on the schoole That learnyng leanes vnto a rotten bowe And Science walks but like a ridyng foole Yea tong and penne are bothe to weake a toole To woorke for gaine in greedie worlde God knowes Where Fortunes flood to needlesse riuer goes Some drinkes their fill yet mak's the worlde beleue Well hedde is drie where water freely glides When poore men weepe sutche laugh within their sleue And smothly looke yet wisely watche their tides In brimmest stormes their Barks at Anker rides When fire would burne so snatche the coales awaie If fauour were in triall as it seems The noble Court a lone were Churchardes staie The fountaine hedde where bubblyng springs do plaie Is fittest place for tree but newly cropt If Cocke would ronne and Conduit were not stopt Who stands belowe and looks till Apples fall And hopes to eate that others shaketh doune Is like to catche a shadowe from a wall Or watche a ball that neuer giu's reboune Constrainde to crie to her that wears the croune I waite myne howre or foerst to parte the lande Thus helplesse man seek's helpe at Caesars hande FINIS ¶ The louers of the worlde I See their sleights and secrete science That sues to serue and are out caste I see those Dames that drawes the lines That shutts the netts when fishe are fast I see some stande and craue a looke Like eager haukes that watche their praie For want of baite thei bite the hooke Like louyng wormes thei spende the daie I see some smile that makes men smart Whiche liu's vnlearnde in louers lawes Yet with their witts and wilie arte With fondlyngs foode thei feede the Dawes Light triflyng toies will children please As well as gold or presious stones The faunyng whelpps thinkes them at ease When fleshe is gone to gnawe the bones I see thee still and quiet sorte When sutche as I the sturdie tempest tries And yeelds to shocks as swellyng surges ries More bold then wise to trouble Casars cares With bare deuise and deawe of barraine braine But dangers doubt and dread of further feares Bids homely gest be bolde and plie the maine Through hazardes greate a gobb of gold we gaine The Dice must ronne and sutche as light on lucke Maie liue from lacke and weald this worldly mucke The Marchant thriu's through ventring ship and goods If vessell scape a flawe or Pirats sleight The Soldiours gaine their fame by manly moods And winns the feeld where coward dare not feight The suter maie not sleepe in things of weight But watche and speake and venter boldly throwe Thei come by fruite that clims the highest bowe Blinde Deastnie deals the dole when all is done Toile reaps but teares and trothe hath emptie hande In vaine the wise about the worlde doeth roune For staie of state that doeth in Destnie stande The haplesse then doeth builde his house on sande No penne preuailes no seruice winns reward Till labours long by Fortune be prefard Where Ladders lacke in vaine the clouds he climes No connyng helpes nor courage can doe good At Cannon mouthe then laye doune idell Rimes And win the reste by death and losse of blood Where seas are drie in vaine we fishe the modd Where neither suite nor seruice getteth grace Flie from the foile and giue fonde Fortune place It maie be so amid the moste extreemes Whiche sitts and marks these ianglyng Iayes Yet findeth game and goodly sport To see sutche birds caught in the spraies I see them laugh when louers lowre There doettyng tyme hath taught them witte Who knowes what meanes bothe sweete and sowre Will flie the force of fancies fitte I see some sheepe but yet no fooles Whiche vse to roome emong the rout Yea skilfull scholers of the schooles For thei can chuse the fairest out The Hunter knowes the fattest Deare Amid the heard where game doeth ronne These men likewise as doeth appeare Emong the Starrs findes out the Sonne I see how crafte can cloke his care And paint his plaints in paper plaine As Marchants doe set forthe their ware And lye full loude for little gaine I see how trothe would tell his taile And through he goes emong the swarme I see how beutie makes a stale To take yong frie that thinks no harme Mutche more is seen that scapes myne eyes An Argoes were full rare to finde This is a glasse to showe the wise That wilfull loue is euer blinde It thinks it doeth it self so shroude That none can see his trade nor trace How should he walke with in a cloude When loue is written in his face Finis ¶ Of a noble mynde THe noble minde that scornes to stoupe at base and wretched things As quicke as thought mountes vp the Skies with swifte aspiryng wings Not lookyng doune to dedde delits that drounds the witts in drosse And carries weake and simple brains about with mucke and mosse But bearyng harte and hedde so hie as iudgement well maie goe The hautie sprit climes through the clouds leau's vain world beloe I meane the manly courage greate that stoutly striues for state Disdains the doltishe donghill Kites and flies the Fancons greate And commyng once to mountain topp from whence men se the vale A loft it keepes like gallant Barke that hath a bouncyng gale Then clap on cloutes and sea roume seeke adue the doubtfull shore In shallowe streame or riuers small we harbour ship no more To loftie seas whose wawes do worke with eche small wind y t bloes Set course and Barke that Pilotes sage maie se how fortune goes The minde is base that diggs and delues where Deastnie scorns to dwel In highest soiles are heauēs sought on earth is nought but hel Who holds doune hed hangs the groine a cowards hart he bears He dares not looke on shinyng Sonne that eury shadowe fears His combe is cutte his courage gon that droupes or takes disgrace The medson for a greate mischaunce is merrie chearfull face The swetest nutts and fairest fruites from topps of trees we take On highest rocks or stately bowes gaie birds their neasts thei make And nere the ground tame dawes do breed simple doues you finde The carrain Crowe flies here beloe when hauke doeth soer y e winde Wherefore let noble mindes alone their course doeth passe our skill Their harts are fild with pleasant hops that feeds their fancies still FINIS ¶ Of doubtfull hope HIs hope is harde that seeks for fire from froste And feeds on flames of eager fancie still And sowes in hope and reapes but labour loste And wisheth mutche and wastes with want of will Whose mountyng mynde builds castles in the aire And heauie harte lyes drounde in deepe dispaire O restlesse race that like the howre glasse ronns With grains of gréef and so beginns againe O fearfull Fate that all good Fortune shunns Oh torment straunge that hath no ende of paine O dreerie life that death disires in deede Whose twined state vntwistes like feeble threede FINIS Of the flantyng worlde THis worlde is
and talke together still When distance of the tyme and place denies them of their will When furthest of thei seeme thei ioyne in ioye and blis And eurie smart that absence breeds a present pleasure is The fraude and finesse now and tickle trothe in man Maks faithe and freendship thrise as sweete as when it first began In these dessemblyng daies who findes a freende I trowe Hath founde a seconde Phenix sure and needes no further goe Shrine vp that sainct in golde locke vp that Iewell riche Ye cannot in no measures meane of freendship make too mitche FINIS A warnyng from Courte LOoke not for deedes when wordes driu's of the tyme Thei reape but weedes that sowes on barraine grounde Trust not to age when youth is paste his prime Showe not plaine face where finenesse doeth abounde Hope not for grace where Flattrie faunes like whelpe But haunt the place where hope hath readie helpe Spende little wealthe where witte and tyme is loste Creepe from colde Court where freendshipps fire goes out Matche not with Pride nor leane to painted poste Seeke rather Death then liue in daiely doubt Where Enuie liu's and Loue is tournde to luste Good minds doe dye and worlde is not to truste The Sirens song deceiu's the simple eare The hissyng Snake giu's warnyng eare he styng Greate pitts are hid in water smothe and feare The hollowe bell doeth make the sweetest ryng Thus daunger dwells where least the doubt appeers And pleasant feelds doe yeeld moste scratchyng Breers The plainest folke are in the roughest soile The subtlest hedds to golden hâ—ules repaire Who shuns gaie showes shall scape from Fortunes foile Foule weather hangs in Cloudie smilyng aire I can no more but bidde the wise beware Of gallant Court that weares vaine glorie bare FINIS Of a Courtiers life and how the worst sorte findes beste Furtune THis parshall worlde prefarres the fained face And beates hym backe that beares the blotlesse browe As one might saie thei stande in Fortunes grace That worst deseru's and best can flatter now He reaps no Corne that helps to holde the Plowe His gaine is small that labours till he grones He bears the loade that hath the weakest bones The wiely hedde hath witte to watche his howres Like Foxe and Wolfe that seru's them selu's you see The idell hands that neuer planted flowres Takes Honie sweete from sillie labryng Bee Though Fauken faire for Ducke or Partrige flee He feedes on Beefe or other baser meate Thus are thei seru'd that oft doe toile and sweate Some rouns full swift yet still the wager loes Men haue sutche sleight to tripp their fellowes doune We knowe not how the wheele of Fortune goes Nor wherein rests our wealth or right renowne The tromp of Fame giu's sutche vncertaine sowne That badd are good and good haue but badd lucke In happie thyngs or gaine of worldly mucke Next walkyng Iaads and whipyng horses heeles Is Soldiours craft and waityng Courtiers trade The one in feeld bothe cold and honger feeles The other here at home a drudge is made Well all is one to sitt in Sonne or shade If happ giue all no matter who doeth sowe He reaps moste Corne whose Sieth shall furthest goe FINIS Of woordes spoken by a greate personage I Liue that dieth eurie howre my glasse is nere hande roime I fall awaie as doeth a flowre that withers in the Sonne O death dispatche my dolefull daies defar no tyme here in Good Lachis make thou no delaies my fatal threde to spin Thou Clarke I saie that for thy fee doeth ryng the carefull knell Now let me haue some helpe of thee to tolle my passyng bell If by the waie I maie prouoke to shorten now my life This hande of myne shall strike the stroke y t sone shall stint my strife I muse why God did me create and breathd life in my breste And brought me vp to this estate that nere enioyed no reste Why was I fed with milke so oft and pampred vp so long Why was I rockt and laied so softe and lullde with many a song Why was not I vntymely borne when Nature had me wrought That liueth thus as man forlorne and still consumes with thought The Midwife might haue cas'd all this if strangled had I bin Then had my soule been saffe in blis that now lyes dround in sin But looke what God assignde is doen what should I reason more O Lorde my God what hast thou won in plagyng me so sore What honour canst thou haue by me what glorie canst thou haue What seruice can I doe to thee that wisheth thus my graue And in this plite to dye thou knowest so farre from quiet frame Before I should yeeld vp the ghost I might blaspheme thy name The worlde disdains to see my wealth the heauens on me froune The yearth and aire denies me health and Fortune keeps me doune The daie I driue awaie with care the might I waile and weepe The sighes sobs that comes vnware doeth wake me in my slepe The foode that should my life sustaine I finde therein small taste My blood dries vp in eurie vaine loe how I weare and waste Thus eurie thing doeth change his kinde to worke my woe you see And nothyng seru's me to my minde I fall in sutche degree Would God my graue were ready found my shroudyng shete al And dreadfull Death were surely bounde to come when I doe call Finis ¶ A description of Desire LEd by Desire a thrall where fréedome lyes Helde backe by witte when fancie forward hales My greedie will begiles my gasyng eyes Calde home from craft yet caught in cunnyng stales Drawne from my self and made to others call If daunger come Desire is cause of all Prepard for flight my wings are faste in Lyme I swimme in hope and sincke with deepe consaite Deceiu'd by happ yet learnd by losse of tyme To knowe the hooke and yet must misse the baite But bound and ledde a long by swéete Desire I scorche or burne before I féele the fire Desire lackes sight yet leades the sences blinde And wilfull Will waites hard at Daungers héeles Good spéede full leane comes laggyng farre behinde Close harte saies nought that all the sorrowe féeles So thus the man to Death like captiue goes Ledde by Desire that knowes not freends from foes Our life declares Desire can take no reste In soundest sléepes it keepes the minde awake It is a sprite that closely créepes in breste A priuie thought that Warres and Peace doeth make And whom it leads it either throwes hym doune Or liftes hym vp by happ to greate renowne The Soldiour builds his hope on greate Desire The Marchant getts his gaine and wealth thereby The trauelyng wight it paies with noble 〈◊〉 It heales the harte that in Dispaire doeth lye And though some sparks of vice flee from that flame A good Desire maintaines a vertuous name Then blushe I not to yeelde where force doeth faile Desire doeth daunt the strong
pleasures here possest As did this knight of whom I spake who bore about in brest A noble harte a constant mynde a iollie courage greate A warme good will to common wealth that neuer wanted heate Brought vp in armes and Marciall feats a maister of that arte Whiche oft in feeld and countreis cause did plaie a manly parte As birth was good and noble sure so all he went about Was good and worthie eurie waie and noble still throughout In office oft and by his Prince to credite called still In matters graue and thyngs of weight of deepe foresight and skill No talker of good Fortune won nor boster for vaine bruite A tree that seldome blossomde showd yet brought forth good fruite As calme and milde as Sommer winds that neuer water moues And yet as stout to cruell Rites as gentill with the Doues A bodie apte to beare the brunt of paines and labour long A hedde that could conceiue the beste and sone could put vp wrong A freende that vsde no fained phrase and surely one of those That dealt with parfite plainnesse so he neuer purchaste fose A settled rocke a staied trothe that no deuice could staine A Paulet yea a piller too where Paulet did remaine An aide to sutche as wanted helpe a father free and franke To those that onely for good tourns but barely yeelded thanke What resteth more in any man then was in hym I saie Thus Paulet wan a noble brute and bore the same awaie Where vertue at the dreadfull howre when trompet sounds a loude Emong the cheef and chosen Lambes shall sit in sacred cloude FINIS ¶ Sir VVillyam Courtneis Epitaphe BY death eche life is knowen as darkenesse tries out light By life is man made like the Gods where life is ledde a right Whiles Courtneis life did laste his glorie hid remainde But now he hath sutche rare renowne as fewe or none attainde The worlde setts forthe his fame in sutche a liuely sorte That to the Angells eares aboue is blowen thereof reporte Whiche newes is lickte so well the heauens holde them bleste WheÌ„ God shall bid vnlocke the gates embrace this newe come gest But though the heauens ioye the yearth with teares is filde And kinde hath cause to curse her self that suche a tree hath spilde By sicknesse sent in spight to spoile the spraise and all And made grene leaues forsake their bowes ere fruit wer ripe to fall Me thinke I heare hym saie would God had been my chance To hitte on death in open feeld by chardge of enemies Lance. Lament ye Courtlike Lordes a plaie feere loste you haue Sende forthe some sighes a long the seas to sobb vpon his graue That buried is at Hawne with warlike pompe and shotte Whiche range his knell as is the gise alas to sone God wotte Well worthie goe thy waie how many of thy name Are lefte behinde to tread thy stepps and winne but halfe thy fame How should sutche gifts be graft without some power deuine Sutche vertues dwell in one mans breast as harbred were in thine A Courtney by thy name a Courtier kindly borne A perfite peece not painted out a coine vnclippte or worne One of so right a stampe that streight did currant passe In euery place of his repaire where sondrie golds were glasse His face bewraied at first what hope of hym to haue His works performde that tonge brought forth his hand full largely gaue A hedde that ofte had paste dame Prudens mustere books A countnance as his courage was no forsed Lyons looks A harte storehouse of trothe a minde no ire might moue An eare that watcht for well coucht words a grace that gatt mutche loue His liberall Nature shewed full ofte to eche degree Where bountie wants set birthe a side ye can not noble bee Now better kisse his steppes then at his praise to kicke Well maie men roue about his marke but none shall hit the pricke What mournyng makes his wife that sutche a housbande loste His babes his men his neighbours eke and all the Westerne coste Well geasts your Hoste is gone turne horse an other waie The shrine is robbde the saincte is fled where ye were wont to staie The sacred godds receiue emong them where thei are With as muche mirth as maie be made the sprite y t Courtney bare FINIS Sir VVillyam Pickryngrs Epitaphe MY sences slept in rest the quiet couche I take When worlds reporte with hurlyng brute badde sluggishe muse awake And whett the blunted witts on mournyng matter newe A heauie happe a soddaine chance that thousandes ought to rewe What fortune is befalne in worlde ê™ I of late Is any braunche or member hurte that erst hath serude the state Or is some sproute decaied or tree blowne donne by blast That through mans skill sweate of browes might growe stande ful fast There is ê™ Fame to me a worthie wight gone hence Now dedde ' that late was quicke and ripe of iudgement wit sence And Pickryng was his name whose mynde was sure so greate The noble browes bare witnesse plain where haÌ„mers still did beate A man that credite wonne by seruice sondrie waies A Tully bothe with penne and tong at proofe moste worthie praies And surely from the Gods the rarest gifts posseste That euer in these drousie daies did lodge in one mans breste Looke not I should rehearse what all his vertues weare But looke amid these worldly happs how he hym self did beare When Fortune turude her face he smothly let it slide The want of will at no tyme could in looks nor life be spide If happe had faunde on hym he changde no chere therefore In equall ballance stoode the weight of chaunces lesse or more As wisedome clockte his cares so stoutnesse staied his minde And custome taught hym how to taste the toiles that here we finde In learned Platoes rules good Pickryng pleasure tooke And shonde the worlde to sort hym self with gladsome golden booke Emong a worlde of men in deede fewe freends he chose Yet with a manly modest meane he could reclaime his foes His port and presence sutche he was for Court full fitte And for his graue and deepe foresight he might in councell sitte The life that here he ledde giues still sufficient light For skilfull heads and scannyng minds to wrest his maners right Now hath he that he sought and dwells aboue in blis Where good mens soulls as worlde thei leaue at length shall meete with his When Fame had told her tale I cald for paper streight And in suche verse as here you reade I put these words of weight FINIS Maister Hampdens Epitaphe GOOd life is knowen through deathes despite and when to graue wee goe Good life steppes forthe of shroudyng sheete and doeth our vertues showe The yearth can claime but fleshe and bones and leaue the reste to fame The heauens lookes but for the soule and worlde retaines good name So somwhat man doeth leaue behinde that shines like lanterne clere Note
well the same ye mourners all that stands about this bere And doe but liue as Hampden did and get that garlande gaie And liuell but on that posey sweete that Hampden boare awaie What liuyng man can make reporte he harmde hym any where So vpright was the harte in breast that Hampdon still did beare His harte was iuste his hands were franke his words were meeke milde A presence that declarde his minde was harmlesse as a child A gladsome countenance would he shewe when sorowe searcht hym throwe Though Fortune frounde she could not chaunge his cherefull merie browe A pleasant freende cleane voide of fraude bothe honest true and wise In court so loude that now the teares ronnes gushing froÌ„ their eyes When thei but speake of Hampdens name an offcer liked so well Shall neuer sure from countrey come in Court againe to dwell O happie is that Prince that hath sutche seruantes at the neede And blessed is that lande and soile that doeth sutche subiects breede Thrise happie is the wife I trowe that sutche a housbande findes And perfect honest is that man that Hampdens vertue mindes Good birthe and auncient blood doeth breede in noble nature still Good maners good life withall whiche wins the worlds good will So Hampdens waies did well declare from whence began his race And told what marke he thought to hit when death bid life giue place Well freend the Goddes hath graunted thee that thou hast sought so long A croune of glorie for thy life or els thei doe thee wrong Here we be lefte in wicked worlde and finde but fewe like thee Wherefore my sprite through clouldie skies would after Hampdon flee Though thou hast ronne thy race before I followe on full faste And hope aboue in Abrahams breast our soules shall meete at laste FINIS ¶ My Ladie Baggnalles Epitaphe who died at the Nuerie LOe here a ladie lies whose life greate glory won A mornyng Starre a Lampe of daie that shone as bright as Sonne A goodly glasse of Steele that scornde to take a staine A Mirrour that did liuely showe a perfecte picture plaine An aide to straungers still that staide within her gates As noble a Nourse to neighbours all as freendly to estates A spryng of larges streams a well of wifely waies A vertuous dame that vice subdued a pearle of peerlesse praies A fountaine full of faithe her plaiefeere founde the same In eurie pointe that did adorne a comely sober dame From natiue soile she brought faire lands and freends greate store And matcht w t Niclas Baggnall knight to whoÌ„ faire babes she bore O Nuerie thou wast once of this sweete sainct the shrine And now the soile of sighes and sobbs and wofull weepyng eyne For thou hast lately loste by lothsome Deaths disgrace The Lanterne gaie and louyng Lampe that beautified that place Harke worlde how Fame reports and Ecco doeth resounde The hidden heaps of heauenly gifts that did in her abounde A happie houswife knowne the ioye of housbands breast A wise and worthie warrant bothe to chere eche honest geast And as she did present dame Beautie throughly still So nothyng might compare to reache beyond her franke good will To poore a present helpe to ritche her house was free A foe to none her nature sutche she honoured eche degree Belou'd of greate and small as one were blest from bitthe No hurder vp of heauie baggs the drousie drosse of yearth But made her treasure house in clouds and heauens hye Where soulls doe hugg and sprits of men in Abrams brest doeth lye Yea all on yearth she did was doen to that intent And sure no soner lefte she life but thether straight she went So now I leaue her there escapt from worldly blaste Whiles of her fame all Irelande ryngs and shall whites world doth laste Finis ¶ An Epitaphe of one maistres Blunt The Ladie Pauletts sister YOU worthie wiues that vertue seeks and blotlesse liues doe lead With bitter tears be dewe your cheeks when you these verses read And looke you mourne as matrons doe whose modest maners maie By outward woe and heauie lookes their hidden harms be wraie Blacke gounes blasyng torches bigg doeth bryng her to the graue To whom the Gods when she had life greate gifts of glorie gaue Her housbande houlls and wryngs his hands as after corse he goes And neibours loue bursts out in sighes worlde suche sorowe shoes As cropp and roote of woman kinde were loste and laied full loe A gracious life is geste and known when hence the ghost doeth goe Then Blount bedeckt with blessed brute passe on to heauens hie And leaue thy freends and children all behinde to waile and crie The losse of sutche a Iewell rare more ritche then pearle or gold More meete to dwell in breast of man then lodge in ashes cold Unfitt for worme O wifely dame the worlde hath seldome bredd A wife of sutche a worthie fame and suche a noble hedde As meeke as Lambe of looks or woords of councell ripe and sounde Of harte moste milde where humble thoughts bountie did abound A Nourse of Nurture eurie waie to child and houshold bothe A Mirrour to the simple sort and fountaine full of trothe The housbandes ioye the freends delite the neighbours comfort too A willyng minde and readie hande when she good turne might doo That feels she now where angells syng and good mens souls do rest And where we cease from worldly toile I meane in Abrams brest Where loe I leaue her till we meete full faste our date drawes on And we the self same stepps must tread that she before hath gon Finis ¶ Maister VValter Archer his Epitaphe an auncient Borgis of Kilkenie IN beaten Brasse or grauen Gold a good mans Fame should shine Or written faire with lukewarme blood I wishe were eurie line Of mans renowne for sure to base is ynke and paper here Or all our arte and skill of penne to paint their praises clere That well deseru'd whose worthie liues did showe there was small odds Betwene the doyngs of the iuste and maner of the godds Greate is the grace of them that gaze on high with staied looke And â—ars not so their honest names be written in the booke Of life good Lorde yea threfolde blest are those that liues vpright And holds their heads to heauen gates with deepe and secret sight Then preace in place good Archer now thy blotlesse life is sutche No verse hath grace nor stile maie reche to giue thee laude to mutche Thy couÌ„trie rings of thy great praise thy waies were found so wise That from the graue vnto the clouds thy ripe renowne doeth rise Moste cleane and vpright thoughts did dwell amid thy manly minde Of tried trothe thy soile throughout did all thy doyngs finde Bothe Solon and Lycurgus lawes thy Ciuill maner shoes Eche worde of thine a sentence was like stood that freashly floes A welle of witte sprong from thy hedde a tong of temprance right
and stoutest minde Where Fancie rules no wisedome can preuaile Striue not with streame nor saile against the winde For when fine witte hath doen the beste it maie Desire comes in and leads the harte awaie FINIS ¶ Of a vicious woman AS euery lake and puddle seemeth sweete To greedie throts that daiely drinke doe craue So vnto some eche water is full meete To coole their mouths when any thirst thei haue The worst at hande contents their geerie fitte The beste farre of is not desirde a whitte Good reason why a pleasure nere at call Is better sure then that we want at neede When thirst is paste we wishe no drinke at all When honger comes then gladly would we feede The Hauke once fedde with any kinde of meate Her gorge is full Gill will no Partriche eate Yet Beefe is grosse and hard for to endue And carrion Crowes with Phesant is no matche Though all things seru's for Hauks that keeps y â— mew Yet those that flee a better pray can watche Who saies eche drinke thei haue too greate a haste For Crabbs be Crabbs and haue a bitter taste Is Beere and Wine a like in euery cace Or frettyng Salt like Suger any wheat Is Porke at home like Uenson in the chace Is Glasse like Golde or Brasse yet halfe so fear Are little titts like Coursers finely made No no in deede a roile is but a Iade Are Nettle stalks like roddie Roses leaues Maie stinkyng Docks with Gillaflowres compare Is dustie Chaffe like goodlie filled Sheaues Is euill cheere like pleasant sumptuous fare A hongrie baite a cold repaste thei finde That fruite forsaks and feedeth on the rinde Then if there be of worthies many a one That serues their will with drosse where gold is cheape And for a Pearle forsaks a precious stone And takes the worst where worthies are a heape Now let them blushe or frowne to heare my song Theirs is the fault and I haue all the wrong FINIS Of vnsounde freendes THe roote not pure the braunches are infecte The tree vnsounde the fruite and leaues are nought The grounde not good the roote is in suspecte Of euery greef the cause must first be sought For breake the bowes and cleane dispoile the tree The roote lefte whole a greater harme maie bee A sore vnsearcht is seldome salued well As hatred hid is harde to heale without The Doctour seeks where eche disease doeth dwell And gropes the grounde and so a voides the doubt First quenche the cause in flames that doeth remaine The strawe on fire the smoke will rise againe To cutte thy hande when festred is thy foote Or pricke thy arme when all thy hedde is sicke Ye be farre of ye come not nere the roote Then this beleeue ye are not nere the quicke So though the sworde the simple putts to sacke The shippe you haue and yet the sterne you lacke FINIS A matter of fonde Cupid and vain Venus IN Peascod time wheÌ„ hound to horne giu's eate til Buck be kilde And little laddes with pipes of corne sat keepyng beastes a filde I went to gather strawberies tho by woodes groues full faire And parchte my face with Phebus so in walkyng in the aire That doune I laied me by a streame with bowes all ouer clad And there I meate the straungest dreame that euer yong man had Me thought I sawe eche Christmas game eche reuell all and some And euery thyng that I can name or maie in phansie come The substaunce of the sights I sawe in silence passe thei shall Because I lacke the skill to drawe the order of theim all But Venus shall not passe my penne whose maidens in disdaine Did feede vpon the harts of menne that Cupides bowe had slaine And that blinde boye was all in blood be bathed to the eares And like a conquerour he stood and scorned louers teares I haue quod he more harts at call then Caesar could commaunde And like the Dere I make them fall that runneth ore the lande One droppes doune here an other there in bushes as thei grone I bende a scornefull carelesse eare to heare them make their moue â—he sir quod honest meanyng then thy boyely bragges I heare WheÌ„ thou hast wouÌ„ded many a man as hounts man doeth the deare Becomes it thee to triumphe so thy mother will it not For she had rather breake thy bowe then thou shalt plaie the sot What sausie Marchaunt speaketh now saied Venus in her rage Art thou so blinde thou knowst not howe I gouerne euery age My sonne doeth shoote no shafte in waste to me the boye is bounde He neuer founde a harte so chaste but he had power to wounde Not so faire Goddes quod Freewill in me there is a choise And cause I am of myne owne ill if I in thee reioyse And when I yeeld my self a slaue to thee or to thy sonne Suche recompence I ought not haue if thyngs be rightly done Why foole steppe forthe Delight said wheÌ„ thou art coÌ„quered thus Then loe dame Lust that wanton maide thy mistresse is iwus And Lust is Cupids darlyng deare behold here where she goes She crepes the milke warme fleshe so nere she hides her vnder cloes Where many priuie thoughts doe dwell a heauen here on yearth For thei haue neuer minde of hell thei thinkes so muche â—n merth Be still good meanyng quod good Sport let Cupid triumph make For sure his kyngdome shalbe shorte if we no pleasure take Faire Beautie and her plaie feers gaie the Uirgines vestall too Shall sitte and with their fingers plaie as Idell people doe If honest Meanyng fall to froune and I good Sporte decaie Then Venus glorie will come doune and thei will pine awaie In deede quod witte this your deuise w t straâ—gnes must be wrought And where you see these women niece and looketh to be sought With scoulyng browes their follies checke and so giue theÌ„ the figge Let Fancie be no more at becke when Beautie lokes so bigge When Venus heard how thei conspirde to murther women so Me thought in deede the house was fired w t stormes lightnyng tho The thunderbolt through windowes burst in their stepes awight Whiche seemd some soule or sprite a curst so vglie was the sight I charge you Ladies all quod he looke to your selues in haste For if that men so wilfull be and haue their thoughts so chaste And thei can treade on Cupides breast and marche on Venus face Then thei shall slepe in quiet reste when you shall waile your cace With that had Venus all in spite sturde vp the Dames to Ire And Luste fell cold and Beautie white satte babblyng with Desire Whose muttryng words I might not marke mutche whispring there a roes The daie did lower the Sonne waxt darke awaie eche Ladie goes But whether went these angrie flocke our Lorde hymself doeth kno Wherewith full loudely crewe the Cocke and I awaked so A dreame quod I a Dogge it is I take thereon no keepe I gage