alas those wordes were vaunted all in vaine And some vnsene were present there poore Bridges to thy pain For Cupide craftie boye close in a corner stoode Not blyndfold then to gaze on hir I gesse it dyd him good Yet when he felt the flame gan kindle in his brest And hard dame nature boast by hir to breake him of his rest His hote newe chosen loue he chaunged into hate And sodainly with mighty mace gan rap hir on the pate It grieued Nature much to sée the cruell déede Me séemes I sée hir how she wept to see hir dearling blede Well yet quod she this hurt shall haue some helpe I trowe And quicke with skin she couered it that whiter is than snowe Wherewith Dan Cupid fled for feare of further flame Whē angel like he saw hir shine whom he had smit with shame Lo thus was Bridges hurt in cradel of hir kind The coward Cupid brake hir brow to wreke his woūded mind The skar styll there remaines no force there let it be There is no clowde that can eclipse so bright a sunne as she Euer or neuer ¶ In prayse of Zouche late the Lady Greye of VVilton whome the auctor found in a homely house THese rustie walles whome cankred yeares deface The comely corps of séemely Zouche enclose Whose auncient stocke deriude from worthy race Procures hir praise where so the carkas goes Hir aungels face declares hyr modest minde Hyr louely lokes the gazing eyes allure Hyr déedes deserue some endlesse prayse to finde To blaze suche brute as euer might endure Wherfore my penne in trembling feare shall staye To write the thing that doth surmount my skill And I will wish of God both night and daye Some worthier place to guide hir worthy will. Where princes péeres hir due desertes maye sée And I content hir seruaunt there to bée Euer or Neuer Gascoignes praise of his mistres THe hap which Paris had as due for his desert Who fauord Venus for hir face skornde Meneruas art May serue to warne the wife that they no more esteme The glistering glosse of bewties blaze than reason should it deme Dan Priams yonger son found out that fairest dame That euer trode on Troyane mold what folowed of the same I list not brut hir bale let others spread it forth But for his parte to speake my minde his choice was little worth My meaning is but this who markes the outward shewe And neuer grops for graftes of grace which in the mind should grow May chance vpon such choise as trusty Troilus had And dwel in dole as Paris did when he would faine be glad How happie then am I whose happe hath bene to finde A mistresse first that doth excell in vertues of the mind And yet therewith hath ioynd such fauoure and suche grace As Pandars niece if she wer here would quickly giue hir place With in whose worthy brest Dame Bounty séekes to dwel And saith to beawty yéeld to me since I doe thee excell Betwene whose heauenly eyes doth right remorse appeare And pitie placed by the same doth muche amende hir chéere Who in my daungers déepe dyd deigne to doe mée good Who did relieue my heauy heart and sought to saue my blood Who first encreast my friendes and ouerthrew my fooes Who loued al them that wisht me wel liked none but those O Ladies giue me leaue I prayse not hir to farre Since she doth pas you al as much as Titan staines a starre You hold such seruauntes deare as able are to serue She held me deare when I poore soule could no good thing deserue You set by them that swim in all prosperitie She set by me when as I was in great calamitie You best estéeme the braue and let the poorest passe Shée best estéemde my poore good wyll all naked as it was But whether am I went what humor guides my braine I séeke to wey the woolsack down with one poore pepper grain I séeme to penne hir praise that doth surpasse my skill I striue to rowe against the tide I hoppe against the hill Then let these fewe suffise shée Helene staines for hewe Dydo for grace Cressyde for chéere and is as Thisbye true Yet if you furder craue to haue hir name displaide Dame Fauor is my mistres name dame Fortune is hir maid Attamen ad solitum Gascoignes good morrow YOu that haue spent the silent night In sléepe and quiet rest And ioye to sée the chéerefull lyght That ryseth in the East Now cleare your voyce now chere your hart Come helpe me nowe to sing Eche willing wight come beare a part To prayse the heauenly King. And you whome care in prison kéepes Or sickenes doth suppresse Or secret sorowe breakes your sléepes Or dolours doe distresse Yet beare a parte in dolfull wise Yea thinke it good accorde And exceptable sacrifice Eche sprite to prayse the lorde The dreadfull night with darkesomnesse Had ouer spread the light And sluggish sléepe with drowsynesse Had ouer prest our might A glasse wherin you may beholde Eche storme that stopes our breath Our bed the graue our clothes lyke molde And sléepe like dreadfull death Yet as this deadly night did laste But for a little space And heauenly daye nowe night is past Doth shewe his pleasaunt face So must we hope to sée Gods face At last in heauen on hie When we haue chang'd this mortall place For Immortalitie And of such happes and heauenly ioyes As then we hope to holde All earthly sightes and wordly toyes Are tokens to beholde The daye is like the daye of doome The sunne the Sonne of man The skyes the heauens the earth the tombe Wherein we rest till than The Rainbowe bending in the skye Bedeckte with sundrye hewes Is like the seate of God on hye And séemes to tell these newes That as thereby he promised To drowne the world no more So by the bloud which Christ hath shead He will our helth restore The mistie cloudes that fall somtime And ouercast the skyes Are like to troubles of our time Which do but dymme our eyes But as suche dewes are dryed vp quite When Phoebus shewes his face So are such fansies put to flighte Where God doth guide by grace The caryon Crowe that lothsome be ast Which cryes agaynst the rayne Both for hir hewe and for the rest The Deuill resembleth playne And as with gonnes we kill the Crowe For spoyling our reléefe The Deuill so must we ouerthrowe With gonshote of beléefe The little byrde which sing so swete Are like the angelles voyce Which render God his prayses méete And teache vs to reioyce And as they more estéeme that myrth Than dread the nights anoy So much we déeme our days on earth But hell to heauenly ioye Vnto which Ioyes for to attayne God graunt vs all his grace And sende vs after worldly payne In heauen to haue a place Where wée maye still enioy that light Which neuer shall decaye Lorde for thy mercy lend vs
name Are brutall things transferred so to men Or men become more sauage than the beast VVe see the dogge that kenelles in his den For onely foode obeyes his Lordes behest Yea more than that remembers so reliefe As in his kinde he mournes at masters griefe If thou perceyue whereto my tale intendes Then slaunder cease to wrong a frendly wight VVho for his countreys good his trauayle spendes Sometime where blowes are giuen in bloudie fight And other tymes he frames with skilfull pen Such verse as may content eche moulde of men As nowe beholde he here presentes to thee The blossoms fayre of three well sorted seedes The first he feynes fresh Flowers for to bee The second Herbes the last he termeth VVeedes All these the soyle of his well fallowed brayne VVith Pallas droppes bedewde yeeldes for thy gaine The Hearbes to graue conceyt and skilfull age The fragrant Flowers to sent of yonger smell The worthlesse VVeedes to rule the wantonrage Of recklesse heades he giues then vse them well And gather friend but neyther spight nor spoyle These Posies made by his long painfull toyle A.VV. In commendation of Gascoigne and his Posies I Praysed once a booke whereby I purchast blame And venturde for to write a verse before I knewe the same So that I was deceyude for when it came to light The booke deserued no such worde as I therein did wright Thus lept I ere I lookt and wandred ere I wist VVhich giues me haggard warning since to trust no falkners fist And yet the booke was good by hap and not my skill But not a Booke of such contentes as might my wordes fulfill VVell now I neede not feare these Posies here to prayse Bicause I knew them euery flower and where they grew alwayes And sure for my conceyt euen when they bloomed first Me thought they smelt not much amisse no not the very worst Perhappes some daintie nose no Batchlers button lykes And some at Pimpernell and Pinkes a slender quarell pykes Some thinke that Gillyflowers do yeeld a gelous smell And some which like none herbe but Sage say Finkell tastes not well Yet Finkell is of force and Gillyflowers are good And Pinks please some and Pimpernell doth serue to steynch the blood And Batchlers buttons be the brauest to beholde But sure that flower were best not grow which can abide no colde For slaunder blowes so shrill with easterne enuious windes And frosts of frumps so nip the rootes of vertuous meaning minds That few good flowers can thriue vnlesse they be protected Or garded from suspitious blastes or with some proppes erected So seemeth by the wight which gardened this grounde And set such flowers on euery bed that Posies here abounde Yet some tongues cannot well affoorde him worthie prayse And by our Lorde they do him wrong for I haue sene his wayes And marked all his moodes and haue had proofe likewise That he can do as well in field as pen can here deuise Not many Monthes yet past I saw his doughtie deedes And since to heare what slaunder sayes my heauie hart it bâ—â—edes Yet Reader graunt but this to trie before thou trust So shalt thou find his flowers and him both gallant good and iust I.B. In commendation of Gascoignes Posies THe sauerie sappes in Gascoignes Flowers that are VVhich strayned were by loftie learnings lore Could not content the surly for their share Ne cause them once to yeeld him thankes therefore Such was his hap when first in hande he tooke By labor long to bring to light this Booke Yet hath he not for all this seemde to cease Those Flowers fresh againe in ground to set And yeeld them earth to bring forth their increase VVith other slippes from forraine soyle yfet VVhich he hath gaynde by hazarde of his life In bloudie broyles where pouldred shot was rife This endlesse toyle contented well his minde Hope helde the helme his Fame on shore to set His deepe desire was friendship for to finde At readers handes he nought else sought to get VVherefore doubtlesse they did him double wrong VVhich F. and I. mysconstrued haue so long Yet least I should passe from the golden ground Of Gascoignes plat wherein those Posies grew I list to tell what Flowers there I found And paint by penne the honour to him dew Since that his toyle doth well deserue the same And sacred skill hath so aduaunst his name First did I finde the Flower of Fetters frute VVhereof my selfe haue tasted to my paine Then might I see the Greene knight touch the Lute VVhose cordes were coucht on frettes of deepe disdaine And likewise there I might perceyue full well That fragrant Flower which Fansie bad farewell In fine I found the flowre that Bellum hight Sweete vnto those of sillie simple sense Yet sharpe and sowre to those that do delight In martiall martes for gaine of peuish pense Such buddes full braue good Gascoignes Garden gaue To all estates which list the same to haue VVherefore good friend flie enuies yrkesome yre And tred the trace which Reasons rule hath wrought Yeeld not disdeyne to Gascoigne for his hyre VVhose brused braine for thee these flowers hath sought Least if thou do the blame on thee do light Such friendly paynes to recompence with spight I.D. In prayse of Gascoigne and his Posies IF Virgill how to till the Earth to euery man doth tell And Galen he in Phisicks arte doth many men excell If Poets olde deseruen prayse by paynting out aright The frutes of vice as Ouid doth and many mo that wright By learned skill of many things If such exalt their name And for their hyre deserued prayse by trumpe of Ladie Fame VVhy should the Authour of this booke then leese his due desart Sith he so freendly here to vs hath shewed his skilfull arte The healthsome herbs and flowers sweet froÌ„ weedes he hath diuided The fruits of Giues in prison stroÌ„g he hath right wel decided Of warres also and warriours to euen like a Martiall knight He hath discourst and shewed the lottes that therevpon do light Virgill is dead and Galen gone with Poets many more Yet workes of theirs be still aliue and with vs kept in store This Authour liues and Gascoigne hights yet once to die most sure Alas the while that worthie wightes may not alwayes endure But workes of his among the best for euer more shall rest VVhen he in heauen shall take a place prepared for the blest The Printer in commendation of Gascoigne and his workes CHawcer by writing purchast fame And Gower got a worthie name Sweete Surrey suckt Pernassus springs And VViat wrote of wondrous things Olde Rothfort clambe the stately Throne VVhich Muses holde in Hellicone Then thither let good Gascoigne go For sure his verse deserueth so M.A. Perugino a i lettori COnciosia la cosa che a'l bono vino non ci bisogna la ghirlanda nientedi meno l'opere virtuose meritano sempremai ogni laude honore mercede
the more How much the wished conquest at the first Fell happily vnto the towne of Thebes But wise men ought with patience to sustaine The sundrie haps that slipperie fortune frames Nuncius commeth in by the gates Electrae Nun. Alas who can direct my hastie steppes Vnto the brother of our wofull Quéene But loe where carefully he standeth here Cre. If so the minde may dread his owne mishap Then dread I much this man that séekes me thus Hath brought the death of my beloued sonne Nun. My Lorde the thing you feare is very true Your sonne Meneceus no longer liues Cre. Alas who can withstand the heauenly powers Well it beséemes not me ne yet my yeares In bootelesse plaint to wast my wailefull teares Do thou recount to me his lucklesse deathe The order forme and manner of the same Nun. Your sonne my Lorde came to Eteocles And tolde him this in presence of the rest Renoumed King neither your victorie Ne yet the safetie of this princely Realme In armour doth consist but in the death Of me of me O most victorious King So heauenly dome of mightie Ioue commaunds I knowing what auayle my death should yéeld Vnto your grace and vnto natiue land Might well be déemde a most vngratefull sonne Vnto this worthy towne if I would shunne The sharpest death to do my countrie good In mourning wéede now let the vestall Nimphes With fainyng tunes commend my faultlesse ghost To highest heauens while I despoyle my selfe That afterwarde sith Ioue will haue it so To saue your liues I may receyue my death Of you I craue O curteous Citizens To shrine my corps in tombe of marble stone Whereon graue this Meneceus here doth lie For countries cause that was content to die This saide alas he made no more a doe But drewe his sword and sheathde it in his brest Cre. No more I haue inough returne ye nowe From whence ye came Nuncius returneth by the gates Electrae Well since the bloud of my beloued sonne Must serue to slake the wrath of angrie Ioue And since his onely death must bring to Thebes A quiet ende of hir vnquiet state Me thinkes good reason would that I henceforth Of Thebane soyle should beare the kingly swaye Yea sure and so I will ere it belong Either by right or else by force of armes Of al mishap loe here the wicked broode My sister first espoused hath hir sonne That slewe his fire of whose accursed séede Two brethren sprang whose raging hatefull hearts By force of boyling yre are bolne so sore As each do thyrst to sucke the others bloude But why do I sustaine the smart hereof Why should my bloud be spilt for others gilte Oh welcome were that messenger to me That brought me word of both my nephewes deathes Then should it soone be sene in euery eye Twixt prince and prince what difference would appeare Then should experience shewe what griefe it is To serue the humours of vnbridled youth Now will I goe for to prepare with spéede The funerals of my yong giltlesse sonne The which perhaps may be accompanyed With th' obsequies of proude Eteocles Creon goeth out by the gates Homoloydes Finis Actus 4. Actus 4. CHORVS O Blisful concord bredde in sacred brest Of him that guides the restlesse rolling sky That to the earth for mans assured rest From heigth of heauens vouchsafest downe to flie In thée alone the mightie power doth lie With swete accorde to kepe the frouning starres And euery planet else from hurtfull warres In thée in thée such noble vertue bydes As may commaund the mightiest Gods to bend From thée alone such sugred frendship slydes As mortall wightes can scarcely comprehend To greatest strife thou setst delightfull ende O holy peace by thée are onely founde The passing ioyes that euery where abound Thou onely thou through thy celestiall might Didst first of al the heauenly pole deuide From th' olde confused heape that Chaos hight Thou madste the Sunne the Moone and starres to glide With ordred course about this world so wide Thou hast ordainde Dan Tytans shining light By dawne of day to chase the darkesome night When tract of time returnes the lustie Ver. By thée alone the buddes and blossomes spring The fieldes with floures be garnisht euery where The blooming trées aboundant fruite do bring The cherefull birds melodiously do sing Thou dost appoint the crop of sommers séede For mans reliefe to serue the winters néede Thou doest inspire the heartes of princely péeres By prouidence procéeding from aboue In flowring youth to choose their worthie féeres With whome they liue in league of lasting loue Till fearefull death doth flitting life remoue And loke how fast to death man payes his due So fast againe doste thou his stocke renue By thée the basest thing aduaunced is Thou euerie where dost graffe such golden peace As filleth man with more than earthly blisse The earth by thée doth yelde hir swete increase At becke of thée all bloudy discords cease And mightiest Realmes in quiet do remaine Wheras thy hand doth holde the royall raine But if thou faile then al things gone to wracke The mother then doth dread hir naturall childe Then euery towne is subiect to the sacke Then spotlesse maids the virgins be defilde Then rigor rules then reason is exilde And this thou wofull Thebes to our great paine With present spoile art likely to sustaine Me thinke I heare the wailfull wéeping cries Of wretched dames in euerie coast resound Me thinkes I sée how vp to heauenly skies From battred walls the thundring clappes rebound Me thinke I heare how all things go to ground Me thinke I sée how souldiers wounded lye With gasping breath and yet they can not dye By meanes wherof oh swete Meneceus he That giues for countries cause his guiltlesse life Of others all most happy shall he be His ghost shall flit from broiles of bloudy strife To heauenly blisse where pleasing ioyes be rife And would to God that this his fatall ende From further plagues our citie might defend O sacred God giue eare vnto thy thrall That humbly here vpon thy name doth call O let not now our faultlesse bloud be spilt For hote reuenge of any others gilt Finis Actus quarti Done by F. Kinwelmarshe The order of the laste dumbe shevve FIrst the Stillpipes sounded a very mournful melody in which time came vpon the Stage a womā clothed in a white garment on hir head a piller double faced the formost face fair smiling the other behinde blacke louring muffled with a white laune about hir eyes hir lap ful of Iewelles sitting in a charyot hir legges naked hir fete set vpō a great roūd bal beyng drawē in by .iiij. noble personages she led in a string on hir right hand .ij. kings crowned and in hir lefte hand .ij. poore slaues very meanly attyred After she was drawen about the stage she stayed a little changing the kings vnto the left hande the slaues
now ere long in brauery The tender buddes whom colde hath long kept in Will spring and sproute as they do now begin But I alas within whose mourning minde The graffes of grief are onely giuen to growe Cannot enioy the spring which others finde But still my will must wither all in woe The cold of care so nippes my ioyes at roote No sunne doth shine that well can do them boote The lustie Ver which whilome might exchange My griefe to ioy and then my ioyes encrease Springs now else where and showes to me but strange My winters woe therefore can neuer cease In other coasts his sunne full cleare doth shine And comforts lends to eu'ry mould but mine What plant can spring that féeles no force of Ver What floure can florish where no sunne doth shine These Bales quod she within my breast I beare To breake my barke and make my pith to pine Néedes must I fall I fade both roote and rinde My braunches bowe at blast of eu'ry winde This sayed shée cast a glance and spied my face By sight whereof Lord how she chaunged hew So that for shame I turned backe a pace And to my home my selfe in hast I drew And as I could hir woofull wordes reherse I set them downe in this waymenting verse Now Ladies you that know by whom I sing And feele the winter of such frozen wills Of curtesie yet cause this noble spring To send his sunne aboue the highest hilles And so to shyne vppon hir fading sprayes Which now in woe do wyther thus alwayes Spraeta tamen viuunt An absent Dame thus complayneth MVch like the séely Byrd which close in Cage is pent So sing I now not notes of ioye but layes of déepe lament And as the hooded Hauke which heares the Partrich spring Who though she féele hir self fast tied yet beats hir bating wing So striue I now to shewe my feeble forward will Although I know my labour lost to hop against the Hill. The droppes of darke disdayne did neuer drench my hart For well I know I am belou'd if that might ease my smart Ne yet the priuy coales of glowing iellosie Could euer kindle néedlesse feare within my fantasie The rigor of repulse doth not renew my playnt Nor choyce of change doth moue my mone nor force me thus to faint Onely that pang of payne which passeth all the rest And cankerlike doth fret the hart within the giltlesse brest Which is if any bee most like the panges of death That present grief now gripeth me striues to stop my breath When friendes in mind may méete and hart in hart embrace And absent yet are faine to playne for lacke of time and place Then may I compt their loue like séede that soone is sowen Yet lacking droppes of heauēly dew with wéedes is ouergrowē The Greyhound is agréeu'd although he sée his game If stil in slippe he must be stayde when he would chase the same So fares it now by me who know my selfe belou'd Of one the best in eche respect that euer yet was prou'd But since my lucklesse lot forbids me now to taste The dulcet fruites of my delight therfore in woes I wast And Swallow like I sing as one enforced so Since others reape the gaineful crop which I with pain did sow Yet you that marke my song excuse my Swallowes voyce And beare with hir vnpleasant tunes which cannot wel reioyce Had I or lucke in loue or lease of libertie Then should you heare some swéeter notes so cléere my throte would be But take it thus in grée and marke my playnsong well No hart féeles so much hurt as that which doth in absence dwell Spraeta tamen viuunt In prayse of a Countesse DEsire of Fame would force my féeble skill To prayse a Countesse by hir dew desert But dread of blame holds backe my forward will And quencht the coales which kindled in my hart Thus am I plongd twene dread and déepe desire To pay the dew which dutie doth require And when I call the mighty Gods in ayd To further forth some fine inuention My bashefull spirits be full ill afrayd To purchase payne by my presumption Such malice reignes sometimes in heauenly minds To punish him that prayseth as he finds For Pallas first whose filed flowing skill Should guyde my pen some pleasant words to write With angry mood hath fram'd a froward will To dashe deuise as oft as I endite For why if once my Ladies gifts were knowne Pallas should loose the prayses of hir owne And bloudy Mars by chaunge of his delight Hath made Ioues daughter now mine enemie In whose conceipt my Countesse shines so bright That Venus pines for burning ielousie She may go home to Vulcane now agayne For Mars is sworne to be my Ladies swayne Of hir bright beames Dan Phoebus stands in dread And shames to shine within our Horizon Dame Cynthia holds in hir horned head For feare to loose by like comparison Lo thus shée liues and laughes them all to skorne Countesse on earth in heauen a Goddesse borne And I sometimes hir seruaunt now hir friend Whom heauen and earth for hir thus hate and blame Haue yet presume in friendly wise to spend This ragged verse in honor of hir name A simple gift compared by the skill Yet what may séeme so déere as such good will. Meritum petere graue The Louer declareth his affection togither with the cause thereof WHen first I thée beheld in colours black and white Thy face in forme wel framde with fauor blooming stil My burning brest in cares did choose his chief delight With pen to painte thy prayse contrary to my skill Whose worthinesse compar'd with this my rude deuise I blush and am abasht this worke to enterprise But when I call to mind thy sundry gifts of grace Full fraught with maners méeke in happy quiet mind My hasty hand forthwith doth scribble on apace Least willing hart might thinke it ment to come behind Thus do both hand and hart these carefull méetres vse Twixt hope and trembling feare my duetie to excuse Wherfore accept these lines and banish darke disdayne Be sure they come from one that loueth thée in chief And guerdon me thy friend in like with loue agayne So shalt thou well be sure to yéeld me such relief As onely may redresse my sorrowes and my smart For proofe whereof I pledge deare Dame to thée my hart Meritum petere graue A Lady being both wronged by false suspect and also wounded by the durance of hir husband doth thus bewray hir grief GIue me my Lute in bed now as I lie And lock the doores of mine vnluckie bower So shall my voyce in mournefull verse discrie The secrete smart which causeth me to lower Resound you walles an Eccho to my mone And thou cold bed wherein I lie alone Beare witnesse yet what rest thy Lady takes When other sléepe which may enioy their makes In prime of youth when Cupide kindled fire And warmd