Songes and sonettes, written by the right honorable Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other

Songes and Sonettes of vncertain auctours.

The complaint of a louer with sute to his loue for pitie.

IF euer wofull man might moue your hartes to ruthe, Good ladies here his woful plaint, whose deth shal try his truth And rightfull iudges be on this his true report: If he deserue a louers name among the faithfull sort. Fiue hundred times the Sunne hath lodged him in the west: Since in my hart I harbred first of all the goodlyest gest. Whose worthynesse to shew•• my wits are all to faynt. And I lack cunning of the scooles, in colours her to paynt. But this I briefly say in wordes of egall weight. So void of vice was neuer none, nor with such vertues freight. And for her beauties prayse, no wight, that with her warres. For, where she comes, she shewes her self as sun among the starres But Lord, thou wast to blame, to frame such parfitenesse: And puttes no pitie in her hart, my sorowes to redresse. For if ye knew the paines, and panges, that I haue past: A wonder would it be to you, how that my life hath last. When all the Gods agreed, that Cupide with his bow Should shote his arrowes from her eies, on me his might to show I knew it was in vain my force to trust vpon: And well I wist, it was no shame, to yelde to ••uch a one. Then did I me submit with humble hart and mynde, To be her man for euermore: as by the Gods assinde. And since that day, no wo, wherwith loue might torment, Could moue me from this faithfull band: or make me once repent. Yet haue I felt full oft the hottest of his fire: The bitter teares, the scalding sighes, the burning hote desire•• And with a sodain sight the trembling of the hart: And how the blood doth come, and go, to succour euery part. When that a pleasant looke hath lift me in the ayer: A frowne hath made me fall as fast into a depe despayer. And when that I ere this, my tale could well by hart: And that my tong had learned it, so that no word might start: The sight of her hath set my wittes in such a stay: That to be lord of all the world, one word I could not say.

And many a sodayn cramp my hart hath pinched so: That for the time, my senses all felt neither weale, nor wo. Yet saw I neuer thing, that might my minde content: But wisht it hers, and at her will, if she could so consent. Nor neuer heard of wo: that did her will displease: But wisht the same vnto my self, so it might do her ease. Nor neuer thought that fayre, nor neuer liked face: Unlesse it did resemble her, or some part of her grace. No distance yet of place could vs so farre deuide, But that my hart, and my good will did still with her abide. Nor yet it neuer lay in any fortunes powre, To put that swete out of my thought, one minute of an howre. No rage of drenching sea, nor woodnesse of the winde, Nor cannōs w^t their thundring cracks could put her frō my minde For when both sea and land asunder had vs set: My hole delite was onely then, my self alone to get. And thitherward to looke, as nere as I could gesse: Where as I thought, that she was thē, that might my wo redresse. Full oft it did me good, that waies to take my winde: So pleasant ayre in no place els, me thought I could not finde. I saying to my self, my life is yonder way: And by the winde I haue her sent, a thousand sighes a day. And sayd vnto the sunne, great giftes are geuen thee: For thou mayst see mine earthly blisse, where euer that she be. Thou seest in euery place, would God I had thy might: And I the ruler of my self, then should she know no night. And thus from wish to wish, my wits haue been at strife: And wanting all that I haue wisht, thus haue I led my life. But long it can not last, that in such wo remaines. No force for that: for death is swete to him, that feles such paines•• Yet most of all me greues: when I am in my graue, That she shall purchase by my death a cruel name to haue. Wherfore all you that heare this plaint, or shall it see: Wish, that it may so perce her hart, that she may pitie mee. For and it were her will: for both it were the best, To saue my life, to kepe her name, and set my hart at rest.

Of the death of master Deuorox the lord Ferres sonne.

VVHo iustly may reioyce in ought vnder the skye? As life, or lands: as frends, or frutes: which only liue to dye. Or who doth not well know all worldly works are vaine? And geueth nought but to the lendes, to take the same again. For though it lift some vp: as we long vpward all: Such is the sort of slipper welth: all thinges do rise to fall. Thuncerteintie is such: experience teacheth so: That what things men do couer most them sonest they forgo. Lo Deuorox where he lieth: whose l••fe men held so deare That now his death is sorowed so, that pitie it is to heare. His birth of auncient blood: his parents of great fame: And yet in vertue farre before the formost of the same, His king, and countrye both he serued to so great gaine: That with the Brutes record doth rest, and euer shall remaine. No man in warre so mete, an enterprise to take: No man in peace that pleasurde more of enmies frends to make. A Cato for his counsell: his hed was surely such. Ne Theseus frendship was so great, but Deuorox was as much. A graffe of so small grothe, so much good frute to bring: Is seldome heard, or neuer sene: it is so rare a thing. A man sent vs from God, his life did well declare, And now sent for by God again, to teach vs what we are. Death, and the graue, that shall accompany all that liue, Hath brought him heuē, though sōwhat sone, which life could neuer giue God graunt well all, that shall professe as he profest: To liue so well, to dye no worse: and send his soule good rest.

They of the meane estate are happiest.

IF right be rackt, and ouerronne: And power take part with open wrong: If feare my force do yelde to soone, The lack is like to last to long. If God for goodes shalbe vnplaced: If right for riches lose his shape: If world for wisdome be embraced: The gesse is great, much hurt may hap. Among good thinges, I proue and finde, The quiet life doth most abound:

And sure to the contented minde There is no riches may be found. For riches hates to be content: Rule is enmy to quietnesse. Power is most part impacient: And seldom likes to liue in pease. I heard a herdman once compare: That quiet nightes he had mo slept: And had mo m••ry dayes to spare: Then he, which ought the beastes, he kept. I would not haue it thought hereby The Dolphin swimme I meane to teache: Nor yet to learne the Fawcon fly: I row not so farre past my reache. But as my part aboue the rest, Is well to wish and well to will: So till my breath shall fail my brest, I will not ceasse to wish you still.

Comparison of life and death.

THe life is long, that lothsomly doth last: The dolefull dayes draw slowly to their date: The present panges, and painfull plages forepast Yelde griefe aye grene to stablish this estate. So that I feele, in this great storme, and strife, The death is swete that endeth such a life. Yet by the stroke of this strange ouerthrow, At which conflict in thraldom I was thrust: The Lord be praised: I am well taught to know From whence man came, and eke whereto he must: And by the way vpon how feble force His terme doth stand, till death doth end his course. The pleasant yeres that seme, so swift that runne The mery dayes to end, so fast that flete: The ioyfull nightes, of which day daweth so soone. The happy howers, which mo domisse then mete, Do all consume: as snow against the sunne: And death makes end of all, that life begunne••

Since death shall dure, till all the world be wast. what meaneth man to drede death then so sore? As man might make, that life should alway last. Without regard, the lord hath led before The daunce of death, which all must runne on row: Though how•• or when: the Lord alone doth know. If man would minde, what burdens life doth bring: What greuous crimes to Go•• he doth c••mmi••t: what plages, what panges, what per••iles thereby spring: With no sure hower in all his daies to ••it: He would sure think, as with great cause I do: The day of death were better of the two. Death is a port, wherby we passe to ioy. Life is a lake, that drowneth all in payn. Death is so dere, it ceaseth all annoy. Life is so leude, that all it yeldes is vayn. And as by life to bondage man is braught: Euen so likewise by death was fredome wraught. Wherfore with Paul, let all men wish and pray To be dissolude of this foule fleshly masse: Or at the least be armde against the day: That they be found good souldiers, prest to passe From life to death: from death to life again To such a life, as euer shall remain.

The tale of Pigmalion with con∣clusion vpon the beautie of his loue.

IN Grece somtime there dwelt a man of worthy fame: To graue in stone his cunning was: Pygmaliō was his name, To make his fame endure, when death had him bereft: He thought it good, of his own hand some filed worke were left. In secrete studie then such worke he gan deuise, ••s might his cunning best commend, and please the lookers eyes•• A courser faire he thought to graue, barbd for the field: And on his back a semely knight, well armd with speare & shield: Or els some foule, or fish to graue he did deuise: And still, within his wandering thoughtes, new fansies did arise.

Thus varied he in minde, what enterprise to take: Till fansy moued his learned hand a woman fayre to make. Whe••eon he stayde, and thought such parfite fourme to frame: Whereby he might amaze all Grece, and winne immortall name. Of yuorie white he made so faire a woman than: That nature scornd her perfitnesse so taught by craft of man. Wel shaped were her lims, ful comly was her face: Ech litle vain most liuely coucht, eche part had semely grace. Twixt nature & Pigmalion, there might appere great strife, So semely was this ymage wrought, it lackt nothing but life. His curious eye beheld his own deuised work: And, gasing oft thereon, he found much venome there to lurk. For all the featurde shape so did his fansie moue: That, with his idoll, whom he made, Pygmalion fell in loue. To whom he honour gaue, and deckt with garlandes swete. And did adourn with iewels rich, as is for louers mete. Somtimes on it he fawnd: somtime in rage would cry: It was a wonder to behold, how fansy bleard his eye. Since that this ymage dum enflamde so wise a man: My dere alas, since I you loue, what wonder is it than? In whom hath nature set the glory of her name: And brake her moulde, in great dispaire, your like she coulde not frame.

The louer sheweth his wofull state, and praieth pitie.

LYke as the Larke within the Marlians foote With piteous tunes doth chirp her yelden lay: So sing I now, seyng none other boote, My rendering song, and to your well obey. Your vertue mountes aboue my force so hye. And with your beautie seased I am so sure: That there auails resistance none in me, But paciently your pleasure to endure. For on your will my fansy shall attend: My life, my death, I put both in your choyce: And rather had this life by you to end, Than liue, by other alwayes to reioyce. And if your crueltie do thirst my blood: Then let it forth if it may do you good.

Vpon consideration of the state of this life he wisheth death.

THe lenger life, the more offence: The more offence the greater paine, The greater paine, the lesse defence: The lesse defence, the lesser gaine The losse of gaine long yll doth try••: Wherfore come death, and let me dye. The shorter life, lesse count I fynde, The lesse account, the soner made: The count soone made, the merier mind: The merier minde doth thought euade, Short life in truth this thing doth trie. Wherefore come death, and let me dye. Come gentle death, the ebbe of care, The ebbe of care the flood of lyfe. The flood of life, the ioifull fare, The ioyfull fa••e, the end of strife, The ende of strife, that thing wishe I: wherefore come death, and let me dye.

The louer that once disdained loue is now become subiect being canght in his snare.

TO this my songe geue eare who list And mine ••ntent iudge as ye will, The time is come, that I haue myste, The thing wheron I hoped styll, And from the toppe of all my trust, Mishap hath throwen me in the dust. The time hath bene and that of late: My hart and I might leape at large, And was not shut within the gate Of looues desire: nor toke no charge Of any thing, that did pertaine

As touching loue in any payn My thought was free, my hart was lyght, I marked not, who lost, who saught, I playd by day, I slept by night I forced not, who wept, who laught. My thought from al such thinges was free. And I my self at libertie. I toke no hede to tauntes nor toys, As leef to see them frowne as smyle: where fortune laught I scornde their ioyes I founde their fraudes and euery wyle. And to my selfe oft tymes I smiled. To see howe loue had them begiled Thus in the net of my conceyt I masked still among the sort Of such as fed vpon the bayte, That Cupide laide for his disport, And euer as I saw them caught: I them beheld, and there at laught. Tyll at the length when Cupide spied My scornefull wyll and spitefull vse And how I past not who was tyed, So that my selfe myght still liue lose: He set him self to lye in waite, And in my way he threw a baite Such one as nature neuer made, I dare well say saue she alone, Such one she was as would inuade A hart, more hard then marble stone, Such ••ne she is, I know it right. Her nature made to shew her might Then as a man in a mase, when vse of reason is away: So I began to stare and gase, And sodenly, without delay, Or euer I had the wit to loke: I swalowed vp both bai•• and hoke. Whych dayly greues me more and more, By sundry sortes of ca••efull wo: And none aliue may salue the sore. But onely she t••at hurt me so. In whom my lyfe doth now consist

To saue or slay me as she list. But seing now that I am caught, And bounde so fast, I cannot flee: Be ye by myne ensample taught, That in your fansies fele you free, Despise not them, that louers are: Lest you be caught within his snare,

Of Fortune, and fame.

THe plage is great, where fortune frounes: One mischiefe bringes a thousand woes Where trumpets g••ue their warlike sown••s: The weke susteyne, sharp ouerthrowes, No better life they take and fele, That subiect are to fortunes whele. Her happy chaunce may last no time: Her pleasure threatneth paines to come, She is the fall of those that clime: And yet her whe••e auanceth ••ome No force where that she hates, or loues: Her fickle minde so oft remoues She geues uo gift, but craues as fast. She sone repentes a thankfull dede, She turneth after euery blast. She helpes them oft, that haue no nede. Where power dwelles, and riches rest: False Fortune is a common gest. Yet some affirme and proue by sayll: Fortune is not a sleing fame, She neyther can do good, nor yll, She hath no fourme, yet beares a name, Then we but striue against the stremes, To frame such ioyes on fansies dreames. If she haue shape, or name alone: I•• she do rule or beare no sway: If she haue bodie, life or none: Be she a sprite I can not say. But well I wot, some cause there is: That causeth wo, and sendeth blisse. The causes of thinges I will not blame:

Lest I offende the prince of peace, But I may chide, and braule with ••ame: To make her crie, and neuer cease To blow the trumpe within her eares: That may appease my wofull teares.

Against wicked tonges.

O Euill tonges, which clap at euery winde: Ye slea the quicke, and eke the dead defame: Those that liue well, some faute in them ye finde, Ye take no thought in sclaundring their good name, Ye put iust men oft times to open shame, Ye ryng so loude, ye sounde vnto the skyes: A••d yet in proofe, ye sow nothing but ly••s. Ye make great warre, where peace hath ben of long Ye bring rich realmes to ruine and decay, Ye pluck downe right: ye enhaunce the wrong. Ye turne swete mirth to wo, and well away Of mischiefes all ye are the grounde I say, Happy is he, that liues on such a sort: That nedes not feare such tonges of false report.

Hell tormenteth not the damned gostes so sore, as vnkind∣nesse the louer.

THe restlesse ••age of depe deuouring hell, The blasing brandes, that neuer do consume: The roring route, in Plutoes den that dwell, The fiery breath, that from those ympes doth fume: The dropsy dryeth, that Tantale in the flood Endureth ay, all hopelesse of reliefe: He honger steruen, where fruite is ready food So wretchedly his soule doth suffer griefe: The liuer gnawne of gylefull Promethus. Which Uultures fell with strained talant tire: The labour lost of weried Sisiphus:

These hellish houndes, with paines of quenchlesse fire, Can not so sore the silly soules torment, As her vntruth my hart hath all to rent.

Of the mutabilitie ••f the worlde.

BI fortune as I lay in bed, my fortune was to finde Such fāsies, as my careful thought had brought into my minde And when eche one was gone to rest ful soft in bed to lye: I would haue slept, but than the watche did folow stil mine eye, And sodenly I saw a sea of woful sorowes prest: whose wicked wayes of sharpe repulse bred mine vnquiet rest, I saw this worlde and how it went, eche state in his degree, And that from wealth I graunted is, both life and libertie. I saw how enuy it did raine, and beare the greatest price, Yet greater poyson is not founde within the Cockatrice. I saw also, how that disdaine oft times to forge my wo, Gaue me the cup of bitter swette to pledge my mortall foo, I saw also, how that desire, to rest no place coulde finde But still constrainde in endlesse payne to folow natures kinde I saw, also most straunge of all, how nature did forsake The blood, y^t in her wombe, was wrought, as doth y^e lothed snake. I sawe, how fansie would retayne no lenger then her lust, And as the winde how she doth chaunge, and is not for to trust. I saw, how, stedfastnes did flie with winges of often change, A flying bird, but seldome seen, her nature is so strange, I sawe, how pleasant times did passe, as flowres do in the mede To daye that riseth red as rose, to morowe falleth ded. I saw, my time how it did runne, as sand out of the glasse. Euen as eche hower appointed is, from time and tide to passe, I saw, the yeres that I had spent, and losse of all my game And how the sport of youthfull playes my foly did retaine, I saw, how that the little Ant in somer stil doth runne To seke her foode, wherby to liue in wiuter for to come, I saw, eke vertue, how she sat the threde of life to spinne, which sheweth the ende of euery worke, before it doth beginne, And when all these I thus behelde with many in•• pardy, In me, me thought, eche one had wrought a perfie propertie. And then I sayde vnto my selfe, a lesson this shalbe For other, that shall afteh come, for to beware by me

Thus all the night I did deuise, which way I might constaine To forme a plot, that wit might worke these branches in my brain

Harpalus complaint of Phillidaies loue bestowed on Corin, who loued her not: and denied him that loued her.

PHyllida was a faire mayde, As fr••sh as any flowre, Whom Harpalus the herdman prayde To be his paramour. Harpalus and eke Corin were herdmen both yfere: and Phyllida could twist and spinne And therto s••ng full clere But Phyllida was all to coy, For harpalus to winne For Corin was her onely ioy, who forst her not a pinne, How often wold she flowres twine How often garlandes make: Of Cousips and of Columbine. And all for Corins sake. But Corin he had Haukes to lure And forced more the field: Of louers lawe he toke no cure For once he was begilde. Harpalus preuailed nought His labour all was lost: For he was fardest from her thought And yet he loued her most. Therefore waxt he both pale and leane And drye as clod of clay: His fleshe it was consumed cleene His colowr gone a way, His beard it had not long be shaue, His here hong all vnkempt: A ••••n most fit euen for the graue Whom spitefull loue had spent.

His eyes were red and all forewatched His face besprent with teares: It semed vnhap had him long hatched, In mids of his despaires. His clothes were blacke and also bare As one forlorne was he, Upon his head alwaies he ware, A wreath of willow tree His beastes he kept vpon the hyll, And he sa••e in the dale: And thus with sighes and sorowes shrill, ••egan to tell his tale. O Harpalus (thus would he say) Unhappiest vndersunne The cause of thine vnhappy day By loue was first begunne. For thou wentst first by sute to seeke A Tigre to make tame: That settes not by thy loue a leeke But makes thy griefe her game. As easy it were for to couuert The frost into the flame: As for to turne a froward hart Whom thou so faine wouldest frame•• Corin he liueth carelesse He leapes among the leaues He eates the frutes of thy redresse Thou reapes: he takes the sheaues. My beastes a whyle your foode refraine And harke your heardmans sounde, Whom spitefull loue alas hath slaine Through girt with many a wounde, O happy be ye beastes wilde That here your pastures takes, I see that ye be not begilde Of these your faithfull makes. The hart he feedeth by the ••inde The Buck harde by the Do The turtle Doue is not vnkinde To him that loues her so, The Ewe she hath by her the Ramme The yong Cow hath the Bull,

The Cal••e with many a lusty Lambe Do fede their hungerfull. But we••away that nature wrought Thee ••hi••t day so faire, For I may say that I haue bough•• Thy beauty all to deare. What reason is it that crueltie With beautie shoulde haue parte. Or els that such great tirany Should dwell in womans hart. I see therefore to shappe my death She cruelly is prest, To thende that I may wāt my breath My dayes been at the best. O Cup••de graunt this my request And do not stoppe thine eares, That she may feele within her brest, The paynes of my dispayres. Of Corin that is carelesse, That she may craue her fee, As I haue done in great distresse That loued her faithfully. But sins that I shall die her slaue Her slaue and eke her thr••ll, Write you my frendes, vpon my graue This chaunce that is befall. He••e lieth vnhappy Harpelus By cruel loue now slaine, Whom Philida vniustly thus Hath murdred with disdayne.

Vpon sir Iames wilfordes death.

LO here the end of man the cruell sisters three The web of wilfordes life vneth had hal••e esponne, When rash vppon mildede they all accorded bee To breake of vertues course ere halfe the race were ronne And trip him on his way that els had wonne the game And holden highest place within the house of faine, But yet though he be gone, though sence with him be past,

Which trode the euen steppes that leaden to renowne, We that remayn aliue, ne suffer shall to waste The fame of his desertes, so shall he lose but sowne, The thing shall aye remayne, aye kept as freshe in store As if his eares should ring of that he wrought before. Wayle not therfore his want, sith he so left the stage Of care and wretched life, with ioy and clappe of handes Who playeth lenger partes, may well haue greater age, But few so well may passe the gulfe of fortunes sandes So tryedly did he treade ay prest at vertues becke That fortune found no place to giue him once a checke. The fates haue ryd him hence, who shall not after go, Though earshed be his corps yet florish shall his fame, A gladsome thing it is, that ere he stept vs fro, Such mirrours he vs left our life therby to frame, Wherfore his praise shall last aye freshe in britons sight, Tyll sunne shall cease to shine, and lend the earth his light.

Of the wretchednes in this world.

VVHo list to liue vpright, and hold himself content, Shal see such wonders in this world, as neuer erst was sent, Such groping for the swete, such tasting of the sower, Such wandring here for worldly welth that lost is in one how••••. And as the good or badde, get vp in hye degree, So wades the world in right or wrong, it may none other bee. And looke what lawes they make, eche man must them obay, And yoke hymself with pacient heart, to dryue and draw that w•••••• Yet such as long ago, great rulers wer assynde, Both liues and lawes are now forgot & worne clene out of mynd•• So that by this I see, no state on earth may last But as their times appointed be, to rise and fall as fast, The goodes that gotten be, by good and iust desart, Yet vse them that so neady handes may help to spend the part, For looke what heape thou, hordst of rusty gold in store, Thine enemies shall waste the same, that neuer swat therfore.

The repentant sinner in durance and aduersitie.

VNto the liuing Lord for pardon do I pray, From whom I graunt, euen frō the wel, & haue run 〈◊〉〈◊〉 astray. And other liues there none (my death shall well declare) On whom I ought to grate for grace, as faulty folkes do fare. But thee, O Lord alone, I haue offended so, That this small scourge is much to scant for mine offence I know I ranne without returne, the way the world likte best, And what I ought most to regard, that I respected lest, The through wherin I thrust hath throwen me in such case That lord my soule is sore beset without thy greater grace. My gyltes are growen so great, my power doth so appayre, That with great force they argue oft, and mercy much dispayre. But then with faith I flee to thy prepared store, Where there lyeth helpe for euery hurt, and sa••••e for euery sore, My lost time to lament, my vayne waies to bewaile, No day, no night, no place no hower, no moment I shall fayle. My soule shall neuer cease with an assured fayth To knocke, to craue, to call, to crye, to thee for helpe, which sayth: Knock and it shalbe heard, but aske, and geuen it is, And all that lyke to kepe this course: of mercy shall not misse. For when I call to minde how the one wandring shepe, Did bring more ioy with his returne, then al the flocke did 〈◊〉〈◊〉 It yeldes ful hope and trust, my strayed and wandring gho•••••• Sa••he receiued and h••ld more dere, then those wer neuer lost. O Lord my hope behold, and for my helpe make haste, To pardon the forepassed race that carelesse I haue past. And but the day draw neare that death must pay the det•• For loue, of life which thou hast lent and time of payment set. From this sharpe showre me shielde which threatned is at hande, Wherby thou shalt great power declare, & I the storme withstande Not my will Lord, but thine, fulfilde be in eche case, To whose gret wil & mighty power, al powers shal once geue place My faith, my hope, trust, my God and eke my guide, Stretch forth thy hande to saue the soule, what so the body hide, Refuse not to receiue that thou so deare hast bought, For but by thee alone I know, all safetie in vaine is sought. I know and knowledge eke, albeit very late, That thou it is I ought to loue and dreade in eche estate. And with repentant heart, d••elaude the Lord on hye, That hast so gently set me straight, that erst walkte so awry, Now graunt me grace my God to stande thine strong in sprite, And le•• y^e world thē worke such waies, a•• ••o the world semes met••.

The louer here telleth of his diuers ioyes and aduersities in loue and lastly of his ladies death.

SYth singyng gladdeth oft the harts Of them that fele the panges of loue: And for the while doth ease their smarts: My self I shall the same way proue. And though that loue hath smit the stroke. wherby is lost my libertie: Which by no meanes I may reuoke: Yet shall I sing, how pleasantly. Ny twenty yeres of youth I past: Which al in libertie I spent: And so from first vnto the last, Ere aught I knewe, what louing ment, And after shal I syng the wo, The paine, the greefe, the deadly smart: When loue this lyfe did ouerthrowe, That hydden lyes within my hart. And then, the ioyes, that I dyd feele. When fortune lifted after this, And set me hye vpon her whele: And changde my wo to pleasant blisse, And so the sodeyn fall agayne From all the ioyes, that I was in. All you, that list to heare of payne, Geue care, for now I doe beginne. Lo, first of all, when loue began With hote desires my heart to burne: Me thought, his might auailde not than From libertie my heart to turne. For I was free: and dyd not knowe, How much his might mannes hert may gre••••, I had profest to be his fo: His law, I thought not to beleue, I went vntied in lusty leas, I had my wish alwaies at will:

Ther was no wo, might me displease: Of pleasant ioyes I had my fill. No paynfull thought dyd passe my hart: I spilt no teare to wet my brest: I knew no sorow, sigh, nor smart, My greatest griefe was quiet rest. I brake no slepe, I tossed not: Nor dyd delite to syt alone. I felt no change of colde and hote: Nor nought a nightes could make me mone. For al was ioy that I did fele: And of voide wandering I was free. I had no clogge tied at my hele: This was my life at libertie. That yet me thinkes it is a blisse, To thinke vpon that pleasure past. But forthwithall I finde the misse, For that it might no lenger last. Those daies I spent at my desire, Without wo or aduersitie: Till that my hart was set a fire, With loue, with wrath, and ielousie. For on a day (alas the while) Lo, heare my harme how it began: The blinded Lord, the God of guile Had list to end my fredome than. And through mine eye into my hart All sodenly I felt it glide. He shot his sharped fiery dart, So hard, that yet vnder my side The head (alas) doth still remaine, And yet since could I neuer know, The way to wring it out againe: Yet was it nye three yere ago. This soden stroke made me agast: And it began to vexe me sore. But yet I thought, it would haue past, As other such had done before. But it did not that (wo is me) So depe imprinted in my thought, The stroke abode: that yet I see, Me thinkes my harme how it was wrought.

Kinde taught me streight that this was loue And I perceiued it perfectly. Yet thought I thus: Nought shall me moue: I will not thrall my libertie. And diuers waies I did assay, By flight, by force, by frend, by fo, This firie thought to put away. I was so lothe for to forgo My libertie: that me was leuer, Then bondage was, where I hard say: Who once was bounde, was sure neuer Without great paine to scape away. But what for that, there is no choice, For my mishap was shapen so: That those my dayes that did reioyce, Should turne my blisse to bitter wo. For with that stroke my blisse toke ende. In stede wherof forth with I caught, Hotte burnyng sighes, that sins haue brend, My wretched hart almost to naught. And sins that day, O Lord my life, The misery that it hath felt. That nought hath had, but wo and strife, And hotte desires my hart to melt. O Lord how sodaine was the change From such a pleasant liberty? The very thraldome semed straunge But yet there was no remedy. But I must yeld, and geue vp all, And make my guide my chefist fo. And in this wise became I thrall, Lo, loue and happe would haue it ••o. I suffred wrong and held my peace, I gaue my teares good leaue to ronne: And neuer would seke for redresse, ••ut hept to liue as I begonne. For what it was that might me ease, He liued not that might it know, Thus dranke I all mine owne disease: And all alone bewailde my wo. I here was no sight that mighte me please•• I fled from them that did reioyce,

And oft alone my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to ••ase, I would bewaile with wofull voyce My life, my state, my misery, And curse my selfe & al my daies. Thus wrought I with my fantasie, And sought my helpe none other waies. Saue sometime to my selfe alone, When farre of was my helpe God wot: Lowde would I crye: My life is gone, My dere, if that ye helpe me not. Then wisht I streight, that death might end These bitter panges, and al this grief For nought, methought, might it amend. Thus in dispaire to haue relief, I lingred forth: tyl I was brought with pining in so piteous case: That al, that sawe me, sayd, methought: Lo, death is painted in his face. I went no where: but by the way I saw some sight before mine eyes: That made me sigh, and oft times say•• My life, alas I thee despyse. This lasted well a yere, and more: Which no wight knew, but onely I: So that my life was nere for lore: And I dispaired vtterly. Til on a day, as fortune would: (For that, that shalbe, nedes must fal) I sat me down, as though I should Haue ended then my lyfe, and al. And as I sat to write my playn••, Meanyng to shew my great vnrest: With quaking hand, and hart full faint, Amid my plaintes, among the rest, I wrote with ynk, and bitter teares: I am not myne, I am not mine: Behold my life, away that weares: And if I dye the losse is thine. Herewith a little hope I caught: That for a whyle my life did stay. But in effect, all was for ••••ught. Thus liued I styl: tyl on a day

As I sat staring on those eyes: Those shining eyes, that first me bound: My inward thought tho cryed: Aryse: Lo, mercy where it may be found. And therewithall I drew me nere: With feble hart, and at a braide, (But it was softly in her care) Mercy, Madame, was all, I sayd. But wo was me, when it was told, For therwithall fainted my breath: And I sate still for to beholde, And heare the iudgement of my death. But Loue nor Hap would not consent, To end me then, but welaway: There gaue me blisse: that I repent To thinke I liue to se this day. For after this I plained styll So long, and in so piteous wise: That I my wish had at my will Graunted, as I would it deuise. But Lord who euer hard, or knew Of halfe the ioye that I felt than? Or who can thinke it may be true, That so much blisse had euer man? Lo, fortune thus set me aloft: And more my sorowes to releue, Of pleasant ioyes I tasted oft: As much as loue or happe might geue. The sorowes old, I felt before About my hart, were driuen thence•• And for ech griefe, I felt afore I had a blisse in recompence. Then thought I all the time well spent•• That I in plaint had spent so long. So was I with my life content: That to my self I sayd amoug. Sins thou art ridde of al thine yll: To shewe thy ioyes set forth thy voyce, And sins thou haste thy wish at will•• My happy hart, reioyce, reioyce. Thus felt I ioyes a great deale 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Then by my song may well be tolde:

And thinking on my passed wo, My blisse did double many folde. Aud thus I thought with mannes blood, Such blisse might not be bought to deare. In such estate my ioyes then stode•• That of a change I had no feare. But why sing •• so long of blisse? It lasteth not, that will away, Let me therfore bewaile the misse: And sing the cause of my decay. Yet all this while there liued none, That led his life more pleasantly: Nor vnder hap there was not one, Me thought, so well at ease, as I. But O blinde ioye, who may thee trust? For no estate thou canst assure? Thy faithfull vowes proue al vniust: Thy faire behestes be full vnsure. Good proofe by me: that but of late Not fully twenty daies ago: Which thought my life was in such state: That nought might worke my hart this wo. Yet hath the enemy of myne case, Cruell mishappe, that wretched wight: Now when my life did most me please: Deuised me such cruel spight. That from the hiest place of all, As to the pleasing of my thought, Downe to the deepest am I fall, And to my helpe auaileth nough••, Lo, thus are all my ioyes quite gone. And I am brought from happinesse, Continually to wayle, and mone. Lo, such is fortunes stablenesse. In welth I thought such suertie, That pleasure should haue ended neuer. But now (alas) aduersitie, Doth make my singyng cease ••or euer. O brittle ioye, O welth vnstable: O fraile pleasure, O slidyng blisse, Who feles thee most, he shall not misse, At length to be made miserable.

For all must end as doth my blisse: There is none other certeintie. And at the end the worst is his, That most hath knowen prosperitie. For he that neuer blisse assaied, May well away with wretchednesse: But he shall finde that hath it sayd, A pain to part from pleasantnesse: As I do now, for ere I knew What pleasure was, I felt no griefe, Like vnto this, and it is true, That blisse hath brought me all this mischiefe. But yet I haue not songen, how This mischiefe came: but I intend With wofull voyce to sing it now: And therwithall I make an end. But Lord, now that it is begoon, I fele, my sprites are vexed sore. Oh, geue me breath till this be done: And after let me liue no more. Alas, the enmy of this life, The ender of all pleasantnesse: Alas, he bringeth all this strife, And causeth all this wretchednesse. For in the middes of all the welth, That brought my hart to happinesse: This wicked death he came by stelth, And robde me of my ioyfulnesse. He came, when that I litle thought Of ought, that might me vexe so sore: And sodenly he brought to nought My pleasantnesse for euermore. He slew my ioy (alas, the wretch) He slew my ioy, or I was ware: And now (alas) no might may stretch To set an end to my great care. For by this cursed deadly stroke, My blisse is lost, and I forlore: And no helpe may the losse reuoke: For lost it is for euermore. And closed vp are those faire eyes, That gaue me first the signe of grace:

My faire swete foes, mine enemies, And earth doth hide her pleasant face. The loke which did my life vphold: And all my sorowes did confound: With which more blisse then may be told: Alas, now lieth it vnder ground But cease•• for I will sing no more: Since that my harme hath no redresse: But as a wretche for euermore, My life will waste with wretchednesse. And ending this my wofull song, Now that it ended is and past: I would my life were but as long: And that this word might be my last. For lothsome is that life (men say) That liketh not the liuers minde: Lo, thus I seke mine own decay, And will, till that I may it finde.

Of his loue name•• white.

FUll faire and white she is, and White by name: Whose white doth striue, the lilli••s white to staine: Who may contemne the blast of blacke defame: who in darke night, can bring day bright againe. The ruddy rose inpreaseth with cleare heew, In lips and chekes, right orient to behold: That the nerer gaser may that bewty reew, And fele dispar••t in limmes the chilling cold: For White, all white his bloodlesse face will be: The asshy pale so alter will his cheare. But I that do possesse in full degree The harty loue of this my hart so deare: So oft to me as she presents her face, For ioy do feele my hart spring from his place.

Of the louers vnquiet stare.

VVHat thing is that which I both haue and lacke, with good will graunted, yet it is denyed How may I be receiued and put abacke Alway doing and yet vnoccupied, Most slow in that which I haue most applied, Still thus to seke, and lese all that I win, And that was doon is newest to begin, In riches finde I wilfull pouertie, In great pleasure, liue I in heauinesse. In much freedome I lacke my libertie, Thus am I both in ioy and in distresse. And in few wordes if that I shall be plaine, In Paradise I suffer all this paine.

where good will is, some proofe will appere.

IT is no fire that geues no heate, Though it appeare neuer so hot: And they that runne and can not sweate, Are very leane and dry God wot, A perfect leche applieth his wittes, To gather herbes of all degrees: And feuers with their feruent fittes, Be cured with their contraries. New wine will serch to finde a vent, Although the caske be set so strong: And wit will walke when will is bent, Although the way be neuer so long. The Rabbets runne vnder the rockes: The Snailes do clime the highest towers: Gunpowder cleaues the sturdy blockes. A feruent will all thing deuowers. When wit with will and diligent Apply them selues, and match as mates, There can no want of resident, From force defend the castell gates. Forgetfulnesse make litle haste, And slouth delites to lye full soft: That telleth the deaf, his tale doth waste, And is full dry that craues full oft.

Verses written on the picture of sir Iames wilford knight.

ALas that euer death such vertues should forlet, As compast was within his corps, whose picture is here set. Or that it euer lay in any fortunes might, Through depe disdain to end his life that was so worthy a wight. For sithe he first began in armour to be clad, A worthier champion then he was, yet England neuer had. And though recure be past, his life to haue againe, Yet would I wish his worthinesse in writing to remaine. That men to minde might call how farre he did excell, At all assayes to wynne the fame, which were to long to tell. And eke the restlesse race that he full oft hath runne, In painfull plight from place to place, where seruice was to don. Then should men well perceiue, my tale to be of trouth, And he to be the worthiest w••ght that euer nature wrought,

The ladie praieth the returne of her louer abiding on the seas.

SHall I thus euer long, and be no whit the neare, And shall I still complain to thee, the which me will not heare? Alas say nay, say nay, and be no more so dome, But open thou thy manly mouth, and say that thou wilt come. Wherby my hart may thinke, although I see not thee, That thou wilt come thy word so sware, if thou a liues man be. The roaring hugy waues, they threaten my poore ghost, And tosse thee vp and downe the seas, in daunger to be lost. Shall they not make me feare that they haue swalowed thee, But as thou art most sure aliue, so wilt thou come to me. Wherby I shall go see thy ship ride on the strand, And think and say ••o where he comes, and sure here will he land And then •• shall lift vp to thee my litle hand, And thou shalt think thine hart in ease, in helth to see me stand. And if thou come in dede (as Christ thee send to do,) These armes which misse thee yet, shall then imbrace thee to. Ech vain to euery ioynt, the liuely blood shall spred,

Which now for want of thy glad sight, doth show full pale & dead. But if thou slip thy trouth and do not come at all, As minutes in the clocke do strike so call for death I shall. To please both thy false hart, and rid my self from wo, That rather had to dye in trouth then liue forsaken so.

The meane estate is best.

THe doutfull man hath feuers strange And constant hope is oft diseas••e, Dispaire cannot but brede a change, Nor fleting hartes cannot be pleasde. Of all these bad, the best I thinck, Is well to hope, though fortune shrinck. Desired thinges are not ay prest, Nor thinges denide left all vnsought, Nor new things to be loued best, Nor all offers to be set at nought, Where faithfull hart hath bene refusde, The chosers wit was there abusde. The wofull ship of carefull sprite, Fleting on seas of w••lling teares, With sailes of wishes broken quite, Hanging on waues of dolefull feares, By surge of sighes at wrecke nere hand, May fast no anker hold on land. What helps the dyall to the blinde, Or els the clock without it sound. Or who by dreames doth hope to finde, The hidden gold within the ground: Shalbe as free from cares and feares, As he that holds a Wolfe by the cares. And how much mad is he that thinks To clime to heauen by the beames, What ioy alas, hath he that winks, At Titan or his golden streames, His ioyes not subiect to reasons lawes, That ioyeth more then he hath cause. For as the Phenix that climeth hye, The sunne lightly in ashes burneth, Againe, the Faulcon so quick of eye,

Sone on the ground the net masheth. Experience therfore the meane assurance, Prefers before the doutfull pleasance.

The louer thinkes no paine to great, wherby he may ob∣tain his ladie.

SIth that the way to wealth is wo, And after paine is pleasure prest, Why should I than dispaire so, Ay bewailing mine vnrest: Or let to leade my life in paine, So worthy a lady to obtaine. The fisher man do••h count no care, To cast his nets to wrack or wast, And in reward of eche mans share. A gogen gift is much imbrast, Should I than grudge it grief or gall, That loke at length to whelm a Whall. The poore man ploweth his ground for grain, And soweth his seede increase to craue, And for thexpence of all his pain, Oft holdes it hap his seede to saue, These pacient paines my part doth show, To long for loue ere that I know. And take no scorne to scape from skill, To spend my sprites to spare my speche, To win for welth the want of will. And thus for rest to rage I reche, Running my race as rect vpright: Till teares of truth appease my plight. And plant my plaint within her brest, Who doutles may restore againe, My harmes to helth, my ruthe to rest. That laced is within her chaine, For earst ne are the griefes so gret: As is the ioy when loue is met. For who couets so high to clim, As doth the bird that pitfoll toke,

Or who delightes so swift to swim, As doth the fish that scapes the hoke, If these had neuer entred wo: How mought they haue reioysed so. But yet alas ye louers all, That here me ioy thus lesse reioyce, Iudge not amis what so befall. In me there lieth no power of choyse, It is but hope that doth me moue: Who standerd bearer is to loue. On whose ensigne when I behold, I see the shadow of her shape, Within my faith so fast I fold: Through drede I die, through hope I scape, Thus ease and wo full oft I finde, What will you more she knoweth my minde.

Of a new maried studient that plaied fast or lose.

A Studient at his boke so plast: That welth he might haue wonne, From boke to wife did flete in hast, From wealth to wo to runne. Now, who hath plaied a feater cast, Since iugling first begonne? In knitting of him self so fast, Him selfe he hath vndonne.

The meane estate is to be accompted the best.

VVHo craftly castes to stere his boate and safely s••oures the flattering flood: He cutteth not the greatest waues, for why that way w••re nothing good. Ne fleteth on the crocked shore lest harme him happe awayting lest. But wines away betwene them both, as who would say the meane is best.

Who waiteth on the golden meane, he put in point of sickernes: Hides not his head in sluttish coates, ne shroudes himself in filthines. Ne sittes aloft in hye estate, Where hatefull hartes enuie his chance: But wisely walkes betwixt them twaine, ne proudly doth himself auance The highest tree in all the wood is rifest rent with blustring windes: The higher hall the greater fall such chance haue proude and lofty mindes. When Iupiter from hye doth threat with mortall mace and dint of thunder The hyest hilles bene batrid eft when they stand still that stoden vnder. The man whose hed with wit is fraught in welth will feare a worser tide When fortune failes dispaireth nought but constantly doth still abide. For he that sendeth grisely stormes with whisking windes and bitter blastes And fowlth with hayle the winters face, and frotes the soile with hory frostes: Euen he adawth the force of cold the spring in sendes with somer hote: The same full oft to stormy hartes is cause of bale: of ioy the roote. Not alwaies yll though so be now when cloudes ben driuen, then rides the racke. Phebus the fresh ne shooteth still, somtime he harpes his muse to wake. Stand stif therfore, pluck vp thy hart, lose not thy port though fortune faile. Againe whan winde doth serue at will, take hede to hye to hoyse thy saile.

The louer refused, lamenteth his estate.

I Lent my loue to losse and gaged my life in vaine, If hate for loue and death for life of louers be the gaine.

And curse I may by course the place eke time and howre That nature first in me did forme to be a liues creature, Sithe that I must absent my selfe so secretly In place desert where neuer man my secretes shall discry: In doling of my dayes among the beastes so brute, Who with their tonges may not bewray the secretes of my sute. Nor I in like to them may once to moue my minde But gase on them and they on me, as beastes are wont of kinde. Thus ranging as refusde, to reache some place of rest, Ill ruff of heare•• my nayles vnnocht, as to such semeth best. That wander by their wittes, deformed so to be, That men may say, such one may curse the time he first gan see The beauty of her face, her shape in such degree, As God himself may not discerne, one place mended to be. Nor place it in like place, my fansy for to please, Who would become a heardmans hyre, one howre to haue of ease. Whereby I might restore, to me some stedfastnes. That haue mo thoughtes heapt in my hed thē life may long disges As oft to throw me downe vpon the earth so cold, Wheras with teares most rufully, my sorowes do vnfold. And in beholding them. I chiefly call to minde, What woman could finde in her hart, such bondnge for to binde. Then rashly forth I yede, to cast me from that care, Like as the bird for foode doth flye, and lighteth in the snare. From whence I may not meue, vntill my race be roon, So trained is my truth through her, y^t thinkes my life well woon. Thus tosse I to and fro, in hope to haue reliefe, But in the fine I finde not so, it doubleth but my griefe. Wherfore I will my want, a warning for to be, Unto all men, wishing that they, a myrrour make of me.

The felicitie of a minde imbracing vertue, that beholdeth the wretched desires of the worlde.

VVHē dredful swelling seas, through boisterous windy blastes, So tosse the ships, that all for nought, serues ancor, sail and mas••es. Who takes not pleasure then, safely on shore to rest, And see with drede and depe dispaire, how shipmen are distrest. Not that we pleasure take, when others felen smart, Our gladnes groweth to see their harmes, and yet to fele no part.

Delight we take also, well ranged in aray, When armies meete to see the fight, yet free be from the fray. But yet among the rest, no ioy may match with this, Taspyre vnto the temple hye, where wisdome troned is. Defended with the saws of hory heades expert, Which clere it kepe from errours mist, that might the truth peruert From whence thou mayst loke down, and see as vnder foote, Mans wādring wil & doutful life, frō whēce they take their roote. How some by wit contend, by prowes some to rise, Riches a••d rule to gaine and hold, is all that men deuise. O miserable mindes, O hartes in folly drent, why see you not what blindnesse in this wretched life is spent? Body deuoyde of griefe, minde free from care and drede, Is all and some that natu••e craues, wherwith our life to feede. So that for natures turne few thinges may well suffice, Dolour and grief clene to expell, and some delight surprice. Yea and i•• ••alleth oft, that nature more content Is with the lesse, then when the more to cause delight is spent.

All worldly pleasures vade.

THe winter with his griesly stormes ne lenger dare abide, The plesant grasse, with lusty grene, the earth hath newly dide The trees haue leues, the bowes do•• ••pred, new chāged is the yere The water brokes are cleane sonk down, the plesant banks apere. The spring to come, the goodly nimphes now dasice in euery place Thus hath the yere most pleasantly of late ychangde his face. Hope for no immortalitie, for welth will weare away, As we may learne by euery yere, yea howers of euery day. For Zepharus doth molifie the cold and blustering windes: The somers drought doth take away the spring out of our mindes And yet the somer cannot last, but once must step aside, Then ••utumn thinks so kepe his place, but Autumn cannot bide, For when he hath brought forth his fruits & stuft the barns w^t corn Then winter eates and empties all, and thus is Autumn worn. Then hory ••rosts possesse the place, then tēpests work much harm, Then rage of stormes done make all cold, which somer had made so warm Wherfore l••t no man put his trust in that, that will decay, For slipper wealth will not continue, pleasure will weare away. For when that we haue lost our life, and lye vnder a stone, What are we then: we are but earth, then is our pleasure gone.

No man can tell what God almight of euery wight doth cast, No man can say to day I liue, till morne my life shall last. For when thou shalt before thy iudge stand to receiue thy dome, What sentence Minos doth pronounce that must of thee become. Then shall not noble stocke and bloud redeme the from his hands Nor sugred talke with eloquence shall lose thee from his bandes. Nor yet thy life vprightly lead, can help thee out of hell, For who descendeth down so depe, must there abide and dwell. Diana could not thence deliuer chaste Hypolitus, Nor Theseus could not call to life his frende Perithous.

A complaint of the losse of li∣bertie by loue.

IN seking rest, vnrest I finde, I finde that welth is cause of wo: Wo worth the time that I inclinde, To fixe in minde her beauty so. That day be darkned as the night, Let furious rage it cleane deuour: Ne Sunne nor Moone therin giue light, But it consume with streame and shower. Let no small birds straine forth their voyc••, with pleasant tunes, ne yet no beast: Finde cause wherat he may reioyce, That day when chaunced mine vnrest. Wherin alas from me was raught, Mine own free choyce and quiet minde, My life me death in balance braught And reason rasde through barke and rinde, And I as yet in flower of age, Both wit and will did still aduance: Ay to resist that burning rage: But when I darte then did I glaunce. Nothing to me did seme so hye, In minde I could it straight attaine: Fansy perswaded me therby, Loue to esteme a thing most vaine. But as the bird vpon the brier, Doth pricke and proyne her without care:

Not knowing alas (poore foole) how nere She is vnto the fowlers snare. So I amid disceitfull trust, Did not mistrust such wofull happe: Till cruell loue ere that I wist Had caught me in his carefull trappe. Then did I fele, and partly know, How litle force in me did raigne: So soone to yelde to ouerthrow, Do fraile to flit from ioy to paine. For when in welth will did me leade Of libertie to hoyse my saile: To hale at shete and cast my leade, I thought free choyce would still preuaile. In whose calme streames I sayld so farre, No raging storme had in respect: Untill I raysde a goodly starre, wherto my course I did direct. In whose prospect in doolfull wise, My tackle failde, my compasse brake? Through hote desires such stormes did rise•• That sterne and top went all to wrake. Oh cruell hap, oh fatall chaunce, O Fortune why were thou vnkinde: Without regarde thus in a traunce, To reue from me my ioyfull minde. Where I was free now must I serue, Where I was lose now am I bound: In death my life I do preserue, As one through girt with many a wound.

A praise of his La∣dye.

GEue place you Ladies and be gone, Boast not your selues at all: For here at hand approcheth one: Who••e face will staine you all. The vertue of her liuely lokes, Excels the precious stone: I wish to haue none other bokes To read or loke vpon.

In eche of her two cristall eyes, Smileth a naked boye: It would you all in hart suffice To see that lampe of ioye. I thinke nature hath lost the moulde, Where she her shape did take: Or els I doubt if nature could, So faire a creature make. She may be well comparde Unto the Phenix kinde: Whose like was neuer sene nor heard, That any man can finde. In life she is Diana cha••t, In trouth Penelopey: In word and eke in dede stedfast, What wil you more we sey. If all the world were sought so farre, Who could finde such a wight: Her beuty twinkleth like a starre, Within the frosty night. Her rosiall colour comes and goes, With such a comely grace: More redier to then doth the rose, Within her liuely face. At Bacchus feast none shall her mete, Ne at no wanton play: Nor gasyng in an open strete, Nor gadding as a stray. The modest mirth that she doth vse, Is mixt with shamefastnesse: All vice she doth wholy refuse, And hateth ydlenesse. O lord it is a world to see, How vertue can repaire: And decke in her such honestie, Whom nature made so faire. Truely she doth as farre excede, Our women now adayes: As doth the Ielifloure, a wede, And more a thousand waies. How might I do to get a graffe: Of this vnspotted tree.

For al the rest are plaine but chaffe, Which seme good corne to be. This gift alone I shal her geue. When death doth what he can: Her honest fame shall euer liue, Within the mouth of man.

The pore estate to be holden for best.

Experience now doth shew what God vs taught before, Desired pompe is vaine, and seldome doth it last: Who climbes to raigne with kinges, may rue his fate full sore•• Alas the woful ende that ••omes with care full fast, Reiect him doth renowne his pomp•• full low is cast••. Deceiued is the birde by swetenesse of the call Expell that pleasant taste, wherein is bitter gall. Such as with oten cakes in poore estate abides, Of care haue they no cure, the crab with mirth they rost, More ease fele they then those, that from their height down slides Excesse do••h brede their wo, they faile in Scillas cost, Remainyng in the stormes tyll shyp and al be lost. Serue God therefore thou pore, for lo, thou liues in rest, Eschue the golden hall, thy thatched house is besT.

The complaint of Thestilis amid the desert wodde.

THestilis a sely man, when loue did him forsake, In mourning wise, amid the wods thus gan his plaint to mak•• Ah woful man (quod he) fallen is thy lot to mone And pyne away with careful thoughtes, vnto thy loue vnknow•••• Thy lady thee forsakes whom thou didst honor so That ay to her thou were a frend, and to thy selfe a foe.

Ye louers that haue lost your heartes desired choyse, Lament with me my cruell happe, & helpe my trembling voice. Was neuer man that stode so great in fortunes grace: Nor with his swete alas to deare possest so high a place. As I whose simple hart aye thought him selfe full sure, But now I se hie springing tides they may not aye endure. She knowes my giltelesse hart, and yet she lets it pine, Of her vntrue professed loue so feble is the twine. What wonder is it than, if I berent my heares, And caruing death continually do bathe my selfe in teares, When Cresus king of Lide was cast in cruell bandes, And yelded goodes and life also into his enemies handes. What tong could tell his wo, yet was his griefe much lesse Then mine: for I haue lost my loue whych might my woe redresse•• Ye woodes that shroud my limes giue now your holow sound, That ye may helpe me to bewaile the cares that me confound. Ye riuers rest a while and stay the streames that runne, Rew Thestilis most woful man that liues vnder the sunne. Transport my sighes ye windes vnto my plesant foe, My tricklyng teares shal witnesse beare of this my cruel woe•• O happy man wer I if all the goddes agreed: That now the susters three should cut in twaine my fatall threde. Till life with loue shall ende I here resigne al ioy: Thy pleasant sw••te I now lament whose lacke bredes myne anoy Farewell my deare therfore farewell to me well knowne: If that I die it shalbe said that thou hast slaine thine owne.

An answere of comfort.

THestilis thou sely man, why dost thou so complayne, If nedes thy loue wyll thee forsake, thy mourning is in vaine. For none can force the streames against ••heir course to ronne, Nor yet vnwilling loue with teares or w••••lyng can be wonne•• C••ase thou therefore thy plaintes, let hope thy sorowes ease, The shipmen though their sailes be rent yet hope to scape the seas Though straunge she serue a while, yet thinke she wil not chaunge Good causes driue a ladies loue, sometime to seme full straunge,

No louer that hath wit, but can forsee such happe, That no wight can at wish or will slepe in his ladies lappe. Achilles for a time faire Brises did forgo, Yet did they mete with ioye againe, then thinke thou maist do so. Though he and louers al in loue sharpe stormes do finde, Dispaire not thou pore Thestilis though thy loue seme vnkinde, Ah thinke her graffed loue cannot so sone decay, Hie springes may cease from swelling styll, but neuer dry away Oft stormes of louers yre, do more their loue encrease: As shinyng sunne refreshe the fruites whē raining gins to cease. When springes are waxen lowe, then must they flow againe, So shall thy hart aduaunced be, to pleasure out of paine. When lacke of thy delight most bitter griefe apperes, Thinke on Etrascus worthy loue that lasted thirty yeres, Which could not long atcheue his hartes desired choice, Yet at the ende he founde rewarde that made him to reioyce. Since he so long in hope with pacience did remaine, Can not thy feruent loue forbeare thy loue a moneth or twaine? Admit she minde to chaunge and nedes will thee forgo, Is there no mo may thee delyght but she that paynes thee so? Thestilis draw to the towne and loue as thou hast done, In time thou knowest by faythful loue as good as she is wonne. And leaue the desert woodes and waylyng thus alone, And seke to salue thy sore els were, if all her loue be gone.

¶The louer praieth pity showing that nature hath taught his dog as it were to sue for the same by kissing his ladies handes.

NAture that taught my silly dog god wat: Euen for my sake to like where I do loue, Inforced him whereas my lady sat With humble sute before her fallyng flat. As in his sorte he might her pray and moue To rue vpon his lord and not forgete The stedfast faith he beareth her and loue, Kissing her hand whom she could not remoue.

A way that would for frowning nor for threte As though he would haue sayd in my behoue. Pity my lord your slaue that doth remaine, Lest by his death, you giltles slay vs twaine.

Of his ring sent to his ladie.

SInce thou my ring mayst go where I ne may. Since thou mayst speake, where I must hold my peace. Say vnto her that is my liues stay, Grauen within which I do here expresse: That sooner shall the sunne not shine by day, And with the raine the floods shall waxen lesse. Sooner the tree the hunter shall bewray•• Then I for change, or choyce of other loue, Do euer seke my fansy to remoue.

The changeable state of louers.

FOr that a restles hed must somwhat haue in vre Wherwith it may acquainted be, as falcon is with lure. ••ansy doth me awake out of my drowsy slepe, In seing how the litle Mouse, at night begins to crepe. So the desirous man, that longes to catch his pray, In spying how to watch his time, lyeth lurking still by day, In hoping for to haue, and fearing for to finde The salue that should recure his sore, & soroweth but the minde. Such is the guise of loue, and the vncertain state, That some should haue their hoped hap, and other hard estate. That some should seme to ioy in that they neuer had, And some againe shall frown as fast, where causeles they be sad. Such trades do louers vse when they be most at large, That gide the stere when they thēselues lye fettred in the barge. The grenesse of my youth cannot therof expresse The processe, for by proofe vnknowen, all this is but by ges••••. Wherfore I hold it best, in time to hold my peace, But wanton will it cannot hold, or make my pen to cease.

A pen of no auaile, a fruitles labour eke, My troubled hed with fan••ies fraught, doth pain it selfe to seke. And if perhaps my wordes of none auaile do pricke, Such as do feele the hidden harmes, I wold not they shold kicke. As causeles me to blame which thinketh them no harme, Although I seme by ••thers fire, somtime my selfe to warme. Which clerely I deny, as giltles of that crime, And though wrong denide I be therin, truth it will try in time.

A praise of Audley.

VVHen Audley had run out his race, and ended wer his daies His fame stept forth & ••ad me write of him som wortht praise What life he ••ad, what actes he did: his vertues and good name, Wherto I calde for true report as witnes of the same. Wel born he was, wel bēt by kinde, whose minde did neuer sweru•• A skilfull head, a valiant hart, a ready hand to serue. Brought vp & trained in feates of war long time beyond the seas Cald home again to serue his prince, whō still he sought to please What tornay was there he refu••de, what seruice did he shoon, Where he was not nor his aduice, what great exploit was doon? In town a Lambe, in fielde full fierce, a Lion at the nede, In sober wit a Salomon, yet one of Hectors seede. Then shame it were that any tong shold now defame his dedes•• That in his life a mirrour was to all that him succedes. No poore estate nor hie renowne his nature could peruart, No hard mischance that him befell could moue h••s constant hart•• Thus long he liued, loued of all, as one misliekt of none. And where he went who cald him not the gentle Paragon. But course of kinde doth cause eche fruite to fall when it is ripe, And spitefull death will suffer none to scape his greuous gripe. Yet though the ground receiued haue his corps into her wombe, This Epitaphe ygraue in brasse, shall stand vpon his tombe. Lo here he lies that hateth vice, and vertues life unbrast, His name in earth, his sprite aboue, deserues to be well plast.

Time trieth truth.

EChe thing I see hath time, which time must try my truth, Which truth deserues a special trust, on trust gret frēdship gro∣weth. And frendship may not faile where faithfulnesse is sound,

And faithfulnesse is full of fruit, and frutefull thinges be ••ound. And sound is good at proofe, and proofe is prince of praise, And precious praise is such a pearle, as seldome ner decaies. All these thinges time tries forth, which time I must abide, How should I boldly credite craue till time my truth haue tride. For as I found a time to fall in fansies frame, So I do wish a lucky time for to declare the same. If hap may answere hope, and hope may haue his ••ire, Then shall my hart possesse in peace the time that I desir••.

The louer refused of his loue imbraceth death.

MY youthfull yeres are past, My ioyfull dayes are gone; My life it may not last, My graue and I am one. My mirth and ioyes are fled, And I a man in wo: Desirous to be ded, My mischiefe to forgo. I burne and am a colde, I freze amids the fire: I see she doth withold That is my most desire. I see my help at hand, I see my life also: I see where she doth stand That is my deadly fo. I see how she doth see, And yet she will be blinde: I see in helping me, She sekes and will not finde. I see how she doth wry, When I begin to mone: I see when I come nye, How faine she would begone. I see what will ye more She will me gladly kill: And you shall see therfore That she shall haue her will.

I can not liue with stones It is to hard a foode: I will be dead at ones To do my lady good.

The picture of a louer.

BEhold my picture here well portrayed for the nones. With hart consumed and falling flesh, behold the very bones. Whose cruell chance alas and desteny is such, Onely because I put my trust in some folke all to much. For sins the time that I did enter in this pine, I neuer saw the rising sunne but with my weping eyen. Nor yet I neuer heard so swete a voice or ••ound, But that to me it did encrease the dolour of my wound. Nor in so soft a bedde, alas I neuer lay, But that it semed hard to me or euer it was day, Yet in this body bare•• that nought but life retaines, The strength wherof clene past away the care yet still remaine. Like as the cole in flame doth spend it self you se, To vaine and wretched cinder dust till it consumed be. So doth this hope of mine inforce my feruent sute, To make me for to gape in vaine, whilst other eate the frute. And shall do till the death doth geue me such a grace, To rid this silly wofull sprite out of this dolefull case. And then would God wer writ in stone or els in leade, This Epitaphe vpon my graue, to shew why I am dead. Here lyeth the louer lo, who for the loue he aught, Aliue vnto his lady dere, his death therby he caught. And in a shielde of blacke, loe here his armes appeares, With weping eyes as you may see, well poudred all with teares. Loe here you may behold, aloft vpon his brest, A womans hand straining the hart of him that loued her best. Wherfore all you that see this corps for loue that staru••s, Example make vnto you all, that thanklesse louers sarues.

Of the death of Phillips.

BEwaile with me all ye that haue profest, Of musicke tharte by touche of coarde or winde:

Lay down your lutes and let your gitterns rest. Phillips is dead whose like you can not finde. Of musicke much exceeding all the rest, Muses therefore of force now must you wrest, Your pleasant notes into an other sound, The string is broke, the lute is dispossest. The hand is cold, the body in the ground. The lowring lute lamenteth now therfore. Phillips her frende that can her touche no more.

That all thing somtime finde ease of their paine, saue onely the louer.

I See there is no sort, Of thinges that liue in griefe: Which at somtime may not resort, Wheras they haue reliefe. The striken Dere by kinde, Of death that standes in awe: For his recure an herbe can finde, The arrow to withdrawe. The chased Dere hath soile, To coole him in his heat: The Asse after his wery toile, In stable is vp set. The Cony hath his caue, The litle bird his nest: From heate and cold them selues to saue, At all times as they list. The Owle with feble sight. Lyes lurking in the leaues: The Sparrow in the frosty night, May shroude her in the caues. But wo to me alas, In sunne nor yet in shade, I cannot finde a resting place, My burden to vnlade. But day by day still beares, The burden on my backe:

With weping eyen and watry teares. To hold my hope abacke. All thinges I see haue place, Wherein they bow or bende: Saue this alas my wofull case, Which no where findeth ende.

Thassault of Cupide vpon the fort where the louers hart lay woun∣ded and how he was taken.

VVHen Cupide scaled first the fort, wherin my hart lay wounded sore: The battry was of such a sort That I must yelde or dye therfore. There saw I loue vpon the wall, How he his banner did display: Alarme alarme he gan to call, And bad his souldiou••s kepe aray, The armes the which that Cupide bare, were pearced hartes with teares besprent: In siluer and sable to declare The stedfast loue he alwaies ment. There might you see his band all drest, In colours like to white and blacke: With powder and with pellets prest, To bring the sort to spoile and sacke. Good will the master of the shot, Stode in the rampyre braue and proud: For spence of powder he sparde not, Assault assault to cry aloud. There might you heare the cannons rore, Eche pece discharged a louers loke: Which had the power to rent, and tore In any place wheras they toke. And euen with the trumpets sowne, The scaling ladders were vp set: And beauty walked vp and downe with bow in hand and arrowes whet, Then first desire began to scale, And shrowded him vnder his targe,

As on the worthiest of them all, And aptest for to geue the charge. Then pushed souldiers with their pikes And holbarders with handy strokes: The hargabushe in flesh it lightes, And dims the ayre with misty smokes. And as it is the souldiers vse, When shot and powder gins to want: I hanged vp my flagge of truce And pleaded for my liues graunt. When fansy thus had made her breach, And beauty entred with her band: with bag and baggage se••y wretch, I yelded into beauties hand. Then beauty bad to blow retrete, And euery soldiour to retire. And mercy wilde with spede to fet: Me captiue bound as prisoner. Madame (quoth I) sith that this day, Hath serued you at all assaies: I yelde to you without delay, Here of the fortresse all the kaies. And sith that I haue ben the marke, At whom you shot at with your eye: Nedes must you with your handy warke•• Or salue my sore or let me dye,

The aged louer renoun∣ceth loue.

I Lothe that I did loue, In youth that I thought swete: As time requires for my b••houe, Me thinkes they are not mete. My lustes they do me leaue, My fansies a••l be fled: And tract of time begins to weaue, Gray heares vpon my hed. For age with ••teling steps, Hath clawed me with his crowch:

And lusty life away she leapes, As there had bene none such. My muse doth not delight Me as she did before: My hand and pen are not in plight, As they haue bene of yore. For reason me denies, This youthly idle tim••: And day by day to me she cries, Leaue of these toyes in time. The wrinkles in my brow, The furrowes in my face: Say limping age will hedge him now, Where youth must geue him place. The harbinger of death, To me I see him ride: The cough, the cold, the gasping breath, Doth bid me to prouide. A pikeax and a spade, And eke a shrowding shete, A house of clay for to be made, For such a gest most mete. Me thinkes I heare the clarke, That knoles the carefull knell: And bids me leaue my wofull warke, Ere nature me compell. My kepers knit the knot, That youth did laugh to scorne: Of me that clene shalbe forgot, As I had not bene borne. Thus must I youth giue vp, Whose badge I long did weare: To them I yelde the wanton cup That better may it beare. Lo here the bared scull, By whose balde signe I know: That stouping age away shall pull, which youthfull yeres did sow. For beauty with her ••and These croked cares hath wrought: And shipped me into the land, From whence I first was brought.

And ye that bide behinde, Haue ye none other trust: As ye of claye were cast by kinde, So shall ye waste to dust.

Of the ladie went worthes death.

TO liue to dye and dye to liue againe, With good renowne of fame well led before Here lieth she that learned had the lore, Whom if the parfect vertues wolden daine. To be set forth with foile of worldly grace, was noble borne and match in noble race, Lord Wentworthes wife, nor wāted to attaine, In natures giftes her praise among the rest, But that that gaue her praise aboue the best Not fame, her wedlocks chastnes durst distain, Wherein with child deliueryng of her wombe, Thuntimely birth hath brought thē both in tomb So left she life by death to liue againe.

The louer accusing his loue for her vnfaithfulnesse, purposeth to liue in libertie.

THe smoky sighes the bitter teares, That I in vaine haue wasted: The broken slepes, the wo and feares, That long in me haue lasted: The loue and all I owe to thee, Here I renounce and make me free. Which fredome I haue by thy guilt, And not by my deseruing, Since so vnconstantly thou wilt Not loue, but still be swering. To leaue me of which was thine owne, ••ithout cause why as shalbe knowen. The frutes were faire the which did grow,

Within thy garden planted, The leaues were grene of euery bough, And moys••ure nothing wanted, Yet or the blossoms gan fall, The caterpiller wasted all. Thy body was the garden place, And ••ugred wordes it beareth, The blossomes all thy faith it was, which as the canker wereth. The caterpiller is the same, That hath wonne thee and lost thy name. I meane thy louer loued now, By thy pretented folye, which will proue like, thou shalt finde how, Unto a tree of holly: That barke and bery beares alwayes, The one, birdes feedes, the other slayes. And right well mightest thou haue thy wish Of thy loue new acquaynted: For thou art lyke vnto the dishe That Adrianus paynted: Wherin were grapes portraid so faire That fowles for foode did there repaire•• But I am lyke the beaten fowle That from the net escaped, And thou art lyke the rauening owle That all the night hath waked. For none intent but to betray The slepyng fowle before the day. Thus hath thy loue been vnto me As pleasant and commodious, As was the fyre made on the sea By Naulus hate so odious. Therwith to train the grekish host From Troyes return where they wer lost.

The louer for want of his de∣sire, sheweth his death at hand.

AS Cypres tree that rent is by the roote, As branch or slippe bereft frō whēce it growes As wel sowen seede for drought that can not sprout As gaping ground that raineles can not close As moules that want the earth to do them bote As fishe on land to whom no water flowes, As Thameleon that lackes the aier so sote, As flowers do fade when Phebus rarest showes. As Salamandra repulsed from the fire: So wanting my wish I dye for my desire

A happy end excedeth all plea∣sures and riches of the world.

THe shining season here to some, The glory in the worldes sight, Renowmed fame through fortune wonne The glitteryng golde the eyes delight, The sensuall life that semes so swete, The hart with ioyful dayes replete, The thyng wherto eche wight is thrall, The happy ende exceadeth all.

Against an vnstedfast woman.

O Temerous tauntres that delights in toyes Tumbling cockboat totring to and fro, Ianglyng iestres deprauers of swete ioyes, Groud of the graffe whence al my grief doth grow, Sullen serpent enuironned with dispite, That yll for good at all times doest requite.

A praise of Petrarke and of Lau∣ra his ladie.

O Petrarke hed and prince of poets al, Whose liuely gift of flowing eloquence, Wel may we seke, but finde not how or whence So rare a gift with thee did rise and fal, Peace to thy bones, and glory immortall Be to thy name, and to her excellence. whose beauty lighted in thy time and sence: So to be set forth as none other shall. Why hath not our pens, rimes so parfit wrought Ne why our time forth bringeth beauty such To trye our wittes as golde is by the touche, If to the stile the matter aided ought. But ther was neuer Laure more then one, And her had Petrarke for his Paragone.

That petrark cannot be passed but notwithstanding that Lawra is far surpassed

VVIth Petrarke to compare ther may no wight, Nor yet attain vnto so high a stile, But yet I wote full well where is a file. To frame a learned man to praise aright: Of stature meane of semely forme and shap, Eche line of iust proporsion to her height: Her colour fresh and mingled with such sleight: As though the rose sate in the lilies lap. In wit and tong to shew what may be sed, To euery dede she ioynes a parfit grace, If L••wra liude she would her clene deface. For I dare say and lay my life to wed That Momus could not if he downe discended, Once iustly say, Lo this may be amended.

Against a cruel woman.

CRuel vnkinde whom mercy cannot moue, Herbour of vnhappe wher rigours rage doth raigne, Ground of my griefe where pitie cannot proue:

Trikle to trust of all vntruth the traine, Thou rigorous rocke that ruth cannot remoue. Daungerous delph depe dungeon of disdaine: Sacke of selfe will the chest of craft and change, What causeth the thus causels for to change? Ah piteles plante whom plaint cannot prouoke. Den of disceite that right doth still refuse, Causles vnkinde that cariest vnder cloke Cruelty and craft me onely to abuse, Stately and stubberne withstanding Cupides stroke, Thou merueilouse mase that makest men to muse, Solleyn by selfe wil, most stony stiffe and straunge, what causeth thee thus causelesse for to change? Slipper and secrete where surety cannot sowe Net of newelty, neast of newfanglenesse, Spring of al spite, from whence whole fluddes do flow, Thou caue and cage of care and craftinesse Wauering willow that euery blast doth blowe Graffe without groth and cause of carefulnesse, Heape of mishap of all my griefe the graunge, What causeth thee thus causelesse for to chaunge. Hast thou forgote that I was thine infeft, By force of loue haddest thou not hart at all, Sawest thou not other for thy loue were left Knowest thou vnkinde, that nothing mought befall From out of my hart that could haue the bereft. What meanest thou then at ryot thus to raunge, And leauest thine owne that neuer thought to chaunge.

The louer sheweth what he would haue, if it were graunted him to haue what he would wishe.

IF it were so that God would graunt me my request, And that I might of earthly thinges haue that I liked best, I would not wish to clime to princely hye astate, Which slipper is and slides so oft, and hath so fickle fate. Nor yet to conquere realmes with cruel sworde in hande,

And so to shed the giltlesse blonde of such as would withstand. Nor I would not desire in worldly rule to raigne. Whose frute is all vnquietnesse, and breaking of the braine. Nor richesse in excesse of vertue so abhorde, I would not craue which bredeth care and causeth all discorde. But my request should be more worth a thousand folde: That I might haue and her enioye that hath my hart in hold. Oh God what lusty life should we liue then for euer, In pleasant ioy and perfect blisse, to length our liues together. With wordes of frendly chere, and lokes of liuely loue, To vtter all our hotte desires, which neuer should remoue. But grose and gredie wittes which grope but on the ground. To gather muck of worldly goodes which oft do them confounde, Can not attaine to knowe the misteries deuine Of perfite loue wherto hie wittes of knowledge do incline. A nigard of his golde such ioye can neuer haue which gettes w^t toile and kepes with care and is his money slaue, As they enioy alwayes that taste lone in his kinde, For they do holde continually a heauen in their minde. No•• worldly goodes could bring my hart so great an ease•• As for to finde or do the thing that might my ladie please. For by her onely loue my hart should haue al ioye, And with the same put care away, and all that coulde annoy. As if that any thing should chance to make me sadde, The touching of her corall lippes would straightewaies make m•• gladde, And when that in my heart I fele that dyd me greue With one imbracing of her armes she might me sone releue: And as the Angels al which sit in heauen hye With presence and the sight of god haue their felicitie, So likewyse I in earth, should haue all earthly blis, With presence of that Paragon, my god in earth that is.

The lady forsaken of her louer, praieth his returne, or the end of her own life.

TO loue, alas, who would not feare That seeth my wofull state, For he to whom my heart I beare Doth me extremely hate,

And why therfore I cannot tell, He will no lenger with me dwell. Did you not sewe and long me seru•• Ere I you graunted grace? And will you this now from me swarue That neuer did trespace? Alas poore woman then alas, A wery lyfe here must I passe. And shal my faith haue such refuse In dede and shall it so, Is ther no choise for me to chus•• But must I leue you so? Alas pore woman then alas, A werye life hence must I pas. And is there now no remedy But th••t you will forget her? Ther was a time when that perdy You would haue heard her better. But now that time is gone and past, And all your loue is but a blast. And can you thus breake your behest In dede and can you so? Did you not sweare you loued me best, And can you now say no? Remember me poore wight in paine, And for my sake turne once againe. Alas poore Dido now I fele Thy present painful state, When false Eneas did hym stele From thee at Carthage gate. And left thee slepyng in thy bed, Regarding not what he had sed, Was neuer woman thus betrayed, Nor man so false forsworne, His faith and trouth so strongly tyed, Untruth hath all totorne: And I haue leaue for my good will To waile and wepe alone my fyll. But since it will not better be, My teares shal neuer blin: To moist the earth in such degree,

That I may drowne therin: That by my death al men may say. Lo women are as true as they. By me al women may beware, That s••e my wofull smart, To seke true loue let them not spare, Before they set their hart. Or els they may become as I, Which for my truth am lyke to dye.

The louer yelden into his ladies handes, praieth mercie.

IN fredome was my fantasie Abhorryng bondage of the minde, But now I yelde my libertie, And willingly my selfe I binde. Truely to serue with al my hart, whiles life doth last not to reuart. Her beauty bounde me first of all And forst my will for to consent: And I agree to be her thrall, For as she list I am content. My wyll is hers in that •• may, And where she biddes I wyll obey. It lieth in her my wo or welth, She may do that she liketh best, If that she list I haue my helth, If she list not in wo I rest. Sins I am fast within her bandes. My wo and welth lieth in her handes. She can no lesse then pitie me, Sith that my faith to her is knowne, It were to much extremitie, With cruelty to vse her owne. Alas a sinnefull enterprise, To slay that yeldes at her deuice. But I thinke not her hart so harde, Nor that she hath such cruell lust:

I doubt nothing of her reward, For my desert but well I trust, As she hath beauty to allure, So hath she a hart that will recure.

That nature which worketh all thinges for our behoofe, hath made wo∣men also for our comfort and delight.

AMong dame natures workes such perfite law is wrought, That things be ruled by course of kind in order as the•• ought. And serueth in their state, in such iust frame and sort, That slender wits may iudge the same, and make therof report. Behold what secrete force the winde doth easely show, Which guides the ships amid the seas if he his bellowes blow. The waters waxen wilde where blustering blastes do rise, Yet seldome do they passe their bondes for nature that deuise. The fire which boiles the leade, and trieth out the gold: Hath in his power both help and hurt, if he his force vnfold. The frost which kils the fruite, doth knit the brused bones: And is a medecin of kinde, prepared for the nones. The earth in whose entrails the foode of man doth liue, At euery spring and fall of leafe, what pleasure doth she giue? The ayre which life desires, and is to helth so swete, Of nature yeldes such liuely smelles, that comforts euery sprete. The Sunne through natures might, doth draw away the dew, And spredes the flowers wher he is wōt his princely face to shew. The Moone which may be cald, the lanterne of the night, Is halfe a guide to traueling men, such vertue hath her light. The sters not vertuelesse are beauty to the eyes, A lodes man to the Mariner; a signe of calmed skyes. The flowers and fruitfull trees to man do tribute pay, And when they haue their duety done by course they fade away. Eche beast both fishe and foule, doth offer life and all, To nourish man and do him ease, yea serue him at his call. The serpentes venemous, whose vglye shapes we hate, Are soueraigne salues for sondry sores, and nedefull in their state. Sith nature shewes her power, in eche thing thus at large, Why should not man submit himselfe to be in natures charge?

Who thinkes to flee her force, at length becomes her thrall, The wisest cannot slip her snare, for nature gouerns all. Lo, nature gaue vs shape, lo nature fedes our liues: Thē they are worse thē mad I think, against her force that striue•• Though some do vse to say, which can do nought but faine, Women were made for this intent, to put vs men to paine. Yet sure I thinke they are a pleasure to the minde, A ioy which man can neuer want, as nature hath assinde.

when aduersitie is once fallen, it is to late to beware••

TO my mishap alas I finde That happy hap is daungerous: And fortune worketh but her kinde, To make the ioyfull dolorous. But all to late it comes to minde, To waile the want that makes me blinde. Amid my myrth and pleasantnesse, Such chaunce is chaunced sodainly, That in dispayre without redresse, I finde my chiefest remedy. No new kinde of vnhappinesse, Should thus haue left me comfortlesse. Who would haue thought that my request, Should bring me forth such bitter frute: But now is hapt that I feard lest: And all this harme comes by my sute, For when I thought me happiest Euen then hapt all my chiefe vnrest. In better case was neuer none And yet vnwares thus am I trapt, My chiefe desire doth cause me mone, And to my harme my welth is hapt, There is no man but I alone, T••••t hath such cause to sigh and mone. Thus am I taught for to beware And trust no more such pleasant chance, My happy hap bred me this care, And brought my mirth to great mischanc•••• There is no man whom hap will spare, But when she list his welth i•• bare.

Of a louer that made his one∣ly god of his loue.

ALl you that frendship do professe, And of a frende present the place: Geue eare to me that did possesse, As frendly frutes as ye imbrace. And to declare the circumstance, There were them selues that did auaunce: To teach me truely how to take, A faithfull friende for vertues sake. But I as one of litle skill, To know what good might grow therby, Unto my welth I had no will, Nor to my nede I had none e••e, But as the childe doth learne to go, So I in time did learne to know, Of all good frutes the world brought forth. A faithfull frende is thing most worth. Then with all care I sought to finde, One worthy to receiue such trust: One onely that was riche in minde, One secrete, sober, wi••••, and iust•• Whom riches could not ••aise at all•• Nor pouertie procure t•• fall: And to be short in few wordes plaine, One such a frende I did attaine. And when I did enioy this welth, Who liued Lord in such a case, For to my frendes it was great helth, And to my foes a fowle deface, And to my selfe a thing ••o riche As seke the world and finde none such. Thus by this frende•• I set such store. As by my selfe I fet no more. This frende so much was my delight, When care had clene orecome my hart•• One thought of her rid care as quite, As neuer care had causde my smart. Thus ioyed I in my frende so dere, Was neuer ••••••de sate man so nere,

I carde for her so much alone, That other God I carde for none. But as it doth to them befall, That to them selues respect haue none: So my swete graffe is growen to gall, Where I sowed mirth I reaped mone. This ydoll that I honorde so, Is now transformed to my fo•• That me most pleased, me most paines, And in dispaire my hart remaines. And for iust scourge of such desart, Thre plages I may my selfe assure, First of my frende to lose my part, And next my life may not endure, And last of all the more to blame, My soule shall suffer for the same. Wherfore ye frendes I warne you all, Sit fast for feare of ••uch a fall.

Vpon the death of sir An∣tony Denny.

DEath and the king, did as it were contend, Which of them two bare Denny greatest loue. The king to shew his loue gan farre extende, Did him aduaunce his betters farr•• aboue. Nere place, much welth, great honor eke him gaue, To make it known what powre gret princes haue. But when death came with his triumphant gift, From worldly cark he quite his weried ghost, Free from the corps, and straight to heauen it li••t, Now deme that can who did for Denny most. The king gaue welth but fading and vnsure, Death brought him blisse that euer shall endure.

A comparison of the lo∣uers paines.

LYke as the brake within the riders hand, Doth straine the horse nye wood with grief of p••in••,

Not vsed b••fore to co••e in such a bande, Striueth for griefe, although god wot in vain To be as erst he was at libertie. But force of force doth straine the contrary. Euē so since band doth cause my deadly grief, That made me so my wofull chaunce lament, Like thing hath brought me into paine & mis∣chiefe, Saue willingly to it I did assent. To binde the thing in fredome which was free, That now full sore alas repenteth me.

Of a Ros••mary branche sent.

SUch grene to me as you haue sent, Such grene to you I sende againe: •• flowring hart that will not feint, For drede of hope or losse of gaine: A stedfast thought all wholy bent, So that he may your grace obtaine: As you by proofe haue alwayes sene, To liue your owne and alwayes grene.

To his loue of his con∣stant ha••t.

AS I haue bene so will I euer be, Unto my d••ath and lenger if I myght•• Haue I of loue the frendly lokyng eye? Haue, I of fortune fauour or despit••? I am of rock by proofe as you may see: Not ••••ade of waxe nor of no metall light, As leefe to dye, by chaunge as to deceaue, Or breake the promise ••ade. And so I leau••.

Of the token which his loue sent him.

THe golden apple that the Troyan boy, Gaue to Uenus the fayrest of the thre, Which was the cause of all the wrack of Troy, Was not receiued with a greater ioy, Then was the same (my loue) thou sent to me, It healed my sore it made my sorowes free, It gaue me hope it banisht mine annoy: Thy happy hand full oft of me was blist, That can geue such a salue when that thou list.

Manhode auaileth not without good Fortune.

THe Cowerd oft whom deinty viandes fed, That bosted much his ladies eares to please, By helpe of them whom vnder him he led Hath reapt the palme y^e valiance could not cease. The vnexpert y^t shores vnknowen neare sought, whom Neptune yet apaled not with feare: In wandring shippe on trustles seas hath tought The skill to fele that time to long doth leare. The s••ortīg knight that sco••neth Cupides kinde, With fained chere the pained cause to brede: In game vnhides the leden sparkes of minde, And gaines the gole, where glowing flames shold spede, Thus I see proofe y^t trouth & māly hart May not auaile, if fortune chaunce to start.

That constancy of all vertues is most worthy

THough in the waxe a perfect picture made, Doth shew as faire as in the marble stone, Yet do we see it is estemed of none. Because that fier or force the forme doth fade. Wheras the marble holden is ful dere, Since that endures the date of lenger dayes. Of Diamondes it is the greatest praise••

So long to last and alwaies one tappere. Then if we do esteme that thing for best, Which in perfection leng••st time doth last: And that most vaine y^t turnes with euery blast What ••ewel then with t••ng can be exprest? Like to that hart wher loue hath framed such feth, That cā not fade but by y^e force of death.

The vncertaine state of of a louer.

LYke as the rage of raine. Filles riuers with excesse, And as the drought againe, Doth draw t••em lesse and lesse. So I both fall and clyme, With no and yea sometime. As they swell hye and hye, So doth encrease my state, As they fall drye and drye So doth my wealth abate, As yea is mixt with no. So mirth is mixt with wo. As nothing can endure, That liues and lackes reliefe, So nothing can stande sure, Where chaunge doth raign•• as chiefe, Wherefore I must intende, To bowe when others bende. And when they laugh to smile, And when they wepe to waile•• And when they craft, begile, And when they fight, as••aile, And thinke there is no chaunge, Can make them seme to strange•• Oh most vnhappy sla••e, What man may leade this course, To lacke he would faynest haue, Or els to do much worse. These be rewardes for such,

••s liue and loue to much.

The louer in libertie smileth at them in thraldome, that some∣time scorned his bondage.

AT libertie I sit and see, Them that haue erst laught me to scorne: Whypt with the whip that scourged me And now they banne that they were borne. I se•• them sit full soberlye•• And thinke their earnest lokes to hide: Now in them selues they can not spye, That they or this in me haue spide. I s••e them sitting all alone, Markyng the steppes ech worde and loke: And now they treade where I haue gone The painfull pathe that I forsoke. Now I see well I saw no whit. When they saw wel that now are blinde But happy hap hath made me quit, And iust iudgement hath them assinde. I see them wander all alone, And treade full fast in dredfull dout: The selfe same pathe that I haue gone, Blessed be hap that brought me out. At libertie all this I see, And say no word but erst among; Smiling at them that laught at me. Lo such is hap, marke well my song.

A comparison of his loue wyth the faithful and painful loue of Troylus to Creside.

I Read how Troylus serued in Troy, A lady long and many a day, And how he bode so great anoy, For her as all the stories say. That halfe the paine had neuer man, Which had this wofull Troyan than. His youth, his sport, his pleasant chere•• His courtly state and company, In him so straungely altred were, With such a face of contrary. That euery ioy became a wo, This poyson new had turnde him so. And what men thought might most him ease, And most that for his comfort stode, The fame did most his minde displease, And set him most in furious mode. For all his pleasure euer lay, To thinke on her that was away. His chamber was his comon walke, Wherin he kept him secretly, He made his bed the place of talke, To heare his great extremity. In nothing els had he delight. But euen to be a martyr right. And now to call her by her name And straight therwith to sigh and throbbe: And when his fansies might not frame, Then into teares and so to sobbe, All in extreames and thus he lyes, Making two fountaines of his eyes. As agues haue sharpe shiftes of fits Of cold and heat successiuely: So had his head like change of wits: His pacience wrought so diuersly. Now vp, now down, now here, now there, Like one that was he wist not where. And thus though he were Pr••ams sonne And comen of the kinges hye blood, This care he had ere he her wonne. Till she that was his mantresse good, And lothe to see her seruant so, Became Phisicion to his wo••

And toke him to her handes and grace, And said she would her minde apply, To helpe him in his wofull case, If she might be his remedy. And thus they say to ease his smart, She made him owner of her hart. And truth it is except they lye, From that day forth her study went, To shew to loue him faithfully, And his whole minde full to content. So happy a man at last was he, And eke so worthy a woman she. Lo lady then iudge you by this, Mine case and how my case doth fall, For sure betwene my life and his, No difference there is at all. His care was great•• so was his paine, And mine is not the lest of twaine. For what he felt in seruice true For her whom that he loued so, The same •• fele as large for you, To whom I do my seruice owe. There was that time in him no paine, But now the same in me doth raigne. Which if you can compare and way, And how I stand in euery plight, Then this for you I dare well say, Your hart must nedes remorce of right To graunt me grace and so to do, As Creside then did Troylus to. For well I wot you are as good, And euen as faire as euer was she, And commen of as worthy blood, And haue in you as large pitie To tender me your own true man, As she did him her seruant than. Which gift I pray God for my sake, Full sone and shortly you me sende, So shall you make my sorowes slake, So shall you bring my wo to ende. And set me in as happy case, As Troylus with his lady was.

To leade a vertuous and honest life.

FLee frō the prease and dwell with sothfastnes, Suffise to thee thy good though it be small, For horde hath hate, and climing ticklenes, Praise hath enuy, and weall is blinde in all, Fauour no more, then thee behoue shall. Rede well thy selfe that others well canst rede, And trouth shall thee deliuer, it is no drede. Paine thee not eche croked to redresse, In hope of her that turneth as a ball, Great rest standeth in litle businesse, Beware also to spurne against a nall, Striue not as doth a crocke against a wall, Deme first thy selfe, that demest others dede, And truth shall thee deliuer, it is no drede. That thee is sent, receine in buxomnesse, The wrestling of this world asketh a fall: Here is no home, here is but wildernesse. Forth pilgryme forth, forth beast out of thy stall, Looke vp on hye, geue thankes to God of all: weane well thy lust, and honest life ay leade, So trouth shall thee deliuer, it is no dreade.

The wounded louer determineth to make sute to his lady for his recure.

SIns Mars first moued warre or stirred men to strife, Was neuer sene so fearce a fight, I scarce could scape with life. Resist so long I did, till death approched so nye, To saue my selfe, I thought it best, with spede away to flye. In daunger still I fled, by flight I thought to scape From my dere foe, it vailed not, alas it was to late. For Uenus from her campe brought Cupide with his bronde, Who sayd now yelde, or els desire shall chace thee in euery londe. Yet would I not straight yelde, till fansy fiercely stroke, Who frō my will did cut the raines & charged me with this yoke.

Then all the daies and nightes mine eare might heare the sound, What carefull sighes my hart would steale, to feele it self so bound. For though within my brest, thy care I worke (he sayde) Why for good will didst thou behold her persing eye displayd, Alas the fishe is caught, through baite that hides the hooke, Euen so her eye me trained hath, and tangled with her looke. But or that it be long, my hart thou shalt be faine, To stay my life pray her forththrow swete lokes whē I complain. When that she shall deny, to do me that good turne, Then shall she see to asshes gray, by flames my body burne. Deserte of blame to her no wight may yet impute, For feare of nay I neuer sought, the way to frame my sute. Yet hap that what hap shall, delay I may to long, Assay I shall for I heare say, the still man oft hath wrong.

The louer shewing of the continuall paines that abide within his brest, determi∣neth to die because he can∣not haue redresse.

THe dolefull bell that still doth ring, The wofull knell of all my ioyes: The wretched hart doth perce and wring, And fils mine eare with deadly noyes. The hongry Uiper in my brest, That on my hart doth lye and gnaw: Doth dayly brede my new vnrest, And deper sighes doth cause me draw. And though I force both hand and eye, On pleasant matter to attend: My sorowes to deceiue therby, And wretched life for to amend. Yet goeth the mill within my hart, Which grindeth nought but paine and wo: And turneth all my ioy to smart, The euil corne it yeldeth so. Though Uenus smile with yelding eyes, And swete musicke doth play and sing: Yet doth my sprites feele none of these, The clarke doth at mine eare so ring.

As smallest sparckes vncared for, To greatest flames do sonest grow, Euen so did this mine inward sore, Begin in game and end in wo. And now by vse so swift it goeth, That nothing can mine eares so fill: But that the clacke it ouergoeth, And plucketh me backe into the mill. But since the mill will nedes about, The pinne wheron the whele doth go: I will assay to strike it out, And so the mill to ouerthrow.

The power of loue ouer gods them selues.

FOr loue Apollo (his Godhed set aside) Was seruant to the king of Thessaley, Whose daughter was so pleasant in his eye, That both his harpe and sawtrey he defide: And bagpipe solace of the rurall bride, Did puffe and blow•• and on the holtes hy, His cattell kept with that rude melody, And oft eke him that doth the heau••ns gide, Hath loue transsormed to shapes for him to base Transmuted thus somtime a swan is he, Leda taccoy, and eft Europe to please, A milde white bull, vnwrinckled front and face, Suffreth her play till on his back lepeth she, Whō in great care he ferieth through the seas.

The promise of a constant louer.

AS Lawrell leaues that cease not to be grene, From parching sunne, nor yet from winters threte As hardened oke that feareth no sworde so kene, As flint for toole in twaine that will not frete. As fast as rocke, or piller surely set: So fast am I to you, and ay haue bene, Assuredly whom I cannot forget,

For ioy, for paine, for torment nor for tene. For losse, for gaine, for frowning, nor for thret, But euer one, yea both in calme and blast, Your faithfull friende, and will be to my last.

Against him that had slaundered a gentle woman with him selfe.

FAlse may be, and by the powers aboue, Neuer haue he good spede or lucke in loue, That so can lye or spot the worthy fame, Of her for whom thou R. art to blame. For chaste Diane that hunteth still the chace, And all her maides that sue her in the race. With faire bowes bent and arrowes by their side, Can say that thou in this hast falsely lide. For neuer hong the bow vpon the wall, Of Dianes temple, no nor neuer shall. Of broken chaste the sacred vow to spot, Of her whom thou doste charge so large I wot, But if ought be wherof her blame may rise, It is in that she did not well aduise To marke thee right, as now she doth thee know False of thy dede, false of thy talke also. Lurker of kinde like serpent layd to bite, As poyson hid vnder the suger white. What daunger suche? So was the house defilde, Of Collatiue: so was the wife begilde. So smarted she, and by a trayterous force, The Cartage quene so she fordid her corse. So strangled was the Rodopeian maide, Fye traytour fye, to thy shame be it sayd, Thou dunghill Crow that crokest against the rayne, Home to thy hole, brag not with Phebe againe. Carrion for thee, and lothsome be thy voyce, Thy song is fowle, •• w••ary of thy noyce. Thy blacke fethers, which are thy wearing wede, Wet them with teares, and sorow for thy dede. And in darke caues, where yrkesome wormes do crepe, Lurke thou all day, and flye when thou shouldest slepe.

And neuer light where liuing thing hath life, But eat and drinke where stinche and filth is ri••e. For she that is a fowle of fethers bright, Admit she toke some pleasure in thy light. As fowle of state sometimes delight to take, Fowle of mean sort their flight with thē to make. For play of wing•• or solace of their kinde: But not in sort as thou dost breake thy minde. Not for to treade with such foule fowle as thou, No no I sweare, and dare it here ••uow. Thou neuer settest thy foote within her nest, Boast not so broade then to thine owne vnrest. But blushe for shame, for in thy face it standes, And thou canst not vnspot it with thy handes. For all the heauens against thee recorde beare, And all in earth against thee eke will sweare, That thou in this art euen none other man, But as the iudges were to Susan than. Forgers of that wherto their lust them prickt, Bashe, blaser then the truth hath thee conuict. And she a woman of her worthy fame, Unspotted standes, & thou hast caught the shame. And there I pray to God that it may rest, False as thou art, as false as is the best, That so canst wrong the noble kinde of man, In whom all trouth first floorisht and began. And so hath stand, till now thy wretched part, Hath spotted vs, of whose kinde one thou art. That all the shame that euer rose or may, Of shamefull dede on thee may light I say•• And on thy kinde, and thus I wishe thee rather, That all thy seede may like be to their father. Untrue as thou, and forgers as thou art, So as all we be blamelesse of thy par••. And of thy dede. And thus I do thee leaue, Still to be false, and falsely to deceaue.

A praise of maistresse R.

I Heard when faine with thundring voice did sommon to appere, The chiefe of natures children all that kinde hath placed here.

To view what brute by vertue got their liues could iustly crane, And bad thē shew what praise by truth they worthy were to haue. Wherwith I saw how Uenus came and put her selfe in place, And gaue her ladies leaue at large to stand and pleade their case. Ech one was calde by name a row, in that assemble there, That hence are gone or here remaines, in court or other where. A solemne s••••ence was proclaimde, the iudges sa••e and herd, What truth could tell, or craft could fain, & who should be preferd. Then beauty stept before the barre, whose brest and neck was bare With heare trust vp, and on her hed a caule of gold she ware. Thus Cupides thralles began to flock whose hongry eyes did say That she had stayned all the dames, that present were that day. For er she spake, w^t whispring words, the prease was fild through∣out And fansy forced common voyce, therat to giue a shoute. Which cried to fame take forth thy trump, & sound her praise on hy That glads the hart of euery wight that her beholdes with eye. What stirre and rule (quo•• order than) do these rude people make, We hold her best that shall deserue a praise for vertues sake. This sentence was no soner said, but beauty therwith blusht, The noise did cease, the hall was stil and euery thing was whusht. Then finenesse thought by training talke to win that beauty lost, And whet her tonge w••th ioly wordes, and spared for no cost: Yet wantonnesse could not abide, but brake her tale in hast, And peuish pride ••or Pecockes plumes would nedes behiest plast. And therwi••hall came curiousnesse and carped out of frame. The audience laught to heare the strife as they beheld the same. Yet reason sone apesde the brute her reuerence made and doon, She purchased fauour ••or to speake, and thus her tale begoon. Sins bounty shall the garland weare, and crowned be by fame, O happy iudges call for her, for she deserues the same. Where tēperance gouerns beauties flowers & glory is not sought, And shamefast mekenes mastreth pride, & vertu dwels in thought. Bid her come forth and shew her face, or els assent eche one, That true report shall graue her name in gold or marble stone. For all the world to rede at will, what worthines doth rest, In perfect pure vnspotted life, which she hath here possest. Then skill rose vp and sought the prease to finde if that he might, A person of such honest name, that men should praise of right. This one I saw full sadly sit, and shrinke her self aside, Whose sober lokes did shew what giftes her wifely grace did hide. Lo here (quod skill, good people all•• is Lucrece left aliue, And she shall most excepted be, that least for praise did striue.

No lenger fame could hold her peace, but blew a blast so hye, That made an eckow in the aier and sowning through the s••ye. The voice was loude & thus it said come. R. wit•• happy daies, Thy honest life hath wonne the fame & crowned thee with praies. And when I heard my maistres name I thrust amids the throng, And clapt my handes and wisht of god y^t she might prosper long.

Of one vniustly defamed.

I••Ne can close in short and cunning verse, Thy worthy praise of bountie by desart: The hatefull spite and slaunder to reherse. Of them that see but know not what thou art, For kind by craft hath wrought thee so to eye, That no wight may thy wit and vertue spye. But he haue other fele then outward sight, The lacke wherof doth hate and spite to trie Thus kind thy craft is let of vertues light: See how the outward shew the wittes may dull: Not of the wise but as the most entend, Minerua yet might neuer perce their scull, That Circes cup and Cupides brand hath blend. Whose fonde affects now sturred haue their braine, So doth thy hap thy hue with colour staine. Beauty thy soe thy shape doubleth thy sore, To hide thy wit and shew thy vertue vaine, Fell were thy fate, if wisdome were not more•• I meane by thee euen G. by name, Whom stormy windes of enuy and disdaine, Do tosse with boisteous blastes of wicked fame. Where stedfastnesse as chiefe in thee doth raigne. Pa••ience thy setled minde dothe guide and stere•• Silence and shame with many resteth there. Till time thy mother list them forth to call, Happy is he that may enioye them all.

Of the death of the late countisse of Penbroke.

YEt once againe my muse I pardon pray, Thine intermitted song if I repeate: Not in such wise as when loue was my pay, My ioly wo with ioyfull verse to treate. But now (vnthanke to our desert be geuen, Which merite not a heauens gift to kepe) Thou must with me bewaile y^t fate hath reuen, From earth a iewel laied in earth to slepe, A iewel yea a gemme of womanhed, Whose perfect vertues linked as in chaine: So did adorne that humble wiuelyhed, As is not rife to finde the like againe. For wit and learnyng framed to obey, Her husbandes wil that willed her to vse The loue he bare her chiefely as a staye, For al her frendes y^t wold her furtherance chuse Wel sa••d therf••re a heauens gift she was, Because the best are sonest hence bereft: And though her self to heauen henc•• dyd passe, Her spoyle to earth frō whence it came she left. And to vs teares her absence to lament, And eke his chance that was her make by law: Whose losse to lo••e so great an ornament, Let thē esteme which true loues knot can draw••

That eche thing is hurt of it self.

VVHy fearest thou thy outward fo, When thou thy selfe thy harme dost fede, Of grief, or hurt, of paine or wo. With••n eche thing is sowen the sede•• So fine was neuer yet the clo••h, No smith so hard his yron did beate: But thone consumed was with moth, Thother with canker all to freate. The knotty oke and wainscot old, Within doth eate the silly worme: Euen so a minde in enuy ro••d, Alwaies within it self doth burne.

Thus euer•• thing that nature w••ought Within it selfe his hurt doth bea••e: No outward harme nede to be sought, Where enemies be within so neare,

Of the choise of a wife.

THe flickering flame that flieth from eare to eare, And ay her ••trength encreaseth with her flight, Geues first the cause why men to heare delight Of those whom she doth note for beautie bright, And with this fame that fleeth on so fast, Fansy doth hye when reason mak••s no hast. And yet not so content they wishe to see And therby know if fame haue saide aright, More trusting to the trial of their eye, Then to the brute that goes of any weight, Wise in that point that lightly will not leue, Unwrie to se that may them after greue. Who knoweth not how sight may loue allur••, And kindle in the hart a hot desire: The eye to worke ••hat same could not procure, Of greater cause there commeth hotter fire, For ere he we••e himselfe he feleth warme The fame and eye the causers of his harme. Let fame no•• make her knowē whō I shall know•• For yet mine eye therin to be my guyde•• Suffiseth me that vertue in her grow, Whose simple life her fathers walles do hide, Content with this I leaue the rest to go, And in such choise shall stande my welth and wo.

Description of an vngodly worde.

VVHo loues to liue in peace, and marketh euery change, shall here such newes frō time to time, as seme right wōdrou•• strāge ••uch fraud in frendly lokes, such frendship all for game: Such cloked wrath in hatefull har••s, which worldly men retaine. Such fayned flattring faith, amongs both hye and low••

Such great deceit, such subtil wittes, the poore to ouerthrow. Such spite in sugred tonges, such malice f••ll of pride, Such open wrong such great vnt••uth, which cannot go vnspide, Such res••lesse sute for rowmes•• which bringeth men to care: Such sliding downe from s••ippery seates, yet can we not beware, Such barking at ••he good, such bolstering of the ill: Such threatning of the wrath of god, such vice embraced styll. ••uch striuing for the best, such climing to estate: Such great dissembling euery ••here, such loue al mixt with hate•• Such traines to trap the iust, such prolling fautes to pike, Such cruell woordes for speaking trouth, who euer heard the like? Such strife for sturri••g strawes, such discorde daily wrought: Such forged ••ales dul wits to blind, such matters made of nought Such trifles tolde for trouth, such crediting of lies, Such sil••nce kept when fooles do speak, such laughing at the wise, Such plenty made ••o scarce, such crying for redresse: Such fea••ed signes of our decay, which ••ong dares not expresse, Such changes ligh••ly markt, such troubles still apperes, which neuer w••re before this time, no not this thousand yeres. Such bribing ••or the purse, which euer gapes for more. Such hording vp of worldly welth, such keping mucke in store Such folly ••ounde in age, such will in tender youth, Such sōdry ••or••es among great clerkes, & few that speake y^e trueth Such falshed vnder craft, and such vnstedfast waies, was neuer seen within mens harts, as is found now a dayes, The cause and grounde of this, is our vnquiet mynde, which ••hinks to take those goods away, which we must leue behind why do men seke to get which they can not possesse•• Or breake their slepes with careful thoughtes & al for wretchednes Though one amonges a skore, hath welth and case a while, A thousan•• want which toileth sore and trauaile many a myle. And some although they slepe yet welth falles in their lap, Thus some be riche, and some be poore, as fortune geues the hap, wherfore I holde him wis••, which thinkes himself at ease, And is content in simple state both god and man to please. For those that liue like god•• and honoured are to ••ay: within short time th••ir glory failes as flowers do fade away, Uncertaine is th••ir liues on whom this world will frowne: For though th••y sit ••b••ue y^• sta••res, a storme may ••trike thē downe In wealth who fear•••• no f••ll•• may slide from ioy full soone: There is nothing so su••e on earth, but changeth as the moone. what pleasure hath the riche, or case more th••n the poore?

Although he haue a pleasant house, his trouble is the more They bowe and speake him feire, which seke to sucke his blood: And some do wishe his soule in hel, and al to haue his good The coueting of the goodes, doth nought but dull the sprite And some men chaunce to tast the sower, that gropeth for •• the swete The riche is styl enuied by those which eate his bread: With fawning speche and flattering tales his eares are bayly ••ed In fine I see and proue the riche haue many foes. He slepeth best, and careth least, that little hath to lose, As tyme requireth now, who woulde auoyde much strife, Were better liue in poore estate, then leade a princis life. To passe those troublesom times I see but littil choyse, But helpe to wayle with those that wepe, & laugh whē they reioyce For as we se to day, our brother brought in care: To morow may we haue such chaunce to fal with him in snare Of this we may be sure, who thinkes to sit most fast, Shal sonest fal like withered leaues that can not bide a blast, Though that the flood be great, the ebbe as low doth runne When euery man hath playd his part our pagent wylbe donne. Who trustes this wretched world, I, hold him worse then madde Here is not one that ••eareth God, the b••st is all to badde. For those that seme as saintes, are diuels in their dedes Though that the earth bringes furth some flowers it beareth many wedes, I see no pres••ut helpe from mischiefe to preuaile, But flee the seas of worldly care or beare a quiet saile, For who that medleth least, shal saue him selfe from smart Who stirres an oare in euery boate shal play a foolish part

The dispairing louer la∣menteth.

VVAlking the path of pensiue thought, I askt my hart how came this wo: Thine eye (quod he) this care me brought, Thy minde, thy witte, thy wil also Enforceth me to loue her euer This is the cause ioy shal I neuer And as I walke as one dismaide, Thinking that wroug this wo me lent: Right, sent me worde by wrath, which sayd This iust iudgement to thee is sent:

••eu••r to 〈…〉〈…〉 d••••••g ever, ••••ll ••r••••th th•• f••••le, ioy shal•• thou neu•••• ••••••h right ••oth iu••ge this w•• tendur•• Of health of welth of remedy. As I haue done so be she sure, Of faith and truth vntil I dye. And as this paine cloke shal I euer ••o inwardly ioy shal I neuer, Griping of gripes greu•• not so sor•• Nor serpentes styng causeth such smart Nothing on earth may paine me more, Then sight that perst my woful hart Drowned with ••a••es stil to perseue•• Come death betimes ioy shal I neuer, O libertie why dost thou swai••e: And steale away thus all at ones And I in prison like to starue, For lacke of foode do gnaw on bones My hope and trust in thee was euer, Now thou art gon ioy shal I neuer, But styl as one al desperate, To leade my l••fe in misery: Sith fear•• from hope hath locke the gate Where pitie should graunt remedy, Dispaire this lot assignes me euer, To liue in paine, ioy shal I neuer,

The louer praieth his seruice to be accepted, and his de¦faultes pardoned.

PRo••••yn that somtime serued Cephalus With hart as true as any louer might. Yet her betide in louing this vnright That as in hart with loue surprised thus She on a day to see this Cephalus Where he was wont to shroude him in the shade When of his hunting he an ende had made. Within y^e woods with dredful lote forth stalketh

So bussly loue in her hed it walketh. That she to sene him may her not restraine. This Cephalus that heard one shake y^e leaues Uprist all egre thrusting after pray, With darte in hand him list no further daine, To see his loue but slew her in the greaues, That ment to him but perfect loue alway. So curious bene alas the rites all, Of mighty loue that vnnethes may I thinke, In his high seruice how to loke or winke. Thus I complaine that wretchedst am of all, To you my loue, and soueraine lady dere, That may my hart with death or life stere As ye best list. That ye vouchsafe in all Mine humble seruice. And if me misfall, By negligence, or els for lacke of wit. That of your mercy yo•• do pardon it, And t••••nk y^• loue made Procrin shake y^e leues When with vnright she slain was in y^• greues.

Descripcion and praise of his loue.

LYke the Phenix a birde most rare in sight, That nature hath with gold and purple drest: Such she me semes in whom I most delight, If I might speake for enuy at the least. Nature I thinke first wrought her in despite, ••••rose and lilly that sommer bringeth first, In beauty sure, exceding all the rest, ••nder the bent of her browes iustly pight: ••s Diamondes, or Saphires at the least: Her glistring lightes the darknesse of the night. Whose litle mouth and chinne like all the rest. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ruddy lippes excede the corall quite. •••• yuery teeth where none excedes the rest. ••autlesse she is from foote vnto the waste: Her body small and straight as mast vpright, Her armes long in iust proporcion cast, Her handes depaint with veines all blew & white.

What shal I say for that is not in sight? The hidden partes I iudge them by the rest. And if I were the forman of the quest, To geue a verdite of her beauty bright, For geue me Phebus, thou shouldst be dispossest, Which doest vsurpe my ladies place of right. Here will I cease lest enuy cause dispite. But nature when she wrought so faire a wight, In this her worke she surely dyd entende, To frame a thing that God could not amende.

The louer declareth his paines to excede far the paines of hell.

THe soules that lacked grace, Which lye in bitter paine: Are not in such a place, As foolish folke do faine. Tormented all with fire, And boile in leade againe, With serpents full of ire, Stong oft with deadly paine. Then cast in frosen pittes: To freze there certaine howers: And for their painfull fittes, Apointed tormentours. No no it is not so, Their sorow is not such: And yet they haue of wo, I dare say twise as much. Which comes because they lack The sight of the godhed, And be from that kept back Where with are aungels fed This thing know I by loue Through absence crueltie, Which makes me for to proue Hell pain before I dye.

There is no tong can tell My thousand part of care Ther may no fire in hell, With my desire compare. No boyling leade can pas My scalding sighes in hete: Nor snake that euer was, With s••inging can so frete A true and tender hert, As my thoughtes da••ly doe, ••o that I know but smart, And that which longes thereto. O Cupid Uenns son, As thou hast showed thy might. And hast this conquest woon, Now end the same aright. And as I am thy slaue, Contented with all this: So helpe me soone to haue My parfect earthly blisse.

Of the death of sir Thomas w••ate the elder.

LO dead he liues, that whilome liued here, Among the dead that quick go on the groun••. Though he be dead, yet doth he quick apere, By liuely name that death cannot confound His life for ay of fame the trump shall sound. Though he be dead, yet liues he here aliue. Thus can no death from Wiate; life depriue.

That length of time consumeth all thinges.

VVHat harder is then stone•• what more then water soft? Yet with soft water drops•• hard stones be pers••d softe. What geues so strong impulse, That stone ne may withstand•• What geues more weake repulse. Then water p••est with hand:

Yet weke though water be, It holowith hardest flint: By proofe wherof we see, Time geues the greatest dint.

The beginning of the epistle of Pene∣lope to Vlisles, made in∣to verse.

O Lingring make Ulisses dere, thy wife lo sendes to thee, He•• driry plaint write not againe, but come thy selfe to me. Our hatefull scourge that womans foe proud Troy now is fordon We bye it derer, though Priam slaine, and all his kingdome won. O that the raging surges great that lechers bane had wrought, When first with sh••p he forowed seas, and Lacedemon sought, In desert bed my shiuering coarse then shold not haue sought rest, Nor take in griefe the cherefull sunne so slowly fall to west. And whiles I ca••t long rūning nightes, how best I might begile, No dista•••• should my widowish hand haue weary made the while. When dread I not more daungers great then are befall in dede: Loue is a carefull thing God wot, and passing full of drede.

The louer asketh pardon of his passed follie in lo••e.

YOu that in play peruse my plaint, and reade in rime the smart, Which in my youth with sighes full cold I harbourd in my hart Know ye that loue in that fraile age draue me to that distresse, when I was ha••fe an other man, then I am now to gesse. Then for this worke of waue••ing words where I now rage now rew Tost in the toyes of troublous loue, as care or cō••ort grew. I trust with ••ou that loues affair•••• b•• proofe haue put in vre: Not onely pardon in my plaint, but pitie to procure. For now I wot that in the world a wonder haue I be, And where to lōg loue made me blinde, to late shame makes mese. Thus of my fault shame is the fruite, and for my youth thus past, R••pentance is my recompence, and this I learne at last. Looke what the world hath most in price, as sure it is to kepe. As is the dreame which fansie driues, while sence and reason slepe.

The louer sheweth that he was striken by loue on good friday.

IT was the day on which the sunne depriued of his light, To rew Christs death amid his course gaue place vnto y^• night When I amid mine ease did fall to such distemperate fits, That for the face that hath my hart I was bereft my wits. I had the bayte, the hooke and all, and wist not loues pretence, But farde as one that fearde none yll, nor forst for no defence. Thus dwelling in most quiet state, I fell into this plight, And that day gan my secret sighes, when all folke wept in sight. For loue that vewed me voide of care, approcht to take his pray, And stept by stelth from eye to hart, so open lay the way. And straight at eyes brake out in teares, so salt that did declare, By token of their bitter taste that they were forgde of care. Now vaunt thee loue which fleest a maid defenst w^t vertues rare, And wounded hast a wight vnwise, vnweaponed and vnware.

The louer describeth his whole state vnto his loue, and promising her his faith∣full good will: assureth him∣self of hers again.

THe Sunne when he hath spred his raies, And shewde his face ten thousand waies. Ten thousand thinges do then begin, To shew the life that they are in. The heauen shewes liuely art and hue, Of sundry shapes and colours new, And laughes vpon the earth anone. The earth as cold as any stone, Wet in the teares of her own kinde: Gins then to take a ioyfull minde. For well she feeles that out and out, The sunne doth warme her round about. And dries her children tenderly, And shewes them forth full orderly. The mountaines hye and how they stand, The valies and the great maine land. The trees, the herbes, the towers strong, The castels and the riuers long.

And euen for ••oy thus of this heate, She sheweth furth her pleasures great. And s••eepes no more but sendeth sorth Her c••ergions her own dere worth. To mount and flye vp to the ayre, Where then they ••ing in order fayre. And tell in sung ••••il merely, How they haue slept full quietly, That night about their mothers sides. And when they haue song more besides, Then fall they to their mothers breastes, Where els they fede or take their restes. The hunter then soundes out his horne, And rangeth straite through wood and corne. On hilles then shew the Ewe and Lambe, And euery yong one with his dambe. Then louers walke and tell their tale, Both of their blisse and of their bale. And how they serue, and how they do, And how their lady loues them to. Then tune the ••irdes their armonie. Then flocke the foule in companie. Then euery thing doth pleasure f••••de, In that that comfor••es all their kinde. No dreames do drench them of the night, Of foes that would them s••ea or bite. As Houndes to hunt them at the taile, Or men force them through hill and dale. The shepe then dreames not o•• the Woulf, The shipman forces not the goulf. The Lambe thinkes not the butchers knife. Should then bereue him of his life. For when the Sunne doth once run in, Then all their glad••es doth begin. And then their ski••s, and then their play So falles their sadnes the•• away. And thus all thinges haue comforting, In that that doth them comfort bring, Saue I alas, whom nei••her ••unne, Nor ought that God hath wrought and don, May comfort ought, as though I were A thing not made for comfort here.

For beyng absent from your sighte, Which are my ioy and whole delight My comfort and my pleasure to, How can I ioy how should I do? May sick men laugh that rore for paine? Ioy they in song that do complaine? Are martirs in their tormentes glad? Do pleasures please them that are mad? Then how may I in comfort be, That lacke the thing should comfort me. The blind man oft that lackes his sight, Complaines not most the lacke of light. But those that knewe their perfectnes, And then do misse ther blisfulnes. In martirs tunes they syng and waile, The want of that which doth them faile. And hereof comes that in my braines, So many fansies worke my paines For when I wayghe your worthynes, Your wisdome and your gentlnes, Your vertues and your sundry grace, And minde the countenaunce of your face, And how that you are she alone, To whom I must both plaine and mone. whom I do loue and must do still. whom I embrace and ay so wil, To serue and please you as I can, As may a wofull faithful man. And finde my selfe so far you fro. God knowes what torment, and what wo, My rufull hart doth then imbrace. The blood then chaungeth in my face. My synnewes dull, in ••ompes I stand. No life I fele in fo••e nor hand. As pale as any clout and ded, Lo sodenly the blood orespred, And gon againe it uill so bide. And thus from life to death I slide As colde sometymes as any stone, And then againe as hote anone. Thus comes and goes my sundry fits, To geue me sundri sortes of wits.

Till that a sigh becomes my frende, And then to all this wo doth ende. And sure I thinke that sigh doth roon, From me to you where ay you woon. For well I finde it easeth me, And cettes much it pleaseth me, To think that it doth come to you, As would to God it could so do. For then I know you would soone finde, By sent and sauour of the winde. That euen a martirs sigh it is, Whose ioy you are and all his blis. His comfort and his pleasure eke, And euen the same that he doth seke. The same that he doth wishe and craue, The same that he doth trust to haue. To tender you in all he may, And all your likinges to obey, As farre as in his powre shall lye: Till death shall darte him for to dye. But wealeaway mine owne most best, My ioy, my comfort, and my rest. The causer of my wo and smart, And yet the pleaser of my hart. And she that on the earth aboue: Is euen the worthiest for to loue. Heare now my plaint, heare now my wo. Heare now his paine that loues you so. And if your hart do pitie beare, Pitie the cause that you shall heare. A dolefull foe in all this doubt, Who leaues me not but sekes me out, Of wretched forme and lothsome face, While I stand in this wofull case: Comes forth and takes me by the hand, And saies frende harke and vnderstand. I see well by thy port and chere, And by thy lokes and thy manere, And by thy sadnes as thou goest, And by the sighes that thou outthrowes•••• That thou art stuffed full of wo, The cause I thinke I do well know.

A fantaser thou art of some, By whom thy wits are ouercome. But hast thou red old pamphlets ought? Or hast thou known how bokes haue taught That loue doth vse to such as thow, When they do thinke them safe ••now. And certain of their ladies grace: Hast thou not sene oft tunes the case, That sodenly there hap hath turnde, As thinges in flame consumde and burnde? Some by disceite forsaken right. Some likwise changed of fansy light. And some by absence sone forgot. The lottes in loue, why knowest thou not? And tho that she be now thine own: And knowes the well as may be knowne. And thinkes the to be such a one, As she likes best to be her own. Thinkes thou that others haue not grace, To shew and plain their wofull case. And chose her for their lady now, And swere her trouth as well as thow. And what if she do alter minde? Where is the loue that thou wouldest finde? Absence my frende workes wonders oft. Now bringes full low that lay full loft. Now turnes the minde now to and fro, And where art thou if it were so? If basence (quod I) be marueilous, I finde her not so dangerous. For she may not remoue me fro, The ••••ore good will that I do owe To her, whom vnneth I loue and shall. And chosen haue aboue them all, To serue and be her own as far, As any man may offer her. And will her serue, and will her loue, As lowly as it shall behoue. And dye her own if fate be so. Thus shall my hart nay part her fr••. And wilnes shall my good will be, That absence takes her not from me.

But that my loue doth still encrease, To minde her still and neuer cease. Aud what I feele to be in me, The same good will I think hath she, As firme and fast to biden ay, Till death depart vs both away. And as I haue my tale thus told, S••••ps vnto me with countenance bold: A stedfast frende a counsellour, And namde is Hope my comfortour. And stoutly then he speakes and saies: Thou hast sayde trouth withouten nayes. For I assure thee euen by othe, And theron take my hand and trothe. That she is one the worthiest, The truest and the faithfullest. The gentlest and the meekest of minde: That here on earth a man may finde, And if that loue and trouth were gone, In her it might be found alone. For in her minde no thought there is, But how she may be true ••wis. And tenders thee and all thy heale, And wisheth both thy health and weale. And loues thee euen as farforth than, As any woman may a man, And is thine own and so she saies, And cares for thee ten thousand waies. On thee she speakes, on thee she thinkes, With thee she eates, with thee she drinkes. With thee she talkes, with thee she mones, With thee she sighes, with thee she grones. With thee she saies farewell mine own. When thou God knowes full farre art gon. And euen to tell thee all aright, To thee she saies full oft good night. And names thee oft, her owne most dere, Her comfort weale and al her chere. And telles her pelow al the tale, How thou hast doon her wo and bale, And how she longes and plaines for the, And saies why art thou so from me?

Am I not she that loues the best? Do I not wish thine ease and test? Seke I not how I may the please? Why art thou then so from thine ease? If I be she for whom thou carest, For whom in tormentes so thou farest: Alas thou knowest to finde me here, Where I remaine thine owne most dere, Thine own most true thine owne most iust, Thine own that loues the styl and must. Thine own that cares alone for the, As thou I thinke dost care for me. And euen the woman she alone, That is full bent to be thine owne. What wilt thou more? what cāst thou craue? Since she is as thou wouldest her haue. Then set this driuell out of dore, That in thy braines such tales doth poore. Of absence and of chaunges straunge, Send him to those that vse to chaunge. For she is none I the auowe, And well thou maiest beleue me now. When hope hath thus his reason said, Lord how I fele me well apaide. A new blood then orespredes my bones, That al in ioy I stand at ones. My handes I throw to heuen aboue, And humbly thank the god of loue. That of his grace I should bestow, My loue so well as I it owe. And al the planets as they stand, I thanke them to with hart and hand. That their aspectes so frendly were, That I should so my good will bere. To you that are the worthiest, The fairest and the gentillest. And best can say, and best can do, That longes me thinkes a woman to. And therfore are most worthy far, To be beloued as you ar. And so saies hope in all his tale, Wherby he easeth all my bale.

For I beleue and thinke it true, That he doth speake or say of you. And thus contented lo I stand, With that that hope beares me in hand: That I am yours and shall so be, Which hope I kepe full sure in me. As he that all my comfort is, On you alone which are my blis. My pleasure chief which most I finde, And euen the whole ioy of my minde. And shall so be vntill the death, Shall make me yeld vp life and breath. Thus good mine own, lo here my trust. Lo here my truth and seruice iust. Lo in what case for you I stand. Lo how you haue me in your hand. And if you can requite a man, Requite me as you finde me than.

Of the troubled comon welth re∣stored to quiet by the mighty power of god.

THe secret flame that made all Troy so hot, Long did it lurke within the wooden horse. The machine huge Troyans suspected not, The guiles of Grekes, nor of their hidden force: Till in their beds their armed foes them met, And slew them there, and Troy on fire set. Then rose the rore of treason round about, And children could of treason call and cry. Wiues wroūg their hands, y^e hole fired town through out, when y^t they saw their husbands slam them by. And to the Gods and to the skies they shright, Uengeance to take for treason of that night. Then was the name of Simon spred and blowne, And wherunto his filed tale did tend. The secret startes and metinges then were knowne•• Of Troyan traitours tending to this end. And euery man could say as in that case: Treason in Anthenor and Eneas,

But all to long such wisdome was in store, To late came out the name of traytour than, When that their king the aultar lay before Slain there alas, that worthy noble man. Ilium on flame, the matrons crying out, And all the stretes in streames of blood about. But such was fate, or such was simple trust, That king and all should thus to ruine roon, For if our stories certein be and iust: There were that saw such mischief should be doon And warning gaue which compted were in sort, As sad deuines in matter but of sport. Such was the time and so in state it stoode, Troy trembled not so careles were the men. They brake y^e wals, they toke this hors for good, They demed Grekes gone, they thought al surety then. Whē treason start & set the town on fire, And stroied Troians & gaue Grekes their desire. Like to our time, wherin hath broken out, The hidden harme that we suspected least. Wombed within our walles and realme about, As Grekes in Troy were in the Grekish beast. Whose tempest great of harmes and of armes, We thought not on, till it did noyse our harmes. Then felt we well the piller of our welth, How sore it shoke, then saw we euen at hand, Ruin how she rusht to confound our helth, Our realme and vs with force of mighty band. And then we heard how treason loud did rore: Mine is the rule, and raigne I will therefore. Of treason marke the nature and the kinde, A face it beares of all humilitie. Truth is the cloke, and frendship of the minde, And depe it goes, and worketh secretly, Like to a mine that creepes so nye the wall, Till out breakes sulphure, and oreturneth all. But he on hye that secretly beholdes The state of thinges: and times hath in his hand, And pluckes in plages, and them againe vnsoldes. And hath apointed realmes to fall and stand: He in the ••••ost of all this sturre and rout, Gan bend his browes, and moue him self about.

As who should say, and are ye minded so? And thus to those, and whom you know I loue. Am I such one as none of you do know? Or know ye not that I sit here aboue, And in my handes do hold your welth and wo, To raise you now, and now to ouerthrow? Then thinke that I, as I haue set you all, In places where your honours lay and fame: So now my selfe shall giue you eche your fall, Where eche of you shall haue your worthy shame. And in their handes I will your fall shalbe, Whose fall in yours you sought so sore to see. Whose wisdome hye as h•• the same foresaw, So is it wrought, such lo his iustice is. He is the Lord of man and of his law, Praise therfore now his mighty name in this, And make accompt that this our case doth stand: As Israell free, from wicked Pharaos hand.

The louer to his loue•• hauing for∣saken him, and betaken her self to an other.

THe bird that somtime built within my brest, And there as then chief succour did receiue: Hath now els where built her another nest, And of the old hath taken quite her leaue. To you mine oste that harbour mine old guest, Of such a one, as I can now conceiue, Sith that in change her choise dorh chiefe consist, The hauke may c••eck, that now comes fair to first.

The louer sheweth that in dis∣sembling his loue openly he kepeth secret his secret good will.

NOt like a God came Iupiter to woo, When he the faire Europa sought vnto.

An other forme his godly wisdome toke, Such in effect as writeth Ouides boke. As on the earth no liuing wight can tell. That mighty Ioue did loue the quene so well. For had he come in golden garmentes bright, Or so as men mought haue starde on the sight: Spred had it bene both through earth and ayre, That Ioue had loued the lady Europa fayre. And then had some bene angry at the hart, And some againe as ielous for their part. Both which to stop, this gentle god toke minde, To shape him selfe into a brutish kinde. To such a kinde as hid what state he was, And yet did bring him what he sought to passe. To both their ioyes, to both their comfort soon, Though knowen to none, til al the thing was don In which attempt if I the like assay, To you to whom I do my selfe bewray: Let it suffice that I do seke to be, Not counted yours, and yet for to be he.

The louer disceiued by his loue repenteth him of the true loue he bare her.

I That Ulysses yeres haue spent, To finde Penelope: Finde well that folly I haue ment, To seke that was not so. Since Troylous case hath caused me, From Cressed for to go. And to bewa••l•• Ulysses truth, In seas and stormy skies, Of wanton will and raging youth, Which me haue tossed sore: From Scilla to Caribdis cliues, Upon the drowning shore. Where I sought 〈◊〉〈◊〉, there found I hap, From daunger vnto death: Much like the Mouse that treades the trap, In hope to finde her foode,

And bites the bread that stops her breath, So in like case I stoode. Till now repentance hasteth him To further me so fast: That where I sanke, there now I swim, And haue both streame and winde: And lucke as good if it may last, As any man may finde. That where I perished, safe I passe, And finde no perill there: But stedy stone, no ground of glasse, Now am I sure to saue, And not to flete from feare to feare, Such anker hold I haue.

The louer hauing enioyed his loue, humbly thanketh the god of loue: and auowing his hart onely to her faithfully promiseth, vtterly to for∣sake all other.

THou Cupide God of loue, whom Uenus thralles do serue, I yeld thee thankes vpon my knees, as thou dost well deserue. By thee my wished ioyes haue shaken of despaire, And all my storming dayes be past, and weather waxeth faire. By thee I haue receiued a thousand ttmes more ioy, Then euer Paris did possesse, when Helen was in Troy. By thee haue I that hope, for which I longde so sore, And when I th••••ke vpon the same, my hart doth leap therefore. By thee my h••••••y doubtes and trembling feares are fled, And now my wits y^t troubled wer, with plesant thoughts are fed. For dread is banisht cleane, wherein I stoode full oft, And doubt to speake that lay full low, is lifted now aloft. With armes bespred abrode, with opende handes and hart. I haue enioyed the fruite of hope, reward for all my smart. The seale and signe of loue, the key of trouth and trust, The pledge of pure good will haue I, which makes the louers iust Such grace sins I haue found, to one I me betake, The rest of Uenus deelinges all, I vtterly forsake.

And to performe this vow, I bid mine eyes beware, That they no straungers do salute, nor on their beauties stare. My wits I warn ye all from this time forth take hede, That ye no wanton toyes deuise my fansies new to fede. Mine cares by ye shit vp, and heare no womans voyce, That may procure me once to smile, or make my hart reioyce. My fete full slow be ye and lame when ye should moue, To bring my body any where to seke an other loue, Let all the Gods aboue, and wicked sprites below, And euery wight in earth acuse and curse me where I go: If I do false my faith in any point or case, A sodein vengeance fall on me, I aske no better grace. Away then sily rime, present mine earnest faith, Unto my lady where she is, and marke ••hou what she saith. And if she welcome thee, and lay thee in her lap, Spring thou for ioy, thy master hath his most desired hap.

Totus mundus in maligno positus.

COmplaine we may: much is amisse: Hope is nye gone to haue redresse: These daies ben ill, nothing sure is: Kinde hart is wrapt in heauinesse. The sterne is broke: the saile is rent: The ship is geuen to winde and waue: All helpe is gone: the rocke present. That will be lost, what man can saue? Thinges hard, therefore are now refused. Labour in youth is thought but vaine: Duty by (will not) is excused. Remoue the stop the way is plaine. Learning is lewd, and held a foole: Wisdome is sh••nt counted to raile: Reason is banisht out of schoole: The blinde is bold, and wordes preuaile, Power, without care, stepeth at ease: Will, without law, runth where he list: Might without mercy can not please. A wise man saith not, had I wist.

When power lackes care and forceth not: When care is feable and may not: When might is slouthfull and will not: Wedes may grow where good herbes cannot. Take wrong away, law nedeth not: For law to wrong is bridle and paine. Take feare away, law booteth not. To striue gainst streame, it is but vaine. Wyly is witty: brainsicke is wise: Trouth is folly: and might is right: Wordes are reason: and reason is lies: The bad is good: darknesse is light. Wrong to redresse, wisdome dare not. Hardy is happy, and ruleth most. wilfull is witlesse, and careth not, Which end go first, till all be lost. Few right do loue, and wrong refuse. Pleasure is sought in euery state. Liking is lust: there is no chuse. The low geue to the hye checke mate. Order is broke in thinges of weight. Measure and meane who doth not flee? Two thinges preuaile: money, and sleight. To seme is better then to be. The bowle is round, and doth downe slide, Eche one thrusteth: none doth vphold. A fall failes not, where blinde is guide. The stay is gone: who can him hold? Folly and falshed prayeth apace. Trouth vnder bushell is faine to crepe. Flattry is treble, pride singes the bace. The meane the best part scant doth pepe. This firy plage the world infectes. To vertue and trouth it geues no rest: Mens harts are burnde with sundry sectes, And to eche man his way is best. With floods and stormes thus be we tost, Awake good Lord, to thee we crye. Our ship is almost sonk and lost. Thy mercy help our miserye. Mans strength is weake: mans wit is dull: Mans reason is blinde. These thinges tamend,

Thy hand (O Lord) of might is full, Awake betime, and helpe vs send. In thee we trust, and in no wight: Saue vs as chickens vnder the hen. Our crokednesse thou canst make right, Glory to thee for aye. Amen.

The wise trade of lyfe.

DO all your dedes by good aduise, Cast in your minde alwaies the end. Wit bought is of to dere a price. The tried, trust, and take as frend, For frendes I finde there be but two: Of countenance, and of effect. Of thone sort there are inow: But few ben of the tother sect. Beware also the venym swete Of crafty wordes and flattery. For to deceiue they be most mete, That best can play hypocrisy. Let wisdome rule your dede and thought: So shall your workes be wisely wrought.

That few wordes shew wisdome, and work much quiet.

WHo list to lead a quiet life, Who list to rid him self from strife: Geue eare to me, marke what I say, Remember wel, beare it away. Holde backe thy tong at meat and meale, Speake but few wordes, bestrow them well. By wordes the wise thou shalt espye, By wordes a foole sone shalt thou trye. A wise man can his tong make cease, A foole can neuer holde his peace, Who loueth rest of wordes beware. Who loueth wordes, is sure of care.

For wordes oft many haue ben shent: For silence kept none hath repent. Two eares, one tong onely thou hast, Mo thinges to heare then wordes to wast. A foole in no wise can forbeare: He hath two tonges and but one eare. Be sure thou kepe a stedfast braine, Lest that thy wordes put thee to paine. Words wisely set are worth much gold: The price of rashnesse is sone told. If time require wordes to be had, To hold thy peace I count thee mad. Talke onely of nedefull verities: Striue not for trifling fantasies. With sobernesse the truth poult out, Affirme nothing wherin is dout. Who to this lore will take good hede, And spend no mo words then he nede, Though he be a fole and haue no braine, Yet shall h•• a name of wisdome gaine Speake while time is or hold thee still. Words out of time do oft things spyll. Say well and do well are thinges twaine, Twise blest is he in whom both raigne.

The complaint of a hot woer, delayed with doutfull cold answers.

A Kinde of coale is as men say, Which haue assaied the same: That in the fire will wast away, And outward cast no flame. Unto my self may I compare, These coales that so consume: Where nought is sene though men 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••are•• In stede of flame but fume. They say also to make them burne; Cold water must be cast: Or els to ashes will they turne,

And half to sinder, wast. As this is wonder for to se, Cold water warme the fire. So hath your coldnesse caused me, To burne in my desire. And as this water cold of kinde, Can cause both heat and cold, And can these coales both breake and binde, To burne as I haue told. So can your tong of frosen yse, From whence cold answers come: Both coole the fire and fire entice, To burne me all and some. Like to the corne that standes on stake, Which mowen in winter sunne: Full faire without, within is black: Such heat therin doth runne. By force of fire this water cold, Hath bred to burne within, Euen so am I, that heat doth hold, which cold did first begyn. which heat is stint when I do striue, To haue some ease sometime: But flame a fresh I do reuiue, Wherby I cause to clime. In stede of smoke a sighing breath: with sparkes of sprinkled teares. That I should liue this liuyng death, Which wastes and neuer weares.

The answer.

YOur borrowd meane to moue your mone, of fume ••outen flame Being set from smithy smokyng coale: ye seme so by the same. To shew, what such coales vse is taught by such as haue assayd, As I, that most do wish you well, am so right well apayd. That you haue such a lesson learnd, how either to maintaine, Your fredome of vnkindled coale, vpheaped all in vaine: Or how most frutefully to frame, with worthy workmans art, That cunnyng pece may passe there fro, by help of heated hart. Out of the forge wherin the fume of sighes doth mount aloft••

That argues present force of fire to make the metall soft, To yelde vnto the hammer hed, as best the workman likes. That thiron glowy••g after blast in time and temper strikes. Wherin the vse of water is, as you do seme to say, To quenche no flame, ne hinde. heat, ne yet to wast away: But, that which better is for you•• and more deliteth me, To saue you from the sodain waste, vaine cinderlike to be. Which lastyng better li••es in loue, as you your semble ply. Then doth the bauen blase, that flames and fleteth by and by. Sith then you know eche vse, wherin your coale may be applide: Either to lie and last on hoord, in open ayre to bide, wi••houten vse to gather fat by fallyng of the raines, That makes the pitchy iucye to grow, by sokyng in his veines, Or lye on fornace in the forge, as is his vse of right, Wherin the water trough may serue, and enteryeld her might By worke of smithes both hand and hed a cūnyng key to make, Or other pece as cause shall craue and bid him vndertake: Do as you deme most fit to do, and wherupon may grow, Such ioy to you, as I may ioy your ioyfull case to know.

An epitaph made by. w. G. lying on his death bed, to be set vpon his owne tombe.

LO here lieth G. vnder the ground Among the gredy wormes, Which in his life time neuer found But strife and sturdy stormes. And namely through a wicked wife, As to the wor••d apperes: She was the shortnyng of his life By many dayes and yeres. He might haue liued long, god wot: His yer••s, they were but yong: Of wicked w••ues this is the lot, To kill with spitefull tong. Who•• memory shall still remayne In writi••g here with me, That men may know whom she hath slayne, And say this ••ame is she.

An answer.

IF that thy wicked wife had spon the thread, And were the weauer of thy wo: Then art thou double happy to be dead, As happely dispatched so. If rage did causelesse cause thee to complayne, And mad moode mouer of thy mone: If frensy forced on thy testy braine: Then blist is she to liue alone. So, whether were the ground of others grefe, Because so doutfull was the dome: Now death hath brought your payne a right relefe, And blessed be ye both become: She, that she liues no longer bound to beate The rule of such a froward hed: Thou, that thou liuest no lenger faine to feare The restlesse ramp that thou hadst wed, Be thou as glad therfore that thou art gone, As she is glad she doth avide: For so ye be a sonder, all is one: A badder match can not betide.

An epitaph of maister Henry williams.

FRom worldly wo the mede of misbelefe, From ••••use of care that leadeth to lament, From vaine delight the ground of greater grefe, From feare for frendes, from matter to repent, From painefull pangs la••t sorowe that is sent, From dred of death ••ith death doth set vs free: With it the better pleased should we be. This lothsome life where likyng we do finde, Thencreaser of our crimes, doth vs bereue Our blisse that alway ought to be in minde. This wily world whiles here we breath aliue, And flesh our fayned fo, do stifly striue To flatter vs assuryng here the ioy, Where we, alas, do finde but great annoy.

Untolde heapes though we haue of worldly wealth, Though we possesse the sea and frutefull ground, Strength, beauty, knowledge, and vnharmed health, Though at a wish all pleasure do abound. It were but vaine, no frendship can be found, when death assalteth with his dredfull dart. No raunsome can stay the home hastyng hart. And sith thou cut the liues line in twaine, Of Henry, sonne to sir Iohn Williams knight, whose manly hart and prowes none could staine. Whose godly life to vertue was our light, Whose worthy fame shall florish long by right. Though in this life so cruell mightest thou be, His spirite in heauen shall triumph ouer thee.

An other of the same.

STay gentle frend that passest by, And learne the lore that leadeth all: From whence we come with hast to hye, To liue, to dye, and stand to fall. And learne that strength and lusty age, That wealth and want of worldly woe, Can not withstand the mighty rage, Of death our best vnwelcome foe. For hopefull youth had hight me health. My lust to last till time to dye, And fortune found my vertue wealth: But yet for all that here I lye. Learne also this, to ease thy minde: when death on corps hath wrought his spite, A time of triumph shalt thou finde, with me to scorne him in delight. For one day shall we mete againe, Maugre deathes dart in life to dwell. Then will I thanke thee for thy paine, Now marke my wordes and fare thou well.

Against women, either good or bad.

A Man may liue thrise Nestors life, Thrise wander out Ulisses race: Yet neuer finde Ulisses wife. Such change hath chanced in this case. Lesse age will serue than Paris had, Small pein (if none be small inough) To finde good store of Helenes trade. Such sap the rote doth yelde the bough. For one good wife Ulisses slew A worthy knot of gentle blood: For one••yll wife Grece ouerthrew The towne of Troy: Sith bad and good Bring mischief: Lord let be thy will, To kepe me free from either yll.

An answer.

THe vertue of Ulisses wife Doth liue, though she hath ceast her race, And farre surmountes old Nestors life: But now in moe than then it was. Such change is chanced in this case. Ladies now liue in other trade: Farre other Helenes now we see, Than she whom Troyan Paris had. As vertue fedes the roote, so be The sap and rote of bough and tye. Ulisses rage, not his good wife, Spilt gentle blood. Not Helenes face, But Paris eye did raise the strife, That did the Troyan buildyng race. Thus sith ne good, ne bad do yll•• Them all, O Lord maintain my wyll•• To serue with all my force and skill.

Against a gentil woman by whom he was refused.

TO false report and flying fame, whilist my minde gaue credit light,

Beleuyng that her bolstred name Had stuffe to shew that praise did hight. I finde well now I did mistake, Upon report my ground to make. I heard it said such one was she, As rare to finde as parragon, Of lowly chere, of hart so free, As her for bounty could passe none. Such one were fair though forme and face, Were meane to passe in second place, I sought it neare, and thinkyng to finde Report and dede both to agree: But chaunge had tried her suttle minde: Of force I was enforced to see, That she in dede was nothing so: Which made my will my hart forgo. For she is such, as geason none. And what she most may boast to be: I finde her matches mo then one. What nede she so to deale with me? Masteryng face, with scornefull hart, So yll reward for good desert•• I will repent that I haue done, To ende so well the losse is small: I lost her loue, that lesse hath won. To vaunt she had me as her thrall. What though a gillot sent that not••, By cocke and pye I meant it not.

The answere.

WHom fansy forced first to loue. Now frensy forceth for••o hate: whose minde erst madnesse gan to moue•• Inconstance causeth to abate. No minde of meane, dut heat of braine Bred light loue: like heate, ••ate againe What hurld your hart in so great heat•• Fansy forced by fayned same. Belike that she was light to get•• For if that vertue and good name

Moued your minde, why changed your will, Sithe vertue the cause abideth still. Such, Fame reported her to be As rare it were to finde her peere, For vertue and for honestie, For her free hart and lowly cheere. This laud had lied if you had sped, And fame bene false that hath ben spred. Sith she hath so kept her good name. Such praise of life and giftes of grace, As brute self blusheth for to blame, Such fame as fame feares to deface: You sclaunder not but make it plaine, That you blame brute of brutish traine. If you haue found it looking neere, Not as you toke the brute to be. Bylike you ment by lowly cheere, Bountie and hart that you call free, But lewd lightnesse easy to frame, To winne your will against her name. Nay she may deme your deming so, A marke of madnesse in his kinde, Such causeth not good name to go: As your fond folly sought to finde. For brute of kinde bent ill to blase, Alway sayth ill, but forced by cause. The mo there be, such as is she, More should be gods thank for his grace. The more is her ioy it to see. Good should by geason, earne no place, Nor nomber make nought, that is good. Your strange lusting hed wants a hoode. Her dealing greueth you (say ye) Byside your labour lost in vaine. Her dealing was not as we see, Sclaunder the end of your great paine, Ha lewd lieng lips, and hatefull hart, What canst thou desire in such desart. Ye will repent, and right for done. Ye haue a dede deseruing shame. From reasons race farre haue ye ronne. Hold your rayling, kepe your tong tame.

Her loue, ye lye, ye lost it not. Ye neuer lost that ye neuer got. She rest ye not your libertie, She vaunteth not she had your thrall. If ought haue done it, let it lye, On rage that rest you wit and all. What though a varlets tale you tell: By cock and pye you do it well.

The louer dredding to moue his sute for dout of deniall, accuseth all women of disdaine and fickle∣nesse.

TO walke on doutfull ground, where daunger is vnsene, Doth double men that carelesse be in depe dispaire I wene. For as the blinde doth feare, what footing he shall finde: So doth the wise before he speake, mistrust the straungers minde. For he that blontly runnes, may light among the breers, And so be put vnto his plunge where danger least apperes: The bird that selly foole, doth warne vs to beware, Who lighteth not on euery bush, he dreadeth so the snare. The Mouse that shons the trap, doth shew what harme doth lye: Within the swete betraying bait, that oft disceiues the eye. The fish auoydes the hooke, though hunger bids him bite, And houereth still about the worme, whereon is his delite. If birdes and beastes can see, where their vndoing lies: How should a mischief scape our heades, y^t haue both wit & eyes? What madnesse may be more, then plow the barreyn fielde•• Or any frutefull wordes to sow, to eares that are vnwild. They heare and than mislike, they like and then they lothe, They hate, thei loue, thei scorn, thei praise, yea sure thei cā do both We see what falles they haue, that clime on trees vnknowne: As they that trust to rotten bowes, must nedes be ouerthrowne. A smart in silence kept, doth ease the hart much more, Than for to playn where is no salue, for to recure the sore. Wherfore my grief I hide, within a holow hart: Untill the smoke thereof be spred, by flaming of the smart.

An answere

TO trust the fayned face, to rue on forced teares, To credit finely forged tales, wherin there oft appeares And breathes as from the brest a smoke of kindled smart, Where onely lurkes a depe deceit within the hollow hart, Betrayes the simple soule, whom plaine deceitlesse minde Taught not to feare that in it selfe, it selfe did neuer finde. Not euery trickling teare doth argue inward paine: Not euery sigh doth surely shew the sigher not to faine: Not euery smoke doth proue a presence of the fire: Not euery glistring geues the gold, that gredy folke desire: Not euery wayling word is drawen out of the depe: Not grief for want of graunted grace enforceth all to wepe. Oft malice makes the minde to shed the boyled brine: And enuies humor oft vnlades by conduites of the eyen. Oft craft can cause the man to make a seming show, Of hart with dolour all distreined, where grief did neuer grow. As cursed Crocodile most cruelly can tole, With truthlesse teares, vnto his death, the silly pitying soule. Blame neuer those therfore, that wisely can beware The guilefull man, that sutly sayth himselfe to dread the snare. Blame not the stopped eares against the Syrenes song: Blame not the minde not moued w^t mone of falsheds flowing tōg. If guile do guide your wit by silence so to speake, By craft to craue and faine by fraude the cause y^t you wold break. Great harme your suttle soule shall suffer for the same: And mighty loue will wreke the wrong, so cloked with his name. But we, whom you haue warnde, this lesson learne by you: To know the tree before we clime, to trust no rotten bowe, To view the limed bushe, to looke afore we light, To shunne the perilous bayted hooke, and vse a further sight. As do the mouse, the birde, the fish, by samply fitly show. That wily wits and ginnes of men do worke the simples wo: So, simple sithe we are, and you so suttle be, God help the Mouse, the birde, the fish, & vs your sleightes to ••••e.

The louer complaineth his fault, that with vngentle writing had dis∣pleased his lady.

AH loue how waiward is his wit what pāges do perce his brest Whom thou to wait vpon thy will hast reued of his rest. The light, the darke, the sunne, the mone, the day & eke the night, His dayly dieng life, him self, he hateth in despight, Sith furst he light to looke on her that holdeth him in thrall, His mouing eyen his moued wit he curseth hart and all, From hungry hope to pining feare eche hap doth hurle his hart, From panges of plaint to fits of fume from aking into smart. Eche moment so doth change his ch••re not with recourse of ease, But with sere sortes of sorrowes still he worketh as the seas. That turning windes not calme returnde rule in vnruly wise, As if their holdes of hilles vphurld they brasten out to rise. And puffe away the power that is vnto their king assignde To pay that sithe their prisonment they deme to be behinde. So doth the passions long represt within the wofull wight, Breake downe the banks of all his wits & out they gushen quite. To rere vp rores now they be free from reasons rule and stay, And h••dlong hales thunruled race his quiet quite away. No measure hath he of his ruth, no reason in his rage, No bottom groūd where stayes his grief, thus weares away his age In wishing wants, in wayling woes. Death doth he dayly call, To bring release when of relief he seeth no hope at all. Thence comes that oft in depe despeire to rise to better state. On heauen and heauenly lampes he layeth the faute of al his fate. On God and Gods decreed dome cryeth out with cursing breath, Eche thing that gaue and saues him life he damneth of his death. The wōbe him bare, y^e brests he suckt, ech star y^t with their might. Their secret succour brought to bring the wretch to worldly light Yea that to his soules perile is most haynous harme of all, And craues the cruellest reuenge that may to man befall: Her he blasphemes in whom it lieth in present as she please, To dampne him downe to depth of hell, or plant in heauens case. Such rage constrainde my strained hart to guide thunhappy hand That sent vnsitting blots to her on whom my life doth stand. But graunt O God that he for them may beare the worthy blame Whom I do in my depe distresse finde guilty of the same, Euen that blinde boy that blindly guides the fautles to their fall, That laughes when they lament that he hath throwen into thral. Or Lord, saue louring lookes of her, what penance els thou please So her contented will be wonne I count it all mine ease. And thou on whō doth hang my will, with hart, with soul & care, With life and all that life may haue of well or euell fare:

Graunt grace to him that grates therfore with sea of saltish brine By extreme heat of boylyng brest distilled through his eyen. And with thy fancy render thou my self to me againe, That dayly then we duely may employ a painelesse paine. To yelde and take the ioyfull frutes that ••erty loue doth lend•• To them that meane by honest meanes to come to happy end.

The louer wounded of Cupide, wisheth he had rather ben st••••ken by death.

THe blinded boy that bendes the bow. To make with dint of double wound: The stowtest state to stoupe and know: The cruell craft that I haue found. With death I would had chopt a change, To ••orow as by bargain made: Ech others shaft when he did range, With restlesse rouyng to inuade. Thunthralled mindes of simple wightes, Whose giltlesse ghostes deserued not: To fele such fall of their delightes, Such panges as I haue past God wot. Then both in new vnwonted wise, Should death deserue a better name, Not (as tofore hath bene his guise) Of crueltie to beare the blame. But contrary be counted kinde, In lendyng life and sparyng space: For sicke to rise and seke to finde, A way to wish their weary race To draw to some desired end, Their long and lothed life to rid. And so to fele how like a frend, Before the bargain made he did. And loue should either bring againe, To wounded wightes their owne desire: A welcome end of pinyng payne, As doth their cause of ruthe require:

Or when he meanes the quiet man, A harme to hasten him to grefe: A better dede he should do then, With borrowd dart to geue relefe. That both the sicke well demen may, He brought me rightly my request: And eke the other sort may say, He wrought me truely for the best. So had not fancy forced me, To beare a brun•• of greater wo: Then leauing such a life may be, The ground where onely grefes do grow. Unlucky likyng linkt my hart, In forged hope and forced feare: That oft I wisht the other dart, Had rather perced me as neare. A fayned trust, constrayned care, Most loth to lack, most hard to finde: In sunder so my iudgement tare, That quite was quiet out of minde. Absent in absence of mine ease, Present in presence of my paine: The woes of want did much displease, The sighes I sought did greue againe. Oft grefe that boyled in my brest, Hath fraught my face with saltish teares•• Pronouncyng proues of mine vnrest, Whereby my passed paine appeares. My sighes full often haue supplied, That faine with wordes I wold haue said: My voice was stopt my tong was tyed, My wits with wo were ouerwayd. With tremblyng soule and humble chere•• Oft grated I for graunt of grace: On hope that bounty might be there, Where beauty had so pight her place. At length I found, that I did fere, How I had labourde all to losse, My self had ben the carpenter, That framed me the cruell crosse. Of this to come if dout alone, Though bl••nt with trust of better spede:

So oft hath moued my minde to mone, So oft hath made my hart to blede. What shall I say of it in dede, Now hope is gone mine olde relefe: And I enforced all to fede, Upon the frutes of bitter grefe?

Of womens changeable will.

I Wold I found not as I fele, Such changyng chere of womens will, By fickle flight of fortunes whele, By kinde or custome, neuer still. So shold I finde no fault to lay, On fortune for their mouyng minde, So should I know no cause to say This change to chance by course of kinde. So should not loue so work my wo, To make death surgeant for my sore, So should their wittes not wander so, So should I reck the lesse therfore.

The louer complayneth the losse of his ladye.

NO ioy haue I, but liue in heauinesse, My dame of price bereft by fortunes cruelnesse, My hap is turned to vnhappinesse, Unhappy I am vnlesse I finde relesse. My pastime past, my youthlike yeres are gone, My mouthes of mirth, my glistring daies of gladsomnesse: My times of triumph turned into mone. Unhappy I am vnlesse I finde relesse. My wonted winde to chaunt my cherefull chaunce, Doth sigh that song somtime the balades of my lesse: My sobbes, my sore and sorow do aduaunce. Unhappy I am vnlesse I finde relesse. I mourne my mirth for grefe that it is gone, I mourne my mirth wherof my musing mindefulnesse:

Is ground of greater grefe that growes theron, Unhappy I am vnlesse I finde relesse. No ioy haue I: for fortune frowardly: Hath bent her browes hath put her hand to cruelnesse: Hath rest my dame, constrayned me to crye, Unhappy I am vnlesse I finde relesse.

Of the golden meane.

THe wisest way, thy bote, in waue and winde to guie, Is neither still the trade of middle streame to trie: Ne (warely shunnyng wrecke by wether) aye to me, To presse vpon the perillous shore, Both clenely flees he silthe: ne wonnes a wretched wight. In carlish coate: and carefull court a••e thrall to spite, With port of proud astate he leues: who doth delight, Of golden meane to hold the lore. Stormes rifest rende the sturdy stout pineapple t••e. Of lofty ruing towers the fals the feller be. Most fers doth lightenyng light, where furthest we do se. The hilles the valey to forsake. well furnisht brest to bide eche chanses changing chear, In woe hath chearfull hope, in weal hath warefull fear, One self Ioue winter makes with lothfull lokes appear, That can by course the same as••ake. What if into mishap thy case now casten be? It forceth not such forme of luck to last to thee. Not alway bent is Phebus bow: his harpe and he, Ceast siluer sound sometime doth raise. In hardest hap vse helpe of hardy hopefull hart. Seme bold to beare the brunt of fortune ouerthwart. Eke wisely when forewinde to full breathes on thy part, Swage swellyng saile, and doubt decayes.

The praise of a true frende.

WHo so that wisely weyes the profite and the price, Of thinges wherin delight by worth is wont to rise.

Shall finde no iewell is so rich ne yet so rare, That with the frendly hart in value may compare. What other wealth to man by fortune may befall, But fortunes changed chere may reue a man of all. A frend no wracke of wealth, no cruell cause of wo, Can force his frendly faith vnfrendly to forgo. If fortune frendly fawne, and lend thee welthy store, Thy frendes conioyned ioy doth make thy ioy the more. If frowardly she frown and driue thee to distresse, His ayde releues thy ruthe, and makes thy sorow lesse. Thus fortunes pleasant frutes by frendes encreased be, The bitter sharp and sowre by frendes alayde to thee. That when thou doest reioyce, then doubled is thy ioy, And eke in cause of care, the lesse is thy anoy. Aloft if thou do liue, as one appointed here, A stately part on stage of worldly state to bere: Thy frende as only free from fraud will thee aduise, To rest within the rule of mean as do the wise. He seeketh to foresee the peril of thy fall. He findeth out thy faultes and warnes thee of them all. Thee, not thy luck he loues, what euer be thy case, He is thy faithfull frend and thee he doth embrace. If churlish cheare of chance haue thrown thee into thrall, And that thy nede aske ayde for to releue thy fall: In him thou secret trust assured art to haue, And succour not to seke, before that thou can craue. Thus is thy frende to thee the comfort of thy paine, The stayer of thy state, the doubler of thy gaine. In wealth and wo thy frend, an other self to thee, Such man to man a God, the prouerb sayth to be. As welth will bring thee frendes in louring wo to proue, So wo shall yeld thee frendes in laughing wealth to loue. With wisedome chuse thy frend, with vertue him retaine: Let vertue be the ground, so shall it not be vaine.

The louer lamenteth other to haue the frutes of his seruice.

SOme men would think of right to haue, For their true meaning some reward,

But while that I do cry and craue: I see that other be preferd, I gape for that I am debard. I fare as doth the hound at hatch: The worse I spede; the lenger I watch. My wastefull will is tried by trust: My fond fansie is mine abuse. For that I would refraine my lust: For mine auaile I cannot chuse, A will, and yet no power to vse. A will, no will by reason iust, Sins my will is at others lust. They eate the hony, I hold the hyue. I sow the sede, they reape the corne. I waste, they winne, I draw they driue. Theirs is the thanke, mine is the scorne. I seke, they spede, in waste my winde is worne, I gape, they get, and gredely I snatch: Till wurse I spede, the lenger I watch. I fast, they fede: they drink, I thurst. They laugh, I wayle: they ioy, I mourne. They gayne, I lose: I haue the wurst. They whole, I sicke: they cold, I burne. They leape, I lye: they slepe, I tosse and turne. I would, they may: I craue, they haue at will. That helpeth them, lo, cruelty doth me kill.

Of the sutteltie of crafty louers.

SUch waiward waies haue some whē folly stirres their braines To fain & plain full oft of loue, when lest they fele his paines. And for to shew a griefe such craft haue they in store, That they can halt and lay a salue wheras they fele no sore. As hound vnto the foote, or dog vnto the bow, So are they made to vent her out, whom bent to loue they know. That if I should discribe one hundred of their driftes, Two hūdred wits beside mine owne I should put to their shiftes No woodman better knowes how for to lodge his dere, Nor shipman on the sea that more hath skill to guide the stere. Nor beaten dogge to herd can warer chose his game.

Nor scholeman to his fansie can a scholer better frame. Then one of these which haue old Ouids arte in vre, Can seke the wayes vnto their minde a woman to allure. As round about a hyue the Bees do swarme alway, So roūd about the house they prease wherin they seke their pray. And whom they so besege, it is a wonderous thing, What crafty engins to assault these wily warriers bring. The eye as scout and watch to stirre both to and fro, Doth serue to stale her he••e & there where she doth come and go. The tong doth pleade for right as herauld of the hart: And both the handes as oratours do serue to point their part. So shewes the countenance then with these fowre to agree, As though in witnes with the rest, it would hers sworne be. But if she then mistrust it would turne blacke to white, For that the woorrier lokes most smoth whē he wold fainest bite. Then wit as counsellour a helpe for this to finde: Straight makes the hand as secretair forthw^t to write his minde. And so the letters straight embassadours are made, To treate in haste for to procure her to a better trade. Wherin if she do thinke all this is but a shewe, Or but a subtile masking cloke to hide a crafty shrewe: Then come they to the larme, then shew they in the fielde, Then muster they in colours strange, that waies to make her yeld Then shoote they batry of, then compasse they her in, At tilt and turney oft they striue this selly soule to win. Then sound they on their lutes, then strain they forth their song. Then romble they with instrumentes to lay her quite a long. Then borde they her with giftes, then do they woo and watch. Then night and day they labour hard this simple hold to catch, As pathes within a wood, or turnes with in a mase: So then they shew of wiles & craftes they can a thousand wayes••

Of the vanitie of mans lyfe.

VAine is the fleting welth, Whereon the world stayes: Sithe stalking time by priuy stelth, Encrocheth on our dayes. And elde which creepeth fast, To taynt•• vs with her wounde:

Will turne eche blysse vnto a blast, Which lasteth but a stounde. Of youth the lusty floure, Which whylome stoode in price: Shall vanish quite within an houre, As fire consumes the ice. Where is become that wight, For whose sake Troy towne: Withstode the grekes till ten yeres fight, Had rasde their walles adowne. Did not the wormes consume, Her caryon to the dust? Did dreadfull death forbeare his fume For beauty, pride, or lust?

The louer not regarded in ear∣nest sute, being become wi∣ser, refuseth her profred loue.

DO way your phisske I faint no more, The salue you sent it comes to late: You wist well all my grief before, And what I suffred for your sake. Hole is my hart I plaine no more, A new the cure did vndertake: Wherfore do way you come to late. For whiles you knew I was your own, So long in vaine you made me gape, And though my fayth it were well knowne, Yet small regard thou toke therat, But now the blast is ouerblowne. Of vaine phisicke a salue you shape, Wherfore do way you come to late. How long or this haue I bene faine, To gape for mercy at your gate, Untill the time I sp••de it plaine, That pitie and you fell at debate. For my redresse then was I faine: Your seruice cleane for to forsake.

Wherfore do way you come to late. For when I brent in endlesse fire, Who ruled then but cruell hate? So that vnneth I durst desire One looke, my feruent heate to slake. Therfore another doth me hyre, And all the profer that you make, Is made in vayne and comes to late. For when I asked recompence, With cost you nought to graunt God wat: Then said disdaine to great expence, It were for you to graunt me that. Therfore do way your rere pretence, That you would binde that derst you brake, For lo your salue comes all to late.

The complaint of a woman rauished, and also mor∣tally wounded.

A Cruell Tiger all with teeth bebled, A bloody tirantes hand in eche degre, A lecher that by wretched lust was led, (Alas) deflowred my virginitee. And not contented with this villanie, Nor with thoutragious terrour of the dede, With bloody thirst of greater crueltie: Fearing his haynous gilt should be bewrayed, By crying death and vengeance openly, His violent hand forthwith alas he layed Upon my guilt••es sely childe and me, And like the wretch whom no horrour dismayde, Drownde in the sinke of depe iniquitie: Misusing me the mother for a time, Hath slaine vs both for cloking of his crime.

The louer being made thrall by loue, perceiueth how great a losse is libertye.

AH libertie now haue I learnd to know, By lacking thee what Iewell I possest, When I receiued first from Cupids bow The deadly wound that festreth in my brest. So farre (alas) forth strayed were mine eyes, That I ne might refraine them backe, for lo: They in a moment all earthly thinges despise, In heauenly sight now are they fixed so. What then for me but still with mazed sight, To wonder at that excellence diuine: Where loue (my freedome hauing in despight) Hath made me thrall through errour of mine eyen. For other guerdon hope I not to haue, My foltring toonge so basheth ought to craue.

The diuers and contrarie passi∣ons of the louer.

HOlding my peace alas how loud I crye, Pressed with hope and dread euen both at ones, Strayned with death, and yet I cannot dye. Burning in flame, quaking for cold that grones, Unto my hope withouten winges I flye. Pressed with dispayre, that breaketh all my bones. Walking as if I were, and yet am not. Fayning with mirth, most inwardly with mones. Hard by my helpe, vnto my health not nye. Mids of the calme my ship on rocke it rones. I serue vnbound, fast fettred yet I lye. In stede of milke that fede on marble stones, My most will is that I do espye: That workes my ioyes and sorowes both at ones. In contrairs standeth all my losse and gaine: And lo the giltlesse causeth all my paine.

The testament of the haw∣thorne.

I Sely Haw whose hope is past, In faithfull true and fixed minde:

To her whom that I serued last, Haue all my ioyefulnes resignde, Because I know assuredly, My dying day aprocheth nye. Dispaired hart the carefull nest, Of all the sighes I kept in store: Conuey my carefull corps to rest, That leaues his ioy for euermore. And when the day of hope is past, Geue vp thy sprite and sigh the last. But or that we depart in twaine, Tell her I loued with all my might: That though the corps in clay remaine, Consumed to asshes pale and white. And though the vitall powres do ceasse, The sprite shall loue her natrelesse. And pray my liues lady dere, During this litle time and space, That I haue to abiden here, Not to withdraw her wonted grace, In recompensing of the paine, That I shall haue to part in twaine. And that at least she will withsaue, To graunt my iust and last request: When that she shall behold his graue, That lyeth of lyfe here dispossest, In record that I once was hers, To bathe the frosen stone with teares•• The seruice tree here do I make, For mine executour and my frende: That liuing did not me forsake, Nor will I trust vnto my ende, To see my body well conueyde, In ground where that it shalbe layde•• Tombed vnderneth a goodly Oke, With Iuy grene that fast is bound: There this my graue I haue besp••ke, For there my ladies name do sou••d: Beset euen as my te••tament tels: With oken leaues and nothing els, Grauen wheron sha••be exprest, Here lyeth the body in this place,

Of him that liuing neuer cest To serue the fayrest that euer was, The corps is here, the hart he gaue To her for whom he lieth in graue. And also set about my hersse, Two lampes to burne and not to queint, Which shalbe token, and rehersse That my good will was neuer spent. When that my corps was layd alow, My spirit did sweare to serue no mo. And if you want of ringing bels, When that my corps goth into graue: Repete her name and nothing els, To whom that I was bonden slaue. When that my life it shall vnframe, My sprite shall ioy to heare her name. With dolefull note and piteous sound, Wherwith my hart did cleaue in twaine: With such a song lay me in ground, My sprite let it with her remayne, That had the body to commend: Till death therof did make an end. And euen with my last bequest, When I shall from this life depart: I geue to her I loued best, My iust my true and faithfull hart, Signed with the hand as cold as stone: Of him that liuing was her owne. And if he here might liue agayne, As Phenix made by death anew: Of this she may assure her plaine, That he will still be iust and trew. Thus farewell she on liue my owne. And send her ioy when I am gone.

The louer in dispeire lamen∣teth his case.

A Dieu desert, how art thou spent? Ah dropping teares how do ye washe? Ah scalding ••ighes, how be ye spent?

To pricke them forth that will not hast, Ah payned hart thou gapst for grace, Euen there where pitie hath no place. As easy it is the stony rocke, From place to place for to remoue, As by thy plaint for to prouoke: A f••osen hart from hate to loue, What should I say such is thy lot, To fawne on them that force the not. Thus maist thou safely say and sweare, That rigour raighneth and ruth doth faile, In thanklesse thoughts thy thoughts do we•••• Thy truth, thy faith, may nought auaile, For thy good will why should thou so, Still graft where grace it will not grow. Alas pore hart thus hast thou spent, Thy flowryng time, thy pleasant yeres. With sighing voyce wepe and lament: For of thy hope no frute apperes, Thy true meanyng is paide with scorne, That euer soweth and repeth no corne. And where thou sekes a quiet port, Thou dost but weigh agaynst the winde, For where thou gladdest woldst resort, There is no place for thee assinde. Thy desteny hath set it so That thy true hart should cause thy wo.

Of his maistresse. m. B••

IN Bayes I boast whose braunch I beare, Such ioy therin I finde: That to the death I shall it weare, To ease my carefull minde. In heat, in cold, both night and day, Her vertue may be sene: When other frutes and flowers decay•• The bay yet growes full grene. Her berries fede the birdes full oft, Her leues swete water make:

Her bowes be set in euery loft, For their swete sauours sake. The birdes do shrowd them from the cold, In her we dayly see: And men make arbers as they wold, Under the pleasant tree. It doth me good when I repayre, There as these bayes do grow: Where oft I walke to take the ayre, It doth delight me so•• But loe I stand as I w••re dome, Her beauty fo: to blase: Wherw••th my spr••tes be ouercome, So long theron I gase. At last I turne vnto my walk, In passing to and fro: And to my self I smile and talk, And then away I go. Why smilest thou say lokers on, what pleasure hast thou found? With that I am as cold as stone, And ready for to swound. Fie fie for shame sayth fansy than, Pluck vp thy faynted hart: And speke thou boldly like a man, Shrinke not for little smart. Wherat I blushe and change my chere, My senses ware so w••ake: O god think I what make I here, That neuer a word may speake. I dare not sigh lest I be heard, My lokes I slyly cast: And still I stand as one were scarde, Untill my stormes be past. Then happy hap doth me reuiue, The blood comes to my face: A merier man is not aliue, Then I am in that case. Thus after sorow seke I rest, When fled is fansies fit. And though I be a homely gest, Before the bayes I sit••

Where I do watch till leaues do fall, When winde the tree doth shake: Then though my branch be very small, My leafe away I take. And then I go and clap my hands, My hart doth leape for ioy. These bayes do ease me from my bands, That long did me annoy: For when I do behold the same, Which makes so faire a show: I finde therin my maistresse name, And se her vertues grow.

The louer complaineth his harty loue not requited.

WHen Phebus had the serpent slaine, He claymed Cupides boe: which strife did turne him to great paine, The story well doth proue. For Cupide made him fele much woe, In sekyng Dephnes loue. This Cupide hath a shaft of kinde, Which wounded many a wight: Whose golden hed had power to binde, Ech hart in Uenus bandes. This arrow did on Phebus light, Which came from Cupides handes. An other shast was wrought in spite•• Which headed was with lead: Whose nature quenched swete delight, That louers most embrace. In Dephnes brest this cruell head, Had found a dwellyng place. But Phebus fonde of his desire, Sought after Dephnes so: He bu••nt with heat, she felt no fire, Full fast she fled him fro. He gate but hate for his good will, The gods assigned so.

My case with Phebus may compare, His hap and mine are one, I cry to her that knowes no eare, Yet seke I to her most: When I approche then is she gone, Thus is my labour lost. Now blame not me but blame the shaft, That hath the golden head, And blame those gods that with their craft Such arrowes forge by kinde. And blame the cold and heauy lead, That doth my ladies minde.

A praise of m. M.

IN court as I behelde, the beauty of eche dame, Of right my thought frō all the rest should .M. steale the same•• But, er I ment to iudge: I vewed with such aduise. As retchlesse dome should not inuade: the boundes of my deuise, And, whiles I gased long: such heat did brede within, As Priamus towne felt not more flame, whē did the bale begin. By reasons rule ne yet by wit perceue I could, That .M, face of earth yfound: enioy such beauty should. And fansy doubted that from heauen had Uenus come, To norish rage in Britaynes harts, while corage yet doth blome, Her natiue hue so stroue, with colour of the rose, That Paris would haue Helene left, and .M. beauty chose. A wight farre passyng all, and is more faire to seme, Then lusty May the lodg of loue: that clothes the earth in grene•• So angell like she shines: she semeth no mortall wight, But one whom nature in her forge, did frame her self to spight. Of beauty princesse chiefe: so makelesse doth she rest, Whose eye would glad an heauy wight: and pryson payne in brest, I waxe astonied to see: the seator of her shape, And wōdred that a mortal hart: such heauenly beames could scape Her limmes so answeryng were: the mould of her faire face, Of Uenus stocke she semde to spring, the rote of beauties grace. Her presens doth pretende: such honour and estate, That simple men might gesse her birthe: if folly bred debate. Her lokes in hartes of flint: would such affectes imprese, As rage of flame not Nilus stremes: in Nestors yeres encrease.

Within the subtill seat, of her bright eyen doth dwell, Blinde Cupide with the pricke of paine: that princes fredom sell. A Paradice it is: her beauty to behold, where natures stuffe so full is found, that natures ware is sold••

An old louer to a yong gentilwoman.

YE are to yong to bryng me in, And I to old to gape for flies: I haue to long a louer bene, If such yong babes should bleare mine eyes, But trill the ball before my face, I am content to make you play: I will not se, I hide my face, And turne my backe and ronne away. But if you folowe on so fast, And crosse the waies where I should go, Ye may waxe weary at the last, And then at length your self orethrow. I meane where you and all your flocke, Deuise to pen men in the pound: I know a key can picke your locke, And make you runne your selues on ground, Some birdes can eate the strawie corne, And flee the lime that fowlers set, And some are ferde of euery thorne, And so therby they scape the net. But some do light and neuer loke, And seeth not who doth stand in waite, As fish that swalow vp the hoke, And is begiled through the baite. But men can loke before they leape, And be at price for euery ware, And penyworthes cast to bye good cheape, And in ech thyng hath eye and ••are. But he that bluntly runnes on hed, And seeth not what the race shal be: Is like to bring a foole to bed, And thus ye get no more of me.

The louer forsaketh his vnkinde loue.

FArewell thou frosen hart and eares of hardned stele, Thou lackest yeres to vnderstand the grefe that I did fele, The gods reuenge my wrong, with equall plage on thee, When plesure shal prick forth thy youth, to learn what loue shalbe•• Perchance thou prouest now, to scale blinde Cupides holde, And matchest where thou maist repent, when al thy cards are told But blush not thou therfore, thy betters haue done so, Who thought they had retaind a doue, when they but caught a cro And some do lenger time, with lof••y lokes we see, That lights at length as low or wors thē doth the betell bee. Yet let thy hope be good, such hap may fall from hye: That thou maist be if fortune serue, a princesse er thou dye. Is chance prefer thee so, alas poore sely man, where shall I scape thy cruell handes, or seke for succour than? God shud such greedy wolues, should lap in giltlesse bloode, And send short hornes to hurtful heads, y^• rage like lyons woode. I seldome se the day, but malice wanteth might, And hatefull harts haue neuer hap, to wreke their wrath aright. The madman is vnmete, a naked sword to gide, And more vnfit are they to clime, that are orecome with pride. I touch not thee herein, thou art a fawcon sure, That can both soer and stoupe sometime, as men cast vp the lure. The pecock hath no place, in thee when thou shalt list, For some no soner make a signe, but thou perceuest the fist. They haue that I do want, and that doth thee begilde, The lac•• that thou dost se in me, doth make thee loke so wilde. My lur••ng is not good•• it liketh not thine eare, My call it is not half so swete, as would to god it were. well wanton yet beware, thou do no••t••ryng take, At euery hand that would thee fede, or to thee frendship make, This councell take of him that ought thee once his loue, Who hopes to mete thee after this among the saintes aboue, But here within this world, if he may shonne the place, He rather asketh present death, then to beholde thy face.

The louer preferreth his lady aboue all other.

REsigne you dames whom tikelyng brute delight, The golden praise that flatteries tromp doth sown•• And vassels be to her that claims by right, The title iust that first dame beauty found. Whose dainty eyes such sugred baits do hide, As poyson harts where glims of loue do glide. Come eke and see how heauen and nature wrought, Within her face where framed is such ioy: As Priams sonnes in vaine the seas had sought. If halfe such light had had abode in Troy. For as the golden sunne doth darke ech starre, So doth her hue the fayrest dames as farre. Ech heauenly gift, ech grace that nature could, By art or wit my lady lo retaynes: A sacred head, so heapt with h••••res of gold, As Phebus beames for beauty farre it stayns, A sucred tong, where eke such swetenesse snowes, That well it semes a fountain where it flowes. Two laughyng eyes so linked with pleasyng lokes, As wold entice a tygers hart to serue: The bayt is swete but eager be the hookes, For Dyane sekes her honour to preserue. Thus Arundell sits, throned still with fame, Whom enmies trompe can not attaynt with shame. My dased head so daunted is with heapes, Of giftes diuine that harber in her bre••t: Her heauenly shap••, that lo my verses leap••. And touch but that wherin she clowds the rest. For if I should her graces all recite. Both time should want, and I should wonders write. Her chere so swete, so christall is her eyes, Her mouth so small, her lips to liuely red: Her hand so fine, her wordes so swete and wise, That Pallas sem••s to soiou••••e in her hed. Her vertues great her forme as far••e excedes, As sunne the shade that mortall creatures leades. Would God that wretched age would spare to race, Her liuely hew that as her graces ra••e: Be goddesse like, euen so her goddesse face, Might neuer change but still continue faire That eke in after time ech wight may see, How vertue can with beauty beare degree.

The louer lamenteth that he would forget loue, and can not.

ALas when shall I ioy, When shall my wofull hart, Cast forth the folish toy That breadeth all my smart. A thousand times and mo, I haue attempted sore: To rid this restlesse wo, Which raigneth more and more. But when remembrance past, Hath laid dead coales together: Did loue renewes his blast, That cause my ioyes to wither. Then sodaynely a spark, Startes out of my desire: And lepes into my hart, Settyng the coles a fire. Then reason runnes about, To seke forgetfull water: To quench and clene put out, The cause of all this matter. And saith dead flesh must nedes, Be cut out of the core, For rotten withered wedes, Can heale no greuous sore. But then euen sodaynely, The feruent heat doth slake: And cold then straineth me, That makes my bodies shake. Alas who can endure, To suffer all this paine, Sins her that should me cure, Most cruell death hath slaine. Well well, I say no more, Let dead care for the dead, Yet wo is me therfore, I must attempt to lead.

One other kinde of life, Then hitherto I haue: Or els this paine and strife, Will bring me to my graue.

¶Songes written by N. G. Of the ix. Muses.

I M••s of king Ioue, and quene Remembrance lo, The sisters nyne, the poets pleasant feres. Calliope doth stately stile bestow, And worthy praises paintes of princely peres. Clio in solem songes reneweth all day, With present yeres conioyning age bypast. Delitefull talke loues Comicall Thalsy: In fresh grene youth, who doth like laurell last. With voyces Tragicall sowndes Melpomen, And, as with cheins, thall••red eare she bindes. Her stringes when Terpsichor doth touche, euen then She toucheth hartes, and raigneth in mens mindes, Fine Erato, whose looke a liuely chere Presents, in dauncing keepes a comely grace. With semely gesture doth Polymnie stere: Whose wordes holle routes of rankes doo rule in place, Uranie, her globes to view all bent, The ninefold heauen obserues with fixed face. The blastes Eutrepe tunes of instrument, With solace sweet hence heauie dumps to chase. Lord Phebus in the mids (whose heauenly sprite These ladies doth enspire) embraceth all. The graces in the Muses weed, delite To lead them forth, that men in maze they fall.

Musonius the Philosophers saying.

IN working well, if trauell you sustain: Into the winde shall lightly passe the paine: But of the dede the glory shall remain, And cause your name with worthy wights to raign. In working wrong, if pleasure you attaine: The pleasure soon shall vade, and voyde, as vaine: But of the deed, throughout the life, the shame Endures, defacing you with fowl defame: And still tormentes the minde, both night and day•• Scant length of time the spot can wash away. Flee then ylswading pleasures baits vntrew: And noble vertues fair renown purseew.

Description of Ver∣tue.

VVHat one art thou, thus in torn weed yclad? Uertue, in price whom auncient sages had. why, poorely rayd? For fading goodes past care. Why doublefaced? I marke ech fortunes fare. This bridle, what? Mindes rages to restrain. Tooles why beare you? I loue to take great pain•• Why, winges? I teache aboue the starres to flye. Why tread you death? I onely cannot dye••

Praise of measure-keping.

THe auncient time commended, not for nought, The mean: what better thing can ther be sought? In meane, is vertue placed: on either side, Both right, and left, amisse a man shall slide•• Icar, with sire hadst thou the mid way flown, Icarian beck by name had no man known. If middle path kept had proud Phaeton, No burning brand this earth had fa••••ne vpon. N•• cruel powr, ne none to soft can raign: That kepes a mean, the same shall still remain. Thee, Iulie, once did too much mercy spill: Thee, Nero stern, rigor extreem did kill.

How could August so many yeres well passe? Nor ouermeek, nor ouerferse he was. Worship not Ioue with curious fansies vain, Nor him despise: hold right atween these twain. No wastefull wight, no greedy goom is prayzd. Stands largesse iust, in egall balance payzd. So Catoes meal, surmountes Antonius chere, And better fame his sober fare hath her••. To slender building, bad: as bad, to grosse: One, an eyesore, the tother falls to losse. As medcines help, in measure: so (God wot) By ouermuch, the sick their bane haue got. Unmeet mee seems to vtter this, mo wayes: Measure forbids vnmeasurable prayse.

Mans life after Possidonius, or Crates.

VVHat path list you to tread? what trade will you assay? The courts of plea, by braul, & bate, driue gētle peace away•• In house, for wife, and childe, there is but cark and care: With trauail, and with toyl ynough, in feelds we vse to fare. Upon the seas lieth dreed: the rich in foraine land, Doo fear the losse: and there, the poore, like misers poorely stand•• Strife, with a wife, without, your thrift full hard to see: Yong brats, a trouble: none at all•• a maym it seems to bee: Youth, fond, age hath no hert, and pincheth all to nye. Choose then the leeser of these twoo, no life, or soon to dye.

Metrodorus minde to the contrarie.

VVHat race of life ronne you? what trade will you assay•• In courts, is glory got, and wit encreased day by day. At home, wee take our ease, and beak our selues in rest: The feeldes our nature doo refresh with pleasures of the best•• On seas, is gayn to get: the straunger, hee shall bee Estemed: hauing much: if not, none knoweth his lack, but hee•• A wife will trim thy house: no wyfe? then art thou free. Brood is a louely thing: without, thy life is loose to thee. ••ong bloods be strong: old sires in double honour dwell.

D••way that choyse, no life, or soon to dye: for all is well.

Of frendship.

OF all the heauenly giftes, that mortall men commend, What trusty treasure in the world can counteruail a frend? Our helth is soon decayd: goodes, casuall, light, and vain: Broke haue we sene the force of powre, and honour suffer stain•• In bodies lust, man doth resemble but base brute: True vertue gets, and keeps a frend, good guide of our pursute: Whose harty zeale with ours accords, in euery case: No terme of time, no space of place, no storme can it deface. When fickle fortune failes, this knot endureth still: Thy kin out of their kinde may swarue, whē frends owe the good will•• What sweter solace shall befall, than one to finde, Upon whose brest thou mayst repose the secretes of thy minde? He wayleth at thy wo, his teares with thine be shed: With thee doth he all ioyes enioy: so leef a life is led. Behold thy frend, and of thy self the patern see: One soull, a wonder shall it seem, in bodies twain to bee. In absence, present, rich in want, in sicknesse sound, Yea after death aliue, mayst thou by thy sure frend be found. Eche house, eche towne, eche realm by stedfast loue doth stand: Where fowl debate breeds bitter bale, in eche deuided land. O frendship, flowr of flowrs: O liuely sprite of life, O sacred bond of blisfull peace, the stalworth staunch of strife: Scipio with Lelius didst thou conioyn in care, At home, in warrs, for weal and wo, with egall faith to fare. Gesippus eke with Tite, Damon with Pythias, And with M••netus sonne Achill, by thee combined was. Euryalus, and Nisus gaue Uirgil cause to sing: Of ••ylades doo many rimes, and of Orestes ring. Down Thes••us went to hell, Pirith, his frend to finde: O that the wiues, in these our daies, wer to their mates so kinde•• Cicero•• the frendly man, to Atticus•• his frend, Of frendship wrote: such couples lo doth lot but seldome lend. Recount thy race, no•• ronne: how few shalt thou there see, Of whom to say: This same is he, that neuer fayled mee. So rare a iewell then must nedes be holden dere: And as thou wilt esteem thy self, so take thy chosen fere•• The tirant, in dispaire, no lacke of gold bewayls.

But, Out I am vndoon (saith he() for all my frendship fails. Wherfore sins nothing is more kindely for our kinde: Next wisdome thus that teacheth vs, loue we the frendful minde.

The death of Zoroas, an Egyp∣tian Astronomer, in the first fight, that Alex∣ander had with the Persi∣ans.

NOw clattering armes, now ragyng broyls of warre, Gan••••••••e the noyes of dredfull trompets clang: Shrowded with shafts, the heuen: with clowd of darts, Couered the ayre: against full fatted bulls, As forceth kindled yre the Lyons keen: whose greedy gutts the gnawyng honger pricks: So Macedoins against the Persians fare. Now corpses hide the purpurde soyl with blood: Large slaughter, on ech side: but Perses more Moyst feelds be bledd: their harts, and nombers bate. Fainted while they geue back, and fall to flight: The lightening Macedon, by swoords, by gleaus, By bands and trowps, of fotemen with his garde, Speeds to Darie: but him, his nearest kyn, Oxate preserues, with horsemen on a plump Before his carr: that none the charge could geue. Here grunts, here grones, ech where strong youth is spent: Shakyng her bloody hands, Bellone, among The Perses, soweth all kynde of cruel death. with thro••e ycutt, he roores: he lieth along, His entrails with a lance through girded quite: Him smites the club, him wounds farstrikyng bow, And him the sling, and him the shinyng swoord: Hee dieth, he is all dead, he pants, he rests. Right ouerstood, in snowwhite armour braue,

The Memphite Zor••as, a cunning clarke: To whom the heauen lay open, as his boke: And in celestiall bodies he could tell The mouyng, metyng, light, aspect, eclips, And influence, and constellacions all: What earthly chances would betide: what yere Of plenty, storde, what signe forwarned derth: How winter gendreth snow, what temperature In the primetide doth season well the soyl: Why somer burns, why autumne hath ripe grapes: Whether the circle, quadrate may become: Whether our times heauens harmony can yelde: Of four begins, among them selues how great Proporcion is: what sway the erryng lightes Doth send in course gayn that first mouyng heauen: What grees, one from another distant be: what starre doth let the hurtfull sire to rage, Or him more milde what opposition makes: What fire doth•• qualify Mauorses fire: what house ech one doth seke: what planet raignes Within this hemisphere, or that, small things I speake, whole heauen he closeth in his brest. This sage then, in the starres had spied: the fates Threatned him death, without delay: and sithe He saw, he could not fatall order change: Forward he preast, in battayle that he might Mete with the ruler of the Macedoins: Of his right hand des••rous to be slayne, The boldest beurn, and worthiest in the felde: And, as a wight ••ow weary of his life, And sekyng death: in first front of his rage, Comes desperatly to Alexanders face: At him, with darts, one after other throwes: With reckles wordes, and clamour him prouokes: And saith, Nectanabs bastard, shamefull stain Of mothers bed: why losest thou thy strokes, Cowards among? Turne thee to me, in case Manhod there be so much left in thy hart: Come fight with me: that on my helmet weare Appolloes laurell, both for learnings laude, And eke for martiall praise: that, in my shield, The seuenfold sophie of Minerue contein:

A match, more meet, sir king, than any here. The noble prince amoued, takes ruthe vpon The wilfull wight: and with soft wordes, ayen, O monstrous man (quod he) what so thou art, I pray the, lyue: ne do not, with thy death, This lodge of lore, the Muses mansion marr. That treasure house this hand shall neuer spoyl: My sword shall neuer bruse that skilfull braine, Long gatherd heapes of science sone to spyll. O, how faire frutes may you to mortall men From wisdomes garden geue? How many may By you the wiser and the better proue? what error, what mad moode, what phrensy thee Perswades to be downe sent to depe Auerne: Where no arts florish, nor no knowledge vails? For all these sawes, when thus the souerain sayd, Alighted Zoroas: with sword vnsheathed, The careles king there smot, aboue the greue, At thopenyng of his quishes: wounded him So that the blood down reyled on the ground. The Macedon perceiuyng hurt, gan gnash: But yet his minde he bent, in any wise, Him to forbear: set spurs vnto his st••de, And turnde away: lest anger of his smart Should cause reuenger hand deale balefull blowes. But of the Macedonian chieftains knights One Meleager, could not beare this sight: But ran vpon the said Egyptian reuk: And cut him in both knees: he fell to ground: Wherwith a whole rout came of souldiers stern, And all in pieces hewed the silly seg. But happily the soule fled to the starre••: Where vnder him, he hath full sight of all, Wherat he gased here, with reaching looke. The Persians wailde such sapience to forgo: The very fone, the Macedonians wisht. He wo••ld haue liued: king Alexander self Demde him a man, vnmete to dye at all: Who won like praise, for conquest of his yre, As for stout men in field that day subdued: Who princes taught, how to discerne a man,

That in his hed so rare a iewell beares. But ouer all, those same Camenes, those same Deuine Camenes, whose honour he procurde, As tender parent doth his daughters weal: Lamented: and for thankes all that they can, Do cherish'him deceast, and set him free, From dark obliuion of deuouring death.

Marcus Tullius Ciceroes death.

THerfore, when restlesse rage of winde, and waue Hee saw: By fates, alas calld for (quod hee) Is haplesse Cicero: sayl on, shape course To the next shore, and bring me to my death. Perdy these thanks, reskued from ciuill swoord, Wilt thou my countrey paye? I see mine end: So powers diuine, so bid the gods aboue, In citie saued that Consul Marcus shend. Speakyng no more, but drawyng from deep hart Great grones, euen at the name of Rome rehearst: His eies and chekes, with showrs of teares, he washt, And (though a rout in dayly daungers worne) With forced face, the shipmen held their teares: And, striuyng long the seas rough•• floods to passe, In angry windes, and stormy showres made way: And at the last, safe ancred in the rode. Came heauy Cicero a land: with pain, His fainted lims the aged sire doth draw: And, round about their master stood his band: Nor greatly with their owne hard hap dismayd, Nor plighted fayth, proue in sharp time to break: Some swordes prepare: some their dere lord assist: In littour layd, they lead him vnkouth wayes: If so deceaue Antonius cruell gleaues They might, and threats of folowyng routs escape. Thus lo, that Tullie, went, that Tullius, Of royall robe, and sacred senate prince: When he a far the men approch espieth,

And of his ••one the ensignes doth aknow: And, with drawn swoord, Popilius threatning death: Whose life, and holl estate, in hazard once, Hee had preserude: when Room as yet to free Herd him, and at his thundring voyce amazde. Herennius eek, more eyger than the rest, Present enflamde with furie, him purseews. What might hee doo? Should hee vse in defense Disarmed hands ••or pardon ask, for meed? Should he with wordes attempt to turn the wrath Of tharmed knight, whose safegard hee had wrought? No, age, forbids, and fixt within depe brest His countryes loue, and falling Romes image. The charret turn, sayth hee, let loose the rayns: Roon to the vndeserued death: mee, lo, Hath Phebus fowl, as messenger forwarnd: And Ioue desires a neew heauensman to make. Brutus, and Cassius soulls, liue you in blisse: In case yet all the fates gaynstriue vs not, Neither shall we perchaunce dye vnreuenged. Now haue I liued, O Room, ynough for mee: My passed life nought suffreth me to dout Noysom obliuion of the lothesome death. Slea mee: yet all the ofspring to come shall know: And this deceas shall bring eternall life. Yea, and (onlesse I fayl, and all in vain Room, I soomtime thy Augur chosen was) Not euermore shall frendly fortune thee Fauour, Antonius: once the day shall coom: When her deare wights, by cruell spight, thus slain, Uictorious Room shall at thy hands require. Me likes, therwhile, go see the hoped heauen. Speech had he left: and therwith hee, good man, His throte preparde, and held his hed vnmoued•• His hasting to those fates the very knightes Be lothe to see: and, rage rebated, when They his bare neck beheld, and his horeheyres: Scant could they hold the teares, that forth gan burst And almost fell from bloody hands the swoords. Onely the stern Herennius, with grym looke, Dastards, why stand you still? he sayth: and straight, Swaps of the hed, with his presumptuous yron.

Ne with that slaughter yet is he not fild: Fowl shame on shame to heape, is his delite. Wherefore the handes also doth hee of smyte, Which durst Antonius life so liuely paynt. Him, yeldyng strayned goste, from welkin hye. With lothy chere, lord Phebus gan behold: And in black clowd, they say, long hid his hed. The latin•• Muses, and the Grayes, they wept: And, for his fall, eternally shall weep. And lo, hertpersing Pitho (straunge to tell) Who had to him suffisde both sense, and words, When so he spake: and drest, with nectar soote, That flowyng toung: when his windpipe disclosde, Fled with her fleeyng frend: and (out alas) Hath left the earth, ne will no more return. Popilius flyeth, therwhile: and, leauing there The senslesse stock, a grizely sight doth bear Unto Antonius boord, with mischief fed.

Of M. T. Gicero.

FOr Tullie, late, a tomb I gan prepare: When Cynthie, thus, bad mee my labour spare: Such maner things becoom the ded, quoth hee: But Tullie liues, and styll alyue shall bee.

N. G.