Churchyards challenge

To the right Worshipfull my Ladie Wawllar, wife to the Souldioer-like Knight Sir VVater Wawllar.

I Had almost (good Madam) forgotte what I promised, of my self, touching a Book to be Printed, yet at the knit∣ing vp of a tedius tale I remēbred how to keepe promise and a friend, & be∣thought me of som matter pertaining to that cause, waying that light and

slender discourses became not me to offer, nor your La∣dishippe to heare. So happening on a dolefull and tra∣gicall Treatise I preferd it to your reading, knowing that some humor of sorrow or sorrowfull penned matter would be answerable to your graue consistderation, in which discourse following, are numbers of heauie cau∣ses t••eated on, and touched so narrowlie (with a cleare conceite of the writer) that no one point or other per∣taining to a ruefull rehearsall of troubles, is forgotten. And though the tale seemeth long, the varietie and life of words it bringeth, shall I doubt not shorten the time that is spent in reading, for that euerie passion of mind, trouble of bodie, and disquietnesse of the Soule, is am∣plie and plainelie explained and vnfolded by that which followeth, translated out of another language & taught to speake English to those that vnderstandeth the heauie haps of such, as haue fallen into misfortune, so knitting vp my Booke with this discourse, I expresse the matter I haue spoken of.

A DOLLFVLL DISCOVRSE OF A great Lorde and a Ladie. Translated out of French into English.

DRaw néere good mindes that sadly markes, the sway of worldly broyles. And heare what I at large can say, of troubles tumbling toyles.

Which did befall, in forraine Land, tweene two of Noble race: To whose mishap, and hatefull fate, a world it selfe giues place. Not long agoe, the case so stood, a Lord of great estate, (In natiue Soyle, by destnies lo••.) a Ladies fauour gate. With whom he ioynde, a hazard great, his liking led him so: That neyther feare of frowning Gods, nor dread of earthly ••oe Could make him staine his plighted troth, such constant mind▪ hee bare: For which this noble Fawkon may, with turtle true compare. But well away alas for woe, his griefe thereby beganne: In Prince displeasure throw this prank, fell ••o this Noble man. And Cesar frowing on the fact, there was no other boote: But flie the Realme, or prostrate fall, Full flat at Cesars foote. O states by this come learne to stoupe, no stoutnesse can preuayle: When from the Heauens stormes do blow, and striketh downe your sayle. From thunder cracks both man and beast, yea Sunne and Moone doth flie: The Earth and all that liues below, doth feare the ratling skie. When Gods are moued, in lowring clouds, like dusky Mantles blacke: The troubled ayre to mortall men,

doth threaten, ruine, and wracke. I turnde my talke from such Discourse, and treat of that turmoyle: Which long this Knight and Ladie felt, at home in Countrey soyle. And somewhat of the cares abroade, that hee perforce did taste: I meane to write so that as troth, my verses bee embraste: For troth and time that tries out Gold, ••ath tempre•• so my talke: That penne nor muse no pleasures takes, on doubtfull ground to walke, Now when these states with linkes of loue were tyds together fast, And many a sad and heauy thought, betweene them both had past, Of Princes grace and fauour great, (to which regard they▪ tooke: As chiefest thing and onely cause) Whereon they ought to looke. They wayde in ballance of their breastes, what ••ittest serude their turnes: And like as wood takes flame of fire, and so to Sinders burnes. So through the heape of this mishapp, they felt such sorrow thoe, As though hard destnie swore they should, consume themselues with woe. The Ladie lost her fréedome straight. the Gods had so decréed, Her knight by sodaine flight abroad, made vertue of a néede. And liuing there with lingring hope, in forraine Countrey straunge,

Where absence might through present toyes, in some men worke a chaunge, Hée stoode as firme as marble stone, and kept both troeth and toutch. To her who found few friendes at home, and heartes disease was much, Yea though this knight with offers great, and treasure tempted was: (As they full well can witnesse beare which saw this matter pas) Yet small account of Fortune new, hee made for still in breast. Was shrinde the Sainct that stonie walles, and prison had possest. No feere nor friend, nor fellow-mate, this Troylus mind might moue: This Fawcon scornd to pray abroad, at home hee left his loue. Full many a sigh and heauie looke, hee sent along the Seas: And wisht himselfe, in fetters fast, to doe his Ladie ease. What griefe of mind, and torment strange shée suffred all that while: Is knowen to those, that bondage féeles, whose friendes are in exile. Could mischiefe fall on both the sides, more harder then it did? The one from ioy and worldly pomp, in prison closely hid. The other forst, by fatall chaunce, to seeke his fortune out: And shonning daunger found ••ispayre, in wandring Worlde about. But waying well a Subiectes State,

and what was duties boundes: Hee yeelded straight to open harmes for feare of secret woundes, And ventring life, yea Landes and goodes, to heepe his name from blot: (And to requite with hazardes hard, the loue that hee had got.) From Spaine with speede he did returne, and setting foote on Lande: Hee put his cause in Iustice dome, and Noble Princes hande. Though in the yoke with free consent, the humble heart did fall, The heauens stoode so out of tune, hee gate no grace at all: And clapped vp full fast in hold, a Prisoners parte hee playes: Where griping griefes & gréeuous grones, consumde his gladsome dayes. Whiles hee aloofe full long remaynde, and out of daunger crepte: The dolfull Dame, in great dispayre, his absence sore bewept. Yet great regard to promise past, shee had as world well wist: And therefore often wrong her handes, when that her Knight shée mist. But now began the boistrous blastes, to blow in bloudy brest: And now the gulfe of sighes and sobs, burst out with great vnrest. For lo, one house held both these wights yet both a sunder were: And b••th in like displeasure stoode, yea ech of both did feare.

Of Princes wrath and worlds disgrace, a heauy tale to tell: A plague past hope of heauens blisse, a torment and a hell. That is without redemption sure, but what should more be saide: Thus vnder locke and barred dores, these Iewels safely laide. They must abide the happy hours, that God appoints in skies: And drinke vp water swéete or sowre, or what shal happe to rise. The prison then did plead their case, the wals both deafe and dum: Did show by signes of fréedome gone, what sorrowes were to come. The skréeking Owle in silent night, at window clapt his winges: To threaten death or badde successe▪ of sundry doubtful thinges. No ioyfull sound was heard with eare, no newes of happy yeares: No pleasure to the pinched heart, in prison strong appeares. Admit the Lute with touch of hand, a heauy dumpe doth shoe, A cooling comfort Musicke brings, to wretches wrapt in woe. No mirth with mourning moue may matche, for mischiefe measure lacks: And care consumes the minde of man, as fire melts Uirgin Waxe. In silly Sell, and seuerall place, these two estates did sit: Whose comming out, did far surmount,

the compasse of our wit. As long they spent their tickle time, in teene and terrour great: So oft God wot of matters harde, in head did hammers beat. Now hoping that the clouds would calm and storms would stand at stay: Then looking when the Planets turnd▪ their course another way. But shaken ships in Seas doe sincke, when surges rise aloft: And vnder waues (for want of aide) weake vessels welter oft. So that no hope of succour seemes, to come when tempests rage. Except the gods draw back the plagues, and winde and weather swage. The present panges and parlous thoughts, that pearceth troubled minds: Is knowne to none but such I say, that lacke of fréedome findes. A prisner beares a simple port, most glad to please and ply: As subiect to the kéepers becke, and iellouse Gailors eye. Now tracing out a weary walke, now whisht and quiet stands: Now down on knées, now to the clouds lookes vp with stretched hands. Now listning after happy newe••, now nipt with sorrowes old: Now sore abasht and brought in muse, now merry stout and bold, Now ripe and ready for to speake, now dombe and dare not store:

Now fearfull of each sodaine sound, and clap of euery dore. Now bent to beare and suffer wrong, now full reposde on right: Now faine to fawne on féeble folke, now setting all thinges light. These passions still awakes their spryets, that carefull captiues are: Such smart they tast, such bread they bite, that feedes on loaues of car••. Yea some are serude with change of meats, yet touch they neare a dishe: But sits like Tantalus in Hell, and wants that most they wishe. These twaine I troe were not so vsde, but yet when best they sped: On heauie morf••els mixte with mone, their hungrie stomackes fed. No day stoode free from Fortunes foyle, no houre but nourisht feare: No season serude to salue the sores, of soking sorrowes there. No drinke could coole the furie hote, of thraldomes thirstie throte: No pleasant verie nor dittie framde, to dolors dolfull note. No booke nor story might reuiue, their drowping dead delite: For through the thoughts of thirled hartes, are pleasures banisht quite. To slowth, to sléepe, and mirthlesse moodes, their dompish daies enclinde: As from the clue of worldly cares, should threde of life vntwinde, Dispiesd the night, abhord the daye.

and hated houre of birth: Thought scorne of foode, and cleane forsooke the pleasures of the earth. Would faine haue lost both speach & breath and looke when hearts would burst: Beleude they were in mothers wombe, or else in cradell curst, Though drousie dreed, did death desire, and griefe sought quicke dispatch: There was no parting from the place. till day discharge the watch. Wee cannot pay our borrowed breath, before th••appoynted houre: The end of strife, nor staie of state, stands not in peoples power. The God that guides the heauens high, in secret doth beholde: The fine and fléeting féeble course, of earth and massie molde. The heart may heaue, the breast may bl••e, the bodie sigh and swelt: The face by open sinnes may show, of priuy pa••hons felt. But all the stormes haue little force, to rid mans wretched dayes: As by these 〈◊〉〈◊〉 playne I prooue, through torments sundrie waies. Well those from whom the Gods restraine the scope, and vse of will: Must bend the backe, and bow the ioyntes, to beare the burthen still. And yet no toyle nor griefe so great, but findes at length some ease: There follows after swelling floodes, a quiet calmie seas.

By meane of sute and labours long, and gracious Prince indeede: A swéeter soyle these Prisoners sound, that better blood did breed. But kept apart as Fortune shapt, and so in silent shade: (As place and time did licence graunt) a fresh complaint they made, Of crooked chaunce and straunge extremes, that so••dred faythfull hartes: Whose sugred loue was euer mixt, with ba••e and bitter smartes. And neuer after like to méete, nor set no eye nor vewe: The one vppon the other Lord, a matter much to rew. Long in the broyle of this conflict, and battle of the mind: They past their time with bare beléefe, of better happ behind. And wearing out with wailings long, their weary liues God wot: And finding hauen chooked vp, where passage should be got. At ankor vnder watch, and ward, in tossed Barke they laye: From whence there was no quiet meanes, nor hope to scape awaie. The Lady now for last farewell, betooke her selfe to teares: And of dispaire in pearsed brest, a double portion beares. Her hollow chéekes and daseled eyes, declarde her death was néere: And bad her kéepers to prepare,

both shrowding shéete and Beere. For nature did denie her life, her hart was taynted so: That cankred thought should come ful soone and make an ende of woe. Her colour changde her chéerfull lookes, and countenaunce wanted spréete. To ••allow ashes turnde the hue, of beauties blossomes sweete. And drery dulnesse had bespred, the wearish bodie throw: Ech vitall vaine did flat refuse, to doe their dutie now. The blood forsooke the wonted course, and backward ganne retire: And left the limmes as cold and swar••e, as coles that wastes with fire. The moysture taken from the trée, the leaues droppe downe apace: When sap dries vp and fayles the roote, the braunches loose their grace. Some bowes you see doe florish fayre, and groes a goodly height, And some by frost, and cold ayre nipt, and so are blasted streight. As euery fruite and flowre in fielde. to yéelde to sodaine claps. So all that breathes with liuing soule, are subiect to mishaps. How should this dame desire to liue, that hourely wore awaye: Who would not shed some teares to sée, this tender twig decay. What stonie hart could suffer more, and beare with euen hand:

The wearie wight of worldly woes, and whiske or whipping wand? And when she saw her hour•• approche, and death his dutie crau••: And shee amid her chiefest prime, must goe to gréedie graue. Shée tooke of World a noble leaue, and calling for a friend: (Who liueth yet and can report, how she did make an end) Shee sayd with loude and comely voyce, O world I thee forsake: I haue béene here a Pilgrime long, and now my leaue I take. Of all thy pompe and pleasures vaine, that makes my sences blinde: Whose glorie doth beginne with payne, and ends with griefe of minde. In dungeon déepe of dayntie thoughtes, thou holdest euerie wight: And féedes their foolish fancie still, with toyes and trifles light. Thy prisoner was I borne to bée, and Adams children all: (Like Captiues here condemnde to die) must suffer for his fall. But now the chaines and lothsome lincks, that lay on shoulders weake: (And all the bandes and clogges of care) in shiuers small shall breake. And I from cage shall mount the skyes, more swift then bird with wing: And flickar like a simple doue, where shining Angels sing. I bring a badge and liuery both

that my good mayster CHRIST: Did leaue for such as beares his crosse, through fogges of wordly miest. Yea shaking off this sinfull Soyle, mée thinke in clowdes I sée: Among the p••rfit chosen Lambes, a place preparde for mée. Héere is no home, nor harbring house, but Cabbens built on sand: That euery pirrie puffeth downe, or still on proppe•• doe stand. Our Fathers spreets possesse in peace, the Countrey that wee craue: Wee are but straungers, farre from home, that nothing certaine haue. These were her wordes and many moe. which followes as shée spoke: I did (quoth shée) by brittle life, O Lord thy wrath prouoke, For which I now repent mee sore, and trusting to receaue, Free pardon for my former faultes. eare soule shall bodie leaue. My faint and feeble vessell fraile, so feares thy iustice great: That it appeales from curse of Lawe, vnto thy mercy seate. I am but wormes meat well I wot, all flesh is nought but grasse: To earth and ashes out of hand, must all my pleasures passe. I want the force, thou hast the might, to striue with Death and Hell: Thou art the Rocke, the corner Stone, the fountaine, and the Well.

From whom the springes of life must run, and vnto whom againe: The thirstie soules, and hungrie heartes, for helpe doe trudge amaine. Who hath beene washed in thy blood, is whiter than the snow: O let the streames and floud of grace, with fauour on mee flowe. In booke of life, let write good Lord, my name among the rest: That ordaynde were, eare world was made to sleepe in Abrams brest. Blot out the blemish of my brow, that at the latter daye: May strike the conscience with dispaire, and cloaked crimes bewraie. Giue boldnesse to the bashfull sprite, that feares from hence to flitte: Make hope, and fayth now fl••me to sée, great God in glorie sitte. Wi••h closed hand, than brest shee knockt, so gaue a sigh▪ and stayd: And then conceiude some inward ioy, with cheerfull face shee sayd, Do mourne no more, O trembling soule, that knowes not where to staye: Come from the kaytiffe carraine corpes, and cabben ••ade of clays. And looke vppon the Lambe of God, whose death thy raunsome payde▪ That blessed babe the virgins Sonne, that borne was of a maide. Come silly bud out of the Den, where naught but darknesse is: And looke on euerlasting light,

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and louing Lord of blisse. The lusts of flesh and worldly pompe, I hope are quentch in mée•• Through fayth alone from sinne and bo••d, I haue escaped frée. And with that word in signe of ioy, a Psalme full loud shee sang, The solempne noyse and sound thereof, thorowout the chamber rang. And ending that to prayer straight, of her owne mind shee fell: The standers by whose teares burst out, at this her last farewell Beganne to giue her comfort than, of life and welfare both, Yea liue I shall and doe right well, (quoth shee) I know for troth. But that is in another world, the hope of this is gone: And reason is it should bée so, for heere there liueth none, But sées the vainesse of our state, and tastes such torments still: That sundrie times, they wish themselues, from hence with right good will. Héere is but toyle, and sweate of browes, and endlesse labour ••ound: And nothing reapt but wretched wracke, and broken sleepes vnsound. Where I shall goe I cease from payne, and so such ioy possesse: As hart scarse thinkes, nor head conceiues, nor tongue may well expresse. Then hold your peace, knit vp your talke, and trouble not the spréete,

That drawes from hence and hopes it is, for better place more méete. A Ladie thoe that vertue likte, and there some credit had: ••eplyde and sayd O noble dame, indeed you are too sad. These panges shal passe, these ••••ts shall fade and all these passions die, As they haue done when you full oft, in such like sort did lye. O Madame speake no more of that, my time draws 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (quoth shée) I shall not die, but make exchaunge, of breath and life I sée, The glasse is run, the Clocke will strike, death doth approche apace: My course is done, the Iudge draws néere, to sit vppon my case. No longer héere I may abide, the packing day is come: Death bids me now vnarme my selfe, and heare the mortall Dr••••. That cals me hence, as naked sure, as to the world I cam: The course of Nature shewes me too, that Earth and Dust I am. The Harrolde of long home is sent, to summon mée in hast: Then stay me not, for in that poynt, both teares and wordes yée wast. Yet eare I part, good friendes (quoth shée) behold what hope I haue: And note what fayth, and badge of Christ, I carrie to my graue. And marke, how I confesse with mouth,

that Christ hath shed his blood: For me, and those that earst in state, of deepe damnation stood. And by his passion I am saued, and not by my desarts: But by the helpe of him that knowes, the thoughts of secret hearts. Now staying héere, shée lookt about, and to a Knight shee spake: And him desired with humble wordes, that he the paines would take. To show the Prince what past her mouth, O tell him sir quoth shée: This is the sute, and last request, that must be made by mée. Unto his highnesse whose estate, our blessed Lord maintaine: And pray him to forgiue me now, for I confesse it playne. I made a fault and sore offence, when I against his will: Estrangde my selfe from his good grace; for any hope or skill. But from my breath vnto this day, my heart and thought was cléere: From breach of subiects dutie sure, and I protest it héere. I neuer ment nor purposed yet, in word, in deed, nor thought: No harme (nor lodgde one il conseit, nor sparke of euill sought) To him as God may witnesse beare, to that which now I speake: Saue now alas by ouersight, of feeble fancies weak••.

I féele and finde the price thereof, and suffer for the same: An open checke and priuie plagu••, and pinching publik blame. I hope his highnesse hath forgot, the fault I did commit: And as he is a noble Prince, in Regall throne to sit. And iudge his subiects causes all, so hope I of his grace: Hée will receiue my children poore. and helpe their heauy case. O God forbid for Mothers fault, the Children should abye: No graine of grudge, nor ground of guil••, in guiltlesse babes doe ly••. I doe bequeath them now quoth shée, vnto the Princes handes: In hope the fauour that they finde, shall ease the fathers handes. My nature shows a mourning chéere, to part from them God knowes: For children finde small comfort héere, when hence the mother goes. If God moue not the Princes minde, to pittie their estate: Now as the Ladie did at large, about her Babes debate. Uppon her déere bought iewell than, shée cast her onely thought: Yea for whose sake and great good will, shee was in trouble brought. And pausing on this matter through, a heauie sigh she gaue: O good sir Knight sayd shee to one,

a thing of you I craue. Commend me to my worthy friend, and bid him comfort take: And hope in God and Princes grace, though I doe world forsake, He may doe well and freedome get: but mée hee shall not méete: Till from the caue of pampred flesh, departes his groning spréete. Whiles life I had, I honoured him, and safely kept my vow: As life did bind mee his in all, so death doth loose mée now. From him and all my worldly ioyes, but though my friend I leaue. On high where dwells a greater freind, (if hope not mée deceau••.) I trust to sée his babes and him, and though much griefe it is: To leaue them heere in bitter bale, yet note I goe to blisse. Where is no mind of combrous cares, nor cause of sorrow knowne: O tell him that aboue I hope, these stormes shall be ore blowne▪ And as a scroule is ••apped vp, yea so shall all thinges héere: (When soule shall be immortall made) vnto our view appeere. No sooner of the soule shée spoke, but sodaine chaunge beganne: * 1.1In lookes and limmes of deadly show••; with colour pale and wan. The eyes did stare, the bodie stretch, the strength and force did faile:

The teeth they chattered in the Cheekes, the handes did quake and quayle. The mouth did some, the head did shake, the flesh it quiuered fast: The feet waxt cold, the face did sweate, full swift the pulses past. The heart did heaue and beat in breast, the breath like earth did sent: At eares, and nose the stiffled Ghost, and vitall life sought vent.* 1.2 Though gasping breath brought passiōs on and grip•• h••r heart full hard: Yet showd she through those sharpe assaults to ••rend a great regard. And calling for a bo••e of Kinges, among them chose shee one▪ In which was set by cunning Art, a rich and precious stone. Hold carrie this quoth shee good Sir, to my deere noble Knight: He can remember what that stone, presents vnto his sight. The other token that I send, it is a waightie ring: Best likt and dearest bought God wot, of any earthly thing. And when you shall giue him this gift, desire him well to minde: The little Impes the pretty soules, the babes I leaue behinde. And bid him bring them vp in feare, of God and Prince I saie: L••e! that is all I doe require, of him my dying daie. I haue no gold to send my Babes▪

but blessing I them giue: Which God confirme with grace good stor•• as long as they shall liue. O yet there is another ring, which loe my lone must sée: Where is my picture: death I meane, and tell my friend from mee, That I as colde and sencelesse too, shall be in little space: As is that shaddow dum and deaffe, and spritelesse shape of face. This done shée turnde her head aside, and bad them all farewell: Twere good quoth shee in signe of death, I heard the passing bell. For such as liue may pray the while, and know when bell doth toule: Into the bowells of the earth, the bodie parts from soule. Yet meete they shall when trumpet sounds and that the dead arise: And both together shall ascende, I hope to starrie skies. With this beganne the battell fierce, betwéene her life and death: Like Ghost shée lay, whiles heart did grone and mouth gepte wide for breath. Then sayd shee Lord into thy handes, I doe commend my sprée••: And so her selfe closde vp her eyes, and hid her head in sheet. And went awaie like infant young, cleane voyde of storme or rage: Or like a bodie falls a sléepe, that cannot speake for age.

Thus breathlesse lay this Lady now, like weightie lump of clay: (That earst had life and feeling force) and past like floure away. But when the newes of this was brought, vnto her Playffeers eares: With roaring voyce, and blubbred eyes, there gushed out such teares, That witnest well with outward signes, what woe he•• felt within: And truely tolde when shée did ende, his delour did beginne. Be rest of sleepe, and robde of rest, hée romed vp and downe: And cast of wéedes of worldly pompe, and clapt on mourning Gowne. No ease nor pleasures could possesse, nor féele the taste of meate: Resolude to pine and sta••••e himselfe, his griefes they were so great. No councell could him comfort long, and still alone he drue: To mourne, to m••ane, to houle, and cry, and make complaint an••e. And worne away with woefull sighes, when sorrow helped not: At length the life must be sustaynde, with some reliefe yée wot. But how he takes this mischiefe yet, and how the matter goeth: It passeth farre my reach, and wit, to iudge I tell you troth. His Ladie gene, as you haue heard, when dayes and yeares were spent▪ In thraldome long, yet after that,

was better fortune se••t. For into Princes grace againe, hee came by blessed chaunce, And so he liues in open Worlde, where vertue may aduaunce: Both him and many thousandes more, that Noble liues doe leade, And wisely walke with vpright mindes, and steps of honour treade. Loe héere you Dames of high renowne, a Ladies death set out: Whose life for faith, full few shall finde, that seekes wide world about. To God and Prince repentaunt sure, to worlde a mirrour bright: Wherefore with tongue, and true report, resounde her prayse a ••ight.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  A right figure of death.
• * 1.2

  A patterne of Death.