And you by hap haue surely hit the marke that how to finde may maze a cunning Clarke But who could keepe the key of such a chest or had a head might ioyne with such a witte Or could discerne where his desire doth rest as harte doth wish with happy hande to hit His happe were such as I can neuer craue but wish of God my haples harte might haue So pretty soule a solemne vowe I sweare I would not seeke for iemmes of greater ioy Nor should mine eye be trouling here and there to make a marke of any tysing toy But where I once my leauel lay of loue my hande shal holde and harte shal neuer moue The Louer forsaken and almost dismaide yet through hope taketh comforte FLy fancie flie and let me loue no more what meanes my wil or are my wits bestraught Die swéete desire molest me not so sore but seeke to saue that thou in vayne hast sought For sorrowe shewes the woe of wretched will and force affirmes but frowarde fortune still Where least I like my loue hath lent me losse where most I loue my liking findeth lack What bootes my barke in waues of woe to tosse when sorrowes sandes doe threaten sore shipwrack Such stormes of strife so rife in euery coast as but great happe shew life and laboure lost Yet cowarde wretch wilt thou goe back agayne and keepe thy couch and leaue to seeke delight Make sure accounte no pleasure without payne the sweetest ioyes are gainde through sore despight Then get thee forth in hope goe hoyse vp sayle the winde may tourne and worke for thine auayle Let hardie hope daunte feareful fonde despaire prepare thy selfe to leade a souldiars life Through thicke and thinne by weather foule or faire passe through the pikes and dread no deadly strife And though long first yet when the worst is past the best wil yealde some wished ioyes at last Another I Shrinke to speake since yet I haue no leaue and yet my harte so heaues my tongue to speake As that in deede I plainly doe perceaue with force of fame my very hart stringes breake Which force must be with fauoure ouerprest or els my hart wil neuer sitte at rest Forgeue me wretch if that my wordes offende fancie hath forcde my sillie minde to sue Some lyking let good nature to me sende my minde hath sworne our Ladie seruice due Then if thou lou'st our Ladie or her name regarde my suite graunt fauoure to the same Which fauoure loe I onely craue is this to graunt me leaue to say but what I could Say but my wordes thou wilt not like amisse and thou shalt heare my meaning what I would But til that time as I haue sayd before I must be dumbe and die in dole therefore The louer in sorrow craueth death HOw might I doe to weepe and wayle my fil that dolefull dumpes might soone dispatch my dayes Since sorrowe seekes my carkas so to kill oh doleful doome that so my death delayes I see selfewil hath wrought me such distresse as reason shewes no hope to finde redresse Yet die I must I feele deathes deadly stroake my carkase eke is nie consumde with care Why liue I then since that my hart is broke but liuing thus like one halfe dead I fare Which makes me thus at pointe of death to crie strike home thy darte good death and let me die Patience prolonges the patient in paine comforte relieues but rids not sorrow quight Hope lingers forth a loathed life in vaine fortune is false and frendes no wretched wight The fates doe groane dole is my destinie why liue I then good death come let me die Harde to finde a faithful frende HE seekes vnsure that seekes to finde a friend for faith is fled and frendes are secrete foes A shew of trothe tryes treason in the ende and many pluck a canker for a rose This wretched world is ful of wicked wiles when simple geese the subtile foxe beguiles For stinging snakes lie hid in smoothest grasse and softest streame doth shew the deepest floud No closer craft then in the glosing glasse which flatters much and shewes no perfect good I finde in deede no greater subtiltie then couered is with smoothe simplicitie Then deeme I best eche where to doubt the worst to make account of eche thing by desarte Or ere I choose to make true tryall first by tryall then for to esteeme in harte Thus thinke I best such trusty frends to finde as may content ech faithful meaning minde He craueth content being ouerworne with Loue. OH Loue leaue of to vexe thy silly slaue to bide the broyle some fresher souldyer seeke Thus worne with woes some comforte let me ahue that so thou mayst my seruice better leeke For if that care doe quite my carkasse kill how should I liue to doe thee seruice still Beholde my face my flesh is falne away see how mine eyes sinke hollow in my head My dumpes declares how my delights decay deeme if I seeme more like aliue or dead Let lyking loue some comforte me procure least loathed life no longer doe endure Oh heare me Loue and lende me helpe in hast the time is come that I must liue or die Stay not too long least all too late at last in vayne alas thou lende me remedie I humblie craue my humble suite regarde graunt my desire may haue his due rewarde De contemptu mundi IN depe despite of this vile world I write what is it but a vale of miserie A caue of care a dongeon of despite a place of payne a penne of penurie A sea of sorrowes and a goulph of griefe where wretched hartes doe die without reliefe The wise man wrytes it is a poysoned baight which doth with toyes the godly minde infecte A wanton theese which cloasly lyes in waight to robbe the minde of euery good effecte It is a grounde where onely griefes doe groe and to conclude a wildernes of woe Now why my selfe so ill thereof should deeme some men may muse that see my youthfull yeares Oh softe a while though young of yeares I séeme my youth hath past through many aged bryers But now that I am yet beyonde the bushes I doe not care for all the worlde two rushes Saue that my Prince I honour I protest my Parentes eke and so I loue my friend Set these aside and as for all the rest of loue and liking I must make an ende I hate the worlde and all the toyes therein and longe to sée my ioyes in heauen beginne Maledisant Beuchampe THe tender budde that brauely ginnes to blow while summer showers yeeldes comforte to the roote If that vnwares there fall a sodaine snow no sunné can shine that wel may doe it boote Except it holde but for a day and so It may haue leaue to make a liuely show My selfe the slower that flourisht all too fast while fauour flonge faire weather in my face But now must die my pleasures ouerpast to see disdaine so
in heauen to liue Another AS each man spics a time his griefe for to bewayle And doth poure out from baylefull breast the woes that him annoy So haue I seuerde out this time in hope for mine auaile To shew my frende my griuoues panges and eke my blisfull ioy The woeful plight which present now I doe in brest sustaine The pleasures eke which now are past I will to minde them call For too too long in secreate breast I haue them kepte with paine With sighes that boyles from out my breast most bitter like to gall There was a time when as I set my loue vpon a Lasse And lente my lyking out to loane to lull my lyking lust Because she present in mine eye me thought did all surpasse But sure within her secrete breast did harboure then no trust For after we had dwelt awhile in pleasures sweete delight And husht our sences both asleepe as lyk'd oure persons best Then crept there in this croppe of care which wrought me this despight And tooke from me the louing Lasse and did disturbe our rest And now doe I appeale to you take pittie if you may On him that is tormented still with woes his life that weare And for thou art a faithfull frende loe thus of thée I pray Let not this frowarde happe of mine my tender heart still feare Another COnsider well I pray the lines that here I wright Nought els but dole and dolefull thinges I profer to thy sight No cause at all I haue to write of any ioy My minde is whelmde in deepe distresse and tombled in annoy My serses all doe quake to thinke vpon my griefe For to bewaile my woefull happe that cannot finde reliefe What fauoure shoulde he haue whom fortune hath defide By rigor of the law t is harde for any to be tride By Law why saide I so no Law there is I thinke That barres true louers from their ioyes but he that stil doth winck And blinking like a bussarde foole can laugh to see our woes And nothing for our helpe will he seeke out the Lord he knowes Oh would it were in me poore soule the waggish God to tame If he then wrought vs such despight in me then were the blame But why doe I now wish for thinges which passe my reach It were as much for me to craue fine Tullie for to teach Good Lady yet geue eare a while and heare my woefull plaint Seeke I beseech to search his wound whome loue doth sore attaint And do not stil reiect your thrall whē as he doth cōplain And think not light the direfull panges that I for you sustaine Ten thousand griefes a day I feele ten times ten moe woes And eke a thousande thousande sighes my pensiue harte out throws I liue a thousand times a day I die ten thousand more And yet I am as neere of thee as I haue bene of yore Let pittie once take place and moue thy louing minde That I for all my torments past some fauoure once may finde Another GOod Lordinges geue me leaue a while to beate my braynes about a toy The further that I wade therein the deeper wade I in annoy The lesse I thinke thereon in sooth the greater blisse shal happe to me The fewer times I heare thereof the happyer man sure shal I be The lesse in sight the better luck the furthest of the most at ease And yet this is the straungest case for life I dare it not displease For life and all thereon depende what resteth then for to ensue My Ladie barres I may not tell therefore deare hartes count you it true For if I once knew what it mente her should I haue that me it sent Philomelas fie FIe flattering face in an vnfaithfull frend Fie on mischaunce where neuer was mistrust Fie fonde desire that findes dispightfull ende Fie fie that faith should euer proue vniust Fie frowarde fate which makes me singing crie Fie fortune fie and falshoode fie fie fie But fie for shame this songe yealdes small delight When euerie note doth runne on fie fie fie Oh waigh the cause is her accursed spight Which makes her thus lament her miserie It is her note so swéete and not her song Whereto we loue to listen too so long So may my note séeme swéete although my fie May séeme perhaps a most vnpleasaunt worde Although I sing in harte alas I crie Fie pleasure fie I must with this poore byrde Goe shroude my selfe as one with sorrow slayne Till merry May may make me rise againe And then this Birde shal come and singe with me Such heauenlye notes as may each eare delight And euery one that doth my sorrow see Shall curse the cause of my accursed spight And some al night shal gladly leaue their nest To heare recorde of our vnquyet rest Alta peto THe hautie Larke that fayne would sit on hye And yet perforce long time doth sitte below Will vp at last although he gaine thereby To his decay a deadly ouerthrow Which makes my harte that highly would aspire Séeke how to clime to height of my desire To prowle for pence such gayne yealds simple share To fight for flies the conquest were but small To gaine contente my minde shal only dare To venture death in clyming though I fall But careful hope must hoyse me bp alofte Least footing fayle and then I fall not softe And when I clime the trée shal be of life The fruite of faith the field the ground of grace My ladder loue and care my cutting knife To proyne such sprigges as may annoy the place Reason the ground to stay me from a fall And hope my holde to touch the toppe of all A Gentleman mislyking of his Mistres sente her at his departure these sixe sower lines for a farewell ALthough you count your hauen a sea of blisse I nothing like to anchore in your fludde I feare in faith so sweete the water is that ouer vse hath made the bottome mudde And south to say I cannot well away in common cockex to put my barke in bay Farewell foule false and filthie forger P. I. The Mistres of this gentleman hauing more cause to dislike of him then he to misleeke of her requiteth him with these sixe lines following THe seas you seeme to set so little by no harbor is for euery rotten barke Let be the floud and let the Anchor lie It flotes not here you neede not therefore carke And sooth to say the bay beares such a grace vnnethes it likes to harbor ought so base Farewell fonde false fleering and fantasticall foole P. M. Verses out of Borbonius MArcus Auarus heri cum se suspendere vellet sexque obulis misero restis emenda foret Territus hoc pretio restim inquit non emo tanti quinque obulis tandem conuenit atque perit MArke Miser yesterday I harde the hanging crafte would trie And vnder three pence caitife wretch no halter could he by I buy no roapes so
deere quoth he the price amasde the elfe For two pence halfepeny he agreede at last and hangs him selfe Le home THis geare beares pricke and price my girle of all that ere I sée La feme The pricke for me sir I crie first the price I leaue for thée Corpus opes animam formam vim lumina scortum Debilitat perdit necat aufert eripit orbat The bodie wealth the minde fourme face and sight a whore Doth weaken leese kill race and steale and eke depriueth sore A Gentlewomans poesie YOung lust of loue in hoarie lockes on Ladyes loynes lay lasye knockes Olde beldames then doe you receaue the cripple knights young Ladyes leaue Aungels MIne aungels stil they be so fledge they flie or els in shippe they floate with puffed sayles Or with their legges they leape and runne awrie or driuen away by Dragons with long tayles Legges winges and shippes the deuill in dragons shins To beare away mine aungels neuer linnes A Riddle SCâ—lere vehor materna carne vescor quaero patrem meumâ— Matris meae virum vxoris meae filium Foule is my faulte that feede my fill and gorge on mothers bowels still With busie care I seeke my Sire my mothers husbande I require And such a one that man must be as is the sonne of wife to me Money still restlesse GOod money be demourant with me stil and then thou shalt be pendaunte in my purse But if thou wilt be volant at thy will or coorraunte els thy harbore will be worse Voussera still incloased in my chest whereas thou runst abroad sance any rest A fantasticall passion MY vayne is done to write in prose or verse For why I see my wittes beginne to faile Full faine I would a woefull tale reherse but sorrow so my sences doth assaile That I am forcde to say and ende in briefe I cannot wright I am so full of griefe A birde to a birder A Fowler snarlde a little birde with lymed bushe of late To whome for life libertie the prettie fowle doth prate She begges her raunsome at a price and promiseth for pay Three iewels riche The birder then so biddes her flie away Escaped thus now list quoth she Hereafter holde thine owne Trust not to much nor take no care for that which heÌ„ce is floeâ— Henceforth if thou applie thy selfe to rule thee by these three No little fowle as I shal make so greate a foole of thee The abuse of the worlde THe mournefull minde the ouerwhelmed brayne the wittes bewitchd that wearyed are with woes The pensiue harte that pines away in payne the troubled thoughts whome thousande cares enclose Doth stil I see consume my carkase so as nought but death can ridde me of this woe Long haue I hoapde too longe I finde in vaine and all in vaine it is I finde too late That pittie woulde procure some ease of payne but pride is full pufte vp with deadly hate Disdaine is growne so great with beauties grace as humble suites are all thrust out of place Humilitie is thought a sillie slaue deserte is deemde a peeuishe painfull drudge Truth thought deceate and flatterie no knaue crafte credite gaines good dealing may goe trudge This all too late to my despight I finde which makes me thus to waile and mourne in minde The Author troubled with hope and despaire TWo thinges there are that trouble much my minde the one is hope the other is despaire In hope my harte doth heauenly comforte finde and peeuish dread my pleasures doth impaire Hope to good happe doth geue me vp amayne Despaire as fast doth flinge me downe againe I hope the best and yet doe dread the worst which wretched dread sayes hope is all in vaine And hope biddes me account that dread accurst that lets my helpe my heauenly wish to game And hope assures that reason doth require although despaire deny me my desire Therefore I hope although withall I feare because I hope my hope wil banish dread Which makes despaire both day and night to beare my tossed braines within my troubled head This passion straunge twixt hope and feare I finde is that which longe hath much perplext my minde The Author troubled with loue and hate TWo things there are that much torment my mind the one is loue the other deadly hate The force of loue doth make affection blind and blinde desire doth set my wittes at bate They beate my braynes to make what meanes they may I finde in fine to worke mine owne decay I like not loue againe I loue not hate yet loue or hate I needes must take the one The choice is harde which were the better state and happy he could let them both alone For he that knew them both as well as I woulde lothe his life and gladly wish to die Loue ofte breedes hate whome luckles lots ensue and foule despight doth sore consume the harte Which seekes reuenge that honest mindes doe rue when conscience pricks doth cause repentant smarte This for my selfe as once before I sayde hath made my minde and senses so dismayde And yet alas I cannot choose but loue yet hate my selfe to see my fonde desire But cannot get my fancy once remoue that in my harte hath kindled hatefull fire But must of force my wretched minde content to liue in griefe vntill my dayes be spent Another THe longer life the more offence the more offence the greater payne The greater payne the lesse defence the lesse defence the losse of gayne The losse of gayne long life doth trie wherefore come death and let me die The shorter lyfe lesse count I finde the lesse accounte the sooner made The counte soone made the merryer minde the merrier minde doth thought euade Shorte life wel spent the same doth trie wherefore come death and let me die Come gentle death the ebbe of care the ebbe of care the floud of life The floud of life the ioyfull fare the ioyfull fare the ende of strife The ende of strife for that wish I wherefore come death and let me die Another MIstrust misdeemes amisse whereby displeasure growes And time delayde findes friends afrayde their faith for to disclose Suspecte that breedeth thought and thoughts to sighes conuarte And sighes haue sought a flood of teares where sobbes doe soake the harte This harte that meanes no harme must féede on sorrowes all Vntil such time in please the iudge the truth in question call Though cause of great mistrust before the iudge appeare My truth and mercy of the iudge I trust shal set me cleare Reporte thus runnes at large my truth for to detecte Yet truth in time shal trie it selfe and driue away suspecte Beleue not euery speech nor speake not all you heare For truth and mercy of the iudge I trust shal set me cleare Another WHat watch what woe what want what wrack is due to those that toile the seas Life led with losse of paynes no lacke in stormes to winne much restles ease A bedlesse boarde at
sore yet heales againe That is the cause of great despight And yet doth purchase sweete delight That healeth some of deadly smarte And strikes some other dead at harte It should be straunge what so it is But sure if I iudge not amisse T is all one with the same that I Propounded you T is loue perdie Mors mihi vita COnsumde with cares and ouerwhelmde with woes I bidde adue to such as liue in ioy Contented well my loathed life to lose as fortune stil did follow with annoy For as I féele my death drawe neareâ— on I see the smarte of all my sorrowes gone Whereby I see sweete death the ende of dole while life prolonges the wretched soule in payne The salue of death makes sickest hartes soone hole when care is found a comforte all in vaine Yet dying thus ere I be throughly dead accepte this counsaile of a carefull head Loue not to liue nor yet desire to die but liue to die so dying looke to liue Such dying life such liuing death haue I which makes me thus the world this comfort giue To dread no death but count him for our frend who bringes vs ioyes and makes our sorrowes ende The Nightingales note THe Nightingale that singes the sweetest note of any birde that flyeth in the ayre Whose choise of sounde with warblings in the throate reuiues the harte that dyeth in despayre In Aprill first recordes then sings in Maye and that mâ—onth past she singing goes awaye Which heauenly note might hold but halfe the yeare the ioy thereof woulde cloy our eares with sweete Nothing so good so rare nor yet so deare but chaunge for worse the foolish man thinkes meete So sweete and shorte is Philomelas songe and nought esteemed that lasteth once too longe But yet this songe that Philomela singes of sorrow groanes although the sounde delight Or harde mishappe wherof such mischiefe springes she but recordes the sounde of her despight So with that birde may I singe fie fie fie while others ioy in song to heare me crie Nil nisi probatum AMonge mishappes which kill a careful hart to finde a foe of an assured frend Is such a griefe as breedes that deadly smart which vntill death can neuer take his ende Oh wretched world where faith is so vniust that surest frendes are sometime harde to trust But all too late I finde the prouerbe true that frends are founde as fortune skoules or smiles But twise accurst that hollow harted crue whose flattering face the simple minde begiles And for my selfe since frendshippe such I finde I will accounte of each one in his kinde Faire wordes shal stande for open flatterie till faithfull deedes may merite no mistrust And secreat traynes shal stande for treacherie till tryall finde her dealinges not vniust But where I finde the trothe at neede I crie with such a friend I vow to liue and die The clogge of care THe clogge of care that hangs on heauie harte pulles downe the head from loftie mindes delight The sighes that grow of sorrowes secreat smarte in time consumes the wretched carcase quight But comforte yet may cut that clogge away the cause of dole whereby delights decay And then the harte will holde vp head on hie and ioy as much as it did mourne before Oh comforte come and cut of by and by that cruell clogge that cuttes my harte so sore I haue too long to carefull thoughtes bene tide my minde cannot the burthen long abide But all in vaine for comforte stil I crie my clogge of care is such I cannot goe I sée too plaine my dolefull destenie to waste my dayes in worlds of carefull woe Which makes me thus to ende my solemne songe the carefull harte can neuer holde out longe Another THe Plowman sure are ye and I the sandie field Your haruest then must needes be grosse that such a earth doth shielde The golde I meane my selfe the hutch my husbandes harte The Marte is done put vp your pipes goe whistle for your parte And let me liue at rest deuoyde of slaunders blotte Contented with my faithfull feere whome fortune did alofte For sure the Letchers loue comes euer out of time I meane not to deface my fame with such a couerte crime I am no Younckers pray I skilles am in scapes I doe detest the doting loue of Roysters and their rapes I meane to runne the race of these my poasting dayes In such a sorte that none shall check my youthfull wanton wayes Leaue then to ransacke her that careth for no chaunge Ne seeke to false her faulcones faith with haggarde hauke to raunge Vpon two Gentlewomens names MY fancie led me sodainlie as I did sitte and sow Amongst some other secrete thinges a secrete cause to know Remembring how the Poets vse Good Gentlewomen to abuse All in their ditties when they chuse Resounding fame to blow Extolling in their Sonets then The onely prayse of faithfull men They list not see how we women Passe them as I will show Harke not what Poets prattle then from reason they declinde In Platoes Schoole thou mayst it learne how frendship is definde Loue lyketh where is loyaltie Lyke loyaltie in lyke degree In wemen this is chiefe to see Peruse and you shal finde So saith he that this frendlines Only doth springe from humblenes None barreth women gentlenes Except they barre their kinde Perhappes I coulde adioyne to this where most affection dwels How there the flower of frendlines most pleasantly it smels Enritching womens goodly grace But here I neede not in this place Experience proueth well this case Aske her I say naught els Then sith it comes to vs by kinde Keepe not the secret cause to finde In Poetrie that is so blinde No true tale once it tels Sith loyaltie affection and likenes of degree On perfecte proofe from cradle vp hath linked thee to me No treasure riche nor golden mine Exchaunge shall make at any time For as I was so am I thine Reposing trust in thee Enduring so I doe pretende No chaunge to make till life doe ende Damon was neuer dearer frende So thou my Pithias be A merry conceate OVr Wilkin now will wedde the goodlyest girle I gesse That ere this countrey bredde it is that bounsinge Besse That euery iacke for ale and cakes At euery game his Lady makes He thinkes his Ladie beares the bel Pore horechit Hob And she belowtes the mome as well And there a bobbe How ere the worlde it wagges his Besse must needes be braue Gogs vish these rotten ragges are vitter vor a zlaue Then vor my Ladie zweares our Wil And therewithall he smackes his Gil. And she requites his busse againe He likes wel that He payes his Ladie for her paine That hittes her patte To beare his flaunting porte our Wilkin wanteth welth He shames to yeald the sporte and therefore seekes by stelth To maintaine this his iollie ruffe He stryketh handes with Saunder Snuffe So forth together they two trigge To make a
key and a locke A bedde and a 〈◊〉 and other such 〈◊〉 A fillet a paste a combe and a glasse A potte and a panne with vessels and brasse And twentie such toyes which here I let passe And yet it doth chaunce most commonly after God sendes vs a childe a boy or a daughter Then must I prouide who so euer begate her Some ragges and some iagges to folde and to wrap her A Nurse and a midwife to holde vp her backe Some spyces to make her a posset of sacke And other such trinkets as these young wiues doe lack Which if that they haue not our loue goes to wracke A cradle a swathbande a pillow of downe A wastecote a biggin to wrappe the childes crowne A wenche for to rocke it with downe a downe downe Or els t is time for me to packe out a towne A possenette and sugar to make the childe pappe A blancket of woollen the childe for to wrappe If this be not gotten such fortune may happe At her first vprysing I beare her a clappe If I marrye a widdow you bid me not care She bringeth all this geare and other such ware Your stocke and your treasure thereby you may spare Enritching your substance to maintaine your fare But yet Sir I pray you remember well this Not one shrow of twentie among them there is Whose children and kinsfolke at any time misse To prowle or conuay away that thinge or this Now hath she a daughter now hath she a sonne Now hath she a Cosin the worlde hath begon I must geue them a ladle a dishe and a spoone Which if I deny them our frendshippe is done And then Sir withall she will clothe her in yelowes And â—uming and â—â—etting she beginnes to be ielious With scoulding and brawling she lets not to tell vs At stues and at tauerns al 's spent on good fellowes She sumes and she frettes she fomes like a bore She sweares she was neuer thus vsed before Ere this time I might haue bestowed my store To geue at my pleasure a little or more If I 〈◊〉 you say Sir she makes me good cheare With caudels and possettes and good double beere For money at all times I can buy this geare What neede I to keepe then a wise all the yeare What neede I to finde one meate drinke and array To keepe one at liuerie by night and by day For when I would dallie with sporte and with play I can meete with a sweeting a snatch and away If once I doe marrie and take me a wyfe To brauling and scoulding I am bounde all my lyfe To â—aunting and vaunting to discorde and stryfe The practise of this thinge is commonlie ryfe I am bounde for to tarrie for her still at home To toyle and to moyle for her all alone Whilest she sittes a feasting with olde mother Ione I must be a drudging for her like a mome All these thinges with other that I coulde resight From wooing and wiuing driue me away quight And I will bestow my sweetest delight With sweete sleepe to passe out the longe drowsie night These maydes be so wanton these widdowes so wood That neither of both will doe me any good These widdowes be withered they drinke vp my blood These maydes be so lustie I le none by the roode And therefore I will till you agree on the one Thus holde me contented to liue still alone The commendation of hope WHo hopeth much and feareth nought at all doth shew him selfe too desperate of minde VVho feareth much and hath his hope but small in such conceate can little comforte finde Who stammering standes halfe hoping halfe in dread assure him selfe shall haue a troubled head Who hopes for nought nor feareth ought at all is rather madde or not of humaine kinde VVho â—lymes by hope and feareth euery fall doth doubtles beare a most vnquyet minde VVho dreads the worst and al wayes hopes the best what euer happe is euer best at rest But he that hopes vpon so sure a ground as sets the spight of foule despaire aparte And to his hope such heauenly happe hath found as yealdes the thing that most contents his harte Let him not boast but geue God thankes for all who helpte him vp and sau'de him from a fall For he it is that helpes the honest harte that geues the hope that neuer needes to feare VVhich findes a salue to euery sodaine smarte and keepes the minde in quyet euery where In him alone mine only hope shal rest this life once lefte in heauen to liue at rest A warning to wanton Louers CEase sorrowe now for thou hast done the deede for care hath now consumde my carcase quight No hope no help nor hap can stande in steed for dolefull dayes doth cut of all delight Yet while I heare the toling of the bell before I die I wright this fainte farewell VVho loues to leade his life in quyet rest beware the worst of what so may befall Abandone Loue feede not on fancies feast least hungrie harte in vaine for comforte call And sorrow then doe so assaile thy minde the witte bewitchd a worlde of woes doe finde And then comes care for to tormente my harte when nought auayles to languish or lament For longe the harte doth pine in secreat smarte before the dayes be quight in sorrow spent This finde I true and for good will I tell ware wanton loue and so I say farewell A fancie I Woulde yet will not yes yes no no why for that my will and woulde doe disagrée For why to worke my would contentedly my wish to will doth wante too farre I sée Which makes me thus against my will to say I woulde yet nill but will when so I may I may why now I may yet may I not for that my may is not such as I woulde Yet what I may full fayne I would God wotte and more would wishe if so be that I coulde Which more might I then would I quickly say I woulde and will and glad in that I may But oh that will his wish cannot attaine and that delight should so desire denie That willing hartes should labour all in vaine when will and wordes doe méete so contrarie Yet what of this I hope to sée the day when that my woulde may finde a willing may A farewell to Fancie FAncie farewell that wroughtst my fonde delight delight adue that wroughtst my deepe distresse Distresse adue that wroughtst my déepe despight Despight adue for death doth lende redresse And death adue for though I thus be slaine in thy despight I hope to liue againe Faire Dames adue whose loue hath wrought my woe and farewel woe that wearyed hath my wittes And farewell witte with will bewitched so and farewell will so full of franticke â—ittes Fransie farewell whose sorce I feele too sore and farewell feeling for I féele no more And life adue that I haue lou'de and loathd and farewell loue that makes me lothe my life Both loue and
From Phebus beames her shining eyes tooke shape within her brest the heauens themselues haue sowen And through the Gods her name immortal bides Another THe happy braunch to Pallas consecrate the braunche of peace doth beare the name of her Who reaues my sence and in her beutie shrowdes such crueltie as most to Mars belongs Leaue then thou wilfull Dame leaue of I say this louely name or shew thy selfe the like That as thou doest in aâ—l immortal seeme thy name may séeme ordainde by destinie What from the heauens hath been bestowed on thee is nothing straunge nor wonderfull to me Since thou in minde and harte arte Soueraigne and that thine eyes from those that gaze on thée Their bodie harte minde sense and soule doth steale Another THe selfe same night wherein the powers diuine From highest heauens behelde the earth below Loue bente his how to pearce my painful brest And made me subiecte to his Dietie The sacred place from such great crueltie Nor yet the time it selfe could me redeeme This stroake to harte did from her eyes descende Whilest I too much her glorious face behelde I thought at first that Loue had leueled At both alike and that one onely bonde Had equally together ioyned vs both But Loue as blinde and ill aduisde therein Hath let her goe that was the greatest pray Detayning me that 〈◊〉 of least accounte Another AS none may well with fixed eye beholde The glistering beames of Phebus golden rayes So to suruey thy 〈◊〉 passing 〈◊〉 Woulde bleare the eyes and dimmâ— the clearest sight And he that shall with fixed eye 〈◊〉 Thy glorious face so shining as it â—oth Shall finde such â—lâ—arenes will increase his payne And take front him the vse of séeing quite How can my tongue or 〈◊〉 be able then To painte thy praise or yealde thy due desarte That haue no power thy beautie to beholde Which if mine eyes were able to attaine I would pâ—esume to passe the noble birde That vnto Ioue is iustly consecrate My loue shall last THe Soldyars wish drawes on with warres delight the Pilgrimes sporte lyes in his present payne Shippes 〈◊〉 the porte and seekes for seas in sight and I to smile in loue account it gayâ—e Whom while I serue wish sporte and seas I finde with gallante warre with sporte sea roome and winde Sith now this happe is had I ioy to singe what kinde of sea what mates what ship was there How happie chaunce by lotte rulde euery thing the maine saile truth each waue a frendly teare The master Loue him selfe sweete sighes the winde ioyes roade with Oares the ship a merry minde Fast hope at helme did winde the boate aboute and fixed faith stoode vp for middle maste The cable hope which seruant twinde throughout helde gladsome glee with picked anchore faste Beautie discride the rockes till I was past and now beloude I sweare my loue shall laste My loue is paste THe soldior worne with warres delightes in peace the Pilgrime in his ease when toyles are past The ship to gaine the porte when stormes doe cease and I to smile now voide of loue at last Whome while I serude peace rest and loue I lost with greeuesome warre with toile with seas betost But now the brunte is past I ioy to singe what kinde of sea what slaues what ship was there How foolish chaunce by lotte rulde euery thing how error was maine saile each waue a teare The master Loue himselfe deepe sighes the winde cares roade with vowes the ship vnmerry minde False hope at helme ofte turnde the boate about and fickle faith stoode vp for middle maste Despaire the cable twisted rounde with dout helde grieping griefe the picked anchoare fast Beautie was all the rockes but I at last am now twise free and all my loue is past Loue for vertue of longest continuance THe chiefest care we ought to haue is to adorne the minde With beautie such as best beséemes and most accordes with kinde Of greater force this beautie is a Ladies loue to gaine Then that which foolish folke commends and wise men count but vaine The loue of vertue lastes for aye which choice no chaunce can chaunge But loue for luste time turnes to nought and quickly makes it straunge When crooked age doth once creepe in braue beautie bids adue And then those fondlinges all too late their former follies rue But vertue bides in perfecte plight and to the vertuous bringes delight Loues Epitath HEre lyes blinde Loue here lyes the bedlem boy here lyes the God that all the Gods did feare Here lyes intoumbde Cithenas greatest ioy here lyes the bow that Loue was wonte to beare Here lie the shaftes here lie the piercing dartes wherewith erewhile he tamde the stoutest hartes Now is he dead now can he doe no more no signe appeares that he shall liue againe To plague poore soules as he hath done before and pinch their harts with straunge tormenting pain Now is he dead and who the cause but she whose blasing beames blinde all the worlde I see Ofte did he proone and all to none effecte to force his fire to fasten in her brest Her frozen harte did still his flame reiecte and made him muse to see his power supprest Deceaued so he knew not what to say ne coulde he iudge the cause of his decay To proue his fire if it had force or no vnto his winges he put the burning brande The fire tooke holde for needes it must doe so then he too late poore soule did vnderstande His fonde conceate and filde the aire with cries no plaintes preuailde he died and here he lyes At latter gaspe a grieuous sighe he gaue and saide farewell ye faithfull Louers all Now proofe shewes plaine what grieuous pangs ye haue what force my fire what power to make you thrall I finde it now that feltâ— it not before but be contente it shall offende no more If former faultes did merite worthy blame the blame is greate I haue incurde thereby My life must pay my raunsome now with shame A shamefull death I am at poynte to die My glorie gone my bâ—anes consumde to dust you haue your will abide it needes I must In commendation of his Mistresse I Smile to thinke how fonde conceite deceaues the finest wittes To féede them with a daintie baite that choakes them all by bittes How fondly some commende the face and some the smoothie skinne And some preferre in highest place the tender doubled chinne What should I stande to recken vp their trashe and trumpery That drinkes the dregges of euery cuppe and praise it to the skie Let such goe bragge them in the crew of baser minded swaines They neuer came yet where it grow nor paide more then their paines But if my Mistres woulde vouchsafe her beautie to discouer Then iustly might they frette and chafe that so they past her ouer He that triumphes in sweetest blis I know then would repine No man that saw her but would wishe oh