie thundring Ioue himself that rules the rost aboue: But out, alas, those wordes were vaunted all in vayne, And some vnséen wer presēt there (pore Bridges) to thy pain, For Cupide craftie boy, close in a corner stoode,

Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir, I gesse it did him good▪ Yet when he felte the flame gan kindle in his brest, And h••rd dame nature boast by hir, to break him of his rest, His hot newe chosen loue he chaunged into hate, And sodeynly with myghtie ma••e, gan rap hir on the pat••. It gréeued Nature muche to sée the cruell déede: Me séemes I see hir how she wept to sée hir dearling bléede. Wel yet (quod she) this hurt shal haue some helpe I trowe, And quick with skin she couerd it, y^• whiter is than snow. Wherwith Dan Cupide fled, for feare of further flame, Whē angell like he saw hir shine, whome he had smit with shame. Lo thus was Bridges hurt, in cradel of hir kynd, The coward Cupide brake hir brow to wreke his woūded mynd, The skar stil there remains, no force, there let it be, There is no cloude that can eclipse so bright a sunne as she.

Euer or Neuer.

Gascoignes prayse of Zouche late the Lorde Greye of VVilton.

THese rustie walles whome cankred yeares deface, The comely corps of séemely Zouche enclose, Whose auncient stocke deriude from worthie race, Procures hir prayse, where so the carkas goes: Hir angels face declares hir modest mynde, Hir louely lookes the gazing eyes allure, Hir déedes deserue some endlesse prayse to fynde, To blaze suche brute as euer might endure. Wherfore my penne in trembling feare shall staye, To write the thing that doth surmounte my skill, And I will wishe of God both night and day, Some worthier place to guyde hir worthie will. Where princes péeres hir due desertes maye sée, And I content hir seruant there to bée.

Euer or Neuer.

Gascoignes passion.

I Smile sometimes although my griefe be great, To heare and sée these louers paint their paine, And how they can in pleasaunt rimes repeate, The passing pangs, which they in fancies faine. But if I had such skill to frame a verse I could more paine than all their pangs rehearse.

Some say they find nor peace, nor power to fight, Which séemeth strange: but stranger is my state: I dwell in dole, yet soiorne with delight, Reposed in rest, yet weried with debate. For flatte repulse, might well apease my will But fancie fights, to trie my fortune still.

Some other say they hope, yet liue in dread, They friese, they flame, they flie alofte, they fall, But I nor hope with happe to rai••e my hed, Nor feare to stoupe, for why my gate is small. Nor can I friese, with colde to kill my harte, Nor yet so flame, as might consume my smarte.

How liue I then, which thus drawe foorth my daies? Or tell me how, I found this feuer first? What fits I féele? what distance? what delayes? What griefe? what ease? what like I best? what worst? These things they tell, which séeke redresse of paine, And so will I, although I coumpt it vaine.

I liue in loue, euen so I loue to liue, (Oh happie state, twice happie he that finds it) But loue to life this cognisance doth giue, This badge this marke, to euery man that minds it, Loue lendeth life, which (dying) cannot die,

Nor liuing liue: and such a life lead I.

The sunny dayes which gladde the saddest wights, Yet neuer shine to cleare my misty Moone, No quiet sléepe, a••••dde the mooneshine nights Can close mine eies, when I am wo by gone. In••o su••h sh••oes my peeuish sorow shrowdes, That Su••••e and Moone, are s••••ll to me in clowdes.

And feuerlike I séede my fancie still, Wich such repast, as most empaires my helth, Which feuer first I caught by wanton will, When coles of kind did stirre my bloud by stelth: And gazing eies, in bewtie put such trust That loue enflamd my liuer all with lust.

My fits are like the feuer Ectyck fits, Which one day quakes within and burnes without, The next day heate within the boosoms sits, And shiuring cold the body goes about. So is my harte most hote when hope is cold, And quaketh most when I most heate behold.

Tormented thus without delaies I stand, Alwaies in one and euermore shal be, In greatest griefe when helpe is nearest hand, And best at ease if death might make me frée: Delighting most in that which hurts my hart, And hating change which might renue my smart.

Yet you dere dame:* 2.1 to whome this cure perteines, Deuise betimes some drammes for my disease, A noble name shall be your greatest games, Whereof be sure, if you will worke mine ease. And though fond fooles set forth their fitts as fast,

Yet grant with me that Gascoignes passion past.

Euer or Neuer.

Gascoignes libell of Diuorce.

DIuorce me now good death, from loue and lingring life, That one hath ben my concubine, that other was my wife. In youth I liued with loue, she had my lusty dayes, In age I thought with lingering l••fe to stay my wādering ways, But now abusde by both, I come for to complaine To thee good death, in whōe my helpe doth wholly now remain, My libell to behold: wherein I do protest, The processe of my plaint is true, wherein my griefe doth rest▪ First loue my concubine, whome I haue kept so trimme, Euen she for whome I séemd of yore, in seas of ioy to swim: To whome I dare auow, that I haue serued as well, And played my part as gallantly, as he that beares the bell: She cast me off long since, and holds me in disdaine, I cannot pranke to please hir now, my vaunting is but vaine. My writhled chéekes bewray, that pride of heate is past, My stagring stepps eke tell the truth, that nature fadeth fast My quaking crooked ioynts, are combred with the crampe, The boxe of oile is wasted well, which once did féede my lampe. The gréenesse of my yeares, doth wither now so sore, That lusty loue leapes quite away, and liketh me no more. And loue my le••••man gone, what liking can I take? In lothsome life that crooked croanc, although she be my make? She cloyes me with the cough, hir comforte is but colde She bids me giue mine age for almes, where first my youth was solde. No day can passe my head, but she beginnes to brall, No mery thoughts conceiued so fast, but she co••founds them all. When I pretend to please, she ouerthwarts me still, When I wold faynest part with hir, she ouerwayes my will. Be iudge then gentle death, and take my cause in hand, Consider euery circumstance, marke how the case doth stande.

Percase thou wilte alledge, that cause thou canst no••••e sée, But that I like not of that one, that other likes not me: Yes gentle iudge giue eare, and thou shalt sée me proue, My concubine incontinent, a common whore is loue. And in my wife I find, such discord and debate, As no man liuing can endure the torments of my state. Wherefore thy sentence say, diuorce me from them both, Since only thou maist right my wrongs, good death now be not loth But cast thy pearcing d••rt, into my panting brest, That I may leaue both loue & life, & thereby parchase rest.

Haud ictus sapio.

Gascoignes praise of his Mystres.

THe hap which Paris had, as due for his desert, Who fauorde Venus for hir face, & skornde Meneruas arte: May serue to warne the wise, y^• they no more estéeme The glistering glosse of bewties blaze, than reason should it deeme. Dame Priams yōger son, found out y^e fairest dame, That euer troade on Troyane mold, what followed of the same? I list not brute hir bale, let others spred it foorth, But for his part to spek my mind his choice was litle worth My meaning is but this, who marks the outward shewe And neuer gropes for grafts of grace which in y^e mind shuld grow: May chance vpon such choise as trusty Troylus had And dwel in dole as Paris did, when he wold fayne be glad. How happie then am I? whose happe hath bin to finde A mistresse first that doth excell in vertues of the minde, And yet therewith hath ioind, such fauoure and such grace, As Pādars niece if she wer here wold quickly giue hir place, Within whose worthy brest, dame Bounty séekes to dwel. And saith to beawty, yéeld to me, since I do thée excell. Betwene whose heuēly eies, doth right remorce appeare, And pittie placed by the same, doth much amend hir chéere. Who in my dangers déepe, did deigne to do me good,

Who did reléeue my heuie heart, and sought to saue my bloud, Who first encreast my friends, and ouerthrew my foes, Who loued all them that wisht me well, an liked none but those. O Ladies giue me leaue, I praise hir not so farre, Since she doth passe you all, as much, as Tytan staines a starre. You hold such seruants deare, as able are to serue, She held me deare, whē I poore soule, could no good thing deserue. You set by them that swim in all prosperitie, She set by me when as I was in great calamitie. You best estéeme the braue, and let the purest passe, She best estéemd my poore good will, all naked as it was. But whether am I went? what humor guides my braine? I séeke to wey the woolsacke down, with one poore pepper graine. I séeme to penne hir praise, that doth surpasse myskill, I striue to row against the tide, I hoppe against the hill. Then let these fewe suffise, she Helene staines for hew, Dydo for grace, Cressyde for chéere, and is as Thisbye true. Yet if you furder craue, to haue hir name displaide, Dame Fauor is my mistres name, dame Fortune is hir maid.

Attamen ad solitum.

Gascoignes Lullable.

SIng lullabie, as women do, Wherewith they bring their babes to rest, And lullabie can I sing to As womanly as can the best. With lullabie they still the childe, And if I be not much beguilde, Full many wanton babes haue I Which must be stilld with lullabie.

First lullaby my youthfull yeares, It is now time to go to bed, For crooked age and hoarie heares,

Haue wonne the hauen within my head: With Lullabye then youth be still, With Lullabye content thy will, Since courage quayles, and cōmes behynde, Goe sléepe, and so beguyle thy mynde.

Next Lullabye my gazing eyes, Whiche woonted were to glaunce apace: For euery glasse maye nowe suffise, To shewe the furrowes in my face: With Lullabye then wynke a whyle, Witth Lullabye youre lookes beguyle: Lette no sayre face, nor beautie bryghte Entice you efte with vayne delyght.

And Lullabye my wanton will, Lette reasons rule nowe reigne thy thought, Since all too late I fynde by skill, Howe deare I haue thy fansies bought: With Lullabye nowe take thyne ease, With Lullabye thy doubtes appease: For trust to this, if thou be still, My bodie shall obeye thy will.

Eke Lullabye my louing boye, My little Robyn take thy rest, Synce Age is colde, and nothyng coye, Kéepe close thy coyne, for so is beste: With Lullabye bée thou content, With Lullabye thy lustes relente, Lette others paye whiche haue mo pence, Thou arte to poore for suche expense.

Thus Lullabie my youth, myne eyes, My will, my ware, and all that was,

I can no mo delayes deuise, But welcome payne, lette pleasure passe: With Lullabye nowe take your leaue, With Lullabye youre dreames deceyue, And when you rise with waking eye, Remembre Gascoignes Lullabye,

Euer or Neuer.

Gascoignes Recantation.

NOwe must I néedes recant the wordes whiche once I spoke, Fonde fansie fumes so nye my nose, I néedes must smell the smoke: And better were to beare a faggot from the fire, Than wilfully to burne and blaze in flames of vayne desire. You Iudges then giue eare, you people marke me well I say, bothe heauen and earth record the tale which I shall tell, And knowe that dreade of death, nor hope of better hap, Haue forced or persuaded me to take my turning cap, But euen that mightie Ioue of his great clemencie, Hath giuen me grace at last to iudge the truth from heresie: I say then and professe, with frée and faithfull harte, That womens vowes are nothing else but snares of secret smart: Their beauties blaze are baytes which séeme of pleasant taste, But who deuoures the hidden hooke, eates poyson for repast: Their smyling is deceipt, their faire wordes traynes of treason, Their witte alwayes so full of wyles, it skorneth rules of reason. Percase some present here, haue hearde my selfe of yore, Both teach and preach the contrary, my fault was then the more: I graunt my workes were these, first one Anatomie, Wherein I paynted euery pang so loues perplexitie: Nexte that I was araignde, with George holde vp thy hande, Wherein I yéelded Beauties thrall, at hir commaunde to stande: Myne eyes so blynded were, (good people marke my tale) That once I soong, I Bathe in Blisse, amidde my wearie Bale: And many a frantike verse, then from my penne did passe,

In waues of wicked heresie so déepe I drowned was, All whiche I nowe recante, and here before you burne Those trifling bookes, frō whose leud lore my tippet here I turne, And hencefoorth will I write, howe madde is that mans mynde, Which is entyst by any trayne to trust in womankynde. I spare not wedlocke I, who list that state aduaunce, Aske Astolfe king of Lumbardie, how trim his dwarf could daūce. Wherefore faire Ladies you, that heare me what I saye, If you hereafter sée me slippe, or séeme to goe astraye: Or if my toung reuolte from that whiche nowe it sayth, Then plague me thus, Beleeue it not, for this is nowe my fayth.

Haud ictus sapio.

I haue herde master Gascoignes memorie commended by these verses following, the vvhich were written vppon this occasi∣on. He had (in middest of his youth) determined to abandone all vaine delights and to retourne vnto Greyes Inne, there to vnder∣take againe the study of the common lawes. And being required by fiue sundrie gentlemen to wrighte in verse somwhat worthy to be remembred, before he entred into their felowship, he compi∣led these fiue sundry sor••es of metre vpon fiue sundry theames whiche they deliuered vnto him, and the firste was at request of Francis K••••welma••she who deliuered him this theame Auda∣ces fortuna iunat. And therevpon he wrote thys Sonnet follo∣wing.

IF yelding feare, or cancred villanie, In Caesars haughtie heart had tane the charge, The walles of Rome had not bene rearde so hye, Nor yet the mightie empire lefte so large. If Menelaus could haue rulde his will With fowle reproch to loose his faire delight, Then had the stately towres of Troy stood still, And Greekes with grudge had dronke their owne despight. If dread of drenching waues or feare of fire,

Had stayde the wandring Prince amidde his race, Ascanius then, the frute of his desire In Lauine lande had not possessed place, But true it is, where lottes doe light by chaunce, There Fortune helpes the boldest to aduaunce.

Sic tuli.

The nexte vvas at request of Antonie Kynwelma: she, vvho deliuered him this theame, Satis sufficit, and therevpon he vvrote as follovveth.

THe vaine excesse of flattering Fortunes giftes, Enuenometh the mind with vanitie, And beates the restlesse braine with endlesse driftes To stay the staffe of worldly dignitie: The begger stands in like extremitie. Wherefore to lacke the most, and leaue the least, I coumpt enough as good as any feast.

By too too much Dan Croesus caught his death, And bought with bloud the price of glittering gold, By too too little many one lacks breath And striues in stréetes a mirroure to behold: So pride for heate, and pouert pynes for colde. Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least, I co••mpt enough as good as any feaste.

Store makes no sore, lo this séemes contrarye, And mo the meryer is a Prouerbe eke, But store of sores maye make a maladie, And one to many maketh some to séeke, When two be mette that bankette with a léeke: Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least, I coumpte enough as good as any feast.

The ryche man surfetteth by gluttonie, Whyche féedeth still, and neuer standes content, The poore agayne he pines for penurie, Whiche liues with lacke, when all and more is spente: So too muche and too little bothe bée shente. Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least, I coumpte enough as good as any feast.

The Conquerour with vncontented swaye, Dothe rayse vp rebells by his auarice, The recreaunt dothe yéelde hymselfe a praye, To forrayne soyle by slouth and cowardyse: So too muche and too little, both be vyce. Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least. I coumpte enough as good as any feast.

If so thy wyfe be too too fayre of face, It drawes one guest (too manie) to thyne inne: If she be fowle, and foyled with disgrace, In other pillowes prickst thou many a pinne: So fowle proue fooles, and fayrer fall to sinne. Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least, I coumpte enough as good as any feast.

And of enough, enough, and nowe no more, Bycause my braynes no better can deuise, When things be ••adde, a small summe maketh store. So of suche verse a fewe maye soone suffise: Yet still to this my wearie penne replyes. That I sayde last, and though you lyke it least, It is enough, and as good as a feast.

Sic tuli,

Iohn Vaughan deliuered him this theame. Magnum vectigal parcimonia, vvherevppon he vvrote thus.

THe common spéech is, spend and God will send, But what sends he? a bottell and a bagge, A staffe, a wallet and a wofull ende, For such as list in brauery so to bragge. Then if thou couet come enough to spend, Learne first to spare thy budget at the brinke, So shall the bottome be the faster bound: But he that list with lauish hand to linke, (In like expence) a pennie with a pound, May chance at last to sitte aside and shrinke His harbraind head without dame deinties dore. Hick, Hobbe and Dick with cloutes vppon their knée, Haue many times more goonhole groates in store, And change of crownes more quicke at call than he, Which let their lease and tooke their rent before. For he that rappes a royall on his cappe, Before he put one pennie in his pursse, Had néede turne quicke and broch a better tappe, Or else his drinke may chance go downe the wursse. I not denie but some men haue good hap, To climbe alofte by scales of courtly grace, And winne the world with liberalitie: Yet he that yerks old angells out apace, And hath no new to purchase dignitie, When orders fall, may chance to lacke his grace. For haggard hawkes mislike an emptie ha••d: So stiffely some sticke to the mercers stall, Till sutes of silke haue swet out all their land. So ofte thy neighbours banquet in thy hall, Till Dauie Debet in thy parlor stande, And bids thée welcome to thine owne decay.

I lyke a Lyons lookes not woorth a léeke When euery Foxe beguyles him of his praye: What sauce but sorowe serueth him a weeke, Whiche all his cates consumeth in one daye? Fyrste vse thy stomacke to a stonde of ale, Before thy Malmesey come in Marchantes bookes, And rather weare (for shifte) thy shirte of male, Than teare thy silken sléeues with teynter hookes. Put feathers in thy pillowes greate and small, Lette them bée princkt with plumes that gape for plummes, Heape vp bothe golde and siluer safe in hooches, Catche, snatche, and scratche for scrapings and for crummes, Before thou decke thy hatte (on highe) with brooches. Lette firste thyne one hande holde fast all that commes, Before that other learne his letting flie: Remember still that softe fyre makes swéete malte, No haste but good (who meanes to multiplie:) Bought wytte is deare, and drest with sowre salte, Repentaunce commes to late, and then saye I, Who spares the first and kéepes the laste vnspent, Shall fynde that Sparing yeldes a goodly rent.

Sic tuli.

Alexander Neuile deliuered him this theame, Sat cito, si sat bene, vvherevpon he compiled these seuen So∣nets in sequence, therin bevvraying his ovvne Ni∣mis cito: and thervvith his Vix bene, as folovveth.

IN haste poste haste, when fyrste my wandring mynde, Behelde the glistering Courte with gazing eye, Suche déepe delyghtes I séemde therein to fynde, As myght beguyle a grauer guest than I. The stately pompe of Princes and their péeres, Did séeme to swimme in flouddes of beaten golde, The wanton worlde of yong delightfull yéeres,

Was not vnlyke a heauen for to beholde, Wherein did swarme (for euery saint) a Dame, So faire of hue, so freshe of their attire, As might excell dame Cinthia for Fame, Or conquer Cupide with his owne desire. These and suche lyke were baytes that blazed still Before myne eye to féede my gréedie will.

2 Before myne eye to féede my gréedie will, Gan muster eke myne olde acquainted mates, Who helpte the dishe (of vayne delighte) to fill My emptie mouthe with dayntie delicates: And foolishe boldenesse tooke the whippe in hande, To lashe my lyfe into this trustlesse trace, Till all in haste I leapte aloofe from lande, And hoyste vp soyle to catche a Courtly grace: Eche lingring daye did séeme a worlde of woe, Tyll in that halplesse hauen my head was broughte: Waues of wanhope so tost mee too and and fro, In déepe despaire to drowne my dreadfull thoughte: Eche houre a daye, eche daye a yeare did séeme, And euery yeare a worlde my wyll did déeme.

3 And euery yeare a worlde my will dyd déeme, Till lo, at laste, to Courte nowe am I come, A séemely swayne, that myght the place beséeme, A gladsome guest embraste of all and some: Not there contente with common dignitie, My wandring eye in haste, (yea poste post haste) Behelde the blazing badge of brauerie, For wante wherof, I thought my selfe disgraste: Then péeuishe pride pufft vp my swelling harte, To further foorth so hotte an enterpryse: And comely cost beganne to playe his parte, In praysing patternes of mine owne deuise:

Thus all was good that myghte be got in haste, To prinke me vp, and make mée higher plaste.

4 To prinke mée vp and make mée higher plaste, All came to late that taryed any tyme, Pilles of prouision pleased not my taste, They made my héeles too heauie for to clyme: Mée thought it beste that boughes of boystrous oke, Shoulde fyrste be shread to make my feathers gaye, Tyll at the last a deadly dinting stroke, Brought downe the bulke with edgetooles of decaye: Of euery ferme I then lette flye a lease, To féede the pursse that payde for péeuishnesse, Till rente and all were falne in suche disease, As scarse coulde serue to maynteyne cleanlynesse: The bough, the bo••ie, ••yne, ferme, lease and lande, All were too little for the merchauntes hande.

5 All were too little for the merchantes hande, And yet my brauerye bigger than his booke: But when this hotte accompte was coldely scande, I thoughte highe tyme aboute me for to looke: With heauie cheare I caste my heade abacke, To sée the fountayne of my furious race, Comparde my losse, my liuyng, and my lacke, In equall balance with my iolye grace, And sawe expences grating on the grounde Lyke lumpes of leade to presse my pursse full ofte, When lyghte rewarde and recompence were founde, Fléeting lyke feathers in the wynde alofte: These thus comparde, I lefte the Courte at large, For why? the gaynes doth seldome quitte the charge.

For why? the gaynes doth seldome quitte the charge, And so saye I, by proofe too dearely boughte,

My haste made waste, my braue and braynsicke barge, Did floate to faste, to catche a thing of nought: Wit•• leysure, measure, meane, and many mo, I moughte haue kepte a chaire of quiet state, But hastie heades can not bee settled so, Till crooked Fortune giue a crabbed mate: As busye braynes muste beate on tickle toyes, As rashe inuention bréedes a rawe deuise, So sodaine falles doe hinder hastie ioyes, And as swifte baytes doe fléetest fyshe entice, So haste makes waste, and therefore nowe I say, No haste but good, where wysedome makes the waye.

No haste but good, where wysedome makes the waye, For proofe whereof wée sée the silly snayle, Who sees the Souldiers carcasse cast awaye, With hotte assaulte the Castle to assayle, By lyne and leysure clymes the loftie wall, And winnes the turrettes toppe more cunningly, Than doughtie Dicke, who loste his lyfe and all, With hoysting vp his heade too hastily: The swiftest bitche brings foorth the blyndest whelpes, The hottest Feuers coldest crampes ensue, The nakedst néede hathe euer latest helpes: With Neuyle then I fynde this prouerbe true, That Haste makes vvaste, and therefore still I saye, No haste but good, where wysedome makes the way.

Sic tuli.

Richarde Courtop (the last of the fiue) gaue him this theame, Durum aneum & miserab••le aeuum, and therevpon he wrote in this wyse.

WHen péerelesse Princes courtes were frée from flatterie, The Iustice from vnequal doome, the queste from periurie,

The pillers of the state, from proude presumption, The clearkes from heresie, the Commons from rebellion: Then righte rewardes were giuen, by swaye of due deserte, Then vertues dearlings might be plaste aloft to play their parte: Then might they coumpt it true, that hath ben sayd of olde, The children of those happie dayes were borne in beds of golde, And swadled in the same: the Nurse that gaue them sucke, Was wyfe to Liberalitie, and lemman to Good lucke. When Caesar woon the fielde, his captains caught the townes, And euery painful souldiors pursse was crammed full of crownes. Licurgus for good lawes, loste his owne libertie, And thoughte it better to preferre common commoditie. But nowe the tymes are turnde, it is not as it was, The golde is gone, the siluer sunke, and nothing left but brasse. To sée a king encroache, what wonder should it séeme, When commons cannot be content, with countrie Dyade••me? The Prince may dye a babe, trust vp by trecherie, Where vaine ambition doth moue trustlesse nobilitie. Errours in pulpit preach, where faith in préesthood failes, Promotion (not deuotion) is cause why cleargie quailes. Thus is the stage stakt out, where all these partes be plaide, And I the prologue should pronounce, but that I am afraide. First Cayphas playes the priest, and Herode sits as king, Pylate the Iudge, Iudas the Iurour verdicte in doth bring, Uayne tatling plaies the vice, well cladde in rich aray. And pore Tom Troth is laught to skorn, w^t garmēts nothing gay▪ The woman wan••onnesse, she comes with ticing traine, Pride in hir pocket playes bo péepe, and bawdrie in hir braine. Hir handmaides be deceipte, daunger, and dalliance, Riot and Reuell follow hir, they be of hir alliance: Nexte these commes in Simme Swash, to sée what sturre they kéepe, Climme of y^e Clough thē takes his héeles, tis time for him to créep: To packe the pageaunt vp, commes Sorowe with a song, He says these iestes can get no grotes, & al this geare goth wrong: Fyrst pride without cause, why he sings the treble parte,

The meane he mumbles out of tune, for lack of life and hart: Cost lost, the counter Tenor chanteth on apace, Thus all in discords stands the cliffe, and beggrie sings the base. The players loose their paines, where so few pens are sturring, Their garmēts weare for lacke of gains, & fret for lacke of furring When all is done and past, was no part plaide but one, For euery player plaide the foole, till all be spent and gone. And thus this foolish iest, I put in dogrell rime, Bicause a crosier staffe is best, for such a crooked time.

Sic Tuli.

And thus an end of these siue theames, vvherein hath bene noted, that as the theames were sundrie and altogither diuers, so Master Gascoigne did accomplishe them in fiue sundrie sortes of metre, yea and that seemeth most strange, he deuised all these ad∣mounting to the number of .CCLVIII. verses, riding by the way, writing none of them vntill he came at the end of his lour∣ney, the which was no longer than one day in riding, one day in ••arying with his friend, and the third in returning to Greys lnne: a small time for suche a taske, neyther wolde I willingly vnder∣take the like. The meetres are but rough in many places, and yet are they true (cum licentia poetica) and I must needes confesse, that he hath more commonly bene ouer curious in delectation, then of haughti•• stile in his dilatations. And therefore let vs pas•••• to the rest of his vvorks.

Gascoignes gloze vppon this text, Dominus ijs opus habet.

MY recklesse race is runne, gréene youth and pride be past, My riper mellowed yeares beginne to follow on as fast. My glancing lookes are gone, which wonted were to prie In euery gorgeous garish glasse that glistred in mine eie. My sight is now so dimme, it can behold none such, No mirroure but the merrie meane, can please my fansie much••, And in that noble glasse, I take delight to view, The fashions of the wonted worlde, compared by the new.

For marke who list to looke, each man is for him selfe, And beates his braine to hord & heape this trash & worldly pelfe. O••r hands are closed vp, great gifts go not abroade, Few men will lend a locke of heye, but for to gaine a loade. Giue Gaue is a good man, what neede we lash it out, The world is wōdrous fearfull now, for danger bids men doubte. And aske how chanceth this? or what meanes all this méede? Forsooth the common answer is, because the Lord hath neede. A noble iest by gisse, I find it in my glasse, The same fréehold our Sauioure Christ, con••eyed to his asse. A text to trie the truth, and for this time full fitte, For where should we our lessons learne, but out of holy writte? First marke our only God, which ruleth all the rost, He sets a side all pompe and pride, wherein fond wordlings boast, He is not fedde with calues, as in the dayes of old, He cares but litle for their copes, that glister all of gold. His traine is not so great, as filthy Sathans band, A smaller heard may serue to féede, at our great masters hande. He likes no numbred prayers, to purchase popish méede, He askes no more but penitence, thereof Cur Lorde hath neede: Next marke the heathens Gods, and by them shall we sée, They be not now so good fellowes, as they were wont to be. Ioue, Mars, and Mercurie, Dame Venus and the rest, They banquet not as they were wont, they know it were not best: They shrinke into the cloudes, and there they serue out néede, As planets and signes moueable, by destenies decréede. So kings and princes both, haue lefte their halles at large, Their priuie chambers cost enough, they cut off euery charge: And when an office falles, as chance sometimes may be, First kéepe it close a yere or twayne, then geld it by the sée. And giue it out at last, but yet with this prouiso, (A bridle for a brainsicke Iade) durante bene placito. Some think these ladders low, to climbe alofte with spéede: Well let them créepe at leisure thē, for sure the Lord hath neede. Dukes Earles and Barons bold, haue learnt like lesson nowe,

They breake vp house and come to courte, they liue not by y^e plow▪ Percase their roomes be skant, not like their stately boure, A field bed in a corner coucht, a pallad on the floure. But what for that? no force, they make thereof no boast, They féede themselues with delycates, and at the princes cost. And as for all their men, their pages and their swaynes, They cloke thē vp with chynes of béefe, to multiply their gaines. Themselues lie néere to looke, when any leafe doth fall, Such croomes were wont to feede poore groomes, but now y^• Lords licke al. And why? oh sir, because, both dukes & lords haue néede, I mock not I, my text is true, beléeue it as your créede. Our prelates and our priests, can tell this text with me, They can hold fast their fattest fermes, and let no lease go frée. They haue both wife and childe, which may not be forgot, The scriptures say the Lord hath neeed, & therfore blame thē not. Then come a litle lower, vnto the countrey knight, The squier and the gentleman, they leaue the countrey quite, Their halles were all to large, their tables were to long, The clouted shoes came in so fast, they kepte to great a throng, And at the porters lodge, where lubbers wont to féede, The porter learnes to answere now, hence hence the Lorde hathe neede His gests came in to thicke, their diet was to great, Their horses eate vp all the hey, which should haue fed his neate: Their téeth were farre to fine, to séede on porke and souf••, Fiue flocks of shéepe coulde scarce mainteine good mutton for his house. And when this count was cast, it was no biding here, Unto the good towne is he gone, to make his frends good chéere, And welcome there that will, but shall I tell you how? At his owne dish he féedeth them, that is the fashion now, Side bords be laid aside, the tables end is gone, His cooke shall make you noble chéere, but ostler hath he none. The chargers now be changde, wherein he wont to eate, An olde frute dish is bigge enough to holde a iointe of meate, A sallad or a sauce, to tast your cates with all, Some strāge deuise to ••éede mēs eies, mēs stomacks now be small.

And when the tenauntes come to paye their quarters rent, They bring some fowle at Midsommer, & a dish of Fish in Lent, At Christmasse a capon, at Mighte••masse a goose: And somwhat else at Newyeres tide, for feare their lease flie loose. Good reason by my trouth, when Gentlemen lacke groates, Let Plowmen pinch it out for pence, and patch their russet coates: For better Fermers fast, than Manour houses fall, The Lord hath néed, then says the text, bring old Asse, colt and all. Well lowest now at laste, let see the countrey loute, And marke how he doth swink & sweate to bring this geare about: His feastings be but fewe, cast whipstockes clou••e his shooen, The wheaten loafe is locked vp, as soone as dinners doone: And where he wonte to keepe a lubber, two or thrée, Now hath he learnd to keepe no more but Sim him sonne and he, His wyfe and Mawde his mayde, a boy to pitche the carte, And turne him vp at Hal••ontyde, to feele the wynters smarte: Dame Alyson his wyfe doth knowe the price of meale, Hir bridecakes be not halfe so bigge as she was wont to steale: She weares no siluer hookes, she is content with wursse, Hir pendants and hir siluer pinnes she putteth in hir pursse. Thus learne I by my glasse, that merrie meane is best, And he moste wise that fynds the meane to kéep his tackling best. Perchaunce some open mouth will mutter nowe and than, And at the market tell his mate, our landlords a zore man: He racketh vp our rentes, and keepes the best in hande, He makes a wondrous deale of good out of his owne measne land: Yea let suche pelters prate, saint Needam be their spéede, We néede no text to answer them, but this, The Lord hath neede.

Euer or neuer.

Gascoignes good morovv.

YOu that haue spente the silente nighte In sléepe and quiet reste, And ioye to sée the chéerefull lighte

That ryseth in the East: Nowe cléere your voyce, now cheare your heart, Come helpe me nowe to sing: Eche willyng wight come beare a parte, To prayse the heauenly King.

And you whome care in prison kéepes, Or sickenesse dothe suppresse, Or secrete sorrowe breakes youre sléepes, Or dolours doe distresse: Yet beare a parte in dolefull wyse, Yea thinke it good accorde, And acceptable sacrifice, Eche sprite to prayse the Lorde.

The dreadfull night with darkesome storme•• Had ouerspread the lyght, And sluggishe sléepe with drowsynesse, Had ouerpreste our myght: A glasse wherein we maye beholde Eche storme that stoppes our breath, Our bedde the graue, oure cloathes lyke molde, And sléepe lyke dreadfull death.

Yet as this deadly nyghte did laste, But for a little space, And heauenly daye nowe night is paste, Doth shewe his pleasant face: So muste we hope to sée Gods face, At laste in heauen on hie, When wée haue chaung'd this mortall place, For Immortalitie.

And of suche happes and heauenly ioyes, As then wée hope to holde,

All earthly sightes, all worldly toyes, Are tokens to beholde: The daye is lyke the daye of doome, The sunne, the Sonne of man, The skyes the heauens, the earth the toombe Wherein wée reste till than.

The Raynbowe bending in the skye, Bedeckte with sundrye hewes, Is lyke the seate of God on hye, And seemes to tell these newes: That as thereby he promised To drowne the worlde no more, So by the bloud whiche Christe hath shead, He will oure health restore.

The mistie clowdes that fall sometyme, And ouercaste the skyes, Are lyke to troubles of oure tyme, Whiche doe but dimme oure eyes: But as suche dewes are dryed vp quite, When Phoebus shewes his face, So are suche fansies put to flighte, Where God dothe guyde by grace.

The carrion Crowe, that lothesome beast, Whyche cryes agaynst the rayne, Bothe for hir hew and for the reste, The Deuill resembleth playne: And as with goonnes we kill the Crowe, For spoylyng oure reliefe, The Deuill so muste wée ouerthrowe, With goonshot of beliefe.

The little Byrdes whiche syng so swéete,

Are lyke the angels voyce, Whiche render God his prayses méete, And teache vs to reioyce: And as they more estéeme that myrthe, Than dreade the nightes anoye, So muste wée déeme oure dayes on earthe, But hell to heauenly ioye.

Unto whiche Ioyes for to attayne, God graunte vs all his grace, And sende vs after worldly payne, In heauen to haue a place. Where wée may still enioy that lyght, Whiche neuer shall decaye: Lorde for thy mercie lende vs myghte To sée that ioyfull daye.

Haud ictus sapio.

Gascoignes good nyghte.

WHen thou hast spent the lingring day in pleasure and delight, Or after toyle and wearie way, dost séeke to rest at night: Unto thy paynes or pleasures past, adde this one labour yet, Ere sléepe close vp thyne eye too faste, do not thy God forget, But searche within thy secret thoughts what déeds did thée befal: And if thou fynde amisse in ought, to God for mercie call: Yea though thou find nothing amisse, which thou canst cal to mind Yet euermore remember this, there is the more behynde: And think howe well soeuer it be, that thou hast spent the day, It came of God, and not of thée, so to directe thy waye. Thus if thou trie thy dayly déedes, and pleasure in this payne, Thy lyfe shal clense thy corne from wéeds, & thine shal be y^• gaine: But if thy sinfull sluggishe eye, will venture for to winke, Before thy wading wyll maye trye, how far thy soule may sink, Beware and wake, for else thy bed, which soft & smoothe is made,

May heap more harm vpō thy head, than blows of enmies blade. Thus if this payne procure thine ••ase, in bed as thou doste lye, Perhaps it shall not God displease, to sing thus soberly: I see that sléepe is lent mée here, to ease my wearie bones, As death at laste shall eke appeare, to ease my greeuous grones. My dayly sports, my paunch full ••ed, haue causde my drousie eye, As carelesse lyfe in quiet led, might cause my soule to dye: The streking arms, the yauning breath, which I to bedward vse, Are patternes of the pangs of death, when lyfe will me refuse: And of my bed eche sundrie parte in shadowes doth resemble The sundry shapes of deth, whose dart sh••l make my flesh to trēble, My bed it self is lyke y^• graue, my shéetes y^• winding shéete, My clothes the moulde which I must haue to couer me most mée••: The hungrie fleas which friske so fresh, to worms I can compare▪ Which gréedily shal gnaw my flesh, and leaue the bones ful bare: The waking Cocke that early crowes to weare the nyght away, Puts in my mynde the trumpe that blowes before the latter day▪ And as I ryse vp lustily, when sluggishe sléepe is paste, So hope I to ryse ioyfully, to Iudgement at the laste. Thus will I wake, thus will I sléepe, thus will I hope to ryse, Thus will I neyther wayle nor wéepe, but sing in godly wyse. My bones shall in this bed remayne, my soule in God shall trust, By whom I hope to ryse agayne from death and earthly dust.

Haud ictus sapio.

These good Morowe and good nyght, together with his Passion, his Libell of diuorce, his Lullabye, his Recantation, his De profun∣d••s, and his farewell, haue verie sweete notes adapted vnto them: the which I would you should also enioy as well as my selfe. For I knowe you ••ill, delight to heare them. As also other verie good notes whyche I haue for dyuers other Ditties of other mens de∣uyse whiche I haue before rehersed.

Gascoignes De profundis.

The occasion of the vvrighting hereof (as I haue herde Ma∣ster Gascoigne say) was this▪ riding alone betwene Chelmisforde and London, his minde mu••ed vppon the d••yes past, and there∣withall he gan accuse his owne con••cience of muche time mis∣spent, when a great shoure of rayne did ouertake him, and he bee∣ing vnprepared for the same, as in a lerken without a cloake, the wether beeing very faire and vnlikely to haue changed so: he be∣gan to accuse him ••elfe of his carelesnesse, and therevppon in his good disposition compiled firste this sonet, and afterwardes, the translated Psalme of Deprofundis as here followeth.

THe Skies gan scowle, orecast with mistie clo••des, When (as I rode alone by London way, Clokelesse, vnclad) thus did I sing and say: Behold quoth I, bright Titan how he shroudes His hed abacke, and yelds the raine his reac••▪ Till in his wrath, Dan ••oue haue soust the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, And washt me wretch which in his trauaile toile. But holla (here) doth rudenesse me apeach, Since Ioue is Lord and king of mightie power, Which can commande the sunne to shew his face, And (when him list) to giue the raine his place. Why do not I my wery muses frame, (Although I be well soused in this shoure,) To wrighte some verse in honor of his name?

Gascoignes councell to Douglasse Diue vvritten vpon this oc∣casion. She had a booke vvherein she had collected sundry good ditties of diuers mens doings, in vvhich booke she vvould needes entreate him to vvrite some verses. And therevppon he vvrote as follovveth.

TO binde a bushe of thornes amongst swete smelling floures, May make the posie séeme the worse, and yet the fault is ours▪

For throw away the thorne, and marke what will ensew, The posie then will shew it selfe, swéete, faire, and freshe of hew. A puttocke set on pearche, fast by a falcons side, Will quickly shew it selfe a kight, as time hath often tride. And in my musing minde, I feare to finde like fall, As iust reward to recompence my rash attempts withall. Thou bidst, and I must bowe, thou wilt that I shall write, Thou canst command my wery muse some verses to endite. And yet perdie, thy booke is fraughte with learned verse, Such skill as in my musing minde I can none like reherse. What followes then for me? but if I must néedes write, To set downe by the falcons side, my selfe a sillie kight. And yet the sillie kight, well weyed in each degrée, May serue sometimes (as in his kinde) for mans commoditie. The kight can wéede the worme, from corne and costly ••éedes, The kight cā kill the ••••owl••iwarpe, in pleasant meads y^• bréeds: Out of the stately stréetes, the kight can clense the filth, As mē can clēse the worthlesse wéedes, frō fruteful fallowed tilth. And onely set aside the hennes poore progenie, I cannot see who can accuse the kight for fellonie. The falcon, she must féede on partritch, and on quaile, A pigeon, plouer, ducke and drake, hearne, lapwing, teale, & ••aile, Hir hungrie throte deuours both foode and deintie fare, Whereby I take occasion, thus boldly to compare. And as a sillie kight, (not falcon like that flie, Nor yet presume to houer by mount Hellycon on hye) I frendly yet presume, vppon my frends request, In barreine verse to shew my skill, then take it for the best. And Douty Douglas••e thou, that arte of faulcons kinde, Giue willing eare yet to the kight, and beare his words in mind. Serue thou first God thy Lord, and praise him euermore, Obey thy Prince and loue thy make, by him set greatest store. Thy Parents follow next, for honor and for awe, Thy frends vse alwayes faithfully, for so commands the lawe. Thy séemely selfe at last, thou shalte likewise regard,

And of thy selfe this lesson learne, and take it as reward: That loke how farre desertes, may seme in thée to shine, So farre thou maist set out thy selfe, without empeach or crime. For this I dare a••••w, without selfe loue (alight) It can scarce be that vertue dwell, in any earthly wight. But if in such selfe loue, thou séeme to wade so farre, As fall to fowle presumption, and iudge thy selfe a starre, Beware betimes and thinke, in our Etymologie, Such faults are plainly called pride, and in french Surquydrye. Lo thus can I pore kight, aduenture for to teach, The falcon flie, and yet forewarne, she row not past hir reach. Thus can I wéede the worme, which séeketh to deuoure The séeds of vertue, which might grow within thee euery houre. Thus can I kill the mowle, which else would ouerthrow The good foundacion of thy fame, with euery litle blowe. And thus can I conuey, out of thy comely brest, The sluttish heapes of p••euish pride, which might defile the rest. Perchance some falcons flie, which will not greatly grutch, To learne thée first to loue thy selfe, and then to loue to mutch. But I am none of those, I list not so to range, I haue mās meate enough at home, what néed I thē séeke change. I am no peacocke I: my fethers be not gay, And though they were, I sée my féete suche fonde affectes to stay. I list not set to sale a thing so litle, worth, I rather could kepe close my crease, than séeke to set it forth. Wherefore if in this verse, which thou commands to flowe, Thou chaunce to fall on construing, whereby some doubtes may grow, Yet grant this only boone, peruse it twise or thrise, Disgest it well eare thou condemne the depth of my deuise. And vse it like the nut, first cracke the outward shell, Then trie the kirnell by the tast, and it may please thée well. Do not as barbers do, which wash beards curiously, Then cut them off, then cast them out, in open stréetes to lie. Remember therewithall, my money is tied in chaines, The goonshot of calamiti•• hath battred all my braines.

And though this verse scape out, take thou therat no marke, It is but like a hedlesse flie, that tumbleth in the darke. It was thine owne request, remember so it was, Wherefore if thou dislike the same, then licence it to passe Into my brest againe, from whence it flew in hast, Full like a kight which not deserues by falcons to be plast: And like a stubbed thorne, which may not séeme to serue, To stād with such swete smelling floures, like praises to deserue. Yet take this harmelesse thorne, to picke thy teeth withall, A tooth picke serues some vse perdie, although it be but small. And when thy téeth therewith, be piked faire and cleane, Then bend thy to••g no worse to me, than mine to thée hath bene.

Euer or Neuer.

Gascoignes councell giuen to master Bartholmew Wi∣thipoll a litle before his latter iourney to Geane. 1572.

MIne owne good Bat, before thou hoise vp saile, To make a furrowe in the foming seas, Content thy selfe to heare for thine auaile, Such harmelesse words, as ought thée not displease. First in thy iorney, gape not ouer much, What? laughest thou Batte, because I write so plaine? Bléeue me now it is a friendly touch, To vse few words where frendship doth remaine. And for I finde, that fault hath runne to fast, Both in thy flesh, and fancie to sometime, Me thinks plaine dealing biddeth me to cast This bone at first amid my dogrell rime. But shall I say, to giue thée graue aduise? (Which in my hed is (God he knowes) full geazon)? Then marke me well, and though I be not wise, Yet in my rime, thou maist perhaps find reason. First euery day, beseech thy God on 〈◊〉〈◊〉,

So to directe thy staggring steppes alwaye, That he whiche euery secrete thoughte doth sée Maye holde thée in, when thou wouldst goe astray: And that he deigne to sende thée safe retoure, And quicke dispatche of that whyche is thy due: Lette this my Batte bée bothe thy prime and houre, Wherein also commende to Nostre Dieu▪ Thy good Companion and my verie frende, To whome I shoulde (but tyme woulde not permitte) Haue taken payne some ragged ryme to sende In trustie token, that I not forget His curtesie: but this is debte to thée, I promysde it, and nowe I meane to pay: What was I saying? sirra, will you sée Howe soone my wittes were wandering astraye? I saye, praye thou for thée and for thy mate, So shipmen sing, and though the note be playne, Yet sure the musike is in heauenly state, When frendes sing so, and knowe not howe to fayne. Then nexte to GOD, thy Prince haue still in mynde, Thy countreys honour, and the common wealth: And flée from them, whiche fled with euery wynde From natiue soyle, to forraine coastes by stealth: Theyr traynes are trustlesse, tending still to treason, Theyr smoothed tongues are lyned all with guyle, Their power slender, scarsly woorthe two peason, Their malice muche, their wittes are full of wyle: Eschue them then, and when thou séest them, saye, Da, da, sir K, I maye not come at you, You caste a snare youre countrey to betraye, And woulde you haue me truste you nowe for true? Remembre Batte the foolishe blinkeyed boye Whiche was at Rome, thou knowest whome I meane, Remember eke the preatie beardlesse toye, Whereby thou foundst a safe returne to Geane,

Doe so againe: (God shielde thou shouldst haue néede,) But rather so, than to forsweare thy selfe: A loyall hearte, (beléeue this as thy Creede) Is euermore more woorth than worldly pelfe. And for one lesson, take this more of mee, There are thrée Ps almoste in euery place, From whiche I counsell thée alwayes to flée, And take good héede of them in any case, The first is poyson, perillous in déede To suche as trauayle with a heauie pursse: And thou my Batte beware, for thou haste néede, Thy pursse is lynde wyth paper, whyche is wursse: Thy billes of credite will not they thinkst thou, Be bayte to sette Italyan handes on woorke? Yes by my faye, and neuer worsse than nowe, When euery knaue hath leysure for to lurke, And knoweth thou commest for the shelles of Christe: Beware therefore, where euer that thou go, It maye fall out that thou shalte be entiste To suppe sometimes with a Magnifico, And haue a fico foysted in thy dishe, Bycause thou shouldest disgeste thy meate the better: Beware therefore, and rather féede on fishe, Than learne to spell fyne fleshe with suche a Letter. Some may presente thée with a pounde or twayne Of Spanishe soape to washe thy lynnen white: Beware therefore, and thynke it were small gayne, To saue thy shirte, and caste thy skinne off quite: Some cunning man maye teache thée for to ryde, And stuffe thy saddle all with Spanishe wooll, Or in thy stirrops haue a toye so tyde, As bothe thy legges may swell thy buskins full: Beware therefore, and beare a noble porte, Drynke not for thyrste before an other taste: Lette none outlandishe Taylour take disporte

To stuffe thy doublet full of suche Bumbaste, As it maye caste thée in vnkindely sweate, And cause thy haire {per} companie to glyde, Straungers are fyne in many a propre feate: Beware therefore, the seconde P. is Pryde, More perillous than was the fyrste by farre, For that infectes but onely bloud and bones, This poysons all, and myndes of men dothe marre, It fyndeth nookes to créepe in for the nones: Fyrste from the mynde it makes the hearte to swell, From thence the fleshe is pampred euery parte, The skinne is taughte in Dyers shoppes to dwell, The haire is curlde or frisled vp by arte: Beléeue mée Batte, oure Countreymen of late Haue caughte suche knackes abroade in forayne lande, That moste men call them Deuils incarnate, So singular in theyr conceiptes they stande: Nowe sir, if I shall sée your maistershippe Come home disguysde and cladde in queynt araye, As wyth a pyketoothe byting on youre lippe, Your braue Mustachyos turnde the Turky waye, A Coptanckt hatte made on a Flemmishe blocke, A nyghtgowne cloake downe trayling to your ••oes, A slender sloppe close couched to youre docke, A curtold slipper, and a shorte sylke hose: Bearyng youre Rapier poynte aboue the hilte, And looking bigge lyke Marquise of al Beefe, Then shall I coumpte your toyle and trauayle spilte, Bycause my seconde P, with you is chéefe. But forwardes nowe, although I stande a whyle, My hindmoste P, is worsse than bothe these two, For it bothe soule and bodie dothe defyle, With fouler faultes than bothe those other doo. Shorte tale to make, this is a double P, (God shielde my Batte, shoulde beare it in his breast)

And with a dashe it spelleth Papistrie, A perlous P, and woorsse than bothe the reste: Nowe though I finde no cause for to suspecte My Batte in this, bycause he hath ben tryde, Yet since the polshorne Prelates can infecte Kings, Emperours, Princes, and the worlde so wyde. And since theyr brazen heauen beares suche a glosse, As moste that trauayle come home {per} Papist, Or else muche woorsse (whyche is a heauie lesse) Drowned in errours lyke an Atheist: Therefore I thoughte it méete to warne my frende Of this foule P, and so an ende of Ps. Nowe for thy diet marke my tale to ende, And thanke me then, for that is all my fées. Sée thou excéede not in thrée double Vs, The fyrste is Wyne, whiche maye enflame thy bloud, The seconde, Women, suche as haunte the stewes, The thirde is Wilfulnesse, whiche dooth no good. These thrée eschue, or temper them alwayes: So shall my Batte prolong his youthfull yéeres, And sée long George agayne, with happie dayes, Who if he bée as faythfull to his feeres, As hée was wonte, wyll dayly praye for Batte, And for Pencoyde: and if it fall oute so, That Iames a Parrye doo but make good that, Whiche he hath sayde: and if he bée (no, no) The beste companyon that long George can fynde, Then at the Spavve I promyse for to bée In Auguste nexte, if God turne not my mynde, Where as I woulde bée glad thy selfe to sée: Tyll then farewell, and thus I ende my song, Take it in grée, for else thou doest mée wrong.

Ha••d ictus sapi••.

Gascoignes Epitaph vppon capitaine Bourcher late slayne in the vvarres in Zel••••d••, the vvhiche hath bene termed the tale of a stone as follovveth.

FYe Captaines fie, your tongs are tied to close, Your souldiers eke by silence purchase shame: Can no man penne in metre nor in prose, The life, the death, the valiante acts, the fame, The birth, behauioure, nor the noble name, Of such a féere as you in sight haue lost? Alas such paines would quickly quite the cost.

Bourcher is dead, whome each of you did knowe, Yet no man writes one word to painte his praise, His sprite on high, his carkasse here belowe, Do both condemne your doting idle dayes: Yet ceasse they not to sound his worthy wayes, Who liued to die, and died againe to liue, With death deere bought, he did his death forgiue.

He might for birth haue boasted noble race, Yet were his manners meeke and alwayes m••lde, Who gaue a gesse by gazing on his face, And iudgde thereby, might quickly be beguilde: In fiel••e a lion and in towne a childe, Fierce to his foe, but courteouse to his friende. Alas the while, his life so soone should end?

To serue his Prince his life was euer prest, To serue his God, his death he thought but dew, In all attempts as frowarde as the best, And all to forwards whiche we all may rew, His life so shewed, his death eke tried it true: For where Gods foes in thickest prease did stande, Bourcher caught bane with bloudy sword in hande.

And marke the courage of a noble harte, When he in bedde lay wounded wondrous sore, And heard allarme, he soone forgat his smarte, And callde for armes to shewe his seruice more: I will to fielde•• quoth he) and God before. Which sayde, he sailde into more quiet coast, Still praysing God, and so gaue vp the ghost.

Now muze not reader though we stones can speake, Or write sometimes the déedes of worthy ones, I could not hold although my harte should breake, Bycause here by me buried are his bones, But I must tell this tale thus for the nones. When men crie mumme and keepe such silence long, Then stones must speake, els dead men shall haue wrong.

Finis {quod} Marmaduke M••rbl••stone.

Gascoignes deuise of a maske for the right honorable Viscount Mountacute, written (as I haue heard Master Gascoigne himselfe declare) vpon this occasion, when the sayde L. had prepa••ed to solemnise two mariages be∣twene his sonne and heire and the daughter of sir William Do••mer knighte, and betwene the sonne and heire of sir William Dormer, and the daughter of the saide L. Mountacute: there were eighte gentlemen (all of bloud or a••••i∣ance to the saide L. Mountacute) which had determined to present a maske at the day appoynted for the sayd mariages, and so farre they had proceeded ther∣in, that they had alredy bought furniture of silks. &c. and had caused their gar∣ments to be cut of the Venetian fashion. Newe then they began to imagin•• that (without some speciall demonstraciō) it would seeme somewhat obscure to haue Venetians presented rather than other countrey men. Wherevpon ••hey entreated Master Gascoigne to deui••e some verses to be vttered by an Actor wherein mighte be some discourse conuenient to render a good cause of the Ve••etians presence. Master Gascoigne calling to minde that there is a noble house of the Mountac••tes in Italie, and therewithall that the L. Mountacute here doth quarter the cote of an anciēt english gentlemā called Mounth••rme, and ••ath the inheritance of the sayde house, did therevppon deuise to bring in •• Boy of the age of twelue or xiiij. yeres, who shoulde fayne that he was a Mounthermer by the fathers side, and a Mou••tacute by the mothers side, and that his father being slayne at the last warres against the Tu••ke, and he there taken, he was recoue••ed by the Venetians to their last victorie, and with them sayling towardes Venice, they were driuen by tempest vppon these coasts, and so came to the mariage vppon report as followeth, and the said Boy pronoun∣ced the deuise in this ••orte.

WHat wonder you my Lords? why gaze you gentlemen? And wherefore maruaile you mez Dames, I pray you tell me then? Is it so rare a sight, or yet so strange a toy, Amongst so many noble péeres, to sée one Pouer Boy? Why? boyes haue bene allowed in euery kind of age, As Gany••ede that prety boy, in Heauen is Ioue his page. Cupid that mightie God although his force be fearse, Yet is he but a naked boy, as Poets do rehearse. And many a prety boy a mighty man hath proued, And serued his Prince at all assayes deseruing to be loued. Percase my strange attire my glittering golden gite, Doth either make you maruell thus, or moue you with delite. Yet wonder not my Lords for if your honors please, But euen to giue me eare awhile, I will your doubts apease. And you shall know the cause, wherefore these robes are worne, And why I go outlandish like, yet being english borne. And why I thus presume, to presse into this place, And why I (simple boy) am bold to looke such men in face. First then you must per stande, I am no stranger I, But english boy, in England borne, and bred but euen hereby. My father was a knight Mount Hermer was his name, My mother of the Mountacutes, a house of worthy fame. My father from his youth was trained vp in field, And always toke his chiefe delight, in helmet speare and shielde. Soldado for his life, and in his happie dayes Soldado like hath lost his life, to his immortall prayse. The thundering fame which blew about the world so wide, How that the christian enmie, the Turke that prince of pride, Addressed had his power, to swarme vppon the seas, With gallies, foists, and such like ships, wel armde at all assays,

And that he made his vaunt, the gredy fishe to glut, With g••bs of christians carkasses, in cruell péeces cut. These newes of this report, did pierce my fathers eares, But neuer touched his noble harte, with any sparke of feares. For well he knew the trade of all the ••urkishe warres, And had amongst them shed his bloud at many cruell iarres. In Rhodes his race begon, a slender tall yong man, Where he by many martial feats, his spurres of knighthod wan. Yea though the péece was lost, yet won he honoure still, And euermore against the ••urkes he warred by his will. At Chios many know, how hardily he fought, And howe with streames of striuing bloud, his honoure deare hée bought. At length enforst to yeld with many captaines mo, He bought his libertie with lands and let his goodes ago. Zechynes of glistering golde, two thousand was his price, The which to pay his lands must leape, for else he were vnwise. Beléeue me now my lords although the losse be mine, Yet I confesse them better solde, than like a slaue to pine. "For lands may come againe, but libertie once lost, "Can neuer finde such recompence, as counteruailes the cost. My selfe now know the case, who like my fathers lot, Was like of late for to haue lost my libertie god wot. My father (as I say) enforste to leaue his lande In mortgage to my mothers kinne, for ready coine in hande, Gan now vppon these new••s, which earst I did rehearse, Prepare himselfe to saue his pawne or else to léese his pheares. And first his raunsome paide, with that which did remaine, He rigged vp a proper Barke, was called Leffort Brittayne. And like a venturer (besides him séemely selfe) Determined for to venture me and all his worldly pelfe. Perhaps some hope of gaine perswaded so his minde, For sure his hauty harte was bent, some great exployte to finde. How so it were, the winds now hoysted vp our sayles, We furrowing in the foming floudes, to take our best auailes. Now hearken to my words, and marke you well the same,

For now I will declare the cause wherefore I hither came. My father (as I say) had set vp all his rest, And tost on seas both day and night, disdayning idlenesse, We lefte our forelands end, we past the coast of France, We reacht the cape of Finestre our course for to aduance. We past Marrocchus streights, and at the last descried, The fertile coasts of Cyprus soile, which I my selfe first spied. My selfe (a forewarde boy) on highest top was plast, And there I sawe the Ciprian shoare, whereto we sailde in hast. Which when I had declared vnto the masters mate, He lepte for ioy and thanked God, of that our happie state. "But what remaines to man, that can continue long? "What sunne can shine so cleare and bright but clouds may rise amōg? Which sentence soone was proued, by our vnhappie hap, We thought our selues full nere our frendes, & light in ••nimies lap. The Turke y^• tirāt he, with siege had girte the walles, Of famouse Famagosta then and sought to make them thrals. And as he lay by lande, in strong and stately trenche, So was his power prest by sea, his christian foes to drenche. Uppon the waltring waues, his foistes and gallies fléete, More forrest like than orderly, for such a man most méete. This heauie sight once seene, we turnd our course a pace, And set vp all our sailes in haste, to giue such furie place. But out alas, our wills, and winds were contrarie, For raging blasts did blowe vs still vppon our enimie. My father séeing then, whereto he néedes must go, And that the mightie hand of God, had it apointed so, Most like a worthy knight (though certeine of his death) Gan cleane forget al wailing words as lauish of his breath. And to his christian crew, this (too shorte) tale he told, To comfort them which séemd to faint, & make the coward bolde, "Fellowes in armes, quoth he, although I beare the charge, "And take vpon me chieftaines name, of this vnhappie barge, "Yet are you all my pheares, and as one companie, "We must like true companions, togither liue and die,

"You sée quoth he our foes, with furious force at hand, "And in whose hands our handfull heare vnable is to stand. "What resteth then to do, should we vnto them yeld? "And wilfully receiue that yoke, which christians cannot weld. "No sure, hereof be ••ure, our liues were so vnsure, "And though we liue, yet so to liue, as better death endure. "To heare those hellish fends in raging blasphemie, "Defye our only sauioure, were this no miserie? "To see the fowle abuse of boyes in tender yeares, "The which I knowe must néedes abhor all honest christians eares. "To sée maides rauished, wiues, wom••n f••rst by f••are, "And much more mischiefe thā this time can let me vtter here. "Alas, quoth he, I tell not all, my tong is tide, "But all the slaueries on the earth we should with them abide, "How much were better than to die in worthy wise, "And so to make our carcasses, a willing sacrifice? "So shall we pay the debt, which vnto God is due, "So shall you die in his defence, who deind to die for you. "And who with hardy hand most turkish tikes can quell, "Let him accompt in conscience, to please his maker well. "You sée quoth he, my sonne, wherewith he lookte on me, "Whom but a babe, yet haue I brought, my partner here to be, "For, him I must confesse, my harte is pensiue now, "To leaue him liuing thus in youth, to die I know not how. "But since it pleaseth God, I may not murmure I, "If God had pleased we both should liue, and as god wil we die. Thus with a braying sigh, his noble tong he staide, Commaunding all the ordinance, in order to be laide, And placing all his men in order for to fight, Fell groueling first vppon his face, before them all in sight. And when in secret so he whispered had a while, He raisde his hed with cherefull looke, his sorrowes to beguile: And with the rest he prayde, to God in heauen on hie, Whi••h ended thus, Thou only Lord, canst helpe in miserie. This said, behold, the Turkes enclosde vs round about,

And séemd to wonder that we durst resist so great a ro••••. Wherat they doubt not long, for though our power was slender, We sent them signes by Canon shot, that we ment not to rēder. Then might we see them chafe, them might we heare them rage, And all at once they bent their force, about our sillie cage. Our ordinance bestowed, our men them selues defend, On euerie side so thicke beset, they might not long contend. But as their captaine wild, each man his force did strayne, To send a Turke (some two or thrée) vnto the hellishe trayne. And he him selfe which sawe, he might no more abide, Did thrust amid the thickest throng, and so with honoure died. With him there died likewise, his best approued men. The rest did yeld as men amazd, they had no courage then. Amongst the which my selfe, was tane by Turks alas, And with the Turks a turkish life, in Turkie must passe. I was not done to death for so I often craude, But like a slaue before the Gates, of Famagosta saude. That péece once put to sacke, I thither was conueyed. And vnder safegard euermore, I sillie boye was stayed. There did I sée such sights as yet my hart do pricke, I sawe the noble Bragadine, when he was fleyd quick. First like a slaue enforst to beare to euery breach, Two baskets laden full with earth Mustaffa did him teach. By whome he might not passe before he kisse the ground, These cruell torments (yet with mo) that worthy souldier foūd. His eares cut from his head, they set him in a chaire, And from a maine yard hoisted him alofte into the aire, That so he might be shewed with crueltie and spight, Unto vs all, whose weping eies did much abhore the sight. Alas why do I thus with wofull words rehearce, These werie newes which all our harts with pitttie néedes muste pearce? Well then to tell you foorth, I still a slaue remaind, To one, which Prelybassa hight, who held me stil enchai••d. With him I went to Seas into the gulfe of Pant, With many christians captiues mo, which did their fredom wāt.

There with the Turkish tirannie we were enforst to stay, For why? they had aduise, that the Vene•••••••• fléete, Did flote in Argostelly then with whome they hoapt to méete. And as they waltered thus with tides and billowes tost, Their hope had hap, for at the last they met them to their cost. As in O••tober last vppon the seuenth day, They found the force of christian knights addrest in good aray. And shall I trie my tong to tell the whole discourse, And how they did encounter first and how they ioynd in force? Then harken now my lords, for sure my memorie, Doth yet record the very plot of all this victorie. The christian crew came on, in forme of battaile pight, And like a cressent cast them selues preparing for to fight. On other side the Turkes, which trusted power to much, Disorderly did spread their force, the will of God was such. Well, at the last they met, and first with cannons thunder, Each other sought with furious force to slit their ships in sunder. The Barkes are battered sore, the galli••s gald with shot, The hulks are hit and euery man must stand vnto his lot. The powder sendes his smoke into the cruddy skies, The smoulder stops our nose with stench, the sunne offends our eies, The pots of lime vnsleakt, from highest top are cast, The parched peas are not forgot to make them slip as fast. The wilde fire works are wrought and cast in foemens face, The grappling hooks are stretched foorth, y^• pikes are pusht apace. The halberts hew on hed, the browne bills bruze the bones, The harquebush doth spit his spight, with prety percing stones. The drummes crie dub a dub, the braying trumpets blow, The whistling fi••es are seldome herd, these sounds do drowne thē so. The voice of warlike wights, to comforte them that faint, The piteous plaints of goldē harts, which wer w^t feares attaint. The groning of such ghosts as gasped now for breath, The praiers of the better sort, prepared vnto death, And to be short, each griefe which on the earth may growe, Was eath and easie to be found, vppon these flouds to flowe.

If any sight on earth, may vnto hell resemble, Then sure this was a hellishe sight, it makes me yet to tremble: And in this blouddie fyght, when halfe the day was spent, It pleazed God to helpe his flocke, which thus in poūd was pent. The generall for Spayne, gan galde that Ga••ley sore, Wherin my Prely Ba••••a was, and grieude it more and more: Upon that other side, with force of swoorde and flame, The good 〈◊〉〈◊〉 generall dyd charge vpon the same. At length they came aboorde, and in his raging pride, St••oke of this Turkish captains hed, which blasphemd as it dide: Oh howe I féele the bloud now tickle in my brest, To think what ioy then pierst my heart, and how I thought me blest To sée that cruell Turke whiche helde me as his slaue By happie hande of Christians his payment thus to haue: His head from shoulders cut, vpon a pyke did stande, The whiche Don Iohn of Austrye helde in his triumphant hand. The boldest Bassa then, that did in lyfe remayne, Gan tremble at the sight hereof for priuy griefe and payne. Thus when these fierce had fo••ght from morning vntill night, Christe gaue his stocke the victorie, and put his foes to flight: And of the Turkish trayne were eight score Galeys tane, Fiftéene soonk, fiue and twentie burnt, & brought vnto their bane, Of Christians set at large were fourtéene thousand soules, Turks twentie thousande registred in Beelzebub his rolles. Thus haue you nowe my Lords, the summe of all their fight, And trust it all for true I tell, for I was still in sight: But when the seas were calme, and skyes began to cleare, When foes were all or dead or fled, and victors did appeare, Then euery christian sought amongst vs for his frende, His kinsman or companion some succour them to lende: And as they ransackte so, lo God his will it was, A noble wyse Venetian by me did chaunce to passe▪ Who gazing on my face, dyd seeme to like mée well And what my name, and whence I was, commaunded me to tel: I nowe whiche waxed bolde, as one that scaped had,

From depest hell to highest heauen, began for to be glad▪ And with a ••yuely spryte, began to pleade my case, And hid not from this worthie man, myne auncient worthy race: And tolde my fathers name, and howe I did descende From Mountacutes by mothers side, nor there my tale did ende: But furthermore I tolde my fathers late exployte, And how he lefte landes, goodes and lyfe, to pay son Dieu son dro••t. Nor of my selfe I craued so credited to bée, For ••o ther were remayning yet,* 2.2 These four vvhom here you see, Whiche all were Englishe borne, and knew I had not lyed, And were my fathers souldiours eke, and saw him how he dyed▪ This graue Venetian who hearde the famous name Of Mountacutes rehersed there, which long had ben of fame In Italy, and h•• of selfe same worthie race, Gan streight w^t many courteous words in armes me to embrace, And kissed mée on cheeke, and bad me make good cheere, And thanke the myghtie God for that whiche hapned there, Confessing that he was himselfe a Mountacute, And bare the selfe same armes that I did quarter in my scute: And for a further proofe, he shewed in his hat, This token whiche the Mountacutes do beare always,* 2.3 for that They couet to be knowne from Capels where they passe, For ancient grutch which long age twéen those two houses was. Then tooke me by the hande, and ledde me so aboorde His galley: where there were yféere, full many a comely Lorde: Of whome eight Montacutes did sitte in hyghest place, To whome this first declared first my name, and then my race: Lo lordings here (quod he) a babe of our owne bloods, Whō Turk•• had tane, his father slain, w^t losse of lands and goods: Sée how God fauours vs, that I should fynde hym nowe, I straunge to him, he straunge to mée, wée m••t I know not how: But sure when I him sawe, and gazed in his face, Me thought he was a Mountacute, I chose him by his grace: Herewith he dyd reherse my fathers valyant déede, For losse of whome each Mountacute, did séeme in hart to bléede.

They all embrast me then, and streight as you may sée, In comely garments trimde me vp, as braue as braue may bée: I was in sackcloath I, nowe am I cladde in golde, And weare suche roabes as I my selfe take pleasure to beholde. Amongst their other giftes,* 2.4 this Token they me gaue, And bad me lyke a Montacute my selfe alway behaue. Nowe hearken then my Lordes, I staying on the seas, In consort of these louely Lordes, with comfort and with ease, Determined with them in Italy to dwell, And there by trayne of youthfull yeares in knowledge to excell: That so I might at laste reedifye the walles, Which my good father had decayde by tossing fortunes balles: And while they slice the seas to their desired shore, Beholde a little gale began, encreasing more and more: At last with raging blast, whiche from Southeast did blowe, Gan send our sayles vpon these shores, which I full wel did know: I spyed the Chalkie Clyues vpon the Kentishe coast, Whereby our lande hight Albyon, as Brutus on••e did boast, Whiche I no sooner sawe, but to the rest I sayde, Sia••e di buona voglia, My lordes be well apayde: I sée by certayne signes these tempestes haue vs caste, Upon my natiue countrey coastes with happie hap at laste: And if your honours please this honour me to doo, In Englishe hauens to harbour you, & sée our Cities too: Lo London is not farre, where as my friends woulde be Right glad, with fauour to requite you fauour shewed to mée: Uouchsafe my Lordes (quod I) to stay vpon this strande, And whiles your Barks be rigged new, remain with me on land, Who though I be a boy, my father dead and slayne, Yet shal you sée I haue some frendes whiche will you entertaine. These noble men, whiche are the floure of curtesy, Did not disdayne thys my request, but tooke it thankfully, And from their battred Barks commaunded to be cast Some Gondalaes, wherin vpon our pleasaunt streames they past Into the mouthe of Thames, thus did I them transport,

And to London at the laste, where as I hearde report, E••en as wée landed first, of this twyse happie day, To thinke whereon I leapt for ioye, as I bothe must and may: And to these louely lordes, whiche are Magnificoes, I did declare the whole discourse in order as it rose: That you my Lorde who are our chiefest Mountacute, And he whome Englishe Mountacutes their onely stay impute, Had ••ounde the meanes this day to matche your sonne and heire, In marriage with a worthie dame which is bothe fresh and faire, And (as reportes are spread) of goodly qualities, A virgin trayned from hir youth in godly exercise, Whose brother had lykewise your daughter tane to wyfe, And so by double lynkes enchaynde themselues in louers lyfe: These noble Mountacutes whiche were from Venice drouen, By tempest (as I tolde before) wherwith they long had strouen Gan nowe giue thankes to God whiche so did them conuey, To sée such honours of their kinne in suche a happie day: And straight they me entreat, whom they might wel commande, That I should come to my Lord first them to recommaunde, And then this boone to craue, that vnder your protection They mighte be bolde to enter here, deuoyde of all suspection, And so in friendly wyse for to concelebrate, This happie matche solemnized, according to your state. Lo this is all they craue, the whiche I can not doubt, But that your Lordship soone will graūnt, with more, if more ye mought: Yea were it for no more, but for the Curtesye, Whiche (as I say) they shewed to me in great extremitie: They are Venetians, and though from Venice reft, They come in suche Venetian roabes as they on seas had left: And since they be your frendes, and kinsmen too by blood, I trust your entertainment will be to them right good: They will not tarrie long, lo nowe I heare thei•• drumme, Beholde, lo nowe I sée them here in order howe they come, Receyue them well my lorde, so shall I pray alwayes, That God vouchsafe to blesse this house with many happie days.

After the maske was done, the Actor tooke master. Tho. Bro. by the hand and brought him to the Venetians, vvith these vvords:

GVardate Signori, my louely Lords behold, This is another Mountacute, hereof you may be bold. Of such our patrone here, The viscount Mountacute, Hath many comely sequences, well sorted all in sute. But as I spied him first I could not let him passe, I tooke the carde that likt me best, in order as it was. And here to you my lords, I do present the same, Make much of him, I pray you then, for he is of your name, For whome I dare aduance, he may your tronchman be, Your herald and ambassadour, let him play all for me.

Then the Venetians embraced and receiued the same master Tho. Brovvne, and after they had a vvhile vvhispered vvith him, he tourned to the Bridegroomes and Brides, saying thus.

BRother, these noble men to you now haue me sent, As for their tronchman to expound theffect of their intent. They bid me tell you then, they like your worthy choice, And that they cannot choose therein but triumph and reioice. As farre as gesse may giue, they séeme to praise it well, They say betwene your ladies eyes doth Gentilezza dwell. I terme it as they do, their englishe is but weake, And I (God knowes) am all to yong beyond sea speach to speake. And you my sister eke they séeme for to commend, With such good words as may be séeme a cosin and a friend. They like your chosen pheare, so pray they for your sake, That he may alwayes be to you, a faithfull louing make. This in effect is all, but that they craue a boone, That you will giue them licence yet, to come and sée you soone. Then will they speake them selues, such english as they can, I feare much better than I speake, that am an english man. Lo now they take their leaues of you and of your dames,

Hereafter shal you sée their face and know them by their names.

Then vvhen they had taken their leaues the Actor did make an ende thus.

And I your Seruidore, vibascio le mani. These words I learnt amongst them yet, although I learnte not many.

Ha••d ictus sapio.

Gascoignes vvodmanship vvritten to the L. Grey of wilton vppon this occasion, the sayde ••. Grey delighting (amongst many other good qualities) in chusing of his winter deare, and killing the same with his bowe, did furnishe master Gascoigne with a crossebowe cū Pertinenci••s, and vouchsafed to vse his company in the said excercise, calling him one of his wodmē. N••w master Gas∣co••gne shooting very often, could neuer hi••••e any deare, yea and often times he let the heard passe by as though he had not seene them. Whereat when this noble Lord tooke some pastime, and had often put him in remembrance of his good skill in choosing, and redines••e in killing of a winter deare, he thought good thus to ex∣cuse it in verse.

MY worthy Lord, I pray you wonder not, To see your wodman shoote so ofte awrie, Nor that he stands amased like a sot, And lets the harmlesse deare (vnhurt) go by. Or if he strike a doe which is but carren, Laugh not good Lord, but fauoure such a fault, Take well I worth, he wold faine hit the barren, But though his harte be good, his happe is naught: And therefore now I craue your Lordships leaue, To tell you playne what is the cause of this: First if it please your honour to perceiue, What makes your wodman shoote so ofte amisse,

Beléeue me L. the case is nothing strange, He shootes awrie almost at euery mark••, His eyes haue bene ••o vsed for to raunge, That now God knowes they be both dimme and darke. For proofe he beares ••he note of follie nowe, Who shotte sometimes to hit Philosophie, And aske you why? for sooth I make auow, Bycause his wanton wittes went all awrie. Next that, he shot to be a man of lawe, And spent some time with lea••ned Litleton, Yet in the end, he proued but a dawe, For lawe was darke and he had quickly done. Then could he wish Fitzharbert such a braine, As Tully had, to write the law by arte, So that with pleasure, or with litle paine, He might perhaps, haue caught a trewants parte. But all to late, he most mislikte the thing, Which most might helpe to guide his arrow streight, He winked wrong, and so let slippe the string, Which cast him wide, for all his queint conceit. From thence ••e shotte to catch a courtly grace, And thought euen there to wield the world at will, But out alas he much mistooke the place, And shot awrie at euery rouer still. The blasing baits which drawe the gazing eye, Unfethered there his first affect••on, No wonder then although he shot awrie, Wanting the fethers of discretion. Yet more than them, the marks of dignitie, He much mistooke and shot the wronger way, Thinking the purse of prodigalitie, Had bene best meane to purchase such a pray, He thought the flattring face which fleareth still, Had bene full fraught with all fi••elitie, And that such words as courti••rs vse at will.

Could not haue varied from the veritie. But when his bonet butte••ed with gold, His comelie cape begarded all with gay, His bumbast hose, with linings manifold, His knit silke stocks and all his queint aray, Had pickt his pu••se of all the Peter pence, Which might haue paide for his promotion, Then (all to late) he found that light expence, Had q••ite quencht out the courts deuotion. So that since then the tast of miserie, Hath bene alwayes full bitter in his bit, And why? forsooth bicause he shot awrie, Mistaking still the markes which others hit. But now behold what marke the man doth find, He shootes to be a souldier in his age, Mistrusting all the vertues of the minde, He trusts the power of his personage. As though long limmes led by a lusty hart, M••ght yet suffice to make him rich againe, But flussing fraies haue taught him such a parte, That now he thinks the warres yeld no such gaine. And sure I feare, vnlesse your lordship deigne, To traine him yet into some better trade, It will be long before he hit the veine, Whereby he may a richer man be made. He cannot climbe as other catchers can, To leade a charge before himselfe be led, He cannot spoile the simple sakeles man, Which is content to féede him with his bread. He cannot pinch the painefull souldiers pay, And sheare him out his share in ragged shéetes, He cannot stop to take a gredy pray Upon his fellowes groueling in the stréetes. He cannot pull the spoile from such as pill, And séeme full angrie at such foule offence,

Although the gayne content his gréedie will, Under the cloake of contrarie pretence: And nowe adayes, the man that shootes not so, Maye shoote amisse, euen as your Woodman dothe: But then you maruell why I lette them go, And neuer shoote, but saye farewell forsooth: Alas my Lorde, whyle I doe muze hereon, And call to mynde my youthfull yeares myspente, They giue mée suche a boane to gnawe vpon, That all my senses are in silence pente. My mynde is rapte in contemplation, Wherein my dazeled eyes onely beholde, The blacke houre of my constellation, Whyche framed mée so lucklesse on the molde: Yet therewithall I can not but confesse, That vayne presumption makes my heart to swell, For thus I thinke, not all the worlde (I) guesse, Shootes bet than I, nay some shootes not so well. In Aristotle somewhat did I learne, To guyde my manners all by comelynesse, And Tullie taught me somewhat to discerne Betwéene swéete spéeche and barbarous rudenesse. Olde Parkyns, Rastall, and Dan Bractens bookes, Did lende mée somewhat of the lawlesse Lawe, The craftie Courtyers with their guylefull lookes, Muste néedes put some experience in my mawe: Yet can not these with manye maystries mo, Make me shoote streyght at any gaynfull pricke, Where some that neuer handled such a bow, Can hit the white, or touch it neare the quicke, Who can nor speake, nor write in pleasant wise, Nor leade their life by Aristotles rule, Nor argue well on questions that arise, Nor pleade a case more than my Lord Maiors mule, Yet can they hit the marks that I do misse,

And winne the meane which may the man mainteine, Nowe when my mynde dothe mumble vpon this, No wonder then although I pyne for payne: And whyles myne eyes beholde this mirroure thus, The hearde goeth by, and farewell gentle does: So that your lordship quickely may discusse What blyndes myne eyes so ofte (as I suppose.) But since my Muse can to my Lorde reherse What makes me musse, and why I doe not shoote, Let me imagine in this woorthlesse verse: If right before mée, at my standings foote There stoode a Doe, and I shoulde strike hir deade, And then shée proue a carrion carkas too, What figure might I fynde within my head, To scuse the rage whiche rulde mée so to doo? Some myghte interprete by playne paraphrase, That lacke of skill or fortune ledde the chaunce, But I muste otherwyse expounde the ca••e, I saye Iehoua did this Doe aduaunce, And made hir bolde is stande before mée so, Till I had thrust myne arrowe to hir harte, That by the sodaine of hir ouerthrowe, I myght endeuour to amende my parte, And turne myne eyes that they no more beholde, Suche guylefull markes as séeme more than they be: And though they glister outwardely lyke golde, Are inwardly but brasse, as men may sée: And when I see the milke hang in hir teate, Me th••nkes it sayth, olde babe nowe learne to suche, Who in thy youthe couldst neuer lerne the feate To hitte the whytes whiche liue with all good lucke. Thus haue I tolde my Lorde, (God graunt in season) A tedious tale in rime, but little reason.

Haud ictus sapio.

Gascoignes gardnings, vvhereof vvere vvritten in one end of a close vvalke vvhich he hath in his Garden, this discourse follovving.

THe figure of this world I can compare, To Garden plots, and such like pleasaunt places, The world bréedes men of sundry shape and share, As herbes in gardens, grow of sundry graces: Some good, some bad, some amiable faces, Some foule, some gentle, some of ••roward mind, Subiect like bloome, to blast of euery wind.

And as you sée the floures fresh of hew, That they proue not alwayes the holsomest, So fairest men are not alwayes found true: But euen as withred weedes fall from the rest, So flatterers fall naked from their neast: When truth hath tried, their painting tising tale, They loose their glosse, and all their iests séeme stale.

Yet some do present pleasure most estéeme, Till beames of brauerie wither all their welth, And some againe there be can rightly déeme, Those herbes for best, which may mainteine their helth. Considering well, that age drawes on by stelth, And when the fairest floure is shronke and gone, A well growne roote, will stand and shifte for one.

Then thus the restlesse life which men here leade, May be resembled to the tender plant, In spring it sprouts, as babes in cradle bréede, Florish in May, like youthes that wisdome want, In Autumne ripes and r••otes, least store ware skante In winter shrinks and shrowdes from euery blast, Like crooked age when lusty youth is past.

And as the grounde or grasse whereon it grewe, Was fatte or leane, euen so by it appeares, If barreyn soyle, why then it chaungeth hewe, It fadeth faste, it flits to fumbling yeares, But if he gathered roote amongst his féeres, And lyght on lande that was well muckte in déede, Then standes it still, or leaues increase of séede.

As for the reste, fall sundrye wayes (God wote) Some faynt lyke froathe at euery little puffe, Some smarte by swoorde, lyke herbes that serue the po••, And some be wéeded from the fyner stuffe, Some stande by proppes to maynteyne all their ruffe: And thus vnder correction (bée it tolde) Hath Gascoigne gathered in his Garden molde.

Ha••d ictus sapio.

In that other ende of his sayde close vvalke, vvere vvritten these toyes in ryme.

IF any floure that there is growne, Or any herbe maye ease youre payne, Take and accompte it as your owne, But recompence the lyke agayne: For some and some is honeste playe, And so my wyfe taughte me to saye.

If here to walke you take delyght, Why come, and welcome when you will: If I bidde you suppe here this nyght, Bidde me an other tyme, and still Thynke some and some is honest playe, For so my wyfe taughte me to saye.

Thus if you suppe or dine with mée,

If you walke here, or sitte at ease, If you desire the thing you sée, And haue the same your mynde to please, Thinke some▪ and some is honest playe, And so my wyfe taught me to saye.

Haud ictus sapio.

In a chayre in the same Garden was writ∣ten this followyng.

IF thou sitte here to viewe this pleasant garden place, Think thus: at last will come a frost, & al these floures deface. But if thou sitte at ease to rest thy wearie bones, Remember death brings finall rest to all oure gréeuous grone••. So whether for delyght, or here thou sitte for ease, Thinke still vpon the latter day, so shalt thou God best please.

Haud ictus sapio.

Vpon a stone in the wall of his Garden he had written the yeare wherein he did the coste of these deui∣ses, and therwithall this poesie in Latine.

Quoniam etiam humiliatos, amoena delectant.

Gascoignes voyage into Hollande, An. 1572. written to the ryghte honourable the Lorde Grey of Wilton.

A Straunge conceyte, a vayne of newe delight, Twixte weale and woe, twixte ioy and bitter griefe, Hath pricked foorthe my hastie penne to write This worthlesse vers•• in hazarde of repréefe: And to myne Alderlieucst Lorde I must endite A wofull case, a chippe of sorie chaunce,

A tipe of heauen, a liuely hew of hell, A feare to fall, a hope of high aduance, A life, a death, a drearie tale to tell▪ But since I know the pith of my pastaunce Shall most consist in telling of a truth, Uouchsafe my Lord (en bo••gré) for to take This trustie tale the storie of my youth, This Chronicle which of my selfe I make, To shew my Lord what healplesse happe ensewth, When heddy youth will gad without a guide, And raunge vntide in leas of libertie, Or when bare néede a starting hole hath spide To péepe abroade from mother Miserie, And buildeth Castels in the Welkin wide, In hope thereby to dwell with wealth and ease. But he the Lord (whome my good Lord doth know) Can bind or lose, as best to him shall please, Can saue or spill, raise vp or ouerthrowe, Can gauld with griefe, and yet the payne appease. Which thing to proue if so my L. take time, (When greater cares his head shall not possesse) To sitte and reade this raunging ragged rime, I doubt not then but that he will confesse, What falles I found when last I leapt to clime. In March it was, that cannot I forget, In this last March vpon the nintenth day, When from Grauesend in b••ate I gan to iette To boord our shippe in Quinborough that lay, From whence the very twentith day we set Our sayles abrode to slice the Salt sea ••ome, And ancors weyde gan trust the trustlesse floud: That day and night amid the waues we ••om•• To séeke the coast of Holland where it stoode. And on the next when we were farre from home, And neare the hauen whereto me sought to sayle,

A ••erly chaunce: (whereon alone to thinke) My hande nowe qu••kes, and all my senses fayle) Gan vs befall: the Pylot gan to shrinke, And all agaste his courage séemde to quayle. Whereat amazed, the Maister and his mate Gan aske the cause of his so sodeyne chaunge. And from alofte the Stewarde of our state, (The sounding plumbe) in haste poste hast must raung••, To trye the depth and goodnesse of oure gate. Mée thinkes (euen yet) I heare his heauie voyce, ••adome thrée, foure, foote more, ••oote lesse, that cryde: Mée thinkes I heare the fearefull whispring noyse, Of suche as sayde full softely (me besyde) God graunte this iourney cause vs to reioyce. When I poore soule, whiche close in caban laye, And there had reacht till gaule was welneare burste, With giddie head, my ••••umbling steppes must stay To looke abroade as boldly as I durste. And whyles I hearken what the Saylers saye, The so••der sings, ••adome two full no more. Aloofe, aloofe, then cryed the maister out, The Stearesmate striues to sende vs from the shore, And trustes the streame, whereof wée earst had doubt. Tw••ene two extremes thus were we tossed sore, And wen•••• to Hull: vntill we leyzure had To talke at large, and eke to knowe the cause What moode had made our Pylot looke so sad. At las••e the Dutche with butterbitten iawes, (For so he was a Dutche, a deuill, a swadde, A ••oole, a drunkarde, or a traytour tone) Gan aunswere thus: Ghy••zyt te vro••gh here come, Tis met goet 〈◊〉〈◊〉: and standing all alone, Gan preache to vs, whiche fooles were all and some To truste him foole, in whome there skill was none. Or what knewe wée if Albaes subtill brayne

(So to preuent our enterprise by treazon) Had him subornde to tice vs to this traine And so him selfe (per Companye and seazon) For spite, for hate, or else for hope of gayne. This must we thinke that Alba would not spare To giue out gold for such a sinfull déede: And glistring gold can oftentimes ensnare, More perfect witts than Holland soyle doth bréede. But let that passe, and let vs now compare Our owne fond fact with this his foule offence. We knew him not, nor where he wond that time, Nor if he had▪ Pylots experience, Or Pylats crafte, to cleare him selfe from cryme. Yea moreth an that (how voyde were we of sense) We had small smacke of any tale he tolde, He powrde out Dutch to drowae vs all in drinke, And we (wise men) vppon his words were bolde, To r••nne on head▪ but let me now bethinke The m••sters spéech: and let me so vnfold The dept•• of all this folish ouerlight. The ma••ter spake euen like a skilfull man, And sayde I sayle that Seas both day and night, I know the tides as well as other can, From pole to pole I can the courses plight. I know France, Spayne, Gréece, Denmarke, Dausk and all, Frize, Flaunders, Holland, euery coast I know, But truth to tell, it seldome doth befall, That English merchants euer bend their bowe To shoote at Breyll, where now our flight should fall, They send their shafts farder for greater gayne. So that this hauen is yet (quoth he) vnkouth, And God graunt now that England may attayne Such gaines by Breyll, (a gospell on that mouth) As is desired: thus spake the master playne. And since (saide he) my selfe knew not the sowne,

How could I well a better Pylot fynde, Than this (which first) dyd saye he dwelt in towne, And knewe the way where euer sat the wynde? While we thus talke, all sayles are taken downe, And we to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (as earst I sayd) gan wend, Tyll full two houres and somewhat more were past, Our guyde then spake in Dutch and bad vs bend All sayles againe: for now quod he (at last) D••e 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is goet, dat heb ick weell bekend. Why staye I long to ende a wofull tale? We trust his Dutch, and vp the foresayle goes, We fall on knées amyd the happy gale, (Which by gods wyll full kynd and calmely blowes) And vnto him we there vnfolde our ••ale, Wheron to thinke I wryte and wéepe for ioye, That pleasant song the hundreth and seuenth psalme, There dyd we reade to comfort ouer annoye, Which to my soule (me thought) was swéet as balme, Yea farre more sweet than any worldly toye. And when we had with prayers praysd the Lord, Our Edell Bloetts, gan fall to eate and drynke, And for their sauce, at takyng vp the borde The shippe so strake (as all we thought to sinke) Against the grounde, then all with one accorde We 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••gayne on knées to pray apace, And there withall euen at the seconde blowe, (The number cannot from my mynde outpace) Our helme strake of, and we must fléete and flowe. Where winde and waues would guide vs by their grace. The winde waxt calme as I haue saide before, (O mightie God so didst thou swage our woes) The selly shyppe was sowst and smytten sore, With counter buffetts, blowes and double blowes. At last the kéele which might endure no more, Gan rende in twayne and suckt the water in:

Then might you sée pale lookes and wofull cheare, Th••n might you heare lo••de cryes and deadly dinne: Well noble minds in perils best appeare, And b••ldest har••s in base will neuer blinne. For there were some (of whome I will not say That I was one) which neuer changed hew, But pumpt apace, and labord euery way To saue themselues, and all their louely erew, Which cast the best fraight ouerboorde awaye, Both corne and cloth, and all that was of weight, Which halde and pulde at euery helping corde, Which prayed to God and made their conscience streight. As for my self: I here protest my Lorde, My words were these: O God in heauen on height, Behold me not as now a wycked wyght, A sacke of sinne, a wretch ywrapt in wroth, Let 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fault past (O Lord) offende thy sight, But weye my will which now those faults doth lothe, And of thy mercy pittie this our plight. Euen thou good God which of thy grace didst saye That for one good, thou wouldst all Sodome saue, Behold vs all: thy shyning beames displaye, Some here (I trust) thy goodnesse shall engraue, To be chast vessells vnto thée alwaye, And so to liue in honour of thy name: Beleue me Lord, thus to the Lord I sayde. But there were some (alas the more their blame) W••••ch in the pumpe their onely comfort layde, And trusted that to turne our griefe to game. Alas (quod I) our pumpe good God must be Our sayle, our sterne, our tackling, and our trust. Some other cryed to cleare the shipboate frée, To saue the chiefe and leaue the rest in dust. Which word once spoke (a wondrous thing to sée) All hast post hast, was made to haue it done:

And vp it commes in hast much more than spéede. There did I sée a woful worke begonne, Which now (euen now) doth make my hart to bléede. Some made such hast that in the boate they wonne, Before it was aboue the hatches brought. Straunge tale to tell, what hast some men shall make To find their death before the same be sought. Some twixt the boate and shippe their bane do take, Both drownd and flayne with braynes for hast crusht out. At last the boate halfe fraighted in the aire Is hoyst aloft, and on the seas downe set, When I that yet in God could not despaire, Still plioe the pumpe, and patiently did let All such take boate as thither made repaire. And herewithall I safely may protest I might haue woonne the boate as well as one, And had that séemd a safetie for the rest I should percase euen with the first haue gone, But when I saw the b••ate was ouer prest And pestred full with moe than it might beare, And therewithall with cherefull looke might sée My chiefe companions whome I held most deare (Whose companie had thither trained me) Abiding still aboord our shippe yfeare: Nay then (quoth I) good God thy will be done, For with my féeres I will both liue and dye. And eare the boate farrefrom our sight was gon The waue so wrought, that they which thought to flée And so to scape, with waues were ouerronne. Lo how he striues in vayne that striues with God, For there we lost the flowre of the band, And of our crew full twenty soules and odde, The Sea sucks vp, whiles we on hatches stand In smarting feare to féele that selfe same rodde. Well on (as yet) our battred barke did passe,

And brought the rest within a myle of lande, Then thought I sure now néede not I to passe, For I can swymme and so escape this sande. Thus dyd I déeme all carelesse like an Asse, When sodaynely the wynde our foresayle tooke, And turnd about and brought vs eft to Seas. Then cryed we all cast out the ancor hooke, And here let byde, such helpe as god may please: Which ancor cast, we soone the same forsooke, And cut it off, for feare least therevpon Our shippe should bowge, then callde we fast for fire, And so dischargde our great gunnes euerychone, To warne the towne therby of our d••sire: But all in vayne, for succor sent they none. At last a Hoye from Sea came flynging fast, And towards vs helde course as streight as lyne. Then myght you sée our hands to heauen vp cast To render thanks vnto the power deuine, That so vouchsafte to saue vs yet at last: But when this Hoye gan (welnéere) boorde our barke, And might perceiue what peryll we were in, It turnd away and left vs still in carke, This tale is true (for now to lye were sin) It lefte vs there in dreade and daungers darke. It lefte vs so, and that within the sight And hearing both of all the peare at Bryll. Now ply thée pen, and paint the foule despite Of drunken Dutchmen standing there euen still, For whome we came in their cause for to fight, For whom we came their state for to defende, For whom we came as friends to grieue their ••oes, They now disdaynd (in this distresse) to lend One helping boate for to asswage our woes, They sawe our harmes the which they would not mend, And had not bene that God euen then did rayse

Some instruments to succor vs at néede, We had bene sunk and swallowed all in Seas. But gods will was (in waye of our good spede) That on the peare (lamenting our mysea••e) Some englishe were, whose naked swordes did force The drunken dutch, the cankred churles to come, And so a•• last (not moued by remorce, But forst be feare) they sent vs succor some: Some must I say: and for to tell the course, They sent vs succor saust with sowre despyte, They saued our liues and spoylde vs of the rest, They stale our goods by day and ••ke by night, They shewed the worst and closely kept the best. And in this time (this treason must I wryte) Our ••ylo•• fled, but how? not emptie handed: He fled from vs, and with him did conueye A Hoy full fraught (whiles we meane while were landed) With pouder, shotte, and all our best araye: This skill he had, for all he set vs sanded. And now my Lord, declare your noble mynde, Was this a Pylo••, or a Pilat•• iudge? Or rather was he not of Iudas kynde: Which left vs thus and close away c••uld trudge? Wel, at the Bryell to tell you what we fynde, The Gouernour was all bedewed with drinke, His trulls and he were all layde downe to sleepe, And we must shift, and of our selues must thinke What meane was best, and how we best might kéepe That yet remaynd: the rest was close in clynke. Wel, on our knees with trickling teares of ioye. We gaue God thanks: and as we might, did learne What might by founde in euery pynke and hoye. And thus my Lord, your honour may descerne Our perills past, and how in ••ur aroye God saued me your Lordshippes bound for euer,

W••o else should not be able now to tell, The state wherin this countrey doth perseuer, N•• h••w they seeme in carelesse mindes to dwell, (So dyd they earst and so they will do euer) And to my Lord for to bewray my mynde Me thinkes they be a race of Bulbéefe borne, Whose hartes their Butter mollyfyeth by kinde, And so the force of bée••e is cleane outworne: As ••ke their bray••es with double béere are lynde: So that they march bumbast with butterd beare, Like soppes of Browesse puffed vp with froth, Where inwardly they be but hollow geare, As weake as wynde, which with one pufft vp goeth. And yet they br••gge and thinke they haue no peare, Bycause Harlem hath hetherto helde out, Athough in dede (as they haue suffred Spayne) The ende therof euen now doth rest in doubt. Well as for that, let it (for me) remayne In God his hands, whose hand hath brought me out, To tell my Lord this tale now tane in hand, As how they traine their treasons all in drinke, And when themselues for dronk can scarcely stand, Yet sucke out secretes (as themselues do thinke) From guests, the best (al••ost) in all their lande, (I name no man, for that were brode before) Will (as men say) enure the same sometime, But surely this (or I mistake him sore) Or else he can (but let it passe in rime) Dissemble déepe, and mocke sometimes the more. Well, drunkenesse is here good companye, And therewithall per consequence it falles, That whoredome is accoumpted Iollytie: A gentle state, where two such Tenisballes Are tossed still and better boules let lye. I cannot herewith from my Lord conceale,

How God and Mammon here do dwell yfeare, And how the Mas••e is cloked vnder veale Of pollicie, till all the coast be cleare: Ne can I chuse, but I must ring a peale, To tell what hypo••rytes the Nunnes here be: And how the olde Nunnes be content to go, Before a man in stréetes like mother B, Untill they come whereas there dwells a Ho, (Re: ceiue that halfe and let the rest go frée) There can they poynt with fynger as they passe, Yea sir sometimes they can come in themselfe, To strike the bargaine tw••ne a wanton lasse, And 〈…〉〈…〉 now is not this good pelfe? As for the yong Nunnes, they be bright as glasse, And chast forsothe: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and a••ders 〈◊〉〈◊〉 What sayd I? what? that is a mysterie, I may no verse of such a theame endyte, Yong Rouland Yorke may tell it bette than I, Yet to my Lord this litle will I write, That though I haue (my selfe) no skill at all, To take the countnance of a Colonell, Had I a good Lieuetenant generall, As good Iohn Zuche whereuer that he dwell, Or else Ned Dennye, (faire mought him befall,) I could haue brought a noble regiment, Of smoogskind Nunnes into my countrey soyle, But farewell they as things impertinent, Let them (for me) go dwell with mast••r Moyle Who hath behight to place them well in kent. And I shall well my seelly selfe content, To come alon•• vnto my louely Lorde, And vnto him (when 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sport is spent) To tell some sadde and reasonable worde, Of Holland•• state, the which I will present, In Cartes, in Mappes, and eke in Modells made,

If God of heauen my purpose not preuent. And in meane while although my wittes do wade In rangyng ryme, and flyng some folly forth, I trust my Lord wyll take it yet in worth.

Haud lctus sapio.

And nowe to recomfort you and to ende this worke, receyue the delectable historie of sundry aduentures passed by Dan Bartholmew of Bathe, reade it and iudge of it.

The Reporter.

TO tell a tale without authoritye, Or fayne a Fable by inuention, That one proceedes of quicke capacitye, That other proues but small discretion, Yet haue both one and other oft bene done. And if I were a Poet as some be, You might perhappes heare some such tale of me.

But for I fynde my féeble skyll to faynte, To fa••e in figures as the learned can, And yet my tongue is tyed by due constrainte, To tell nothing but truth of euery man: I will assaye euen as I fyrst began, To tell you now a tale and that of truth, Which I my selfe sawe proued in my youth.

I néede not séeke so farre in coastes abrode, As some men do, which wryte st••ange historyes, For whyles at home I made my childe abode And sawe our louers playe their Tragedyes, I founde enow•• which séemed to suffice,

To set on worke farre siner wits than mine, In painting out the pangs which make them pi••e.

Amongst the rest I most remember one Which was to me a deare familiar friend, Whose doting dayes since they be past and gone, And his anoy now com•• vnto an end, Although he séeme his angrie brow to bend, I will be bold (by his leaue) for to tell, The restlesse state wherein he long did dwell.

Learned he was, and that became him best, For though by birth he came of worthy race, Yet beuty, birth, braue personage, and the rest, In euery choyce, must néedes giue learning place: And as for him he had so hard a grace, That by aspect he séemde a simple man, And yet by learning much renowne he wan.

His name I hide, and yet for this discourse, Let call his name Dan Ba••tholmew of Bathe, Since in the end he thether had recourse, ••nd (as he said) did skamble there inskath: In déede the rage which wroong him ther, was rathe, As by this tale I thinke your selfe will gesse, And then (with me) his lothsome life confesse.

For though he had in all his learned lore Both redde good rules to bridle fantasie, And all good authours taught him euermore, To loue the meane, and leaue extremitie, Yet kind had lent him such a qualitie, That at the last he quite forgat his bookes, And fastned fansie with the fairest lookes.

For proofe, when gréene youth lept out of his eye And left hi•• now a man of middl•• age, His happe was yet wish wandr••ng lookes to spie A faire yong 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of proper personage, Eke borne (as he) of honest parentage: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 truth to tell, my skill it cannot serue, To praise hir bewtie as it did deserue.

First for hir head, the heares were not of gold, But of some other metall farie more fine, Whereof ••ach ••••inet seemed to behold, Like glist••ing wiers against the sunne that shine, And therewithall the blazing of hir eyne, Was like the beames of ••ytan, truth to tell, Which glads vs all that in this world do dwell.

Uppon hir chéekes the lillie and the rose Did entreméete, with equall chaunge of hew, And in hir gifts no lacke I can suppose, But that at last (alas) she was vntrue. Which flinging fault, bycause it is not new, Nor seldome seene in kits of Cresside kind, I meruaile n••t, nor beare it much in mind.

Dame Natures frutes, where with hir face was fraught, Were so frost bitten with the cold of crafte, That all (saue such as Cupides snares had caught) Might soone espie the fethers of his shafte: But Bartholmew his wits had so beda••t, That all séemd good which might of hir be gotten, Although it proued no sooner ripe than rotten.

That mouth of hirs which séemde to flowe with mell, In speech, in voyce, in tender touch, in tast, That dympled chin wherein delight did dwell, That ruddy lippe wherein was pleasure plast,

Those well shapt hands, fine armes and slender waste, With all the gifts which gaue hir any grace, Were smiling baites which caught fond fooles apace.

Why striue I then to paint hir name with praise? Since forme and frutes were found so farre vnlike, Since of hir cage Inconstance kept the keyes And Change had cast hir honoure downe in dike: Since fickle kind in hir the stroke did strike, I may no praise vnto a knife bequeath, With rust yfret, though painted be the sheath.

But since I must a name to hir assig••e, Let call hir now Ferenda Natura, And if thereat she séeme for to repine, No force at all, for hereof am I sure a, That since hir pranks were for the most vnpure a, I can appoint hir well no better name, Than this, wherein dame Nature beares the blame.

And thus I say, when Bartholmew had spent His pride of youth (vntide in links of loue) Behold how happe contrary to intent, (Or destemes ordeined from aboue) From which no wight on earth may wel remoue) Presented to his view this fierie dame, To kindle coles where earst had bin no flame.

Whome when he sawe to shine in séemely grace, And there withall gan marke hir tender youth, He thought not like, that vnder such a face She could conuey the treason of vntruth: Whereby he vowed, (alas the more his ruth) To serue this Saint for terme of all his life, Lo here both roote and rind of all his strife.

I cannot nowe in louing t••rmes displaye His suite, his seruice, nor his sorie fare: His obseruaunces, nor his queynt aray, His skalding sighes, nor yet his cooling care, His wayting still to snatche himselfe in snare, I can not write what was his swéetest soure, For I my selfe was neuer paramoure.

But to conclude, muche worth in little writte, The highest flying hauke will s••oupe at laste, The wyldest beast is drawne with hungrie bitte, To ••ate a homely bayte sometymes in haste, The pricke of kynde can neuer be vnplaste, And so it séemed by this dayntie dame, Whome he at laste with labour did reclame.

And when he had with mickell payne procured The calme consente of hir vnweldie will, When he had hir by faithe and trouth assured To lyke him beste, and ay to loue him still, When fansie had of flatterie fedde his fill, I not discerne to tell my tale aright, What man but he had euer suche delight?

The lingring dayes he spente in trifling toyes, To whette the tooles whiche carued his contente, The poasting nightes he past in pleasing ioyes, Wearyng the webbe whiche loue to him had lente: I•• suche a pinfolde were his pleasures pent That ••elde he coulde hir companie eschewe, Or leaue such lookes as might his lacke renewe.

But if by force he forced were to parte, Then mighte you sée howe fansie fedde his mynde, Then all alone he muzed on his marte.

All com••anie séemd then (but hirs) vnkind: Then sent he tokens true loue for to bind, Then wrote he letters, lines and louing layes, So to begyle his absent dolefull dayes.

And since I know as others eke can tell, What skill he had, and how he could endite, Me thinks I cannot better do than well To set downe here, his ditties of delight, For so at least I may my selfe acquite, And vaunt to shew some verses yet vnknowne, Well worthy prayse though none of them mine owne▪

No force for that, take you them as they be, Since mine emprise is but to make report: Imagine then before you that you sée A wight be witcht in manie a subtile sorte, A louer lodgd in pleasures princely port, Uaunting in verse what ioyes he did possesse, His triumpes here I thinke will shewe no lesse.

Dan Bartholmew his Triumphes.

REsigne king Pryams sonnes, that princes were in Tr••y. Resigne to me your happie dayes, and boast no more of ioy: Sir Paris first stand forth, make aunswere for thy pheare, And if thou cāst defend hir cause, whome Troy did bye so deare: What? blush not man, be bold, although thou beare some blame, Tell truth at last, and so be sure to saue thy selfe from shame. Then gentle Shepheard sat: what madnesse did thée moue To choose of all the flowres in Greece, foule Helene for thy loue? Néedes must I coumpt hir foule, whose first frutes wer forlorne Although she solde hir second chaffe, aboue the price of corne. Alas, she made of thée, a noddye for the nonce, For Menelaus lost hir twice, though thou hir foundst but once.

But yet if in thine eye, she séemd a péerelesse péece, Aske Theleu•• y^• mighty Duke, what towns she knew in Greece? Aske him what made hir leaue hir wofull aged sire, And steale to Athens gyglot like: what? what but foule desire? Alas pore Paris thou didst nothing else but gleane The partched eares which he cast by, whē he had reaped cleane: He sliude the gentle Slippe, which could both twist and twind, And growing left the broken braunch, for thē that came behind. Yet hast thou filld the worlde with brute, the more thy blame, And saist, that Hellens bewty past each other stately dame. For proofe thou canst alledge the tast of ten yeares warre, And how hir blasing beames first brought both Greece & Tr••y to iarre: No no, thou art deceiude, the drugs of foule despite Did worke in Menelaus will, not losse of such delighte, Not loue but lothsome hate, not dolour but disdayne, Did make him seeke a sharpe reuēge, til both is foes wer slaine. Thy brother Troylus eke, that gemme of gentle déedes, To thinke how he abused was, alas my heart it bléedes: He bet about the bush, whiles other caught the birds, Whome craftie Cresside mockt to muche, yet fed him still with words. And God he knoweth not I, who pluckt hir first sprong rose, Since Lollius and Chauser both, make doubt vppon that glose. But this I know too well, and he to farre it felt, How Diomede vndid his knots, and caught both brooch and belt, And how she chose to change, and how she changed still, And how she died leaper like, against hir louers will. Content you then good knights, your triumphe to resigne, Confesse your starres both dimme and darke, wheras my sunne doth shine: For this I dare avow, without vaunt be it told, My derling is more faire thā she, for whome proud Troy was solde. More constant to conteine, than Cresside to be coy, No Calcas can contriue the craft, to traine hir out of Troy, No Diomede can draw hir settled hart to change, No madding moode can moue hir mind, nor make hir thoughts to range, For hir alone it is, that Cupide blindfold goes,

And dare not looke for feare least he his libertie should loose: At hir dame Venus chafes, and pines in ielowsie, Least bloudy Mars should hir espie, and change his fantasie. Of hir the Quéene of Heauen doth stand in dreadfull doubte, Least ••oue should melt in drops of gold, if once he find hir out. Oh that my tong had skill, to tell hir praise aright, Or that my pen hir due deserts, in worthy verse could write: Or that my mind could muse, or happie hart conceiue, Some wor••s that might resound hir worth, by high Mineruas leaue. Oh how the blooming ioyes, do blossome in my brest, To thinke within my secret thought, howe farre she steynes the rest. Me thinks I heare hir speake, me thinks I sée hir still, Me thinks I feele hir féelingly, me thinks I know hir will. Me thinks I sée the states, which sue to hir for grace, Me thinks I sée one looke of hirs repulse them all apace. Me thinks that houre is yet, and euermore shall be, Whereine my happie happe was first, hir heauenly face to sée: Wherein I spide the writte, which woond betwéene hir eyne, And said behold, be bold, for I, am borne to be but thine. Me thinks I feele the ioyes which neuer yet was felt, Whome flame before yet neuer toucht, me thinks I féele them melt. One word & there an end: me thinks she is the sunne, Which only shineth now a dayes, she dead, the world wer done. The rest are twinckling starres, or Moones which borrow light To comfort other carefull soules, which wander in the night. And night God knowes it is, where other ladies be, For sure my dame adornes the day, there is no sunne but she. Then louers by your leaue, and thinke it nothing straunge Although I séeme with calme content, in Seas of ioyes to range: For why, my sailes haue sound both wind and waues at will, And depths of all delights in hir, with whome I trauell still charge. And ancors being wayed, I leaue you all at large, To steare this séemely Shippe my selfe, suche is my mistresse

Fato non f••rtuna.

Dan Bartholmew, Dolorous discourse••.

I Haue entreated care to cut the thred Which all to long hath held my lingring life, And here aloofe now haue I hid my head, From companie, thereby to stint my strife. This solitarie place doth please me best, Where I may weare my willing mind with mone, And where the sighes which boyle out of my brest, May skald my heart, and yet the cause vnknowne. All this I do, for thée my swéetest sowre, For whome (of yore) I counted not of care, For whome with hungrie iawes I did deuoure The secret baite which lurked in the snare: For whome I thought all foreine pleasures payne, For whome againe, all paine did pleasure séeme, But only thine, I found all fansies vayne, But onely thine, I did no dolours déeme. Such was the rage, that whylome did possesse The priuie corners of my mazed mind: When hote desire, did coumpt those torments lesse Which gaind the gaze that did my fredome bind. And now (with care) I can record those dayes, And call to mind the quiet life I led Before I first beheld thy golden rayes, When thine vntruth yet troubled not my hed. Remember thou, as I cannot forget, How I had layd, both loue, and lust aside, And how I had my fixed fancie set, In constant vow, for euer to abide. The bitter proofe of pangs in pleasure past, The costly tast, of hony mixt with gall: The painted heauen, which turnde to hell at last The fréedome faind, which brought me but to thrall. The lingring sute, well fed with fresh delayes.

The wasted vowes which fled with euery winde: The restlesse nights, to purchase pleasing dayes, The toyling dayes to please my restlesse minde. All these (with mo) had brused so my brest, And graft such griefe within my gronyng heart, That I had left dame fansie and the rest To gréener yeares, which might endure the smart. My wearie bones did beare away the skarres, Of many a wounde, receyued by disdayne: So that I founde the fruite of all those warres, To be naught else but pangs of vnknowne payne. And now myne eyes were shut from such delight, My fansie faynt, my hote desires were colde, When cruell hap, presented to my sight, Thy maydens face, in yeares which were not olde. I thinke the goddesse of reuenge deuysde, So to be wreackt on my rebelling will, Bycause I had in youthfull yeares dispysde, To taste the baytes, which tyste my sansie still. How so it were, God knowes, I cannot tell: But if I lye, you heauens, the plague be myne, I sawe no sooner, how delight did dwell Betwéene those lytle infants eyes of thine, But streight a sparkling cole of quicke desire, Did kyndle flame within my frozen heart, And yelding fansie softly blewe the fire, Which since hath bene the cause of all my smart. What néede I say? thy selfe for me can sweare, How much I tendred thée in tender yeares: Thy life was then to me (God knowes) full deare, My life to thée is light, as nowe appeares. I loued thée first, and shall do to my laste, Thou flattredst first, and so thou woldst do still: For loue of thée full many paynes I past, For deadly hate thou séekest me to kyll.

I cannot now, with manly tongue rehearse, How soone that melting mind of thine did yelde, I shame to wirte, in this waymenting verse, With how small fight, I vanquisht thée in fielde: But Cesar he, which all the world subdude, Was neuer yet so proude of Uictorye, Nor Hanyball, with martiall feates endude, Did so much please himselfe in pollicie, As I (poore ••) did séeme to triumphe then, When first I got the Bulwarks of thy brest, With hole Alarmes I comforted my men, In formost ranke I stoode before the rest, And shooke my flagge▪ not all to shewe my force, But that thou mightst thereby perceiue my minde: Askaunces lo, now coulde I kyll thy corce, And yet my life, is vnto thée resinde. Well let them passe, and thin•• vpon the ioye, The mutuall loue, the confidence, the trust, Whereby we both abandoned annoye, And fed our mindes with fruites of louely lust. Thinke on the Tythe, of kysses got by stealth, Of swéete embracings shortened by feare, Remember that which did mainteine our health, Alas, alas why should I name it here. And in the mydst of all those happie dayes, Do not forget the chaunges of my chaunce, When in the depth of many way ward wayes, I onely sought, what might thy state aduaunce. Thou must confesse how much I carde for thée, When of my selfe, I carde not for my selfe, And when my hap was in mishappes to be, Estéemd thée more, than all the worldly pelfe. Myne absent thoughts did beate on thée al••ne, When thou hadst found a fond and newfound choyce:

For lacke of thée I sunke in endlesse mone, When thou in chaunge didst tumble and reioyce. O mightie goddes néedes must I honour you, Néedes must I iudge your iudgements to be iust, Bycause she did forsake him that was true, And with false loue, did cloke a fayned luste. By high decrées, you ordeyned the chaunge, To light on such, as she must nedes myslike, A méete ••eward for suche as séeke to raunge, W••en fansies force, their féeble fleshe doth strike. B••t did I then giue bridle to thy fall, Thou hedstrong thou, accuse me if thou can? Did I not hazard loue yea life and all, To ward thy will, from that vnworthy man? And when by toyle I trauailed to fynde, The secrete causes of thy madding moode, I founde naught else but tricks of Cressides kynde, Which plainly provde, that thou weart of hir bloud. I founde that absent Troyius was forgot, W••en Dyomede had got both br••••che and belt, Both gloue and hand, yea hart and all god wot, When absent Troylus did in sorrowes swelt. These tricks (with mo) thou knowest thy self I found, Which now are nedelesse héere for to reherse, Unlesse it were to touche a tender wound, With corosiues my panting heart to perce. But as that Hound is counted lytle worthe, Which giueth ouer for a losse or twayne, And cannot finde the meanes to single forth, The stricken D••are which doth in heard remayne: Or as the kindly Spanyell which hath sprong The prety partriche, for the Falcons flight, Doth neuer spare but thrusts the thornes among, To bring this byrde yet once againe to sight, And though he knowe by proofe (yea dearely bought)

That selde or neuer, for his owne auayle, This wearie worke of his in vaine is wrought, Yet spares he not but labors tooth and nayle. So labord I to saue thy wandring shippe, Which recklesse then, was running on the rockes, And though I saw thée seeme to hang the lyppe. And set my great good will, as light as flockes: Yet h••••ld I in, the mayne sheate of thy mynde, And stayed thy course by ancors of aduyce, I woo••thy will into a better wynde, To saue thy ware, which was of precious price. And when I had so harbored thy Barke, In happy hauen, which saufer was than Douer, The Admyrall, which knewe it by the marke, Streight challengd all, and said thou weart a rouer: Then was I forst in thy behalfe to pleade, Yea so I did, the iudge can say no lesse, And whyles in toyle, this lothsome life I leade, Camest thou thy selfe the fault for to confesse, And downe on knée before thy cruell foe, Didst pardon craue, accusing me for all, And saydst I was the cause, that thou didst so, And that I spoon the thred of all thy thrall. Not so content, thou furthermore didst sweare That of thy selfe thou neuer ment to swerue, For proofe wherof thou didst the colours weare, Which might be wray, what saint y^• ment to serue▪ And that thy blood was sacrificed eke, To manyfest thy stedfast martyrd mynde, Till I perforce, constraynde thée for to séeke, These raging seas, aduentures there to finde. Alas, alas, and out alas for me, Who am enforced, thus for to repeate The false reports and cloked guyles of thée, Whereon (to oft) my restlesse thoughts do beate.

But thus it was, and thus God knowes it is. Which when I founde by playne and perfect proofe, My m••si••g minde then thought it not amisse, To shrinke aside, lamenting all aloofe, And so to beate my simple shiftlesse brayne, For some deuice, that might redéeme thy state, Lo here the cause, for why I take this payne, Lo how I loue the wight which me doth hate: Lo thus I lye, and restlesse rest in Bathe, Whereas I bathe not now in blisse pardie, But boyle in Bale and skamble thus in skathe, Bycause I thinke on thine vnconstancie. And wilt thou know, how here I spend my time, And how I drawe my dayes in dolours still? Then stay a while: giue eare vnto my rime, So shalt thou know the weight of all my will. When Titan is constrayned to forsake, His lemans couche, and clymeth to his carte, Then I begin to languishe for thy sake, And with a sigh, which may bewray my smarte, I cleare mine eyes whom gūme of teares had glewed, And vp on foote I set my ghostlike corse, And when the stonie walls haue oft renewed My pittious plaintes, with Ecchoes of remorce, Then doe I cry and call vpon thy name, And thus I say, thou curst and cruell bothe, Beholde the man, which taketh griefe for game, And loueth them, which most his name doth loth. Behold the man which euer truely ment, And yet accusd as author of thine yll, Beholde the man, which all his life hath spent, To serue thy selfe, and aye to worke thy will: Beholde the man, which onely for thy loue, Did loue him selfe, whome else he set but light: Beholde the man, whose blood (for thy behoue)

Was euer prest to shed it selfe outright. And canst thou nowe condemne his loyaltie? And canst thou crafte to flatter such a friend? And canst thou sée him sincke in ieoperdie? And canst thou seeke to bring his life to ende? Is this the right reward for suche desart? Is this the fruite of séede so timely sowne? Is this the price, appoynted for his part? Shall truth be thus by treason ouerthrowne? Then farewell faithe, thou art no womans pheare: And with that word I stay my tongue in time, With rolling eyes I looke about eche where, Least any man should heare my rauing ryme. And all in rage, enraged as I am, I take my shéete, my slyppers and my gowne, And in the Bathe from whence but late I came, I cast my selfe in dolors there to drowne. There all alone I can my selfe conueye, Into some corner where I sit vnseene, And to my selfe (there naked) can I saye, Beholde these braunefalne armes which once haue bene. Both large and lust••••, ••ble for to fight, Nowe are they weake, and wearishe God he knowes, Unable now to daunt the foule despight Which is presented by my cruell foes. My thighes are thyn, my body la••ck and leane, It hath no ••umbast now, but skyn and bones: And on mine Elbowe as I lye and leane, I sée a trustie token for the nones. I spy a bracelet bounde aboute mine arme, Which to my shadowe séemeth thus to saye, Beleue not me: for I was but a Charme, To make thée sléepe, when others went to playe. And as I gaze thus galded all with griefe, I finde it ••azed almost quite in sunder,

Then thinke I thus: thus was••eth my reliefe, And though I fade, yet to the world no wonder. For as this lace, by leysure learnes to weare, So must I fainte, euen as the candle wasteth, These thoughts (déere swéete) within my brest I beare, And to my long home, thus my life it hasteth. Here with I feele the droppes of sweltring sweate, Which trickle downe my face, enforced so, And in my body féele I like wyse beate, A burning harte, which tosseth to and fro. Thus all in flames I sinderlyke consume, And were it not that wanhope le••ds me wynde, Soone might I fret my facyes all in fume, And like a G••ost my ghost his graue might finde. But frysing hope doth blowe full in my face, And colde of c••res becōmes my cordiall, So that I still endure that yrcksome place, Where sorowe séethes to skald my skynne withall. And when from thence our company me driues, Or weary woes do make me chaunge my seate, Then in my bed my restlesse payne reuyues, Untill my fellowes call me downe to meate, And when I rise, my corpse for to araye, I take the glasse, sometimes (but not for pride, For God he knowes my minde is not so gaye) But for I would in comelynesse abyde: I take the glasse, wherin I séeme to sée, Such wythred wrynckles and so foule disgrace, That little maruell seemeth it to mée, Though thou so well didst like the noble face. The noble face was faire and freshe of hewe, My wrinckled face is fo••le and fadeth fast: The noble face was vnto thée but newe, My wrinckled face is olde and cleane outcast: The noble face might moue thée with delight,

My wrinckled face could neuer please thine eye: Lo thus of crime I couet thée to quite. And still accuse my selfe of Surcuydry: As one that am vnworthy to enioye, The lasting fruite of such a loue as thine, Thus am I tyckled still with euery toye, And when my Fellowes call me downe to dyne, No chaunge of meate prouokes mine appetite, Nor sauce can serue to taste my meates withall, Then I deuise the iuyce of grapes to dight, For Suger and for Sinamon I call, For Ginger, Graines, and for eche other spyce, Where with I mixe the noble wine apace, My fellowes prayse the depth of my deuise, And say it is as good as Ippocrace. As Ippocrace say I? and then I swelt, My faynting lymmes streight fall into a sowne, Before the taste of Ippocrace is felt, The naked name in dolours doth me drowne, For then I call vnto my troubled mynd, That Ippocrace hath bene thy dayly drincke, That Ippocrace hath walkt with euery winde In bottells that were fylled to the brincke. With Ippocrace thou banquetedst full ofte, With Ippocrace thou madst thy selfe full merry, Such chéere had set thy new loue so alofte, That olde loue now was scarsely worth a cherry. And then againe I fall into a traunce, But when my breth returnes against my will, Before my tongue can tell my wofull chaunce, I heare my fellowes how they whisper still. One sayth that Ippocrace is contrary, Unto my nature and comple••ion, Whereby they iudge that all my maladye, Was long of that by alteration.

An other sayth, no, no this man is weake, And for such weake, so hote things are not best, Then at the last I heare no liar speake, But one which knowes the cause of myne vnrest, And saith, this man is (for my life) in loue, He hath receiued repulse, or dronke disdaine, Alas crie I: and ere I can remoue, Into a sowne I soo••e returne againe. Thus driue I foorth, my dolefull dining time, And trouble others with my troubles still, But when I here, the bell hath passed prime Into the Bathe I wallow by my will, That there my teares (vnséene) might ease my griefe, For though I sterue yet haue I fed my fill, In priuie pangs I count my best reliefe. And still I striue in wery woes to drench. But when I plondge▪ then wo is at an ebbe, My glowing coles are all to quicke to quench, And I (to warme) am wrapped in the webbe, Which makes me swim against the wished waue, Lo thus (déere wench) I leade a lothsome life, And gréedely I séeke the gréedy graue, To make an end of all these stormes and strife. But death is deafe, and heares not my desire, So that my dayes continue still in dole, And in my nights, I féele the secret fire, Which close in embers, coucheth like a cole, And in the day hath bin but raked vp, With couering ashes of my companie, Now breaks it out, and boyles the carefull cuppe, Which in my hart, doth hang full heauily. I melt in teares, I swelt in chilling sweat, My swelling heart, breaks with delay of payne I fréeze in hope, yet burne in hast of heate, I wish for death, and yet in life remaine.

And when dead sléepe doth close my dazeled eyes, Then dreadfull dreames my dolors do encrease, Me thinks I lie awake in wofull wise, And see thée come, my sorrowes for to cease. Me seemes thou saist (my good) what meaneth this? What ayles thée thus to languish and lament? How can it be that bathing all in blisse, Such cause vnknowne disquiets thy content? Thou doest me wrong to kéepe so close from me The grudge or griefe, which gripeth now thy heart, For well thou knowest, I must thy partner be In bale, in blisse, in solace, and in smarte. Alas, alas, these things I déeme in dreames, But when mine eyes are open and awake, I sée not thée, wherewith the flowing streames, Of bri••ish teares their wonted flouds do make, Thus as thou séest I spend both nights and dayes, And for I find the world did iudge me once A witlesse writer of these louers layes, I take my pen and paper for the nonce, I lay aside this folish riding time, And as my troubled head can bring to passe, I thus bewray the torments of my time: Beare with my Muse, it is not as it was.

Fa••o non fortuna.

The extremitie of his Passion.

AMong the toye•• which tosse my brayne, and reaue my mind from quiet rest, This one I find, doth there remayne, to breede debate wit bin my brest. When woe would worke▪ to wound my will, I cannot weepe▪ nor wayle my fill.

My tong hath not the skill t•• ••ell, the smallest gri••f•• which gripes my heart, Myne eyes haue not the power to swell, into such Seas of secret smarte, That will might melt to waues of woe, and I might swell in sorowes so.

Yet shed mine eyes no trickling teares, but fluddes which flowe abundantly▪ Whose fountaine first enforst by feares, found out the gappe of iealowsie. And by that breath, it soketh so, that all my face, is still on flowe.

My voyce is like the raging wind, which roareth still, and neuer stayes▪ The thoughts which tomble in my minde, are like the wheele which whirles alwayes, Now here, now there, now vp, now downe, in depth of waues, yet cannot drowne.

The sighes which boyle out of my brest, are not like those, which others vse, For louers sighes, sometimes take rest, and lend their mindes, a leaue to muse, But mine are like the surging seas, whome calme nor quiet can appeas.

And yet they be but sorrowes smoke, my brest the fordge where fury play••••, My panting hart, it strikes the stroke, my fan••ie blowes the flame alway••s, The coles are kindled by desire, and Cupide warmes him by the fire.

Thus can I neither d••owne in dole, nor burne to ashes, ••hough I wast, Myne eyes can neither quench the cole, which warmes my hart in all this hast. Nor ye•• my fancie make such flame, that I may smoulder in the same.

Wherefore I come to seeke out care▪ bese••hing him of curtesie, To cut the thred which cannot weare, by pangs of such perplexitie. And but he graunt this boone of mine, thus must I liue and euer pine.

Fato non fortuna▪

LO thus (déere hart) I force my frantike Muse, To frame a verse in spite of my despighte, But whiles I do these mirthlesse méeters vse This rash conceite doth reue me from delight. I call to mind how many louing layes, How manie Sonets, and how many songs I did deuise within those happie dayes, When yet my will had not receiued wrongs. All which were euermore regarded so, That little frute I séemd thereby to reape, But rather when I had bewrayed my woe Thy loue was light, and lusted still to leape. The rymes which pleased thée were all in print, And mine were ragged, hard for to be red, Lo dere: this dagger dubbes me with this di••t, And leaues this wound within my iealouse hed But since I haue confessed vnto care, That now I stand vppon his curtesie, And that the bale, which in my brest I bare,

Hath not the skill to kill me cunningly, Therefore with all my whole deuotion, To Care I make this supplication.

Fat•• non fortuna.

His libell of request exhibited to Care.

O Curteous Care, whome others (cruell) call, And raile vppon thine honorable name, O knife that canst cut off the thred of thrall, O sheare that shredst the semerent shéete of shame, O happie end of euery greuous game: Uouchsafe O Prince, thy vassall to behold, Who loues thée more, than can with tong be told. And now vouchsafe to pittie this his plaint, Whose teares bewray, His truth alway, Although his féeble tong be forst to faint.

I must confesse O noble king to thée, That I haue bin a Rebell in my youth, I preast always in pleasures courte to be, I fled from that, which Cupide still eschuth, I fled from Care, lo now I tell the truth, And in delights, I loued so to dwell, Thy heauenly house, did séeme to me but hell. Such was my rage, the which I now repent, And pardon craue, My soule to saue, Before the webbe of weary life be spent.

But marke what frutes did grow on such a tré••, What crop did rise vppon so rash sowne séede, For when I thought my selfe in heauen to be, In depth of hell I drowned was in déede:

Whereon to thinke my heauie hart doth bléede: Me thought I swumme in Seas of all delight, When as I sunke in puddles of despite, Alas alas I thought my selfe belou'd, When deadly hate, Did play check mate, With me poore pawne, that no such prancks had prou'd.

This when I tryed (ay me) to be to true, I wept for woe, I pined all for paine, I tare my heare, I often chaunged hewe, I lefte delight, with dolours to complayne, I shund each place where pleasure did remaine, I cride, I calde on euery kind of death, I stroue each way to stop my fainting breath. Shorte tale to make, I slept so farre in strife, That still I sought, With all my thought, Some happie helpe to leaue my lothed life.

But hope was he that held my hand abacke, From quicke dispatch of all my g••iping griefe, When heate of hate had burnt my will to wracke, Then hope was cold and lent my life reliefe, In euery choyce hope challengde to be chiefe. When coldest crampes had cleane or•• come my harte, Then hope was hotte, and warnde my weary smart, When hart was hardie, hope was still in dread, When hart was faint, With feares attaint, Then hardie hope held vp my fearefull head.

Thus when I found that neither flowing teares Could drowne my hart in waues of wery wo, Nor hardy hand could ouercome my feares,

To cut the sacke of all my sorrow so, Nor death would come, nor I to death could go. And yet I felt great droppes of secret smart▪ Distilling still within my dying harte: I then perceiud that only Care was he, Which as my frend, Might make an end, Of all these paines, and set my fansie frée.

Wherefore (oh Care) graunt thou my iust request▪ Oh kill my corps, oh quickly kill me now, Oh make an end and bring my bones to rest, Oh cut my thred (good Care) I care not how, Oh Care be kind: and here I make a vowe, That when my life out of my brest shall parte▪ I will present thée with my faithfull harte▪ And send it to thée as a Sacrifice, Bycause thou hast, Uouchsaft at last, To end my furies in this friendly wise.

Fato non fortuna.

WHat greater glory can a Keysar gaine, If madde moode moue his subiects to rebell, Than that at last (when all the traytours traine, Haue trod the path▪ of déepe repentance well, And naked néede with Cold and Hunger both, Hath bitten them abrode in forren land, Whereby they may their lewde deuises loth. When harebraind hast, with cold aduise is scande) If then at last, they come vpon their knée, And pardon craue with due submission, And for this cause, I thinke that Care of me, Was moued most, to take compassion. For now I find, that pittie pricks his mind,

To sée me ploo••ged still in endlesse paine, And right remorse, his princely hart doth bind, To rule the rage wherein I do remaine. I féele my teares do now begin to stay, For Care from them their swelling springs doth soke, I féele my sighes their labours now allaye, For care hath quencht the coles that made them smoke. I féele my panting harte begins to rest, For Care hath staide the hammers of my hed, I féele the flame which blazed in my brest, Are now with carefull ashes ouerspred. And gentle Care, hath whet his karuing knife, To cut in twaine the thred of all my thrall, Desired death now ouercommeth life, And we still works to helpe in hast with all. But since I féele these pangs approching so, And lothed life begin to take his leaue, Me thinks it méete, to giue before I go. Such lands, and goodes, as I behind me leaue. So to discharge my troubled conscience, And eke to set an order for mine heire, Who might (perhaps) be put to great expence, To sue for that, which I bequeath him here. Wherefore (déere wench) with all my full intent, I thus begin to make my Testament.

Fato non fortuna.

His last will and Testament.

IN Ioue his mightie name, this eight and twentith day, Of frosty bearded Ianuar, the enemie to May: Since Adam was create, fiue thousand yeares I gesse, Fiue hundreth, forty more and fiue, as stories do expresse. I being whole of mind, (immortall Gods haue praise) Though in my body languishing with pang•• of paine alwayes,

Do thus ordeyne my will which long in woes haue wepte, Beseeching myne executours to sée it duely kepte. Firste I bequeath my soule on Charons boate to tende, Untill thy lyfe (my loue) at laste may light on luckie ende, That there it may awayte, to wayte vpon thy ghost, When y^• haste quite & clean forgot what prāks now please thée most. So shal it wel be seene whose loue is lyke to myne: For so I meane to trie my truth, and there till then to pine. My bodie be enbalmde, and cloazed vp in chest, With oyntments and with spiceries of euery swéete the best: And so preserued still vntill the day doe come, That death deuorce my loue frō life, & trusse hir vp in tombe. Then I bequeath my corps to couche beneath hir bones, And there to féede the gréedie woorms that linger for the nones To frette vpon hir fleshe, whiche is too fyne therefore, This seruice may it doe hir yet, although it do no more. My hearte (as heretofore) I must bequeath to Care, And God he knowes, I thinke the gift to simple for his share, But that he may perceiue, I meane to pay my dew, I will it shall be taken quick, and borne him bleding new, As for my funeralls, I leaue that toye at large, To be as mine executors will giue thereto in charge. Yet if my goods will stretch vnto my straunge deuice, Then let this order be obseru'd, mine heire shall pay the price: First let the torche bearers be wrapt in wéedes of woe, Let all their lights be virgin waxe, bicause I lou'd it so. And care not though the twist be course that lends them light, If fansie fume, & frewill flame, thē must they néeds burn bright. Next them let come the quyer, with psalmes & dolefull song, Recording all my rough repulse and wraying all my wrong, And when the deskant sings, in tréeble tunes aboue, Then let fa burden, say (by lowe) I liu'd and dayde for loue: About my heauie hearse, some mourners wold I haue, Who might the same accompany, and stand about the graue, But let them be suche men, as may confesse with me,

Howe contrary the lots of loue, to all true louers be. Let Pacience be the Priest, the Clearke be Close conceit, The Sexten be Symplicitie, which meaneth no disceit. Let almes of Loue be delt, euen at the Chauncell dore, And feede them there with fresh delayes, as I haue ••en of yore: Then let the yongest sort, be set to ring Loues bells, And pay Repentance for their paines, but giue thē nothing else, Thus when the Dirge is done, let euery man depart, And learne by me what harme it is to haue a faithfull hart. Those little lands I haue, mine heyre must néedes possesse, His name is Lust, the lands be losse, few louers scape with lesse. The best of all my goods, which I not here rehearse, Giue learned Poets for their paines, to deck my tomb w^t verse: And let them wryte these words vpon my carefull chest, Lo here he lyes, that was as true (in loue) as is the best. Alas I had forgot the persons dewe to paye, And so my soule in Purgatory, might remaine alway. Then for my priuie Tythes; as kysses caught by stealth, Swete collings & such other knachs as multiplyed my wealth: I giue the Uicar here, to please his gredie will, A deyntie dishe of suger soppes but saust with sorow still: And twice a wéeke at least, let dight them for his dishe, O•• frydayes and on wednesdayes, to saue expence of fishe. Now haue I much bequeathed and little left behynde, And others mo must yet be serued or else I were vnkynde. Wet eyes and wayling words, Executors I make, And for their paines ten pounde of teares let either of thē take▪ Let sorow at the last my Suprauisor be, And stedfastnesse my surest stead, I giue him for his fée: Yet in his pattent place this Sentence of prouiso, That he which loueth stedfastly, shall want no sa••se of sorow. Thus now I make an ende, of this my wearie will, And signe it with my simple hand, and set my seale there till. And you which reade my words, although they be in rime, Yet reason may perswade you eke, Thus louers dote sometime.

The Subscription and seale.

MY Mansion house was Mone: from Dolors dale I came, I Fato: Non Fortuna, hight, lo now you know my name: My seale is sorowes sythe, within a fielde of fame, Which cuts in twaine a carefull hart, y^• sweltreth in the same.

Fato non Fortuna.

ALas, lo now I heare the passing Bell, Which Care appoynteth carefully to knoule, And in my breast, I féele my hart now swell, To breake the strings, which ioynde it to my soule. The Cristall y••e, which lent mine eyes their light, Doth now waxe dym, and dazeled all with dread, My senses all, will now forsake me quite, And hope of health abandoneth my head, My weary tongue can talke no longer now, My trembling hand now leaues my penne to holde, My ioynts now stretch, my body cannot bowe, My skynne lokes pale, my blood now waxeth colde. And are not these, the very pangs of death? Yes sure (swéete hart) I know them so to be, They be the pangs, which striue to stop my breath, They be the pangs, which part my loue from thée. What said I? Loue? Nay lyfe: but not my loue, My life departes, my loue continues still: My lothed lyfe may from my corpse remoue, My louing Loue shall alwayes worke thy will. It was thy will euen thus to trye my truth, Thou hast thy will, my truth may now be séene, It was thy will, that I should dye in youth, Thou hast thy will my yeares are yet but grene. Thy penance was that I should pyne in paine, I haue performd thy penance all in wo,

Thy pleasure was that I should here remayne, I haue bene glad to please thy fansie so. Now since I haue performed euery part Of thy commaunde, as neare as tong can tell, Content thée yet before my Muse departe, To take this Sonet for my last farewell.

Fato non fortuna.

His Farewell.

FArewell déere loue whome I haue loued and shall, Both in this world, and in the world to come, For proofe wherof my spryte is Charons thrall, And yet my corpse attendant on thy toome. Farewell déere swéete, whose wanton will to please Eche taste of trouble séemed mell to me, Farewell swete déere, whose doubts for to appease, I was contented thus in bale to be. Farewell my lyfe, farewell for and my death, For thée I lyu'd, for thée nowe must I dye, Farewell from Bathe, whereas I féele my breath Forsake my brest in great perplexitie, Alas how welcome were this death of mine, If I had dyde betwéene those armes of thine.

Fato non Fortuna.

Notes

• * 2.1

  Lenuoie.
• * 2.2

  The foure to••chbe••rers▪ that came in with the actor
• * 2.3

  The actor had a token in his cap like to the Mount••cutes of Italy.
• * 2.4

  The token that he didde weare in his cappe.