The Printer to the Reader

That to haue wel written in verse, yea & in small parcelles, deserueth great praise, the workes of diuers Latines, Italians, and other, doe proue sufficiently. That our tong is able in that kynde to do as praiseworthely as <the> rest, the honorable stile of the noble earle of Surrey, and the weightinesse of the depewitted sir Thomas Wyat the elders verse, with seuerall graces in sondry good Englishe writers, doe show abundantly. It resteth nowe (gentle reder) that thou thinke it not euill doon, to publish, to the honor of the Englishe tong, and for profit of the studious of Englishe eloquence, those workes which the vngentle hordera (Note: horders) vp of such treasure haue heretofore enuied thee. And for this point (good reder) thine own profit and pleasure, in these presently, and in moe hereafter, shal answere for my defence. If parhappes some mislike the statelinesse of stile remoued from the rude skill of common eares: I aske help of the learned to defend their learned frender, (Note: frendes) the authors of this work: And I exhort the vnlearned, by reding to learne to be more skilfull, and to purge that swinelike grossenesse, that maketh the swete maierome not to smell to their delight.

Tottel -- Songes and Sonettes -- , by Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey

The sonne hath twise brought furth

Descripcion of the restlesse state of a louer, with sute to his ladie, to rue on his diyng hart.

The sonne hath twise brought furth his tender grene,
And clad the earth in liuely lustinesse:
Ones haue the windes the trees despoiled clene,
And new again begins their cruelnesse,
Since I haue hid vnder my brest the harm
That neuer shall recouer healthfulnesse.
The winters hurt recouers with the warm:
The parched grene restored is with shade.
What warmth (alas) may serue for to disarm
The frosen hart that mine in flame hath made?
What colde againe is able to restore
My fresh grene yeares, that wither thus and fade?
Alas, I se, nothing hath hurt so sore,
But time in time reduceth a returne:
In time my harm increaseth more and more,
And semes to haue my cure alwaies in scorne.
Strange kindes of death, in life that I doe trie,
At hand to melt, farre of in flame to burne.
And like as time list to my cure aply,
So doth eche place my comfort cleane refuse.
All thing aliue, that seeth the heauens with eye,
With cloke of night may couer, and excuse
It self from trauail of the dayes vnrest,
Saue I, alas, against all others vse,
That then stirre vp the tormentes of my brest,
And curse eche sterre as causer of my fate.
And when the sonne hath eke the dark opprest,
And brought the day, it doth nothing abate
The trauailes of mine endles smart and payn,
For then, as one that hath the light in hate,
I wish for night, more couertly to playn,
And me withdraw from euery haunted place,
Lest by my chere my chance appere to playn:
And in my minde I measure pace by pace,
To seke the place where I my self had lost,
That day that I was tangled in the lace,
In semyng slack that knitteth euer most:
But neuer yet the trauaile of my thought
Of better state coulde catche a cause to bost.
For if I found sometime that I haue sought,
Those sterres by whome I trusted of the porte,
My sayles doe fall, and I aduance right nought,
As ankerd fast, my spretes doe all resorte
To stande agazed, and sinke in more and more
The deadly harme which she dothe take in sport.
Lo, if I seke, how I doe finde my sore:
And yf I flee I carie with me still
The venomde shaft, whiche dothe his force restore
By hast of flight, and I may plaine my fill
Vnto my selfe, vnlesse this carefull song
Printe in your harte some parcell of my tene
For I, alas, in silence all to long
Of myne olde hurte yet fele the wounde but grene.
Rue on my life: or els your cruell wronge
Shall well appere, and by my death be sene.
 

The soote season

Description of Spring, wherin eche thing renewes, saue onelie the louer.
 

The soote season, that bud and blome furth bringes,
With grene hath clad the hill and eke the vale:
The nightingale with fethers new she singes:
The turtle to her make hath tolde her tale:
Somer is come, for euery spray nowe springes,
The hart hath hong his olde hed on the pale:
The buck in brake his winter cote he flinges:
The fishes flote with newe repaired scale:
The adder all her sloughe awaye she slinges:
The swift swalow pursueth the flyes smale:
The busy bee her honye now she minges:
Winter is worne that was the flowers bale:
And thus I see among these pleasant thinges
Eche care decayes, and yet my sorow springes.
 

When youth had led me

Descripcion of the restlesse state of a louer.
 

When youth had led me halfe the race,
That Cupides scourge me causde to ronne,
I loked back to mete the place,
From whence my wery course begonne.
And then I sawe how my desire
Misguiding me had led the way:
Mine eyen to gredy of their hire,
Had made me lose a better pray.
For when in sighes I spent the day,
And could not cloke my griefe with game,
The boiling smoke did still bewray
The persaunt heate of secrete flame.
And when salt teares doe bayne my brest,
Where loue his pleasant traines hath sowen
Her bewty hath the fruites opprest,
Ere that the buds were spronge and blowen.
And when myne eyen dyd styll pursue
The flying chace that was their quest,
Their gredy lokes dyd oft renewe.
the hidden wound within my brest.
When euery loke these chekes might staine,
From deadly pale to glowing red:
By outwarde signes appered plaine,
The woe wherin my hart was fed.
But all to late loue learneth me,
To painte all kinde of colours new,
To blinde their eyes that els shoulde see,
My specled chekes with Cupides hewe.
And no we (Note: nowe) the couert brest I claime,
That worshipt Cupide secretely:
And norished his sacred flame,
From whence no blasing sparkes doe flye.
 

Svche waiward waies hath loue

Description of the fickle affections panges and sleightes of loue.
 

Svche waiward waies hath loue, that most part in discord
Our willes do stand, whereby our hartes but seldom doe accord.
Disceit is his delight, and to begile, and mock
The simple hartes whom he doth strike w<ith> froward diuers strok.
H e (Note: He) makes the one to rage with golden burning dart,
And doth alay with leaden colde agayn the other hart.
Whote glemes of burnyng fire, and easy sparkes of flame
In balance of vnegall weight he pondereth by aime.
From easy forde, where I might wade and passe ful wel,
He me withdrawes, and doth me driue into a depe dark hel,
And me withholdes where I am calde and offred place,
And willes me that my mortall foe I doe beseke of grace:
He lettes me to pursue a conquest welnere wonne,
To folow where my paines were lost ere that my suite begonne.
So by this meanes I know how soone a hart may turne
From warre to peace, from truce to strife, and so again returne,
I know how to content my self in others lust,
Of litle stuffe vnto my self to weaue a webbe of trust:
And how to hide my harmes with soft dissembling chere,
When in my face the painted thoughtes would outwardly apere.
I know how that the blood forsakes the face for dred:
And how by shame it staines again the chekes with flaming red.
I know vnder the grene the serpent how he lurkes.
The hammer of the restles forge I wote eke how it wurkes.
I know and can by roate the tale that I would tel:
But oft the wordes come furth awrie of him that loueth wel.
I know in heat and colde the louer how he shakes:
In singing how he doth complain, in slepyng how he wakes:
To languish without ache, sicklesse for to consume:
A thousand thinges for to deuise resoluing all in fume.
And though he list to se his ladies grace ful sore,
Such pleasures as delight the eye doe not his health restore.
I know to seke the track of my desired foe,
And feare to finde that I do seke. But chiefly this I know,
That louers must transforme into the thing beloued,
And liue (alas who would beleue?) with sprite from life remoued,
I know in harty sighes, and laughters of the splene
At once to change my state, my wyll, and eke my coloure clene.
I know how to deceaue my self with others help:
And how the Lion chastised is by beating of the whelp.
In standyng nere my fire I know how that I freze.
Farre of I burne, in both I wast, and so my life I leze.
I know how loue doth rage vpon a yelding mynde:
How smal a net may take and meash a hart of gentle kinde:
Or els with seldom swete to season heapes of gall,
Reuiued with a glimse of grace olde sorowes to let fall,
The hidden traines I know, and secret snares of loue:
How soone a loke wil printe a thought, that neuer may remoue.
The slipper state I know, the sodain turnes from wealth,
The doubtful hope, the certain woe, and sure despeire of health.
 

When somer toke in hand

Complaint of a louer, that defied loue, and was by loue after the more tormented.
 

When so<m>mer toke in hand the winter to assail,
With force of might, & vertue gret, his stormy blasts to quail,
And when he clothed faire the earth about with grene,
And euery tree new garmented, that pleasure was to sene:
Mine hart gan new reuiue, and changed blood dyd stur
Me to withdraw my winter woe, that kept within the dore.
Abrode, quod my desire: assay to set thy fote,
Where thou shalt finde the sauour swete: for sprong is euery rote.
And to thy health, if thou were sick in any case,
Nothing more good, than in the spring the aire to fele a space.
There shalt thou here and se all kindes of birdes ywrought,
Well tune their voice w<ith> warble smal, as nature hath them tought.
Thus pricked me my lust the sluggish house to leaue:
And for my health I thought it best suche counsail to receaue.
So on a morow furth, vnwist of any wight,
I went to proue how well it would my heauy burden light.
And when I felt the aire so pleasant round about,
Lorde, to my self how glad I was that I had gotten out.
There might I se how Ver had euery blossom hent:
And eke the new betrothed birdes ycoupled how they went.
And in their songes me thought they thanked nature much,
That by her lycence all that yere to loue their happe was such,
Right as they could deuise to chose them feres throughout:
With much reioysing to their Lord thus flew they all about,
Which when I gan resolue, and in my head conceaue,
What pleasant life, what heapes of ioy these litle birdes receaue,
And sawe in what estate I wery man was brought,
By want of that they had at will, and I reiect at nought:
Lorde how I gan in wrath vnwisely me demeane.
I curssed loue, and him defied: I thought to turne the streame.
But whan I well behelde he had me vnder awe,
I asked mercie for my fault, that so transgrest his law.
Thou blinded god (quod I) forgeue me this offense,
Vnwillingly I went about to malice thy pretense.
Wherewith he gaue a beck, and thus me thought he swore,
Thy sorow ought suffice to purge thy faulte, if it were more.
The vertue of which sounde mine hart did so reuiue,
That I, me thought, was made as hole as any man aliue.
But here ye may perceiue mine errour all and some,
For that I thought that so it was: yet was it still vndone:
And all that was no more but mine empressed mynde,
That fayne woulde haue some good relefe of Cupide wel assinde.
I turned home forthwith, and might perceiue it well,
That he agreued was right sore with me for my rebell.
My harmes haue euer since increased more and more,
And I remaine, without his help, vndone for euer more,
A miror let me be vnto ye louers all:
Striue not with loue: for if ye do, it will ye thus befall,
 

Loue, that liueth, and reigneth

Complaint of a louer rebuked.
 

Loue, that liueth, and reigneth in my thought,
That built his seat within my captiue brest,
Clad in the armes, wherin with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
She, that me taught to loue, and suffer payne,
My doutfull hope, and eke my hote desyre,
With shamefast cloke to shadowe, and refraine,
Her smilyng grace conuerteth straight to yre.
And cowarde Loue then to the hart apace
Taketh his flight, whereas he lurkes, and plaines
His purpose lost, and dare not shewe his face.
For my lordes gilt thus faultlesse byde I paynes.
Yet from my lorde shall not my foote remoue.
Swete is his death, that takes his end by loue.
 

In Ciprus, springes

Complaint of the louer disdained.
 

In Ciprus, springes (whereas dame Venus dwelt)
A well so hote, that whoso tastes thesame, (Note: the same)

Were he of stone, as thawed yse should melt,
And kindled fynde his brest with fired flame.
Whose moyst poyson dissolued hath my hate.
This creeping fire my colde lims so opprest,
That in the hart that harborde freedome late,
Endlesse despeyre longe thraldome hath imprest.
An other so colde in frozen yse is founde,
Whose chilling venom of repugnant kynde
The feruent heat doth quenche of Cupides wounde:
And with the spot of change infectes the minde:
Whereof my dere hath tasted, to my paine.
My seruice thus is growen into disdaine.
 

From Tuskane

Description and praise of his loue Geraldine.
 

From Tuskane came my Ladies worthy race:
Faire Florence was sometyme her auncient seate:
The Western yle, whose pleasaunt shore dothe face
Wilde Cambers clifs, did geue her liuely heate:
Fostered she was with milke of Irishe brest:
Her sire, an Erle: her dame, of princes blood.
From tender yeres, in Britain she doth rest,
With kinges childe, where she tasteth costly food.
Honsdon did first present her to mine yien:
Bright is her hewe, and Geraldine she hight.
Hampton me taught to wishe her first for mine:
And Windsor, alas, dothe chase me from her sight.
Her beauty of kind her vertues from aboue.
Happy is he, that can obtaine her loue.
 

Brittle beautie

The frailtie and hurtfulnes of beautie.
 

Brittle beautie, that nature made so fraile,
Wherof the gift is small, and short the season,
Flowring to day, to morowe apt to faile,
Tickell treasure abhorred of reason,
Daungerous to dele with, vaine, of none auaile,
Costly in keping, past not worthe two peason,
Slipper in sliding as is an eles taile,
Harde to attaine, once gotten not geason,
Iewel of ieopardie that perill dothe assaile,
False and vntrue, enticed oft to treason,
Enmy to youth: that moste may I bewaile.
Ah bitter swete infecting as the poyson:
Thou farest as frute that with the frost is taken,
To day redy ripe, to morowe all to shaken.
 

Alas so all thinges nowe

A complaint by night of the louer not beloued.
 

Alas so all thinges nowe doe holde their peace.
Heauen and earth disturbed in nothing:
The beastes, the ayer, the birdes their song doe cease:
The nightes chare the starres aboute dothe bring:
Calme is the Sea, the waues worke lesse and lesse:
So am not I, whom loue alas doth wring,
Bringing before my face the great encrease
Of my desires, whereat I wepe and syng,
In ioye and wo, as in a doutfull ease.
For my swete thoughtes sometyme doe pleasure bring:
But byandby (Note: by and by) the cause of my disease
Geues me a pang, that inwardly dothe sting,
When that I thinke what griefe it is againe,
To liue and lacke the thing should ridde my paine.
 

When Windsor walles susteyned

How eche thing saue the louer in spring reuiueth to pleasure.
 

When Windsor walles susteyned my wearied arme,
My hande my chin, to ease my restlesse hed:
The pleasant plot reuested green with warme,
The blossomd bowes with lusty Ver yspred,
The flowred meades, the wedded birdes so late
Mine eyes discouer: and to my mynde resorte
The ioly woes, the hatelesse shorte debate,
The rakehell lyfe that longes to loues disporte.
Wherewith (alas) the heauy charge of care
Heapt in my brest breakes forth against my will,
In smoky sighes, that ouercast the ayer.
My vapord eyes suche drery teares distill,
The tender spring whiche quicken where they fall,
And I halfebent to throwe me downe withall.
 

Set me wheras the sunne

Vow to loue faithfully howsoeuer he be rewarded.
 

Set me wheras the sunne doth parche the grene,
Or where his beames do not dissolue the yse:
In temperate heate where he is felt and sene:
In presence prest of people madde or wise.
Set me in hye, or yet in lowe degree:
In longest night, or in the shortest daye:
In clearest skye, or where clowdes thickest be:
In lusty youth, or when my heeres are graye.
Set me in heauen, in earth, or els in hell,
In hyll, or dale, or in the fomyng flood:
Thrall, or at large, aliue where so I dwell:
Sicke, or in health: in euyll fame, or good.
Hers will I be, and onely with this thought
Content my selfe, although my chaunce be nought.
 

I neuer sawe my Ladye

Complaint that his ladie after she knew of his loue kept her face alway hidden from him.
 

I Neuer sawe my Ladye laye apart
Her cornet blacke, in colde nor yet in heate,
Sith first she knew my griefe was growen so great,
Which other fansies driueth from my hart
That to my selfe I do the thought reserue,
The which vnwares did wounde my wofull brest:
But on her face mine eyes mought neuer rest,
Yet, sins she knew I did her loue and serue
Her golden tresses cladde alway with blacke,
Her smilyng lokes that hid thus euermore,
And that restraines whiche I desire so sore.
So dothe this cornet gouerne me alacke:
In somer, sunne: in winters breath, a frost:
Wherby the light of her faire lokes I lost.
 

The golden gift

Request to his loue to ioyne bountie with beautie.
 

The golden gift that nature did thee geue,
To fasten frendes, and fede them at thy wyll,
With fourme and fauour, taught me to beleue,
How thou art made to shew her greatest skill.
Whose hidden vertues are not so vnknowen,
But liuely domes might gather at the first
Where beautye so her perfect seede hath sowen,
Of other graces folow nedes there must.
Now certesse Ladie, sins all this is true,
That from aboue thy gyftes are thus elect:
Do not deface them than with fansies newe,
Nor chaunge of mindes let not thy minde infect:
But mercy him thy frende, that doth thee serue,
Who seekes alway thine honour to preserue.
 

So cruell prison

Prisoned in windsor, he recounteth his pleasure there passed.
 

So cruell prison how coulde betide, alas,
As proude Windsor? where I in lust and ioye,
With a kinges sonne, my childishe yeres did passe,
In greater feast than Priams sonnes of Troy:
Where eche swete place returns a taste full sower,
The large grene courtes, where we were wont to houe,
With eyes cast vp into the maydens tower.
And easie sighes, suche as folke drawe in loue:
The stately seates, the ladies bright of hewe:
The daunces shorte, longe tales of great delight:
With wordes and lokes, that tygers coulde but rewe,
Where eche of vs did pleade the others right:
The palme play, where, dispoyled for the game,
With dazed eies oft we by gleames of loue,
Haue mist the ball, and got sight of our dame,
To baite her eyes, whiche kept the leads aboue:
The grauell grounde, with sleues tyed on the helme:
On fomynge horse, with swordes and frendlye hartes:
With cheare, as though one should another whelme:
Where we haue fought, and chased oft with dartes,
With siluer droppes the meade yet spred for ruthe,
In actiue games of nimblenes, and strength,
Where we did straine, trayned with swarmes of youth.
Our tender lymmes, that yet shot vp in length:
The secrete groues, which oft we made resounde
Of pleasaunt playnt, and of our ladies prayse,
Recordyng ofte what grace eche one had founde,
What hope of spede, what dreade of long delayes:
The wilde forest, the clothed holtes with grene:
With rayns auailed, and swift ybreathed horse,
With crye of houndes, and mery blastes betwene,
Where we did chase the fearfull harte of force,
The wide vales eke, that harborde vs ech night,
Wherwith (alas) reuiueth in my brest
The swete accorde: such slepes as yet delight,
The pleasant dreames, the quiet bed of rest:
The secrete thoughtes imparted with such trust:
The wanton talke, the diuers change of play:
The frendship sworne, eche promise kept so iust:
Wherwith we past the winter night away.
And, with this thought, the bloud forsakes the face,
The teares berayne my chekes of deadly hewe:
The whiche as sone as sobbyng sighes (alas)
Vpsupped haue, thus I my plaint renewe:
O place of blisse, renuer of my woes,
Geue me accompt, where is my noble fere:
Whom in thy walles thou doest eche night enclose,
To other leefe, but vnto me most dere.
Eccho (alas) that dothe my sorow rewe,
Returns therto a hollow sounde of playnte.
Thus I alone, where all my fredome grewe,
In prison pyne, with bondage and restrainte,
And with remembrance of the greater greefe
To banishe the lesse, I find my chief releefe.
 

When ragyng loue

The louer comforteth himself with the worthinesse of his loue.
 

When ragyng loue with extreme payne
Most cruelly distrains my hart:
When that my teares, as floudes of rayne,
Beare witnes of my wofull smart:
When sighes haue wasted so my breath,
That I lye at the poynte of death:
I call to minde the nauye greate,
That the Grekes brought to Troye towne:
And how the boysteous windes did beate
Their shyps, and rente their sayles adowne,
Till Agamemnons daughters bloode
Appeasde the goddes, that them withstode.
And how that in those ten yeres warre,
Full many a bloudye dede was done,
And many a lord, that came full farre,
There caught his bane (alas) to sone:
And many a good knight ouerronne,
Before the Grekes had Helene wonne.
Then thinke I thus: sithe suche repayre,
So longe time warre of valiant men,
Was all to winne a ladye fayre:
Shall I not learne to suffer then,
And thinke my life well spent to be,
Seruyng a worthier wight than she?
Therfore I neuer will repent,
But paynes contented stil endure.
For like as when, rough winter spent,
The pleasant spring straight draweth in vre:
So after ragyng stormes of care
Ioyful at length may be my fare.
 

O happy dames

Complaint of the absence of her louer being vpon the sea.
 

O Happy dames, that may embrace
The frute of your delight,
Help to bewaile the wofull case,
And eke the heauy plight
Of me, that wonted to reioyce
The fortune of my pleasant choyce:
Good Ladies, help to fill my moorning voyce.
In ship, freight with rememberance
Of thoughts, and pleasures past,
He sailes that hath in gouernance
My life, while it wil last:
With scalding sighes, for lack of gale,
Furdering his hope, that is his sail
Toward me, the swete port of his auail.
Alas, how oft in dreames I se
Those eyes, that were my food,
Which somtime so delited me,
That yet they do me good.
Wherwith I wake with his returne,
Whose absent flame did make me burne.
But when I find the lacke, Lord how I mourne?
When other louers in armes acrosse,
Reioyce their chiefe delight:
Drowned in teares to mourne my losse,
I stand the bitter night,
In my window, where I may see,
Before the windes how the cloudes flee.
Lo, what a mariner loue hath made me.
And in grene waues when the salt flood
Doth rise, by rage of winde:
A thousand fansies in that mood
Assayle my restlesse mind.
Alas, now drencheth my swete fo,
That with the spoyle of my hart did go,
And left me but (alas) why did he so?
And when the seas waxe calme againe,
To chase fro me annoye.
My doutfull hope doth cause me plaine:
So dreade cuts of my ioye.
Thus is my wealth mingled with wo,
And of ech thought a dout doth growe,
Now he comes, will he come? alas, no no.
 

In winters iust returne

Complaint of a diyng louer refused vpon his ladies iniust mistaking of his writyng.
 

In winters iust returne, when Boreas gan his raigne,
And euery tree vnclothed fast, as nature taught them plaine:
In misty morning darke, as sheepe are then in holde,
I hyed me fast, it sat me on, my sheepe for to vnfolde.
And as it is a thing, that louers haue by fittes,
Vnder a palm I heard one crye, as he had lost hys wittes.
Whose voice did ring so shrill, in vttering of his plaint,
That I amazed was to hear, how loue could hym attaint.
Ah wretched man (quod he) come death, and ridde thys wo:
A iust reward, a happy end, if it may chaunce thee so.
Thy pleasures past haue wrought thy wo, without redresse.
If thou hadst neuer felt no ioy, thy smart had bene the lesse.
And retchlesse of his life, he gan both sighe and grone,
A rufull thing me thought, it was, to hear him make such mone.
Thou cursed pen (sayd he) wo worth the bird thee bare,
The man, the knife, and all that made thee, wo be to their share.
Wo worth the time, and place, where I so could endite.
And wo be it yet once agayne, the pen that so can write.
Vnhappy hand, it had ben happy time for me,
If, when to writethou (Note: write thou) learned first, vnioynted hadst thou be.
Thus cursed he himself, and euery other wight,
Saue her alone whom loue him bound to serue both day & night.
Which when I heard, and saw, how he himselfe fordid,
Against the ground with bloudy strokes, himself euen there to rid:
Had ben my heart of flint, it must haue melted tho:
For in my life I neuer saw a man so full of wo.
With teares, for his redresse, I rashly to him ran,
And in my armes I caught him fast, and thus I spake hym than.
What wofull wight art thou, that in such heauy case
Tormentes thy selfe with such despite, here in this desert place?
Wherwith, as all agast, fulfild wyth ire, and dred,
He cast on me a staring loke, with colour pale, and ded.
Nay, what art thou (quod he) that in this heauy plight,
Doest finde me here, most wofull wretch, that life hath in despight?
I am (quoth I) but poore, and simple in degre:
A shepardes charge I haue in hand, vnworthy though I be.
With that he gaue a sighe, as though the skye should fall:
And lowd (alas) he shryked oft, and Shepard, gan he call,
Come, hie the fast at ones, and print it in thy hart:
So thou shalt know, and I shall tell the, giltlesse how I smart.
His backe against the tree, sore febled all with faint,
With weary sprite he stretcht him vp: and thus hee told his plaint.
Ones in my hart (quoth he) it chanced me to loue
Such one, in whom hath nature wrought, her cu<n>ning for to proue.
And sure I can not say, but many yeres were spent,
With such good will so recompenst, as both we were content.
Wherto then I me bound, and she likewise also,
The sonne should runne his course awry, ere we this faith forgo.
Who ioied then, but I? who had this worldes blisse?
Who might compare a life to mine, that neuer thought on this?
But dwelling in thys truth, amid my greatest ioy,
Is me befallen a greater losse, than Priam had of Troy.
She is reuersed clene: and beareth me in hand,
That my desertes haue giue<n> her cause to break thys faithful band.
And for my iust excuse auaileth no defense.
Now knowest thou all: I can no more, but shepard, hye the hense:
And giue him leaue to die, that may no lenger liue:
Whose record lo I claime to haue, my death, I doe forgiue.
And eke when I am gone, be bolde to speake it plain:
Thou hast seen dye the truest man, that euer loue did pain.
Wherwith he turned him round, and gasping oft for breath,
Into his armes a tree he raught, and sayd, welcome my death:
Welcome a thousand fold, now dearer vnto me,
Than should, without her loue to liue, an emperour to be.
Thus, in this wofull state, he yelded vp the ghost:
And little knoweth his lady, what a louer she hath lost.
Whose death when I beheld, no maruail was it, right
For pitie though my heart did blede, to see so piteous sight.
My blood from heat to colde oft changed wonders sore:
A thousand troubles there I found I neuer knew before.
Twene dread, and dolour so my sprites were brought in feare,
That long it was ere I could call to minde, what I did there,
But, as eche thing hath end, so had these paynes of mine:
The furies past, and I my wits restord by length of time.
Then, as I could deuise, to seke I thought it best,
Where I might finde some worthy place, for such a corse to rest.
And in my mind it came: from thence not farre away,
Where Chreseids loue, king Priams so<n>ne, <the> worthy Troilus lay.
By him I made his tomb, in token he was treew:
And, as to him belonged well, I couered it with bleew.
Whose soule, by Angels power, departed not so sone,
But to the heauens, lo it fled, for to receiue his dome.
 

Good Ladies

Complaint of the absence of her louer being vpon the sea.
 

Good Ladies, ye that haue your pleasures in exile,
Step in your foote, come take a place, & moorne with me a while
And such as by their lordes do set but little price,
Let them sit still: it skilles them not what chance come on <the> dice.
But ye whom loue hath bound by ordre of desire
To loue your lords, whose good desertes none other wold require:
Come ye yet ones again, and set your foote by mine,
Whose wofull plight and sorrowes great no tong may wel define.
My loue an d (Note: and) lord, alas, in whom consistes my wealth,
Hath fortune sent to passe the seas in hazarde of his health.
Whome I was wont tembrace with well contented minde
Is now amidde the foming floods at pleasure of the winde.
Where God well him preserue, and sone him home me send.
Without which hope, my life (alas) wer shortly at an end.
Whose absence yet, although my hope doth tell me plaine,
With short returne he comes anon, yet ceasith not my payne.
The fearfull dreames I haue, oft times do greue me so:
That when I wake, I lye in doute, where they be true, or no.
Sometime the roring seas (me semes) do grow so hye:
That my dere Lord (ay me alas) me thinkes I se him die.
Another time the same doth tell me: he is cumne:
And playeng, where I shall him find with his faire little sonne.
So forth I go apace to se that leefsom sight.
And with a kisse, me think, I say: welcome my lord, my knight:
Welcome my swete, alas, the stay of my welfare.
Thy presence bringeth forth a truce atwixt me, & my care.
Then liuely doth he loke, and salueth me againe,
And saith: my dere, how is it now, that you haue all thys paine?
Wherwith the heauy cares: that heapt are in my brest,
Breake forth, and me dischargen clene of all my huge vnrest.
But when I me awake, and finde it but a dreme,
The anguishe of my former wo beginneth more extreme:
And me tormenteth so, that vnneath may I finde
Sum hidden place, wherein to slake the gnawing of my mind.
Thus euery way you se, with absence how I burn:
And for my wound no cure I find, but hope of good return.
Saue whan I think, by sowre how swete is felt the more:
It doth abate som of my paines, that I abode before.
And then vnto my self I say: when we shal meete.
But litle while shall seme this paine, the ioy shal be so sweete.
Ye windes, I you coniure in chiefest of your rage,
That ye my lord me safely sende, my sorowes to asswage:
And that I may not long abide in this excesse.
Do your good will, to cure a wight, that liueth in distresse.
 

Geue place ye louers

A praise of his loue: wherin he teproueth (Note: reproueth) them that compare their Ladies with his.
 

Geue place ye louers, here before
That spent your bostes and bragges in vaine:
My Ladies beawtie passeth more
The best of yours, I dare well sayen,
Than doth the sonne, the candle light:
Or brightest day, the darkest night.
And thereto hath a trothe as iust,
As had Penelope the fayre.
For what she saith, ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealed were.
And vertues hath she many moe,
Than I with pen haue skill to showe.
I coulde rehearse, if that I wolde,
The whole effect of natures plaint,
When she had lost the perfit mold,
The like to whom she could not paint:
With wringyng handes howe she dyd cry,
And what she said, I know it, I.
I knowe, she swore with ragyng mynd:
Her kingdom onely set apart,
There was no losse, by lawe of kind,
That could haue gone so nere her hart.
And this was chiefly all her payne:
She coulde not make the lyke agayne.
Sith nature thus gaue her the prayse,
To be the chiefest worke she wrought:
In faith, me thinke, some better waies
On your behalfe might well be sought,
Then to compare (as ye haue done)
To matche the candle with the sonne.
 

Although I had a check

To the Ladie that scorned her louer.
 

Although I had a check,
To geue the mate is hard.
For I haue found a neck,
To kepe my men in gard.
And you that hardy ar
To geue so great assay
Vnto a man of warre,
To driue his men away,
I rede you, take good hede,
And marke this foolish verse:
For I will so prouide,
That I will haue your ferse.
And when your ferse is had,
And all your warre is done:
Then shall your selfe be glad
To ende that you begon.
For yf by chance I winne
Your person the in feeld:
To late then come you in
your selfe to me to yeld.
For I will vse my power,
As captain full of might,
And such I will deuour,
As vse to shew me spight.
And for because you gaue
Me checke in such degre,
This vantage loe I haue:
Now checke, and garde to the.
Defend it, if thou may:
Stand stiffe, in thine estate.
For sure I will assay,
If I can giue the mate.
 

To dearely had I bought

A warning to the louer how he is abused by his loue.
 

To dearely had I bought my grene and youthfull yeres,
If in mine age I could not finde when craft for loue apperes.
And seldom though I come in court among the rest:
Yet can I iudge in colours dim as depe as can the best.
Where grefe tormentes the man that suffreth secret smart,
To breke it forth vnto som frend it easeth well the hart.
So standes it now with me for my beloued frend.
This case is thine for whom I fele such torment of my minde.
And for thy sake I burne so in my secret brest
That till thou know my hole disseyse my hart can haue no rest.
I see how thine abuse hath wrested so thy wittes,
That all it yeldes to thy desire, and folowes the by fittes.
Where thou hast loued so long with hart and all thy power.
I se thee fed with fayned wordes, thy fredom to deuour.
I know, (though she say nay, and would it well withstand)
When in her grace thou held the most, she bare the but in hand.
I see her pleasant chere in chiefest of thy suite:
Whan thou art gone, I se him come, that gathers vp the fruite.
And eke in thy respect I se the base degre
Of him to whom she gaue the hart that promised was to the.,
I se (what would you more) stode neuer man so sure
On womans word, but wisedome would mistrust it to endure.
 

O lothsome place where I

The forsaken louer describeth & forsaketh loue.
 

O Lothsome place where I
Haue sene and herd my dere,
When in my hert her eye
Hath made her thought appere,
By glsiming (Note: glimsing) with such grace
As fortune it ne would,
That lasten any space
Betwene vs lenger should.
As fortune did auance,
To further my desire:
Euen so hath fortunes chance
Throwen all ammiddes the myre.
And that I haue deserued
With true and faithful hart,
Is to his handes reserued
That neuer felt the smart.
But happy is that man,
That scaped hath the griefe
That loue well teche him can
By wanting his reliefe.
A scourge to quiet mindes
It is, who taketh hede,
A comon plage that bindes,
A trauell without mede.
This gift it hath also,
Who so enioies it most,
A thousand troubles grow
To vexe his weried ghost.
And last it may not long
The truest thing of all
And sure the greatest wrong
That is within this thrall.
But sins thou desert place
Canst giue me no accompt
Of my desired grace
That I to haue was wont,
farewel thou hast me tought
To thinke me not the furst,
That loue hath set aloft.
And casten in the dust.
 

As oft as I behold and se

The louer describes his restlesse state.
 

As oft as I behold and se
The soueraigne bewtie that me bound:
The nier my comfort is to me,
Alas the fresher is my wound.
As flame doth quenche by rage of fire,
And running slremes (Note: stremes) consume by raine:
So doth the sight, that I desire,
Appease my grief and deadely paine,
First when I saw those cristall streames,
whose bewtie made my mortall wound:
I little thought within her beames
So swete a venom to haue found.
But wilfull will did prick me forth,
And blind Cupide did whippe and guide:
Force made me take my griefe in worth:
My fruitles hope my harme did hide.
As cruell waues full oft be found
Against the rockes to rore and cry:
So doth my hart full oft rebound
Ageinst my brest full bitterly.
I fall, and se mine own decay,
As on that beares flame in hys brest,
Forgets in paine to put away
The thing that bredeth mine vnrest.
 

Though I regarded not
 

The louer excuseth himself of suspected change.
 

Though I regarded not
The promise made by me,
or passed not to spot
My faith and honeste:
Yet were my fancie strange,
And wilfull will to wite,
If I sought now to change
A falkon for a kite.
All men might well dispraise
My wit and enterprise,
If I estemed a pese
Aboue a perle in price:
Or iudged the oule in sight
The sparehauke to excell,
which flieth but in the night,
As all men know right well:
Or if I sought to saile
Into the brittle port,
where anker hold doth faile,
To such as doe resort,
And leaue the hauen sure,
where blowes no blustring winde,
Nor fickelnesse in vre
So farforth as I finde.
No, thinke me not so light,
Nor of so chorlish kinde,
Though it lay in my might
My bondage to vnbinde,
That I would leue the hinde
To hunt the ganders fo.
No no I haue no minde
To make exchanges so:
Nor yet to change at all.
For think it may not be
That I should seke to fall
From my felicite,
Desyrous for to win,
And loth for to forgo,
Or new change to begin:
How may all this be so?
The fire it can not freze:
For it is not his kinde,
Nor true loue cannot lese
The constance of the minde.
Yet as sone shall the fire
want heat to blaze and burn,
As I in such desire,
Haue once a thought to turne.
 

Wrapt in my carelesse cloke

A carelesse man, scorning and describing, the suttle vsage of women towarde their louers.
 

Wrapt in my carelesse cloke, as I walke to and fro:
I se, how loue ca<n> shew, what force there reigneth in his bow
And how he shoteth eke, a hardy hart to wound:
And where he glanceth by agayne, that litle hurt is found.
For seldom is it sene, he woundeth hartes alike.
The tone may rage, when tothers loue is often farre to seke.
All this I se, with more: and wonder thinketh me:
Howe he can strike the one so sore, and leaue the other fre.
I se, that wounded wight, that suffreth all this wrong:
How he is fed with yeas, and nayes, and liueth all to long.
In silence though I kepe such secretes to my self:
Yet do I se, how she somtime doth yeld a loke by stelth:
As though it seemd, ywys I will not lose the so.
When in her hart so swete a thought did neuer truely go.
Then say I thus: alas, that man is farre from blisse:
That doth receiue for his relief none other gayn, but this.
And she, that fedes him so, I fele, and finde it plain:
Is but to glory in her power, that ouer such can reign.
Nor are such graces spent, but when she thinkes, that he,
A weried man is fully bent such fansies to let flie:
Then to. (Note: to) retain him stil she wrasteth new her grace,
And smileth lo, as though she would forthwith the man embrace.
But when the proofe is made to try such lokes withall:
He findeth then the place all voyde, and fraighted full of gall.
Lorde what abuse is this? who can such women praise?
That for their glory do deuise to vse such crafty wayes.
I, that among the rest do sit, and mark the row,
Fynde, that in her is greater craft, then is in twenty mo.
Whose tender yeres, alas, with wyles so well are spedde:
What will she do, when hory heares are powdred in her hedde?
 

Martiall, the thinges

The meanes to attain happy life.
 

Martiall, the thinges that do attayn
The happy life, be these, I finde.
The richesse left, not got with pain:
The frutefull ground: the quiet mynde:
The egall frend, no grudge, no strife:
No charge of rule, nor gouernance:
Without disease the healthfull lyfe:
The houshold of continuance:
The meane diet, no delicate fare:
Trew wisdom ioyned with simplenesse:
The night discharged of all care,
Where wine the wit may not oppresse:
The faithful wife, without debate:
Suche slepes, as may begyle the night:
Contented with thine owne estate,
Ne wish for death, ne feare his might.
 

Of thy lyfe, Thomas

Praise of meane and constant estate.
 

Of thy lyfe, Thomas, this compasse well mark:
Not aye with full sayles the hye seas to beat:
Ne by coward dred, in shonning stormes dark,
On shalow shores thy keel in perill freat.
Who so gladly halseth the golden meane,
Voyde of dangers aduisdly hath his home
Not with lothsom muck, as a den vncleane:
Nor palacelyke, wherat disdayn may glome.
The lofty pyne the great winde often riues:
With violenter swey falne turrets stepe:
Lightninges assault the hye mountains, and cliues,
A hart well stayd, in ouerthwartes depe,
Hopeth amendes: in swete, doth feare the sowre.
God, that sendeth, withdraweth winter sharp.
Now ill, not aye thus: once Phebus to lowre
With bow vnbent shall cesse, and frame to harp.
His voyce. In straite estate appere thou stout:
And so wisely, when lucky gale of winde
All thy puft sailes shall fil, loke well about:
Take in a ryft: hast is wast, profe doth finde.
 

The great Macedon

Praise of certain psalmes of Dauid, translated by sir. T. w. the elder.
 

The great Macedon, that out of Persie chased
Darius, of whose huge power all Asie rong,
In the rich ark dan Homers rimes he placed,
Who fayned gestes of heathen princes song.
What holy graue? what worthy sepulture
To Wiattes Psalmes should Christians then purchase?
Where he doth paint the liuely faith, and pure,
The stedfast hope, the swete returne to grace
Of iust Dauid, by perfite penitence.
Where rulers may se in a mirrour clere
The bitter frute of false concupiscence:
How Iewry bought Vrias death full dere.
In princes hartes gods scourge imprinted depe,
Ought them awake, out of their sinfull slepe.
 

Dyuers thy death

Of the death of the same sir. T. w.
 

Dyuers thy death doe diuersly bemone.
Some, that in presence of thy liuelyhed
Lurked, whose brestes enuy with hate had swolne,
Yeld Ceasars teares vpon Pompeius hed.
Some, that watched with the murdrers knife,
With egre thirst to drink thy giltlesse blood,
Whose practise brake by happy ende of lyfe,
Wepe enuious teares to heare thy fame so good.
But I, that knew what harbred in that hed:
What vertues rare were temperd in that brest:
Honour the place, that such a iewell bred,
And kisse the ground, whereas thy corse doth rest,
With vapord eyes: from whence such streames auayl,
As Pyramus dyd on Thisbes brest bewail.
 

W. resteth here

Of the same.
 

W. resteth here, that quick could neuer rest:
Whose heauenly giftes encreased by disdayn,
And vertue sank the deper in his brest.
Such profit he by enuy could obtain.
A hed, where wisdom misteries did frame:
Whose hammers bet styll in that liuely brayn,
As on a stithe: where that some work of fame
Was dayly wrought, to turne to Britaines gayn.
A visage, stern, and myld: where bothe did grow,
Vice to contemne, in vertue to reioyce:
Amid great stormes, whom grace assured so,
To lyue vpright, and smile at fortunes choyce.
A hand, that taught, what might be sayd in ryme:
That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit:
A mark, the which (vnparfited, for time)
Some may approche, but neuer none shall hit.
A toung, that serued in forein realmes his king:
Whose courteous talke to vertue did enflame.
Eche noble hart: a worthy guide to bring
Our English youth, by trauail, vnto fame.
An eye, whose iudgement none affect could blinde,
Frendes to allure, and foes to reconcile:
Whose persing loke did represent a mynde
With vertue fraught, reposed, voyd of gyle.
A hart, where drede was neuer so imprest,
To hyde the thought, that might the trouth auance:
In neyther fortune loft, nor yet represt,
To swell in wealth, or yeld vnto mischance.
A valiant corps, where force, and beawty met:
Happy, alas, to happy, but for foes:
Liued, and ran the race, that nature set:
Of manhodes, shape where she the molde did lose.
But to the heauens that simple soule is fled:
Which left with such, as couet Christ to know,
Witnesse of faith, that neuer shall be ded:
Sent for our helth, but not receiued so.
Thus, for our gilte, this iewel haue we lost:
The earth his bones, the heauens possesse his gost.
 

Thassirian king in peace

Of Sardinapalus dishonorable life, and miserable death.
 

Thassirian king in peace, with foule desire,
And filthy lustes, that staynd his regall hart
In warre that should set princely hartes on fire:
Did yeld, vanquisht for want of marciall art.
The dint of swordes from kisses semed strange:
And harder, than his ladies syde, his targe:
From glutton feastes, to souldiars fare a change:
His helmet, farre aboue a garlands charge.
Who scace the name of manhode did retayn
Drenched in slouth, and womanish delight,
Feble of sprite, impacient of pain:
When he had lost his honor, and his right:
Proud, time of wealth, in stormes appalled with drede,
 

Murthered himself, to shew some manful dede.
 

Layd in my quiet bed

How no age is content with his own estate, & how the age of children is the happiest, if they had skill to vnderstand it.
 

Layd in my quiet bed, in study as I were,
I saw within my troubled head, a heape of thoughtes appere:
And euery thought did shew so liuely in myne eyes,
That now I sighed, & the<n> I smilde, as cause of thought doth ryse.
I saw the lytle boy in thought, how oft that he
Did wish of god, to scape the rod, a tall yongman to be.
The yongman eke that feles, his bones with paines opprest,
How he would be a rich olde man, to lyue, and lye at rest.
The rich oldman that sees his end draw on so sore,
How he would be a boy agayn, to liue somuch (Note: so much) the more.
Wherat full oft I smilde, to se, how all these three,
From boy to man, from man to boy, would chop & change degree.
And musyng thus I thynk, the case is very strange,
That man from welth, to lyue in wo, doth euer seke to change.
Thus thoughtfull as I lay, I saw my wytherd skyn,
How it doth show my dented chewes, the flesh was worne so thyn:
And eke my tothelesse chaps, the gates of my rightway,
That opes and shuts, as I do speake, doe thus vnto me say:
Thy white and hoarish heares, the messengers of age,
That shew, like lines of true belief, that this life doth asswage,
Byds thee lay hand, and fele them hanging on thy chin:
The whiche do write two ages past, the third now comming in.
Hang vp therfore the bit of thy yong wanton tyme:
And thou that therin beaten art, the happiest life define.
Wherat I sighed, and sayd, farewell, my wonted ioy:
Trusse vp thy pack, and trudge from me to euery litle boy:
And tell them thus from me, theyr tyme most happy is:
If, to their time, they reason had to know the trueth of this.
 

The stormes are past

Bonum est mihi quod humiliasti me.
 

The stormes are past these cloudes are ouerblowne,
And humble chere great rygour hath represt:
For the defaute is set a paine foreknowne,
And pacience graft in a determed brest.
And in the hart where heapes of griefes were growne,
The swete reuenge hath planted mirth and rest,
No company so pleasant as myne owne.
Thraldom at large hath made this prison fre,
Danger well past remembred workes delight:
Of lingring doutes such hope is sprong pardie,
That nought I finde displeasaunt in my sight:
But when my glasse presented vnto me.
The curelesse wound that bledeth day and nyght,
To think (alas) such hap should graunted be
Vnto a wretch that hath no hart to fight,
To spill that blood that hath so oft bene shed,
For Britannes sake (alas) and now is ded.
 

My Ratclif

Exhortacion to learne by others trouble.
 

My Ratclif, when thy rechlesse youth offendes:
Receue thy scourge by others chastisement.
For such callyng, when it workes none amendes:
Then plages are sent without aduertisement.
Yet Salomon sayd, the wronged shall recure:
But Wiat said true, the skarre doth aye endure.
 

The fansy, which that I

The fansie of a weried louer.
 

The fansy, which that I haue serued long,
That hath alway bene enmy to myne ease,
Semed of late to rue vpon my wrong,
And bad me flye the cause of my misease.
And I forthwith dyd prease out of the throng,
That thought by flight my painfull hart to please
Som other way: tyll I saw faith more strong:
And to my self I sayd: alas, those dayes
In vayn were spent, to runne the race so long.
And with that thought, I met my guyde, that playn
Out of the way wherin I wandred wrong,
Brought me amiddes the hylles, in base Bullayn:
Where I am now, as restlesse to remayn,
Against my will, full pleased with my payn.
 

***

Songes by Thomas Wyatt

The longe loue

The louer for shamefastnesse hideth his desire within his faithfull hart.
 

The longe loue, that in my thought I harber,
And in my hart doth kepe his residence,
Into my face preaseth with bold pretence,
And there campeth, displaying his banner.
She that me learns to loue, and to suffer,
And willes that my trust, and lustes negligence
Be reined by reason, shame, and reuerence,
With his hardinesse takes displeasure.
Wherwith loue to the hartes forest he fleeth,
Leauyng his enterprise with paine and crye,
And there him hideth and not appeareth.
What may I do? when my maister feareth,
But in the field with him to liue and dye,
For good is the life, endyng faithfully.
 

Yet was I neuer

The louer waxeth wiser, and will not die for affection
 

Yet was I neuer of your loue agreued,
Nor neuer shall, while that my life doth last:
But of hatyng my self, that date is past,
And teares continual sore haue me weried.
I will not yet in my graue be buried,
Nor on my tombe your name haue fixed fast,
As cruel cause, that did my sprite sone hast.
From thunhappy boones by great sighes stirred.
Then if an hart of amorous fayth and will
Content your minde withouten doyng grief:
Please it you so to this to do relief.
If otherwise you seke for to fulfill
Your wrath: you erre, and shal not as you wene,
And you your self the cause therof haue bene.
 

Was neuer file yet half

The abused louer seeth his foly, and entendeth to trust no more.
 

Was neuer file yet half so well yfiled,
To file a file for any smithes intent,
As I was made a filyng instrument,
To frame other, while that I was begiled.
But reason, loe, hath at my foly smiled,
And pardoned me, sins that I me repent
Of my lost yeres, and of my time mispent.
For youth led me, and falshod me misguided.
Yet, this trust I haue of great apparence:
Sins that disceit is ay returnable,
Of verye force it is agreable,
That therwithall be done the recompence.
Then gile begiled playnd should be neuer,
And the reward is little trust for euer.
 

The liuely sparkes

The louer describeth his being striken with sight of his loue.
 

The liuely sparkes, that issue from those eyes,
Against the which there vaileth no defence,
Haue perst my hart, and done it none offence,
With quakyng pleasure, more then once or twise.
Was neuer man could any thing deuise,
Sunne beames to turne with so great vehemence
To dase mans sight, as by their bright presence
Dased am I, much like vnto the gise
Of on striken with dint of lightenyng,
Blind with the stroke, and erryng here and there.
So call I for helpe, I not when, nor where,
The payne of my fall paciently bearyng.
For streight after the blase (as is no wonder)
Of deadly noyse heare I the fearfull thunder.
 

Svch vain thought

The waueryng louer wylleth, and dreadeth, to moue his desire.
 

Svch vain thought, as wonted to mislead me
In desert hope by well assured mone,
Makes me from company to liue alone,
In folowyng her whom reason bids me fle.
And after her my hart would faine be gone:
But armed sighes my way do stop anone,
Twixt hope and dread lockyng my libertie.
So fleeth she by gentle crueltie.
Yet as I gesse vnder disdainfull brow
One beame of ruth is in her cloudy loke:
Which comfortes the mind, that erst for fear shoke.
That bolded straight the way then seke I how
To vtter forth the smart I bide within:
But such it is, I not how to begyn.
 

Vnstable dreame

The louer hauing dreamed enioying of his loue, complaineth that the dreame is not either longer or truer.
 

Vnstable dreame, accordyng to the place,
Be stedfast ones, or els at least be true.
By tasted swetenesse, make me not to rew
The soden losse of thy false fained grace.
By good respect in such a dangerous case
Thou broughtest not her into these tossing seas,
But madest my sprite to liue my care tencrease,
My body in tempest her delight timbrace.
The body dead, the sprite had his desire.
Painelesse was thone, the other in delight.
Why then alas did it not kepe it right,
But thus return to leape in to the fire:
And where it was at wishe, could not remayne?
Such mockes of dreames do turne to deadly payne.
 

Ye that in loue finde luck

The louer vnhappy biddeth happy louers reioice in Maie, while he waileth that moneth to him most vnlucky.
 

Ye that in loue finde luck and swete abundance,
And lyue in lust of ioyfull iolitie,
Aryse for shame, doway (Note: do way) your sluggardy:
Arise I say, do May some obseruance:
Let me in bed lye, dreamyng of mischance.
Let me remember my missehappes vnhappy,
That me betide in May most commonly:
As one whom loue list little to aduance.
Stephan said true, that my natiuitie
Mischanced was with the ruler of May.
He gest (I proue) of that the veritie.
In May my wealth, and eke my wittes, I say,
Haue stand so oft in such perplexitie.
Ioye: let me dreame of your felicitie.
 

If waker care

The louer confesseth him in loue with Phillis.
 

If waker care: if sodayn pale colour:
If many sighes, with litle speach to plaine:
Now ioye, now wo: if they my chere distayne:
For hope of small, if much to fear therfore,
To haste, or slack: my pace to lesse, or more:
Be signe of loue: then do I loue agayne.
If thou aske whom: sure sins I did refrayne
Brunet, that set my welth in such a rore,
Thunfayned chere of Phillis hath the place,
That Brunet had: she hath, and euer shall:
She from my self now hath me in her grace:
She hath in hand my wit, my will, and all:
My hart alone welworthy she doth stay,
Without whose helpe skant do I liue a day.
 

Cesar, when that the

Of others fained sorrow, and the louers fained mirth.
 

Cesar, when that the traytour of Egypt
With thonorable hed did him present,
Coueryng his hartes gladnesse, did represent
Plaint with his teares outward, as it is writ.
Eke Hannibal, when fortune him outshyt
Clene from his reigne, and from all his entent,
Laught to his folke, whom sorow did torment,
His cruel despite for to disgorge and quit.
So chanceth me, that euery passion
The minde hideth by colour contrary,
With fayned visage, now sad, now mery.
Wherby, if that I laugh at any season:
It is because I haue none other way
To cloke my care, but vnder sport and play.
 

Eche man me telth

Of change in minde.
 

Eche man me telth, I change most my deuise:
And, on my faith, me thinke it good reason
To change purpose, like after the season.
For in ech case to kepe still one guise
Is mete for them, that would be taken wise.
And I am not of such maner condicion:
But treated after a diuers fashion:
And therupon my diuersnesse doth rise.
But you, this diuersnesse that blamen most,
Change you no more, but still after one rate
Treat you me well: and kepe you in that state.
And while with me doth dwell this weried gost,
My word nor I shall not be variable,
But alwaies one, your owne both firme and stable.
 

Some fowles there be

How the louer perisheth in his delight, as the flie in the fire.
 

Some fowles there be, that haue so perfit sight
Against the sunne their eies for to defend:
And some, because the light doth them offend,
Neuer appeare, but in the darke, or night.
Other reioyce, to se the fire so bryght,
And wene to play in it, as they pretend:
But find contrary of it, that they intend.
Alas, of that sort may I be, by right.
For to withstand her loke I am not able:
Yet can I not hide me in no dark place:
So foloweth me remembrance of that face:
That with my teary eyn, swolne, and vnstable,
My desteny to beholde her doth me lead:
And yet I knowe, I runne into the glead.
 

Because I still kept thee

Against his tong that failed to vtter his sutes.
 

Because I still kept thee fro lyes, and blame,
And to my power alwayes thee honoured,
Vnkind tongue, to yll hast thou me rendred,
For such desert to do me wreke and shame.
In nede of succour most when that I am,
To aske reward: thou standst like one afraied,
Alway most cold: and if one word be sayd,
As in a dreame, vnperfit is the same.
And ye salt teares, agaynst my wyll eche nyght,
That are wyth me, when I would be alone:
Then are ye gone, when I should make my mone.
And ye so ready sighes, to make me shright,
Then are ye slacke, when that ye should outstart.
And onely doth my loke declare my hart.
 

I find no peace

Description of the contrarious passions in a louer.
 

I Find no peace, and all my warre is done:
I feare, and hope: I burne, and frese like yse:
I flye aloft, yet can I not arise:
And nought I haue, and all the worlde I season.
That lockes nor loseth, holdeth me in pryson,
And holdes me not, yet can I scape no wise:
Nor lettes me lyue, nor dye, at my deuise,
And yet of death it geueth me occasion.
Without eye I se, without tong I playne:
I wish to perysh, yet I aske for helth:
I loue another, and thus I hate my selfe.
I fede me in sorow, and laugh in all my payne.
Lo, thus displeaseth me both death and life.
And my delight is causer of this strife.
 

My galley charged

The louer compareth his state to a shippe in perilous storme tossed on the sea.
 

My galley charged with forgetfulnesse,
Through sharpe seas, in winter nightes doth passe,
Twene rocke, and rocke: and eke my fo (alas)
That is my lord, stereth with cruelnesse:
And euery houre, a thought in readinesse,
As though that death were light, in such a case.
An endlesse wynd doth teare the sayle apace
Of forced sighes, and trusty fearfulnesse.
A rayne of teares, a clowde of darke disdayne
Haue done the weried coardes great hinderance,
Wrethed with errour, and wyth ignorance.
The starres be hidde, that leade me to this payne.
Drownde is reason that should be my comfort:
And I remayne, dispearyng of the port.
 

Avisyng the bright beames

Of douteous loue.
 

Avisyng the bright beames of those fayre eyes,
Where he abides that mine oft moistes and washeth:
The weried mynd streight from the hart departeth,
To rest within hys worldly Paradise,
And bitter findes the swete, vnder this gyse.
What webbes there he hath wrought, well he perceaueth
Wherby then with him self on loue he playneth,
That spurs wyth fire, and brydleth eke with yse.
In such extremity thus is he brought:
Frosen now cold, and now he standes in flame:
Twixt wo, and welth: betwixt earnest, and game:
With seldome glad, and many a diuers thought:
In sore repentance of hys hardinesse.
Of such a roote lo cometh frute frutelesse.
 

They flee from me

The louer sheweth how he is forsaken of such as he somtime enioyed.
 

They flee from me, that somtime did me seke
With naked fote stalkyng within my chamber.
Once haue I seen them gentle, tame, and meke,
That now are wild, and do not once remember
That sometyme they haue put them selues in danger,
To take bread at my hand, and now they range,
Busily sekyng in continuall change.
Thanked be fortune, it hath bene otherwise
Twenty tymes better: but once especiall,
 

In thinne aray, after a pleasant gyse,
When her loose gowne did from her shoulders fall,
And she me caught in her armes long and small,
And therwithall, so swetely did me kysse,
And softly sayd: deare hart, how like you this?
It was no dreame: for I lay broade awakyng.
But all is turnde now through my gentlenesse.
Into a bitter fashion of forsakyng:
And I haue leaue to go of her goodnesse,
And she also to vse newfanglenesse.
But, sins that I vnkyndly so am serued:
How like you this, what hath she now deserued?
 

Madame, withouten many wordes

To a ladie to answere directly with yea or nay.
 

Madame, withouten many wordes:
Once I am sure, you will, or no.
And if you will: then leaue your boordes,
And vse your wit, and shew it so:
For with a beck you shall me call.
And if of one, that burns alway,
Ye haue pity or ruth at all:
Answer hym fayer with yea, or nay.
If it be yea: I shall be faine.
Yf it be nay: frendes, as before.
You shall another man obtayn:
And I mine owne, and yours nomore. (Note: no more)

Alas, Madame

To his loue whom he had kissed against her will.
 

Alas, Madame, for stealing of a kisse,
Haue I so much your mynde therin offended?
Or haue I done so greuously amisse:
That by no meanes, it may not be amended?
Reuenge you then, the rediest way is this:
Another kisse my life it shall haue ended.
For, to my mouth the first my hart did suck:
The next shall clene out of my brest it pluck.
 

The wandring gadling

Of the Ielous man that loued the same woman and espied this other sitting with her.
 

The wandring gadling, in the sommer tyde,
That findes the Adder with his rechlesse foote
Startes not dismaid so sodeinly aside,
As iealous despite did, though there were no boote,
When that he saw me sitting by her syde,
That of my health is very crop, and roote.
It pleased me then to haue so fayre a grace,
To styng the hart, that would haue had my place.
 

What nedes these threatnyng woordes

To his loue from whom he hadd her gloues.
 

What nedes these threatnyng woordes, and wasted wynd?
All this can not make me restore my pray,
To robbe your good ywis is not my minde:
Nor causelesse your faire hand did I display.
Let loue be iudge: or els whom next we finde:
That may both hear, what you and I can say.
She reft my hart: and I a gloue from her:
Let vs se then if one be worth the other.
 

Right true it is

Of the fained frend.
 

Right true it is, and sayd full yore ago:
Take hede of him, that by the backe thee claweth.
For, none is worse, then is a frendly fo.
Thought he seme good, all thing that thee deliteth,
Yet know it well, that in thy bosome crepeth.
For, many a man such fire oft times he kindleth:
That with the blase his berd him self he singeth.
 

It may be good

The louer taught, mistrusteth allurementes.
 

It may be good like it who list:
But I do dout, who can me blame?
For oft assured, yet haue I mist:
And now againe I fear the same.
The wordes, that from your mouth last came,
Of sodayn change make me agast.
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.
Alas I tread an endlesse mase:
That seke taccord two contraries:
And hope thus styll, and nothing hase:
Imprisoned in liberties,
As one vnheard, and styll that cryes:
Alwayes thirsty, and naught doth taste,
For dreade to fall, I stand not fast.
Assured I dout I be not sure,
Should I then trust vnto such suretie?
That oft haue put the proufe in vre,
And neuer yet haue found it trustie?
Nay syr in fayth, it were great folly.
And yet my life thus do I waste,
For dreade to fall I stand not fast.
 

Resownde my voyce ye woodes

The louer complayneth that his loue doth not pitie him.
 

Resownde my voyce ye woodes, that heare me plaine:
Both hilles and vales causyng reflexion
And riuers eke, record ye of my paine:
Which haue oft forced ye by compassion,
As iudges lo to heare my exclamacion.
Amonge whom, such (I finde) yet doth remaine.
Where I it seke, alas, there is disdaine.
Oft ye riuers, to hear my wofull sounde,
Haue stopt your cours, and plainely to expresse,
Many a teare by moisture of the grounde
The earth hath wept to hear my heauinesse:
Which causelesse I endure without redresse.
The hugy okes haue rored in the winde,
Ech thing me thought complayning in their kinde.
Why then alas doth not she on me rew,
Or is her hart so hard that no pitie
May in it sinke, my ioye for to renew?
O stony hart who hath thus framed thee
So cruell? that art cloked with beauty,
That from thee may no grace to me procede,
But as reward death for to be my mede.
 

In fayth I wot not what to say

The louer reioyseth against fortune that by hindering his sute had happily made him forsake his folly.
 

In fayth I wot not what to say,
Thy chaunces ben so wonderous,
Thou fortune with thy diuers play
That makst the ioyfull dolourous,
And eke the same right ioyous.
Yet though thy chayne hath me enwrapt,
Spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt.
Though thou hast set me for a wonder,
And sekest by change to do me payne:
Mens mindes yet mayst thou not so order,
For honestie if it remayne,
Shall shine for all thy cloudy rayne.
In vayne thou sekest to haue me trapt,
Spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt.
In hindryng me, me didst thou further,
And made a gap where was a style.
Cruell willes ben oft put vnder,
Wenyng to lower, then didst thou smile.
Lord, how thy selfe thou didst begyle,
That in thy cares wouldst me haue wrapt?
But spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt.
 

Farewell the hart of crueltie

A renouncing of hardly escaped loue.
 

Farewell the hart of crueltie.
Though that with payne my libertie
Deare haue I bought, and wofully
Finisht my fearfull tragedy.
Of force I must forsake such pleasure:
A good cause iust, sins I endure
Therby my wo, whiche be ye sure,
Shall therwith go me to recure.
I fare as one escapt that fleeth,
Glad he is gone, and yet styll feareth
Spied to be caught, and so dredeth
That he for nought his paine leseth.
In ioyfull payne reioyce my hart,
Thus to sustaine of ech a part.
Let not this song from thee astart.
Welcome among my pleasant smart.
 

The restfull place

The louer to his bed, with describing of his vnquiet state.
 

The restfull place, renewer of my smart:
The labours salue, encreasyng my sorow:
The bodyes ease, and troubler of my hart:
Quieter of minde, myne vnquiet fo:
Forgetter of payne, remembrer of my wo:
The place of slepe, wherin I do but wake:
Besprent with teares, my bed, I thee forsake.
The frosty snowes may not redresse my heat:
Nor heat of sunne abate my feruent cold.
I know nothing to ease my paynes so great.
Ech cure causeth encrease by twenty fold,
Renewyng cares vpon my sorowes old.
Such ouerthwart effectes in me they make.
Besprent with teares my bedde for to forsake.
But all for nought: I finde no better ease
In bed, or out. This most causeth my paine:
Where I do seke how best that I may please,
My lost labour (alas) is all in vaine.
My hart once set, I can not it refrayne.
No place from me my grief away can take.
Wherfore with teares, my bed, I thee forsake.
 

From these hie hilles

Comparison of loue to a streame falling from the Alpes.
 

From these hie hilles as when a spring doth fall,
It trilleth downe with still and suttle course,
Of this and that it gathers ay and shall,
Till it haue iust downflowed to streame and force:
Then at the fote it rageth ouer all.
 

So fareth loue, when he hath tane a sourse.
Rage is his raine. Resistance vayleth none.
The first eschue is remedy alone.
 

Myne olde dere enmy

wiates complaint vpon Loue, to Reason: with Loues answer.
 

Myne olde dere enmy, my froward maister,
Afore that Quene, I causde to be accited,
Which holdeth the diuine part of our nature,
That, like as golde, in fire he mought be tryed.
Charged with dolour, there I me presented
With horrible feare, as one that greatly dredeth
A wrongfull death, and iustice alway seketh.
And thus I sayd: once my left foote, Madame,
When I was yong, I set within his reigne:
Wherby other than fierly burning flame
I neuer felt, but many a greuous pain.
Torment I suffred, angre, and disdain:
That mine oppressed pacience was past,
And I mine owne life hated, at the last.
Thus hitherto haue I my time passed
In pain and smart. What wayes profitable:
How many pleasant dayes haue me escaped,
In seruing this false lyer so deceauable?
What wit haue wordes so prest, and forceable,
That may conteyn my great mishappinesse,
And iust complaintes of his vngentlenesse?
So small hony, much aloes, and gall,
In bitternesse, my blinde life hath ytasted.
His false semblance, that turneth as a ball:
With fair and amorous daunce, made me be traced,
And, where I had my thought, and mynde araced,
From earthly frailnesse, and from vayn pleasure,
Me from my rest he toke, and set in errour:
God made he me regard lesse, than I ought,
And to my self to take right litle hede:
And for a woman haue I set at nought
All other thoughtes: in this onely to spede.
And he was onely counseler of this dede:
Whettyng alwayes my youthly frayle desire
On cruell whetston, tempered with fire.
But (Oh alas) where, had I euer wit?

Or other gift, geuen to me of nature?
That sooner shalbe changed my weried sprite:
Then the obstinate wyll, that is my ruler.
So robbeth he my fredom with displeasure,
This wicked traytour, whom I thus accuse:
That bitter life hath turned in pleasant vse.
He hath me hasted, thorough diuers regions:
Through desert wodes, and sharp hye mountaines:
Through froward people, and through bitter passions:
Through rocky seas, and ouer hilles and plaines:
With wery trauell, and with laborous paynes:
Alwayes in trouble and in tediousnesse:
All in errour, and dangerous distresse,
But nother he, nor she, my tother fo,
For all my flight, dyd euer me forsake:
That though my timely death hath been to slow
That me as yet, it hath not ouertake:
The heauenly goddes of pity doe it slake.
And, note they this his cruell tiranny,
That fedes him, with my care, and misery.
Since I was his, hower rested I neuer,
Nor loke to do: and eke the waky nightes
The banished slepe may in no wise recouer.
By guile, and force, ouer my thralled sprites,
He is ruler: since which bel neuer strikes,
That I heare not as sounding to renue
My plaintes. Himself, he knoweth, that I say true.
For, neuer wormes olde rotten stocke haue eaten:
As he my hart, where he is resident,
And doth thesame (Note: the same) with death dayly threaten.
Thence come the teares, and thence the bitter torment:
The sighes: the wordes, and eke the languishment:
That noy both me, and parauenture other.
Iudge thou: that knowest the one, and eke the tother.
Mine aduersair, with such greuous reproofe,
Thus he began. Heare Lady, thother part:
That the plain troth, from which he draweth aloofe,
This vnkinde man may shew, ere that I part.
In his yong age, I toke him from that art,
That selleth wordes, and makes a clatteryng Knight:
And of my wealth I gaue him the delight.
Now shames he not on me for to complain,
That held him euermore in pleasant gain,
From his desyre, that might haue been his payn.
Yet therby alone I brought him to some frame:
Which now, as wretchednes, he doth so blame:
And towarde honor quickned I his wit:
Where:as a daskard els he mought haue sit.
He knoweth, how grete Atride that made Troy freat,
And Hanniball, to Rome so troubelous:
Whom Homer honored, Achilles that great,
And Thaffricane Scipion the famous:
And many other, by much nurture glorious:
Whose fame, and honor did bring them aboue:
I did let fall in base dishonest loue.
And vnto him, though he vnworthy were:
I chose the best of many a Milion:
That, vnder sonne yet neuer was her pere,
Of wisdom, womanhod, and of discrecion:
And of my grace I gaue her such a facion,
And eke such way I taught her for to teache,
That neuer base thought his hart so hye might reche,
Euermore thus to content his maistresse,
That was his onely frame of honesty,
I stirred him still, toward gentlenesse:
And causde him to regard fidelity.
Pacience I taught him in aduersity.
Such vertues learned, he in my great schole:
Wherof repenteth, now the ignorant foole.
These, were the same deceites, and bitter gall,
That I haue vsed, the torment, and the anger:
Sweter, then euer dyd to other fall,
Of right good sede yll frute loe thus I gather.
And so shall he, that the vnkinde dothe further.
A Serpent nourish I vnder my wing:
And now of nature, ginneth he to styng.
And for to tell, at last, my great seruise.
From thousand dishonesties haue I him drawen:
That, by my meanes, him in no maner wyse.
Neuer vile pleasure once hath ouerthrowen.
Where, in his dede, shame hath him alwaies gnawen:
Doutyng report, that should come to her eare:
Whom now he blames, her wonted he to feare.
What euer he hath of any honest custome:
Of her, and me: that holdes he euerywhit,
But, lo, yet neuer was there nightly fantome
So farre in errour, as he is from his wit.
To plain on vs, he striueth with the bit,
Which may rule him, and do him ease, and pain:
And in one hower, make all his grief his gayn.
But, one thing yet there is, aboue all other:
I gaue him winges, wherwith he might vpflie
To honor, and fame: and if he would to higher
Than mortall thinges, aboue the starry skie:
Considering the pleasure, that an eye
Might geue in earth, by reason of the loue:
What should that be that lasteth still aboue?
And he the same himself hath sayd, ere this.
But, now, forgotten is both that and I,
That gaue her him, his onely wealth and blisse.
And, at this word, with dedly shreke and cry:
Thou gaue her once: quod I, but by and by,
Thou toke her ayen from me: that wo worth the.
Not I but price: more worth than thou (quod he.)
At last: eche other for himself, concluded:
I, trembling still: but he, with small reuerence.
Lo, thus, as we eche other haue accused:
Dere Lady: now we waite thyne onely sentence.
She smiling, at the whisted audience:
It liketh me (quod she) to haue hard your question:
But, lenger time doth ask a resolucion.
 

Maruell no more altho

The louers sorowfull state maketh him write sorowfull songes, but Souche his loue may change thesame. (Note: the same)

Maruell nomore (Note: no more) altho
The songes, I sing do mone:
For other lyfe then wo,
I neuer proued none.
And in my hart, also,
Is grauen with letters depe
A thousand sighes and mo:
A flood of teares to wepe.
How may a man in smart
Finde matter to reioyce?
How may a moornyng hart
Set foorth a pleasant voice.
Play who so can, that part:
Nedes must in me appere:
How fortune ouerthwart
Doth cause my moorning chere.
Perdy there is no man,
If he saw neuer sight:
That perfitly tell can
The nature of the light.
Alas: how should I than,
That neuer taste but sowre:
But do, as I began,
Continually to lowre.
But yet, perchance some chance
May chance to change my tune:
And, when (Souch) chance doth chance:
Then, shall I thank fortune?
And if I haue (Souch) chance:
Perchance ere it be long:
For (Souch) a pleasant chance,
To sing some pleasant song.
 

Where shall I haue

The louer complaineth himself forsaken.
 

Where shall I haue, at myne owne wyll,
Teares to complain? Where shall I fet
Such sighes? that I may sigh my fyll:
And then agayne my plaintes repete.
For, though my plaint shall haue none end:
My teares cannot suffise my wo.
To mone my harm, haue I no frend.
For fortunes frend is mishaps fo.
Comfort (God wot) els haue I none:
But in the winde to wast my wordes,
Nought moueth you my dedly mone:
But stil you turne it into bordes.
I speake not, now, to moue your hart,
That you should rue vpon my payn:
The sentence geuen may not reuert:
I know, such labour were but vayn.
But since that I for you (my dere)
Haue lost that thyng, that was my best:
A right small losse it must appere,
To lese these wordes, and all the rest.
But, though they sparcle in the winde:
Yet, shall they shew your falsed faith:
Which is returned to his kynde:
For lyke to like: the prouerb sayeth,
Fortune, and you did me auance.
Me thought, I swam, and could not drowne:
Happiest of all, but my mischance
Did lift me vp, to throw me downe.
And you, with her, of cruelnesse,
Dyd set your foote vpon my neck,
Me, and my welfare to oppresse:
Without offence, your hart to wreck,
Where are your pleasant wordes? alas:
Where is your faith? your stedfastnesse?
There is no more: but all doth passe:
And I am left all comfortlesse.
But since so much it doth you greue,
And also me my wretched life:
Haue here my troth: Nought shall releue,
But death alone my wretched strife.
Therfore, farewell my life, my death,
My gayn, my losse: my salue, my sore:
Farewell also, with you my breath:
For, I am gone for euermore.
 

She sat, and sowed

Of his loue that pricked her finger with a nedle.
 

She sat, and sowed: that hath done me the wrong:
Wherof I plain, and haue done many a day:
And, whilst she herd my plaint, in piteous song:
She wisht my hart the samplar, that it lay.
The blinde maister, whom I haue serued so long:
Grudgyng to heare, that he did heare her say:
Made her owne weapon do her finger blede:
To fele, if pricking wer so good in dede.
 

What man hath hard such cruelty

Of thesame. (Note: the same)

What man hath hard such cruelty before?
That, when my plaint remembred her my wo,
That caused it: she cruell more, and more,
Wished eche stitche, as she did sit, and sow,
Had prickt my hart, for to encrease my sore.
And, as I think, she thought, it had bene so.
For as she thought, this is his hart in dede:
She pricked hard: and made her self to blede.
 

Behold, Loue, thy power

Request to Cupide, for reuenge of his vnkinde loue.
 

Behold, Loue, thy power how she despiseth:
My greuous payn how litle she regardeth,
The solemne othe, wherof she takes no cure,
Broken she hath: and yet, she bydeth sure,
Right at her ease, and litle thee she dredeth.
Weaponed thou art, and she vnarmed sitteth:
To the disdainful, all her life she leadeth:
To me spitefull, without iust cause, or measure.
Behold Loue, how proudly she triumpheth,
I am in hold, but if thee pitie meueth:
Go, bend thy bow, that stony hartes breaketh:
And with some stroke reuenge the great displeasure
Of thee, and himthat (Note: him that) sorow doth endure,
And as his Lord thee lowly here entreateth.
 

What vaileth troth?

Complaint for true loue vnrequited.
 

What vaileth troth? or by it, to take payn?
To striue by stedfastnesse, for to attayn
How to be iust: and flee from doublenesse?
Since all alyke, where ruleth craftinesse,
Rewarded is both crafty false, and plain.
Soonest he spedes, that most can lye and fayn.
True meaning hart is had in hye disdain.
Against deceyt, and cloked doublenesse,
What vaileth troth, or parfit stedfastnesse.
Deceaud is he, by false and crafty trayn,
That meanes no gyle, and faithfull doth remayn
Within the trap, without help or redresse.
But for to loue (lo) such a sterne maistresse,
 

Where cruelty dwelles, alas it were in vain.
 

Somtime I fled the fire

The louer that fled loue now folowes it with his harme.
 

Somtime I fled the fire, that me so brent,
By sea, by land, by water, and by wynde:
And now, the coales I folow, that be quent,
From Douer to Calais, with willing minde,
Lo, how desire is both furth sprong, and spent:
And he may see, that whilom was so blinde:
And all his labour, laughes he now to scorne,
Meashed in the breers, that erst was onely torne.
 

He is not dead

The louer hopeth of better chance.
 

He is not dead, that somtime had a fall.
The Sonne returnes, that hid was vnder clowd.
And when Fortune hath spit out all her gall,
I trust, good luck to me shall be alowd.
For, I haue seen a ship in hauen fall,
After that storme hath broke both maste, and shroude.
The willowe eke, that stoupeth with the winde,
Doth rise againe, and greater wood doth binde.
 

The furious goonne

The louer compareth his hart to the ouercharged gonne.
 

The furious goonne, in his most ragyng yre,
When that the boule is rammed in to sore:
And that the flame cannot part from the fire,
Crackes in sunder: and in the ayer doe rore
The sheuered peces. So doth my desyre,
Whose flame encreaseth ay from more to more.
Which to let out, I dare not loke, nor speake:
So inward force my hart doth all to breake.
 

Accused though I be

The louer suspected of change praieth that it be not beleued against him.
 

Accused though I be, without desert:
Sith none can proue, beleue it not for true.
For neuer yet, since that you had my hert,
Intended I to false, or be vntrue.
Sooner I would of death sustayn the smart,
Than breake one word of that I promised you.
Accept therfore my seruice in good part.
None is alyue, that can yll tonges eschew.
Hold them as false: and let not vs depart
Our frendship olde, in hope of any new.
Put not thy trust in such as vse to fayn,
Except thou mynde to put thy frend to payn.
 

My loue to skorne

The louer abused renownseth loue.
 

My loue to skorne, my seruice to retayne,
Therin (me thought) you vsed crueltie.
Since with good will I lost my libertie,
Might neuer wo yet cause me to refrain,
But onely this, which is extremitie,
To geue me nought (alas) nor to agree,
That as I was, your man I might remain.
But synce that thus ye list to order me,
That would haue bene your seruant true, and fast:
Displease you not: my doting time is past.
And with my losse to leaue I must agree.
For as there is a certayn time to rage:
So is there time such madnes to aswage.
 

Within my brest

The louer professeth himself constant.
 

Within my brest I neuer thought it gain,
Of gentle mynde the fredom for to lose.
Nor in my hart sanck neuer such disdain,
To be a forger, faultes for to disclose.
Nor I can not endure the truth to glose,
To set a glosse vpon an earnest pain.
Nor I am not in nomber one of those,
That list to blow retrete to euery train.
 

Passe forth my wonted cryes

The louer sendeth his complaintes and teares to sue for grace.
 

Passe forth my wonted cryes,
Those cruell eares to pearce,
Which in most hatefull wyse
Doe styll my plaintes reuerse.
Doe you, my teares, also
So wet her barrein hart:
That pitye there may grow,
And crueltie depart.
For though hard rockes among
She semes to haue bene bred:
And of the Tigre long
Bene nourished, and fed.
Yet shall that nature change,
If pitie once win place.
Whom as vnknowen, and strange,
She now away doth chase.
And as the water soft,
Without forcyng or strength,
Where that it falleth oft,
Hard stones doth perse at length:
So in her stony hart
My plaintes at last shall graue,
And, rygour set apart,
Winne grant of that I craue.
Wherfore my plaintes, present
Styll so to her my sute,
As ye, through her assent,
May bring to me some frute.
And as she shall me proue,
So bid her me regarde,
And render loue for loue:
Which is a iust reward.
 

Your lokes so often cast

The louers case can not be hidden how euer he dissemble.
 

Your lokes so often cast,
Your eyes so frendly rolde,
Your sight fixed so fast,
Alwayes one to behold.
Though hyde it fayn ye would:
It plainly doth declare,
Who hath your hart in hold,
And where good will ye bare,
Fayn would ye finde a cloke
Your brennyng fire to hyde:
Yet both the flame, and smoke
Breakes out on euery syde.
Yee can not loue so guide,
That it no issue winne.
Abrode nedes must it glide,
That brens so hote within.
For cause your self do wink,
Ye iudge all other blinde:
And secret it you think,
Which euery man doth finde.
In wast oft spend ye winde
Your self in loue to quit:
For agues of that kinde
Will show, who hath the fit.
Your sighes yow fet from farre,
And all to wry your wo:
Yet are ye nere the narre,
Men ar not blinded so.
Depely oft swere ye no:
But all those othes ar vaine.
So well your eye doth showe,
Who puttes your hert to paine.
Thinke not therfore to hide,
That still it selfe betrayes:
Nor seke meanes to prouide
To darke the sunny daies.
Forget those wonted waies:
Leaue of such frowning chere:
There will be found no stayes
To stoppe a thing so clere.
 

Disdaine me not without desert

The louer praieth not to be disdained, refused, mistrusted, nor forsaken.
 

Disdaine me not without desert:
Nor leaue me not so sodenly:
Sins well ye wot, that in my hert
I meane ye not but honestly.
Refuse me not without cause why:
Nor think me not to be vniust:
Sins that by lotte of fantasy,
This carefull knot neades knit I must.
Mistrust me not, though some there be,
That faine would spot my stedfastnesse:
Beleue them not, sins that ye se,
The profe is not, as they expresse.
Forsake me not, till I deserue:
Nor hate me not, tyll I offend.
Destroy me not, tyll that I swerue.
But sins ye know what I intend:
Disdaine me not that am your owne:
Refuse me not that am so true:
Mistrust me not till all be knowne:
Forsake me not, ne for no new.
 

For want of will

The louer lamenteth his estate with sute for grace.
 

For want of will, in wo I playne:
Vnder colour of sobernesse.
Renewyng with my sute my payne,
My wanhope with your stedfastnesse.
Awake therfore of gentlenesse.
Regard at length, I you require,
The sweltyng paynes of my desire.
Betimes who geueth willingly,
Redoubled thankes aye doth deserue.
And I that sue vnfaynedly,
In frutelesse hope (alas) do sterue.
How great my cause is for to swerue:
And yet how stedfast is my sute:
Lo, here ye see, where is the frute?
As hounde that hath his keper lost,
Seke I your presence to obtayne:
In which my hart deliteth most,
And shall delight though I be slayne.
You may release my band of payne.
Lose then the care that makes me crye,
For want of helpe or els I dye.
I dye, though not incontinent,
By processe yet consumingly
As waste of fire, which doth relent.
If you as wilfull wyll denye.
Wherfore cease of such crueltye:
And take me wholy in your grace:
Which lacketh will to change his place.
 

If euer man might him auaunt

The louer waileth his changed ioyes.
 

If euer man might him auaunt
Of fortunes frendly chere:
It was my selfe I must it graunt,
For I haue bought it dere.
And derely haue I helde also
The glory of her name:
In yelding her such tribute, lo,
As did set forth her fame.
Sometyme I stode so in her grace:

That as I would require,

Ech ioy I thought did me imbrace,

That furdered my desire.

And all those pleasures (lo) had I,

That fansy might support:

And nothing she did me denye,

That was to my comfort.

I had (what would you more perdee?)

Ech grace that I did craue.

Thus fortunes will was vnto me

All thing that I would haue.
But all to rathe alas the while,
She built on such a ground:
In little space, to great a guyle
In her now haue I found.
For she hath turned so her whele:
That I vnhappy man
May waile the time that I did fele
Wherwith she fedde me than.
For broken now are her behestes:
And pleasant lokes she gaue:
And therfore now all my requestes,
From perill can not saue.
Yet would I well it might appere
To her my chiefe regard:
Though my desertes haue ben to dere
To merite such reward.
Sith fortunes will is now so bent
To plage me thus pore man:
I must my selfe therwith content:
And beare it as I can.
 

Some men would thinke of right

The louer lamenteth other to haue the frutes of his seruice.
 

Some men would thinke of right to haue
For their true meaning some reward.
But while that I do crye and craue:
I se that other be preferd.
I gape for that I am debard.
I fare as doth the hounde at hatch:
The worse I spede, the lenger I watch.
My wastefull will is tried by trust:
My fond fansie is mine abuse.
For that I would refrayne my lust:
For mine auayle I can not chuse,
A will, and yet no power to vse.
A will, no will by reason iust,
Sins my will is at others lust.
They eat the hony, I hold the hyue.
I sowe the sede, they reape the corne.
I waste, they winne, I draw, they driue.
Theirs is the thanke, mine is the skorne.
I seke, they spede, in waste my winde is worne.
I gape, they get, and gredely I snatch:
Till wurse I spede, the lenger I watch.
I fast, they fede: they drynke, I thurst.
They laugh, I wayle: they ioye, I mourne.
They gayne, I lose: I haue the worst.
They whole, I sicke: they cold, I burne.
They leape, I lye: they slepe, I tosse and turne,
I would, they may: I craue, they haue at will.
That helpeth them, lo, cruelty doth me kyll.
 

The answere that ye made

To his loue that had geuen him answere of refusell.
 

The answere that ye made to me my deare,
When I did sue for my pore hartes redresse:
Hath so appalde my countenance and my chere:
That in this case, I am all comfortlesse:
Sins I of blame no cause can well expresse.
I haue no wrong, where I can clayme no right.
Nought tane me fro, where I haue nothing had.
Yet of my wo, I can not so be quite.
Namely, sins that another may be glad
With that, that thus in sorow makes me sad.
Yet none can claime (I saie) by former graunt,
That knoweth not of any graunt at all.
And by desert, I dare well make auaunt,
 

Of faithfull will, there is no where that shall
Bear you more trouth, more ready at your call.
Now good then, call againe that bitter word:
That toucht your frende so nere with panges of paine:
And saie my dere that it was sayd in bord.
Late, or tosone, (Note: to sone) let it not rule the gaine,
Wherwith free will doth true desert retayne.
 

Svch is the course

To his ladie cruel ouer her yelden louer.
 

Svch is the course, that natures kinde hath wrought,
That snakes haue time to cast away their stynges.
Ainst chainde prisoners what nede defence be sought:
The fierce lyon will hurt no yelden thinges:
Why shoulde such spite be nursed then in thy thought?
Sith all these powers are prest vnder thy winges:
And eke thou seest, and reason thee hath taught:
What mischief malice many waies it bringes.
Consider eke, that spight auaileth naught,
Therfore this song thy fault to thee it singes:
Displease thee not, for saiyng thus (me thought.)
Nor hate thou him from whom no hate forth springes,
Nor furies, that in hell be execrable,
For that they hate, are made most miserable.
 

The enmy of life

The louer complaineth that deadlie sicknesse can not helpe his affeccion.
 

The enmy of life, decayer of all kinde,
That with his cold wythers away the grene:
This other night, me in my bed did finde:
And offerd me to ryd my feuer clene.
And I did graunt: so did dispayre me blinde.
He drew his bow, with arrowes sharpe and kene:
And strake the place, where loue had hit before:
And draue the first dart deper more and more.
 

Once as me thought

The louer reioiceth the enioying of his loue.
 

Once as me thought, fortune me kist:
And bade me aske, what I thought best:
And I should haue it as me list,
Therewith to set my hart in rest.
I asked but my ladies hart
To haue for euermore myne owne:
Then at an end were all my smart:
Then should I nede no more to mone.
Yet for all that a stormy blast
Had ouerturnde this goodly day:
And fortune semed at the last,
That to her promise she said nay.
But like as one out of dispayre
To sodain hope reuiued I.
Now fortune sheweth her selfe so fayre,
That I content me wondersly.
My most desire my hand may reach:
My will is alway at my hand.
Me nede not long for to beseche
Her, that hath power me to commaunde.
What earthly thing more can I craue?
What would I wishe more at my will?
Nothing on earth more would I haue,
Saue that I haue, to haue it styll.
For fortune hath kept her promesse,
In grauntyng me my most desire.
Of my soueraigne I haue redresse,
And I content me with my hire.
 

My lute awake

The louer complayneth the vnkindnes of his loue.
 

My lute awake performe the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste:
And end that I haue now begonne:
And when this song is song and past:
My lute be styll for I haue done.
As to be heard where eare is none:
As lead to graue in marble stone:
My song may pearse her hart as sone.
Should we then sigh? or singe, or mone?
No, no, my lute for I haue done.
The rockes do not so cruelly
Repulse the waues continually,
As she my sute and affection:
So that I am past remedy,
Wherby my lute and I haue done.
Proude of the spoile that thou hast gotte
Of simple hartes through loues shot:
By whom vnkinde thou hast them wonne,
Thinke not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I haue done.
Vengeaunce shall fall on thy disdaine
That makest but game on earnest payne.
Thinke not alone vnder the sunne
Vnquit to cause thy louers plaine:
Although my lute and I haue done.
May chance thee lie witherd and olde,
In winter nightes that are so colde,
Playning in vaine vnto the mone:
Thy wishes then dare not be tolde.
Care then who list, for I haue done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent
To cause thy louers sigh and swowne.
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I haue done.
Now cease my lute this is the last,
Labour that thou and I shall wast,
And ended is that we begonne.
Now is this song both song and past,
My lute be still for I haue done.
 

Nature that gaue the Bee

How by a kisse he found both his life and death.
 

Nature that gaue the Bee so feat a grace,
To finde hony of so wondrous fashion:
Hath taught the spider out of the same place
To fetch poyson by strange alteracion.
Though this be strange, it is a stranger case,
With one kisse by secrete operacion,
Both these at once in those your lippes to finde,
In change wherof, I leaue my hart behinde.
 

Vnwarely so was neuer

The louer describeth his being taken with sight of his loue.
 

Vnwarely so was neuer no man caught,
With stedfast loke vpon a goodly face:
As I of late: for sodainely me thought,
My hart was torne out of his proper place.
Thorow mine eye the stroke from hers did slide,
Directly downe into my hart it ranne:
In helpe wherof the blood therto did glide,
And left my face both pale and wanne.
Then was I like a man for wo amased:
Or like the fowle that fleeth into the fire.
For while that I vpon her beauty gased:
The more I burnde in my desire.
Anone the bloud start in my face agayne,
Inflamde with heat, that it had at my hart.
And brought therwith through out in euery vaine,
A quakyng heat with pleasant smart.
Then was I like the straw, when that the flame
Is driuen therin, by force, and rage of winde.
I can not tell, alas, what I shall blame:
Nor what to seke, nor what to finde.
But well I wot: the griefe doth hold me sore
In heat and cold, betwixt both hope and dreade:
That, but her helpe to health do me restore:
This restlesse life I may not lead.
 

Al in thy loke my life

To his louer to loke vpon him.
 

Al in thy loke my life doth whole depende.
Thou hydest thy self, and I must dye therfore.
But sins thou mayst so easily helpe thy frend:
Why doest thou stick to salue that thou madest sore?
Why do I dye? sins thou mayst me defend?
And if I dye, thy life may last no more.
For ech by other doth liue and haue reliefe,
I in thy loke, and thou most in my griefe.
 

Perdy I sayd it not

The louer excuseth him of wordes wherwith he was vniustly charged.
 

Perdy I sayd it not:
Nor neuer thought to do.
As well as I ye wot:
I haue no power therto,
And if I did, the lot,
That first did me enchayne:
May neuer slake the knot,
But strayght it to my payne.
And if I did ech thing,
That may do harme or wo:
Continually may wring
My hart where so I go.
Report may alwayes ring
Of shame on me for aye:
If in my hart did spring
The wordes that you do say
And if I did ech starre,
That is in heauen aboue,
May frowne on me to marre
The hope I haue in loue.
And if I did such warre,
As they brought vnto Troye,
Bring all my life as farre
From all his lust and ioye.
And if I did so say:
The beautie that me bounde,
Encrease from day to day
More cruell to my wounde:
With all the mone that may,
To plaint may turne my song:
My life may sone decay,
Without redresse by wrong.
If I be cleare from thought,
Why do you then complayne?
Then is this thing but sought.
To turne my hart to payne,
Then this that you haue wrought,
You must it now redresse,
Of right therfore you ought
Such rigour to represse.
And as I haue deserued:
So graunt me now my hire:
You know I neuer swerued,
You neuer founde me lyer.
For Rachel haue I serued,
For Lea cared I neuer:
And her I haue reserued
Within my hart for euer.
 

Lvx, my faire fawlcon

Of such as had forsaken him.
 

Lvx, my faire fawlcon, and thy felowes all:
How wel pleasant it were your libertie:
Ye not forsake me, that faire mought you fall.
But they that sometime liked my company:
Like lice away from dead bodies they crall.
Loe, what a proufe in light aduersitie?
But ye my birdes, I sweare by all your belles,
Ye be my frendes, and very few elles.
 

A face that should content

A description of such a one as he would loue.
 

A Face that should content me wonderous well,
Should not be faire, but louely to beholde:
Of liuely loke, all griefe for to repell:
With right good grace, so would I that it should
Speake without word, such wordes as none can tell.
The tresse also should be of crisped gold.
With wit, and these perchance I might be tryde,
And knit againe with knot, that should not slide.
 

Ever my hap is slack

How vnpossible it is to finde quiet in his loue.
 

Ever my hap is slack and slowe in commyng
Desire encreasyng ay my hope vncertaine:
That loue or wait it, alike doth me payne.
And Tygre like so swift it is in partyng.
Alas the snow black shal it be and scalding,
The sea waterles, and fishe vpon the mountaine:
The Temis shal backe returne into his fountaine:
And where he rose the sunne shall take his lodgyng.
Ere I in this finde peace or quietnesse.
Or that loue or my lady rightwisely
Leaue to conspire against me wrongfully.
And if I haue after such bitternesse,
Any thing swete, my mouth is out of taste:
That all my trust and trauell is but waste.
 

Loue, Fortune, and my minde

Of Loue, Fortune, and the louers minde.
 

Loue, Fortune, and my minde which do remember
Eke that is now, and that that once hath bene:
Torment my hart so sore that very often
I hate and enuy them beyonde all measure.
Loue sleeth my hart while Fortune is depriuer
Of all my comfort: the folishe minde than:
Burneth and playneth: as one that sildam
Liueth in rest. Still in dispeasure (Note: displeasure)

My pleasant daies they flete away and passe.
And dayly doth myne yll change to the worse.
While more then halfe is runne now of my course.
Alas not of stele, but of brittle glasse,
I se that from my hand falleth my trust:
And all my thoughtes are dasshed into dust.
 

How oft haue I

The louer prayeth his offred hart to be receiued.
 

How oft haue I, my deare and cruell fo:
With my great pain to get som peace or truce,
Geuen you my hart? but you do not vse,
In so hie thinges, to cast your minde so low.
If any other loke for it, as you trow,
Their vaine weake hope doth greatly them abuse.
And that thus I disdayne, that you refuse.
It was once mine, it can no more be so.
If you it chase, that it in you can finde,
In this exile, no maner of comfort:
Nor liue alone, nor where he is calde, resort,
He may wander from his naturall kinde.
So shall it be great hurt vnto vs twayne,
And yours the losse, and mine the deadly payne.
 

Lyke vnto these

The louers life compared to the Alpes.
 

Lyke vnto these vnmesurable mountaines,
So is my painefull life, the burden of yre.
For hye be they, and hye is my desire.
And I of teares, and they be full of fountaines.
Vnder craggy rockes they haue barren plaines,
Hard thoughtes in me my wofull minde doth tyre,
Small frute and many leaues their toppes do attire,
With small effect great trust in me remaines.
The boystous windes oft their hye boughes do blast:
Hote sighes in me continually be shed.
Wilde beastes in them, fierce loue in me is fed.
Vnmoueable am I: and they stedfast.
Of singing birdes they haue the tune and note:
And I alwaies plaintes passing through my throte.
 

If amourous fayth

Charging of his loue as vnpiteous and louing other.
 

If amourous fayth, or if an hart vnfained
A swete languor, a great louely desire:
If honest will, kindled in gentle fire:
If long errour in a blinde mase chained,
If in my visage ech thought distayned:
Or if my sparkelyng voyce, lower, or hier,
Which fear and shame, so wofully doth tyre:
If pale colour, which loue alas hath stayned:
If to haue another then my self more dere,
If wailyng or sighyng continually,
With sorowfull anger fedyng busily,
If burnyng a farre of, and fre syng (Note: fresyng) nere,
Are cause that by loue my selfe I stroy:
Yours is the fault, and mine the great annoy.
 

Farewell, Loue

A renouncing of loue.
 

Farewell, Loue, and all thy lawes for euer.
Thy bayted hokes shall tangle me no more.
Senec, and Plato call me from thy lore:
To parfit wealth my wit for to endeuer.
In blinde errour when I dyd parseuer:
Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore:
Taught me in trifles that I set no store:
But scape forth thence: since libertie is leuer.
Therfore, farewell: go trouble yonger hartes:
And in me claime no more auctoritie.
With ydle youth go vse thy propartie:
And theron spend thy many brittle dartes.
For, hytherto though I haue lost my tyme:
Me lyst no lenger rotten bowes to clime.
 

My hart I gaue thee

The louer forsaketh his vnkinde loue,
 

My hart I gaue thee, not to do it pain:
But, to preserue, lo it to thee was taken.
I serued thee not that I should be forsaken:
But, that I should receiue reward again,
I was content thy seruant to remain:
And, not to be repayd after this fashion.
Now, since in thee is there none nother reason:
Displease thee not, if that I do refrain.
Vnsaciat of my wo, and thy desyre.
Assured by craft for to excuse thy fault.
But, since it pleaseth thee to fain defaut:
Farewell, I say, departing from the fire.
For, he, that doth beleue bearyng in hand:
Ploweth in the water: and soweth in the sand.
 

The flaming sighes

The louer describeth his restlesse state.
 

The flaming sighes that boyle within my brest
Sometime breake forth and they can well declare
The hartes vnrest and how that it doth fare,
The pain therof the grief and all the rest.
The watred eyen from whence the teares doe fall,
Do fele some force or els they would be drye:
The wasted flesh of colour ded can trye,
and somthing tell what swetenesse is in gall.
And he that lust to see and to disarne,
How care can force within a weried minde:
Come he to me I am that place assinde.
But for all this no force it doth no harme.
The wound alas happe in some other place:
From whence no toole away the skar can race.
But you that of such like haue had your part,
Can best be iudge wherfore my frend so deare:
I thought it good my state should now appeare,
To you and that there is no great desart.
And wheras you in weighty matters great:
Of fortune saw the shadow that you know,
For trifling thinges I now am striken so
That though I fele my hart doth wound and beat:
I sit alone saue on the second day:
My feuer comes with whom I spend my time,
In burning heat while that she list assigne.
And who hath helth and libertie alway:
Let him thank god and let him not prouoke,
To haue the like of this my painfull stroke.
 

The piller perisht

The louer lamentes the death of his loue.
 

The piller perisht is wherto I lent,
The strongest stay of mine vnquiet minde:
The like of it no man again can finde:
From East to West still seking though he went,
To mine vnhappe for happe away hath rent,
Of all my ioy the very bark and rynde:
And I (alas) by chance am thus assinde.
Daily to moorne till death do it relent,
But since that thus it is by desteny,
What can I more but haue a wofull hart,
My penne, in plaint, my voyce in carefull crye:
My minde in wo, my body full of smart.
And I my self, my selfe alwayes to hate,
Till dreadfull death do ease my dolefull state.
 

Go burning sighes

The louer sendeth sighes to mone his sute.
 

Go burning sighes vnto the frosen hart,
Go breake the yse which pities painfull dart.
Myght neuer perce and yf that mortall prayer,
In heauen be herd, at lest yet I desire.
That death or mercy end my wofull smart.
Take with thee payn, wherof I haue my part,
And eke the flame from which I cannot start,
And leaue me then in rest, I you require:
Go burning sighes fulfil that I desire.
I must go worke I see by craft and art,
For truth and faith in her is laid apart:
Alas, I can not therfore assaile her,
With pitefull complaint and scalding fier,
That from my brest disceiuably doth start.
 

So feble is the threde

Complaint of the absence of his loue.
 

So feble is the threde, that doth the burden stay,
Of my poore life: in heauy plight, that falleth in decay:
That, but it haue elswhere some ayde or some succours:
The running spindle of my fate anone shall end his course.
For since thunhappy hower, that dyd me to depart,
From my swete weale: one onely hope hath stayed my life, apart:
Which doth perswade such wordes vnto my sored minde:
Maintain thy self, O wofull wight, some better luck to finde.
For though thou be depriued from thy desired sight:
Who can thee tell, if thy returne be for thy more delight?
Or, who can tell, thy losse if thou mayst once recouer?
Some pleasant hower thy wo may wrappe: & thee defend, & couer.
Thus in this trust as yet it hath my life sustained:
But now (alas) I see it faint: and I, by trust, am trayned.
The tyme doth flete, and I se how the howers, do bend
So fast: that I haue scant the space to mark my commyng end.
Westward the sonne from out the East scant shewes his light:
When in the West he hides him strayt, within the dark of nyght.
And comes as fast, where he began, his path awry.
From Fast to West, from West to East so doth his iourney ly.
The life so short, so fraile, that mortall men liue here:
So great a weight, so heauy charge the bodies, that we bere:
That, when I think vpon the distaunce, and the space:
That doth so farre deuide me from my dere desired face:
I know not, how tattain the winges, that I require,
To lift me vp: that I might flie, to folow my desyre.
Thus of that hope, that doth my life somethyng sustayne,
Alas: I feare, and partly fele: full litle doth remain.
Eche place doth bring me griefe: where I do not behold
Those liuely eyes: which of my thoughts wer wont <the> keys to hold
Those thoughtes were pleasa<n>t swete: whilst I enioyed that grace:
My pleasure past, my present pain, when I might well embrace.
And, for because my want should more my wo encrease:
In watch, and slepe, both day, and night, my will doth neuer cease
That thing to wish: wherof since I did leese the sight:
Was neuer thing that mought in ought my woful hart delight,
Thunesy lyfe, I lead, doth teach me for to mete
The floodes, the seas, the land, the hylles: that doth the<m> entermete
Twene me, and those shene lightes: that wonted for to clere
My darked panges of cloudy thoughts, as bright as Pheb<es> spere,
It teacheth me, also, what was my pleasant state:
The more to fele, by such record, how that my wealth doth bate.
If such record (alas) prouoke thenflamed mynde:
Which sprong that day, that I did leaue the best of me behynde:
If loue forget himself, by length of absence, let:
Who doth me guyde (O wofull wretch) vnto this bayted net?
Where doth encrease my care: much better wer for me,
As dumme, as stone, all thyng forgot, still absent for to be.
Alas: the clere cristall, the bright transplendant glasse
Doth not bewray the colours hidde, which vnderneth it hase:
As doth thaccumbred sprite the thoughtfull throwes discouer,
Of feares delite, of feruent loue: that in our hartes we couer.
Out by these eyes, it sheweth that euermore delight.
In plaint, and teares to seke redresse: and eke both day and night.
These kindes of pleasures most wherein men so reioyce,
To me they do redubble still of stormy sighes the voyce.
For, I am one of them, whom playnt doth well content:
It sits me well: myne absent wealth me semes for to lament:
And with my teares, tassay to charge myne eies twayn:
Lyke as my hart aboue the brink is fraughted full of payn.
And forbecause, therto, of those fair eyes to treate
Do me prouoke: I wyll returne, my plaint thus to repeate.
For, there is nothing els, that toucheth me so within:
Where they rule all: and I alone nought but the case, or skin.
Wherefore, I shall returne to them, as well, or spring:
From whom descendes my mortall wo, aboue all other thing.
So shall myne eyes in pain accompany my hart:
That were the guides, that did it lead of loue to fele the smart.
The crisped golde, that doth surmount Apollos pride:
The liuely streames of pleasant starres that vnder it doth glyde:
Wherein the beames of loue doe styll encrease theyr heate:
Which yet so farre touch me so nere, in colde to make me sweate.
The wyse and pleasant talk, so rare, orels (Note: or els) alone:
That gaue to me the curteis gift, that erst had neuer none:
Be farre from me, alas: and euery other thyng
I might forbeare with better wyll: then this that dyd me bryng,
With pleasant worde and chere, redresse of lingred pain:
And wonted oft in kindled will to vertue me to trayn.
Thus, am I forst to heare, and harken after newes.
My comfort scant my large desire in doutfull trust renewes.
And yet with more delite to mone my wofull case:
I must complain those handes, those armes: <that> firmely do embrace
Me from my self: and rule the sterne of my poore lyfe:
The swete disdaines, the pleasant wrathes, and eke <the> louely strife:
That wonted well to tune in temper iust, and mete,
The rage: that oft dyd make me erre, by furour vndiscrete.
All this is hydde me fro, with sharp, and ragged hylles:
At others will, my long abode my depe dispaire fullfils.
And if my hope sometime ryse vp, by some redresse:
It stumbleth straite, for feble faint: my feare hath such excesse.
Such is the sort of hope: the lesse for more desyre:
And yet I trust ere that I dye to see that I require:
The restyng place of loue: where vertue dwelles and growes
There I desire, my wery life, somtime, may take repose.
My song: thou shalt attain to finde that pleasant place:
Where she doth lyue, by who<m> I liue: may chance, to haue this grace
When she hath red, and sene the grief, wherin I serue:
Betwene her brestes she shall thee put: there, shall she thee reserue
Then, tell her, that I cumme: she shall me shortly see:
And if for waighte the body fayle, the soule shall to her flee.
 

Svffised not (madame)

The louer blameth his loue for renting of the letter he sent her.
 

Svffised not (madame) that you did teare,
My wofull hart, but thus also to rent:
The weping paper that to you I sent.
Wherof eche letter was written with a teare.
Could not my present paines, alas suffise,
Your gredy hart? and that my hart doth fele,
Tormentes that prick more sharper then the stele,
But new and new must to my lot arise.
Vse then my death. So shal your cruelty:
Spite of your spite rid me from all my smart,
And I no more such tormentes of the hart:
Fele as I do. This shalt thou gain thereby.
 

When first mine eyes

The louer curseth the tyme when first he fell in loue.
 

When first mine eyes did view, and marke,
Thy faire beawtie to beholde:
And when mine eares listned to hark:
The pleasant wordes, that thou me tolde:
I would as then, I had been free,
From eares to heare, and eyes to see.
And when my lips gan first to moue,
Wherby my hart to thee was knowne:
And when my tong did talk of loue,
To thee that hast true loue down throwne:
I would, my lips, and tong also:
Had then bene dum, no deale to go.
And when my handes haue handled ought,
That thee hath kept in memorie:
And when my fete haue gone, and sought
To finde and geat thy company:
I would, eche hand a foote had bene,
And I eche foote a hand had sene.
And when in mynde I did consent
To folow this my fansies will:
And when my hart did first relent,
To tast such bayt, my life to spyll:
I would, my hart had bene as thyne:
Orels (Note: or els) thy hart had bene, as mine.
 

Synce loue wyll nedes

The louer determineth to serue faithfully.
 

Synce loue wyll nedes, that I shall loue:
Of very force I must agree.
And since no chance may it remoue:
In welth, and in aduersitie,
I shall alway my self apply
To serue, and suffer paciently.
Though for good will I finde but hate:
And cruelty my life to wast:
And though that still a wretched state
Should pine my dayes vnto the last:
Yet I professe it willingly.
To serue, and suffer paciently.
For since my hart is bound to serue:
And I not ruler of mine owne:
What so befall, tyll that I sterue.
By proofe full well it shall be knowne:
That I shall still my selfe apply
To serue, and suffer paciently.
Yea though my grief finde no redresse:
But still increase before mine eyes:
Though my reward be cruelnesse,
With all the harme, happe can deuise:
Yet I professe it willingly
To serue, and suffer paciently.
Yea though fortune her pleasant face
Should shew, to set me vp a loft:
And streight, my wealth for to deface,
Should writhe away, as she doth oft:
Yet would I styll my self apply
To serue and suffer paciently.
There is no grief, no smart, no wo:
That yet I fele, or after shall:
That from this mynde may make me go,
And whatsoeuer me befall:
I do professe it willingly
To serue and suffer paciently.
 

Mystrustfull mindes be moued

The louer suspected blameth yll tonges.
 

Mystrustfull mindes be moued
To haue me in suspect.
The troth it shalbe proued:
Which time shall once detect.
Though falshed go about
Of crime me to accuse:
At length I do not doute,
But truth shall me excuse.
Such sawce, as they haue serued
To me without desart:
Euen as they haue deserued:
Therof god send them part.
 

It burneth yet

The louer complaineth and his lady comforteth. (Note: Part assignment on first  lines are handwritten in margin)

<Lo:> It burneth yet, alas, my hartes desire.
<La:> What is the thing, that hath inflamde thy hert?
<Lo:> A certain point, as feruent, as the fyre.
<La:> The heate shall cease, if that thou wilt conuert.
<Lo:> I cannot stoppe the feruent raging yre.
La. What may I do, if thy self cause thy smart?
Lo. Heare my request, alas, with weping chere.
La. With right good wyll, say on: lo, I thee here.
Lo. That thing would I, that maketh two content.
La. Thou sekest, perchance, of me, that I may not.
Lo. Would god, thou wouldst, as thou maist, well assent.
La. That I may not, thy grief is mine: God wot.
Lo. But I it fele, what so thy wordes haue ment.
La. Suspect me not: my wordes be not forgot. (Note: period in superscript)

Lo. Then say, alas: shall I haue help? or no.
La. I see no time to answer, yea, but no.
Lo. Say ye, dere hart: and stand no more in dout.
La. I may not grant a thing, that is so dere.
Lo. Lo, with delayes thou drieues me still about.
La. Thou wouldest my death: it plainly doth appere.
Lo. First, may my hart his bloode, and life blede out.
La. Then for my sake, alas, thy will forbere.
Lo. From day to day, thus wastes my life away.
La. Yet, for the best, suffer some small delay.
Lo. Now, good, say yea: do once so good a dede.
La. If I sayd yea: what should therof ensue?
Lo. An hart in pain of succour so should spede,
Twixt yea, and nay, my doute shall styll renew.
My swete, say yea: and do away this drede.
La. Thou wilt nedes so: be it so: but then be trew.
Lo. Nought would I els, nor other treasure none.
Thus, hartes be wonne, by loue, request and mone.
 

Of purpose, loue chose first

why loue is blinde.
 

Of purpose, loue chose first for to be blinde:
For, he with sight of that, that I beholde,
Vanquisht had been, against all godly kinde.
His bow your hand, and trusse should haue vnfolde.
And he with me to serue had bene assinde.
But, for he blinde, and recklesse would him holde:
And still, by chance, his dedly strokes bestowe:
With such, as see, I serue, and suffer wo.
 

What rage is this?

To his vnkinde loue.
 

What rage is this? what furor? of what kinde?
What power, what plage doth wery thus my minde:
Within my bones to rankle is assinde
What poyson pleasant swete?
Lo, see, myne eyes flow with continuall teares:
The body still away slepelesse it weares:
My foode nothing my fainting strength repayres,
Nor doth my limmes sustain.
In depe wide wound, the dedly stroke doth turne:
To cureles skarre that neuer shall returne.
Go to: triumph: reioyce thy goodly turne:
Thy frend thou doest oppresse.
Oppresse thou doest: and hast of him no cure:
Nor yet my plaint no pitie can procure.
 

Fierce Tigre, fell, hard rock without recure:
Cruell rebell to Loue,
Once may thou loue, neuer beloued again:
So loue thou styll, and not thy loue obtain:
So wrathfull loue, with spites of iust disdain,
May thret thy cruell hart.
 

Desire (alas) my master

The louer blameth hs (Note: his) instant desyre.
 

Desire (alas) my master, and my fo:
So sore altred thy self how mayst thou see?
Sometime thou sekest, that drieues me to and fro
Sometime, thou leadst, that leadeth thee, and me.
What reason is to rule thy subiectes so?
By forced law, and mutabilitie.
For where by thee I douted to haue blame:
Euen now by hate again I dout thesame. (Note: the same)

I see, that chance

The louer complayneth his estate.
 

I see, that chance hath chosen me
Thus secretely to liue in paine:
And to an other geuen the fee
Of all my losse to haue the gayn.
By chance assinde thus do I serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.
Vnto my self sometime alone
I do lament my wofull case.
But what auaileth me to mone?
Since troth, and pitie hath no place
In them: to whom I sue and serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.
To seke by meane to change this minde:
Alas, I proue, it will not be.
For in my hart I cannot finde
Once to refrain, but still agree,
As bounde by force, alway to serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.
Such is the fortune, that I haue
To loue them most, that loue me lest:
And to my pain to seke, and craue
The thing, that other haue possest.
So thus in vain alway I serue.
And other haue, that I deserue.
And till I may apease the heate:
If that my happe will happe so well:
To waile my wo my hart shall freate:
Whose pensif pain my tong can tell.
Yet thus vnhappy must I serue:
And other haue, that I deserue.
 

For shamefast harm of great

Against hourders of money.
 

For shamefast harm of great, and hatefull nede:
In depe despayre, as did a wretch go,
With ready corde, out of his life to spede:
His stumbling foote did finde an hoorde, lo,
Of golde, I say: where he preparde this dede:
And in eschange, he left the corde, tho.
He, that had hidde the golde, and founde it not:
Of that, he founde, he shapte his neck a knot.
 

Vvlcane begat me

Discripcion of a gonne.
 

Vvulcane (Note: Vulcane) begat me: Minerua me taught:
Nature, my mother: Craft nourisht me yere by yere:
Three bodyes are my foode: my strength is in naught:
Angre, wrath, wast, and noyce are my children dere.
Gesse, frend, what I am: and how I am wraught:
Monster of sea, or of land, or of els where.
Know me, and vse me: and I may thee defend:
And if I be thine enmy, I may thy life end.
 

Syghes are my foode

wiat being in prison, to Brian.
 

Syghes are my foode: my drink are my teares.
Clinkyng of fetrers would such Musick craue,
Stink, and close ayer away my life it weares.
Pore innocence is all the hope, I haue.
Rayn, winde, or wether iudge I by mine eares.
Malice assaultes, that righteousnesse should haue.
Sure am I, Brian, this wound shall heale again:
But yet alas, the skarre shall still remayn.
 

Through out the world

Of dissembling wordes.
 

Through out the world if it wer sought,
Faire wordes ynough a man shall finde:
They be good chepe they cost right nought.
Their substance is but onely winde:
But well to say and so to mene,
That swete acord is seldom sene.
 

Stond who so list

Of the meane and sure estate.
 

Stond who so list vpon the slipper whele,
Of hye astate and let me here reioyce.
And vse my life in quietnesse eche dele,
Vnknowen in court that hath the wanton toyes.
In hidden place my time shall slowly passe
And when my yeres be past withouten noyce
Let me dye olde after the common trace
For gripes of death doth he to hardly passe
That knowen is to all: but to him selfe alas,
He dyeth vnknowen, dased with dreadfull face.
 

In court to serue

The courtiers life.
 

In court to serue decked with freshe aray,
Of sugred meates felyng the swete repast:
The life in bankets, and sundry kindes of play,
Amid the presse of lordly lokes to waste,
Hath with it ioynde oft times such bitter taste.
That who so ioyes such kinde of life to holde,
In prison ioyes fettred with cheines of gold.
 

Of Carthage he

Of disapointed purpose by negligence.
 

Of Carthage he that worthy warriour
Could ouercome, but could not vse his chaunce
And I likewise of all my long endeuour
The sharpe conquest though fortune did aduance,
Ne could I vse. The holde that is geuen ouer,
I vnpossest. so hangeth in balance
Of warre, my peace, reward of all my paine,
At Mountzon thus I restlesse rest in Spaine.
 

Tagus farewel

Of his returne from Spaine.
 

Tagus farewel that westward with thy stremes
Turnes vp the graines of gold already tried,
For I with spurre and saile go seke the temmes,
Gaineward the sunne that sheweth her welthy pride,
And to the towne that Brutus sought by dreames,
Like bended mone that leanes her lusty side.
My king, my countrey, I seke for whom I liue,
O mighty Ioue the windes for this me geue.
 

Driuen by desire

Of sodaine trustyng.
 

Driuen by desire I did this dede
To danger my self without cause why:
To trust thuntrue not like to spede,
To speake and promise faythfully:
But now the proufe doth verifie,
That who so trusteth ere he know.
Doth hurt him self and please his foe.
 

In doubtfull breast

Of the mother that eat her childe at the siege of Ierusalem.
 

In doubtfull breast whiles motherly pity
With furious famine standeth at debate,
The mother sayth: O childe vnhappy
Returne thy bloud where thou hadst milke of late
Yeld me those lymmes that I made vnto thee,
And enter there where thou were generate.
For of one body agaynst all nature,
To an other must I make sepulture.
 

My mothers maides

Of the meane and sure estate written to Iohn Poins.
 

My mothers maides when they do sowe and spinne:
They sing a song made of the feldishe mouse:
That forbicause her liuelod was but thinne,
Would nedes go se her townish sisters house,
She thought, her selfe endured to greuous payne,
The stormy blastes her caue so sore did sowse:
That when the furrowes swimmed with the rayne:
She must lie colde, and wet in sory plight.
And worse then that, bare meat there did remaine
To comfort her, when she her house had dight:
Sometime a barly corne: sometime a beane:
For which she laboured hard both day and night,
In haruest tyme, while she might go and gleane.
And when her store was stroyed with the floode:
Then weleaway for she vndone was cleane.
Then was she faine to take in stede of fode,
Slepe if she might, her honger to begyle.
My sister (quod she) hath a liuyng good:
And hence from me she dwelleth not a myle.
In colde and storme, she lieth warme and dry,
In bed of downe: the durt doth not defile
Her tender fote, she labours not as I,
Richely she fedes, and at the richemans cost:
And for her meat she nedes not craue nor cry.
By sea, by land, of delicates the most
Her cater sekes, and spareth for no perill:
She fedes on boyle meat, bake meat, and on rost:
And hath therfore no whit of charge nor trauell.
And when she list the licour of the grape
Doth glad her hart, till that her belly swell.
And at this iourney makes she but a iape:
So forth she goes, trusting of all this wealth,
With her sister her part so for to shape:
That if she might there kepe her self in health:
To liue a Lady while her life doth last.
 

And to the dore now is she come by stealth:
And with her fote anone she scrapes full fast.
Thother for fear, durst not well scarse appere:
Of euery noyse so was the wretch agast.
At last, she asked softly who was there.
And in her language as well as she could,
Pepe (quod the other) sister I am here.
Peace (quod the towne mouse) why speakest thou so loude?
And by the hand she toke her fayre and well.
Welcome (quod she) my sister by the rode.
She feasted her that ioye it was to tell
The fare they hadde, they dranke the wine so clere:
And as to purpose now and then it fell:
She chered her, with how sister what chere?
Amid this ioye be fell a sory chance:
That (weleaway) the stranger bought full dere
The fare she had. For as she lookt a scance:
Vnder a stole she spied two stemyng eyes.
In a rounde head, with sharpe eares: in Fraunce
Was neuer mouse so ferde, for the vnwise
Had not ysene such a beast before.
Yet had nature taught her after her gise,
To know her fo: and dread him euermore.
The townemouse fled: she knew whither to go:
The other had no shift, but wonders sore
Ferde of her life, at home she wisht her tho:
And to the dore (alas) as she did skippe:
The heauen it would, lo: and eke her chance was so:
At the threshold her sely fote did trippe:
And ere she might recouer it agayne:
The traytour cat had caught her by the hippe:
And made her there against hir will remayne:
That had forgot her power, surety and rest,
For semyng welth, wherin she thought to raine.
Alas (my Poyns) how men do seke the best,
And finde the worst, by errour as they stray,
And no maruell, when sight is so opprest,
And blindes the guide, anone out of the way
Goeth guide and all in seking quiet life.
O wretched mindes, there is no golde that may
Graunt that you seke, no warre, no peace, no strife.
No, no, although thy head were hoopt with golde,
Sergeant with mace, with hawbart, sword, nor knife,
Can not repulse the care that folow should.
Ech kinde of life hath with him his disease.
Liue in delite, euen as thy lust would:
And thou shalt finde, when lust doth most thee please:
It irketh straight, and by it selfe doth fade.
A small thing is it, that may thy minde appease.
None of you al there is, that is so madde,
To seke for grapes on brambles, or on bryers:
Nor none I trow that hath his witte so badde,
To set his haye for conies ouer riuers:
Nor ye set not a dragge net for an hare.
And yet the thing, that most is your desire,
You do misseke, with more trauell and care.
Make plaine thine hart, that it be not knotted
With hope or dreade, and se thy will be bare
From all affectes, whom vice hath euer spotted.
Thy selfe content with that is thee assinde:
And vse it well that is to thee alotted.
Then seke no more out of thy selfe to finde
The thing that thou hast sought so long before.
For thou shalt feele it stickyng in thy minde,
Madde if ye list to continue your sore.
Let present passe, and gape on time to come:
And depe your selfe in trauell more and more.
Henceforth (my Poins) this shalbe all and summe
These wretched foles shall haue nought els of me:
But, to the great God and to his dome,
None other paine pray I for them to be:
But when the rage doth leade them from the right:
That lokyng backward, Vertue they may se,
Euen as she is, so goodly fayre and bright.
And whilst they claspe their lustes in armes a crosse:
Graunt them good Lord, as thou maist of thy might,
To freate inward, for losyng such a losse.
 

Myne owne Iohn Poyns

Of the Courtiers life written to Iohn Poins.
 

Myne owne Iohn Poyns: sins ye delite to know
The causes why that homeward I me draw,
And fle the prease of courtes, where so they go:
Rather then to liue thrall vnder the awe,
Of lordly lokes, wrapped within my cloke,
To will and lust learnyng to set a law:
It is not, because I scorne or mocke
The power of them: whom fortune here hath lent
Charge ouer vs, of ryght to strike the stroke.
But true it is that I haue alwayes ment
Lesse to esteme them, then the common sort
Of outward thinges: that iudge in their entent,
Without regard, what inward doth resort.
I graunt, sometime of glory that the fire
Doth touch my hart. Me list not to report
Blame by honour, and honour to desire.
But how may I this honour now attaine?
That can not dye the colour blacke a lyer.
My Poyns, I can not frame my tune to fayne:
To cloke the truth, for prayse without desert,
Of them that list all nice for to retaine.
I can not honour them, that set their part
With Venus, and Bacchus, all their life long:
Nor holde my peace of them, although I smart.
I can not crouch nor knele to such a wrong:
To worship them like God on earth alone:
That are as wolues these sely lambes among.
I can not with my wordes complaine and mone,
And suffer nought: nor smart without complaynt:
Nor turne the worde that from my mouth is gone.
I can not speake and loke like as a saynt:
Vse wiles for wit, and make disceyt a pleasure:
Call craft counsaile, for lucre still to paint.
I can not wrest the law to fill the coffer:
With innocent bloud to fede my selfe fatte:
And do most hurt: where that most helpe I offer.
I am not he, that can alowe the state
Of hye Ceasar, and damne Cato to dye:
That with his death did scape out of the gate,
From Ceasars handes, if Liuye doth not lye:
And would not liue, where libertie was lost,
So did his hart the common wealth apply.
I am not he, such eloquence to bost:
To make the crow in singyng, as the swanne:
Nor call the lyon of coward beastes the most.
That can not take a mouse, as the cat can.
And he that dieth for honger of the golde,
Call him Alexander, and say that Pan
Passeth Appollo in musike manifold:
Praise syr Topas for a noble tale,
And scorne the story that the knight tolde:
Prayse him for counsell, that is dronke of ale:
Grinne when he laughes, that beareth all the sway:
Frowne, when he frownes: and grone when he is pale:
On others lust to hang both night and day.
None of these poyntes would euer frame in me.
My wit is nought, I can not learne the way.
And much the lesse of thinges that greater be,
That asken helpe of colours to deuise
To ioyne the meane with ech extremitie:
With nearest vertue ay to cloke the vice.
And as to purpose likewise it shall fall:
To presse the vertue that it may not rise.
And as to purpose likewise it shall fall,
To presse the vertue that it may not rise.
As dronkennesse good felowship to call:
The frendly foe, with his faire double face,
Say he is gentle and curties therewithall.
Affirme that fauell hath a goodly grace,
In eloquence: And cruelty to name
Zeale of Iustice: And change in time and place.
And he that suffreth offence withoutt blame:
Call him pitifull, and him true and plaine,
That rayleth rechlesse vnto ech mans shame.
Say he is rude, that can not lye and faine:
The letcher a louer, and tyranny
To be the right of a Prynces rayghne.
I can not, I no, no, it will not be.
This is the cause that I could neuer yet
Hang on their sleues, that weygh (as thou mayst se)
A chippe of chance more then a pounde of wit.
This maketh me at home to hunt and hauke:
And in fowle wether at my boke to sit:
In frost and snow, then with my bow to stalke.
No man doth marke where so I ride or go.
In lusty leas at libertie I walke:
And of these newes I fele nor weale nor wo:
Saue that a clogge doth hang yet at my heele.
No force for that, for it is ordred so:
That I may leape both hedge and dike full wele,
I am not now in Fraunce, to iudge the wine:
With savry sauce those delicates to fele.
Nor yet in Spaine where one must him incline,
Rather then to be, outwardly to seme.
I meddle not with wyttes that be so fine,
Nor Flaunders chere lettes not my syght to deme
Of blacke and white, nor takes my wittes away
With beastlinesse: such do those beastes esteme.
Nor I am not, where truth is geuen in pray,
For money, poyson, and treason: of some
A common practise, vsed nyght and day.
But I am here in kent and christendome:
Among the Muses, where I reade and ryme,
Where if thou list myne owne Iohn Poyns to come:
Thou shalt be iudge, how I do spende my time.
 

A spendyng hand

How to vse the court and him selfe therin, written to syr Fraunces Bryan.
 

A Spendyng hand that alway powreth out,
Had nede to haue a bringer in as fast.
And on the stone that styll doth turne about,
There groweth no mosse. These prouerbes yet do last:
Reason hath set them in so sure a place:
That length of yeres their force can neuer waste.
When I remember this, and eke the case,
Wherin thou standst: I thought forthwith to write
(Brian) to thee? who knowes how great a grace
In writyng is to counsaile man the right.
To thee therfore that trottes still vp and downe:
And neuer restes, but runnyng day and night,
From realme to realme, from citye strete, and towne.
Why doest thou weare thy body to the bones?
And mightest at home slepe in thy bedde of downe:
And drinke good ale so noppy for the nones:
Fede thy selfe fatte, and heape vp pounde by pounde.
Likest thou not this? No. Why? For swine so groines
In stye, and chaw dung moulded on the ground.
And driuell on pearles with head styll in the manger,
So of the harpe the asse doth heare the sound.
So sackes of durt be filde. The neate courtier
So serues for lesse, then do these fatted swine.
Though I seme leane and drye, withouten moysture:
Yet will I serue my prince, my lord and thine.
And let them liue to fede the paunch that lyst:
So I may liue to fede both me and myne.
By God well said. But what and if thou wist
How to bring in, as fast as thou doest spend.
That would I learne. And it shall not be mist,
To tell thee how. Now harke what I intende.
Thou knowest well first, who so can seke to please,
Shall purchase frendes: where trouth, shall but offend.
Flee therefore truth, it is both welth and ease.
For though that trouth of euery man hath prayse:
Full neare that winde goeth trouth in great misease.
Vse vertue, as it goeth now a dayes:
In worde alone to make thy language swete:
And of the dede, yet do not as thou saies.
Els be thou sure: thou shalt be farre vnmete
To get thy bread, ech thing is now so skant.
Seke still thy profite vpon thy bare fete.
Lende in no wise: for feare that thou do want:
Vnlesse it be, as to a calfe a chese:
By which returne be sure to winne a cant
Of halfe at least. It is not good to leese.
Learne at the ladde, that in a long white cote,
From vnder the stall, withouten landes or feese,
Hath lept into the shoppe: who knowes by rote
This rule that I haue told thee here before.
Sometime also riche age beginnes to dote,
Se thou when there thy gaine may be the more.
Stay him by the arme, whele so he walke or go:
Be nere alway, and if he coughe to sore:
What he hath spit treade out, and please him so.
A diligent knaue that pikes his masters purse,
May please him so, that he withouten mo
Executour is. And what is he the wurs?
But if so chance, thou get nought of the man:
The wydow may for all thy charge deburs.
A riueld skynne, a stinkyng breath, what than?
A tothelesse mouth shall do thy lippes no harme.
The golde is good, and though she curse or banne:
Yet where thee list, thou mayest lye good and warme.
Let the olde mule bite vpon the bridle:
Whilst there do lye a sweter in thine arme.
In this also se thou be not idle:
Thy nece, thy cosyn, thy sister, or thy daughter,
If she bee faire: if handsome be her middle:
If thy better hath her loue besought her:
Auaunce his cause, and he shall helpe thy nede.
It is but loue, turne it to a laughter.
But ware I say, so gold thee helpe and spede:
That in this case thou be not so vnwise,
As Pandar was in such a like dede.
For he the fole of conscience was so nice:
That he no gaine would haue for all his payne.
Be next thy selfe for frendshyp beares no price.
Laughest thou at me, why? do I speake in vaine?
No not at thee, but at thy thrifty iest.
Wouldest thou, I should for any losse or gayne,
Change that for golde, that I haue tane for best
Next godly thinges: to haue an honest name?
Should I leaue that? then take me for a beast.
Nay then farewell, and if thou care for shame:
Content thee then with honest pouertie:
With free tong, what thee mislikes, to blame.
And for thy trouth sometime aduersitie.
And therwithall this thing I shall thee giue,
In this world now litle prosperitie:
And coyne to kepe, as water in a siue.
 

When Dido feasted first

The song of Iopas vnfinished.
 

When Dido feasted first the wanderyng Troian knight:
who<m> Iunos wrath w<ith> stormes did force in Libyk sa<n>ds to light
That mighty Atlas taught, the supper lastyng long,
With crisped lockes on golden harpe, Iopas sang in song.
That same (quod he) that we the world do call and name:
Of heauen and earth with all contents, it is the very frame.
Or thus, of heauenly powers by more power kept in one
Repungnant kindes, in mids of who<m> the earth hath place alone:
Firme, round, of liuing thinges, the mother place and nourse:
Without the which in egal weight, this heuen doth hold his course
And it is callde by name, the first and mouyng heauen,
The firmament is placed next, conteinyng other seuen,
Of heauenly powers that same is planted full and thicke:
As shinyng lightes which we call stars, that therin cleue & sticke.
With great swift sway, the first, & with his restlesse sours,
Carieth it self, and al those eyght, in euen continuall cours.
And of this world so round within that rollyng case,
Two points there be that neuer moue, but firmely kepe their place
The tone we see alway, the tother standes obiect
Against the same, deuidyng iust the grounde by line direct.
Which by imaginacion, drawen from the one to thother
Toucheth the centre of the earth, for way there is none other.
And these be callde the Poles, discriyde by starres not bright.
Artike the one northward we see: Antartike thother hyght.
The line, that we deuise from thone to thother so:
As axel is, vpon the which the heauens about do go
Which of water nor earth, of ayre nor fire haue kinde.
Therfore the substance of those same were harde for man to finde.
But they bene vncorrupt, simple and pure vnmixt:
And so we say been all those starres, that in those same be fixt.
And eke those erryng seuen, in circle as they stray:
So calld, because agaynst that first they haue repungnant way:
And smaller bywayes to, skant sensible to man:
To busy worke for my pore harpe: let sing them he, that can.
The wydest saue the first, of all these nine aboue
One hundred yere doth aske of space, for one degree to moue.
Of which degrees we make, in the first moouyng heauen,
Three hundred and threscore in partes iustly deuided euen.
And yet there is another betwene those heauens two:
Whose mouyng is so sly so slack: I name it not for now.
The seuenth heauen or the shell, next to the starry sky,
All those degrees that gatherth vp, with aged pase so sly:
And doth performe the same, as elders count hath bene,
In nine and twenty yeres complete, and daies almost sixtene:
Doth cary in his bowt the starre of Saturne old:
A threatner of all liuyng things, with drought & with his cold.
The sixt whom this conteyns, doth stalke with yoonger pase:
And in twelue yere doth somwhat more then thothers viage was.
And this in it doth bear the starre of Ioue benigne,
Twene Saturns malice and vs men, frendly defendyng signe.
The fift bears bloudy Mars, that in three hundred daies,
And twise eleuen with one full yere, hath finisht all those wayes.
A yere doth aske the fourth, and howers therto sixe,
And in the same the dayes eie the sunne, therin her styckes.
The third, that gouernd is by that, that gouerns mee:
And loue for loue, and for no loue prouokes: as oft we see:
In like space doth performe that course, that did the tother.
So dothe the next vnto the same, that second is in order.
But it doth bear the starre, that calld is Mercury:
That many a crafty secrete steppe doth tread, as Calcars try.
That sky is last, and fixt next vs, those wayes hath gone,
In seuen and twenty co<m>mon dayes, and eke the third of one:
And beareth with his sway, the diuers Moone about:
Now bright, now brown, now be<n>t, now ful, & now her light is out
Thus haue they of their owne two mouynges al these seuen
One, wherin they be caried still, ech in his seueral heuen.
An other of them selues, where their bodyes be layed
In bywayes, and in lesser rowndes, as I afore haue sayd.
Saue of them all the sunne doth stray lest from the straight,
The starry sky hath but one cours, that we haue calde the eight.
And all these moouynges eight are ment from west to the east:
Although they seme to clime aloft, I say from east to west.
But that is but by force of the first mouyng sky:
In twise twelue houres fro<m> east to east <that> carieth the<m> by and by.
But marke we well also, these mouinges of these seuen,
Be not about the axell tree of the first mouyng heuen.
For they haue their two poles directly tone tothe (Note: to the) tother. &c.
 

***

Tottel -- Songes and Sonettes -- . Songes written by Nicolas Grimald.

What sweet releef

A trueloue.
 

What sweet releef the showers to thirstie plants we see:
What dere delite, the blooms to beez: my trueloue is to mee.
As fresh, and lusty vere foule winter doth exceed:
As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth passe the euenings weed:
As melow peares aboue the crabs esteemed be:
So doth my loue surmount them all, whom yet I hap to se.
The oke shall oliues bear: the lamb, the lion fray:
The owle shall match the nightingale, in tuning of her lay:
Or I my loue let slip out of mine entiere hert:
So deep reposed in my brest is she, for her desert.
For many blessed giftes, O happy, happy land:
Where Mars, and Pallas striue to make their glory most to stand
Yet, land, more is thy blisse: that, in this cruell age,
A Venus ymp, thou hast brought forth, so stedfast, and so sage.
Among the Muses nyne, a tenth yf Ioue would make:
And to the Graces three, a fourth: her would Apollo take.
Let some for honour hoont, and hourd the massy golde:
With her so I may liue, and dye, my weal cannot be tolde.
 

Phebe twise took her horns

The louer to his dear, of his exceding loue.
 

Phebe twise took her horns, twise layd them by:
I, all the while, on thee could set no yie.
Yet doo I liue: if life you may it call,
Which onely holds my heauy hert, as thrall.
Certesse for death doo I ful often pray,
To rid my wo, and pull these pangs away.
So plaines Prometh, his womb no time to faile:
And, ayelife left, had leefer, he might quaile.
I erre, orels (Note: or els) who this deuise first found,
By that gripes name he cleped loue vnsound.
In all the town, what streat haue I not seen?
In all the town, yet hath not Carie been.
Eyther thy sier restraines thy free outgate,
O woman, worthy of farre better state:
Or peeplepesterd London lykes thee nought,
But pleasant ayr, in quiet countrie sought.
Perchaunce, in olds our loue thou doest repeat,
And in sure place woldst euery thing retreat.
Forth shall I go, ne will I stay for none,
Vntyll I may somwhere finde thee alone.
Therwhile, keep you of hands, and neck the heew:
Let not your cheeks becoom or black, or bleew.
Go with welcouerd hed: for you incase (Note: in case)

Apollo spied, burn wold he on your face.
Daphne, in groue, clad with bark of baytree:
Ay mee, if such a tale should ryse of thee.
Calisto found, in woods, Ioues force to fell:
I pray you, let him not like you so well.
Eigh, how much dreed? Here lurks of theeus a haunt:
Whoso thou beest, preyseeker prowd, auaunt.
Acteon may teach thee Dictynnaes ire:
Of trouth, this goddesse hath as fiers a fire.
What doo I speak? O chief part of my minde,
Vnto your eares these woords no way doo finde.
Wold god, when you read this, obserue I might
Your voyce, and of your countinaunce haue sight,
Then, for our loue, good hope were not to seek:
I mought say with myself, she will be meek.
Doutlesse I coom, what euer town you keep,
Or where you woon, in woods, or mountanes steep:
I coom, and if all pear not in my face,
Myself will messenger be of my case.
If to my prayer all deaf, you dare saye, no:
Streight of my death agilted shall you go.
Yet in mid death, this same shall ease my hart:
That Carie, thou wert cause of all the smart.
 

Louers men warn the corps

The louer asketh pardon of his dere, for fleeyng from her.
 

Louers men warn the corps beloued to flee,
From the blinde fire in case they wold liue free.
Ay mee, how oft haue I fled thee, my Day?
I flee, but loue bides in my brest alway.
Lo yet agayn, I graunt, I gan remoue:
But both I could, and can say still, I loue.
If woods I seek, cooms to my thought Adone:
And well the woods do know my heauy mone.
In gardens if I walk: Narcissus there
I spy, and Hyacints with weepyng chere:
If meads I tred, O what a fyre I feel?
In flames of loue I burn from hed to heel.
Here I behold dame Ceres ymp in flight:
Here bee, methynk, black Plutoes steeds in sight.
Stronds if I look vpon, the Nymphs I mynde:
And, in mid sea, oft feruent powrs I fynde.
The hyer that I clyme, in mountanes wylde,
The nearer mee approcheth Venus chylde.
Towns yf I haunt: in short, shall I all say?
There soondry fourms I view, none to my pay.
Her fauour now I note, and now her yies:
Her hed, amisse: her foot, her cheeks, her guyse.
In fyne, where mater wants, defautes I fayn:
Whom other, fayr: I deem, she hath soom stayn.
What boots it then to flee, sythe in nightyde,
And daytyme to, my Day is at my side?
A shade therfore mayst thou be calld, by ryght:
But shadowes, derk, thou, Day, art euer bright.
Nay rather, worldly name is not for thee:
Sithe thou at once canst in twoo places bee.
Forgiue me, goddesse, and becoom my sheeld:
Euen Venus to Anchise herself dyd yeeld.
Lo, I confesse my flight: bee good therfore:
Ioue, oftentimes, hath pardond mee for more.
Next day, my Day, to you I coom my way:
And, yfyou (Note: yf you) suffer mee, due payns wyll pay.
 

Sythe, Blackwood

N. Vincent. to G. Black wood, agaynst wedding.
 

Sythe, Blackwood, you haue mynde to wed a wife:
I pray you, tell, wherefore you like that life.
What? that henceforth you may liue more in blisse?
You blisful be, with flower of frying pan?
Orels, (Note: or els) of face indifferent: (they say,
Face but indifferent will soone decay.)
Or faire: who, then, for many men semes fine:
Ne can you say, she is all holly mine.
And be she chaste (if noman (Note: no man) chaunce to sew)
A sort of brats she bringes, and troubles new:
Or frutelesse will so passe long yeres with thee,
That scant one day shall voyd of brawlyng bee.
Hereto heap vp vndaunted hed, stif hart,
And all the rest: eche spouse can tell a part.
Leaue then, this way, to hope for happy life:
Rather be your bed sole, and free from strife.
Of blessed state if any path be here:
It lurketh not, where women wonne so nere.
 

Sythe, Vincent

G. Blackwood to. N. Vincent, with weddyng.
 

Sythe, Vincent, I haue minde to wed a wife:
You bid me tell, wherfore I like that life.
Foule will I not, faire I desire: content,
If faire me fayle, with one indifferent.
Fair, you alledge, a thousand will applie:
But, nere so oft requirde, she will denie.
Meane beautie doth soone fade: therof playn hee,
 

Who nothing loues in woman, but her blee.
Frute if she bring, of frute is ioyfull sight:
If none, what then? our burden is but light.
The rest, you ming, certesse, we graunt, be great:
Stif hert, vndaunted hed cause soom to freat.
But, in all thinges, inborne displeasures be:
Yea pleasure we, full of displeasure, se.
And maruail you, I looke for good estate,
Hereafter if a woman be my mate?
Oh straight is vertues path, if sooth men say:
And likewise, that I seek, straight is the way.
 

Imps of king Ioue

The Muses.
 

Imps of king Ioue, and quene Remembrance lo,
The sisters nyne, the poets pleasant feres.
Calliope doth stately style bestow,
And worthy prayses payntes of princely peres.
Clio in solem songes, reneweth old day,
With present yeres conioynyng age bypast.
Delitefull talke loues Comicall Thaley:
In fresh green youth, who dothe like laurell last.
With voyces Tragicall sowndes Melpomen,
And, as with cheyns, thallured eare shee bindes.
Her stringes when Terpsichor dothe touche, euen then
Shee toucheth hartes, and raigneth in mens mindes.
Fine Erato, whose look a liuely chere
Presents, in dauncyng keeps a comely grace.
With semely gesture doth Polymnie stere:
Whose wordes holle routes of renkes doo rule in place,
Vranie, her globes to view all bent,
The ninefolde heauen obserues with fixed face.
The blastes Euterpe tunes of instrument,
With solace sweet hence heauie dumps to chase.
Lord Phebus in the mids (whose heauenly sprite
These ladies dothe enspire) embraceth all.
The graces in the Muses weed, delite
To lead them forth, that men in maze they fall.
 

In workyng well

Musonius the Philosophers saiyng.
 

In workyng well, if trauell you sustaine:
Into the winde shall lightly passe the payne:
But of the deed the glory shall remaine,
And cause your name with worthy wightes to raigne.
In workyng wrong, if pleasure you attaine:
The pleasure soon shall vade, and uoide, (Note: voide) as vaine:
But of the deed, throughout the life, the shame
Endures, defacyng you with fowl defame:
And stil torments the minde, bothe night and daye:
Scant length of time the spot can wash awaye.
Flee then ylswading pleasures baits vntreew:
And noble vertues fayr renown purseew.
 

Who wold beleeue mans life

Marcus Catoes comparison of mans life with yron.
 

Who wold beleeue mans life like yron to bee,
But proof had been, great Cato, made by thee?
For if, long time, one put this yron in vre,
Folowing ech day his woork, with bysye cure:
With dayly vse, hee may the metall wear,
And bothe the strength, and hardnesse eke impaire.
Again, in case his yron hee cast aside,
And carelesse long let it vntoucht abide:
Sythe, cankerd rust inuades the mettall sore,
And her fowl teeth there fastneth more and more.
So man, incase (Note: in case) his corps hee tyre, and faint
With labor long: his strength it shall attaint.
But if in sluggard slothe the same dothe lye:
That manly might will fall away, and dye:
That bodies strength, that force of wit remooue:
Hee shall, for man, a weaklyng woman prooue.
Wherfore, my childe, holde twene these twaine the waye:
Nother with to much toyl thy lyms decaye,
In idle ease nor giue to vices place:
In bothe who measure keeps, hee hath good grace.
 

One is my sire

Cleobulus the Lydians riddle.
 

One is my sire: my soons, twise six they bee:
Of daughters ech of them begets, you see,
Thrise ten: wherof one sort be fayr of face,
The oother doth vnseemly black disgrace.
Nor this holl rout is thrall vnto deathdaye,
Nor worn with wastful time, but liue alwaye:
And yet the same alwaies (straunge case) do dye.
The sire, the daughters, and the soons distry.
Incase (Note: in case) you can so hard a knot vnknit:
You shall I count an Edipus in wit.
 

By heauens hye gift

Concerning Virgils Eneids.
 

By heauens hye gift, incase (Note: in case) reuiued were
Lysip, Apelles, and Homer the great:
The moste renowmd, and ech of them sance pere,
In grauyng, paintyng, and the Poets feat:
Yet could they not, for all their vein diuine,
In marble, table, paper more, or lesse,
With cheezil, pencil, or with poyntel fyne,
So graue, so paynt, or so by style expresse
(Though they beheld of euery age, and land
The fayrest books, in euery toung contriued,
To frame a fourm, and to direct their hand)
Of noble prince the liuely shape descriued:
As, in the famous woork, that Eneids hight,
The naamkouth Virgil hath set forth in sight.
 

A heauy hart

Of mirth.
 

A Heauy hart, with wo encreaseth euery smart:
A mirthfull minde in time of need, defendeth sorowes dart.
The sprite of quicnesse seems, by drery sadnesse slayn:
By mirth, a man to liuely plight, reuiued is agayn.
Dolour dryeth vp the bones: the sad shall sone be sick:
Mirth can preserue the kyndly helth, mirth makes the body quick.
Depe dumps do nought, but dull, not meet for man but beast:
A mery hert sage Salomon countes his continuall feast.
Sad soll, before thy time, brings thee vnto deaths dore:
That fond condicions haue bereft, late daye can not restore.
As, when the couered heauen, showes forth a lowryng face,
Fayr Titan, with his leam of light, returns a goodly grace:
So, when our burdened brest is whelmd with clowdy thought,
A pleasant calm throughout the corps, by chereful hart is brought
Enioye we then our ioyes, and in the lorde reioyce:
Faith makyng fast eternall ioye, of ioyes while wee haue choyce.
 

Charis the fourth

To L. I. S.
 

Charis the fourth, Pieris the tenth, the second Cypris, Iane,
One to assemblies thre adioynd: whom Phebus fere, Diane,
Among the Nymphs Oreades, might wel vouchsafe to place:
But you as great a goddesse serue, the quenes most noble grace:
Allhayle, and while, like Terpsichor, much melody you make:
Which if the field, as doth the court, enioyd, the trees wold shake:
While latine you, and french frequent: while English tales you tel:
Italian whiles, and Spanish you do hear, and know full well:
Amid such peares, and solemne sightes, in case conuenient tyme
You can (good Lady) spare, to read a rurall poets ryme:
Take here his simple sawes, in briefe: wherin no need to moue
Your Ladishyp, but thus lo speakes thabundance of his loue.
 

The worthy feates that now so much set forth your noble name,
So haue in vre, they still encreast, may more encrease your fame.
For though diuine your doings be, yet thews w<ith> yeres may grow:
And if you stay, streight now adayes fresh wits will ouergo.
Wherfore the glory got maintayne, maintayne the honour great.
So shal the world my doom approue, and set you in that seat,
Where Graces, Muses, and Ioues ymp, the ioyful Venus, raigne:
So shall the bacheler blessed bee, can such a Nymph obtaine.
 

What cause, what reaso<n>

To maistres D. A.
 

What cause, what reaso<n> moueth me: what fansy fils my brains
That you I minde of virgins al, who<m> Britan soile sustains
Bothe when to lady Mnemosynes dere daughters I resort,
And eke whe<n> I <that> season slow deceaue, w<ith> glad disport?
What force, what power haue you so great, what charms haue you late fon<n>d, (Note: fou<n>d;  from previous line)

To pluck, to draw, to rauish hartes, & stirre out of ther stownd?
To you, I trow, Ioues daughter hath the louely gyrdle lent,
That Cestos hight: wherin there bee all maner graces blent,
Allurementes of conceits, of wordes the pleasurable taste:
That same, I gesse, hath she giuen you, and girt about your waste
Beset with sute of precious pearl, as bright as sunny day.
But what? I am beguilde, and gone (I wene) out of the way.
These causes lo do not so much present your image prest,
That will I, nill I, night and day, you lodge within this brest:
Those gifts of your right worthy minde, those golde<n> gifts of mind
Of my fast fixed fansiefourm first moouing cause I finde:
Loue of the one, and threefold powr: faith sacred, sound, sincere:
A modest maydens mood: an hert, from clowd of enuy clere:
Wit, fed with Pallas food diuine: will, led with louely lore:
Memorie, conteining lessons great of ladies fiue, and fowr:
Woords, sweeter, than the sugar sweet, with heauenly nectar drest:
Nothing but coomly can they carp, and wonders well exprest.
Such damsels did the auncient world, for Poets penns, suffise:
Which, now a dayes, welnye as rare, as Poets fyne, aryse.
Wherfore, by gracious gifts of god, you more than thrise yblest:
And I welblest myself suppose: whom chastefull loue imprest,
In frendships lace, with such a lasse, doth knit, and fast combine:
Which lace no threatning fortune shall, no length of tyme vntwine:
And I that daye, with gem snowwhite, will mark, & eke depaynt
With pricely pen: which, Awdley, first gan mee with you acquaint.
 

Deserts of Nymphs

Of m. D. A. (Note: spaces after the initial letter of each line: DAMASCENE AWDLEY)

Deserts of Nymphs, that auncient Poets showe,
Ar not so kouth, as hers: whose present face,
More, than my Muse, may cause the world to knowe
A nature nobly giuen: of woorthy race:
So trayned vp, as honour did bestowe.
Cyllene, in sugerd speech, gaue her a grace.
Excell in song Apollo made his dere.
No fingerfeat Minerue hid from her sight.
Exprest in look, she hath so souerain chere,
As Cyprian once breathed on the Spartan bright.
Wit, wisdom, will, woord, woork, and all, I ween,
Dare nomans (Note: no mans) pen presume to paint outright.
Lo luyster and light: which if old tyme had seen,
Entroned, shyne she should, with goddesse Fame.
Yeeld, Enuie, these due prayses to this dame.
 

Now flaming Phebus

A neew yeres gift, to the l. M. S.
 

Now flaming Phebus, passing through his heauenly regio<n> hye,
The vttrest Ethiopian folk with ferueut (Note: feruent) beams doth frye:
And with the soon, the yere also his secret race doth roon:
And Ianus, with his double face, hath it again begoon:
O thou, that art the hed of all, whom mooneths, and yeres obey:
At whose commaund bee bothe the sterres, and surges of the sea:
By powr diuine, now prosper vs this yere with good successe:
This well to lead, and many mo, vs with thy fauour blesse.
Graunt, with sound soll in body sound that here we dayly go:
And, after, in that conntrey lyue, whence bannisht is all wo:
Where hoonger, thirst, and sory age, and sicknesse may not mell:
No sense perceius, no hert bethinks the ioyes, that there do dwel.
 

So happy bee

An other to. l.M.S.
 

So happy bee the course of your long life:
So roon the yere intoo his circle ryfe:
That nothyng hynder your welmeanyng minde:
Sharp wit may you, remembrans redy fynde,
Perfect intelligence, all help at hand:
Styll stayd your thought in frutefull studies stand.
Hed framed thus may thother parts well frame,
Diuine demeanour wyn a noble name:
By payzed doom with leasure, and good heed:
By vpright dole, and much auayling deed:
By hert vnthirld, by vndiscoomfite chere,
And brest discharged quite of coward fere:
By sobermood, (Note: sober mood) and orders coomly rate:
In weal, and wo, by holdyng one estate.
And to that beauties grace, kynde hath you lent,
Of bodies helth a perfite plight bee blent.
Dame fortunes gifts may so stand you in sted,
That well, and wealfully your lyfe be led.
And hee, who giues these graces not in vayn,
Direct your deeds, his honour to maintain.
 

To you, madame, I wish

To. l. K. S.
 

To you, madame, I wish, bothe now, and eke from yere to yere,
Stre<n>gth w<ith> Debore, w<ith> Iudith faith, w<ith> Maudle<n> zeal, Anns chere
With blessed Mary modest moode: like Sibill, life full long:
A mynde with sacred sprite enspired, wit fresh, and body strong:
And, when of your forepointed fate you haue outroon the race:
Emong all these, in Ioues hye raygn of blisses full, a place.
 

As this first daye of Ianus

To. l. E. S.
 

As this first daye of Ianus youthe restores vnto the yere:
So bee your minde in coorage good reuiued, and herty chere.
And as dame Tellus labreth now her frutes conceiued to breed:
Rightso (Note: Right so) of your most forward wit may great auail proceed.
So lucky bee the yere, the mooneths, the weeks, <the> dayes, <the> howrs
That them, with long recours, you may enioy in blisfull bowrs.
 

Gorgeous attire

To. m. D. A.
 

Gorgeous attire, by art made trym, and clene,
Cheyn, bracelet, perl, or gem of Indian riuer,
To you I nil, ne can (good Damascene)
This time of Ianus Calends, here deliuer.
But, what? My hert: which, though long sins certain
Your own it was, aye present at your hest:
Yet here itself doth it resigne agayn,
Within these noombers closde. Where, think you best
This to repose? There, I suppose, where free
Minerue you place. For it hath you embraste,
As thHeliconian Nymphs: with whom, euen hee,
That burn for soom, Apollo liueth chaste.
Presents in case by raarnesse you esteem:
O Lord, how great a gift shall this then seem?
 

To you this present yere

To. m. S. H.
 

To you this present yere full fayre, and fortunable fall,
Returning now to his prime part: and, good luck therwithall,
May it proceed: and end, and oft return, to glad your hert:
O Susan, whom among my frendes I count, by your desert.
Ioy may your heauenly sprite: endure fresh wit, in <that> fyne brayn:
Your knowledge of good things encreas: your body, safe remain:
A body, of such shape, as showeth a worthy wight by kynde:
A closet, fit for to contein the vertues of that minde.
What shall I yet moreouer add? God graunt, w<ith> pleasaunt mate
A pleasaunt life you lead. Well may that man reioyse his fate.
 

No image carued

To his familiar frend.
 

No image carued with coonnyng hand, no cloth of purple dye,
No precious weight of metall bright, no siluer plate gyue I:
Such gear allures not heue<n>ly herts: such gifts no grace they bring:
I lo, <that> know your minde, will send none such what then? nothing.
 

What one art thou

Description of Vertue.
 

What one art thou, thus in torn weed yclad?
Vertue, in price whom auncient sages had.
Why, poorely rayd? For fadyng goodes past care.
Why doublefaced? I mark eche fortunes fare.
This bridle, what? Mindes rages to restrain.
Tooles why beare you? I loue to take great pain.
Why, winges? I teach aboue the starres to flye.
Why tread you death? I onely cannot dye.
 

The auncient time commended

Prayse of measure-kepyng.
 

The auncient time commended, not for nought,
The mean: what better thing can ther be sought?
In mean, is vertue placed: on either side,
Bothe right, and left, amisse a man shall slide.
Icar, with sire hadst thou the mid way flown,
Icarian beck by name had no man known.
If middle path kept had proud Phaeton,
No burning brand this erth had falln vpon.
Ne cruell powr, ne none to soft can raign:
That keeps a mean, thesame (Note: the same) shall styll remain.
Thee, Iulie, once did toomuch (Note: too much) mercy spill:
Thee, Nero stern, rigor extreem did kill.
How could August so many yeres well passe?
Nor onermeek, (Note: ouer meek) nor ouerferse he was.
Worship not Ioue with curious fansies vain,
Nor him despise: hold right atween these twayn.
No wastefull wight, no greedy goom is prayzd.
Stands largesse iust, in egall balance payzd.
So Catoes meal surmountes Antonius chere,
And better fame his sober fare hath here.
To slender buildyng, bad: as bad, to grosse:
One, an eyesore, the tother falls to losse.
As medcines help, in measure: so (God wot)
By ouermuch, the sick their bane haue got.
Vnmeet mee seems to vtter this, mo wayes:
Measure forbids vnmeasurable prayse.
 

What path list you to tred?

Mans life after Possidonius, or Crates.
 

What path list you to tred? what trade will you assaye?
The courts of plea, by braul, & bate, driue gentle peace away.
In house, for wife, and childe, there is but cark, and care:
With trauail, and with toyl ynough, in feelds wee vse to fare.
Vpon the seas lieth dreed: the riche, in foraine land,
Doo fear the losse: and there, the poore, like misers poorly stand.
Strife, with a wife, without, your thrift full hard to see:
Yong brats, a trouble: none at all, a maym it seems to bee:
Youth, fond: age hath no hert, and pincheth all to nye.
Choose then the leefer of these twoo, no life, or soon to dye.
 

What race of life ronne you?

Metrodorus minde to the contrarie.
 

What race of life ronne you? what trade will you assaye?
In courts, is glory gott, and witt encreased daye by daye.
At home, wee take our ease, and beak our selues in rest:
The feelds our nature doo refresh with pleasures of the best.
On seas, is gayn to gett: the straunger, hee shall bee
Esteemed, hauing much: if not, none knoweth his lack, but hee.
A wife will trym thy house: no wife? then art thou free.
Brood is a louely thing: without, thy life is loose to thee.
Yong bloods be strong: old sires in double honour dwell.
Doo waye that choys, no life, or soon to dye: for all is well.
 

When princes lawes

Of lawes.
 

When princes lawes, w<ith> reuerend right, do keep <the> co<m>mons vnder
As meek as la<m>bes, thei do their charge, & scatter not asunder.
But if they raise their heades aloft, and lawe her brydle slake:
Then, like a tyger fell, they fare, and lust for law they take.
Where water dothe preuail, and fire, no mercy they expresse:
But yet the rage of that rude rout is much more mercilesse.
 

Of all the heauenly gifts

Of frendship.
 

Of all the heauenly gifts, that mortall men commend,
What trusty treasure in the world can cou<n>teruail a frend?
Our helth is soon decayd: goodes, casuall, light, and vain:
Broke haue we seen the force of powr, and honour suffer stain.
In bodies lust, man doth resemble but base brute:
True vertue gets, and keeps a frend, good guide of our pursute:
Whose harty zeal with ours accords, in euery case:
No terme of time, no space of place, no storme can it deface.
When fickle fortune fayls, this knot endureth still:
Thy kin out of their kinde may swarue, when fre<n>ds owe thee good wil. (Note:  from following line)

What sweeter solace shall befall, than one to finde,
Vpon whose brest thou mayst repose the secrets of thy minde?
Hee wayleth at thy wo, his tears with thine be shed:
With thee dothe hee all ioyes enioye: so leef a life is led.
Behold thy frend, and of thy self the pattern see:
One soull, a wonder shall it seem, in bodies twain to bee.
In absence, present, riche in want, in sickenesse sownd,
Yea, after death aliue, mayst thou by thy sure frend be found.
Ech house, ech towne, ech realm by stedfast loue dothe stand:
Where fowl debate breeds bitter bale, in eche diuided land.
O frendship, flowr of flowrs: O liuely sprite of life,
O sacred bond of blisfull peace, the stalworth staunch of strife:
Scipio with Lelius didst thou conioyn in care,
At home, in warrs, for weal and wo, with egall faith to fare.
Gesippus eke with Tite, Damon with Pythias,
And with Menetus sonne Achill, by thee combined was.
Euryalus, and Nisus gaue Virgil cause to sing:
Of Pylades doo many rymes, and of Orestes ring.
Down Theseus went to hell, Pirith, his frend to finde:
O <that> the wiues, in these our dayes, were to their mates so kinde.
Cicero, the frendly man, to Atticus, his frend,
Of frendship wrote: such couples lo dothe lott but seeldom lend.
Recount thy race, now ronne: how few shalt thou there see,
Of whome to saye: This same is hee, that neuer fayled mee.
So rare a iewel then must nedes be holden dere:
And as thou wilt esteem thyself, so take thy chosen fere.
The tyrant, in dispayre, no lack of gold bewayls:
But, Out I am vndoon (sayth hee) for all my frendship fayls.
Wherfore sins nothing is more kindely for our kinde:
Next wisdome, thus that teacheth vs, loue we the frendful minde.
 

The issue of great Ioue

The Garden.
 

The issue of great Ioue, draw nere you, Muses nine:
Help vs to praise the blisfull plott of garden ground so fine.
The garden giues good food, and ayd for leaches cure:
The garden, full of great delite, his master dothe allure.
Sweet sallet herbs bee here, and herbs of euery kinde:
The ruddy grapes, the seemly frutes bee here at hand to finde.
Here pleasans wanteth not, to make a man full fayn:
Here marueilous the mixture is of solace, and of gain.
To water sondry seeds, the forow by the waye
A ronning riuer, trilling downe with liquor, can conuay.
Beholde, with liuely heew, fayr flowrs that shyne so bright:
With riches, like the orient gems, they paynt the molde in sight.
Beez, humming with soft sound, (their murmur is so small)
Of blooms and blossoms suck the topps, on dewed leaues they fall
The creping vine holds down her own bewedded elms:
And, wa<n>dering out w<ith> branches thick, reeds folded ouerwhelms.
Trees spred their couerts wyde, with shadows fresh and gaye:
Full well their branched bowz defend the feruent sonne awaye.
Birds chatter, and some chirp, and some sweet tunes doo yeeld:
All mirthfull, w<ith> their songs so blithe, they make both ayre, & feeld.
The garden, it allures, it feeds, it glads the sprite:
Fro<m> heauy harts all doolfull dumps the garden chaseth quite.
Stength (Note: Strength) it restores to lims, drawes, and fulfils the sight:
With chere reuiues the senses all, and maketh labour light.
O, what delites to vs the garden ground dothe bring?
Seed, leaf, flowr, frute, herb, bee, and tree, & more, then I may sing.
 

The worthy Wilfords body

An epitaph of sir Iames wilford knight.
 

The worthy Wilfords body, which alyue,
Made both the Scot, and Frenchman sore adrad:
A body, shapte of stomake stout to striue
With forein foes: a corps, that coorage had
So full of force, the like nowhere was ryfe:
With hert, as free, as ere had gentle knight:
Now here in graue (thus chaungeth ay, this lyfe)
Rests, with vnrest to many a wofull wight.
Of largesse great, of manhod, of forecast
Can ech good English souldiour bear record.
Speak Laundersey, tell Muttrel maruails past:
Crye Musselborough: prayse Haddington thy lord,
From thee that held both Scots, and frekes of Fraunce:
Farewel, may England say, hard is my chaunce.
 

For Wilford wept first men

An other, of the same knightes death.
 

For Wilford wept first men, then ayr also,
For Wilford felt the wayters wayfull wo.
The men so wept: that bookes, abrode which bee,
Of moornyng meeters full a man may see.
So wayld the ayr: that, clowds consumde, remaynd
No dropes, but drouth the parched erth sustaynd.
So greeted floods: that, where ther rode before
A ship, a car may go safe on the shore.
Left were nomo, (Note: no mo) but heauen, and erth, to make,
Throughout the world, this greef his rigor take.
But sins the heauen this Wilfords goste dothe keep,
And earth, his corps: saye mee, why shold they weep?
 

Man, by a woman lern

An Epitaph of the ladye Margaret Lee. .
 

Man, by a woman lern, this life what we may call:
Blod, fre<n>dship, beauty, youth, attire, welth, worship, helth & al
Take not for thine: nor yet thy self as thine beknow.
For hauing these, with full great prayse, this lady did but show
Her self vnto the world: and in prime yeres (bee ware)
Sleeps doolfull sister, who is wont for no respect to spare,
Alas, withdreew her hence: or rather softly led:
For with good will I dare well saye, her waye to him shee sped:
Who claymed, that he bought: and took that erst hee gaue:
More meet than any worldly wight, such heauenly gems to haue.
Now wold shee not return, in earth a queen to dwell.
As shee hathe doon to you, good frend, bid lady Lee, farewell.
 

Myrrour of matrones

Vpon the tomb of A. w.
 

Myrrour of matrones, flowr of spouslike loue,
Of fayr brood frutefull norsse, poor peoples stay,
Neybours delite, true hert to him aboue,
In yeelding worlds encreas took her decaye:
Who printed liues yet in our hertes alway:
Whose closet of good thews, layd here a space,
Shall shortly with the soull in heauen haue place.
 

Now, blythe Thaley

Vpon the deceas of w. Ch.
 

Now, blythe Thaley, thy feastfull layes lay by:
And to resound these doolfull tunes apply.
Cause of great greef the tyrant death imports:
Whose vgsoom idoll to my brayns resorts.
A gracefull ymp, a flowr of youth, away
Hath she bereft (alas) before his daye.
Chambers, this lyfe to leaue, and thy dear mates,
So soon doo thee constrayn enuyous fates?
Oh, with that wit, those maners, that good hert,
Woorthy to lyue olde Nestors yeres thou wert.
You wanted outward yies: and yet aryght
In stories, Poets, oratours had sight.
Whatso you herd, by liuely voyce, exprest,
Was soon reposde within that mindefull brest.
To mee more pleasant Plautus neuer was,
Than those conceits, that from your mouth did passe.
Our studiemates great hope did hold alway,
You wold be our schooles ornament, one day.
Your parents then, that thus haue you forgone,
Your brethren eke must make theyr heauy mone:
Your louyng feres cannot theyr teares restrayn:
But I, before them all, haue cause to playn:
Who in pure loue was so conioynd with thee,
An other Grimald didst thou seem to bee.
Ha lord, how oft wisht you, with all your hart,
That vs no chaunce a sonder might depart?
Happy were I, if this your prayer tooke place:
Ay mee, that it dothe cruell death deface.
Ah lord, how oft your sweet woords I repeat,
And in my mynde your woonted lyfe retreat?
O Chambers, O thy Grimalds mate moste dere:
Why hath fell fate tane thee, and left him here?
But wherto these complaintes iu (Note: in) vain make wee?
Such woords in wyndes to waste, what mooueth mee?
Thou holdst the hauen of helth, with blisfull Ioue:
Through many waues, and seas, yet must I roue.
Not woorthy I, so soon with thee to go:
Mee styll my fates reteyn, bewrapt in wo.
Liue, our companion once, now lyue for aye:
Heauens ioyes enioy, whyle wee dye day by daye.
You, that of faith so sure signes here exprest,
Do triumph now, nodout, (Note: no dout) among the blest:
Haue changed sea for porte, darknesse for light,
An inn for home, exile for countrey right,
Trauail for rest, straunge way for citie glad,
Battail for peas, free raign for bondage bad.
These wretched erthly stounds who can compare
To heanenly (Note: heauenly) seats, and those delites moste rare?
We frayl, you firm: we with great trouble tost,
You bathe in blisse, that neuer shall bee lost.
Wherfore, Thaley, reneew thy feastfull layes:
Her doolfull tunes my chered Muse now stayes.
 

Why, Nicolas

Of N. Ch.
 

Why, Nicolas, why doest thou make such haste
After thy brother? Why goest thou so? To taste
Of changed lyfe with hym the better state?
Better? yea best of all, that thought can rate.
Or, did the dreed of wretched world driue thee
Leste thou this afterfall should hap to see:
Mauortian moods, Saturnian furies fell,
Of tragicall turmoyls the haynous hell?
O, whose good thews in brief cannot be told,
The hartiest mate, that euer trod the mold:
If our farewell, that here liue in distresse,
Auayl, farewell: the rest teares do suppresse.
 

Yea, and a good cause

A funerall song, vpon the deceas of Annes his moother.
 

Yea, and a good cause why thus should I playn.
For what is hee, can quietly sustayn
So great a grief, with mouth as styll, as stone?
My loue, my lyfe, of ioye my ieewell is gone.
This harty zeale if any wight disprooue,
As womans work, whom feeble minde doth mooue:
Hee neither knowes the mighty natures laws,
Nor touching elders deeds hath seen old saws.
Martius, to vanquish Rome, was set on fire:
But vanquisht fell, at moothers boon, his ire.
Into Hesperian land Sertorius fled,
Of parent aye cheef care had in his hed.
Dear weight on shoulders Sicil brethren bore,
While Etnaes gyant spouted flames full sore.
 Not more of Tyndars ymps hath Sparta spoke,
Than Arge of charged necks with parents yoke.
Nor onely them thus dyd foretyme entreat:
Then, was the noorsse also in honour great.
Caiet the Phrygian from amid fireflame
Rescued, who gaue to Latine stronds the name.
Acca, in dubble sense Lupa ycleaped,
To Romane Calendars a feast hath heaped.
His Capra Ioue among the sterres hath pight:
In welkin clere yet lo she shineth bryght.
Hyades as gratefully Lyai did place,
Whom, in primetide, supports the Bulls fayr face.
And should not I expresse my inward wo,
When you, most louyng dam, so soon hence go?
I, in your frutefull woomb conceyued, born was,
Whyle wanderyng moon ten moonths did ouerpasse.
Mee, brought to light, your tender arms sustaynd:
And, with my lips, your milky paps I straynd.
You mee embraced, in bosom soft you mee
Cherished, as I your onely chylde had bee.
Of yssue fayr with noombers were you blest:
Yet I, the bestbeloued of all the rest.
Good luck, certayn forereadyng moothers haue,
And you of mee a speciall iudgement gaue.
Then, when firm pase I fixed on the ground:
When toung gan cease to break the lispyng sound:
You mee streightway did too the Muses send,
Ne suffered long a loytervng lyfe to spend,
What gayn the wooll, what gayn the wed had braught,
It was his meed, that me there dayly taught.
When with Minerue I had acquaintance woon:
And Phebus seemd to loue mee, as his soon:
Browns hold I bad, at parents hest, farewell:
And gladly there in schools I gan to dwell:
Where Granta giues the ladies nyne such place,
That they reioyse to see theyr blisfull case.
With ioyes at hert, in this pernasse I bode,
Whyle, through his signes, fiue tymes great Titan glode:
And twyse as long, by that fayr foord, whereas
Swanfeeder Temms no furder course can passe.
O, what desire had you, therwhile, of mee?
Mid doutfull dreeds, what ioyes were wont to bee?
Now linnen clothes, wrought with those fyngers fyne,
Now other thynges of yours dyd you make myne:
Tyll your last thredes gan Clotho to vntwyne,
And of your dayes the date extreem assygne.
Hearyng the chaunce, your neybours made much mone:
A dearworth dame, they thought theyr coomfort gone.
Kinswoomen wept: your charge, the maydens wept:
Your daughters wept, whom you so well had kept.
But my good syre gaue, with soft woords, releef:
And clokes, with outward chere, his inward greef:
Leste, by his care, your sicknes should augment,
And on his case your thoughtfull hert be bent.
You, not forgetting yet a moothers mood,
When at the dore dartthirling death there stood,
Did saye: Adeew, dear spouse, my race is roon:
Wher so he bee, I haue left you a soon,
And Nicolas you naamd, and naamd agayn:
With other speech, aspiring heauenly raign:
When into ayre your sprite departed fled,
And left the corps a cold in lukewarm bed.
Ah, could you thus, deare mother, leaue vs all?
Now, should you liue: that yet, before your fall,
My songs you might haue soong, haue heard my voyce,
And in commodities of your own reioyce.
My sisters yet vnwedded who shall guide?
With whose good lessons shall they bee applyed?
Haue, mother, monumentes of our sore smart:
No costly tomb, areard with curious art:
Nor Mausolean masse, hoong in the ayre:
Nor loftie steeples, that will once appayre:
But waylful verse, and doolfull song accept.
By verse, the names of auncient peres be kept:
By verse, liues Hercules: by verse, Achil:
Hector, Ene, by verse, be famous still.
Such former yeres, such death hath chau<n>ced thee:
Closde, with good end, good life is woont to bee.
But now, my sacred parent, fare you well:
God shall cause vs agayn togither dwell,
What time this vniuersall globe shall hear
Of the last troomp the rynging voyce: great fear
To soom, to such as you a heauenly chear.
Til then, reposde rest you in gentle sleep:
While hee, whom to you are bequeathd, you keep.
 

The noble Henry

Vpon the death of the lord Mautrauers, out of doctor Haddons latine.
 

The noble Henry, he, that was the lord Mautrauers named:
Heyr to the house of thArundels, so long a time now famed:
Who from Fitzalens doth recount discent of worthy race,
Fitzalens, earls of hye estate, men of a goodly grace:
Whom his renowmed father had seen florish, and excell,
In arms, in arts, in witt, in skill, in speaking wonders well:
Whose yeres, to timely vertue had, and manly grauenesse caught:
With soden ruine is downfalln, and into ashes braught:
While glory his coragious hert enflames to trauail great:
And, in his youthly brest ther raigns an ouerferuent heat.
The perelesse princesse, Mary quene, her message to present,
This Britan lord, as one moste meet, to Cesars broother sent.
On coursing steeds hee rids the waye: in ship hee fleeteth fast:
To royall Cesars court he comes, the payns, and perils past:
His charge enioynd perfourmeth hee, attaind exceeding prayse:
His name, and fame so fully spred, it dures for afterdayes.
But lo, a feruent feeuer doth, amid his triumphs, fall:
And, with hertgripyng greef, consumes his tender lyms and all.
O rufull youth, thy helth toofar (Note: too far) forgot, and toomuch (Note: too much) heed
To countrie, and too parent yeuen: why makest thou such speed?
O, staye your self: your country so to serue dothe right require,
That often serue you may: and then, at length, succeed your sire.
But thee perchaunce it likes, thy life the price of praise to paye:
Nor deth doest dreed, where honor shines, as bright, as sonny day.
Certesse no greater glory could, than this, to thee betide:
Though Ioue, six hundred yeres, had made thy fatall thread abide
Of iourneys, and of trauails huge the cause thy country was:
Thy funerall to honour, forth great Cesars court gan passe.
And thus, O thus (good lord) this ymp, of heue<n> most worthy wight
His happy life with blisfull death concluded hath aright:
When, in fourt yere quene Maries raign proceeded: & what day,
Was last of Iulie moneth, the same his last took him awaye.
From yeres twise ten if you in count wil but one yere abate:
The very age then shall you finde of lord Mautrauers fate.
Likewise, was Titus Cesar hence withdrawn, in his prime yeres:
Likewise, the yong prince Edward went: and diuers other peres.
Father, forbear thy wofull tears, cease, England, too lament:
Fates fauour none, the enmie death to all alike is bent.
The onely mean, that now remains, with eloquence full fine,
Hath Shelley vsed, in setting forth this barons name diuine.
Your Haddon eke, who erst in your life time, bore you good hart,
Presenteth you this monument, of woonted zeal some part.
And now farewell: of English youth most chosen gem, farewell:
A worthyer wight, saue Edward, did in England neuer dwell.
 

Mee thought, of late

Vpon the sayd lord Mautrauers death.
 

Mee thought, of late when lord Mautrauers dyed,
Our common weal, thus, by her self shee cryed:
Oft haue I wept for mine, so layd a sleep,
Yet neuer had I iuster cause to weep.
 

Now clattering arms

The death of Zoroas, an Egiptian Astronomer, in the first fight, that Alexander had with the Persians.
 

Now clattering arms, now ragyng broyls of warr
Gan passe the noyes of taratantars clang:
Shrowded with shafts, the heuen: with clowd of darts,
Couered, the ayre: against fulfatted bulls,
As forceth kindled ire the Lions keen:
Whose greedy gutts the gnawing hoonger pricks:
So Macedoins against the Persians fare.
Now corpses hide the purpurde soyl with blood:
Large slaughter, on ech side: but Perses more
Moyst feelds bebledd: their herts, and noombers bate.
Fainted while they giue back, and fall to flight:
The lightning Macedon, by swoords, by gleaus,
By bands, and trowps, of fotemen with his garde,
Speeds to Darie: but him, his nearest kyn,
Oxate preserues, with horsemen on a plump
Before his cart: that none the charge could giue.
Here grunts, here grones, echwhere strong youth is spent:
Shaking her bloody hands, Bellone, among
The Perses, soweth all kindes of cruel death.
With throte ycutt, hee roores: hee lyeth along,
His entrails with a launce through girded quite:
Him down the club, him beats farstryking bowe,
And him the slyng, and him the shinand swoord:
Hee dieth, hee is all dedd, hee pants, hee rests.
Right ouer stood, in snowwhite armour braue,
The Memphite Zoroas, a cooning clerk:
To whom the heauen lay open, as his book:
And in celestiall bodyes hee could tell
The moouyng, meetyng, light, aspect, eclyps,
And influence, and constellations all:
What earthly chaunces wold betide: what yere
Of plenty storde, what signe forwarned derth:
How winter gendreth snow: what temperature
In the primetide dothe season well the soyl:
Why soomer burns: why autum hath ripe grapes:
Whether the circle, quadrate may becoom:
Whether our tunes heauens harmony can yeeld:
Of fowr begynns, among them selues how great
Proportion is: what swaye the erring lightes
Dothe send in course gayn that first moouing heauen:
What grees, one from an other distant bee:
What sterr dothe lett the hurtfull fire to rage,
Or him more mylde what opposition makes:
What fire dothe qualifie Mauorses fire:
What house echone doth seek: what planet raigns
Within this hemisphere, or that: small things
I speak: holl heauen hee closeth in his brest.
This sage then, in the starrs had spied: the fates
Threatned him death, without delaye: and sithe
Hee saw, hee could not fatall order change:
Forward hee preast, in battayl that hee might
Meet with the ruler of the Macedoins:
Of his right hand desirous to be slayn,
The boldest beurn, and worthiest in the feeld:
And, as a wight now weary of his life,
And seeking death: in first front of his rage,
Cooms desperatly to Alisanders face:
At him, with darts, one after other, throwes:
With reckles woords, and clamour him prouokes:
And sayth, Nectanabs bastard, shameful stain
Of mothers bed: why losest thou thy strokes,
Cowards emong? Turn thee to mee, in case
Manhod ther bee so much left in thy hert:
Coom fight with mee: that on my helmet wear
Apolloes laurel, bothe for learnings laude,
And eke for Martiall prayse: that, in my shield,
The seuenfold sophie of Minerue contein:
A match, more meet, sir king, than any here.
The noble prince amoued, takes ruthe vpon
The wilfull wight: and, with soft woords, ayen,
O monstrous man (quod he) whatso thou art
I praye thee, lyue: ne do not, with thy death,
This lodge of lore, the Muses mansion marr.
That treasure house this hand shall neuer spoyl:
My swoord shall neuer bruze that skylfull brayn,
Longgatherd heapes of science soon to spyll.
O, how faire frutes may you to mortall men
From wisdoms garden, giue? How many may,
By you, the wyser, and the better proue?
What error, what mad moode, what phrenzey thee
Persuades to bee downsent to deep Auern:
Where no artes florish, nor no knowledge vails?
For all these sawes, when thus the souerain sayde,
Alighted Zoroas: with swoord vnsheathed,
The carelesse king there smote, aboue the greaue,
At thopening of his quishes: wounded him
So, that the blood down reyled on the ground
The Macedon, perceyuing hurt, gan gnash:
But yet his minde he bent, in any wyse,
Hym to forbear: set spurrs vnto his steed,
And turnd away: leste anger of the smart
Should cause reuenger hand deal balefull blowes.
But of the Macedonian chieftanes knights
One, Meleager, could not bear this sight:
But ran vpon the sayd Egyptian renk:
And cut him in both kneez: hee fell to ground:
Wherwith a hole route came of souldiours stern,
And all in peeces hewed the silly seg.
But happyly the soll fled to the sterres:
Where, vnder him, he hath full sight of all,
Wherat hee gazed here, with reaching looke.
The Persians wayld such sapience to forgo:
The very fone, the Macedonians wisht,
Hee wold haue lyued: kyng Alisander self
Deemd him a man, vnmeet to dye at all:
Who woon lyke prayse, for conquest of his ire,
As for stout men in feeld that daye subdeewd:
Who princes taught, how to discern a man,
That in his hed so rare a iewell beares.
But ouer all, those same Camenes, those same
Diuine Camenes, whose honour he procurde,
As tender parent dothe his daughters weal:
Lamented: aud, (Note: and) for thanks, all that they can,
Do cherish him deceast, and set hym free
From derk obliuion of deuouryng death.
 

Therfore, when restlesse rage

Marcus Tullius Ciceroes death.
 

Therfore, when restlesse rage of wynde, and waue
Hee saw: By fates, alas calld for (quod hee)
Is haplesse Cicero: sayl on, shape course
To the next shore, and bryng me to my death.
Perdie these thanks, reskued from ciuil swoord,
Wilt thou, my countrey, paye? I see mine end:
So powrs diuine, so bid the gods aboue,
In citie saued that Consul Marcus shend.
Speakyng nomore, (Note: no more) but drawyng from deep hert
Great grones, euen at the name of Room reherst:
His yies, and cheeks, with showrs of teares, hee washt.
And (though a route in dayly daungers worn)
With forced face, the shipmen held theyr teares:
And, striuyng long the seas rough floods to passe,
In angry wyndes, and stormy stowrs made waye:
And at the last, safe anchord in the rode.
Came heauy Cicero a land: with payn,
His faynted lyms the aged sire dothe draw:
And, round about their master, stood his band:
Nor greatly with theyr own hard hap dismayd,
Nor plighted fayth, prone in sharp time to break:
Soom swoords prepare: soom theyr deare lord assist:
In littour layd, they lead hym vnkouth wayes:
If so deceaue Antonius cruell gleaus
They might, and threats of folowing routs escape.
Thus lo, that Tullie, went, that Tullius,
Of royall robe, and sacred Senate prince:
When hee afar the men approche espyeth,
And of his fone the ensignes dothe aknow:
And, with drawn swoord, Popilius threatnyng death:
Whose life, and holl estate, in hazard once,
Hee had preserud: when Room as yet to free
Herd hym, and at his thundryng voyce amazde.
Herennius eek, more eyger than the rest,
Present enflamde with furie, him purseews.
What might hee doo? Should hee vse in defense
Disarmed hands? or pardon ask, for meed?
Should hee with woords attempt to turn the wrath
Of tharmed knyght, whose safegard hee had wrought?
No, age, forbids, and fixt within deep brest
His countreys loue, and falling Rooms image.
The charret turn, sayth hee, let loose the rayns:
Roon to the vndeserued death: mee, lo,
Hath Phebus fowl, as messanger, forwarnd:
And Ioue desires a neew heauensman to make.
Brutus, and Cassius soulls, liue you in blisse:
In case yet all the fates gaynstriue vs not,
Neyther shall wee perchaunce dye vnreuenged.
Now haue I liued, O Room, ynough for mee:
My passed lyfe nought suffreth mee to dout
Noysom obliuion of the lothesom death.
Slea mee: yet all thofspring to coom shall know:
And this deceas shall bring eternall lyfe.
Yea and (onlesse I fayl, and all in vain
Room, I soomtyme thy Augur chosen was)
Not euermore shall frendly fortune thee
Fauour, Antonius: once the day shall coom:
When her deare wights, by cruell spight, thus slayn,
Victorious Room shall at thy hands require.
Mee likes, therwhyle, go see the hoped heauen.
Speech had he left: and therwith hee, good man,
His throte preparde, and held his hed vnmoued.
His hastyng too those fates the very knights
Be lothe to see: and, rage rebated, when
They his bare neck beheld, and his hore heyres:
Scant could they hold the teares, that forth gan burst:
And almost fell from bloody hands the swoords.
Onely the stern Herennius, with grym look,
Dastards, why stand you styll? he sayth: and streight,
Swaps of the hed, with his presumptuous yron.
Ne with that slaughter yet is hee not fild:
Fowl shame on shame to heap is his delyte.
Wherfore the hands also doth hee of smyte,
Which durst Antonius life so liuely paynt.
Him, yeldyng strayned goste, from welkin hye,
With lothly chere, lord Phebus gan behold:
And in black clowd, they saye, long hid his hed.
The latine Muses, and the Grayes, they wept:
And, for his fall, eternally shall weep.
And lo, hertpersyng Pitho (straunge to tell)
Who had to him suffisde bothe sense, and woords,
When so he spake: and drest, with nectar soote,
That flowyng toung: when his wyndpype disclosde,
Fled with her fleeyng frend: and (out alas)
Hath left the erth, ne wil nomore (Note: no more) return.
Popilius flyeth, therwhyle: and, leauyng there
The senslesse stock, a gryzely sight doth bear
Vnto Antonius boord, with mischief fed.
 

For Tullie

Of M. T. Cicero.
 

For Tullie, late, a toomb I gan prepare:
When Cynthie, thus, bad mee my labour spare:
Such maner things becoom the ded, quoth hee:
But Tullie liues, and styll alyue shall bee.
N. G.

***

Tottel -- Songes and Sonettes --  by uncertain authors

If euer wofull man

The complaint of a louer with sute to his loue for pitye.
 

If euer wofull man might moue your hartes to ruthe,
Good ladies here his woful plaint, whose deth shal try his truth
And rightfull iudges be on this his true report:
If he deserue a louers name among the faithfull sort.
Fiue hundred times the sonne hath lodged him in the West:
Since in my hart I harbred first of all the goodlyest gest.
Whose worthinesse to shew my wittes are all to faint.
And I lack cunnyng of the scoles, in colours her to paynt.
But this I briefly say in wordes of egall weight.
So void of vice was neuer none, nor with such vertues freyght.
And for her beauties prayse, no wight, that with her warres.
For, where she comes, she shewes her self as sonne amo<n>g <the> starres.
But Lord, thou wast to blame, to frame such parfitenesse:
And puttes no pitie in her hart, my sorowes to redresse.
For yf ye knew the paynes, and panges, that I haue past:
A wonder would it be to you, how that my life hath last.
When all the Goddes agreed, that Cupide with his bow
Should shote his arrowes fro<m> her eies, on me his might to show
I knew it was in vain my force to trust vpon:
And well I wist, it was no shame, to yelde to such a one.
Then did I me submit with humble hart, and minde,
To be her man for euermore: as by the Goddes assinde.
And since that day, no wo, wherwith loue might torment,
Could moue me fro<m> this faithfull band: or make me once repent.
Yet haue I felt full oft the hottest of his fire:
The bitter teares, the scalding sighes, the burning hote desyre.
And with a sodain sight the trembling of the hart:
And how the blood doth come, and go, to succour euery part.
When that a pleasant loke hath lift me in the ayer:
A frowne hath made me fall as fast into a depe despayer.
And when that I, er this, my tale could well by hart:
And that my tong had learned it, so that no worde might start:
The sight of her hath set my wittes in such a stay:
That to be lord of all the world, one word I could not say.
And many a sodayn cramp my hart hath pinched so:
That for the time, my senses all felt neither weale, nor wo.
Yet saw I neuer thing, that might my minde content:
But wisht it hers, and at her will, if she could so consent.
Nor neuer heard of wo: that did her will displease:
But wisht the same vnto my self, so it might do her ease.
Nor neuer thought that fayre, nor neuer liked face:
Vnlesse it did resemble her, or some part of her grace.
No distance yet of place could vs so farre deuide:
But that my hert, and my good will did still with her abide.
Nor yet it neuer lay in any fortunes powre,
To put that swete out of my thought, one minute of an howre.
No rage of drenching sea, nor woodenesse of the winde,
Nor canno<n>s w<ith> their thundryng cracks could put her fro<m> my minde
For when bothe sea and land asunder had vs set:
My hole delite was onely then, my self alone to get.
And thitherward to loke, as nere as I could gesse:
Where as I thought, that shee was then, <that> might my wo redresse.
Full oft it did me good, that waies to take my winde:
So pleasant ayre in no place els, me thought I could not finde.
I saying to my self, my life is yonder waye:
And by the winde I haue here sent, a thousand sighes a daye.
And sayd vnto the sunne, great gifts are geuen thee:
For thou mayst see mine earthly blisse, where euer that she bee.
Thou seest in euery place, wold God I had thy might:
And I the ruler of my self, then should she know no night.
And thus from wish to wishe my wits haue been at strife:
And wantyng all that I haue wisht, thus haue I led my life.
But long it can not last, that in such wo remaines.
No force for that: for death is swete to him, that feles such paines.
Yet most of all me greues: when I am in my graue,
That she shall purchase by my death a cruell name to haue.
Wherfore all you that heare this plaint, or shall it see:
Wish, that it may so perce her hert, that she may pitie mee.
For and it were her will: for bothe it were the best,
To saue my life, to kepe her name, and set my hert at rest.
 

Who iustly may reioyce

Of the death of master Deuerox the lord Ferres sonne.
 

Who iustly may reioyce in ought vnder the skye?
As life, or lands: as frends, or frutes: which only liue to dye.
Or who dothe not well know all worldly works are vaine?
And geueth nought but to the lendes, to take the same againe.
For though it lift some vp: as wee long vpward all:
Such is the sort of slipper welth: all things do rise to fall.
Thuncertentie is such: experience teacheth so:
That what things men do couet most, them sonest they forgo.
Lo Deuorox where he lieth: whose life men heeld so deare
That now his death is sorowed so, that pitie it is to heare.
His birth of auncient blood: his parents of great fame:
And yet in vertue farre before the formost of the same.
His king, and countrye bothe he serued to so great gaine:
That with the Brutes record doth rest, and euer shall remaine.
No man in warre so mete, an enterprise to take:
No man in peace that pleasurd more of enmies frends to make.
A Cato for his counsell: his head was surely such.
Ne Theseus frenship was so great, but Deuorox was as much.
A graffe of so small grothe so much good frute to bring:
Is seldome heard, or neuer sene: it is so rare a thing.
A man sent vs from God, his life did well declare:
And now sent for by god again, to teach vs what we are.
 

Death, and the graue, that shall accompany all that liue,
Hath brought hi<m> heue<n>, though so<m>ewhat sone, which life could neuer geue (Note:  from following line)

God graunt well all, that shall professe as he profest:
To liue so well, to dye no worse: and send his soule good rest.
 

If right be rackt

They of the meane estate are happiest.
 

 If right be rackt, and ouerronne:
And power take part with open wrong:
If fear by force do yelde to soone,
The lack is like to last to long.
If God for goodes shalbe vnplaced:
If right for riches lose his shape:
If world for wisdome be embraced:
The gesse is great, much hurt may happe.
Among good things, I proue and finde,
The quiet life dothe most abound:
And sure to the contented minde
There is no riches may be found.
For riches hates to be content:
Rule is enmy to quietnesse.
Power is most part impacient:
And seldom likes to liue in pease.
I hard a herdman once compare:
That quiet nightes he had mo slept:
And had mo mery daies to spare:
Then he, which ought the beastes, he kept.
I would not haue it thought hereby
The dolphin swimme I meane to teach:
Nor yet to learne the Fawcon flie:
I rowe not so farre past my reache.
But as my part aboue the rest,
 

Is well to wish and well to will:
So till my breath shall fail my brest,
I will not ceasse to wish you styll.
 

The lyfe is long

Comparison of lyfe and death.
 

The lyfe is long, that lothsumly doth last:
The dolefull dayes draw slowly to theyr date:
The present panges, and paynfull plages forepast
Yelde griefe aye grene to stablish this estate.
So that I fele, in this great storme, and strife,
The death is swete that endeth such a life.
Yet by the stroke of this strange ouerthrow,
At which conflict in thraldom I was thrust:
The Lord be praysed: I am well taught to know,
From whence man came, and eke whereto he must:
And by the way vpon how feble force
His term doth stand, till death doth end his course.
The pleasant yeres that seme, so swifte that runne:
The mery dayes to end, so fast that flete:
The ioyfull nightes, of which day daweth so soone:
The happy howers, which mo do misse, then mete,
Doe all consume: as snow against the sunne:
And death wakes (Note: makes) end of all, that life begunne.
Since death shall dure, tyll all the world be wast.
What meaneth man to drede death then so sore?
As man might make, that life should alway last.
Without regard, the lord hath led before
The daunce of death, which all must runne on row:
Though how, or when, the lord alone doth know.
If man would minde, what burdens life doth bring:
What greuous crimes to god he doth commit:
What plages, what panges, what perilles therby spring:
With no sure hower in all his dayes to sit:
He would sure think, as with great cause I do:
The day of death were better of the two.
Death is a port, wherby we passe to ioy,
Life is a lake, that drowneth all in pain.
Death is so dere, it ceaseth all annoy.
Life is so leude, that all it yeldes is vayn.
And as by life to bondage man is braught:
Euen so likewise by death was fredome wraught.
Wherfore with Paul let all men wish, and pray
To be dissolude of this foule fleshy masse:
Or at the least be armed against the day:
That they be found good souldiers, prest to passe
From life to death: from death to life agayn
To such a life, as euer shall remain.
 

In Grece somtime

The tale of Pigmalion with conclusion vpon the beautye of his loue.
 

In Grece somtime there dwelt a man of worthy fame:
To graue in stone his connyng was: Pygmalio<n> was his name.
To make his fame endure, when death had him bereft:
He thought it good, of his owne hand some filed work were left.
In secrete studie then such work he gan deuise,
As might his conning best commend, and please the lokers eyes.
A courser faire he thought to graue, barbd for the field:
And on his back a semely knight, well armd with speare & shield:
Orels (Note: Or els) some foule, or fish to graue he did deuise:
And still, within his wandering thoughtes, new fansies did aryse.
Thus varyed he in mynde, what enterprise to take:
Till fansy moued his learned hand a woman fayre to make.
Whereon he stayde, and thought such parfite fourm to frame:
Whereby he might amaze all Greece, and winne immortall name.
Of Yuorie white he made so faire a woman than:
That nature scornd her perfitnesse so taught by craft of man.
Welshaped were her lyms, full cumly was her face:
Eche litle vayn most liuely coucht, eche part had semely grace.
Twixt nature, & Pygmalion, there might appeare great stryfe.
So semely was this ymage wrought, it lackt nothyng but life.
His curious eye beheld his own deuised work:
And, gasyng oft thereon, he found much venome there to lurke.
For all the featurde shape so dyd his fansie moue:
That, with his idoll, whom he made, Pygmalion fell in loue.
To whom he honour gaue, and deckt with garlandes swete,
And did adourn with iewels riche, as is for louers mete.
Somtimes on it he fawnd: some time in rage would crye:
It was a wonder to beholde, how fansy bleard his eye.
Since that this ymage dum enflamde so wyse a man:
My dere, alas since I you loue, what wonder is it than?
In whom hath nature set the glory of her name:
And brake her mould, in great dispayre, your like she could not frame. (Note:  from previous line)

Lyke as the lark

The louer sheweth his wofull state, and prayeth pitye.
 

Lyke as the lark within the marlians foote
With piteous tunes doth chirp her yelden lay:
So syng I now, seyng none other boote,
My renderyng song, and to your wyll obey.
Your vertue mountes aboue my force so hye.
And with your beautie seased I am so sure:
That there auails resistance none in me,
But paciently your pleasure to endure
For on your wyll my fansy shall attend:
My lyfe, my death, I put both in your choyce:
And rather had this lyfe by you to end,
Than lyue, by other alwayes to reioyce.
And if your crueltie doe thirst my blood:
Then let it forth, if it may doe you good.
 

The lenger lyfe

Vpon consideracion of the stat (Note: stat<e of>)this lyfe he wisheth death.
 

The lenger lyfe, the more offence:
The more offence, the greater payn:
The greater payn, the lesse defence:
The lesse defence, the lesser gayn.
The losse of gayn long yll doth trye:
Wherefore come death, and let me dye.
The shorter life, lesse count I fynde:
The lesse account, th e (Note: the) sooner made:
The count soon made, the mercer minde:
The mery minde doth thought euade.
Short lyfe in truth this thing doth trye:
Wherefore come death, and let me dye:
Come gentle death, the ebbe of care,
The ebbe of care, the flood of lyfe,
The flood of lyfe, the ioyfull fare,
The ioyfull fare, the end of strife.
The end of strife, that thing wishe I:
Wherefore come death, and let me dye.
 

To this my song

The louer that once disdained loue is now become subiect beyng caught in his snare.
 

To this my song geue eare, who list:
And mine intent iudge, as you wyll:
The tyme is cume, that I haue mist,
The thyng, wheron I hoped styll,
And from the top of all my trust,
Myshap hath throwen me in the dust.
The time hath been, and that of late:
My hart and I might leape at large.
And was not shut within the gate
Of loues desyre: nor toke no charge
Of any thyng, that dyd pertain
As touching loue in any payn.
My thought was free, my hart was light:
I marked not, who lost, who saught.
I playde by day, I slept by night.
I forced not, who wept, who laught.
My thought from all such thinges was free:
And I my self at libertee.
I toke no hede to tanntes, (Note: tauntes) nor toyes:
As leefe to see them frowne as smile:
Where fortune laught I scorned their ioyes:
I found their fraudes and euery wile.
And to my self oft times I smiled:
To see, how loue had them begiled.
Thus in the net of my conceit
I masked styll among the sort
Of such as fed vpon the bayt,
That Cupide laide for his disport.
Aud (Note: And) euer as I saw them caught:
I them beheld, and therat laught.
Till at the length when Cupide spied
My scornefull will and spitefull vse
And how I past not who was tied.
So that my self might still liue lose:
He set himself to lye in wait:
And in my way he threw a bait.
Such one, as nature neuer made,
I dare well say saue she alone.
Such one she was as would inuade
A hart, more hard then marble stone.
Such one she is, I know, it right,
Her nature made to shew her might.
Then as a man euen in a maze,
When vse of reason is away:
So I began to stare, and gaze.
And sodeinly, without delay,
Or euer I had the wit to loke:
I swalowed vp both bayt, and hoke.
Which daily greues me more and more
By sondry sortes of carefull wo:
And none aliue may salue the sore,
But onely she, that hurt me so.
In whom my life doth now consist,
To saue or slay me as she list.
But seing now that I am caught,
And bounde so fast, I cannot flee:
Be ye by mine ensample taught,
That in your fansies fele you free.
Despise not them, that louers are:
Lest you be caught within his snare.
 

The plage is great

Of Fortune, and Fame.
 

The plage is great, where fortune frownes:
One mischief bringes a thousand woes
Where trumpets geue their warlike sownes:
The weake sustain sharp ouerthrowes.
No better life they taste, and fele:
That subiect are to fortunes whele.
Her happy chance may last no time:
Her pleasure threatneth paines to come.
She is the fall of those, that clime:
And yet her whele auanceth some.
No force, where that she hates, or loues:
Her ficle minde so oft remoues.
She geues no gift, but craues as fast.
She soone repentes a thankful dede.
She turneth after euery blast.
She helpes them oft, that haue no nede.
Where power dwelles, and riches rest:
False fortune is a common gest,
Yet some affirm, and proue by skyll:
Fortune is not as fleyng Fame,
She neither can do good, nor yll.
She hath no fourme, yet beares a name.
Then we but striue agaynst the streames,
To frame such toyes on fansies dreames.
If she haue shape, or name alone:
If she do rule, or beare no sway:
If she haue bodie, lief, or none:
Be she a sprite I cannot say.
But well I wot, some cause there is:
That causeth wo, and sendeth blisse.
The cause of thinges I will not blame:
Lest I offend the prince of peas.
But I may chide, and braule with Fame:
To make her crye, and neuer cease.
To blow the trump within her eares:
That may apease my wofull teares.
 

O euyll tonges

Against wicked tonges.
 

O Euyll tonges, which clap at euery winde:
Ye slea the quick, and eke the dead defame:
Those that liue well, som faute in them ye fynde.
Ye take no thought, in slaundring theyr good name.
Ye put iust men oft times to open shame.
Ye ryng so loude, ye sound vnto the skyes:
And yet in proofe ye sowe nothyng, but lyes.
Ye make great warre, where peace hath been of long,
Ye bring rich realmes to ruine, and decay.
Ye pluck down right: ye doe enhaunce the wrong.
Ye turne swete myrth to wo, and welaway
Of mischiefes all ye are the grounde, I say.
Happy is he, that liues on such a sort:
That nedes not feare such tonges of false report.
 

To walke on doubtfull ground

Not to trust to much but beware by others calamaties.
 

To walke on doubtfull ground, where danger is vnseen
Doth double men that carelesse be in depe dispaire I wene,
For as the blynde dothe feare, what footing he shall fynde:
So doth the wise before he speak, mistrust the strangers mynde.
For he that blontly runnes, may light among the breers,
And so be put vnto his plunge where danger least apperes:
The bird that selly foole, doth warn vs to beware,
Who lighteth not on euery bushe, he dreadeth so the snare.
The mouse that shonnes the trap, doth shew what harme doth ly:
Within the swete betraying bait, that oft disceiues the eye.
The fish auoides the hoke, though hunger byds him bite,
And houereth still about the worme, whereon is his delyte.
Yf birdes and beastes can see, where their vndoyng lies:
How should a mischief scape our heades, <that> haue both wit and eyes.
What madnesse may be more, then plow the barreyn field:
Or any frutefull wordes to sow, to eares that are vnwyld.
They here and than mislyke, they like and than they lothe,
Thei hate, thei loue, thei skorn, thei praise, yea sure thei ca<n> do both
We see what falles they haue, that clyme on trees vnknowne:
As they that truste to rotten bowes, must nedes be ouerthrowne.
A smart in silence kept, doth ease the hart much more,
Than for to plain where is no salue, for to recure the sore.
Wherfore my grief I hide, within a holow hart:
Vntill the smoke thereof be spied, by flaming of the smart.
 

The restlesse rage

Hell tormenteth not the damned ghostes so sore as vnkindnesse the louer.
 

The restlesse rage of depe deuouryng hell,
The blasing brandes, that neuer do consume,
The roryng route, in Plutoes den that dwell:
The fiery breath, that from those ymps doth fume:
The dropsy dryeth, that Tantale in the flood
Endureth aye, all hopelesse of relief:
He hongersteruen, where frute is ready food:
So wretchedly his soule doth suffer grief:
The liuer gnawne of gylefull Promethus,
Which Vultures fell with strayned talant tyre:
The labour lost of wearyed Sisiphus:
These hellish houndes, with paines of quenchlesse fyre,
Can not so sore the silly soules torment,
As her vntruth my hart hath alltorent.
 

By fortune as I lay in bed

Of the mutabilitie of the world.
 

By fortune as I lay in bed, my fortune was to fynde
Such fa<n>sies, as my carefull thought had brought into my minde
And when eche one was gone to rest, full soft in bed to lye:
I would haue slept: but then the watch did folow still myne eye.
And sodeinly I saw a sea of wofull sorowes prest:
Whose wicked wayes of sharp repulse bred mine vnquiet rest.
I saw this world: and how it went, eche state in his degree:
And that from wealth ygraunted is, both lyfe, and libertee.
I saw, how enuy it did rayne, and beare the greatest price:
Yet greater poyson is not found within the Cockatrice.
I saw also, how that disdayn oft times to forge my wo,
Gaue me the cup of bitter swete, to pledge my mortall fo.
I saw also, how that desire to rest no place could finde
But styll constrainde in endlesse pain to folow natures kynde.
I saw also most strauuge (Note: straunge) of all how nature did forsake
The blood, that in her womb was wrought: as doth <the> lothed snake
I saw, how fansy would retayn no lenger then her lust:
And as the winde how she doth change: and is not for to trust.
I saw, how stedfastnesse did fly with winges of often change:
A fleyng birde, but seldom seen, her nature is so strange.
I saw, how pleasant times did passe, as flowers doe in the mede:
To day that ryseth red as rose: to morow falleth ded.
I saw, my tyme how it did runne, as sand out of the glasse.
Euen as eche hower appointed is from tyme, and tyde to passe.
I saw the yeares, that I had spent, and losse of all my gayn:
And how the sport of youthfull playes my foly dyd retayn.
I saw, how that the litle ant in somer still dothe runne
To seke her foode, wherby to liue in winter for to come.
I saw eke vertue, how she sat the threde of life to spinne.
Which sheweth the end of euery work, before it doth beginne.
And when all these I thus beheld with many mo pardy:
In me, me thought, eche one had wrought a parfite proparty.
And then I said vnto my self: a lesson this shalbe
For other: that shall after come, for to beware by me.
Thus, all the night I did deuise, which way I might constrayn.
To fourme a plot, that wit might work these branches in my brain.
 

Phylida was a fayer mayde

Harpelus complaynt of Phillidaes loue bestowed on Corin, who loued her not and denied him, that loued her.
 

Phylida was a fayer mayde,
And fresh as any flowre:
Whom Harpalus the herdman prayed
To be his paramour.
Harpalus and eke Corin
Were herdmen both yfere:
And Phillida could twist and spin
And therto sing full clere.
But Phillida was all to coy
For Harpelus to winne.
For Corin was her onely ioye,
Who forst her not a pynne.
How often would she flowers twine
How often garlandes make:
Of Couslippes and of Colombine,
And all for Corins sake.
But Corin he had haukes to lure
And forced more the field:
Of louers lawe he toke no cure
For once he was begilde.
Harpalus preualed nought
His labour all was lost:
For he was fardest from her thought
And yet he loued her most.
Therfore waxt he both pale and leane
And drye as clot of clay:
His fleshe it was consumed cleane
His colour gone away.
His beard it had not long be shaue,
His heare hong all vnkempt:
A man most fitte euen for the graue
Whom spitefull loue had spent.
His eyes were red and all forewatched
His face besprent with teares:
It semde vnhap had him long hatched.
In middes of his dispayres.
His clothes were blacke and also bare
 

As one forlorne was he:
Vpon his heade alwaies he ware,
A wreath of wilow tree.
His beastes he kept vpon the hyll,
And he sate in the dale:
And thus with sighes and sorowes shryll,
He gan to tell his tale.
O Harpelus thus would he say,
Vnhappiest vnder sunne:
The cause of thine vnhappy day
By loue was first begone.
For thou wentest first by sute to seeke
A Tygre to make tame:
That sets not by thy loue a leke
But makes thy grefe her game.
As easye it were, for to conuert
The frost into the flame:
As for to turne a froward hert
Whom thou so fain wouldst frame.
Corin he liueth carelesse
He leapes among the leaues:
He eates the frutes of thy redresse
Thou reapes he takes the sheaues.
My beastes a while your fode refrayne
And herken your herdmans sounde:
Whom spitefull loue alas hath slaine
Throughgirt with many a wounde.
Oh happy be ye beastes wilde
That here your pasture takes:
I se that ye be not begylde
Of these your faythfull face.
The Hart he fedeth by the Hynde
The Bucke hard by the Doo,
The Turtle Doue is not vnkinde
To him that loues her so.
The Ewe she hath by her the Ramme
The yong Cow hath the Bulle:
The calf with many a lusty lamme
Do feede their honger full.
But wellaway that nature wrought
Thee Phillida so faire:
For I may say that I haue bought
Thy beauty all to deare.
What reason is it that cruelty
With beauty should haue part,
Or els that such great tyranny
Should dwell in womans hart.
I see therfore to shape my death
She cruelly is prest:
To thend that I may want my breathe
My dayes been at the best.
O Cupide graunt this my request
And do not stoppe thine eares:
That she may fele within her brest
The paynes of my dispayres.
Of Corin that is carelesse
That she may craue her fee:
As I haue done in great distresse
That loued her faythfully.
But sins that I shall die her slaue
Her slaue and eke her thrall:
Write you my frendes, vpon my graue
This chance that is befall.
Here lieth vnhappy Harpelus
Whom cruell loue hath slayne:
By Phillida vniustly thus
Murdred with false disdaine.
 

Lo here the end of man

Vpon sir Iames wilfordes death.
 

Lo here the end of man the cruell sisters three
The web of Wilfords life vnethe had half ysponne,
When rash vpon misdede they all accorded bee
To breke vertues course er half the race were ronne
And trip him on his way that els had won the game
And holden highest place within the house of fame.
But yet though he be gone, though sence with him be past
Which trode the euen steppes that leaden to renowne
We that remaine aliue ne suffer shall to waste
The fame of his deserts, so shall he lose but sowne.
The thing shall aye remaine, aye kept as freshe in store
As if his eares shold ring of that he wrought before.
Waile not therfore his want sith he so left the stage
Of care and wretched life, with ioye and clap of hands
Who plaieth lenger partesmay (Note: partes may) well haue greater age
But few so well may passe the gulfe of fortunes sandes
So triedly did he treade ay prest at vertues beck
That fortune found no place to geue him once a check.
The fates haue rid him hence, who shall not after go,
Though earthed be his corps, yet florish shall his fame,
A gladsome thing it is that er he step vs fro,
Such mirrours he vs left our life therby to frame,
Wherfore his praise shall last aye freshe in Brittons sight,
Till sunne shall cease to shine, and lende the earth his light.
 

Who list to liue vpright

Of the wretchednes in this world.
 

Who list to liue vpright, and holde him self content,
Shall se such wonders in this world, as neuer erst was sent.
Such gropyng for the swete, such tastyng of the sower
Such wandryng here for wordly welth that lost is in one houre.
And as the good or badde gette vp in hye degre,
So wades the world in right or wrong it may none other be.
And loke what lawes they make, ech man must them obay,
And yoke himself with pacient hart to driue and draw <the> way.
For such as long ago, great rulers were assinde
Both liues & lawes are now forgot & worne clene out of minde
So that by this I se, no state on earth may last
But as their times appointed be, to rise and fall as fast.
The goodes that gotten be, by good and iust desart,
Yet vse them so that neady handes may helpe to spend the part
For loke what heape thou hordst, of rusty golde in store,
Thine enemies shall waste the same, that neuer swat therfore.
 

Vnto the liuyng Lord

The repentant sinner in durance and aduersitie.
 

Vnto the liuyng Lord for pardon do I pray,
From who<m> I graunt euen fro<m> the shell, I haue run styl astray.
And other liues there none (my death shall well declare)
On whom I ought to grate for grace, as faulty folkes do fare.
But thee O Lorde alone, I haue offended so,
That this small scourge is much to scant for mine offence I know
I ranne without returne, the way the world liekt best
And what I ought most to regard, that I respected lest
 

The throng wherin I thrust, hath throwen me in such case
That Lorde my soule is sore beset without thy greater grace
My giltes are growen so great, my power doth so appayre
That with great force they argue oft, and mercy much dispayre.
But then with fayth I flee to thy prepared store
Where there lieth help for euery hurt, and salue for euery sore.
My loste time to lament, my vaine waies to bewaile,
No day no night no place no houre no moment I shal faile
My soule shall neuer cease with an assured faith
To knock, to craue, to call to cry to thee for helpe which sayth
Knocke and it shalbe heard, but aske and geuen it is
And all that like to kepe this course, of mercy shall not misse
For when I call to minde how the one wandryng shepe,
Did bring more ioye with his returne, then all the flocke did kepe.
It yeldes full hope and trust my strayed and wandryng ghost
Shalbe receiued and held more dere then those were neuer lost.
O Lord my hope beholde, and for my helpe make haste
To pardon the forpassed race that carelesse I haue past.
And but the day draw neare that death must pay the det,
For lone of life which thou hast lent and time of payment set.
From this sharpe shower me shilde which threatened is at hand,
Wherby thou shalt great power declare & I the storme withstand.
Not my will lord but thyne, fulfilde be in ech case,
To whose gret wil & mighty power al powers shal once geue place
My fayth my hope my trust, my God and eke my guide
Stretch forth thy hand to saue the soule, what so the body bide.
Refuse not to receiue that thou so dere hast bought,
For but by thee alone I know all safety in vaine is sought.
I know and knowledge eke albeit very late,
That thou it is I ought to loue and dreade in ech estate.
And with repentant hart do laude thee Lord on hye,
That hast so gently set me straight, that erst walkt so awry.
Now graunt me grace my God to stand thine strong in sprite,
And let <the> world the<n> work such wayes, as to the world semes mete.
 

Sythe singyng gladdeth

The louer here telleth of his diuers ioyes and aduersities in loue and lastly of his ladies death.
 

Sythe singyng gladdeth oft the hartes
Of them that fele the panges of loue:
And for the while doth ease their smartes:
My self I shall the same way proue.
And though that loue hath smit the stroke,
Wherby is lost my libertie:
Which by no meanes I may reuoke:
Yet shall I sing, how pleasantly.
Ny twenty yeres of youth I past:
Which all in libertie I spent:
And so from fyrst vnto the last,
Er aught I knew, what louing ment.
And after shall I syng the wo,
The payne, the greefe, the deadly smart:
When loue this lyfe did ouerthrowe,
That hydden lyes within my hart.
And then, the ioyes, that I did feele.
When fortune lifted after this,
And set me hye vpon her whele:
And changed my wo to pleasant blisse,
And so the sodeyn fall agayne
From all the ioyes, that I was in.
All you, that list to heare of payne,
Geue eare, for now I doe beginne.
Lo, fyrst of all, when loue began
With hote desyres my heart to burne:
Me thought, his might auailde not than
From libertie my heart to turne.
For I was free: and dyd not knowe,
How much his might mannes hert may greue.
I had profest to be his fo:
His law I thought not to beleue.
I went vntyed in lusty leas,
I had my wish alwayes at will:
Ther was no wo, might me displease:
Of pleasant ioyes I had my fill.
No paynfull thought dyd passe my hart:
I spilt no teare to wet my brest:
I knew no sorow, sigh, nor smart.
My greatest grefe was quyet rest.
I brake no slepe, I tossed not:
Nor dyd delyte to syt alone.
I felt no change of colde, and hote:
Nor nought a nightes could make me mone.
For all was ioy that I did fele:
 

And of voide wandering I was free.
I had no clogge tied at my hele:
This was my life at libertie.
That yet me thinkes it is a blisse,
To thinke vpon that pleasure past.
But forthwithall I finde the misse,
For that it might no lenger last.
Those dayes I spent at my desire,
Without wo or aduersitie:
Till that my hart was set a fire,
With loue, with wrath, and ielousie.
For on a day (alas the while)
Lo, hear my harme how it began:
The blinded Lord, the God of guile
Had list to end my fredome than.
And through mine eye into my hart,
All sodenly I felt it glide.
He shot his sharped fiery dart,
So hard, that yet vnder my side
The head (alas) dothe still remaine,
And yet since could I neuer know,
The way to wring it out againe:
Yet was it nye three yere ago.
This soden stroke made me agast:
And it began to vexe me sore.
But yet I thought, it would haue past,
As other such had done before.
But it did not that (wo is me)
So depe imprinted in my thought,
The stroke abode: that yet I see,
Me thynkes my harme how it was wrought.
Kinde taught me streight that this was loue
And I perceiued it perfectlye.
Yet thought I thus: Nought shall me moue:
I will not thrall my libertie.
And diuers waies I did assay,
By flight, by force, by frend, by fo,
This fyrye thought to put away.
I was so lothe for to forgo
My libertie: that me was leuer,
Then bondage was, where I heard saie:
Who once was bounde, was sure neuer
Without great paine to scape away.
 

But what for that, there is no choyce,
For my mishap was shapen so:
That those my dayes that did reioyce,
Should turne my blisse to bitter wo.
For with that stroke my blisse toke ende.
In stede wherof forthwith I caught,
Hotte burnyng sighes, that sins haue brend,
My wretched hart almost to naught.
And sins that day, O Lord my life
The misery that it hath felt.
That nought hath had, but wo and strife,
And hotte desires my hart to melt.
O Lord how sodain was the change
From such a pleasant liberty?
The very thraldome semed strange:
But yet there was no remedy.
But I must yeld, and geue vp all,
And make my guide my chiest (Note: chiefest) fo.
And in this wise became I thrall.
Lo loue and happe would haue it so.
I suffred wrong and helde my peace,
I gaue my teares good leaue to ronne:
And neuer would seke for redresse,
But hopt to liue as I begonne.
For what it was that might me ease,
He liued not that might it know.
Thus dranke I all mine owne disease:
And all alone bewailde my wo.
There was no sight that might mee please,
I fled from them that did reioyce.
And oft alone my hart to ease,
I would bewayle with wofull voyce
My life, my state, my miserie,
And curse my selfe and all my dayes.
Thus wrought I with my fantasie,
And sought my helpe none other waies.
Saue sometime to my selfe alone,
When farre of was my helpe God wot:
Lowde would I cry: My life is gone,
My dere, if that ye helpe me not.
Then wisht I streight, that death might end
These bitter panges, and all this grief.
For nought, methought, might it amend.
Thus in dispaire to haue relief,
I lingred forth: tyll I was brought
With pining in so piteous case:
That all, that saw me, sayd, methought:
Lo, death is painted in his face.
I went no where: but by the way
I saw some sight before mine eyes:
That made me sigh, and oft times say:
My life, alas I thee despyse.
This lasted well a yere, and more:
Which no wight knew, but onely I:
So that my life was nere forlore:
And I dispaired vtterly.
Tyll on a day, as fortune would:
 (For that, that shalbe, nedes must fall)
I sat me down, as though I should
Haue ended then my lyfe, and all.
And as I sat to wryte my plaint,
Meaning to shew my great vnrest:
With quaking hand, and hart full faint,
Amid my plaintes, among the rest,
I wrote with ynk, and bitter teares:
I am not myne, I am not mine:
Behold my lyfe, away that weares:
And if I dye the losse is thyne.
Herewith a litle hope I caught:
That for a whyle my life did stay.
But in effect, all was for naught.
Thus liued I styll: tyll on a day,
As I sat staring on those eyes:
I meane, those eyes, that first me bound:
My inward thought tho cryed: Aryse:
Lo, mercy where it may be found.
And therewithall I drew me nere:
With feble hart, and at a braide,
 (But it was softly in her eare)
Mercy, Madame, was all, I sayd.
But wo was me, when it was tolde.
For therewithall fainted my breath.
And I sate still for to beholde,
And heare the iudgement of my death.
But loue nor Hap would not consent,
To end me then, but welaway:
There gaue me blisse: that I repent
To thinke I liue to see this day.
For after this I playned still
So long, and in so piteous wise:
That I my wish had at my will
Graunted, as I would it deuise.
But Lord who euer heard, or knew
Of halfe the iove that I felt than?
Or who can thinke it may be true,
That so much blisse had euer man?
Lo, fortune thus set me aloft:
And more my sorowes to releue,
Of pleasant ioyes I tasted oft:
As much as loue or happe might geue.
The sorowes olde, I felt before
About my hart, were driuen thence:
And for eche greefe, I felt afore,
I had a blisse in recompence.
Then thought I all the time well spent:
That I in plaint had spent so long.
So was I with my life content:
That to my self I sayd among.
Sins thou art ridde of all thine yll:
To showe thy ioyes set forth thy voyce.
And sins thou hast thy wish at will:
My happy hart, reioyce, reioyce.
Thus felt I ioyes a great deale mo,
Then by my song may well be tolde:
And thinkyng on my passed wo,
My blisse did double many folde.
And thus I thought with mannes blood,
Such blisse might not be bought to deare.
In such estate my ioyes then stode:
That of a change I had no feare.
But why sing I so long of blisse?
It lasteth not, that will away,
Let me therfore bewaile the misse:
And sing the cause of my decay.
Yet all this while there liued none,
That led his life more pleasantly:
Nor vnder hap there was uot (Note: not) one,
Me thought, so well at ease, as I.
But O blinde ioye, who may thee trust?
For no estate thou canst assure?
Thy faithfull vowes proue all vniust:
Thy faire behestes be full vnsure.
Good proufe by me: that but of late
Not fully twenty dayes ago:
Which thought my life was in such state:
That nought might worke my hart this wo.
Yet hath the enemy of my ease,
Mishappe I meane, that wretched wight:
Now when my life did moste me please:
Deuised me such cruel spight.
That from the hiest place of all,
As to the pleasyng of my thought,
Downe to the deepest am I fall,
And to my helpe auaileth nought,
Lo, thus are all my ioyes gone:
And I am brought from happinesse,
Continually to waile, and mone.
Lo, such is fortunes stablenesse.
In welth I thought such suretie,
That pleasure should haue ended neuer.
But now (alas) aduersitie,
Doth make my singyng cease for euer.
O brittle ioye, O slidyng blisse,
O fraile pleasure, O welth vnstable:
Who feles thee most, he shall not misse
At length to be made miserable.
For all must end as doth my blisse:
There is none other certentie.
And at the end the worst is his,
That most hath knowen prosperitie.
 

For he that neuer blisse assaied,
May well away with wretchednesse:
But he shall finde that hath it sayd,
A paine to part from pleasantnesse:
As I doe now, for er I knew
What pleasure was: I felt no griefe,
Like vnto this, and it is true,
That blisse hath brought me all this mischiefe.
But yet I haue not songen, how
This mischiefe came: but I intend
With wofull voice to sing it now:
And therwithall I make an end.
But Lord, now that it is begoon,
I feele, my sprites are vexed sore.
Oh, geue me breath till this be done:
And after let me liue no more,
Alas, the enmy of my life,
The ender of all pleasantnesse:
Alas, he bringeth all this strife,
And causeth all this wretchednesse.
For in the middes of all the welth,
That brought my hart to happinesse:
This wicked death he came by stelthe,
And robde me of my ioyfulnesse.
He came, when that I little thought
Of ought, that might me vexe so sore:
And sodenly he brought to nought
My pleasantnesse for euermore,
He slew my ioye (alas, the wretch)
He slew my ioye, or I was ware:
And now (alas) no might may stretch
To set an end to my great care.
For by this cursed deadly stroke,
My blisse is lost, and I forlore:
And no help may the losse reuoke:
For lost it is for euermore.
And closed vp are those faire eyes,
That gaue me first the signe of grace:
My faire swete foes, myne enemies,
And earth dothe hide her pleasant face.
The loke which did my life vpholde:
And all my sorowes did confounde:
With which more blisse then may be tolde:
Alas, now lieth it vnder ground.
But cease, for I will syng no more:
Since that my harme hath no redresse:
But as a wretche for euermore,
My life will waste with wretchednesse.
And ending thys my wofull song,
Now that it ended is and past:
I wold my life were but as long:
And that this word might be my last.
For lothsome is that life (men saye)
That liketh not the liuers minde:
Lo, thus I seke myne owne decaye,
And will, till that I may it finde
 

Fvll faire and white she is

Of his loue named white.
 

Fvll faire and white she is, and White by name:
Whose white doth striue, the lillies white to staine:
Who may contemne the blast of blacke defame:
Who in darke night, can bring day bright againe.
The ruddy rose inpreaseth, with cleare heew,
In lips, and chekes, right orient to behold:
That the nere gaser may that bewty reew,
And fele disparst in limmes the chilling cold:
For White, all white his bloodlesse face wil be:
The asshy pale so alter will his cheare.
But I that do possesse in full degree
The harty loue of this my hart so deare:
So oft to me as she presents her face,
For ioye do fele my hart spring from his place.
 

What thing is that

Of the louers vnquiet state.
 

What thing is that which I bothe haue and lacke,
With good will graunted yet it is denyed
How may I be receiued and put abacke
Alway doing and yet vnoccupied,
Most slow in that which I haue most applied,
Still thus to seke, and lese all that I winne,
And that was ready is newest to begyn.
In riches finde I wilfull pouertie,
In great pleasure liue I in heauinesse,
In much freedome I lacke my libertie,
Thus am I bothe in ioye and in distresse.
And in few wordes, if that I shall be plaine,
In Paradise I suffer all this paine.
 

It is no fire

where good will is some profe will appere.
 

It is no fire that geues no heate,
Though it appeare neuer so hotte:
And they that runne and can not sweate,
Are very leane and dry God wot.
A perfect leche applieth his wittes,
To gather herbes of all degrees:
And feuers with their feruent fittes,
Be cured with their contraries.
New wine will search to finde a vent,
Although the caske be neuer so strong:
And wit will walke when will is bent,
Although the way be neuer so long.
The rabbets runne vnder the rockes,
The snailes do clime the highest towers:
Gunpowder cleaues the sturdy blockes,
A feruent will all thing deuowers.
When witt e (Note: witte) with will and diligent
Apply them selues, and match as mates,
There can no want of resident,
From force defende the castell gates.
Forgetfulnesse makes little haste,
And slouth delites to lye full soft:
That telleth the deaf, his tale dothe waste,
And is full drye that craues full oft.
 

Alas that euer death

Verses written on the picture of sir Iames wilford.
 

Alas that euer death such vertues should forlet,
As compast was within his corps, whose picture is here set.
Or that it euer laye in any fortunes might,
Through depe disdaine his life to traine <that> was so worthy a wight
For sith he first began in armour to be clad,
A worthier champion then he was yet Englande neuer had.
And though recure be past, his life to haue againe,
Yet would I wish his worthinesse in writyng to remaine.
That men to minde might call how farre he did excell,
At all assayes to wynne the praise, which were to long to tell.
And eke the restlesse race that he full oft hath runne,
In painfull plight fro<m> place to place, where seruice was to doon
Then should men well perceiue, my tale to be of trouth,
And he to be the worthiest wight that euer nature wrought.
 

Shall I thus euer long

The ladye praieth the returne of of her louer abidyng on the seas.
 

Shall I thus euer long, and be no whit the neare,
And shal I styll complayn to thee, the which me will not here?
Alas say nay, say nay, and be no more so dome,
But open thou thy manly mouth, and say that thou wilt come.
Wherby my hart may thinke, although I see not thee,
That thou wilt come thy word so sware, if thou a liues man be.
The roaryng hugy waues, they threaten my pore ghost,
And tosse thee vp and downe the seas, in daunger to be lost.
Shall they not make me feare that they haue swalowed thee,
But as thou art most sure aliue so wilt thou come to me.
Wherby I shall go see thy shippe ride on the strande
And thinke and say lo where he comes, and sure here will he land.
And then I shall lift vp to thee my little hande,
And thou shalt thinke thine hert in ease, in helth to se me stand.
And if thou come in dede (as Christ the send to do,)
Those armes which misse thee now shall then imbrace thee to.
Ech vaine to euery ioynt, the liuely bloud shall spred,
Which now for want of thy glad sight, doth show full pale & dead.
But if thou slip thy trouth and do not come at all,
As minutes in the clocke do strike so call for death I shall.
To please bothe thy false hart, and rid my self from wo,
That rather had to dye in trouth then liue forsaken so.
 

The doutfull man

The meane estate is best.
 

The doutfull man hath feuers strange
And constant hope is oft diseased,
Dispaire can not but brede a change,
Nor fletyng hartes can not be pleasde.
Of all these badde, the best I thinke,
Is well to hope, though fortune shrinke.
Desired thinges are not ay prest,
Nor thinges denide left all vnsought,
Nor new things to be loued best,
Nor all offers to be set at nought,
Where faithfull hart hath bene refusde,
The chosers wit was there abusde.
The woful shyppe of carefull sprite,
Fletyng on seas of wellyng teares,
With sayles of wishes broken quite,
Hangyng on waues of dolefull feares,
By surge of sighes at wrecke nere hand,
May fast no anker holde on land.
What helps the dyall to the blinde,
Or els the clock without it sound,
Or who by dreames dothe hope to finde,
The hidden gold within the ground:
Shalbe as free from cares and feares,
As he that holds a wolfe by the eares.
And how much mad is he that thinkes
To clime to heauen by the beames,
What ioye alas, hath he that winkes,
At Titan or his golden stremes,
His ioyes not subiect to reasons lawes,
That ioyeth more then he hath cause.
For as the Phenix that climeth hye,
The sonne lightly in ashes burneth,
Againe, the Faulcon so quicke of eye,
Sone on the ground the net masheth.
Experience therfore the meane assurance,
Prefers before the doutfull pleasance.
 

Sith that the way

The louer thinkes no payne to great, wherby he may obtaine his lady.
 

Sith that the way to welth is woe,
And after paynes pleasure prest,
Whie should I than dispaire so.
Ay bewailling mine vnrest,
Or let to lede my liefe in paine,
So worthy a lady to obtayne,
The fisher man doth count no care,
To cast hys nets to wracke or wast,
And in reward of eche mans share,
A gogen gift is much imbrast,
Sould (Note: Should) I than grudge it grief or gall,
That loke at length to whelm a whall.
The pore ma<n> ploweth his grou<n>d for graine,
And soweth his seede increase to craue,
And for thexpence of all hys paine.
Oft holdes it hap his seede to saue,
These pacient paines my part do show,
To long for loue er that I know.
And take no skorne to scape from skill,
To spende my spirites to spare my speche,
To win for welth the want of will.
And thus for rest to rage I reche,
Running my race as rect vpright:
Till teares of truth appease my plight.
And plant my plaint within her brest,
Who doubtles may restore againe,
My harmes to helth my ruthe to rest.
That laced is within her chayne,
For earst ne are the grieues so gret:
As is the ioy when loue is met.
For who couets so high to clim,
As doth the birde that pitfoll toke,
Or who delightes so swift to swim.
As doth the fishe that scapes the hoke,
If these had neuer entred woe:
How mought they haue reioysed so.
But yet alas ye louers all,
That here me ioy thus lesse reioyce,
Iudge not amys whatso befall.
In me there lieth no power of choyse,
It is but hope that doth me moue:
Who standerd bearer is to loue.
On whose ensigne when I beholde,
I se the shadowe of her shape,
Within my faith so fast I folde:
Through dread I die, through hope I scape,
Thus ease and wo full oft I finde,
What will you more she knoweth my minde.
 

A student at his boke

Of a new maried Student.
 

A Student at his boke so plast,
That welth he might haue wonne:
From boke to wife did flete in haste,
From wealth to wo to runne.
Now, who hath plaied a feater cast,
Since iuglyng first begoon ?
In knittyng of him selfe so fast,
Him selfe he hath vndoon.
 

Who craftly castes to stere

The meane estate is to be (Note: line preceded by a paragraph sign)accompted the best.
 

Who craftly castes to stere his boate
and safely skoures the flattering flood:
He cutteth not the greatest waues
for why that way were nothing good.
Ne fleteth on the crocked shore
lest harme him happe awayting lest.
But wines away betwene the<m> both,
as who would say the meane is best.
Who waiteth on the golde<n> meane,
he put in point of sickernes:
Hides not his head in sluttishe coates,
ne shroudes himself in filthines.
Ne sittes aloft in hye estate,
where hatefull hartes enuie his chance:
But wisely walkes betwixt them twaine,
ne proudly doth himself auance
The highest tree in all the woode
is rifest rent with blustring windes:
The higher hall the greater fall
such chance haue proude and lofty mindes.
When Iupiter from hie doth threat
with mortall mace and dint of thunder
the highest hilles ben batrid eft
when they stand still that stoden vnder
The man whose head with wit is fraught
in welth will feare a worser tide
When fortune failes dispaireth nought
but constantly doth stil abide
For he that sendith grisely stormes
with whisking windes and bitter blastes
And fowlth with haile the winters face
and frotes the soile with hory frostes
Euen he adawth the force of colde
the spring in sendes with somer hote
The same full oft to stormy hartes
is cause of bale: of ioye the roote.
Not always il though so be now
when cloudes ben driuen then rides the racke
Phebus the fresh ne shoteth still
sometime he harpes his muse to wake
Stand stif therfore pluck vp thy hart
lose not thy port though fortune faile
Againe whan wind doth serue at will
take hede to hye to hoyse thy saile.
 

I lent my loue to losse

The louer refused lamen- (Note: line preceded by a paragraph sign)teth his estate.
 

I Lent my loue to losse and gaged my life in vaine,
If hate for loue and death for life of louers be the gaine.
And curse I may by course the place eke time and howre
That nature first in me did forme to be a liues creature
Sith that I must absent my selfe so secretly
In place desert where neuer man my secretes shall discrye
In dolling of my dayes among the beastes so brute
Who with their tonges may not bewray the secretes of my sute
Nor I in like to them may once to moue my minde
But gase on them aud (Note: and) they on me as bestes are wont of kinde
Thus ranging as refusde to reche some place of rest,
All ruff of heare, my nayles vnnocht, as to such semeth best.
That wander by theyr wittes, deformed so to be,
That men may say, such one may curse the tyme he first gan se,
The beauty of her face, her shape in such degree,
As god himself may not discerne, one place mended to be.
Nor place it in lyke place, my fansy for to please,
Who would become a heardmans hyre one howre to haue of ease.
Wherby I might restore, to me some stedfastnes,
That haue mo thoughts hept in my head then life may lo<n>g disges.
As oft to throw me downe vpon the earth so cold,
Wheras with teares most rufully, my sorowes do vnfold.
And in beholding them, I chiefly call to mynd,
What woman could find in her heart, such bondage for to bynd.
Then rashly furth I yede, to cast me from that care,
Lyke as the byrd for foode doth flye, and lighteth in the snare.
From whence I may not meue, vntil my race be roon,
So trayned is my truth through her, <that> thinkes my life well woon.
Thus tosse I too and fro, in hope to haue reliefe,
But in the fine I fynd not so, it doubleth but my grief.
Wherfore I will my want, a warning for to be,
Vnto all men, wishing that they, a myrrour make of me.
 

Whe<n> dredful swelling seas

The felicitie of a mind imbracing vertue, that beholdeth the wretched desyres of the worlde.
 

Whe<n> dredful swelling seas, through boisterous windy blastes
So tosse the shippes, that al for nought, serues ancor sayle & mastes. (Note:  from following line)

Who takes not pleasure then, safely on shore to rest,
And see with dreade & depe despayre, how shipmen are distrest.
Not that we pleasure take, when others felen smart,
Our gladnes groweth to see their harmes, & yet to fele no parte.
Delyght we take also, well ranged in aray,
When armies meete to see the fight, yet free be from the fray.
But yet among the rest, no ioy may match with this,
Taspayre vnto the temple hye, where wisdom troned is.
Defended with the saws of hory heades expert,
Which clere it kepe fro<m> errours myst, that myght the truth peruert.
From whence thou mayst loke down, and see as vnder foote,
Mans wa<n>dring wil & doutful life, fro<m> whe<n>ce they take their roote.
How some by wit contend by prowes some to rise
Riches and rule to gaine and hold is all that men deuise.
O miserable mindes O hertes in folly drent
Why se you not what blindnesse in thys wretched life is spent.
Body deuoyde of grefe mynde free from care and dreede
Is all and some that nature craues wherwith our life to feede.
So that for natures turne few thinges may well suffice
Dolour and grief clene to expell and some delight surprice:
Yea and it falleth oft that nature more contente
Is with the lesse, then when the more to cause delight is spent.
 

The winter with his griesly

All worldly pleasures fade.
 

The winter with his griesly stormes no lenger dare abyde,
The plesant grasse, with lusty grene, the earth hath newly dyde.
The trees haue leues, <the> bowes don spred, new cha<n>ged is <the> yere.
The water brokes are cleane sonke down, the plesa<n>t ba<n>kes apere.
The spring is come, the goodly nimphes now dau<n>ce in euery place
Thus hath the yere most plesantly of late ychangde his face.
Hope for no immortalitie, for welth will weare away,
As we may learne by euery yere, yea howres of euery day.
For Zepharus doth mollifye the colde and blustering windes:
The somers drought doth take away <the> spryng out of our minds.
And yet the somer cannot last, but once must step asyde,
The<n> Autumn thinkes to kepe hys place, but Autumn ca<n>not bide.
For when he hath brought furth his fruits & stuft <the> barns w<ith> corn,
The winter eates & empties all, and thus is Autumn worne.
Then hory frostes possesse the place, the<n> te<m>pestes work much harm,
The<n> rage of stormes done make al colde whiche somer had made so warm (Note:  from following line)

Wherfore let no man put his trust in that, that will decay,
For slipper welth will not cu<n>tinue, plesure will weare away.
For when that we haue lost our lyfe, & lye vnder a stone,
What are we then, we are but earth, then is our pleasure gon.
No man can tell what god almight of euery wight doth cast,
No man can say to day I liue, till morne my lyfe shall last.
For when thou shalt before thy iudge stand to receiue thy dome,
What sentence Minos dothe pronounce that must of thee become.
Then shall not noble stock and blud redeme the fro<m> his handes,
Nor surged talke with eloquence shal lowse thee fro<m> his bandes.
Nor yet thy lyfe vprightly lead, can help thee out of hell,
For who descendeth downe so depe, must there abyde & dwell.
Diana could not thence deliuer chaste Hypolitus,
Nor Thes eus (Note: Theseus) could not call to life his frende Periothous.
 

In sekyng rest

A complaint of the losse of libertie by loue.
 

In sekyng rest vnrest I finde,
I finde that welth is cause of wo:
Wo worth the time that I inclinde,
To fixe in minde her beauty so.
That day be darkened as the night,
Let furious rage it cleane deuour:
Ne sunne nor moone therin geue light,
But it consume with storme and shower.
Let no small birdes straine forth their voyce,
With pleasant tunes ne yet no beast:
Finde cause wherat he may reioyce,
That day when chaunced mine vnrest.
Wherin alas from me was raught,
Mine owne free choyse and quiet minde:
My life my death in balance braught
And reason rasde through barke and rinde.
And I as yet in flower of age,
Bothe witte and will did still aduaunce:
Ay to resist that burnyng rage:
But when I darte then did I glaunce.
Nothing to me did seme so hye,
In minde I could it straight attaine:
Fansy persuaded me therby,
Loue to esteme a thing most vaine.
But as the birde vpon the brier,
Dothe pricke and proyne her without care:
Not knowyng alas pore fole how nere
She is vnto the fowlers snare,
So I amid disceitfull trust,
Did not mistrust such wofull happe:
Till cruell loue er that I wist
Had caught me in his carefull trappe.
Then did I fele and partly know,
How little force in me did raigne:
So sone to yelde to ouerthrow,
So fraile to flit from ioye to paine.
For when in welth will did me leade
Of libertie to hoyse my saile:
To hale at shete and cast my leade,
I thought free choise wold still preuaile
In whose calme streames I sayld so farre
No ragyng storme had in respect:
Vntyll I raysde a goodly starre,
Wherto my course I did direct.
In whose prospect in doolfull wise,
My tackle failde my compasse brake:
Through hote desires such stormes did rise,
That sterne and toppe went all to wrake.
Oh cruell happe oh fatall chaunce,
O Fortune why were thou vnkinde:
Without regard thus in a traunce,
To reue fro me my ioyfull minde.
Where I was free now must I serue,
Where I was lose now am I bounde:
In death my life I do preserue,
As one through girt with many a wound.
 

Geue place you Ladies

A praise of his Ladye.
 

Geue place you Ladies and be gon,
Boast not your selues at all:
For here at hande approcheth one
Whose face will staine you all.
The vertue of her liuely lokes,
Excels the precious stone:
I wishe to haue none other bokes
To read or loke vpon.
In eche of her two cristall eyes,
Smileth a naked boye:
It would you all in hart suffise
To see that lampe of ioye.
I thinke nature hath lost the moulde,
Where she her shape did take:
Or els I doubt if nature could,
So faire a creature make.
She may be well comparde
Vnto the Phenix kinde:
Whose like was neuer sene nor heard,
That any man can finde.
In life she is Diana chast,
In trouth Penelopey:
In word and eke in dede stedfast,
What will you more we sey.
If all the world were sought so farre,
Who could finde such a wight:
Her beauty twinkleth like a starre,
Within the frosty night.
Her rosiall colour comes and goes,
With such a comely grace:
More redier to then doth the rose,
Within her liuely face.
At Bacchus feast none shall her mete,
Ne at no wanton play:
Nor gasyng in an open strete,
Nor gaddyng as a stray.
The modest mirth that she dothe vse,
Is mixt with shamefastnesse:
All vice she dothe wholy refuse,
And hateth ydlenesse.
O lord it is a world to see,
How vertue can repaire:
And decke in her such honestie,
Whom nature made so fayre.
Truely she dothe as farre excede,
Our women now adayes:
As dothe the Ielifloure a wede,
And more a thousande wayes.
How might I do to get a graffe:
Of this vnspotted tree.
For all the rest are plaine but chaffe,
Which seme good corne to be.
This gift alone I shall her geue
When death doth what he can:
Her honest fame shall euer liue,
Within the mouth of man.
 

Experience now doth shew

The pore estate to be holden for best. (Note: space after first letter of each line: EDWARDE SOMERSE)

Experience now doth shew what God vs taught before,
Desired pompe is vaine, and seldome dothe it last:
Who climbes to raigne with kinges, may rue his fate full sore.
Alas the wofull ende that comes with care full fast,
Reiect him dothe renowne his pompe full lowe is caste.
Deceiued is the birde by swetenesse of the call
Expell that pleasant taste, wherein is bitter gall.
Such as with oten cakes in pore estate abides,
Of care haue they no cure, the crab with mirth they rost,
More ease fele they then those, that from their height downe slides
Excesse doth brede their wo, they saile in scillas cost,
Remainyng in the stormes till shyp and all be lost.
Serue God therfore thou pore, for lo, thou liues in rest,
Eschue the golden hall, thy thatched house is best.
 

Thestilis a sely man

The complaint of Thestilis amid the desert wodde.
 

Thestilis a sely man, when loue did him forsake,
In mourning wise, amid <the> woods thus gan his plaint to make.
Ah wofull man (quod he) fallen is thy lot to mone
And pyne away w<ith> carefull thoughts, vnto thy loue vnknowen.
Thy lady thee forsakes whom thou didst honor so
That ay to her thou wer a frend, and to thy self a foe.
Ye louers that haue lost your heartes desyred choyse,
Lament with me my cruell happe, & helpe my trembling voyce.
Was neuer man that stode so great in fortunes grace:
Nor with his swete alas to deare possest so high a place.
As I whose simple hart aye thought him selfe full sure,
But now I se hye springyng tides they may not aye endure.
She knowes my giltelesse hart, and yet she lets it pine,
Of her vntrue professed loue so feble is the twine.
What wonder is it than, if I berent my heeres,
And crauyng death continually do bathe my selfe in teares,
When Cresus king of Lide was cast in cruell bandes,
And yelded goodes and life also into his enemies handes.
What tong could tell hys wo yet was hys griefe much lesse:
Then mine for I haue lost my loue which might my woe redresse.
Ye woodes that shroud my limes giue now your holow sound,
That ye may helpe me to bewaile the cares that me confound.
Ye riuers rest a while and stay the stremes that runne,
Rew Thestilis most woful man that liueth vnder sunne.
Transport my sighes ye windes vnto my pleasant foe,
My trickling teares shall witnesse bear of this my cruell woe.
O happy man wer I if all the goddes agreed:
That now the susters three should cut in twaine my fatall threde.
Till life with loue shall ende I here resigne all ioy:
Thy pleasant swete I now lament whose lack bredes myne anoy
Farewell my deare therfore farewell to me well knowne
If that I die it shalbe sayd that thou hast slaine thine owne.
 

Nature that taught

The louer praieth pity showing that nature hath taught his dog as it were to sue for the same by kissing his ladies handes.
 

Nature that taught my silly dog god wat:
Euen for my sake to like where I do loue,
Inforced him wheras my lady sat
With humble sute before her falling flat.
As in his sorte he might her play and moue
To rue vpon his lord and not forgete
The stedfast faith he beareth her and loue,
Kissing her hand whom she could not remoue.
Away that would for frowning nor for threte
As though he would haue sayd in my behoue.
Pity my lord your slaue that doth remaine
Lest by his death you giltles slay vs twaine.
 

Since thou my ring

Of his ring sent to his lady. (Note: title not offset with spaces in text)

Since thou my ring mayst goe where I ne may.
Since thou mayst speake where I must hold my peace.
Say vnto her that is my liues stay.
Grauen the within which I do here expresse:
That sooner shall the sonne not shine by day,
And with the raine the floodes shall waxen lesse.
Sooner the tree the hunter shall bewray,
Then I for change or choyce of other loue,
Do euer seke my fansy to remoue.
 

For that a restles head

The changeable state of louers.
 

For that a restles head must somewhat haue in vre
Wherwith it may acquaynted be, as falcon is with lure.
Fansy doth me awake out of my drowsy slepe,
In seeing how the little mouse, at night begyns to crepe.
So the desyrous man, that longes to catch hys pray,
In spying how to watch hys tyme, lyeth lurkyng styll by day.
In hopyng for to haue, and fearyng for to fynde
The salue that should recure his sore, & soroweth but the mynde,
Such is the guyse of loue, and the vncertain state,
That some should haue theyr hoped happe, and other hard estate.
That some should seme to ioy in that they neuer had,
And some agayn shall frown as fast, where causeles they be sad.
Such trades do louers vse when they be most at large,
That gyde the stere when they themselues lye fettred in <the> barge.
The grenes of my youth cannot therof expresse
The proces, for by profe vnknowen, all this is but by gesse.
Wherfore I hold it best, in tYme to hold my peace,
But wanton will it cannot hold, or make my pen to cease.
A pen of no auayle, a fruitles labour eke,
My troubled head with fansies fraught, doth payn it self to seke.
And if perhappes my wordes of none auayle do pricke,
Such as do fele the hidden harmes, I would not they shold kicke.
As causeles me to blame which thinketh them no harme,
Although I seme by others fyre, sometime my self to warme.
Which clerely I denye, as gyltles of that cryme,
And though wrong demde I be therin, truth it will trye in tyme.
 

When Audley had runne out

A praise of Audley.
 

When Audley had runne out his race and ended wer his days,
His fame stept forth & bad me write of hi<m> some worthy praise.
What life he lad, what actes he did: his vertues & good name,
Wherto I calde for true report, as witnes of the same.
Wel born he was wel bent by kinde, whose mind did neuer swarue
A skilfull head, a valiant hert, a ready hand to serue.
Brought vp & trained in feats of war long time beyond the seas
Cald home again to serue his prince who<m> styll he sought to please.
What tornay was there he refusde, what seruice did he shone,
Where he was not nor his aduice, what great exploit was done,
In towne a lambe in felde full fierce a lyon at the nede,
In sober wit a Salomon, yet one of Hectors sede.
Then shame it were that any tong shold now defame his dedes
That in his life a mirror was to all that him succedes.
No pore estate nor hie renowne his nature could peruart,
No hard mischaunce that him befel could moue his constant hart.
Thus long he liued loued of all as one mislikt of none,
And where he went who cald him not the gentle Peragon.
But course of kinde doth cause eche frute to fall whe<n> it is ripe,
And spitefull death will suffer none to scape his greuous gripe.
Yet though the ground receiued haue his corps into her wombe,
This epitaphe ygraue in brasse, shall stand vpon his tombe.
 

Lo here he lies that hateth vice, and vertues life imbrast,
His name in earth his sprite aboue deserues to be well plast.
 

Eche thing I se

Time trieth truth.
 

Eche thing I se hath time which time must trye my truth,
Which truth deserues a special trust, on trust gret fre<n>dship gro-weth (Note:  syllable from following line)

And frendship may not faile where faithfulnesse is founde,
And faithfulnesse is ful of frute, & fruteful thinges be sounde.
And sound is good at proufe, and proufe is prince of praise,
And precious praise is such a pearle as seldome ner decayes.
All these thinges time tries forth, which time I must abide,
How shold I boldly credite craue till time my truth haue tryed.
For as I found a time to fall in fansies frame,
So I do wishe a lucky time for to declare the same.
If hap may answere hope and hope may haue his hire,
Then shall my hart possesse in peace the time that I desire.
 

My youthfull yeres are past

The louer refused of his loue imbraceth death.
 

My youthfull yeres are past,
My ioyfull dayes are gone:
My life it may not last,
My graue and I am one.
My mirth and ioyes are fled,
And I a man in wo:
Desirous to be dedde,
My mischiefe to forgo.
I burne and am a colde,
I frise amids the fire:
I see she dothe withholde
That is my most desire.
I see my helpe at hand,
I see my lyfe also:
I see where she dothe stande
That is my deadly foe.
I see how she dothe see,
And yet she will be blinde:
I se in helpyng me
She sekes and will not finde.
I see how she doth wry,
When I begyn to mone:
I see when I come nie,
Hhw (Note: How) faine she wold be gone.
I see what will ye more
She will me gladly kyll:
And you shall see therfore
That she shall haue her will.
I can not liue with stones
It is to hard a fode:
I will be dead at once
To do my Lady good.
 

Behold my picture here

The Picture of a louer.
 

Behold my picture here well portrayed for the nones,
With hart consumed and fallyng flesshe, lo here the very bones.
Whose cruell chaunce alas and desteny is such,
Onely because I put my trust in some folke all to much.
For since the time that I did enter in this pine,
I neuer saw the risyng sunne but with my wepyng eyen.
Nor yet I neuer heard so swete a voice or sounde,
But that to me it did encrease the dolour of my wounde.
Nor in so soft a bedde, alas I neuer laye,
But that it semed hard to me or euer it was daye.
Yet in this body bare that nought but life retaines,
The strength wherof clene past away the care yet still remaines.
Like as the cole in flame dothe spende it selfe you se,
To vaine and wretched cinder dust till it consumed be.
So dothe this hope of mine inforce my feruent sute,
To make me for to gape in vaine, whilst other eate the frute.
And shall do till the death do geue me such a grace,
To rid this sillye wofull spirite out of this dolefull case.
And then wold God were writte in stone or els in leade,
This Epitaphe vpon my graue, to shew why I am deade.
Here lieth the louer loe, who for the loue he aught,
Aliue vnto his ladye dere, his death therby he caught.
And in a shielde of blacke, loe here his armes appeares,
With weping eies as you may see, well poudred all with teares.
Loe here you may beholde, aloft vpon his brest,
A womans hand strainyng the hart of him that loued her best.
Wherfore all you that se this corps for loue that starues,
Example make vnto you all, that thankelesse louers sarues.
 

Bewaile with me all ye

Of the death of Phillips.
 

Bewaile with me all ye that haue profest,
Of musicke tharte by touche of coarde or winde:
Laye downe your lutes and let your gitterns rest,
Phillips is dead whose like you can not finde.
Of musicke much exceadyng all the rest,
Muses therfore of force now must you wrest.
Your pleasant notes into an other sounde,
The string is broke, the lute is dispossest,
The hand is colde, the bodye in the grounde.
The lowring lute lamenteth now therfore,
Phillips her frende that can her touche no more.
 

I see there is no sort

That all thing sometime finde ease of their paine, saue onely the louer.
 

I See there is no sort,
Of thinges that liue in griefe:
Which at sometime may not resort,
Wheras they haue reliefe.
The striken dere by kinde,
Of death that standes in awe:
For his recure an herbe can finde,
The arrow to withdrawe.
The chased dere hath soile,
To coole him in his het:
The asse after his wery toyle,
In stable is vp set.
 

The conye hath his caue,
The little birde his nest:
From heate and colde them selues to saue,
At all times as they lyst.
The owle with feble sight,
Lieth lurkyng in the leaues:
The sparrow in the frosty nyght,
May shroude her in the eaues.
 

But wo to me alas,
In sunne nor yet in shade.
I can not finde a restyng place,
My burden to vnlade.
But day by day still beares,
The burden on my backe:
With wepyng eyen and watry teares,
To holde my hope abacke.
All thinges I see haue place,
Wherin they bowe or bende:
Saue this alas my wofull case,
Which no where findeth ende.
 

When Cupide scaled first

Thassault of Cupide vpon the fort where the louers hart lay wounded and how he was taken.
 

When Cupide scaled first the fort,
Wherin my hart lay wounded sore:
The battry was of such a sort
That I must yelde or dye therfore.
There saw I loue vpon the wall,
How he his banner did display:
Alarme alarme he gan to call,
And bad his souldiours kepe aray.
The armes the which that Cupide bare
Were pearced harts with teares besprent:
In siluer and sable to declare
The stedfast loue he alwayes ment.
There might you se his band all drest,
In colours like to white and blacke:
With powder and with pellets prest,
To bring the fort to spoile and sacke.
Good will the master of the shot,
Stode in the rampyre braue and proud:
For spence of powder he spared not,
Assault assault to crye aloude.
There might you heare the cannons rore
Eche pece discharged a louers loke:
Which had the power to rent, and tore
In any place whereas they toke.
And euen with the trumpets sowne,
The scalyng ladders were vp set:
And beauty walked vp and downe
With bow in hand and arrowes whet.
Then first desire began to scale,
And shrowded him vnder his targe:
As on the worthiest of them all,
And aptest for to geue the charge.
Then pusshed souldiers with their pikes
And holbarders with handy strokes:
The hargabushe in fleshe it lightes,
And dims the ayre with misty smokes.
And as it is the souldiers vse,
When shot and powder gins to want:
I hanged vp my flagge of truce,
And pleaded for my liues graunt.
When fansy thus had made her breach
And beauty entred with her bande:
With bag and baggage selye wretch,
I yelded into beauties hand.
Then beawty bad to blow retrete,
And euery soldiour to retire.
And mercy wilde with spede to fet:
Me captiue bound as prisoner.
Madame (quoth I) sith that thys day,
Hath serued you at all assaies:
I yeld to you without delay,
Here of the fortresse all the kaies.
And sith that I haue ben the marke,
At whom you shot at with youe eye:
Nedes must you with your handy warke,
Or salue my sore or let me dye.
 

I lothe that I did loue

The aged louer renounceth loue.
 

I Lothe that I did loue,
In youth that I thought swete:
As time requires for my behoue
Me thinkes they are not mete,
My lustes they do me leaue,
My fansies all be fledde:
And tract of time begins to weaue,
Gray heares vpon my hedde.
For age with stelyng steppes,
Hath clawed me with his cowche:
And lusty life away she leapes,
As there had bene none such.
My muse dothe not delight
Me as she did before:
My hand and pen are not in plight,
As they haue bene of yore.
For reason me denies,
This youthly idle rime:
And day by day to me she cryes,
Leaue of these toyes in time.
The wrincles in my brow,
The furrowes in my face:
Say limpyng age will hedge him now,
Where youth must geue him place.
The harbinger of death,
To me I see him ride:
The cough, the colde, the gaspyng breath,
Dothe bid me to prouide.
A pikeax and a spade,
And eke a shrowdyng shete,
A house of claye for to be made,
For such a gest most mete.
Me thinkes I heare the clarke,
That knols the careful knell:
And bids me leaue my wofull warke,
Er nature me compell.
My kepers knit the knot,
That youth did laugh to scorne:
Of me that clene shalbe forgot,
As I had not ben borne.
Thus must I youth geue vp,
Whose badge I long did weare:
To them I yelde the wanton cup
That better may it beare.
Loe here the bared scull,
By whose balde signe I know:
That stoupyng age away shall pull,
Which youthfull yeres did sowe.
For beauty with her bande
These croked cares hath wrought:
And shipped me into the lande,
From whence I first was brought.
And ye that bide behinde,
Haue ye none other trust:
As ye of claye were cast by kinde,
So shall ye waste to dust.
 

To liue to dye

Of the ladie wentworthes death.
 

To liue to dye, and dye to liue againe,
With good renowne of fame well led before
Here lieth she that learned had the lore,
Whom if the perfect vertues wolden daine.
To be set forth with foile of worldly grace,
Was noble borne and matcht in noble race,
Lord Wentworthes wife, nor wa<n>ted to attain
In natures giftes her praise among the rest,
But that that gaue her praise aboue the best
Not fame her wedlocks chastnes durst distain
Wherein with child deliueryng of her wombe,
Thuntimely birth hath brought them both in tombe (Note:  from following line)

So left she life by death to liue again.
 

The smoky sighes

The louer accusing hys loue for her vnfaithfulnesse, pnrposeth (Note: purposeth) to liue in libertie.
 

The smoky sighes the bitter teares,
That I in vaine haue wasted:
The broken slepes, the wo and feares,
That long in me haue lasted:
The loue and all I owe to thee,
Here I renounce and make me free.
Which fredome I haue by thy guilt,
And not by my deseruing,
Since so vnconstantly thou wilt,
Not loue, but still be swaruyng.
To leue me oft which was thine owne,
Without cause why as shalbe knowen.
The frutes were faire the which did grow,
Within thy garden planted,
 

The leaues were grene of euery bough,
And moysture nothing wanted,
Yet or the blossoms gan to fall,
The caterpiller wasted all.
Thy body was the garden place,
And sugred wordes it beareth,
The blossomes all thy faith it was,
Which as the canker wereth.
The cater piller is the same,
That hath wonne thee and lost thy name.
I meane thy louer loued now,
By thy pretended folye,
Which will proue lyke, thou shalt fynd how,
Vnto a tree of holly:
That barke and bery beares alwayes,
The one, byrdes feedes, the other slayes.
And right well mightest thou haue thy wish
Of thy loue new acquaynted:
For thou art lyke vnto the dishe
That Adrianus paynted:
Wherin wer grapes portrayd so fayre
That fowles for foode did there repayre.
 

But I am lyke the beaten fowle
That from the net escaped,
And thou art lyke the rauening owle
That all the night hath waked.
For none intent but to betray
The sleping fowle before the day.
Thus hath thy loue been vnto me
As pleasant and commodious,
As was the fyre made on the sea
By Naulus hate so odious.
Therwith to trayn the grekish host
From Troyes return where they wer lost.
 

As Cypres tree that rent

The louer for want of his desyre, sheweth his death at hand.
 

As Cypres tree that rent is by the roote.
As branch or slyppe bereft from whe<n>ce it growes
As well sowen seede for drought that can not sproute
As gaping ground that raineles can not close
As moules that want the earth to do them bote
As fishe on lande to whom no water flowes,
As Chameleon that lackes the ayer so sote.
As flowers do fade when Phebus rarest showes.
As salamandra repulsed from the fyre:
So wanting my wishe I dye for my desyre
 

The shinyng season

A happy end excedeth all plea. (Note: -)sures and riches of the worlde,
 

The shinyng season here to some,
The glory in the worldes sight,
Renowmed fame through fortune wonne
The glitteryng golde the eyes delight.
The sensuall life that semes so swete,
The hart with ioyfull dayes replete,
The thing wherto eche wight is thrall,
The happy ende exceadeth all.
 

O temerous tauntres

Against an vnstedfast woman.
 

O Temerous tauntres that delights in toyes
Tumbling cockboat tottryng to and fro,
Ianglyng iestres depraueres of swete ioyes,
Ground of the graffe whence al my grief dothe grow (Note:  from following line)

Sullen serpent enuironned w<ith> dispite,
That yll for good at all times doest requite.
 

O petrarke hed and prince

A praise of Petrarke and of Laura his ladie.
 

O Petrarke hed and prince of poets all,
Whose liuely gift of flowyng eloquence,
Wel may we seke, but finde not how or whence
So rare a gift with thee did rise and fall,
Peace to thy bones, and glory immortall
Be to thy name, and to her excellence.
Whose beauty lighted in thy time and sence
So to be set forth as none other shall.
Why hath not our pens rimes so p<er>fit wrought
Ne why our time forth bringeth beauty such
To trye our wittes as golde is by the touche,
If to the stile the matter aided ought.
But therwas (Note: ther was) neuer Laura more then one,
And her had petrarke for his paragone,
 

With petrarke to compare

That petrark cannot be passed but notwithstanding that Lawra is far surpassed.
 

With petrarke to compare there may no wight,
Nor yet attain vnto so high a stile,
But yet I wote full well where is a file.,
To frame a learned man to praise aright:
Of stature meane of semely forme and shap,
Eche line of iust proporsion to her height:
Her colour freshe and mingled with such sleight:
As though the rose sate in the lilies lap.
In wit and tong to shew what may be sed,
To euery dede she ioynes a parfit grace,
If Lawra liude she would her clene deface.
For I dare say and lay my life to wed
That Momus could not if he downe discended,
Once iustly say lo this may be amended.
 

Cruell and vnkind

Against a cruell woman.
 

Cruell and vnkind whom mercy cannot moue,
Herbour of vnhappe where rigours rage doth raigne,
The ground of my griefe where pitie cannot proue:
To tickle to trust of all vntruth the traine,
thou rigorous rocke that ruth cannot remoue.
Daungerous delph depe dungeon of disdaine:
The sacke of selfe will the chest of craft and change,
What causeth the thus so causels for to change.
Ah piteles plante whome plaint cannot prouoke,
Darke den of disceite that right doth still refuse,
Causles vnkinde that carieth vnder cloke
Cruelty and craft me onely to abuse,
Statelye and stubberne withstanding cupides stroke,
Thou merueilouse mase that makest men to muse,
Solleyn by selfe will, most stony stiffe and straunge,
What causeth thee thus causelesse for to chaunge.
Slipper and secrete where surety can not sowe
Net of newelty, neast of newfanglenesse,
Spring of very spite, from whence whole fluddes do flow,
Thou caue and cage of care and craftin esse (Note: craftinesse)

Waueryng willow that euery blast dothe blowe
Graffe withouten grothe and cause of carefulnesse.
The heape of mishap of all my griefe the graunge,
What causeth thee thus causelesse for to chaunge.
Hast thou forgote that I was thine infeft,
By force of loue haddest thou not hart at all,
Sawest thou not other that for thy loue were left
Knowest thou vnkinde, that nothing mught befall
From out my hart that could haue the bereft.
What meanest thou then at ryot thus to raunge,
And leauest thine owne that neuer thought to chaunge.
 

If it were so that God

The louer sheweth what he would haue if it were graunted him to haue what he would wishe.
 

If it were so that God would graunt me my request,
And that I might of earthly thinges haue <that> I liked best.
I would not wishe to clime to princely hye astate,
which slipper is and slides so oft, and hath so fickle fate.
Nor yet to conquere realmes with cruell sworde in hande,
And so to shede the giltlesse bloude of such as would withstand.
Nor I would not desire in worldly rule to raigne,
Whose frute is all vnquietnesse, and breakyng of the braine.
Nor richesse in excesse of vertue so abhorde,
I would not craue which bredeth care and causeth all discorde.
But my request should be more worth a thousand folde:
That I might haue and her enioye that hath my hart in holde.
Oh God what lusty life should we liue then for euer,
In pleasant ioy and perfect blisse, to length our liues together.
With wordes of frendlye chere, and lokes of liuely loue,
To vtter all our hotte desires, which neuer should remoue.
But grose and gredie wittes which grope but on the ground.
To gather muck of worldly goodes which oft do them confounde.
Can not attaine to knowe the misteries deuine
Of perfite loue wherto hie wittes of knowledge do incline
A nigard of his gold suche ioye can neuer haue
which gettes w<ith> toile and kepes with care and is his money slaue.
As they enioy alwayes that taste loue in his kinde,
For they do holde continually a heauen in their minde.
No worldly goodes could bring my hart so great an ease,
As for to finde or do the thing that might my ladye please.
For by her onely loue my hart should haue all ioye,
And with the same put care away, and all that coulde annoy.
As if that any thyng shold chance to make me sadde,
The touching of her corall lippes would straighteways make me gladde, (Note:  from following line)

And when that in my heart I fele that dyd me greue
With one imbracing of her armes she might me sone releue:
And as the Angels all which sit in heauen hye
With presence and the sight of god haue theyr felicitie.
So lykewyse I in earth, should haue all earthly blis,
With presence of that paragon, my god in earth that is.
 

To loue, alas

The lady forsaken of her louer, prayeth his returne, or the end of her own life.
 

To loue, alas, who would not feare
That seeth my wofull state,
For he to whom my heart I beare
Doth me extremely hate,
And why therfore I cannot tell,
He will no lenger with me dwell.
Did you not sewe and long me serue
Ere I you graunted grace?
And will you this now from me swarue
That neuer did trespace?
Alas poore woman then alas,
A wery lyfe here must I passe.
And is there now no remedy
But that you will forgeat her,
Ther was a tyme when that perdy
You would haue heard her better.
But now that time is gone and past,
And all your loue is but a blast.
And can you thus breake your behest
In dede and can you so?
Did you not sweare you loude me best,
And can you now say no?
Remember me poore wight in payne,
And for my sake turne once agayne.
Alas poore Dido now I fele
Thy present paynful state,
When salse (Note: false) Eneas did hym stele
From thee at Carthage gate.
And left thee sleapyng in thy bedde,
Regardyng not what he had sayd.
Was neuer woman thus betrayed,
Nor man so false forsworne,
His faith and trouth so strongly tayed,
Vntruth hath alltotorne:
And I haue leaue for my good will,
To waile and wepe alone my fill.
But since it will not better be,
My teares shall neuer blyn:
To moist the earth in such degree,
That I may drowne therin:
That by my death all men may saye,
Lo women are as true as they.
By me all women may beware,
That see my wofull smart,
To seke true loue let them not spare,
Before they set their hart.
Or els they may become as I,
Which for my truth am like to dye.
 

In fredome was my fantasie

The louer yelden into his ladies handes, praieth mercie.
 

In fredome was my fantasie
Abhorryng bondage of the minde,
But now I yelde my libertie,
And willingly my selfe I binde.
Truely to serue with all my hart,
Whiles life doth last not to reuart.
Her beauty bounde me first of all
And forst my will for to consent:
And I agree to be her thrall,
For as she list I am content.
My will is hers in that I may,
And where she biddes I will obey.
It lieth in her my wo or welth,
She may do that she liketh best,
If that she list I haue my helth,
If she list not in wo I rest.
Sins I am fast within her bandes,
My wo and welth lieth in her handes.
She can no lesse then pitie me,
Sith that my faith to her is knowne,
It were to much extremitie,
With cruelty to vse her owne.
Alas a sinnefull enterprice,
To slay that yeldes at her deuice.
But I thinke not her hart so harde,
Nor that she hath such cruell lust:
I doubt nothing of her reward,
For my desert but well I trust,
As she hath beauty to allure,
So hath she a hart that will recure.
 

Among dame natures workes

That nature which worketh al thinges for our behofe, hath made women also for our comfort and delite.
 

Among dame natures workes such perfite lawe is wrought,
That things be ruled by course of kinde in order as they ought
And serueth in their state, in such iust frame and sorte,
That slender wits may iudge the same, & make therof report.
Beholde what secrete force the winde dothe easely showe,
Which guides the shippes amid the seas if he his bellowes blow
The waters wax en (Note: waxen) wilde where blustering blastes do rise,
Yet seldome do they passe their bond es (Note: bondes) for nature that deuise.
The fire which boiles the leade and trieth out the golde:
Hath in his power both help and hurt if he his force vnfolde.
The frost which kilth the fruite doth knit the brused bones:
And is a medecin of kind prepared for the nones.
The earth in whose entrails the foode of man doth liue,
At euery spring and fall of leafe what plesure doth she giue.
The aier which life desires and is to helth so swete
Of nature yeldes such liuely smelles that co<m>fortes euery sprete.
The sonne through natures might doth draw away the dew,
And spredes <the> flowers where he is wo<n>t his princely face to shew
The Mone which may be cald the lanterne of the night,
Is halfe a guide to traueling men such vertue hath her light.
The sters not vertuelesse are bewtie to the eies,
A lodes man to the mariner a signe of calmed skies.
The flowers and fruitefull trees to man doe tribute pay,
And when they haue their duety done by course they fade away.
Eche beast both fishe and foule, doth offer lief and all,
To norishe man and do him ease yea serue him at his call.
The serpentes venemous, whose vglye shapes we hate,
Are soueraigne salues for sondry sores, & nedefull in their state.
Sith nature shewes her power, in eche thing thus at large,
Why should not man submit hymself to be in natures charge
Who thinkes to flee her force, at length becomes her thrall,
The wysest cannot slip her snare, for nature gouernes all.
Lo, nature gaue vs shape, lo nature fedes our lyues:
The<n> they are worse the<n> mad I think, against her force <that> striues.
Though some do vse to say, which can do nought but fayne,
Women were made for this intent, to put vs men to payne.
Yet sure I think they are a pleasure to the mynde,
A ioy which man can neuer want, as nature hath assynde.

To my mishap alas I fynde

when aduersitie is once fallen, it is to late to beware.
 

To my mishap alas I fynde
That happy hap is daungerous:
And fortune worketh but her kynd
To make the ioyfull dolorous.
But all to late it comes to minde,
To waile the want that makes me blinde,
Amid my mirth and pleasantnesse,
Such chaunce is chaunced sodainly,
That in dispaire without redresse,
I finde my chiefest remedy.
No new kinde of vnhappinesse,
Should thus haue left me comfortlesse.
Who wold haue thought that my request,
Should bring me forth such bitter frute:
But now is hapt that I feard lest,
And all this harme comes by my sute,
For when I thought me happiest,
Euen then hapt all my chiefe vnrest.
In better case was neuer none
And yet vnwares thus am I trapt,
My chiefe desire doth cause me mone,
And to my harme my welth is hapt,
There is no man but I alone,
That hath such cause to sigh and mone.
Thus am I taught for to beware
And trust no more such pleasant chance,
My happy happe bred me this care,
And brought my mirth to great mischance.
There is no man whom happe will spare,
But when she list his welth is bare.
 

Al you that frendship

Of a louer that made his onelye God of his loue.
 

Al yon (Note: you) that frendship do professe,
And of a frende present the place:
Geue eare to me that did possesse,
As frendly frutes as ye imbrace.
And to declare the circumstaunce,
There were them selues that did auaunce:
To teache me truely how to take,
A faithfull frende for vertues sake.
But I as one of little skill,
To know what good might grow therby,
Vnto my welth I had no will,
Nor to my nede I had none eye,
But as the childe dothe learne to go,
So I in time did learne to know.
Of all good frutes the worlde brought forth,
A faythfull frende is thing most worth.
Then with all care I sought to finde,
One worthy to receiue such trust:
One onely that was riche in minde,
One secrete, sober, wise, and iust.
Whom riches coulde not raise at all,
Nor pouertie procure to fall:
And to be short in few wordes plaine,
One such a frend I did attaine.
And when I did enioy this welth,
Who liued Lord in such a case,
For to my frendes it was great helth,
And to my foes a fowle deface,
Aad (Note: And) to my selfe a thing so riche
As seke the worlde and finde none sich
Thus by this frende I set such store,
As by my selfe I set no more.
This frende so much was my delight
When care had clene orecome my hart,
One thought of her rid care as quite,
As neuer care had caused my smarte
Thus ioyed I in my frende so dere
Was neuer frende sate man so nere,
I carde for her so much alone,
That other God I carde for none.
But as it dothe to them befall,
That to them selues respect haue none:
So my swete graffe is growen to gall,
Where I sowed mirthe I reaped mone
This ydoll that I honorde so,
Is now transformed to my fo.
That me most pleased me most paynes,
And in dispaire my hart remaines.
And for iust scourge of such desart,
Thre plages I may my selfe assure,
First of my frende to lose my parte,
And next my life may not endure,
And last of all the more to blame,
My soule shall suffer for the same,
Wherfore ye frendes I warne you all,
Sit faste for feare of such a fall,
 

Death and the kyng

Vpon the death of sir Antony Denny.
 

Death and the kyng did as it were contende,
Which of them two bare Denny greatest loue.
The king to shew his loue gan farre extende,
Did him aduaunce his betters farre aboue.
Nere place, much welthe, great honour eke him gaue,
To make it knowen what power great princes haue.
 

But when death came with his triumphant gift,
From worldly cark he quite his weried ghost,
Free from the corps, and straight to heauen it lift,
Now deme that can who did for Denny most.
The king gaue welth but fadyng and vnsure,
Death brought him blisse that euer shall endure.
 

Lyke as the brake

A comparison of the louers paines.
 

Lyke as the brake within the riders hande,
Dothe strayne the horse nye woode with griefe of payne,
Not vsed before to come in such a bande,
Striueth for griefe, although godwot (Note: god wot) in vayne.
To be as erst he was at libertie,
But force of force dothe straine the contrary.
Euen so since band dothe cause my deadly griefe,
That made me so my wofull chaunce lament,
Like thing hath brought me into paine and mischiefe,
Saue willingly to it I did assent.
To binde the thing in fredome which was free,
That now full sore alas repenteth me.
 

Svche grene to me

Of a Rosemary braunche sente.
 

Svche grene to me as you haue sent,
Such grene to you I sende agayn:
A flowring hart that wyll not feint,
For drede of hope or losse of gaine:
A stedfast thought all wholy bent,
So that he maye your grace obtain:
As you by proofe haue alwaies sene,
To liue your owne and alwayes grene.
 

As I haue bene

To his loue of his constant hart.
 

As I haue bene so will I euer be,
Vnto my death and lenger yf I might.
Haue I of loue the frendly lokyng eye,
Haue I of fortune the fauour or the spite,
I am of rock by proofe as you may see:
Not made of waxe nor of no metall light,
As leefe to dye, by chaunge as to deceaue,
Or breake the promise made. And so I leaue.
 

The golden apple

Of the token which his loue sent him.
 

The golden apple that the Troyan boy,
Gaue to Venus the fayrest of the thre,
Which was the cause of all the wrack of Troy,
Was not receiued with a greater ioye,
Then was the same (my loue) thou sent to me,
It healed my sore it made my sorowes free,
It gaue me hope it banisht mine annoy:
Thy happy hand full oft of me was blist,
That can geue such a salue when that thou list.
 

Tho Cowerd oft

Manhode auaileth not without good Fortune.
 

Tho Cowerd oft whom deinty viandes fed,
That bosted much his ladies eares to please,
By helpe of them whom vnder him he led
Hath reapt the palme that valiance could not cease.
The vnexpert that shoores vnknowen neare sought,
Whom Neptune yet apaled not with feare:
In wandryng shippe on trustlesse seas hath tought,
The skill to fele that time to long doth leare.
The sportyng knight that scorneth Cupides kinde,
With faned chere the payned cause to brede:
In game vnhides the leden sparkes of minde,
And gaines the gole, where glowyng flames should spede,
Thus I see proufe that trouth and manly hart,
May not auayle, if fortune chaunce to start.
 

Though in the waxe

That constancy of all vertues is most worthy.
 

Though in the waxe a perfect picture made,
Dothe shew as fayre as in the marble stone,
Yet do we see it is estemed of none,
Because that fire or force the forme dothe fade.
Wheras the marble holden is full dere,
Since that endures the date of lenger dayes.
Of Diamondes it is the greatest prayse,
So long to last and alwayes one tappere.
 

Then if we do esteme that thing for best,
Which in perfection lengest time dothe last:
And that most vayne that turnes with euery blast
What iewell then with tonge can be exprest.
Like to that hart where loue hath framed such fethe,
That can not fade but by the force of dethe.
 

Thestilis thou sely man

A comfort to the complaynt of Thestilis.
 

Thestilis thou sely man, why dost thou so complaine,
If nedes thy loue will thee forsake, thy mourning is in vaine.
For none can force the streames against their course to ronne,
Nor yet vnwillyng loue with teares or wailyng can be wonne.
Cease thou therfore thy plaintes, let hope thy sorowes ease,
The shipmen though their sailes be rent yet hope to scape the seas
Though straunge she seme a while, yet thinke she will not chau<n>ge
Good causes driue a ladies loue, sometime to seme full straunge.
No louer that hath wit, but can forsee such happe,
That no wight can at wish or will slepe in his ladies lappe.
Achilles for a time fayre Brises did forgo,
Yet did they mete with ioye againe, then thinke thou maist do so.
Though he and louers al in loue sharpe stormes do finde,
Dispaire not thou pore Thestilis though thy loue seme vnkinde.
Ah thinke her graffed loue can not so sone decay,
Hie springes may cease from swellyng styll, but neuer dry away
Oft stormes of louers yre, do more their loue encrease:
As shinyng sunne refreshe the frutes whe<n> rainyng gins to cease.
When springes are waxen lowe, then must they flow againe,
So shall thy hart aduaunced be, to pleasure out of paine.
When lacke of thy delight most bitter griefe apperes,
Thinke on Etrascus worthy loue that lasted thirty yeres,
Which could not long atcheue his hartes desired choyse,
Yet at the ende he founde rewarde that made him to reioyce.
Since he so long in hope with pacience did remaine,
Can not thy feruent loue forbeare thy loue a moneth or twaine.
Admit she minde to chaunge and nedes will thee forgo,
Is there no mo may thee delight but she that paynes thee so?
Thestilis draw to the towne and loue as thou hast done,
In time thou knowest by faythfull loue as good as she is wonne.
And leaue the desert woodes and waylyng thus alone
And seke to salue thy sore els where, if all her loue be gonne.
 

Lyke as the rage of raine

The vncertaine state of a louer.
 

Lyke as the rage of raine,
Filles riuers with excesse,
And as the drought againe,
Dothe draw them lesse and lesse.
So I bothe fall and clyme,
With no and yea sometime.
As they swell hye and hye,
So dothe encrease my state,
As they fall drye and drye
So doth my wealth abate,
As yea is mixt with no,
So mirthe is mixt with wo.
As nothing can endure,
That liues and lackes reliefe,
So nothing can stande sure,
Where chaunge dothe raigne as chiefe.
Wherfore I must intende,
To bowe when others bende.
And when they laugh to smile,
And when they wepe to waile,
And when they craft, begile,
And when they fight, assayle,
And thinke there is no chaunge,
Can make them seme to straunge.
Oh most vnhappy slaue,
What man may leade this course,
To lacke he would faynest haue,
Or els to do much worse.
These be rewardes for such,
As liue and loue to much.
 

At libertie I sit and see

The louer in libertie smileth at them in thraldome, that sometime scorned his bondage.
 

At libertie I sit and see,
Them that haue erst laught me to scorne:
Whipt with the whip that scourged me,
And now they banne that they were borne.
I see them sit full soberlye,
And thinke their earnest lokes to hide:
Now in them selues they can not spye,
That they or this in me haue spied.
I see them sittyng all alone,
Markyng the steppes ech worde and loke:
And now they treade where I haue gone
The painfull pathe that I forsoke.
Now I see well I saw no whit,
When they saw well that now are blinde
But happy hap hath made me quit,
And iust iudgement hath them assinde.
I see them wander all alone,
And trede full fast in dredfull dout:
The selfe same pathe that I haue gone,
Blessed be hap that brought me out.
At libertie all this I see,
And say no worde but erst among:
Smiling at them that laught at me,
Lo such is hap marke well my song.
 

I read how Troylus

A comparison of his loue wyth the faithfull and painful loue of Troylus to Creside.
 

I Read how Troylus serued in Troy,
A lady long and many a day,
And how he bode so great anoy,
For her as all the stories saye.
That halfe the paine had neuer man,
Which had this wofull Troyan than.
His youth, his sport, his pleasant chere,
His courtly state and company,
In him so straungly altred were,
With such a face of contrary.
That euery ioye became a wo,
This poyson new had turned him so.
And what men thought might most him ease
And most that for his comfort stode,
The same did most his minde displease,
And set him most in furious mode,
For all his pleasure euer lay,
To thinke on her that was away,
His chamber was his common walke,
Wherin he kept him seretely, (Note: secretely)

He made his bedde the place of talke,
To heare his great extremitie.
In nothing els had he delight,
But euen to be a martyr right.
And now to call her by her name
And straight therwith to sigh and throbbe:
And when his fansyes might not frame,
Then into teares and so to sobbe,
All in extreames and thus he lyes
Making two fountayns of his eyes.
As agues haue sharpe shiftes of fittes
Of colde and heat successiuely:
So had his head like chaunge of wittes:
His pacience wrought so diuersly.
Now vp, now downe, now here, now there,
Like one that was he wist not where.
And thus though he were Pryams sonne
And commen of the kinges hie bloude,
This care he had er he her wonne.
Till shee that was his maistresse good,
And lothe to see her seruaunt so,
Became Phisicion to his wo.
And toke him to her handes and grace,
And said she would her minde apply,
To helpe him in his wofull case,
If she might be his remedy.
And thus they say to ease his smart,
She made him owner of her hart.
And truth it is except they lye,
From that day forth her study went,
To shew to loue him faithfully,
And his whole minde full to content.
So happy a man at last was he,
And eke so worthy a woman she.
Lo lady then iudge you by this,
Mine ease and how my case dothe fall,
For sure betwene my life and his,
No difference there is at all.
His care was great so was his paine,
And mine is not the lest of twaine.
For what he felt in seruice true
For her whom that he loued so,
The same I fele as large for you,
To whom I do my seruice owe,
There was that time in him no payne,
But now the same in me dothe raine.
Which if you can compare and waye,
And how I stande in euery plight,
Then this for you I dare well saye,
Your hart must nedes remorce of right
To graunt me grace and so to do,
As Creside then did Troylus to.
For well I wot you are as good
And euen as faire as euer was shee,
And commen of as worthy bloode,
And haue in you as large pitie.
To tender me your owne true man,
As she did him her seruaunt than.
Which gift I pray God for my sake,
Full sone and shortly you me sende,
So shall you make my sorowes slake,
So shall you bring my wo to ende.
And set me in as happy case,
As Troylus with his lady was.