Flovvers of epigrammes, out of sundrie the moste singular authours selected, as well auncient as late writers. Pleasant and profitable to the expert readers of quicke capacitie: by Timothe Kendall, late of the Vniuersitie of Oxford: now student of Staple Inne in London

B. DARDANIVS.

A liuely description of Hope.

THou that on totteryng globe dost stande, art thou a Goddes▪ tell Or els a mortall creature borne? a goddes. Verie well. Whence sp••ong, or how begotten, speake? of darknesse spryng did I. What nurse did feede and giue thee sucke? that did credulitie. Who at thy backe behinde thee bides? ioyes, whiche doe glad and ch••re. And what is he, that still so pale doeth goe before thee? feare. Alofte vp to the loftie heauens, thy lookes why doest thou caste? I doe beholde the heauens, whereas I hope to dwell at laste. But tell me now, what doeth deforme thy face so faire and bright? I vexed am when my desires, are voide and frustrate quight. By staffe why doest thou staie thy self? while hope doeth feede my mynde: Old croked age with stealyng steps,

encrocheth on by kynde. Why reelst thou staggeryng to and fro? hope still doeth slipperie stande: The thyng whiche ofte I thinke to holde, doeth slip out of my hande.

The Description of Iustice.

WHat hights thy name, thou goddes tell? my name doeth Iustice hight. Why lookst thou fell? teares, plants, nor bri∣bes maie make me goe from right. Borne of what stocke? of Gods aboue. thy parents names descrie? Measure my sire, my mother truste, my nurse was penurie. A babe who lulde thee in her lap? faire Prudence noble dame. By whom doest thou the guiltie knowe? Iudgement doeth shewe the same. Why beares thy lefte hande ballaunces: thy right a shinyng blade? The one doeth ponder causes iuste: to plague the sworde is made. So fewe why are there thee to ayde? good men are vanisht quight. Who doeth thee still associate? poore plainesse pure and bright. Why is thy one eare open wide:

thy other closed faste? The good, they alwaies must be heard: the bad, they must be caste. Why in apparell art thou poore? who will be iuste and right, Shall neuer while he liues, become a riche and wealthie wight.

Verses of Dardanus, sent to Dominicus Saulus.

SOme men for gifts, giue glisteryng golde and some giue precious stones: Some Iuerie, costly glasses some wrought curious for the nones. Some guiftes doe giue of grauen woorke, and housbandmen doe bryng Nutts, cornailes, apples, peares, & plumms, and many a prettie thyng. But sith I want the fertill grounde, where all these thyngs should growe: And sith my feelds with golden streames of Pactol, doe not flowe, I can not thee suche presents giue: but in the steade of them, I verses sende vnto thee here: I haue nor golde nor gem. But if thou saie they are no gifts, but trifles worthie nought:

I praie thee what of Irus poore, to Croesus maie be brought?

The song of S. Ierome in the deseit.

THou straunger, loe with ragged stones I beate and bounce my breste: I waile my synnes, my greuous synns wherewith I am oppreste. I doe lament my leude led life, and former ouersight: (Ah blest and treble blest againe, the pure vnspotted wight.) If gronyngs greate, get grace at God, and loude lamentyngs, loue: I hope my piteous pearcyng plaintes, shall God to mercie moue. All tisyng talke I doe auoyde, from enuie I departe: And shunne I doe occasions all, that weake the manly harte. Wherefore I haue betane my self, in desert here to dwell: Emong a rout of rauenyng beasts, ferce, furious, franticke fell. And what though in this wildernesse no wight will come and see Me grisly wretche: yet here alwaies my God remaines with me.

No man that loueth God a right (in woods or deserts wide) But hath sufficient companie and comfort to beside. Here chitteryng birds doe chirp and chaunt, in heate here pleasaunt shade: Here want not christall quiueryng springs, wherein to washe and wade. A pittance here sufficeth well: I banquets set not by: And here, because I wish for naught, I naught am wantyng, I. Here hunger is the onely sauce, that likes my stomake best: Here nothing me mislikes: enough sufficeth as a feast. Here fruite bringes forth the fertill soyle, Vntoylde and eke vntild: In stead of bed I lye on leaues, wherwith the woods are filde. With blot or blame, I none defame, alone here as I dwell: Nor gnawyng enuie hurteth mee, I here do liue so well. No glory, nor ambition vaine doe here torment my minde: I glorie but in God alone, and hym I hope to finde.

Here Venus prinked vp in pride and pranked, fine and gaie Doeth neuer come: no luste doeth laste, but hence departs awaie. In pleasaunt shade when so I please, I slepe and take my reste: No thundryng trump nor thumpyng theefe, my slumbryngs here moleste. My mynde is not on money set, I doe not heape nor hoo••de: Alone I seeke to please my God, and to embrace his woorde. All thyngs beside the woorde of God, are euen as drizslyng miste: Fonde, vile and vaine, of none effecte, let men saie what them liste. Ofte tymes here comes and faunes on me, fearce Lions furious fell▪ And diuers dreadfull beasts besids, that in the woods doe dwell. And still the Lorde doth lende me helpe gainst death and daungers all: I stande in dread of nothyng I, for on the Lorde I cal••. Yet here emong these raggie rocks, and beasts of cruell moode: Where fountayne water is my drinke, where herbes doe serue for foode.

Here sensuall pleasure doeth assault, to winne me by her might: But still with reason I resiste, and chase her from my sight. But thou whiche liuste at pleasure thyne, and all thyngs haste at will: Whiche soft doest lye, which doest with cates and wine thy beallie fill. Ah wretche with heate of filthie luste, what torments doest thou trie? When she for to assault thy mynde, with hastie stepps doeth hye.