The noble arte of venerie or hunting VVherein is handled and set out the vertues, nature, and properties of fiutene sundrie chaces togither, with the order and maner how to hunte and kill euery one of them. Translated and collected for the pleasure of all noblemen and gentlemen, out of the best approued authors, which haue written any thing concerning the same: and reduced into such order and proper termes as are vsed here, in this noble realme of England. The contentes vvhereof shall more playnely appeare in the page next followyng.

Title: The noble arte of venerie or hunting VVherein is handled and set out the vertues, nature, and properties of fiutene sundrie chaces togither, with the order and maner how to hunte and kill euery one of them. Translated and collected for the pleasure of all noblemen and gentlemen, out of the best approued authors, which haue written any thing concerning the same: and reduced into such order and proper termes as are vsed here, in this noble realme of England. The contentes vvhereof shall more playnely appeare in the page next followyng.

Author: Gascoigne, George, 1542?-1577.

Collection: Early English Books Online

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Tey ease an akyng Tooth, they breake the rumblyng winde,Wich grypes the wombe with colliqes panges, such is their noble kinde:They the skaldyng fire, which skorched with his heate,And skinne the skalt full agayne, and heale it trimme and neate.They poyson do expell, from Keysar, King, or Queene,When it by chaunce or deepe deceypt, is swallowed vp vnseene.But wherefore spend I time in vayne at large to prayse,The vertues of my harmelesse hortes, which heape my harme alwayes?And yet such hornes, such heare, such teares as I haue tolde,I mew and cast for mans auayle, more worth to him than golde.But he to quyte the same, (ô Murdring Man therewhyles)Pursewes me still and trappes me ofte, with sundrie snares and guyles.Alas lo now I feele colde feare within my bones,Whiche hangs hyr winges vpon my heeles, to hasten for the nonesMy swiftest starting steppes, me thinkes she biddes me byde,In thickest Tuftes of couerts close, and so my selfe to hyde.Ah rewfull remedie, so shall I (as it were)Euen teare my lyfe out of the teeth of houndes whiche make me feare.And from those cruell curres, and braynesicke bauling Tikes,Which vowe foote hote to followe me, bothe ouer hedge and dykes.Me thinkes I heare the Horne, whiche rendes the restlesse ayre,With shryllest sounde of bloudie blast, and makes me to despayre.Me thinkes I see the Toyle, the tanglings and the stall,Which are prepared and set full sure, to compasse me withall:Me thinkes the Foster standes full close in bushe or Tree,And takes his leuell streyght and true, me thinkes he shootes at me.And hittes the harmelesse Harte, of me vnhappie Harte,Which must needes please him by my death, I may it not astarte.las and well away, me thinkes I see the hunte,Which takes the measure of my Slottes, where I to treade was wont:Bycause I shall not misse, at last to please his minde,Ahlas I see him where he seekes my latest layre to finde.He takes my fewmers vp, and puts them in his horne,Alas me thinkes he leapes for ioye, and laugheth me to scorne.Harke, harke, alas giue eare, This geare goeth well (sayeth he)This Harte beares deyntie venison, in Princes dishe to be.0