A floorish vpon fancie As gallant a glose vpon so triflinge a text, as euer was written. Compiled by N.B. Gent. To which are annexed, manie pretie pamphlets, for pleasant heads to passe away idle time withal. By the same authour.

¶A prety toye in ryme.

¶Misero infortunato solo, lamenting his euill happe, in despayre of helpe.

WHen purse growes pyld, and credit crackes, And friends begin to fayle: To comforte then a heauy harte, Alas what may preuayle?

Audita vox confortans.

Yet doe not thou dispayre at all, But comfort thou thy mynde: Though credit, purse, and friends be gone, Somewhat is lefte behynde.

Misero.

Somewhat alas, oh tell me now, What somwhat that may be? That so in this my déepe distresse, is lefte to comforte me.

Vox.

Why doste thou craue to know the thing, Whereof thou canst not doubt? Necessity ere long I••••is, Will make thée fynde it out.

Misero.

Necessitie alas I sée, To ready is at hand: Yet can I not, doe what I can, Thy meaning vnderstand.

Vox.

Why? doste thou not thy selfe 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ There is no mallady: But Phisick hath in store for it, Some kinde of remedy.

Misero.

No credit me, I feare there is No meane to cure my gréefe: If there be any, let me craue▪ How I may fynde reléefe.

Vox.

Wilt thou doe as I bid thée d••e▪ And thou shalt soone fynde eas••▪ Although thou be not at the fyrst▪ quite rid of thy disease.

Misero.

If that thy counsayle well I like, I will agrée thereto: To ease my harte of this despayre, I care not what to do.

Vox.

Haue pacience then, rage not to much, Let reason rule thy mynde: And be thou sure in little tyme, Some comforte for to fynde.

Misero.

But pacience doth come 〈◊〉〈◊〉, And what is forst (God wot:) Doth more and more torment the mynde, Then pacience easeth not.

Vox.

Yet pacience procureth hope, And hope driues out dispayre: And where Dispayre is driuen away, There comforte doth repayre.

Misero.

Oh, but hope oftentimes is vayne, And doth deceiue the minde▪ Therefore in hope I thinke 〈◊〉〈◊〉, But comforte small to fynde.

Vox.

Let hope then grow by due defart, Then followes good successe: For reason showes, who séekes for ease, Shall some way fynde redresse.

Misero.

Oh but alas, those dayes be past, For to reward desart: And that the more, doth cause dispayre, For to torment my hart.

Vox.

What though such dayes are past in déede, Yet dayes will come agayne: Wherein desartes shall reape defyre, And pleasure win for payne.

Misero.

But whyle the grasse doth grow ofte tymes, The séelly steede he 〈◊〉〈◊〉: And he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wot shall reape small gayne, In only hope, that ser••••••.

Vox.

Yet serue in hope, and hope in God, And séeke well to deserue: And let the Horse doe what he lift, Be sure thou shalt not ster••e.

Misero.

Now like I well this lesson thyne, God well in harte to serue: For he in déede, who hope in him, Will neuer let them ster••e.