Brittons bovvre of delights Contayning many, most delectable and fine deuices, of rare epitaphes, pleasant poems, pastorals and sonets by N.B. Gent.

Pastorals and Sonets.

A deuice of Diogenes Tubbe.

DIo•…•…enes was tearmed but a Dogge, Tide to a Tubbe where lay but little treasure: Who for his life was counted but a Hogge, That knewe no part of any worldly pleasure. What said the king yet in his greatest throne, Either himselfe Dogenes, or none.

For when the king did bid him aske and haue, His minde was not of any masse of wealth: He askt no more then other creatures haue, The chiefest comfort of his happie health. Take not away (quoth he) thou canst not giue, Out of the Sunne, for by the same I liue.

The good poore soule doth thinke no creature harme, Onely he liues obscurely in his Tunne, Most is his care to keepe his carkas warme, All his delight to looke vpon the Sunne: And could the heauens but make the Sunne to know him He should not liue should keepe his shining fro him.

A Metaphor.

A Little fire doth make the faggot burne, When blowing much will put the fire out: Silence but s•…•…ld doth serue the lo•…•…re turne, And too much su•…•…e, for fauour hath a flouce.

Then let thus much suffice for my desire, The smallest blowing make the greatest fire.

Concei•…•…e is quicke, would so were sweete content, Eyes hath a glaunce of too too great a grace: Spirits do speake in silence of intent, And thoughts are spirites of a setret place. In silence then let heart in sunder breake, Eyes shall behold, but spirites shall not speake.

Of the birth and bringing vp of desire.

VVHen wert thou born Desire? in pompe and prime of May: By whō sweet boy wert thou begot? by good cōceit mē say Tell me who was thy nurse? fresh youth in sugred ioy: What was thy meat and dayly food? sore sighes with great annoy. What had you then to drinke? vnfained louers teares: What cradle were you rocked in? in hope deuoide of feares. What brought you then a sleepe▪ sweet speach that liked men best: And where is now your dwelling place? in gentle hearts I rest. Doth companie displease? it doth in many one: Where would Desire then choose to be? he likes to muse alone. What feedeth most your sight? to gaze on fauour still: Who find you most to be your foe? Disdaine of my good will. Will euer age or death bring you vnto decay? No, no, Desire both liues and dies ten thousand times a day.

E. of Ox.

Finis.

A pleasant Sonet.

I Will forget that ere I sawe thy face, I will forget thou art so braue a wight: I will forget thy stately comely grace, I will forget thy hue that is so bright: I will forget thou art the fairest of all, I will forget thou winnest the golden ball.

I will forget thy forehead fea•…•…ly framde, I will forget thy Christall eyes so cleere: I will forget that no part may be blamde, I will forget that thou hadst nere thy yeere▪

I will forget Uermelion is thy hue. I will forget there is no Saint but thou.

I will forget thy dimpled chin so fine. I will forget to approch thy seemely sight: I will forget throughout the world so wide, I will forget nones bewtie halfe so bright: I will forget thou stainst the brightest starr. I wil forget thou passest Cynthea farre.

I will forget that feature is thy pheere, I will forget thy bewtie dims the Sunne: I will forget that hue not comes thee neere, I will forget thy fame will nere be donne. I will forget thou art the fairest of all, That euer was, or is, or euer shall.

And then

I will forget when grew my withered stalke, I will forget to eate, to drinke, or sleepe: I will forget to see, to speake, to walke, I will forget to mourne, to laugh, to weepe. I will forget to heare, to feele, or taste, I will forget my life and all at last.

And now

I will forget the place where thou dost dwell, I will forget thy selfe, and so fare well.

Another sweete Sonet.

I Seeke the thing that I do dayly see, And faine would gaine that is already wonne, I follow that which doth not from me flee: Nor neuer seekes my companie to shuune. I granted am what I do seeme to craue, Yet so I want, that fainest I would haue.

Hard is my hap since I am f•…•…rst to i•…•…y▪ Where as there doth no ioy at all remaine:

And secke for blisse where rests nought but annoy, And for good will reape nought but deepe disdaine: Lucklesse my lot. I labour but in vaine, I seeke to winne what I see others gaine.

Seeing hope, and hap, and all at once doth faile, And that despaire is nowe my chiefest guide: Whereby I see no ransome will me baile, Out of the bondes wherein I now am tide. I am content in bondage for to serue, Untill my faith my freedome doe deserue.

A Poem.

H| Honour of loue, when loue in honour is, O| Olde men admire, and yong men are amazed: P| Perfection rare where nothing is amisse, T| The glasse of grace where eyes are ouer-gazed: O| Onely the face of such a heauenly feature, N| Not on the earth can be a fairer creature.

A Sonet.

EYe lie awake in hope of blessed seeing, Hope thought that happe was ouer-long in lingring: In came the Lasse, oh my thrise happie beeing, Sences thought long vntill they were a fingring.

Tongue spar'd to speake, least it should speake too sparing▪ Hart drownd in feare rauisht, denied her honour: Handes sawe the price, and long to be a sharing, Pittie said, holde, but Courage cried, vpon her.

Silent she stood, yet in her silent speaking, Wordes of more force then is great loue his thunder: Ioyes weare her eyes, sorrowes asunder breaking, Sweete was her face, each member was a wonder.

Heauen is hers, to her by heauens assigned,

Skies are her thoughts where pleasant Planets raigned, Franke is her minde, to no ill craft inclined, Loue is the crosse wherein her heart is chained.

Blisse was to see her steps to bedward bending, Musicke to heare herselfe, herselfe vnlacing, Straunge the aspect of two sonnes then discending, Sweete was the kisse, but sweeter the imbracing.

Another fine Sonet.

VVHo deales with fire may burne his fingers ends, And water drownes the foote that goes too deepe: A lauish tongue will quickly loose his friends, And he a foole that can no counsell keepe. Yet where desire doth egge the tongue to speake, Somewhat must out, or else the heart will breake.

To speake but truth deserue no deadly blame, Though truth mistane sometime be pettie treason: Yet causelesse death deserueth no defame, Though ruthlesse rage will neuer yeeld to reason: Then since desire doth egge me on so •…•…ore, Truth will I speake although I speake no more.

The truth is this, there is no fire to loue, Nor water like to Bewties heauenly bro•…•…kes, No friend to faith, to talke for hearts behoue, Nor wit so wise to liue by onely lookes: Nor sweet desire by silence entertained, Nor kind Aspect, that euer loue disdained.

A Pastorall.

SWeet birds that sit and sing amid the shadie vallies, And see how sweetly Phillis walks amid her gardē allies▪ Go round about her bower and sing, as ye are bidden, To her is only knowne his faith, that frō the world is hidden. And she among you all that hath the sweetest voice, Go chirpe of him that neuer told, yet neuer changd his choise.

And not forget his faith, that liu'd for euer lou'd, Yet neuer made his fancie knowne, nor euer fauour mou'•…•…. And euer let your ground of all your grace be this, To you, to you, to you the due of loue and honour is. On you, on you, on you▪ our musicke all attendeth, For as on you our Muse begun, in you all musicke endeth.

Coridons supplication to Phillis.

SWeet Phillis if a sillie Swaine, may sue to thee for grace: See not thy louing shepheard slaine, With looking on thy face. But thinke what power thou hast got, Upon my flocke and mee: Thou feest they now regard me not, but all doe follow thee.

And if I haue so farre presumed, With prying in thine eyes: Yet let not comfort be consumed, That in thy pitie lyes. But as thou art that Phillis faire, That fortune fauour giues, So let not loue die in dispaire, That in thy fauour liues.

The Deere do bruise vpon the brier, The birds do pricke the cheries, And will not Bewtie grunnt Desire, One handfull of her berries. If so it be that thou hast sworne, That none shall looke on thee: Yet let me know thou dost not scorns, To cast a looke on mee.

But if thy Brwtie make thee prowde, Thinke then what is ordained:

The heauens haue neuer yet allowed, That Loue should be disdained. Then least the Fates that fauour Loue, Should curse thee for vnkinde. Let m•…•… report for thy behoue, The honour of thy minde.

Let Coridon with full consent, Set downe what he hath seene: That Phillida with Loues content, Is sworne the Shepheards Queene.

A Sonet.

HEr face, her tongue, her wit, So faire, so sweete, so sharpe: First bent, then drew, then hit, Mine cye, mine eare, mine hart.

Mine eye, mine eare, mine heart, To like, to learne, to loue: Your face, your tongue, your wit, Doth lead, doth teach, doth moue,

Her face, her tongue her wit, With beame, with sound, with art: Doth binde, doth charme, doth rule, Mine eye, mine eare, mine heart.

Mine eye, mine eare, mine heart, With life, with hope, with skill, Your face, your tongue, your wit. Doth feed, doth feast, doth fill.

Oh face, oh tongue, oh wit, With frownes, with checks, with smart: Wring not, vex not, moue not, Mine eye, mine eare, mine hart.

This eye, this eare, this heart▪ Shall ioy, shall bind, shall sweare: Your face, your tongue, your wit, To serue, to loue, to feare.

A Louers complaint.

WHo knowes his cause of griefe, And can the same descrie: And yet finds no reliefe, Poore wretch but onely I.

What foule will seeke the snare, That he be caught thereby: If thereof he be ware, Poore wretch but onely I.

What fish will bite the baite, If he the hooke espie: Or if he see deceite, Poore wretch but onely I,

Who's hee will seeke to mount, The toppe of Turrets hie, To fall that makes account, Poore wretch but onely I.

Who shee will scale the height, Of A Etna hill to frie: So deare to bie delight, Poore wretch but onely I.

The Hart will shunne the toyle, If he perceiue it lie: No one would take such foyle, Poore wretch but onely I.

Who seckes to get and gaine,

The things that fates denie: Must liue and die in paine, Poore wretch as now do I.

And heart my plaints to finish. In Lymbo lake I lie: My griefe you must diminish, Poore wretch, or else I die.

A Shepheards dreame.

A Sillie Shepheard lately sate, among a flocke of sheepe: Where musing long on this and that, At last he fell a sleepe.

And in the slumber as he lay, He gaue a piteous grone: He thought his sheepe were runne away, And he was left alone.

He whopt, he whistled, and he calde, But not a sheepe came neere him: Which made the shepheard sore appalde, to see that none would heare him.

But as the Swaine amazed stood, In this most solemne vaine: Came Phillida out of the wood, And stood before the Swaine.

Whom when the Shepheard did behold, He straight began to weepe, And at the heart he grew a cold, To thinke vpon his sheepe.

For wel he knew where came the Queene The Shepheard durst not stay.

And where that he durst not be seene, The sheepe must needes away.

To aske her if she saw his flocke, Might happen pacience moue: And haue an answere with a mocke, That such demaunders proue.

Yet for because he saw her come, Alone out of the wood: He thought he would not stand as dumbe, when speach might do him goo.

And therefore falling on his knees, To aske but for his sheepe. He did awake and so did leese, The honour of his sleepe.

A pleasant sweet song.

LAid in my restlesse bed, In dreame of my desire: I sawe within my troubled head, A heape of thoughts appeare.

And each of them so strange, In sight before mine eyes: That now I sigh and then I smile, As cause thereby doth rise.

I see how that the little boy, In thought how oft that he: Doth wish of God to scape the rod, a tall yong man to be,

I saw the yong man trauelling, From sport to paines opprest: How he would be a rich olde man, To liue and lie at rest.

The olde man too, who seeth, His age to drawe on sore: Would be a little boy againe, To liue so long the more.

Where at I sigh and smile, How Nature craues her fee: From boy to man, from man to boy, Would chop and change degree.

A Sonet of Time and Pleasure.

TIme is but short, and short the course of time. Pleasures do passe but as a puffe of winde: Care hath account to make for euerie crime, And peace abides but with the setled minde.

Of little paine doth pacience great proceede, And after sicknesse, health is daintie sweet: A friend is best approued at a neede, And sweet the thought where care & kindnes meet.

Then thinke what comfort doth of kindnes breed, To know thy sicknesse, sorrow to thy friend: And let thy faith vpon this fauour feed, That loue shall liue when death shall haue an end▪

And he that liues assured of thy loue, Prayes for thy life, thy health, and highest hap, And hopes to see the height of thy behoue, Lulde in the sweet of Loues desired lap.

Till when, take paines to make thy pillow soft, And take a nap for Natures better rest: He liues below that yet doth look•…•… aloft, And of a friend do not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the least.

Of a Louer in dispaire.

THough froward fate hath forst my griefe, And blacke dispaire this deadly paine: Yet time I trust will bring reliese, When loyall faith shall haue her gaine.

Till then the stormes of banisht state, And penance in this Hermits Cell: Shall trie her cause of wrong full hate, Whose malice lo keepes me in hell,

A Sonet of faire womens ficklenesse in loue.

IF women would be faire, and yet not fond, Or that their loue were firme not fickle still: I would not wonder that they make mē bond, By seruice long to purchase their good will: But when I see how firme these creaturs are, I laugh that men forget themselues so farre.

To marke their choise they make and how they chaunge, How oft from Venus they do cleaue to Pan: Unsetled still like haggards vile they raunge, These gentle birds that flie from man to man: Who would not scorn & shake them frō his fist, And let thē go (faire fooles) which way they list.

If for disport we faine and flatter both, To passe the time when nothing can displease: And traine them still vnto our subtill oth, Till wearie of their wits our selues we ease. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 then we say, when we their fancies trie, To play with fooles, oh what a dolt was I.

Of the foure Elements.

T•…•…e Aire with sweet my sences do delight, The Earth with flowers doth glad my heauie •…•…ie,

The Fire with warmth reuiues my dying spirit, The Water cooles that is too hote and drie: The Aire, the Earth, the Water, and the fire, All doe me good, what can I more desire.

Oh no, the Aire infected sore I finde, The Earth, her flowers do wither and decay: The Fire so whote it doth inflame the minde, And Water washeth white and all away. The Aire, the Earth, Fire, Water, all annoy me, How can it be but they must needes destroy me.

Sweete Aire do yet a while thy sweetnesse holde, Earth, let thy flowers not fall away in prime: Fire do not burne, my heart is not a colde, Water, drie vp vntill another time, Or Aire, or Earth, Fire, Water, heare my prayer, Or sla•…•…e me once, Fire, Water, Earth, or Aire,

Hearke in the Aire what deadly thunder threateth, See on the Earth how euerie flower falleth, Oh with the Fire how euery sinewe sweateth. Oh howe the Water my p•…•…nting heart appalleth. The Aire, the Earth, Fire, Water, all do grieue me. Heauens shew your power yet some way to relieue me.

This is not Aire that euerie creature feedeth, Nor this the Earth where euerie flower groweth: Nor this the Fire, that cole and bauen breedeth, Nor this the Water, that both ebth and floweth. These Elements are in a worde enclosed, Where happie heart hath heauenly rest reposed.

Brittons farewell to Hope.

MY Hope farewell, leaue off thy lingring stay, Nowe yeeld thy selfe as prisoner vnto thrall: Pricke on thy wings, make now no more delay,

Be set thou art with Enuies furies all. Oh Follie flie, fond Fancie leaue thy roome, Thou art condemde, Dispaire hath giuen thy doome.

Thy threed whereon thy hope did hang so long, Dame Enuies rust hath fretted quite in twaine: And spitefull spite hath gnawne thee to the bone, That sue thou maist, but all is spent in vaine. She is reuert, and giues me still the nay, And keepes me like the Spaniell all the day.

When caught I was, I was content to yeeld, My loue was lim'd and linked to her will: And prisoner I was brought out of the field, Of libertie to serue in thraldome still. There lost I ioyes, my toiles did then beginne, When as I sought a froward heart to winne.

I sought, I sued, I was at becke and bay, I crept, I kneelde, a heauen it was to please: I thought my selfe the happiest man that day, If one faire worde I caught my heart to ease: But when that deeds of wordes should then ensue, All then was turn'd like vnto Cresseds crew.

Thus do I sue and serue, but all in vaine, With lingring on my loathsome life in wo: Thus do I seeke to winne, but losse I gaine, And for a friend obtaine a spitefull fo: Then farewell hope the gaine of my desart, Dispaire doth grow within my pensiue hart.