The Posies of George Gascoigne Esquire.  
Corrected, perfected, and augmented by the Author. 1575.  Tam Marti, quàm Mercurio. 
¶ IMPRINTED AT London by H. Bynneman for Richard Smith.  
These Books are to be sold at the Northwest door of Paul's Church.   

¶ To the reverend Divines, unto whom these Posies shall happen to be presented, George Gascoigne Esquire (professing arms in the defence of God's truth) wisheth quiet in conscience, and all consolation in Christ jesus.  
RIght reverend: I have thought it my part (before I wade further in publishing of these Posies) to lay open before your grave judgements, aswell the cause which presently moveth me to present them, as also the depth and secrets of some conceits, which (being passed in clouds and figurative speeches) might percase both be offensive to your gravity, and perilous to my credit.  
It is very near two years past, since (I being in Holland in service with the virtuous Prince of Orange) the most part of these Posies were imprinted, and now at my return, I found that some of them have not only been offensive for sundry wanton speeches and lascivious phrases, but further I hear that the same have been doubtfully construed, and (therefore) scandalous.  
My reverend and well-beloved: whatsoever my youth hath seemed unto the graver sort, I would be very loath now in my middle age to deserve reproach: more loath to touch the credit of any other, and most loath to have mine own name become unto you odious. For if I should now at this age seem as careless of reproach, as I was in green youth ready to go astray, my faults might quickly grow double, and mine estimation should be worthy too remain but single. I have learned that although there may be found in a Gentleman whereby to be reprehended or rebuked, yet aught he not to be worthy of reproof or condemnation.  
All this I set down in preamble, too the end I may thereby purchase your patience. And as I desire that you will not condemn me without proof, so am I contented, that if hereafter you find me guilty, your definitive, sentence shall then pass publicly under the Seal of Severity.  
It were not reason (right reverend) that I should be ignorant how generally we are all magis proni ad malum quàm ad bonum. Even so is it requisite that I acknowledge a general reformation of manners more necessary to be taught, than any Whetstone of Vanities is meet (in these days) to be suffered. And therefore as your gravity hath thought requisite that all idle Books or wanton Pamphlettes should be forbidden, so might it seem that I were worthy of great reprehension, if I should be the Author of evil wilfully, or a provoker of vices wittingly. And yet some there are who have not spared too report that I received great sums of money for the first printing of these Posies, whereby (if it were true) I might seem not only a crafty Broker for the utterance of garish toys, but a corrupt merchant for the sale of deceitful wares.  
For answer hereof it is most true (and I call Heaven and Earth too witness) that I never received of the Printer, or of any other, one groat or penny for the first Copies of these Posyes. True it is that I was not unwillinge the same should be imprinted: And that not of a vainglorious desire too be thought a pleasant Poet, neither yet of a light mind too be counted a cunning Lover. For though in youth I was often overhardy too put my name in Balance of doubtful judgements, yet now I am become so bashful that I could rather be content too lose the praise of my follies, than too hazard the misconceyte of the grave and grey headed judges. But too confess a truth unto you right reverend (with whom I may not dissemble in cases which so generally do touch all men) I was the rather contented too see them imprinted for these sundry considerations.  
First, for that I have seen diverse Authors, (both learned and well learned) which after they have both reformed their lives, and converted their studies, have not yet disdained to read the Poems which they let pass their pens in youth. For it seemeth unto me that in all age's Poetry hath been not only permitted, but also it hath been thought a right good and excellent quality.  
Next unto this, I have always been of opinion, that it is not unpossible either in Poems or in Prose too write both compendiously, and perfectly in our English tongue. And therefore although I challenge not unto myself the name of an English Poet, yet may the Reader find out in my writings, that I have more faulted in keeping the old English words (quamuis iam obsoleta) than in borrowing of other languages, such Epithets and adjectives as smell of the Ink horn.  
Thirdly, as I seek advancement by virtue, so was I desirous that there might remain in public record, some pledge or token of those gifts wherewith it hath pleased the Almighty to endue me: To the end that thereby the virtuous might be encouraged to employ my pen in some exercise which might tend both to my preferment, and to the profit of my Country. For many a man which may like mine outward presence, might yet have doubted whether the qualities of my mind had been correspondent to the proportion of my body.  
Fourthly, because I had written sundry things which could not choose but content the learned and Godly Reader, therefore I hoped the same should serve as undoubted proof, that I had laid aside vanities, and delighted to exercise my pen in moral discourses, at lest the one passing (cheek by cheek) with the other, must of necessity persuade both the learned, and the light minded, that I could aswell sow good grain, as grains or draff. And I thought not meet (being intermingled as they were) to cast away a whole bushel of good seed, for two or three grains of Darnell or Cockle.  
Lastly, I persuaded myself that as in the better sort of the same I should purchase good liking with the honourable aged: So even in the worst sort, I might yet serve as a mirror for unbridled youth, to avoid those perils which I had passed. For little may he do which hath escaped the rock or the sands, if he cannot waft with his hand to them that come after him.  
These considerations (right reverend) did first move me to consent that these Poems should pass in print. For recapitulation whereof, and to answer unto the objections that may be given: I say to the first that I neither take example of wanton Ovid, doting Nigidius, nor foolish Samocratius. But I delight to think that the reverend father Theodore Beza, whose life is worthily become a lantern to the whole world, did not yet disdain too suffer the continued publication of such Poems as he written in youth. And as he termed them at last Poëmata castrata, So shall your reverend judgements behold in this second edition, my Poems gelded from all filthy phrases, corrected in all erroneous places, and beautified with addition of many moral examples.  
To the second, although I be sometimes constrained for the cadence of rhymes, or per licentiam Poeticam, to use an inkhorn term, or a strange word: Yet hope I that it shall be apparent I have rather regard to make our native language commendable in itself, than gay with the feathers of strange birds.  
To the third reason may be objected, that if I were so desirous to have my capacity known, I should have done much better to have traveled in some notorious piece of work, which might generally have spread my commendation. The which I confess. But yet is it true that I must take the Ford as I find it: Sometimes not as I would, but as I may And since the oversight of my youth had brought me far behind hand and indebted unto the world, I thought good in the mean time to pay as much as I had, until it might please God better to enable me. For commonly the greediest creditor is appeased, if he see his debtor willing to pay when he hath any thing. And therefore being busied in martial affairs (whereby also I sought some advancement) I thought good to notify unto the world before my return, that I could as well persuade with Pen, as pierce with lance or weapon: So that yet some noble mind might be encouraged both to exercise me in time of peace, and to employ me in time of service in war.  
To the fourth and last considerations, I had alleged of late by a right reverend father, that although in deed out of every flower the industrious Bee may gather honey, yet by proof the Spider thereout also sucks mischievous poison. Whereunto I can none otherwise answer, but that he who will throw a stone at every Dog which barketh, had need of a great satchel or pocket. And if the learned judgements and honest minds do both construe my doings aright, and take therein either council or commodity, then care I the less what the wicked conceive of my conceits. For I esteem more the praise of one learned Reader, than I regard the curious carping of ten thousand unlettered lettered tattlers.  
To conclude (right reverend) as these considerations did specially move me at first to consent to the imprinting of these posies, so now have I yet a further consideration which moveth me most earnestly to sue for this second edition or publishing of the same. And that is this. I understand that sundry well disposed minds have taken offence at certain wanton words and sentences passed in the fable of Ferdinando jeronimi, and the Lady Elinora de Valasco, the which in the first edition was termed The adventures of master F. I And that also therewith some busy conjectures have presumed to think that the same was indeed written to the scandalising of some worthy personages, whom they would seem thereby to know. Surely (right reverend) I smile to see the simplicity of such, who being indeed stark staring blind, would yet seem to see far into a millstone. And the rather I scorn their rash judgements, for that in talking with twenty of them one after another, there have not two agreed in one conjecture. Alas, alas, if I had been so foolish as to have passed in recital a thing so done in deed, yet all the world might think me very simple if I would call john, john, or Mary, Marry. But for the better satisfying of all men universally, I do here protest unto you (reverend) even by the hope of my salvation, that there is no living creature touched or to be noted thereby. And for the rest you shall found it now in this second imprinting so turquened and turned, so cleansed from all uncleanly words, and so purged from the humour of inhumanity, as percase you would not judge that it was the same tale. For although I have been heretofore contented to suffer the publication thereof, only to the end men might see my Method and manner of writing, yet am I now thus desirous to set it forth eftsoons, to the end all men might see the reformation of my mind. And that all suspicions may be suppressed and thoroughly satisfied, by this mine unfeigned protestation which I make unto you in that behalf. Finally, were it not that the same is already extant in such sort as hath moved offence, I should rather be content to cancel it utterly to oblivion, than thus to return it in a new patched cote. And for full proof of mine earnest zeal in God's service, I require of you (reverend) most instantly, that if hereby my skill seem sufficient to wade in matters of greater importance, you will then vouchsafe to employ me accordingly. Surely you shall find me no less ready to undertake a whole years travail in any work which you shall think me able to overcome, than I have been willing heretofore to spend three hours in penning of an amorous Sonnet. Even so being desirous that all men generally (and you especially) should conceive of me as I mean, I have thus far troubled your learned eyes with this plain Epistle, written for my purgation, in matters which (else) might both have offended you, and given great battery to the ramparts of my poor credit. The God of peace vouchsafe to govern and product you, and me, and all his, in quiet of conscience, and strength of spirit. Amen. From my poor house at Waltamstow in the Forest, this last day of januarie. 1574.   

To all young Gentlemen, and generally to the youth of England, George Gascoigne Esquire by birth, and Soldier by profession, wisheth increase of knowledge in all virtuous exercises.  
GAllant Gentlemen, and lusty youths of this my native Country, I have here (as you see) published in print such Posies and rhymes as I used in my youth, the which for the barbarousness of the style may seem worthless, and yet for the doubtfulness of some dark places they have also seemed (heretofore) dangerous. So that men may justly both condemn me of rashness, and wonder at my simplicity in suffering or procuring the same to be imprinted.  
A young man well borne, tenderly fostered, and delicately accompanied, shall hardly pass over his youth without falling into some snares of the Devil, and temptations of the flesh. But a man of middle years, who hath to his cost experimented the vanities of youth, and to his peril passed them: who hath bought repentance dear, and yet gone through with the bargain: who seeth before his face the time passed lost, and the rest passing away in post: Such a man had more need to be well advised in his doings, and resolute in his determinations. For with more ease and greater favour may we answer for ten mad follies committed in green youth, than one sober oversight escaped in years of discretion. Lycurgus' the good princely Philosopher, ordained that if an old man perceiving a young man to commit any dishonesty; did not rebuke but suffer him: the aged should be chastised, and the young man should be absolved.  
All this rehearsed and considered, you may (as I say) grow in some doubt, whether I were worse occupied in first devising, or at last in publishing these toys & pamphlets: and much the rather, for that it is a thing commonly seen, that (now adays) few or no things are so well handled, but they shall be carped at by curious Readers, nor almost any thing so well meant, but may be much misconstrued.  
And heerewithall I assure myself, that I shall be generally condemned as a man very lightly bend, and rather desirous to continued in the fresh remembrance of my follies, than content too cancel them in oblivion by discontinuance: especially since in a house where many young children are, it hath been thought better policy quite to quench out the fire, than to leave any loof coal in the embers, wherewith Babes may play and put the whole edifice in danger.  
But my lusty youths, and gallant Gentlemen, I had an intent far contrary unto all these supposes, when I first permitmitted the publication hereof. And because the greatest offence that hath been taken thereat, is, lest your minds might hereby become envenomed with vanities, therefore unto you I will address my tale, for the better satisfying of common judgements. And unto you I will explain, that which being before mystically covered, and commonly misconstrued, might be no less perilous in seducing you, than grievous evidence for to prove me guilty of condemnation.  
Then to come unto the matter, there are three sorts of men which (being wonderfully offended at this book) have found therein three manner of matters (say they) very reprehensible. The men are these: curious Carpers, ignorant Readers, and grave Philosophers. The faults they find are, judicare in the Creed: Chalk for Cheese: and the common infection of Love. Of these three sorts of men and matters, I do but very little esteem the two first. But I deeply regard the third. For of a very troth, there are one kind of people nowadays which will mislike any thing, being bred (as I think) of the spawn of a Crab or Crevish, which in all streams and waters will swim either sidewayes, or flat backwards: and when they can indeed find none other fault, will yet think judicare very untowardlye placed in the Creed. Or (being a simple souter) will find fault at the shape of the leg: or if they be not there stopped, they will not spare to step up higher, and say, that Apelles painted Dame Venus very deformed or evil favoured.  
Of this sort I make small account, because indeed they seek a knot in the Rush, and would seem to see very far in a millstone.  
There are also certain others, who (having no skill at all) will yet be very busy in reading all that may be read, and think it sufficient if (Parrot like) they can rehearse things without book: when within book they understand neither the meaning of the Author, nor the sense of the figurative speeches, I will forbear to recite examples by any of mine own doings. Since all comparisons are odious, I will not say how much the areignment and divorce of a Lover (being written in jest) have been mistaken in sad earnest. It shall suffice that the contentions passed in verse long sithence, between master Churchyard and Camel, were (by a blockheaded reader) construed to be indeed a quarrel between two neighbours. Of whom that one having a Camel in keeping, and that other having charge of the Churchyard, it was supposed they had grown to debate, because the Camel came into the Churchyard. Laugh not at this (lusty younkers) since the pleasant ditty of the noble Earl of Surrey (beginning thus: In winter's just return) was also construed to be made indeed by a Shepherd. What should I stand much in rehearsal how the L. Vaux his ditty (beginning thus: I loath that I did love) was thought by some to be made upon his death bed? and that the Soulknill of M. Edward's was also written in extremity of sickness? Of a truth (my good gallants) there are such as having only learned to read English, do interpret Latin, Greek, French and Italian phrases or metaphors, even according to their own motherly conception and childish skill. The which (because they take Chalk for Cheese) shall never trouble me, whatsoever fault they find in my doings.  
But the third sort (being grave Philosophers, and finding just fault in my doings at the common infection of love) I must needs allege such just excuse as may countervail their just complaints. For else I should remain worthy of a severe punishment. They wisely considering that we are all in youth more apt to delight in harmful pleasures, then to digest wholesome and sound advice, have thought meet to forbidden the publishing of any rhyming trifles which may serve as whetstones to sharpen youth unto vanities.  
And for this cause, finding by experience also, how the first Copy of these my Posies hath been very much inquired for by the younger sort: and hearing likewise that (in the same) the greater part hath been written in pursuit of amorous enterprises, they have justly conceived that the continuance thereof hath been more likely to stir in all young Readers a venomous desire of vanity, than to serve as a common mirror of green and youthful imperfections. Whereunto I must confess, that as the industrious Bee may gather honey out of the most stinking weed, so the malicious Spider may also gather poison out of the fairest flower that grows.  
And yet in all this discourse I see not proved, that either that Gardener is too blame which planteth his Garden full of fragrant flowers neither that planter to be dispraised: which soweth all his beds with seeds of wholesome herbs: neither is that Orchard unfruitful, which (under show of sundry weeds) hath medicinable plasters for all infirmities. But if the Chirurgeon which should seek Sorrel to rypen an Ulcer, will take rue which may more inflame the Impostume, then is he more to blame that mistook his gathering, than the Gardener which planted aright, and presented store and choice to be taken. Or if the Physician will gather hot Perceley in stead of cold Endive, shall he not worthily bear the burden of his own blame?  
To speak English, it is your using (my lusty Gallants) or misusing of these Posies that may make me praised or dispraised for publishing of the same. For if you (where you may learn to avoid the subtle sands of wanton desire) will run upon the rocks of unlawful lust, then great is your folly, and greater will grow my rebuke. If you (where you might gather wholesome herbs to cure your sundry infirmities) will spend the whole day in gathering of sweet smelling Posies, much will be the time that you shall misspend, and much more the harm that you shall heap upon my head. Or if you will rather beblister your hands with a Nettle, then comfort your senses by smelling to the pleasant Marjoram, then wanton is your pastime, and small will be your profit.  
I have here presented you with three sundry sorts of Posies: Flowers, Herbs, and Weeds. In which division I have not meant that only the flowers are to be smelled unto, nor that only the Weeds are to be rejected. I term some Flowers, because being indeed invented upon a very light occasion, they have yet in them (in my judgement) some rare invention and Method before not commonly used. And therefore (being more pleasant than profitable) I have named them Flowers.  
The second (being indeed moral discourses, and reformed inventions, and therefore more profitable than pleasant) I have named Herbs.  
The third (being Weeds) might seem to some judgements, neither pleasant nor yet profitable, and therefore meet to be cast away. But as many weeds are right medicinable, so may you found in this none so vile or stinking, but that it hath in it some virtue if it be rightly handled. Marry you must take heed how you use them. For if you delight to put Hemlock in your fellows pottage, you may chance both to poison him, and bring yourself in peril. But if you take example by the harms of others who have eaten it before you, then may you chance to become so wary, that you will look advisedly on all the Perceley that you gather, lest amongst the same one branch of Hemlock might annoy you.  
I assure you, my young bloods, I have not published the same to the intent that other men hereafter might be infected with my follies forepast. For though it be a comfort in miserijs habere consortem, yet is it small consolation to a felon, to have a coiner hanged in his company. And I assure you (although you will think it strange) that I have not caused them to be imprinted for any vain delight which I have (my self) therein conceived. For the most of them being written in my madness, might have yielded then more delight to my frantic fancy to see them published, than they now do accumulate cares in my mind to set them forth corrected: and a deformed youth had been more likely to set them to sale long sithence, than a reformed man can be able now to protect them with simplicity.  
The scope of mine intent, and the mark whereat I shoot is double. I mean grounded upon two sundry causes: the one that being indebted unto the world (at the lest five thousand days very vainly spent) I may yield him yet some part of mine account in these Poems. Wherein as he may find great diversity both in style and sense, so may the good be encouraged to set me on work at last, though it were noon before I sought service. The other reason is, that because I have (to mine own great detriment) misspent my golden time, I may serve as ensample to the youthful Gentlemen of England, that they run not upon the rocks which have brought me to shipwreck. Beware therefore, lusty Gallants, how you smell to these Posies. And learn you to use the talon which I have highly abused. Make me your mirror. And if hereafter you see me recover mine estate, or re-edify the decayed walls of my youth, then begin you sooner to build some foundation which may beautify your Palace. If you see me sink in distresses (notwithstanding that you judge me quick of capacity) then learn you to maintain yourselves swimming in prosperity, and eschew betimes the whirlpool of misgovernment.  
Finally, I beseech you, and conjure you, that you rather encourage me to accomplish some worthier travail, by seeing these Posies right smelled unto, than discourage me from attempting other labours, when I shall see these first fruits rejected or misused. I have corrected them from sundry faults. Which if they had not brought suspicion in the first copy, be you then out of doubt you had never been troubled with these second presents, nor persuaded to flourish wisely with a two edged sword in your naked hands. But as I have meant them well, so I crave of God, that they may both pleasure and profit you for the furtherance of your skill in any commendable enterprise.  
From my poor house at Waltamstow in the Forest the second of januarie. 1575.   

To the Readers generally a general advertisement of the Author.  
ALl that is written is written for our instruction, as the holy Apostle witnesseth to the romans in his xu Chapter. And in his ninth Chapter of his first Epistle to the Corinthians, he glorieth that he could (as it were) transform himself into all professions, thereby to win all kind of men to God: saying that with the jews he become a jew: with them that were under the law, he seemed also under the law: with the feeble, he showed himself feeble. And to conclude, he become all things to all men, to the end that he might thereby win some to salvation. My Schoolmaster which taught me Grammar, would always say that some scholars he won to study by stripes, some other by fair means, some by promises, some other by praises, some by vainglory, and some by very shame. But I never heard him repent him that ever he had persuaded any scholar to become studious, in what sort soever it were that he won him. For whether the brave Jennet be broken with the bit, or with the snaffle, whither he be brought in awe with a Spur, or with a wand, all is one if he prove ready and well mouthed.  
Thus much I writ (gentle Reader) to the end that mine intent may appear in publishing of these Posies. Wherein as there are many things moral, so are there also some verses more sauced with wantonness than with wisdom. And as there are some ditties which may please and delight the godly and graver sort, so are there some which may allure the younger sort unto fond attempts. But what for that? Hath Terence been forbidden to be read, because his Comedies are rehearsals of many mad pranks played by wanton youths? Not surely.  
Paracelsus, and sundry other Physicians and Philosophers, declare, that in every thing natural there is to be found Salt, Oil, and Brimstone. And I am of opinion, that in every thing which is written (the holy scriptures excepted) there are to be found wisdom, folly, emulation, and detraction. For as I never yet saw any thing so clerkly handled, but that therein might be found some imperfections: So could I never yet read fable so ridiculous but that therein some morality might be gathered. And as the good writer shall be sure of some to be maliced: so the bad shall never escape the biting tongues of slanderers.  
But to return to my purpose: If in the hardest flint there may be found sparks of lively fire, and the most knotty piece of Box, may be wrought to a fair Doogen haft: let these few suffice to persuade thee, that I have not procured the publication hereof to any end, so much as that the youthful sort might therein take example, and the aged recreation.  
Now if any (misgoverning their own wits) do fortune to use that for a Spur, which I had here appointed for a Bridle, I can none otherwise lament it, but to say that I am not the first which hath been misjudged. Truly (gentle Reader) I protest that I have not meant herein to displease any man, but my desire hath rather been to content most men: I mean the divine with godly Hymns and Psalms, the sober mind with moral discourses, and the wildest will with sufficient warning. The which if it so fall out, then shall I think myself right happy. And if it fall out otherwise, I shall yet never be ashamed to become one of their corporation which reap flouts and reprehension for their travails.  
But because these Posies grow to a great bundle, and thereof also the number of loving lines exceedeth in the Superlative, I thought good to advertise thee, that the most part of them were written for other men. And out of all doubt, if ever I wrote line for myself in causes of love, I have written ten for other men in lays of lust. For I count greater difference between love and lust, than there is diversity between wit and wisdom: and yet wit and I did (in youth) make such a fray, that I fear his cozen wisdom will never become friends with me in my age. Well, though my folly be greater than my fortune, yet overgreat were mine unconstancy, if (in mine own behalf) I should compile so many sundry Songs or Sonnets. I have heard of an honest plain meaning Citizen, who (being overcharged with many matters in the law, and hearing of a common solicitor of causes in the City) came home to comfort his wife, and told her that he had heard of one which dwelled at Billingsgate, that could help all men. Eu●n so (good Reader) I was a great while the man which dwelled at Billingsgate. For in wanton delights I helped all men, though in sad earnest I never furthered myself any kind of way. And by that it proceedeth, that I have so often changed my Posy or word. For when I did compile any thing at the request of other men, if I had subscribed the same with mine own usual mot or devise, it might have bewrayed the same to have been of my doing. And I was ever curious in that behalf, as one that was loath to bewray the follies of other men. And yet (as you see) I am not very dangerous to lay myself wide open in view of the world. I have also sundry times changed mine own word or devise. And no marvel: For he that wandereth much in those wildernesses, shall seldom continued long in one mind.  
Well, it were folly to bewail things which are unpossible to be recovered, sithence Had I witted doth seldom serve as a blasone of good understanding. And therefore I will spend no more words in this Preface, but I pray thee to smell unto these Posies, as Flowers to comfort, Herbs to cure, and Weeds to be avoided. So have I meant them, and so I beseech thee Reader to accept them.  
Farewell.   


T.B. In praise of Gascogines Posies.  
WE praise the plough, that makes the fruitless soil  
To bring forth corn, (through help of heavenly might)  
And eke esteem the simple wretch's toil,  
Whose painful hands do labour day and night.  
We praise the ground, whereon the herbs do grow,  
Which heal or help, our grieves and mortal pain,  
Yea weeds have worth, wherein we virtue know,  
For nature's Art, nothing hath made in vain.  
We praise those flowers which please the secret sense,  
And do content, the taste or smell of man,  
The gardeners pains and work we recompense,  
That skilful is, or aught in cunning can.  
But much more praise to Gascoignes pen is due,  
Whose learned hand doth here to thee present,  
A Posy full of Herbs, and Flowers new,  
To please all brains, to wit or learning bend.  
How much the mind doth pass the sense or smell,  
So much these Flowers all other do excel.   

E.C. In praise of Gascoignes Posies.  
IN gladsome Spring, when sweet and pleasant showers  
Have well renewed, what winter's wrath hath torn,  
And that we see, the wholesome smelling Flowers,  
Begin to laugh rough winter's wrack to scorn:  
If then by chance, or choice of owners will,  
We roam and walk in place of rare delights,  
And therein find, what Art or nature's skill  
Can well set forth, to feed our hungry sights:  
Yea more, if then the owner of the soil,  
Doth licence yield to use all as our own,  
And gladly thinks, the fruits of all his toil,  
To our behoof to be well set and sown.  
It cannot be, but this so great desert  
In basest breast doth breed this due regard,  
With world of thanks, to praise this friendly part,  
And wish that worth might pay a just reward.  
Good Reader then, behold what gallant spring  
This book brings forth, of fruits of finest sorts,  
Be bold to take, thy list of every thing,  
For so is meant. And for thy glad disports  
The pain was ta'en: therefore lo this I crave,  
In his behalf, that wrote this pleasant work,  
With care and cost, (and then most freely gave  
His labours great, wherein great treasures lurk:  
To thine avail) let his deserts now bind thee,  
In word and deed, he may still thankful find thee.   

M.C. commending the correction of Gascoignes Posies.  
THe Bears blind whelps, which lack both nails and hear,  
And lie like lumps, in filthy farrowed wise,  
Do (for a time) most ugly beasts appear,  
Till dams dear tongue, do clear their clozed eyes.  
The gad of steel, is likewise blunt and black,  
Till file and fire, do frame it sharp and bright:  
Yea precious stones, their glorious grace do lack,  
Till curious hand, do make them please the sight.  
And so these flowers, although the ground were gay,  
Whereon they grew, and they of gallant hue,  
Yet till the bad were cullde and cast away,  
The best become the worse by such a crew.  
(For my part) then: I liked not their smell,  
But as they be, I like them pretly well.   

R.S. In praise of Gascoignes Posies.  

THe pleasant plot wherein these Posies g●●w,  
May represent Parnassus springs indeed.  
Where Pallas with her wise and learned crew,  
Did plant great store, and sow much cunning seed.  
That Goddess then, on whom the Muses wait,  
To guard her ground from greedy gathrers spoil,  
Hath here ordained, by fine and close conceit,  
A green knight chief, and master of the soil.  
Such badge bears he that beautified this book  
With glorious show, of sundry gallant flowers.  
But since he first this labour undertook,  
He gleaned thereout, (to make the profit ours)  
A heap of Herbs, a sort of fruitful seeds,  
A needful salve, compound of needless weeds.   

Appendix.  
All these (with more) my friend here freely gives:  
Nor naked words, nor strain of strange devise.  
But Gowers mind, which now in Gascoigne lives,  
Yields here in view, (by judgement of the wise)  
His pen, his sword, himself, and all his might,  
To Pallas school, and Mars in Princes right.    

T. Ch. In praise of Gascoignes Posies.  
THough goodness of the gold, needs no man's praise ye know,  
(And every coin is judged and found, by weight, by stamp, or show)  
Yet doth the praise of men, give gold a double grace,  
And makes both pearls and jewels rich, desired in every place.  
The horse full finely formed, whose pace and train is true,  
Is more esteemed for good report, than liked for shape and view.  
Yea sure, each man himself, for all his wit and skill,  
(If world bestow no laud on him) may sleep in silence still.  
Fame shows the value first, of every precious thing,  
And wins with liking all the brute, that doth the credit bring.  
And fame makes way before, to works that are unknown  
And people's love is carried there, where fame her trump hath blown.  
A cunning workman fine, in Cloister close may sit,  
And carve or paint a thousand things, and use both art and wit,  
Yet wanting worlds renown, may scape unsought or seen:  
It is but fame that outruns all, and gets the goal I ween.  
The learned Doctor's lawd, that heals where other harms,  
By common praise of people's voice, brings patients in by swarms.  
A goodly stately house, hath seldom any fame,  
Till world behold the buildings through, and people see the same.  
The Flowers and Posies sweet, in better price are held,  
When those have praised their virtues rare, that have their odor smelled.  
So by these foresaid proofs, I have a pardon free,  
To speak, to writ, and make discourse, of any work I see,  
That worthy is of praise: for praise is all we get.  
Present the world with labours great, the world is in your debt,  
It never yields reward, nor scarce just praise will give:  
Then study out to stand on fame, and strive by fame to live.  
Our old forefathers wise, saw long before these days,  
How soon faint world would fail deserts, and cold would wax our praise.  
And knowing that disdain, for toil did rather rise,  
Than right renown (whose golden buds, grows up to starry skies)  
Betook their labours long, and every act they did,  
Unto the Gods, from whose deep sight, no secret can be hid.  
And these good gracious Gods, sent down from heavens hie,  
(For noble minds) an endless fame, that throw the world doth fly.  
Which fame is due to those, that seek by new device,  
To honour learning every way, and Virtue bring in price.  
From Knowledge garden gay, where science sows her seeds,  
A pretty Posy gathered is, of Flowers, Herbs, and Weeds.  
The Flowers by smell are found, the herbs their goodness shows,  
The Weeds amid both herbs & flowers, in decent order grows.  
The soft and tender nose, that can no weeds abide,  
May make his choice of wholesome herbs, whose virtues well are tried.  
The fine and flowing wits, that feed on strange delights,  
May taste (for seasoning dainty mouths) the bitter weed that bites.  
The well disposed mind, and honest meaning man,  
Shall find (in flowers) proud Peacocks plumes, and feathers of the Swan.  
The cursed and crabbed Carl, that Posies flings away,  
By this (perhaps) may found some cause, with pretty flowers to play.  
The kind and loving worm, that would his lady please,  
My light on some such medicine here, shall do them both much ease.  
The Lad that likes the school, and will good warning take:  
May snatch some rules out of this book, that may him doctor make.  
The hasty travailing head, that flies to foreign place,  
May weigh by this what home is worth, and stay his roving race.  
The manly courage stout, that seeketh fame full far,  
Shall found by this how sweet is peace, and see how sour is war.  
This Posy is so picked, and choysely sorted throw,  
There is no Flower, Herb, nor Weed, but serves some purpose now.  
Then since it freely comes, to you for little cost,  
Take well in worth these pains of him, that thinks no labour lost:  
To do his country good, as many others have,  
Who for their toils a good report, of world did only crave.  
Grudge not to yield some fame, for fruits that you receive,  
Make some exchange for frank good will, some sign or token leave,  
To show your thankful hearts. For if you love to take,  
And have a conscience grown so great, you can no gift forsake,  
And cannot give again, that men deserve to reap,  
Adieu we leave you in the hedge, and o'er the style we leap.  
And yet some style or verse, we after shape in rhyme,  
That may by art show you a Glass, to see yourselves in tyme.  
Thus wish I men their right: and you that judge amiss,  
To mend your minds, or frame your Muse, to make the like of this.   

G.W. In praise of Gascoigne, and his Posies.  
REader reward naught else, but only good report,  
For all these pleasant Posies here, bound up in sundry sort.  
The flowers fair and fresh, were set with painful toil,  
Of late in Gascoignes Garden plot, a passing pleasant soil.  
Now weeds of little worth, are culde from out the rest,  
Which he with double pain, did work, to glean the bad from best,  
The state is very strange, and fortune rare in use,  
Whose heavy hap he neither helps, nor blazeth their abuse.  
In thundering verse he wrayes, where highest minds be thrall,  
Where mischief seeks to raise itself, by force of others fall  
He plucks the viso of, from masks of peevish pride,  
And wrayes what sour (in sweet pretence) the coustly corts can hide.  
In every gallant flower, he setteth forth to show,  
Of Venus' thralls, the hap, the harm, the want, the weal, the woe.  
He finely finds their faults, whose wealth doth foster wrong,  
Who toucheth sin (without offence) must plainly sing his song.  
His lofty vain in verse, his stately style in prose,  
foretells that Pallas meant by him, for to defend her foes.  
Wherewith to Mars his might, his lusty limbs are knit,  
(A sight most rare) that Hector's mind, should match with Pallas wit.  
By proof of late appeared (how so reports here ran)  
That he in field was foremost still, in spoil the hynmost man.  
Not backward blasts could bruise the valour of his thought,  
Although sly hap, forestoode his hope, in that he credit sought.  
In fortune's spite he strove, by virtues to aspire,  
Resolved when due deserts might mount, than he should have his hire  
Thus late with Mars in field, a lusty Soldier showed,  
And now with peace in Pallas school, he friendly hath bestowed,  
On thee this heap of flowers, the fruits of all his toil,  
Whereof if some but simple seem, consider well the soil.  
They grew not all at home, some came from foreign fields,  
The which (percase) set here again, no pleasant savour yields.  
Yet who misliketh most, the worst will hardly mend,  
And he were best not writ at all, which no man will offend.   

P.B. to such as have heretofore found fault with Gascoignes Posies.  

'Gainst good deserts, both pride and envy swell,  
As need repines, to see his neighbour rich:  
And slander chafes, where virtues prospero well,  
As sick men think, all others health to mitch:  
Such filthy faults, men's hearts oft-times inflame,  
That spite presumes, to stain the worthies name.   

Are brutal things, transferred so to men?  
Or men become more savage than the beast?  
We see the dog, that kenelles in his den,  
(For only food) obeys his lords behest:  
Yea more than that, remembers so relief,  
As (in his kind) he mourns at master's grief.   

If thou perceive, whereto my tale intends,  
Then (slander) cease to wrong a friendly wight,  
Who for his countries good, his travail spends,  
Sometime where blows are given in bloody fight:  
And other times he frames with skilful pen,  
Such verse, as may content each mould of men.   

As now behold, he here presents to thee,  
The blossoms fair, of three well sorted seeds.  
The first he feigns, fresh Flowers for to be:  
The second Herbs, the last he termeth Weeds.  
All these, the soil of his well fallowed brain,  
(With Pallas drops bedewde) yields for thy gain.   

The Herbs to grave conceit, and skilful age,  
The fragrant Flowers to sent of younger smell:  
The worthless Weeds, to rule the wantonrage  
Of reckless heads, he gives: then use them well:  
And gather (friend) but neither spite nor spoil,  
These Posies made, by his long painful toil.    

A.W. In commendation of Gascoigne and his Posies.  
I Praised once a book (whereby I purchased blame)  
And ventured for to writ a verse, before I knew the same.  
So that I was deceived, for when it came to light,  
The book deserved no such word, as I therein did wright.  
Thus leapt I ere I looked, and wandered ere I witted,  
Which gives (me haggard) warning since, to trust no falconers fist.  
And yet the book was good, (by hap and not my skill)  
But not a Book of such contents, as might my words fulfil.  
Well now I need not fear, these Posies here to praise,  
Because I knew them every flower, and where they grew always.  
And sure for my conceit, even when they bloomed first,  
Me thought they smelled not much amiss, not not the very worst.  
Perhaps some dainty nose, no Bachelors button likes,  
And some at Pimpernell and Pinks, a slender quarrel pikes.  
Some think that Gillyflowers, do yield a jealous smell,  
And some (which like none herb but Sage) say Finkell tastes not well.  
Yet Finkell is of force, and Gillyflowers are good,  
And Pinks please some, and Pimpernell doth serve to steynch the blood:  
And Bachelors buttons be, the bravest to behold,  
But sure that flower were best not grow, which can abide no cold.  
For slander blows so shrill, with eastern envious winds,  
And frosts of frumps so nip the roots, of virtuous meaning minds  
That few good flowers can thrive, unless they be protected,  
Or guarded from suspicious blasts, or with some props erected.  
So seemeth by the wight, which gardened this ground,  
And set such flowers on every bed, that Posies here abound.  
Yet some tongues cannot well, afford him worthy praise,  
And by our Lord they do him wrong, for I have seen his ways,  
And marked all his moods, and have had proof likewise,  
That he can do as well in field, as pen can here devise.  
Not many Months yet past, I saw his doughty deeds,  
And since (to hear what slander says) my heavy heart it b●●edes.  
Yet Reader grant but this, to try before thou trust,  
So shalt thou found his flowers and him, both gallant, good and just.   

I.B. In commendation of Gascoignes Posies.  

THe savoury saps in Gascoignes Flowers that are,  
Which strained were by lofty learning's lore:  
Can not content the surly for their share,  
Ne 'cause them once, to yield him thanks therefore;  
Such was his hap, when first in hand he took,  
By labour long, to bring to light this Book.   

Yet hath he not (for all this) seemed to cease,  
Those Flowers fresh again in ground to set,  
And yield them earth to bring forth their increase,  
With other slips from foreign soil yfet.  
Which he hath gained by hazard of his life,  
In bloody broils, where powdered shot was rife.   

This endless toil, contented well his mind,  
Hope held the helm, his Fame on shore to set:  
His deep desire, was friendship for to find,  
At reader's hands, he naught else sought to get:  
Wherefore (doubtless) they did him double wrong,  
Which F. and I mysconstrued have so long.   

Yet lest I should pass from the golden ground,  
Of Gascoignes plat, wherein those Posies grew,  
I list to tell what Flowers there I found,  
And paint by pen, the honour to him dew:  
Since that his toil doth well deserve the same,  
And sacred skill hath so advanced his name.   

First did I find the Flower of Fetters fruit,  
Whereof myself have tasted to my pain:  
Then might I see the Green knight touch the Lute,  
Whose cords were couched on frets of deep disdain:  
And likewise there, I might perceive full well,  
That fragrant Flower which Fancy bad farewell.   

In fine I found the flower that Bellum height,  
Sweet unto those, of silly simple sense,  
Yet sharp and sour, to those that do delight  
In martial martes, for gain of peevish pennies.  
Such buds full brave, good Gascoignes Garden gave  
To all estates, which list the same to have.   

Wherefore (good friend) fly envies irksome ire,  
And tread the trace, which Reasons rule hath wrought,  
Yield not disdain to Gascoigne for his hire,  
Whose bruised brain for thee these flowers hath sought.  
Lest if thou do, the blame on thee do light,  
Such friendly pains to recompense with spite.    

I.D. In praise of Gascoigne and his Posies.  
IF Virgil how to till the Earth, to every man doth tell,  
And Galen he in Physics arte doth many men excel,  
If Poets old deserven praise, by painting out aright,  
The fruits of vice, as Ovid doth, and many more that wright,  
By learned skill of many things: If such exalt their name,  
And for their hire, deserved praise by trump of Lady Fame:  
Why should the Author of this book then lose his due desert,  
Sigh he so friendly here to us, hath showed his skilful art?  
The healthsome herbs and flowers sweet, from weeds he hath divided,  
The fruits of gives in prison strong he hath right well decided.  
Of wars also, and warriors to, even like a Martial knight,  
He hath discoursed, and showed the lots, that thereupon do light:  
Virgil is dead, and Galen gone, with Poets many more:  
Yet works of theirs be still alive, and with us kept in store.  
This Author lives, and Gascoigne heights, yet once to die most sure,  
Alas the while that worthy wights may not always endure,  
But works of his among the best, for ever more shall rest,  
When he in heaven shall take a place prepared for the blessed.   

The Printer in commendation of Gascoigne and his works.  
CHawcer by writing purchased fame,  
And Gower got a worthy name:  
Sweet Surrey, sucked Parnassus' springs,  
And Wyatt wrote of wondrous things:  
Old Rothfort clomb the stately Throne,  
Which Muses hold, in Hellicone.  
Then thither let good Gascoigne go,  
For sure his verse, deserveth 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 laud, honore, & mercede. Tanto per essersi (nella natura loro, & di se stesse) piacevole, grate, & piene, d'ogni contento, come per dare stimoli ad altrui d'imitar ' i loro vestigij. In tanto Io stimo l'opera present vn'essempio chiaro & raro della gloria Inghlese. Quando vi si truovano non solamente Sonetti, Rhyme, Canzoni, & alter cose infinitament piacevole, ma con cio non vi mancano discorse tragiche, modern, & pbylosophichae, della Guerra, delli stati, & della vera Sapienza. Tutte procedute d'vn tal juchiostro, che Io (sendo forastiero) lo truovo vn' Immitatore di Petrarcha, Amico d'Ariosto, & Parangon di Bocaccio, Aretino, & ogni altro Poéta quanto sia piu famoso & eccellente dell'etá nostra.   

I de B. aux lecteurs.  
CEux qui voiront, les rhymes de Gascoigne,  
(Estants François) se plaindront nuicts & iours  
Que la Beauté & l'odeur de ces floeurs,  
A cest heur (de France) par Gascoign, tant s'esloigne.   

H.M. In Poemata Gascoigni Carmen.  
SI iam vena viris eadem, quae vatibus olim,  
Ingenioque pari possunt disponere partas  
Materias, pedibus si incedunt Carmina certis,  
Claudunturque suis numeris: Si turba sororum,  
Supplicibus potis est priscos inflare furores,  
Sed si quod magis est, nostri sua themata texant,  
Consona scripturis sacris, nec dissona rectis  
Moribus: amaenos, sed quae cognoscere flores  
Virtutis, quae docent dulces colligere fructus.  
Si fictas fabulas, falsique Cupidinis artes  
Cum Venere excludunt, (ut docta indigna poesi)  
Cur non censemus celebrandos iure Coronis  
Aequales virtute viros, aequalibus esse?  
O ingrata tuis non reddere tanta peritis  
Praemia, quanta suis dignarunt prima Poetis  
Saecula, num laudes tantas licet addere linguis  
Romanae primum, (quae nil tamen attulit ultra  
utile) germanas, utfas sit spernere gemmas?  
Sed vitium hec patriae est & peculiariter Anglis  
Conuenit, externis quaecunque feruntur ab oris,  
Anteferre suis. Age si sic sapitis, Ecce,  
Anglia quos profert flores Gasconia pressit.   

B.C. In Poemata Gasconi Carmen.  
MEns generosa solet generosos edere flores,  
Incassu●nque suos, non sinit ire dies:  
Haec tua Gasconi laus est, mercede remota  
Hac, friget virtus, haec tibi sufficiat.  
Haec tibi (seu Belgas repetas, Martemque ferocem,  
Seu patriam & Musas) inviolata Comes.   

K.D. In eundem, Carmen.  
Vlderat huius: ef. l. Titulum nomenque Poaeta,  
Laetaque vix potuit, dicere lingua bene est:  
Mox ubi quae voluit, libro non vidit in illo,  
Magnaque quae fuerat, pars ibi parva fuit,  
Quàm male ait socio, Martem secrevit amore?  
Qui bene amat pugnat, qui bene pugnat amat.   

Eiusdem de eodem.  
QVi quondam grave Martis opus, sub gente nefanda,  
Militiamque tuli, non uno nomine duram  
Arma quibus laetabar, Ego Tritonia Pallas,  
Pallas ego trado arma tibi, & nunc per iuga Cynthi  
Per sacrum te Hellicona tuus, per Thessala Tempe  
Insequor, aeternumque sequar, dum sydera mundum,  
Dum deus aeternos, certo moderamine Coelos  
Dirigat, aethereasque animas & sydera Coeli.  
O quae felices caelesti nectare mentes  
Perfundis, Diuûmque doces nos dicere Cantus,  
Quale● Aonias inter celiberrima turbas  
Calliopaea canit, vel gestis Clio loquendis  
Nata. (Novenarum pars ingens Clio sororum.)  
Da Regina tuis ad●●is, antrisque recepto  
Cantari vates inter, d●cique Britannos.   

P. W. In Gascoignum, Carmen.  
SVnt quorum mentes, tenebrae, Caligoque turpis  
Infuscant, vates qui tetigisse timent.  
Tu pete florentem, facunde Poëta Corollam,  
Excultis pateat, versilus iste locus.   

G.H. pro eodem.  
QVisquis es hac nostri qui gaudes part laboris,  
judicio nobis, cantus adesto precor.  
Perlege scripta prius, quàm pergas scripta probare,  
Et bene perlectis, inde videbis opus.  
Nam nihil in titulum, juuat inspexisse libelli,  
Si vis materiae sit tibi nota minus.  
Non etenim primò veniunt fundamina rerum,  
Sed sunt in varijs, inspicienda locis.  
Perge igitur quo sit pergendum, fine reperto,  
In tenebris tum quae dilituêre proba.   

E. H. in poëmata Gascoigni, Carmen.  
SI quam Romani laudem moeraêre Poëtae  
Sique fuit Graijs debitus ullus honos,  
Graecia si quondam vatem suspexit Homerum,  
Si domitrix magni Roma Maronis opus,  
Cur non Gasconij facunda poëmata laudat  
Anglia? & ad coeli sydera summa ferat?  
Carmina nam cum re, sic consentire videntur,  
Egregium & praestans, ut videatur opus.  
Dixerit has aliquis Musas nimis esse iocosas,  
Et iwenum facile possenocere animis.  
Non ita, ni forsan, velit ijsdem lector abuti,  
Non obsunt, pura si modò mentelegas.    

The opinion of the author himself after all these commendations.  
WHat need I speak myself, since other say so much?  
Who seem to praise these poesies so, as if there were none such?  
But sure my silly self, do found therein no smell,  
Which may deserve such passing praise, or seem to taste so well,  
This boon I only crave, that Readers yet will deign  
(If any weed herein do seem, his fellow flowers to stain)  
Then read but others works, and mark if that they find,  
No toys therein which may dislike, some modest reader's mind?  
Read Virgil's Priapus, or Ovid's wanton verse,  
Which he about Corinnaes' couch, so clerkly can rehearse.  
Read Faustoes' filthy tale, in Ariosto's rhyme,  
And let not Marots' Alyx pass, without impeach of crime.  
These things considered well, I trust they will excuse  
This meize of mine, although she seem, such toys sometimes to use.  
Believe me Lordings all, it is a poets part,  
To handle each thing in his kind, for therein lieth his art:  
lucilius led the dance, and Horace made the law,  
That poets by Authority, may call (A daw) A Daw,  
And eke (a whore) A Whore, but yet in cleanly words,  
So that the vice may be rebuked, as though it were in boards:  
This phrase sometimes I use, which (if it be a fault)  
Condemn not all the rest therefore, that here in verse is taught,  
Smell every poesy right, and you therein shall find,  
Fresh flowers, good herbs, & wholesome weeds, to please a skilful mind.  Tam Marti, quàm Mercurio. 
FINIS.   

His ultimum vale to Amorous verse.  
Kind Erato, and wanton Thalia,  
(Whose name my muse, devoutly did invoke)  
Adieu dear dames, Calliope sings alia,  
Which are more worth, and smell not of the smoke.  
And if blind Cupid, chance to strike a stroke,  
I vow my verse, Apocrypha shallbe,  
In silence shut, that none (but you) may see.  Tam Marti, quàm Mercurio. 
FINIS.   

❧ FLOWERS.  Tam Marti quàm Mercurio. 
¶ In this division are contained: 

The anatomy of a Lover. j  
The areignement of a Lover. Folly ij.  
The passions of a Lover. iij.  
The divorce of a Lover. seven.  
The Lullaby of a lover. viii.  
The lamentation of a Lover. x.  
The looks of a Lover enamoured. xj.  
The looks of a Lover forsaken. xvij.  
The recantation of a lover. xvij  
Praise of Lady Sands. xviij.  
Praise of the Lady Grey. xx.  
Praise of the Author's mistress. xx.  
Gascoigns good morrow. xxj  
Gascoigns good night. xxiv  
Gascoigns Deprofundis. xxuj  
Gascoig. memories. xxxiij.  
An Epitaph upon Captain Bourcher. xlj.  
A devise of a Mask. xliij.  
The refusal of a Lover. lv.  
Pride in Court. luj.  
Despised things may live. 58  
In trust is treason. lix.  
The constancy of a Lover. Fol. lx.  
The fruit of Foes. lxj.  
A Lover once warned and twice taken. lxj.  
A Lover encouraged by former examples. lxiij.  
The History of Dan Bartholmewe of Bath. lxv.  
The fruits of War. cxiij.     

Faults escaped in the Weeds:  
Fol. Line. Faults. Correction. 204 13 allgiance allegiance 211 17 like I hope I like hope 214 24 contation contentation 216 28 merry married Ibid. 31 flattering flitting 218 4 had showed had to plainly showed Ibid. 7 called calling Ibid. 30 disdaned distained 220 14 had and 222 30 in of 223 7 And So 224 7 cape cap Ibid. 8 Crow Crown 229 16 still foil 232 34 brance branch 235 19 possessed professed 238 11 that other 240 5 Elaminia Flaminia 242 11 and an Ibid. 30 zoreactes Zoroaster Ibid. 20 do did 249 13 builded blinded Ibid. 16 prick prick such 258 5 gentleman gentlewoman 361 6 quibbes quips 271 31 lafoy mano las manos 275 2 swell aswell 276 4 Frances china Frauncischina Ibid. 8 occurments occurrentes 278 6 that I I that 284 8 But that 285 14 this those   

Flowers.  

❧ The anatomy of a Lover.  
TO make a Lover known, by plain Anatomy,  
You lovers all that list beware, lo here behold you me.  
Who though mine only looks, your pity well might move,  
Yet every part shall play his part, to paint the pangs of love.  
If first my feeble head, have so much matter left,  
If fancies raging force have not, his feeble skill bereft.  
These locks that hung unkempt, these hollow dazzled eyes,  
These chattering teeth, this trembling tongue, well tewed with careful cries.  
These wan and wrinkled cheeks, well washed with waves of woe,  
May stand for pattern of a ghost, where so this carcase go.  
These shoulders they sustain, the yoke of heavy care,  
And on my bruised broken back, the burden must I bear.  
These arms quite braunfalne are, with beating on my breast,  
This right hand weary is to writ, this left hand craveth rest:  
These sides enclose the forge, where sorrow plays the smith,  
And hot desire, hath kindled fire, to work this metal with.  
The anvil is my heart, my thoughts they strike the stroke,  
My lights and lungs like bellows blow, & sighs ascend for smoke.  
My secret parts are so with secret sorrow soaken,  
As for the secret shame thereof, deserves not to be spoken,  
My thighs, my knees, my legs, and last of all my feet,  
To serve a lovers turn, are so unable and unmeet,  
That scarce they sustain up, this restless body well,  
Unless it be to see the bower, wherein my love doth devil,  
And there by sight eftsoon, to feed my gazing eye,  
And so content my hungry corpse, till dolours do me die:  
Yet for a just reward of love so dearly bought,  
I pray you say, lo this was he, whom love had worn to naught.  Ever or never.  

¶ The arraigment of a Lover.  

AT Beauties bar as I did stand,  
When false suspect accused me,  
George (quoth the judge) hold up thy hand,  
Thou art arraigned of flattery:  
Tell therefore how thou wilt be tried?  
Whose judgement here wilt thou abide.   

My Lord (quoth I) this Lady here,  
Whom I esteem above the rest,  
Doth know my guilt if any were:  
Wherefore her doom shall please me best,  
Let her be judge and juror boathe,  
To try me guiltless by mine oath.   


Will is dame beauties chief justice of Oyre and terminer.  Quod Beauty, not, it fitteth not,  
A Prince herself to judge the cause:  
Will is our justice well you wots,  
Appointed to discuss our Laws:  
If you will guiltless seem to go,  
God and your country quit you so.   

Then craft the crier called a quest,  
Of whom was falsehood foremost fear,  
A pack of pickethankes were the rest,  
Which came false witness for to bear,  
The jury such, the judge unjust,  
Sentence was said I should be trust.   

jealous the jailer bond me fast,  
To hear the verdict of the bill,  
George (quoth the judge) now thou art cast,  
Thou must go hence to heavy hill,  
And there be hanged all but the head,  
God rest thy soul when thou art dead.   

Down fell I then upon my knee,  
All flat before Dame Beauty's face,  
And cried, good Lady pardon me,  
Which here appeal unto your grace,  
You know if I have been untrue,  
It was in too much praising you.   

And though this judge do make such haste,  
To shed with shame my guiltless blood:  
Yet let your pity first be placed,  
To save the man that meant you good,  
So shall you show yourself a Queen,  
And I may be your servant seen.   

(Quod Beauty) well: because I guess,  
What thou dost mean henceforth to he,  
Although thy faults deserve no less,  
Than justice here hath judged thee,  
Wilt thou be bound to stint all strife,  
And be true prisoner all thy life?   

Yea Madam (quoth I) that I shall,  
Lo faith and truth my sureties: 
Common bayl.   
Why then (quoth she) come when I call,  
I ask no better warrantise.  
Thus am I Beauties bounden thrall,  
At her command when she doth call.   Ever or never.  

The passion of a Lover.  

I Smile sometimes although my grief be great,  
To hear and see these lovers paint their pain,  
And how they can in pleasant rhymes repeat,  
The passing pangs, which they in fancies feign.  
But if I had such skill to frame a verse,  
I could more pain than all their pangs rehearse.   

Some say they find nor peace, nor power to fight,  
Which seemeth strange: but stranger is my state:  
I devil in dole, yet sojourn with delight,  
Reposed in rest, yet wearied with debate.  
For flat repulse, might well appease my will,  
But fancy fights, to try my fortune still.   

Some other say they hope, yet live in dread,  
They fries, they flame, they fly aloft, they fall,  
But I, nor hope with hap to raise my head,  
Nor fear to stoop, for why, my gate is small.  
Nor can I fries, with cold to kill my heart,  
Nor yet so flame, as might consume my smart.   

How live I then, which thus draw forth my days?  
Or tell me how, I found this fever first?  
What fits I feel? what distance? what delays?  
What grief? what ease? what like I best? what worst?  
These things they tell, which seek redress of pain,  
And so will I, although I count it vain.   

I live in love, even so I love to live,  
(O happy state, twice happy he that finds it)  
But love to life this cognisance doth give,  
This badge this mark, to every man that minds it,  
Love dareth life, which (dying) cannot die,  
Nor living live: and such a life lead I   

The Sunny days which glad the saddest wights,  
Yet never shine to clear my misty moon:  
Not quiet sleep, amid the moonshine nights,  
Can close mine eyes, when I am woe begun.  
Into such shades my peevish sorrow shrouds,  
That Sun and Moon, are still to me in clouds.   

And feverlike I feed my fancy still,  
With such repast, as most impairs my health,  
Which fever first I caught by wanton will,  
When coals of kind did stir my blood by stealth:  
And gazing eyes, in beauty put such trust,  
That love inflamed my liver all with lust.   

My fits are like the fever Ectick fits, 
There is in deed such a kind of fever.   
Which one day quakes within and burns without,  
The next day heat within the boosoms sits,  
And shiviring cold the body goes about.  
So is my heart most hot when hope is cold,  
And quaketh most when I most heat behold.   

Tormented thus without delays I stand,  
All ways in one and evermore shallbe,  
In greatest grief when help is nearest hand,  
And best at ease if death might make me free:  
Delighting most in that which hurts my heart,  
And hating change which might relieve my smart.   

Yet you dear dame: to whom this cure pertains, 
Lenuoye.   
Devise by times some drams for my disease,  
A noble name shall be your greatest gains,  
Whereof be sure, if you will work mine ease.  
And though fond fools set forth their fits as fast,  
Yet grant with me that my strange passion past.   Ever or never.  

¶ A strange passion of a Lover.  

AMid my Bale I hath in bliss,  
I swim in heaven, I sink in hell:  
I found amendss for every miss,  
And yet my moan no tongue can tell.  
I live and love, what would you more:  
As never lover lived before.   

I laugh sometimes with little lust,  
So jest I often and feel no joy:  
Mine ease is builded all on trust:  
And yet mistrust breeds mine annoy.  
I live and lack, I lack and have:  
I have and miss the thing I crave.   

These things seem strange, yet are they true.  
Believe me sweet my state is such,  
One pleasure which I would eschew,  
Both slakes my grief and breeds my grudge.  
So doth one pain which I would shoes,  
Renew my joys where grief began.   

Then like the lark that past the night.  
In heavy sleep with cares oppressed:  
Yet when she spies the pleasant light,  
She sends sweet notes from out her breast.  
So sing I now because I think  
How joys approach, when sorrows shrink.   

And as fair Philomene again,  
Can watch and sing when other sleep:  
And taketh pleasure in her pain,  
To wray the woe that makes her weep.  
So sing I now for to bewray  
The loathsome life I lead always.   

The which to thee (dear wench) I writ,  
That know'st my mirth, but not my moan:  
I pray God grant thee deep delight,  
To live in joys when I am gone.  
I cannot live, it will not be:  
I die to think to part from thee.   Ferendo Natura.  

¶ The Divorce of a Lover.  
Divorce me now good death, from love and lingering life,  
That one hath been my concubine, that other was my wife.  
In youth I lived with love, she had my lusty days,  
In age I thought with linger life to stay my wandering ways,  
But now abused by both, I come for to complain,  
To thee good death, in whom my help doth wholly now remain,  
My libel lo behold: wherein I do protest,  
The process of my plaint is true, in which my grief doth rest.  
First love my concubine (whom I have kept so trim,  
Even she for whom I seemed of yore, in seas of joy to swim:  
To whom I dare avow, that I have served as well,  
And played my part as gallantly, as he that hears the hell)  
She cast me of long since, and holds me in disdain,  
I cannot prank to please her now, my vaunting is but vain.  
My writhled cheeks bewray, that pride of heat is past,  
My staggering steps eke tell the truth, that nature fadeth fast,  
My quaking crooked joints, are cumbered with the cramp,  
The box of oil is wasted well, which once did feed my lamp.  
The gréenesse of my years, doth wither now so sore, 
Such a sect there is that desire no longer life than whiles they are in love.   
That lusty love leaps quite away, and liketh me no more,  
And love my leman gone, what liking can I take?  
In loathsome life that crooked crone, although she be my make?  
She cloys me with the cough, her comfort is but cold,  
She bids me give mine age for alms, where first my youth was sold.  
No day can pass my head, but she begins to brawl,  
No merry thoughts conceived so fast, but she confounds them al.  
When I pretend to please, she overthwarts me still,  
When I would feignest part with her, she overwayes my william.  
Be judge then gentle death, and take my cause in hand,  
Consider every circumstance, mark how the case doth stand.  
Percase thou wilt allege, that cause thou canst none see,  
But that I like not of that one, that other likes not me:  
Yea gentle judge give ear, and thou shalt see me prove,  
My concubine incontinent, a common whore is love.  
And in my wife I found, such discord and debate,  
As no man living can endure the torments of my state.  
Wherefore thy sentence say, divorce me from them both,  
Since only thou mayst right my wrongs, good death now he not loathe.  
But cast thy piercing dart, into my panting breast,  
That I may leave both love and life, & thereby purchase rest.  Haud ictus sapio.  

¶ The Lullaby of a Lover.  

SIng lullaby, as women do,  
Wherewith they bring their babes to rest,  
And lullaby can I sing to,  
As womanly as can the best.  
With lullaby they still the child,  
And if I be not much beguiled,  
Full many wanton babes have I,  
Which must be stilled with lullaby.   

First lullaby my youthful years,  
It is now time to go to bed,  
For crooked age and hoary hears,  
Have won the haven with in my head:  
With Lullaby then youth be still,  
With Lullaby content thy will,  
Since courage quails, and comes behind,  
Go sleep, and so beguile thy mind,   

Next Lullaby my gazing eyes,  
Which wonted were to glance apace.  
For every Glass may now suffice,  
To show the furrows in my face:  
With Lullabye then wink awhile,  
With Lullabye your looks beguile:  
Let no fair face, nor beauty bright,  
Entice you eft with vain delight.   

And Lullaby my wanton will,  
Let reasons rule, now reign thy thought,  
Since all to late I find by skill,  
How dear I have thy fancies bought:  
With Lullaby now take thine ease,  
With Lullaby thy doubts appease:  
For trust to this, if thou be still,  
My body shall obey thy william.   

Eke Lullaby my loving boy,  
My little Robin take thy rest,  
Since age is cold, and nothing coy,  
Keep close thy coin, for so is best:  
With Lullady be thou content,  
With Lullaby thy lusts relent,  
Let others pay which hath more pence,  
Thou art to poor for such expense.   

Thus Lullabye my youth, mine eyes,  
My will, my ware, and all that was,  
I can no more delays devise,  
But welcome pain, let pleasure pass:  
With Lullaby now take your leave,  
With Lullaby your dreams deceive,  
And when you rise with waking eye,  
Remember then this Lullabye.   Ever or Never.  

The lamentation of a lover.  
NOw have I found the way, to weep & wail my fill,  
Now can I end my doleful days, & so content my william.  
The way to weep enough, for such as list to wail,  
Is this: to go aboard the ship, where pleasure beareth sail.  
And there to mark the jests, of every joyful wight,  
And with what wind and wave they fleet, to nourish their delight.  
For as the stricken dear, that seeth his fellows feed,  
Amid the lusty heard (unhurt,) & feels himself to bleed  
Or as the silly bird, that with the Bolt is brusd,  
And lieth aloof among the leaves, of all her pheares refused,  
And hears them sing full shrill, yet cannot she rejoice,  
Nor frame one warbling note to pass, out of her mournful voice.  
Even so I find by proof, that pleasure dubleth pain,  
Unto a wretched wounded heart, which doth in woe, remain.  
I pass where pleasure is, I hear some sing for joy,  
I see some laugh, some other dance, in spite of dark annoy.  
But out alas my mind, amends not by their mirth,  
I deem all pleasures to be pain, that devil above the earth.  
Such heavy humours feed, the blood that lends me breath,  
As merry medicines cannot serve, to keep my corpse from death.  Spraeta tamen viwnt.  

Certain verses written to a Gentlewoman whom he liked very well, and yet had never any opportunity to discover his affection, being always bridled by jealous looks which attended them both, and therefore guessing by her looks, that she partly also liked him: he wrote in a book of nirs as followeth, being termed with the rest that follow the looks of a lover enamoured.  

THou with thy looks on whom I look full oft,  
And found there in great cause of deep delight:  
Thy face is fair, thy skin is smooth and soft,  
Thy lips are sweet, thine eyes are clear and bright,  
And every part seems pleasant in my sight.  
Yet wot thou well, those looks have wrought my woe,  
Because I love to look upon them so.   

For first those looks allurd mine eye to look,  
And straight mine eye stirred up my heart to love:  
And cruel love with deep deceitful hook,  
Choked up my mind whom fancy cannot move,  
Nor hope relieve, nor other help behove:  
But still to look, and though I look to much,  
Needs must I look because I see none such.   

Thus in thy looks my love and life have hold,  
And with such life my death draws on a pace:  
And for such death no medicine can be told,  
But looking still upon thy lovely face,  
Wherein are painted pity, peace, and grace,  
Then though thy looks should 'cause me for to die,  
Needs must I look, because I live thereby.   

Since than thy looks my life have so in thrall,  
As I can like none other looks but thine:  
Lo here I yield my life, my love, and all  
Into thy hands, and all things else resign,  
But liberty to gaze upon thine eyen.  
Which when I do, then think it were thy part,  
To look again, and link with me in heart.   Si fortunatus infoelix.  

With these verses you shall judge the quick capacity of the Lady: for she wrote thereunder this short answer.  
Look as long as you list, but surely if I take you looking, I will look with you.  
¶ And for a further proof of this Dames quick understanding, you shall now understand, that soon after this answer of hers, the same Author chansed to be at a supper in her company, where were also her brother, her husband, and an old lover of hers by whom she had been long suspected. Now, although there wanted no delicate viands to content them, yet their chief repast was by entreglancing of looks. For the Author being stung with hot affection, could none otherwise relieve his passion but by gazing. And the Dame of a courteous inclination deigned (now and then) to requited the same with glancing at him. Her old lover occupied his eyes with watching: and her brother perceiving all this could not abstain from winking, whereby he might put his Sister in remembrance, lest she should too much forget herself. But most of all her husband beholding the first, and being evil pleased with the second, scarce contented with the third, and misconstruing the fourth, was constrained to play the fifth part in froward frowning. This royal banquet thus passed over, the Author knowing that after supper they should pass the time in propounding of Ryddles, and making of purposes: contrived all this conceit in a Riddle as followeth. The which was no sooner pronounced, but she could perfectly perceive his intent, and drove out one nail with another, as also ensueth.   

His Riddle.  
I Cast mine eye and saw ten eyes at once,  
All seemly set upon one lovely face:  
Two gazed, two glanced, two watched for the nonce,  
Two winked wiles, two frowned with froward grace.  
Thus every eye was pitched in his place.  
And every eye which wrought each other's woe,  
Said to itself, alas why looked I so?  
And every eye for jealousy did pine,  
And sighed and said, I would that eye were mine.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

¶ In all this lovely company was not one that could and would expound the meaning hereof. At last the Dame herself answered on this wise. Sir, quoth she, because your dark speech is much to curious for this simple company, I will be so bold as to quit one question with another. And when you have answered mine, it may fall out peradventure, that I shall somewhat the better judge of yours.   

Her Question.  
WHat thing is that which swims in bliss.  
And yet consumes in burning grief:  
Which being placed where pleasure is,  
Can yet recover no relief.  
Which sees to sigh, and sighs to see,  
All this is one, what may it be:   

¶ He held himself herewith contented: and afterwards when they were better acquainted, he chanced once (groping in her pocket) to found a letter of her old lovers: and thinking it were better to wink than utterly to put out his eyes, seemed not to understand this first offence: but soon after finding a leman (the which he thought he saw her old leman put there) he devised thereof thus, and delivered it unto her in writing.  
I Grooped in thy pocket pretty peat,  
And found a Leman which I looked not:  
So found I once (which now I must repeat)  
Both leaves and letters which I liked not.  
Such hap have I to find and seek it not,  
But since I see no faster means to bind them,  
I will (henceforth) take lemans as I find them.   

The Dame within very short space did answer it thus.  
A Lymone (but no Lemmane) Sir you found,  
For lemans bear their name to broad before:  
The which since it hath given you such a wound,  
That you seem now offended very sore:  
Content yourself you shall found (there) no more.  
But take your lemans henceforth where you lust,  
For I will show my letters where I trust.   

¶ The looks of a lover forsaken: written by a gentlewoman who passed by him with her arms set bragging by her sides, and left it unfinished as followeth.  
WEre my heart set on hoygh as thine is bend,  
Or in my breast so brave and stout a will:  
Then (long ere this) I could have been content,  
With sharp revenge thy careless corpses to kill.  
For why thou knowest (although thou know not all)  
What rule, what reign, what power, what segnory,  
Thy melting mind did yield to me (as thrall)  
When first I pleased thy wandering fantifie.  
What lingering looks bewrayed thine inward thought,  
What pangs were published by perplexcitie,  
Such reaks the rage of love in thee had wrought  
And no gramercy for thy courtesy.  
I list not vaunt, but yet I dare avow  
(Had been my harmless heart as hard as thine)  
I could have bound thee then for starting now,  
In bonds of bale, in pangs of deadly pine.  
For why by proof the field is each to win,  
Where as the chiefteynes yield themselves in chains:  
The port or passage plain to enter in,  
Where porters list to leave the key for gains.  
But did I then devise with cruelty,  
(As tyrants do) to kill the yielding pray?  
Or did I brag and boast triumphauntly,  
As who should say the field were mine that day?  
Did I retire myself out of thy sight  
To beaten afresh the bulwarks of thy breast?  
Or did my mind in choice of change delight,  
And tender thee as refuse with the rest?  
No Tiger no, the lion is not lewd,  
He shows no force on silly wounded sheep, etc.   

Whiles he sat at the door of his lodging, devising these verses above rehearsed, the same Gentlewoman passed by again, and cast a long look towards him, whereby he left his former invention and wrote thus.  
How long she looked, that looked at me of late,  
As who would say, her looks were all for love:  
When God he knows they came from deadly hate,  
To pinch me yet with pangs which I must prove.  
But since my looks her liking may not move,  
Look where she likes, for lo this look was cast,  
Not for my love, but even to see my last.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

Another Sonnet written by the same Gentlewoman, upon the same occasion.  
I Looked of late, and saw thee look askance,  
Upon my door, to see if I sat there.  
As who should say: If he be there by chance,  
Yet may he think I look him every where,  
No cruel no, thou knowest and I can tell,  
How for thy love I laid my looks a side:  
Though thou (par case) hast looked and liked well,  
Some new found looks amid this world so wide.  
But since thy looks my love have so in chained  
That to my looks, thy liking now is past:  
Look wh●re thou likest, and let thy hands be stained,  
In true loves blood, which thou shalt lack at last,  
So look, so lack, for in these toys thus tossed,  
My looks thy love, thy looks my life have lost.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

¶ To the same gentlewoman because she challenged thee Author for holding down his head always, and for that he looked not upon her in wonted manner.  
YOu must not wonder though you think it strange,  
To see me hold my lowering head so low:  
And that mine eyes take no delight to range,  
About the gleams which on your face do grow.  
The mouse which once hath broken out of trap,  
Is seldom tysed with the trustless bait,  
But lies aloof for fear of more mishap,  
And feedeth still in doubt of deep deceit.  
The skorched fly which once hath scaped the flame,  
Will hardly come to play again with fire.  
Whereby I learn that grievous is the game,  
Which follows fancy dazzled by desire.  
So that I wink or else hold down my head,  
Because your blazing eyes my bale have bred.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

❧ The Recantation of a Lover.  
NOw must I needs recant the words which once I spoke,  
Fond fancy fumes so nigh my noose, I needs must smell the smoke:  
And better were to bear a Faggot from the fire,  
Than wilfully to burn and blaze, in flames of vain desire.  
You judges than give ear, you people mark me well,  
I say, both heaven and earth record the tale which I shall tell,  
And know that dread of death, nor hope of better hap,  
Have forced or persuaded me to take my turning cap,  
But even that mighty jove, of his great clemency,  
Hath given me grace at last to judge, the truth from heresy:  
I say then and profess, with free and faithful heart,  
That women's vows are nothing else, but snares of secret smart:  
Their beauty's blaze are baits which seem of pleasant taste,  
But who devours the hidden hook, eats poison for repast:  
Their smile is deceit, their fair words trains of treason,  
Their wit always so full of wiles, it scorneth rules of reason,  
Percase some present here, have heard myself of yore,  
Both teach & preach the contrary, my fault was then the more:  
I grant my works were these, first one Anatomy,  
Wherein I painted every pang of lovers perplexity:  
Next that I was araignde, with George hold up thy hand,  
Wherein I yielded Beauties thrall, at her command to stand:  
Mine eyes so blinded were, (good people mark my tale)  
That once I song, I Bath in Bliss, amid my weary Bal●:  
And many a frantic verse, then from my pen did pass,  
In waves of wicked heresy, so deep I drowned was,  
All which I now recant, and here before you burn  
Those trifling books, from whose lewd lore my tippet here I turn.  
And henceforth will I writ, how mad is that man's mind,  
Which is entist by any train to trust in womankind.  
I spare not wedlock I, who list that state advance,  
Ask Astolfe 
Astolf being the goodliest person in the world found a dwarf lying with his wife  king of Lombardy, how trim his dwarf could dance.  
Wherefore fair Ladies you, that hear me what I say,  
If you hereafter see me slip, or seem to go astray:  
Of if my tongue revolt from that which now it saith,  
Then plague me thus, Believe it not, for this is now my faith.  Haud ictus sapio.  

¶ In praise of Bridges, now Lady Sands.  
IN Court who so demands what Dame doth most excel,  
For my conceit I must needs say, fair Bridges bears the bell:  
Upon whose lively cheek, to prove my judgement true,  
The Rose and Lillie seem to strive for equal change of hew:  
And therewithal so well her graces all agree,  
No frowning cheer dare once presume in her sweet face to be.  
Although some lavish lips, which like some other best,  
Will say the blemish on her brow disgraceth all the rest.  
Thereto I thus reply, God wot they little know,  
The hidden cause of that mishap, nor how the harm did grow.  
For when Dame nature first had framed her heavenly face,  
And thoroughly bedecked it, with goodly gleams of grace:  
It liked her so well: Lo here (quoth she) a piece,  
For perfect shape that passeth all Apelles work in Greece.  
This bait may chance to catch the greatest God of love,  
Or mighty thundering jove himself that rules the roast above.  
But out, alas, those words were vaunted all in vain,  
And some unseen were present there (poor Bridges) to thy pain.  
For Cupid crafty boy, close in a corner stood,  
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on her, I guess it did him good.  
Yet when he felt the flame 'gan kindle in his breast,  
And hard dame nature boast by her, to break him of his rest,  
His hot new chosen love, he changed into hate,  
And suddenly with mighty mace, 'gan rap her on the pate.  
It grieved Nature much to see the cruel deed:  
Me seems I see her how she wept, to see her darling bleed.  
Well yet (quoth she) this hurt shall have some help I trow,  
And quick with skin she covered it, that whiter is than snow.  
Wherewith Dan Cupid fled, for fear of further flame,  
When angel like he saw her shine, whom he had smit with shame.  
Lo thus was Bridges hurt, in cradle of her kind,  
The coward Cupid broke her brow, to wreak his wounded mind,  
The scar still there remains, no force, there let it be,  
There is no cloud that can eclipse, so bright a sun as she.  Ever or never.  

¶ In praise of Zouche late the Lady Greye of Wilton whom the auctor found in a homely house.  
THese rusty walls whom cankered years deface,  
The comely corpse of seemly Zouche enclose,  
Whose ancient stock derived from worthy race,  
Procures her praise, where so the carcase goes:  
Her angels face declares her modest mind,  
Her lovely looks the gazing eyes allure,  
Her deeds deserve some endless praise to find,  
To blaze such brute as ever might endure.  
Wherefore my pen in trembling fear shall stay,  
To writ the thing that doth surmount my skill.  
And I will wish of God both night and day,  
Some worthier place to guide her worthy william.  
Where princes peers her due deserts may see,  
And I content her servant there to be.  Ever or Never.  

Gascoignes praise of his mistress.  
THe hap which Paris had, as due for his desert,  
Who favoured Venus for her face, & skornde Meneruas' art:  
May serve to warn the wife that they no more esteem,  
The glistering gloss of beauties blaze, than reason should it dame.  
Dan Priam's younger son, found out that fairest dame,  
That ever trod on Trojan mould, what followed of the same?  
I list not brut her bale, let others spread it forth,  
But for his part to speak my mind his choice was little worth,  
My meaning is but this, who marks the outward show,  
And never grops for grafts of grace which in the mind should grow:  
May chance upon such choice as trusty Troilus had,  
And dwell in dole as Paris did, when he would feign be glad.  
How happy then am I whose hap hath been to find,  
A mistress first that doth excel in virtues of the mind.  
And yet therewith hath joined, such favour and such grace,  
As Panders niece if (she were here) would quickly give her place.  
With in whose worthy breast, Dame Bounty seeks to dwell,  
And saith to beauty, yield to me, since I do thee excel.  
Between whose heavenly eyes, doth right remorse appear,  
And pity placed by the same, doth much amend her cheer.  
Who in my dangers deep, did deign to do me good,  
Who did relieve my heavy heart, and sought to save my blood.  
Who first increased my friends, and overthrew my foes,  
Who loved all them that wished me well, & liked none but those.  
O Ladies give me leave, I praise not her to far,  
Since she doth pass you all, as much, as Titan stains a star.  
You hold such servants dear, as able are to serve.  
She held me dear, when I poor soul, could no good thing deserve.  
You set by them that swim in all prosperity,  
She set by me when as I was in great calamity.  
You best esteem the brave, and let the poorest pass,  
She best esteemed my poor good will, all naked as it was.  
But whether am I went? what humour guides my brain?  
I seek to weigh the woolsack down, with one poor pepper grain.  
I seem to pen her praise, that doth surpass my skill,  
I strive to row against the tide, I hop against the hill.  
Then let these few suffice, she Helen stains for hew,  
Dydo for grace, Cressyde for cheer, and is as Thisbye true.  
Yet if you further crave, to have her name displayed,  
Dame favour is my mistress name, dame Fortune is her maid.  Attamen ad solitum.  

Gascoignes good morrow.  

YOu that have spent the silent night,  
In sleep and quiet rest,  
And joy to see the cheerful light  
That riseth in the East:  
Now clear your voice, now cheer your heart,  
Come help me now to sing:  
Each willing wight come bear a part,  
To praise the heavenly King.   

And you whom care in prison keeps,  
Or sickness doth suppress,  
Or secret sorrow breaks your sleeps,  
Or dolours do distress:  
Yet bear a part in doleful wise,  
Yea think it good accord,  
And exceptable sacrifice,  
Each spirit to praise the lord.   

The dreadful night with darkesomnesse,  
Had over spread the light,  
And sluggish sleep with drowsynesse,  
Had over priest our might:  
A glass wherein you may behold,  
Each storm that stops our breath,  
Our bed the grave, our clotheses like mould,  
And sleep like dreadful death.   

Yet as this deadly night did last,  
But for a little space,  
And heavenly day now night is past,  
Doth show his pleasant face:  
So must we hope to see God's face,  
At last in heaven on high,  
When we have changed this mortal place,  
For Immortality.   

And of such haps and heavenly joys,  
As than we hope to hold,  
All earthly sights and worldly toys,  
Are tokens to behold.  
The day is like the day of doom,  
The sun, the Son of man,  
The skies the heavens, the earth the tomb  
Wherein we rest till than.   

The Rainbow bending in the sky,  
Bedecked with sundry hews,  
Is like the seat of God on high,  
And seems to tell these news:  
That as thereby he promised,  
To drown the world no more,  
So by the blood which Christ hath shed,  
He will our health restore.   

The misty clouds that fall sometime,  
And overcast the skies,  
Are like to troubles of our time,  
Which do but dim our eyes:  
But as such dews are dried up quite,  
When Phoebus shows his face,  
So are such fancies put to flight,  
Where God doth guide by grace.   

The carrion crow, that loathsome be hast,  
Which cries against the rain,  
Both for her hew and for the rest,  
The Devil resembleth plain:  
And as with gonnes we kill the Crow,  
For spoiling our relief,  
The Devil so must we overthrow,  
With gonshote of belief.   

The little bird which sing so sweet,  
Are like the angels voice,  
Which tender God his praises meet,  
And teach us to rejoice:  
And as they more esteem that mirth,  
Than dread the night's annoy,  
So much we deem our days on earth,  
But hell to heavenly joy.   

Unto which joys for to attain  
God grant us all his grace,  
And send us after worldly pain,  
In heaven to have a place.  
Where we may still enjoy that light.  
Which never shall decay:  
Lord for thy mercy lend us might,  
To see that joyful day.   Haud ictus sapio.  

Gascoygnes good night.  
WHen thou hast spent the lingering day in pleasure and delight,  
Or after toil and weary way, dost seek to rest at night:  
Unto thy pains or pleasures past, add this one labour yet,  
Ere sleep close up thine eye to fast, do not thy God forget,  
But search within thy secret thoughts, what deeds did thee befall:  
And if thou found amiss in aught, to God for mercy call.  
Yea though thou found nothing amiss, which thou canst call to mind,  
Yet ever more remember this, there is the more behind:  
And think how well so ever it be, that thou hast spent the day,  
It came of God, and not of thee, so to direct thy way.  
Thus if thou try thy daily deeds, and pleasure in this pain,  
Thy life shall cleanse thy corn from weeds, & thine shallbe the gain:  
But if thy sinful sluggish eye, will venture for to wink,  
Before thy wading will may try, how far thy soul may sink,  
Beware and wake, for else thy bed, which soft & smooth is made,  
May heap more harm upon thy head, than blows of enemies blade.  
Thus if this pain procure thine ease, in bed as thou dost lie,  
Perhaps it shall not God displease, to sing thus soberly:  
I see that sleep is lent me here, to ease my weary bones,  
As death at last shall eke appear, to ease my grievous groans.  
My daily sports, my paunch full fed, have caused my drowsy eye,  
As careless life in quiet led, might 'cause my soul to die:  
The stretching arms, the yawning breath, which I to bedward use,  
Are patterns of the pangs of death, when life will me refuse:  
And of my bed each sundry part in shadows doth resemble,  
The sundry shapes of death, whose dart shall make my flesh to tremble.  
My bed itself is like the grave, my sheeets the winding sheet,  
My clotheses the mould which I must have, to cover me most meet:  
The hungry fleas which frisk so fresh, to worms I can compare,  
Which greedily shall gnaw my flesh, & leave the bones full bore:  
The waking Cock that early crows to wear the night away,  
Puts in my mind the trump that blows before the latter day.  
And as I rise up lustily, when sluggish sleep is past,  
So hope I to rise joyfully, to judgement at the last.  
Thus will I wake, thus will I sleep, thus will I hope to rise,  
Thus will I neither wail nor weep, but sing in godly wise.  
My bones shall in this bed remain, my soul in God shall trust,  
By whom I hope to rise again from death and earthly dust.  Haud ictus sapio.  

The introduction to the Psalm of Deprofundis.  
THe Skies 'gan scowl, o'ercast with misty clouds,  
When (as I road alone by London way,  
Cloakless, unclad) thus did I sing and say:  
Behold quoth I, bright Titan how he shrouds  
His head aback, and yields the rain his reach,  
Till in his wrath, Dan jove have soused the soil,  
And washed me wretch which in his travail toil.  
But holla (hear) doth rudeness me appeach,  
Since jove is Lord and king of mighty power,  
Which can command the Sun to show his face,  
And (when him list) to give the rain his place.  
Why do not I my weary muses frame,  
(Although I be well soused in this shower,)  
To writ some verse in honour of his name?   

Gascoignes Deprofundis.  

FRom depth of doole wherein my soul doth devil,  
From heavy heart which harbours in my breast,  
From troubled spirit which seldom taketh rest.  
From hope of heaven, from dread of darksome hell.  
O gracious God, to thee I cry and yell.  
My God, my Lord, my lovely Lord alone,  
To thee I call, to thee I make my moan.  
And thou (good God) vouchsafe in 'gree to take,  
This woeful plaint,  
Wherein I faint.  
O hear me then for thy great mercy's sake.   

O bend thine ears attentively to hear,  
O turn thine eyes, behold me how I wail,  
O hearken Lord, give ear for mine avail,  
O mark in mind the burdens that I bear:  
See how I sink in sorrows every where.  
Behold and see what dollars I endure,  
Give ear and mark what plaints I put in ure.  
Bend willing ear: and pity therewithal,  
My wailing voice,  
Which hath no choice.  
But evermore upon thy name to call.   

If thou good Lord shouldest take thy rod in hand,  
If thou regard what sins are daily done,  
If thou take hold where we our works begun,  
If thou decree in judgement for to stand,  
And be extreme to see our scuses skande,  
If thou take note of every thing amiss,  
And write in rolls how frail our nature is,  
O glorious God, O King, O Prince of power,  
What mortal wight,  
May then have light,  
To feel thy frown, if thou have list to lower?   

But thou art good, and hast of mercy store,  
Thou not delyghst to see a sinner fall,  
Thou hearknest first, before we come to call.  
Thy ears are set wide open evermore,  
Before we knock thou comest to the door.  
Thou art more priest to hear a sinner cry,  
Then he is quick to climb to thee on high.  
Thy mighty name be praised then alway,  
Let faith and fear,  
True witness bear.  
How fast they stand which on thy mercy stay.   

I look for thee (my lovely Lord) therefore.  
For thee I wait, for thee I tarry still,  
Mine eyes do long to gaze on thee my fill.  
For thee I watch, for thee I pry and poor.  
My Soul for thee attendeth evermore.  
My Soul doth thirst to take of thee a taste,  
My Soul desires with thee for to be placed.  
And to thy word (which can no man deceive)  
Mine only trust,  
My love and lust.  
In confidence continually shall cleave.   

Before the break or dawning of the day,  
Before the light be seen in lofty Skies,  
Before the Sun appear in pleasant wise,  
Before the watch (before the watch I say)  
Before the ward that waits therefore alway:  
My soul, my sense, my secret thought, my spirit,  
My will, my wish, my joy, and my delight:  
Unto the Lord that sits in heaven on high.  
With hasty wing,  
From me doth fling,  
And striveth still, unto the Lord to fly.   

O Israel, O household of the Lord,  
O Abraham's Brats, O brood of blessed seed,  
O chosen sheep that love the Lord in deed:  
O hungry hearts, feed still upon his word,  
And put your trust in him with one accord.  
For he hath mercy evermore at hand,  
His fountains flow, his springs do never stand.  
And plenteously he loveth to redeem,  
Such sinners all,  
As on him call.  
And faithfully his mercies most esteem.   

He will redeem our deadly drooping state,  
He will bring home the sheep that go astray,  
He will help them that hope in him alway:  
He will appease our discord and debate,  
He will soon save, though we repent us late.  
He will be ours if we continue his,  
He will bring bale to joy and perfect bliss.  
He will redeem the flock of his elect,  
From all that is,  
Or was amiss.  
Since Abraham's heirs did first his Laws reject.   Ever or never.  

¶ Gascoignes Memories, written upon this occasion. He had (in midst of his youth) determined to abandon all vain delights and to return unto Greyes' Inn, there to undertake again the study of the common Laws. And being required by five sundry Gentlemen to writ in verse somewhat worthy to be remembered, before he entered into their fellowship, he compiled these five sundry sorts of metre upon five sundry themes, which they delivered unto him, and the first was at request of Francis Kinwelmarshe who delivered him this theme. Audaces fortuna juuat. And thereupon he wrote this Sonnette following.  
IF yielding fear, or cankered villainy,  
In Caesar's haughty heart had ta'en the charge,  
The walls of Rome had not been reared so high,  
Nor yet the mighty Empire left so large.  
If Menelaus could have ruled his will,  
With fowl reproach to lose his fair delight,  
Then had the stately towers of Troy stood still,  
And greeks with grudge had drunk their own despite.  
If dread of drenching waves or fear of fire,  
Had stayed the wandering Prince amid his race,  
Ascanius then, the fruit of his desire,  
In Lavine Land had not possessed place.  
But true it is, where lots do light by chance,  
There Fortune helps the boldest to advance.  Sic tuli.  

Learn first to spare thy budget at the brink,  
So shall the bottom be the faster bound:  
But he that list with lavish hand to link,  
(In like expense) a penny with a pound,  
May chance at last to sit a side and shrink  
His harbraind head with out dame dainties door.  
Hick, hob, and Dick, with clouts upon their knee,  
Have many times more goonhole groats in store  
And change of crowns more quick at call than he,  
Which let their lease and take their rent before.  
For he that raps a royal on his cap,  
Before he put one penny in his purse,  
Had need turn quick and broach a better tap,  
Or else his drink may chance go down the worse.  
I not deny but some men have good hap,  
To climb a loft by scales of courtly grace,  
And win the world with liberality:  
Yet he that yerks old angels out apace,  
And hath no new to purchase dignity,  
When orders fall, may chance to lack his grace.  
For haggard hawks mislike an empty hand:  
So stiffly some stick to the mercer's stall,  
Till suits of silk have sweat out all their land.  
So oft thy neighbour's banquet in thy hall,  
Till Davie Debet in thy parlour stand,  
And bids the welcome to thine own decay.  
I like a Lions looks not worth a leek  
When every Fox beguiles him of his pray:  
What sauce but sorrow serveth him aweeke.  
Which all his cates consumeth in one day?  
First use thy stomach to a stand of ale,  
Before thy Malmsey come in merchants books,  
And rather were (for shift) thy shirt of male,  
Than tear thy silken sleeves with teynter hooks,  
Put feathers in thy pillows great and small,  
Let them be princkt with plumes, that gape for plums,  
Heap up both gold and silver safe in ●ooches,  
Catch, snatch, and scratch for scrapings and for crumbs  
Before thou deck thy hat (on high) with brooches.  
Let first thine one hand hold fast all that comes,  
Before that other learn his letting fly:  
Remember still that soft fire makes sweet malt,  
No haste but good (who means to multiply:)  
Bought wit is dear, and dressed with sour salt,  
Repentance comes to late, and then say I,  
Who spares the first and keeps the last unspent,  
Shall find that sparing yéeldes a goodly rent.  Sic tuli.  

Alexander Nevile delivered him this theme, Sat cito, si sat been, whereupon he compiled these seven Sonnets in sequence, therein bewraying his own Nimis cito: and therewith his Vix bene, as followeth.  

IN haste post haste, when first my wandering mind,  
Beheld the glistering Court with gazing eye,  
Such deep delights I seemed therein to find,  
As might beguile a graver guest than I  
The stately pomp of Princes and their peers,  
Did seem to swim in bloods of beaten gold,  
The wanton world of young delightful years,  
Was not unlike a heaven for to behold.  
Wherein did swarm (for every saint) a Dame,  
So fair of hue, so fresh of their attire,  
As might excel dame Cynthia for Fame,  
Or conquer Cupid with his own desire.  
These and such like were baits that blazed still  
Before mine eye to feed my greedy william.   

2.  
Before mine eye to feed my greedy will,  
'Gan muster eke mine old acquainted mates,  
Who helped the dish (of bayne delight) to fill  
My empty mouth with dainty delicates:  
And foolish boldness took the whip in hand,  
To lash my life into this trustless trace,  
Till all in haste I leapt a loof from land,  
And hoist up soil to catch a Courtly grace:  
Each lingering day did seem a world of woe,  
Till in that hapless haven my head was brought:  
Waves of wanhope so tossed me to and fro,  
In deep despair to drown my dreadful thought:  
Each hour a day each day a year did seem,  
And every year a world my will did deem.   

3.  
And every year a world my will did deem,  
Till lo, at last, to Court now am I come,  
A seemly swain, that might the place beseem,  
A gladsome guest embraced of all and some:  
Not there content with common dignity,  
My wandering eye in haste, (yea post post haste)  
Beheld the blazing badge of bravery,  
For want whereof, I thought myself disgraced:  
Then peevish pride puffte up my swelling heart,  
To further forth so hot an enterprise:  
And comely cost began to play his part,  
In praising patterns of mine own devise.  
Thus all was good that might be got in haste,  
To princke me up, and make me higher placed.   

4.  
To prinke me up and make me higher placed,  
All came to late that tarried any time,  
Pills of provision pleased not my taste,  
They made my heels to heavy for to climb:  
Me thought it best that boughs of boisterous oak.  
Should first be shred to make my feathers gay.  
Till at the last a deadly dinting stroke,  
Brought down the bulk with edge tools of decay:  
Of every farm I then let fly a lease,  
To feed the purse that paid for peevishness,  
Till rent and all were fallen in such disease,  
As scarce could serve to maintain cleanliness:  
They bought, the body, fine, ferme, lease, and land,  
All were to little for the merchant's hand.   

5.  
All were to little for the merchant's hand,  
And yet my bravery bigger than his book:  
But when this hot account was coldly scanned,  
I thought high time about me for to look:  
With heavy cheer I cast my head aback,  
To see the fountain of my furious race.  
Compared my loss, my living, and my lack,  
In equal balance with my jolly grace.  
And saw expenses grating on the ground  
Like lumps of lead to press my purse full oft,  
When light reward and recompense were found,  
fleeting like feathers in the wind aloft:  
These thus compared, I left the Court at large,  
For why? the gains doth seldom quit the charge.   

6.  
For why? the gains doth seldom quit the charge,  
And so say I, by proof too dearly bought,  
My haste mad waist, my brave and brainsick barge,  
Did float to fast, to catch a thing of naught:  
With leisure, measure, mean, and many more,  
I might have kept a chair of quiet state,  
But hasty heads can not be settled so,  
Till crooked Fortune give a crabbed mate:  
As busy brains must beat on tickle toys,  
As rash invention breeds a raw devise,  
So sudden falls do hinder hasty joys,  
And as swift baits do fléetest fish entice.  
So haste makes waste, and therefore now I say,  
No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way.   

7.  
No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way,  
For proof whereof, behold the simple snail,  
(Who sees the soldiers carcase cast a way,  
With hot assault the Castle to assail.)  
By line and leisure climes the lofty wall,  
And wins the turrettes top more cunningly,  
Than doughtyé Dick, who lost his life and all,  
With hoisting up his head to hastily.  
The swiftest bitch brings forth the blyndest whelps,  
The hottest Fevers coldest cramps ensue,  
The nakedst need hath over latest helps:  
With Nevyle than I find this proverb true,  
That haste makes waste, and therefore still I say,  
No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way.   Sic tuli.  

Richard Courtop (the last of the five) gave him this theme, Durum aeneum & miserabile aeuum, and thereupon he wrote in this wise  
WHen peerless Prince's courts were free from flattery,  
The justice from unequal doom, the quest from perjury.  
The pillars of the state, from proud presumption,  
The clerk from heresy, the commons from rebellion:  
Then right rewards were given, by sway of dew desert,  
Then virtues derlinges might be placed aloft to play their part:  
Then might they count it true, that hath been said of old,  
The children of those happy days, were borne in beds of gold.  
And swaddled in the same: the Nurse that gave them suck.  
Was wife to liberality, and leman to good luck.  
When Caesar won the field, his captains caught the Towns,  
And every painful soldiers purse was crammed full of crowns.  
Lycurgus for good Laws, lost his own liberty,  
And thought it better to prefer common commodity.  
But now the times are turned, it is not as it was,  
The gold is gone, the silver sunk, and nothing left but brass.  
To see a King encroach, what wonder should it seem,  
When commons cannot be content, with country Dyadeeme?  
The Prince may die a babe, trust up by treachery,  
Where vain ambition doth move trustless nobillitye.  
Errors in pulpit preach, where faith in priesthood fails,  
Promotion (not devotion) is cause why clergy quails.  
Thus is the stage stakt out, where all these parts be played,  
And I the prologue should pronounce, but that I am afraid.  
First Cayphas plays the Priest, and Herode sits as king,  
pilate the judge, judas the juror verdict in doth bring,  
Vain tattling plays the vice, well clad in rich array,  
And poor Tom Troth is laughed to scorn, with garments nothing gay.  
The woman wantonness, she comes with 'ticing train,  
Pride in her pocket plays bo peep, and bawdry in her brain.  
Her handmaids be deceit, danger, and dalliance,  
Riot and Revel follow her, they be of her alliance:  
Next these comes in Sim Swashe, to see what stir they keep.  
Clim of the Clough then takes his heels, 'tis time for him to creep:  
To pack the pageant up, comes Sorrow with a song,  
He say these jests can get no groats, & all this gear goeth wrong:  
first pride without cause why, he sings the triple part,  
The mean he mumbles out of tune, for lack of life and heart:  
Cost lost, the counter Tenor chanteth on apace,  
Thus all in discords stands the cliff, and beggary sings the base,  
The players lose their pains, where so few pence are stirring,  
Their garments wear for lack of gains, & fret for lack of furring.  
When all is done and passed, was no part played but one,  
For every player played the fool, till all be spent and gone.  
And thus this foolish jest, I put in doggerel rhyme,  
Because a crosier staff is best, for such a crooked time.  Sic tuli. 
¶ And thus an end of these five Themes, admounting to the number of. CCLVIII verses, devised riding by the way, writing none of them until he came at the end of his journey, the which was no longer than one day in riding, one day in tarrying with his friend, and the third in returning to Greyes' Inn: and therefore called Gascoignes memories.   

¶ A gloze upon this text, Dominus ijs opus habet.  
MY reckless race is run, green youth and pride be past,  
My riper mellowed years begin to follow on as fast.  
My glancing looks are gone, which wonted were to pry,  
In every gorgeous garish glass, that glistered in mine eye.  
My sight is now so dim, it can behold none such,  
No mirror but the merry mean, can please my fancy much.  
And in that noble glass, I take delight to view,  
The fashions of the wonted world, compared by the new.  
For mark who list to look, each man is for himself.  
And beats his brain to hord & heap, this trash & worldly pelf.  
Our hands are closed up, great gifts go not abroad,  
Few men will lend a lock of hay, but for to gain a load.  
Give Gave is a good man, what need we lash it out,  
The world is wondrous fearful now, for danger bids men doubt.  
And ask how chanceth this? or what means all this meed?  
Forsooth the common answer is, because the Lord hath need.  
A noble jest by gisse, I find it in my glass,  
The same fréeholde our saviour Christ, conveyed to his ass.  
A text to try the truth, and for this time full fit,  
Foe where should we our lessons learn, but out of holy writ?  
First mark our only God, which ruleth all the roast,  
He sets a side all pomp and pride, wherein fond worldlings boast.  
His train is not so great, as filthy Satan's band,  
A smaller herd may serve to feed, at our great master's hand.  
Next mark the heathens Gods, and by them shall we see,  
They be not now so good fellows, as they were wont to be.  
jove, Mars, and Mercury, Dame Venus and the rest,  
They banquet not as they were wont, they know it were not best.  
So kings and princes both, have left their halls at large,  
Their privy chambers cost enough, they cut off every charge.  
And when an office falls, as chance sometimes may be,  
First keep it close a year or twain, then geld it by the fee.  
And give it out at last, but yet with this proviso,  
(A bridle for a brainsick jade) durant bene placito.  
Some think these ladders low, to climb aloft with speed:  
Well let them creep at leisure them, for sure the Lord hath need.  
Duke's Earls and Barons bold, have learned like lesson now,  
They break up house & come to court, they live not by that plough.  
Percase their rooms be scant, not like their stately bower,  
A field bed in a corner couched, a pallad on the flower.  
But what for that? no force, they make thereof no boast,  
They feed themselves with delicates, and at the prince's cost.  
And as for all their men, their pages and their swains,  
They choke them up with chines of beef, to multiply their gains.  
Themselves lie near to look, when any leaf doth fall,  
Such crumbs were wont to feed poor grooms, but now the Lords sick al.  
And why? o sir, because, both dukes & lords have need,  
I mock not I, my text is true, believe it as your creed.  
Our Prelates and our Priests, can tell this text with me,  
They can hold fast their fattest fermes, and let no lease go free.  
They have both wife and child, which may not be for got,  
The scriptures say the Lord hath need, & therefore blame them not.  
Then come a little lower, unto the country knight,  
The squire and the gentleman, they leave the country quite,  
Their halls were all to large, their tables were to long,  
The clouted shoes came in so fast, they kept to great a throng,  
And at the porters lodge, where lubbers wont to feed,  
The porter learns to answer now, hence hence the Lord hath need.  
His gests came in to thick, their diet was to great,  
Their horses eat up all the hay, which should have fed his neat:  
Their teeth were far to fine, to feed on pork and sauce,  
five flocks of sheep could scarce maintain good mutton for his house.  
And when this count was cast, it was no biding here,  
Unto the good town is he gone, to make his friends good cheer.  
And welcome there that will, but shall I tell you how:  
At his own dish he feedeth them, that is the fashion now,  
Side boards be laid aside, the table's end is gone,  
His cook shall make you noble cheer, but ostler hath he none.  
The chargers now be changed, wherein he wonted to eat,  
An old frutedish is big enough to hold a joint of meat.  
A salad or a sauce, to taste your cates with all,  
Some strange devise to feed mens eyes, mens stomachs now be small.  
And when the tenants come to pay their quarters rend,  
They bring some fowl at Midsummer, a dish of Fish in Lent,  
At Christmas a capon, at Mighelmasse a goose:  
And somewhat else at Newyeres tied, for fear their lease fly lose.  
Good reason by my troth, when Gentlemen lack groats,  
Let ploughmen pinch it out for pence, & patch their russet coats:  
For better farmers fast, than Manner houses fall,  
The Lord hath need, than says the text, bring old Ass colt & all.  
Well lowest now at last, let see the country lout,  
And mark how he doth swink & sweat, to bring this gear about:  
His feastings be but few, cast whipstockes clout his shone,  
The wheaten loaf is locked up as soon as dinners done:  
And where he wont to keep a lubber, two or three,  
Now hath he learned to keep no more, but Sim his son and he,  
His wife and Mawde his maid, a boy to pitch the cart,  
And turn him up at Hollontide, to feel the winter smart:  
Dame Alyson his wife doth know the price of meal,  
Her bride cakes be not half so big as she was wont to steal.  
She wears no silver hooks, she is content with worse,  
Her pendantes and her silver pings she putteth in her purse.  
Thus learn I by my glass, that merry mean is best,  
And he most wise that finds the mean, to keep himself at rest.  
Perchance some open mouth will mutter now and than,  
And at the market tell his mate, our landlords a zore man:  
He racketh up our rents, and keeps the best in hand,  
He makes a wondrous deal of good out of his own measne land:  
Yea let such pelters prate, saint Needam be their speed,  
We need no text to answer them, but this, The Lord hath need.  Ever or never  

An Epitaph upon Captain Bourcher late slain in the wars in Zelande, the which hath been termed the tale of a stone as followeth.  

Fie Captains fie, your tongues are tied to close,  
Your Soldiers eke by silence purchase shame:  
Can no man pen in méetre nor in prose,  
The life, the death, the valiant acts, the fame,  
The birth, behaviour, nor the noble name,  
Of such a féere as you in fight have lost:  
Alas such pains would quickly quite the cost.   

Bourcher is dead, whom each of you did know,  
Yet no man writes one word to paint his praise,  
His spirit on high, his earkasse here below,  
Doth both condemn your doting idle days:  
Yet cease they not to sound his worthy ways,  
Who lived to die, and died again to live,  
With death dear bought, he did his death forgive.   

He might for birth have boasted noble race,  
Yet were his manners meek and always mild,  
Who gave a guess by gazing on his face,  
And judged thereby, might quickly be beguiled,  
In field a Lion, and in Town a Child,  
Fierce to his foe, but courteous to his friend.  
Alas the while, his life so soon should end?   

To serve his Prince his life was ever priest,  
To serve his God, his death he thought but dew,  
In all attempts as forward as the best,  
And all to forwards, which we all may rue,  
His life so showed, his death eke tried it true:  
For where his foes in thickest press did stand,  
Bourcher caught bane with bloody sword in hand.   

And mark the courage of a noble heart,  
When he in bed lay wounded wondrous sore,  
And heard alarm, he soon forgot his smart,  
And called for arms to show his service more:  
I will to field (quoth he) and God before.  
Which said, he sailed into more quiet coast,  
Still praising God, and so gave up the ghost.   

Now muse not reader though we stones can speak,  
Or writ sometimes the deeds of worthy ones,  
I could not hold although my heart should break,  
(Because here by me buried are his bones,)  
But I must tell this tale thus for the nonce.  
When men cry mum and keep such silence long,  
Then stones must speak, else dead men shall have wrong.   
Finis  quod Marmaduke Marblestone.  

¶ A devise of a Mark for the right honourable Viscount Montacute, written upon this occasion, when the said L. had prepared to solemnize two marriages between his son and heir, and the Daughter of sir William Dormer Knight, and between the son and heir of sir William Dormer, and the Daughter of the said L. Montacute: there were eight Gentlemen (all of blood or alliance to the said L. Montacute) which had determined to present a Mask at the day appointed for the said marriages, and so far they had proceeded therein, that they had already bought furniture of Silks. etc., and had caused their garments to be cut of the Venetian fashion. Now than they began to imagine that (without some special demonstration) it would seem somewhat obscure to have Venetians presented rather than other country men. Whereupon they entreated the Author to devise some verses to be uttered by an Actor wherein might be some discourse convenient to tender a good cause of the Venetians presence. The Author calling to mind that there is a noble house of the Mountacutes in Italy, and therewithal that the L. Montacute here doth quarter the coat of an ancient English Gentleman called Mounthermer, and hath the inheritance of the said house, did thereupon devise to bring in a Boy of the age of twelve or xiiii years, who should feign that he was a Mounthermer by the father's side, and a Montacute by the mother's side, and that his father being slain at the last wars against the Turk, and he there taken, he was recovered by the Venetians in their last victory, and with them sailing towards Venice, they were driven by tempest upon these coasts, and so came to the marriage upon report as followeth, and the said Boy pronounced the devise in this sort.  
WHat wonder you my Lords? why gaze you gentlemen?  
And wherefore marvel you Mez Dames, I pray you tell me then●  
Is it so rare a sight, or yet so strange a toy,  
Among so many nooble peers, to see one power Boy?  
Why? boy's have been allowed in every kind of age.  
As ganymed that pretty boy, in Heaven is jove his page.  
Cupid that mighty God although his force be fierce,  
Yet is he but a naked Boy, as Poets do rehearse.  
And many a préetye boy a mighty man hath proved,  
And served his Prince at all assays deserving to be loved.  
Percase my strange attire my glittering golden gite,  
Doth either make you marvel thus, or move you with delight.  
Yet wonder not my Lords for if your honours please,  
But even to give me ear a while, I will your doubts appease.  
And you shall know the cause, wherefore these robes are worn,  
And why I go outlandish like, yet being English borne.  
And why I thus presume to press into this place,  
And why I (simple boy) am bold to look such men in face.  
first than you must perstande, I am no stranger I,  
But English boy, in England borne, and bred but even hereby.  
My father was a Knight, Mount Hermer was his name,  
My mother of the Mountacutes, a house of worthy fame.  
My father from his youth was trained up in field,  
And always took his chief delight, in helmet spear and shield.  
Soldado for his life, and in his happy days,  
Soldado like hath lost his life, to his immortal praise.  
The thundering fame which blue about the world so wide,  
How that the Christian enemy, the Turk that Prince of pride,  
Addressed had his power, to swarm upon the Seas,  
With Galleys, foists, and such licks ships, well armed at all assays.  
And that he made his vaunt, the greedy fish to glut,  
With gobs of Christian carcases, in cruel pieces cut.  
These news of this report, did pierce my father's ears,  
But never touched his noble heart, with any spark of fears.  
For well he knew the trade of all the Turkish wars,  
And had amongst them shed his blood, at many cruel jars.  
In Rhodes his race begun, a slender tale young man,  
Where he by many martial feats, his spurs of knighthood won.  
Yea though the piece was lost, yet won he honour still,  
And evermore against the Turks he warred by his will.  
At Chios many know, how hardily he fought,  
And how with streams of striving blood, his honour dear he bought.  
At length enforced to yield with many captains more,  
He bought his liberty with Lands, and let his goods ago.  
Zechines 
* Apiece of gold like the Crusado  of glistering gold, two thousand was his price,  
The which to pay his lands must leap, for else he were unwise,  
Believe me now my Lords although the loss be mine,  
Yet I confess them better sold, than like a slave to pine.  
" For lands may come again, but liberty once lost,  
" Can never find such recompense, as countervails the cost.  
Myself now know the case, who like my father's lot,  
Was like of late for to have lost my liberty God wots.  
My father (as I say) enforced to leave his land,  
In mortgage to my mother's kin, for ready coin in hand,  
'Gan now upon these news, which erst I did rehearse,  
Prepare himself to save his pawn, or else to lose his phearce.  
And first his ransom paid, with that which did remain,  
He rigged up a proper Bark, was called Leffort Britain.  
And like a venturer (besides him seemly self)  
Determined for to venture me and all his worldly pelf.  
Perhaps some hope of gain persuaded so his mind,  
For sure his haughty heart was bend, some great exploit to find.  
How so it were, the winds now hoisted up our sails,  
We furrowing in the foaming floods, to take our best avails.  
Now hearken to my words, and mark you well the same,  
For now I will declare the cause, wherefore I hither came.  
My father (as I say) had set up all his rest,  
And tossed on seas both day and night, disdaining idle rest,  
We left our forelands end, we passed the coast of France,  
We reached the cape of Finis Terre our course for to advance.  
We passed Marrocchus straits, and at the last descried,  
The fertile coasts of Cyprus soil, which I myself first spied.  
Myself (a forward boy) on highest top was placed,  
And there I saw the Cyprian shore, whereto we sailed in haste.  
Which when I had declared unto the master's mate,  
He leapt for joy and thanked God, of that our happy state.  
" But what remains to man, that can continued long?  
" What sun can shine so clear & bright but clouds may rise among?  
Which sentence soon was proved, by our unhappy hap,  
We thought ourselves full near our friends, & light in enemy's lap.  
The Turk that Tyrant he, with siege had girt the walls,  
Of famous Famagosta 
* The chief City in Cyprus.  then and sought to make them thralls.  
And as he lay by land, in strong and stately trench,  
So was his power priest by Sea, his Christian foes to drench.  
Upon the waltering waves, his Foists and Galleys fleet,  
Moore forest like than orderly, for such a man most meet.  
This heavy sight once seen, we turned our course apace,  
And set up all our sails in haste, to give such fury place.  
But out alas, our wills, and winds were contrary,  
For raging blasts did blow us still upon our enemy.  
My father seeing then, whereto he needs must go,  
And that the mighty hand of God, had it appointed so.  
Most like a worthy knight (though certain of his death)  
'Gan clean forget all wailing words, as lavish of his breath.  
And to his Christian crew, this (too short) tale he told,  
To comfort them which seemed to faint, & make the coward bold,  
" Fellows in arms, quoth he, although I bear the charge,  
" And take upon me chieftains name, of this unhappy barge,  
" Yet are you all my pheares, and as one company,  
" We must like true companions, together live and die,  
" You see quoth he our foes, with furious force at hand,  
" And in whose hands our handful here, unable is to stand,  
" What resteth then to do, should we unto them yield?  
" And wifully receive that yoke, which Christians cannot wield.  
" Not sure, hereof be sure, our lives were so unsure,  
" And though we live, yet so to live, as better death endure.  
" To hear those hellish fiends in raging blasphemy,  
" Defy our only Saviour, were this no misery?  
" To see the fowl abuse of boys in tender years,  
" The which I know must needs abhor all honest Christians ears.  
" To see maids ravished, Wives, Women forced by fear,  
" And much more mischief than this time can let me utter here.  
" Alas, quoth he, I tell not all, my tongue is tied,  
" But all the slaveries on the earth, we should with them abide.  
" How much were better than, to die in worthy wise,  
" And so to make our carcases, a willing Sacrifice.  
" So shall we pay the debt, which unto God is due,  
" So shall you die in his defence, who deind to die for you.  
" And who with hardy hand, most Turkish tikes can quell,  
" Let him account in conscience, to please his maker well.  
" You see, quoth he, my son, wherewith he looked on me,  
" Whom but a babe, yet have I brought, my partner here to be.  
" For, him I must confess, my heart is pensive now,  
" To leave him living thus in youth, to die I know not how.  
" But since it pleaseth God, I may not murmur I,  
" If God had pleased we both should live, and as God will we die.  
Thus with a braying sigh, his noble tongue he stayed,  
Commanding all the ordinance, in order to be laid.  
And placing all his men in order for to fight,  
Fallen groveling still upon his face, before them all in sight.  
And when in secret so, he whispered had a while,  
He raised his head with cheerful look, his sorrows to beguile:  
And with the rest he prayed, to God in heaven on high,  
Which ended thus, Thou only Lord, canst help in misery.  
This said (behold) the Turks enclosed us round about,  
And seemed to wonder that we durst resist so great a rout.  
Whereat they doubt not long, for though our power was slender,  
We sent them signs by Canon shot, that we meant not to tender.  
Then might we see them chafe, than might we hear them rage,  
And all at once they bend their force, about our silly cage.  
Our ordinance bestowed, our men themselves defend,  
On every side so thick beset, they might not long contend.  
But as their captain wild, each man his force did strain,  
To sand a Turk (some two or three) unto the hellish train,  
And he himself which saw, he might no more abide,  
Did thrust a mide the thickest throng, and so with honour died.  
With him there died like wise, his best approved men,  
The rest did yield as men amazed, they had no courage then.  
Amongst the which myself, was ta'en by Turks alas,  
And with the Turks a turkish life, in Turkey must I pass.  
I was not done to death for so I often craude,  
But like a slave before the Gattes, of Famagosta saved.  
That piece once put to sack, I thither was conveyed,  
And under safeguard evermore, I silly boy was stayed.  
There did I see such sights, as yet my heart do prick,  
I saw the noble 
* The governor of Famagosta.  Bragadine, when he was fleyd quick.  
First like a slave enforced to bear to every breach,  
Two baskets laden full with earth 
* The general of the Turks.  Mustaffa did him teach.  
By whom he might not pass before he kissed the ground,  
These cruel torments (yet with more) that worthy soldier found.  
His ears cut from his head, they set him in a chair,  
And from a main yard hoisted him aloft into the air,  
That so he might be showed with cruelty and spite,  
Unto us all, whose weeping eyes did much abhor the sight.  
Alas why do I thus with woeful words rehearse,  
These weary news which all our hearts with pity needs must pierce?  
Well then to tell you forth, I still a slave remained,  
To one, which Prelybassa height, who held me still enchained.  
With him I went to Seas into the gulf of Pant,  
With many christians captives more, which did their freedom want.  
There with the Turkish train we were enforced to stay,  
With waltering still upon the waves, did wait for further pray.  
For why? they had advise, that the Venetian fleet,  
Did floote in Argostelly then, with whom they hoped to meet.  
And as they waltered thus with tides and billows tossed,  
Their hope had hap, for at the last they met them to their cost.  
As in October last upon the seventh day,  
They found the force of christian knights addressed in good array.  
And shall I try my tongue to tell the whole discourse,  
And how they did encounter first, and how they joined in force?  
Then hearken now my lords, for sure my memory,  
Doth yet record the very plot of all this victory,  
The christian crew came on, in form of battle pight,  
And like a crescent cast themselves preparing for to fight.  
On other side the Turks, which trusted power to much,  
Disorderly did spread their force, the will of God was such.  
Well at the last they met, and first with cannones thunder,  
Each other sought with furious force to slit their ships in sunder.  
The barks are battered sore, the galleys galled with shot,  
The hulks are hit, and every man must stand unto his lot.  
The powder sends his smoke into the cruddy skies,  
The smoulder stops our nose with stench, the fume offends our eyes.  
The pots of lime unsteakt, from highest top are cast,  
The parched pease are not for got to make them slip as fast.  
The wild fire works are wrought and cast in foeman's face,  
The grappling hooks are stretched forth, the pikes are pushed a pace.  
The halberd hew on head, the brown bills bruise the bones,  
The harquebus doth spit his spite, with pretty piercing stones.  
The drums cry dub a dub, the braying trumpets blow,  
The whistling mischiefs are seldom herd, these sounds do drown them so.  
The voice of warlike wights, to comfort them that faint,  
The piteous plaints of golden hearts, which were with fears attaint.  
The groaning of such ghosts as gasped now for breath,  
The prayers of the better sort, prepared unto death.  
And to be short, each grief which on the earth may grow,  
Was each and easy to be found, upon these floods to flow.  
If any sight on earth, may unto hell resemble,  
Then sure this was a hellish sight, it makes me yet to tremble:  
And in this bloody fight, when half the day was spent,  
It pleazed God to help his flock, which thus in pound was penned.  
The general of Spain, 'gan galled that galley sore,  
Where in my Prely Bassa was, and grieved it more and more:  
Upon that other side, with force of sword and flame,  
The good Venetian General did charge upon the same.  
At leength they came aboard, and in his raging pride,  
Struck of this Turkish captains head, which blasphemd as it died:  
O how I feel the blood now trickle in my breast,  
To think what joy then pierced my heart, and how I thought me blest.  
To see that cruel Turk which held me as his slave,  
By happy hand of Christians, his payment thus to have:  
His head from shoulders cut, upon a Pike did stand,  
The which Don john of Austrye, held in his triumphant hand.  
The boldest Bassa then, that did in life remain,  
'Gan tremble at the sight hereof, for privy grief and pain.  
Thus when these fierce had fought, from morning until night,  
Christ gave his flock the victory, and put his foes to flight:  
And of the Turkish train, were eight score Galleys ta'en,  
Fifteen sunk, five and twenty burnt, & brought unto their bane,  
Of Christians set at large were fourteen thousand souls,  
Turks twenty thousand registered in Belzebub his rolls.  
Thus have you now my Lords, the sum of all their fight,  
And trust it all for true I tell, for I was still in sight:  
But when the Seas were calm, and skies began to clear,  
When foes were all or dead or fled, and victors did appear.  
Then every Christian sought amongst us for his friend,  
His kinsman or companion, some secure them to lend:  
And as they ransakte so, lo God his will it was,  
A noble wise Venetian, by me did chance to pass:  
Who gazing on my face, did seem to like me well,  
And what my name, and whence I was, commanded me to tell:  
I now which waxed bold, as one that scaped had,  
From deepest hell to highest heaven, began for to be glad:  
And with a lively spirit, began to pleads my case,  
And hide not from this worthy man, mine ancient worthy race:  
And told my father's name, and how I did descend,  
From Mountacutes by Mother's side, nor there my tale did end.  
But furthermore I told my Father's late exploit,  
And how he left his lands, goods & life, to pay son Dieu son droit.  
Nor of myself I craved so credited to be,  
For lo there were remaining yet, These four whom here you see. 
The four to the bearers, that came in with the Actor.   
Which all were English borne, and knew I had not lied,  
And were my Father's soldiers eke, and saw him how he died.  
This grave Venetian who heard the famous name,  
Of Mountacutes rehearsed there, which long had been of fame.  
In Italy, and he of self same worthy race,  
'Gan strait with many courteous words, in arms me to embrace.  
And kissed me on cheek, and bade me make good cheer,  
And thank the mighty hand of God, for that which happened there,  
Confessing that he was himself a Montacute,  
And bore the self same arms that I did quarter in my scute:  
And for a further proof, he showed in his hat,  
This token which the Mountacutes 
The Actor had a token in his cap like to the Mountacutes of Italy.  did bear always, for that.  
They covet to be known from Capulets where they pass,  
For ancient grudge which long ago, between these two houses was.  
Then took me by the hand, and led me so aboard,  
His Galley: where there were yféere, full many a comely Lord:  
Of whom eight Mountacutes did sit in highest place,  
To whom this first declared first my name, and then my race:  
Lo Lordings here (quoth he) a babe of our own bloods,  
Whom Turks had ta'en, his father slain, with loss of lands & goods:  
See how God favours us, that I should found him now,  
I strange to him, he strange to me, we met I know not how.  
But sure when I him saw, and gazed in his face,  
Me thought he was a Montacute, I chose him by his grace.  
Herewith he did rehearse my Father's valiant deed,  
For loss of whom each Montacute, did seem in heart to bleed.  
They all embraced me then, and strait as you may see,  
In comely garments trimmeth me up, as brave as brave may be:  
I was in sackcloth I, now am I clad in Gold,  
And wear such robes, as I myself take pleasure to behold.  
Among their other gifts, this token they me gave, 
The token that he did wear in his cap.   
And had me like a Montacute, myself always behave.  

The Montacutes and capels in italy do were tokens in their caps to be known one from another.  Now hearken then my Lords, I staying on the Seas.  
In consort of these lovely Lords, with comfort and with ease.  
Determined with them in Italy to devil,  
And there by train of youthful years in knowledge to excel.  
That so I might at last réedifye the walls,  
Which my good father had decayed by tossing fortunes balls.  
And while they slice the Seas to their desired shore,  
Behold a little gale began, increasing more and more.  
At last with raging blast, which from Southeast did blow,  
'Gan send our sails upon these shores, which I full well did know.  
I spied the Chalky clives upon the kentish coast,  
Whereby our Land height albion, as Brutus once did boast.  
Which I no sooner saw, but to the rest I said,  
Siate di buona voglta, My Lords be well apaid:  
I see by certain signs these Tempests have us cast,  
Upon my native country coasts with happy hap at last:  
And if your honours please this honour me to do,  
In English havens to harbour you, and see our Cities too:  
Lo London is not far, whereas my friends would be,  
Right glad, with favour to requited your favour showed to me:  
Vouchsafe my Lords (quoth I) to stay upon this strand,  
And whiles your Barks be rigged new, remain with me on land,  
Who though I be a Boy, my Father dead and slain,  
Yet shall you see I have some friends which will you entertain.  
These Noble men which are, the flower of courtesy,  
Did not disdain this my request, but took it thankfully.  
And from their battered Barks commanded to be cast,  
Some 
* Venetian hotes  Gondalaes, wherein upon our pleasant streams they passed.  
Into the month of Thames, thus did I them transport,  
And to London at the last, whereas I heard report.  
Even as we landed first, of this twice happy day,  
To think whereon I leapt for joy, as I both must and may.  
And to these lovely Lords, which are Magnificoes,  
I did declare the whole discourse in order as it rose:  
That you my Lord who are the chiefest Montacute,  
And he whom English Mountacutes their only stay impute,  
Had found the means this day to match your son and heir,  
In marriage with a worthy dame, which is both fresh and fair,  
And (as reports are spread) of goodly quallyties,  
A virgin trained from her youth in godly exercise,  
Whose brother had like wise your daughter ta'en to wife,  
And so by double links enchained themselves in lovers life:  
These noble Mountacutes which were from Venice droven.  
By tempest (as I told before) wherewith they long had striven.  
'Gan now give thanks to God which so did them convey,  
To see such honours of their kin in such a happy day.  
And strait they me entreat, whom they might well command.  
That I should come to you my Lord, first them to recommaund.  
And then this boon to crave, that under your protection,  
They might be bold to enter here, devoid of all suspection.  
And so in friendly wise for to conselebrate,  
This happy match solemnized, according to your state.  
Lo this is all they crave, the which I can not doubt,  
But that your Lordship soon will grant, with more, if more ye might:  
Yea were it for no more, but for the Courtesy,  
Which as I say they showed to me in great extremity:  
They are Venetians, and though from Venice reft,  
They come in such Venetian robes, as they on seas had left:  
And since they be your friends, and kinsmen too by blood,  
I trust your entretainement will be to them right good:  
They will not tarry long, lo now I hear their drum,  
Behold, lo now I see them here, in order how they come,  
Receive them well my lord, so shall I pray all ways,  
That God vouchsafe to bless this house with many happy days.   

After the mask was done, the Actor took master Tho. Bro. by the hand an brought him to the Venetians, with these words:  
GVardate Signori my lovely Lords behold,  
This is another Montacute, hereof you may be bold.  
Of such our patron here, The viscont Montacute,  
Hath many comely sequences, well sorted all in suit.  
But as I spied him first, I could not let him pass,  
I took the card that liked me best, in order as it was.  
And here to you my lords, I do present the same,  
Make much of him, I pray you then, for he is of your name.  
For whom I dare advante, he may your Trounchman be,  
Your herald and ambassador, let him play all for me.   

Then the Venetians embraced and received the same master Tho. Browne, and after they had a while whispered with him, he turned to the Bridegrooms and Brides, saying thus.  
BRother, these noblemen to you now have me sent,  
As for their Trounchman to expound the effect of their intent  
They bid me tell you then, they like your worthy choice.  
And that they cannot choose therein but triumph and rejoice.  
As far as guess may give, they seem to praise it well,  
They say between your ladies eyes, doth Gentilezza devil.  
I term it as they do, their english is but weak,  
And I (God knows) am all to young, beyond sea speech to speak.  
And you my sister-eke they seem for to commend,  
With such good works as may beseem a cousin and a friend.  
They like your chosen fere, so pray they for your sake,  
That he may always be to you, a faithful loving make.  
This in effect is all, but that they crave aboone,  
That you will give them licence yet, to come and see you soon.  
Then will they speak themselves, such english as they can,  
I fear much better than I speak, that am an english man.  
Lo now they take their leaves of you and of your dames,  
Here after shall you see their face and know them by their nams'.   

Then when they had taken their leaves the Actor did make an end thus.  
And I your Seruidore, vibascio le mani,  
These words I learned amongst them yet, although I learned not many  Haud ictus sapio.  

The refusal of a lover, written to a gentlewoman who had refused him and chosen a husband (as he thought) much inferior to himself, both in knowledge, birth, and parsonage, wherein he bewrayeth both their names in clouds, and how she was won from him with sweet gloves, and broken rings.  
I Cannot wish thy grief, although thou work my woe,  
Since I professed to be thy friend, I cannot be thy foe:  
But if things done and passed, might well be called again,  
Then would I wish the wasted words, which I have spent in vain:  
Were yet untold to thee, in earnest or in game,  
And that my doubtful musing mint, had never thought the same.  
For whiles I thee beheld, in careful thoughts I spent,  
My liking lust, my luckless love which ever truly meant.  
And whiles I sought a mean, by pity to procure,  
Too let I found that gorged hawks, do not esteem the lure.  
This vantage hast thou then, thou mayest well brag and boast.  
Thou mightest have had a lusty lad of stature with the most.  
And eke of noble mind, his virtues nothing base,  
Do well declare that he desends, of ancient worthy race.  
Save that I 
* Know not  not his name, and though I could it tell,  
My friendly pen shall let it pass, because I love him well.  
And thou hast chosen one of meaner parentage,  
Of stature small and therewithal, unequal for thine age.  
His 
* Good qua●●●ies.  thews unlike the first, yet hast thou hot desire,  
To play thee in his flitting flames, God grant they prove not fire.  
Him holdest thou as dear, and he thy Lord shall be,  
(Too late alas) thou lovest him, that never loved thee.  
And for just proof hereof, mark what I tell is true,  
Some dismold day shall change his mind, and make him seek a new.  
Then wilt thou much repent, thy bargain made in haste,  
And much lament those perfumed Gloves, which yield such sour taste.  
And eke the falsed faith, which lurks in broken rings,  
Though hand in hand say otherwise, yet do I know such things.  
Then shalt thou sing and say, farewell my trusty squire,  
Would God my mind had yielded once, unto thy just desire.  
Thus shalt thou wail my want, and I thy great unrest,  
Which cruel Cupid kindled hath, within thy broken breast.  
Thus shalt thou found it grief, which erst thou thoughtest game,  
And I shall hear the weary news, by true reporting fame.  
Lamenting thy mishap, in source of swelling tears,  
Harding my heart with cruel care, which frozen fancy bears.  
And though my just desert, thy pity could not move,  
Yet will I wash in wailing words, thy careless childish love.  
And say as Troilus said, since that I can no more,  
Thy wanton will did waver once, and woe is me therefore.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

¶ Pride in Court written by a Gentlewoman in Court, who (when she was there placed) seemed to disdain him, contrary to a former profession.  
WHen danger keeps the door, of Lady beauties bower,  
When jealous toys have chased Trust out of her strongest tower.  
Then faith and troth may fly, than falsehood wins the field,  
Then feeble naked faultless hearts, for lack of fence must yield.  
And then prevails as much to hop against the hill,  
As seek by suit for to appease a froward Ladies will.  
For oaths and solemn vows, are wasted then in vain,  
And truth is counted but a toy, when such fond fancies reign.  
The sentence soon is said, when will itself is judge,  
And quickly is the quarrel picked, when Ladies list to grudge.  
This sing I for myself, (which wrote this weary song)  
Who justly may complain my case, if ever man had wrong.  
A Lady have I served, a Lady have I loved,  
A Ladies good will once I had, her ill will late I proved.  
In country first I knew her, in country first I caught her,  
And out of country now in Court, to my cost have I sought her.  
In Court where Princes reign, her place is now assigned,  
And well were worthy for the room, if she were not unkind.  
There I (in wonted wise) did show myself of late,  
And found that as the soil was changed, so love was turned to hate.  
But why? God knows, not I: save as I said before,  
Pity is put from porters place, and danger keeps the door.  
If courting then have skill, to change good Ladies so,  
God sand each wilful Dame in Court, some wound of my like wo.  
That with a troubled head, she may both turn and toss,  
In restless bed when she should sleep and feel of love the loss.  
And I (since porters put me from my wonted place)  
And deep deceit hath wrought a wile to wrist me out of grace:  
Will home again to cart, as fit were for me,  
Then thus in court to serve and starve, where such proud porters be.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

¶ This question being propounded by a Dame unto the Author, to wit, why he should writ Spreta tamen viwnt, he answereth thus.  
despised things may live, although they pine in pain:  
And things oft trodden under foot, may once yet rise again.  
The stone that lieth full low, may climb at last full high:  
And stand a fit on stately towrs, in sight of every eye.  
The cruel Axe which fells the tree that grew full strait:  
Is worn with rust, when it renews, and springeth up on height.  
The roots of rotten reeds in swelling seas are seen:  
And when each tide hath tossed his worst, they grow again full green.  
Thus much to please myself, unpleasauntly I sing.  
And shrich to ease my morning mind, in spite of envies sting.  
I am now set full light, who erst was dearly loved:  
Some new found choice is more estemd, than that which well was proved.  
Some Diomedes is crept into Dame Cressides heart:  
And trusty Troilus now is taught in vain to plain his part.  
What resteth then for me? but thus to wade in woe:  
And hung in hope of better chance, when change appointeth so.  
I see no sight on earth, but it to Change inclines:  
As little clouds often overcast, the brightest Sun that shines.  
No Flower is so fresh, but frost can it deface:  
Not man so sure in any seat, but he may lose his place.  
So that I stand content (though much against my mind)  
To take in worth this loathsome lot, which luck to me assigned,  
And trust to see the time, when they that now are up:  
May feel the whirl of fortune's wheel, and taste of sorrows cup.  
God knoweth I wish it not, it had been bet for me:  
Still to have kept my quiet chair in hap of high degree.  
But since without recure, Dame Change in love must reign:  
I now wish change that sought no change, but constant did remain.  
And if such change do chance, I vow to clap my hands,  
And laugh at them which laughed at me: lo thus my fancy stands.  Spreta tamen viwnt.  

¶ In trust is Treason, written by a Lover, leaning only to his Lady's promises, and finding them to fail.  
THe straightest Tree that grows upon one only root:  
If that root fail, will quickly fade, no props can do it boot.  
I am that fading plant, which on thy grace did grow,  
Thy grace is gone wherefore I moan, and whither all in woe.  
The tallest ship that sails, if she too Anchor's trust:  
When Anchor's slip & Cables break, her help lies in the dust.  
I am the ship myself, mine Anchor was thy faith:  
Which now is fled, thy promise broke, & I am driven to death.  
Who climbeth often on high, and trusts the rotten bow:  
If that bow break may catch a fall, such state stand I in now.  
Me thought I was a fit, and yet my seat full sure:  
Thy heart did seem to me a rock which ever might endure.  
And see, it was but sand, whom seas of subtlety:  
Have soaked so with wanton waves, that faith was forced to fly.  
The floods of fickleness have undermined so,  
The first foundation of my joy, that mirth is ebbed to wo.  
Yet at low water marks, I lie and wait my time:  
To mend the breach, but all in vain, it cannot pass the prime.  
For when the prime flood comes, which all this rage began:  
Then waves of will do work so fast, my piles are over run.  
Duty and diligence which are my workmen there,  
Are glad to take up fools in haste, and run away for fear.  
For fancy hath such force, it overfloweth all,  
And whispering tales do blow the blasts, that make it rise & fall.  
Thus in these tempests tossed, my restless life doth stand:  
Because I builded on thy wodres, as I was borne in hand.  
Thou wert that only stake, whereby I meant to stay:  
Alas, alas, thou stoodst so weak, the hedge is borne away.  
By thee I thought to live, by thee now must Idye:  
I made thee my Physician, thou art my malady.  
For thee I longed to live, for thee now welcome death:  
And welcome be that happy pang, that stops my gasping breath.  
Twice happy were that axe, would cut my roots down right:  
And sacred were that swelling sea, which would consume me quite.  
Blest were that bow would break to bring down climbing youth,  
Which craks aloft, and quakes full often, for fear of thine untruth.  Ferenda Natura.  

The constancy of a lover hath thus sometimes been briefly declared.  
THat self same tongue which first did thee entreat  
To link thy liking with my lucky love:  
That trusty tongue must now these words repeat,  
I love thee still, my fancy cannot move.  
That dreadless heart which durst attempt the thought  
To win thy will with mine for to consent,  
Maintains that vow which love in me first wrought,  
I love thee still, and never shall repent.  
That happy hand which hardly did touch,  
Thy tender body to my deep delight:  
Shall serve with sword to prove my passion such.  
As loves thee still, much more than it can writ.  
Thus love I still with tongue, hand, heart and all,  
And when I change, let vengeance on me fall.  Ferenda Natura.  

¶ The fruit of foes written to a Gentlewoman, who blamed him for writing his friendly advise in verse unto another lover of hers.  
THe cruel hate which boils within thy burning breast,  
And seeks to shape a sharp revenge, on them that love thee best:  
May warn all faithful friends, in case of jeopardy,  
How they shall put their harmless hands, between the bark & tree.  
And I among the rest, which wrote this weary song,  
Must needs allege in my defence, that thou hast done me wrong.  
For if in simple verse, I chanced to touch thy name,  
And touched the same without reproach, was I therefore to blame?  
And if (of great good will) I gave my best advise,  
Then thus to blame without cause why, me thinks thou art not wise.  
Among old written tales, this one I bear in mind,  
A simple soul much like myself, did once a serpent found.  
Which (almost dead for cold) lay moiling in the mire,  
When he for pity took it up, and brought it to the fire.  
Not sooner was the Snake, recured of her grief,  
But strait she sought to hurt the man, that lent her such relief.  
Such Serpent seemest thou, such simple soul am I,  
That for the weight of my good will, am blamed without cause why.  
But as it best beseems, the harmless gentle heart,  
Rather to take an open wrong, than for to plain his part:  
I must and will endure, thy spite without repent,  
The blame is mine, the triumph thine, and I am well content.  Meritum petere, grave.  

A Lover often warned, and once again droven into fantastical flames by the chase of company, doth thus bewail his misfortunes.  

I That my race of youthful years had run,  
Always untied, and not (but once) in thrall,  
Even I which had the fields of freedom won,  
And lived at large, and played with pleasures ball:  
Lo now at last am ta'en again and taught,  
To taste such sorrows, as I never sought.   

I love, I love, alas I love indeed,  
jerie alas but no man pityes me:  
My wounds are wide, yet seem they not to bleed,  
And hidden wounds are hardly healed we see.  
Such is my luck to catch a sudden clap,  
Of great mischance in seeking my good hap.   

My morning mind which dwelled and died in dole.  
Sought company for solace of the same:  
My cares were cold, and craved comforts coal,  
To warm my will with flakes of friendly flame.  
I sought and found, I craved and did obtain,  
I won my wish, and yet I got no gain.   

For whiles I sought the cheer of company,  
Fair fellowship did wonted woes revive:  
And craving medicine for my malady,  
Dame pleasures plasters proved a corrosive.  
So that by mirth, I reaped no fruit but moan,  
Much worse I fear, than when I was alone.   

The cause is this, my lot did light to late,  
The Birds were flown before I found the nest:  
The steed was stolen before I shut the gate,  
The cates consumed, before I smelled the feast.  
And I fond fool with empty hand must call,  
The gorged Hawk, which likes no lure at all.   

Thus still I toil, to till the barren land,  
And grope for grappes among the bramble briars:  
I strive to sail and yet I stick on sand,  
I deem to live, yet drown in deep desires.  
These lots of love, are fit for wanton will,  
Which finds too much, yet must be seeking still.   Meritum petere grave.  

The lover encouraged by former examples, determineth to make virtue of necessity.  

WHen I record with in my musing mind,  
The noble names of wights bewitched in love:  
Such solace for myself therein I find,  
As nothing may my fixed fancy move:  
But patiently I will endure my woe,  
Because I see the heavens ordain it so.   

For whiles I read and rifle their estates,  
In every tale I note mine own annoy:  
But whiles I mark the meanings of their mates,  
I seem to swim in such a sugared joy,  
As did (percase) entice them to delight,  
Though turned at last, to drugs of sour despite.   

Peruse (who list) Dan David's perfect deeds,  
There shall he found the blot of Bersabe,  
Whereon to think, my heavy heart it bleeds,  
When I compare my love like her to be:  
Urias' wife before mine eyes that shines,  
And David I, from duty that declines.   

Then Solomon this princely Peophetes son,  
Did Pharaos' daughter make him fall or no?  
Yes, yes, perdie his wisdom could not shone  
Her subtle snares, nor from her counsel go.  
I nam 
* Am not.  (as he) the wisest wight of all,  
But well I wots, a woman holds me thrall.   

So am I like the proud Assyrian Knight,  
Which blasphemed God, and all the world defied:  
Yet could a woman overcome his might,  
And daunt his force in all his Pomp and Pride.  
I Holiferne, am drunken brought to bead,  
My love like judith, cutting of my head.   

If I were strong, as some have made account,  
Whose forre is like to that which Samson had?  
If I be bold, whose courage can surmount,  
The heart of Hercules, which nothing dread?  
Yet Dalila, and Deyanyraes' love,  
Did teach them both, such pangs as I must prove.   

Well let these pass, and think on Nasoes name,  
Whose skilful verse did flow in learned style:  
Did he (think you) not dote upon his Dame?  
Corinna fair, did she not him beguile?  
Yes God he knows, for verse nor pleasant rhymes,  
Can constant keep, the key of Cressides crimes.   

So that to end my tale as I began,  
I see the good, the wise, the stout, the bold:  
The strongest champion and the learnedst man,  
Have been and be, by lust of love controlled.  
Which when to think, I hold me well content,  
To live in love, and never to repen●.   Meritum petere, grave.  

The delectable history of sundry adventures passed by Dan Bartholomew of Bath,  

The Reporter.  

TO tell a tale without authority,  
Or fayne a Fable by invention,  
That one proceeds of quick capacity,  
That other proves but small discretion,  
Yet have both one and other often been done.  
And if I were a Poet as some be,  
You might perhaps here some such tale of me.   

But far I find my feeble skill to faint,  
To feign in figures as the learned can,  
And yet my tongue is tied by due constraint,  
To tell nothing but truth of every man:  
I will assay even as I first began,  
To tell you now a tale and that of truth,  
Which I myself saw proved in my youth.   

I need not seek so far in costs abroad,  
As some men do, which writ strange histories,  
For whiles at home I made my chief abode  
And saw our lovers play their Tragedies,  
I found enough which seemed to suffice,  
To set on work far finer wits than mine,  
In painting out the pangs which make them pine.   

Among the rest I most remember one  
Which was to me a dear familiar friend,  
Whose doting days since they be paste and gone,  
And his annoy (near) come unto an end,  
Although he seem his angry brow to bend,  
I will be bold (by his leave) for to tell,  
The restless state wherein he long did devil.   

Learned he was, and that become him best,  
For though by birth he came of worthy race,  
Yet beauty, birth, brave parsonage, and the rest,  
In every choice, must needs give learning place:  
And as for him he had so hard a grace,  
That by aspect he seemed a simple man,  
And yet by learning much renown he won.   

His name I hide, and yet for this discourse,  
Let call his name Dan Bartholomew of Bath,  
Since in the end he thither had recourse,  
And (as he said) did skamble there in scathe:  
In deed the rage which wrong him there, was rathe,  
As by this tale I think yourself will guess,  
And then (with me) his loathsome life confess.   

For though he had in all his learned lore,  
Both red good rules to bridle fantasy,  
And all good authors taugh him evermore,  
To love the mean, and leave extremity,  
Yet kind hath lent him such a quality,  
That at the last he quite forgot his books,  
And fastened fancy with the fairest looks.   

For proof, when green youth leapt out of his eye,  
And left him now a man of middle age,  
His hap was yet with wandering looks to spy,  
A fair young imp of proper parsonage,  
Eke borne (as he) of honest parentage:  
And truth to tell, my skill it cannot serve,  
To praise her beauty as it did deserve.   

First for her head, the béeres were not of Gold,  
But of some other metal far more fine,  
Whereof each crinet seemed to behold,  
Like glistering wires against the Sun that shine,  
And therewithal the blazing of her eyen,  
Was like the beams of Titan, truth to tell,  
Which glads us all that in this world do devil.   

Upon her cheeks the Lily and the Rose,  
Did entremeete, with equal change of hew,  
And in her gifts no lack I can suppose,  
But that at last (alas) she was untrue,  
Which flinging fault, because it is not new,  
Nor seldom seen in kits of Cressides kind,  
I marvel not, nor bear it much in mind.   

Dame Nature's fruits, wherewith her face was fraught,  
Were so frost bitten with the cold of craft,  
That all (save such as Cupid's snares had caught)  
Might soon espy the feathers of his shaft:  
But Bartholomew his wits had so bedaft,  
That all seemed good which might of her be gotten,  
Although it proud no sooner ripe than rotten.   

That mouth of hers which seemed to flow with mell,  
In speech, in voice, in tender touch, in taste,  
That dympled chin wherein delight did devil,  
That ruddy lip wherein was pleasure placed,  
Those well shaped hands, fine arms and slender waist,  
With all the gifts which gave her any grace,  
Were smiling baits which caught fond fools apace.   

Why strive I then to paint her name with praise?  
Since form and fruits were found so far unlike,  
Since of her cage Inconstance kept the keys,  
And Change had cast her honour down in dike:  
Since fickle kind in her the stroke did strike,  
I may no praise unto a knife bequeath,  
With rust fret, though painted be the sheath.   

But since I must a name to her assign,  
Let call her now Ferenda Natura,  
And if thereat she seem for to repined,  
No force at all, for hereof am I sure a,  
That since her pranks were for the most unpure a.  
I can appoint her well no better name,  
Than this where in dame Nature bears the blame.   

And thus I say, when Bartholomew had spent  
His pride of youth (untied in links of love)  
Behold how hap contrary to intent,  
(Or destinies ordained from above,)  
From which no wight on earth may well remove)  
Presented to his view this fiery dame,  
To kindle coals where erst had been no flame.   

Whom when he saw to shine in seemly grace,  
And therewithal 'gan mark her tender youth,  
He thought not like, that under such aface  
She could convey the treason of untruth:  
Whereby be vowed (alas the more his ruth)  
To serve this saint for term of all his life,  
Lo here both root and rind of all his strife.   

I cannot now in loving terms display  
His suit, his service, nor his sorry fare:  
His observances, nor his quaint array,  
His scalding sighs, nor yet his cooling care,  
His waiting still to snatch himself in snare,  
I can not writ what was his sweetest sour,  
For I myself was never Paramour.   

But to conclude, much worth in little writ,  
The highest flying hawk will stoop at last,  
The wildest beast is drawn with hungry bit.  
To eat a homlye bait some times in haste,  
The prick of kind can never be unplaste,  
And so it seemed by this dainty dame,  
Whom he at last with labour did reclaim.   

And when he had with mickel pain procured  
The calm consent of her unwieldy will,  
When he had her by faith and troth assured,  
To like him best, and ay to love him still,  
When fancy had of flattery fed his fill,  
I not discern to tell my tale aright,  
What man but he had ever such delight?   

The lingering days he spent in trifling toys,  
To whet the tools which carved his content:  
The posting nights he passed in pleasing joys,  
Wearing the web which love to him had lente:  
In such a pinfold were his pleasures penned  
That seld he could her company eschew,  
Or leave such looks as might his 
* Lack.  sport renew.   

But if by force he forced were to part,  
Then might you see how fancy fed his mind,  
Then all alone he mused on his mart.  
All company seemed then (but hers) unkind:  
Then sent he tokens true love for to bind,  
Then wrote he letters, lines and loving lays,  
So to beguile his absent doleful days.   

And since I know as others eke can tell,  
What skill he had, and how he could indite,  
Me thinks I cannot better do than well,  
To set down here, his ditties of delight,  
For so at lest I may myself acquit,  
And vaunt to show some verses yet unknown,  
Well worthy praise though none of them mine own.   

No force for that, take you them as they be,  
Since mine emprice is but to make report:  
Imagine then, before you that you see  
A wight bewitched in many a subtle sort,  
A Lover lodged in pleasures princely port,  
Vaunting in verse what joys be did possess,  
His triumphs here I think will show no less.    

Dan Bartholomew his first Triumph.  
Resign king Priam's sons, that princes were in Troy,  
Resign to me your happy days, and boast no more of joy:  
Sir Paris first stand forth make answer for thy fere,  
And if thou canst defend her cause, whom Troy did buy so dear:  
What? blush not man, be bold, although thou bear some blame,  
Tell truth at last, and so be sure to save thyself from shame.  
Then gentle Shepherd say: what madness did thee move,  
To choose of all the flowers in Greece, foul Helen for thy love?  
Needs must I count her foul, whose first fruits were forlorn?  
Although she sold her second chaff, above the price of corn.  
Alas, she made of thee, a noddy for the nonce,  
For Menelaus lost her twice, though thou her foundst but once.  
But yet if in thine eye, she seemed a peerless piece,  
Ask Theseus that mighty Duke, what towns she knew in Greece?  
Ask him what made her leave her woeful aged sire,  
And steal to Athens gyglot like: what? what but foul desire?  
Alas poor Paris thou didst nothing else but glean,  
The parched ears which he cast by, when he had reaped clean:  
He sliude the gentle slip, which could both twist and twinned,  
And growing left the broken branch, for them that came behind,  
Yet hast thou filled the world with brute, (the more thy blame,)  
And sayest, that Helen's beauty past each other stately dame,  
For proof thou canst allege the taste of ten years' war,  
And how her blazing beams first brought both Greece & Troy to jar  
No not, thou art deceived, the drugs of of foul despite,  
Did work in Menelaus will, not loss of such delight,  
Not love, but loathsome hate, not dolour, but disdain,  
Did make himself a sharp revenge, till both his foes were slain,  
Thy brother Troilus eke, that gem of gentle deeds,  
To think how he abused was, alas my heart it bleeds:  
He bet about the bush, whiles other caught the birds,  
Whom crafty Gresside mocked to much, yet feed him still with words.  
And god he knoweth not I, who plucked her first sprung rose,  
Since Lollius and Chaucer both, make doubt upon that gloze.  
But this I know to well, and he to far it felt,  
How Diomedes undid his knots, & caught both brooch and belt,  
And how she chose to change, and how she changed still,  
And how she died leper like, a 'gainst her lovers william.  
Content you then good knights, your triumph to resign,  
Confess your stars both dim and dark, whereas my sun doth shine:  
For this I dare avow, without vaunt be it told,  
My darling is more fair than she, for whom proud Troy was sold.  
Moore constant to contain, than Cressid to be eoy,  
No Calcas can contrive the craft, to train her out of Troy,  
Not Diomedes can draw her settled heart to change,  
No madding mood can move her mind, nor make her thoughts to range,  
For her alone it is, that Cupid blindfold goes,  
And dare not look for fear lest he his liberty should lose:  
At her dame Venus chafes, and pines in jealousy,  
Lest bloody Mars should her espy, and change his fantasy,  
Of her the Queen of Heaven doth stand in dreadful doubt,  
Lest jove should melt in drops of gold, if once he found her out.  
O that my tongue had skill, to tell her praise aright,  
Or that my pen her due deserts, in worthy verse could writ:  
Or that my mind could muse, or happy heart conceive,  
Some words that might resound her worth, by high Minerva's leave.  
O how the blooming joys, do blossom in my breast,  
To think within my secret thought, how far she steines the rest.  
Me thinks I hear her speak, me thinks I see her still,  
Me thinks I feel her féelingly, me thinks I know her william.  
Mendoza thinks I see the states which sue to her for grace,  
Me thinks I see one look of hers repulse them all apace.  
Me thinks that hour is yet, and evermore shall be,  
Wherein my happy hap was first, her heavenly face to see:  
Wherein I spied the writ, which wound between her eyen,  
And said behold, be bold, for I, am borne to be but thine.  
Me thinks I feel the joys, which never yet were felt,  
Whom flame before yet never touched, me thinks I feel them melt.  
One word & there an end, me thinks she is the sun,  
Which only shineth now a days, she dead, the world were done.  
The rest are twinkling stars, or Moons which borrow light,  
To comfort other careful souls, which wander in the night.  
And night God knows it is, where other Ladies be,  
For sure my dame adorns the day, there is no sun but she.  
Then lovers by your leave, and think it nothing strange,  
Although I seem with calm content, in seas of joys to range:  
For why, my sails have found both wind and waves at will,  
And depths of all delights in her, with whom I travel still.  
And anchors being weighed, I leave you all at large,  
To steer this seely Ship myself, such is my mistress charge.  Fato non fortuna.  

Dan Bartholomew his second Triumph.  

Fie pleasure fie, thou cloyest me with delight,  
Thou fylst my mouth with sweet meats overmuch,  
I wallow still in joy both day and night.  
I deem, I dream, I do, I taste, I touch:  
Not thing but all that smells of perfect bliss,  
Fie pleasure fie, I cannot like of this.   

To taste (sometimes) a bait of bitter gall,  
To drink a draft of sour Ale (some season)  
To eat brown bread with homely hands in Hall.  
Doth much increase men's appetites by reason:  
And makes the sweet more sugared that ensues,  
Since minds of men do still seek after news.   

The pampered horse is seldom seen in breath,  
Whose manger makes his grease (oft-times) to melt,  
The crammed Fowl comes quickly to his death.  
Such colds they catch in hottest haps that swelled.  
And I (much like) in pleasure scawled still,  
Do fear to starve although I feed my fill.   

It might suffice that love hath built his bower,  
Between my Ladies lively shining eyes,  
It were enough that Beauties fading flower:  
Grows ever fresh with her in heavenly wise.  
It had been well that she were fair of face,  
And yet not rob all other Dames of grace.   

To muse in mind, how wise, how fair, how good,  
How brave, how frank, how courteous, and how true,  
My Ladies is: doth but inflame my blood,  
With humours such, as bid my health adieu.  
Since hap always when it is climbed on high,  
Doth fall full low, though erst it reachte the Sky.   

Lo pleasure lo, lo thus I lead a life,  
That laughs for joy, and trembleth often for dread,  
Thy pangs are such as call for changes knife,  
To cut the twist, or else to stretch the thread.  
Which holds yféere the bondell of my bliss,  
Fie pleasure fie, I dare not trust to this.   Fato non fortuna.  

Dan Bartholomew's his third Triumph.  
IF ever man yet found the bath of perfect bliss,  
Then swim I now amid the seas where naught but pleasure is.  
I love and am beloved, without vaunt be it told,  
Of one more fair than she of Greece, for whom proud Troy was sold.  
As bountiful and good as Cleopatra Queen,  
As constant as Penelope, unto her make was seen.  
What would you more? my pen, unable is to writ,  
The lest desert that seems to shine within this worthy wight.  
So that (for now) I cease with hands held up on high.  
And crave of God that when I change, I may be forced to die.  Fato non Fortuna.  

The Reporter.  

THese vaunting verses with a many more,  
(To his mishap) have come unto my hands,  
Whereof the rest (because he sailed so,  
In bragger's boat which set itself on sands,  
And brought him eke fast bound in follies bands)  
Of courtesy I keep them from your sight,  
Let these suffice which of myself I writ.   

The highest tree that ever yet could grow,  
Although full fair it slorisht for a season,  
Found yet at last some fall to bring it low,  
This old said saw is (God he knoweth) not geason:  
For when things pass the reach and bounds of reason.  
They fall at last, although they stand a time,  
And bruise the more, the higher that they climb.   

So Bartholomew unto his pain did prove,  
For when he thought his hap to be most high,  
And that he only reaped the fruits of love.  
And that he swelled in all prosperity,  
His comfort changed to calamity:  
And though I do him wrong to tell the same,  
Yet read it you, and let me bear the blame.   

The Saint he served become a crafty devil,  
His goddess to an Idol seemed to change,  
Thus all his good transformed into evil,  
And every joy to raging grief did range:  
Which Metamorphosis was marvels strange:  
Yet shall you seldom otherwise it prove,  
Where wicked Lust doth bear the name of love.   

This sudden change when he began to spy,  
And cold suspect into his mind had crept,  
He bounced and bet his head tormentingly,  
And from all company himself he kept,  
Whereby so far in storms of strife he stepped,  
That now he seemed an Image not a man,  
His eyes so dead, his colour waxed so wan.   

And I which always bear him great good will,  
(Although I knew the cause of all his grief,  
And what had trained and tysed him theretyll,  
And plain to speak, what moved his mischief)  
Yet since I sought to ease him with relief:  
I did become importunate to know,  
The secret cause whereon this grudge should grow.   

At last with much ado, his trembling tongue,  
Bewrayed th'effect of his unwilling will,  
Which here to tell since it were all to long,  
And I therewith too barren am of skill,  
And trouble you with tedious tidings still,  
Content you now to hear himself rehearse,  
His strange affects in his lamenting verse.   

Which verse he wrote at Bath (as erst was said)  
And there I saw him when he wrote the same,  
I saw him there with many moans dismayed,  
I saw him there both fryse and flash in flame,  
I saw him grieved when others made good game:  
And so appeareth by his dark discourse,  
The which to read I crave your just remorse.    

Dan Bartholomew's Dolorous discourses.  
I Have entreated care to cut the thread,  
Which all to long hath held my lingering life,  
And here aloof now have I hid my head,  
From company thereby to stint my strife.  
This solitary place doth please me best,  
Where I may wear my willing mind with moan,  
And where the sighs which boil out of my breast,  
May skald my heart, and yet the cause unknown.  
All this I do, for thee my sweetest sour,  
For whom (of yore) I counted not of care,  
For whom with hungry jaws I did devour.  
The secret bait which lurked in the snare:  
For whom I thought all foreign pleasure's pain,  
For whom again, all pain did pleasure seem,  
But only thine, I found all fancies vain,  
But only thine, I did no dolours deem.  
Such was the rage, that whilom did possess,  
The privy corners of my mazed mind:  
When hot desire, did count those torments less.  
Which gained the gaze that did my freedom bind.  
And now (with care) I can record those days,  
And call to mind the quiet life I led,  
Before I first beheld thy golden rays,  
When thine untruth yet troubled not my head.  
Remember thou, as I can not forget,  
How I had laid, both love, and lust aside,  
And how I had my fixed fancy set.  
In constant vow, for ever to abide.  
The bitter proof of pangs in pleasure past,  
The costly taste, of honey mixed with gall:  
The painted heaven, which turned to hell at last.  
The freedom feigned, which brought me but to thrall.  
The lingering suit, well fed with fresh delays,  
The wasted vows which fled with every wind:  
The restless nights, to purchase pleasing days,  
The toiling days to please my restless mind.  
All these (with more) had bruised so my breast,  
And grafted such grief within my groaning heart,  
That had I left Dame fancy and the rest.  
To gréener years, which might endure the smart.  
My weary bones did bear away the scars,  
Of many a wound received by disdain:  
So that I found the fruit of all those wars,  
To be nought else but pangs of unknown pain.  
And now mine eyes were shut from such delight,  
My fancy faint, my hot desires were cold,  
When cruel hap, presented to my sight.  
The maidens face, in years which were not old.  
I think the Goddess of revenge devised,  
So to be wreackt on my rebelling will,  
Because I had in youthful years despised,  
To taste the baits, which tyste my fancy still.  
How so it were, God knows, I cannot tell:  
But if Ilye, you Heavens, the plague be mine,  
I saw no sooner, how delight did devil  
Between those little infant's eyes of thine,  
But strait a sparkling coal of quick desire,  
Did kindle flame within my frozen heart,  
And yielding fancy softly blue the fire,  
Which since hath been the cause of all my smart.  
What need I say? thyself for me can swear,  
How much I tendered thee in tender years:  
Thy life was then to me (God knows) full dear,  
My life to thee is light, as now appears.  
I loved the first, and shall do to my last,  
Thou flattredst first, and so thou wouldst do still:  
For love of thee full many pains I passed,  
For deadly hate thou seekest me to kill.  
I cannot now, with manly tongue rehearse,  
How soon that melting mind of thine did yield,  
I shame to writ, in this waymenting verse,  
With how small fight, I vanquished thee in field:  
But Caesar he, which all the world subdued,  
Was never yet so proud of Victory,  
Nor Hanyball, with martial feats endued.  
Did so much please himself in policy,  
As I (poor I) did seem to triumph then,  
When first I got the Bulwarks of thy breast,  
With hot Alarms I comforted my men,  
In foremost rank I stood before the rest,  
And shook my flag, not all to show my force,  
But that thou mightst thereby perceive my mind:  
Askaunces 
* As who should say:  lo, now could I kill thy corce,  
And yet my life is unto thee resinde.  
Well let this pass, and think upon the joy,  
The mutual love, the confidence, the trust,  
Whereby we both abandoned annoy,  
And fed our minds with fruits of lovely lust.  
Think on the Tithe, of kisses got by stealth,  
Of sweet embracings shortened by fear.  
Remember that which did maintain our health,  
Alas alas why should I name it here.  
And in the midst of all those happy days,  
Do not forget the changes of my chance,  
When in the depth of many wayward ways,  
I only sought, what might thy state advance.  
Thou must confess how much I card for thee,  
When of myself, I card not for myself,  
And when my hap was in mishaps to be,  
Esteemed thee more, than all the worldly pelf.  
Mine absent thoughts did beat on thee alone,  
When thou hadst found afond and new-found choice:  
For lack of thee I sunk in endless moan,  
When thou in change didst tumble and rejoice.  
O mighty gods needs must I honour you,  
Needs must I judge your judgements to be just,  
Because she did for sake him that was true,  
And with false love, did cloak a feigned lust.  
By high decrees, you ordained the change,  
To light on such, as she must needs mislike,  
A meet reward for such as like to range,  
When fancies force, their feeble flesh doth strike.  
But did I then give bridle to thy fall,  
Thou head strong thou accuse me if thou can?  
Did I not hazard love yea life and all,  
To ward thy will, from that unworthy man?  
And when by toil I travailed to find,  
The secret causes of thy madding mood,  
I found nought else but tricks of Cressides kind,  
Which plainly proud, that thou wert of her blood.  
I found that absent Troilus was forgot,  
When Dyomede had got both brooch and belt,  
Both glove and hand, yea heart and all god wots,  
When absent Troilus did in sorrows swelled.  
These tricks (with more) thou know'st thyself I found,  
Which now are peerless here for to rehearse,  
Unless it were to touch a tender wound,  
With corrosives my panting heart to pierce.  
But as the Hound is counted little worth,  
Which giveth over for a loss or twain,  
And cannot found the means to single forth.  
The stricken dear which doth in heard remain:  
Or as the kindly Spaniel which hath sprung  
The pretty Partriche, for the Falcon's flight,  
Doth never spare but thrusts the thorns among,  
To bring this bird yet once again to sight,  
And though he know by proof (yea dearly bought)  
That seld or never, for his own avail,  
This weary work of his in vain is wrought,  
Yet spares he not but labors-tooth and nail.  
So laboured I to save thy wandering ship,  
Which reckless then, was running on the rocks,  
And though I saw thee seem to hung the lip.  
And set my great good will, as light as flocks:  
Yet hauld I in, the main sheate of the mind,  
And stayed thy course by anchors of advice,  
I won thy will into a better wind,  
To save thy ware, which was of precious price.  
And when I had so harboured thy Bark,  
In happy haven, which saufer was than Dover,  
The admiral, which knew it by the mark,  
Straight challenged all, and said thou wert a rover.  
Then was I forced in thy behalf to plead,  
Yea so I did, the judge can say no less,  
And whiles in toil, this loathsome life I lead,  
Camest thou thyself the fault for to confess,  
And down on knee before thy cruel foe,  
Didst pardon crave, accusing me for all,  
And saidst I was the cause, that thou didst so,  
And that I spoon the thread of all thy thrall.  
Not so content, thou furthermore didst swear 
These things are mystical and not to be understood but by Thaucthour himself.   
That of thyself thou never meant to swerver,  
For proof whereof thou didst the colours wear,  
Which might bewray, what saint thou meant to serve.  
And that thy blood was sacrificed eke,  
To manifest thy steadfast martyred mind,  
Till I perforce, constrained thee for to seek,  
These raging seas, adventures thereto find.  
Alas, alas, and out alas for me,  
Who am enforced, thus for to repeat  
The false reports and cloaked guiles of thee,  
Whereon (to often) my restless thoughts do beat.  
But thus it was, and thus God knows it is.  
Which when I found by plain and perfect proof,  
My musing mind than thought it not amiss,  
To shrink aside, lamenting all aloof.  
And so to beat my simple shiftless brain,  
For some device, that might redeem thy state,  
Lo here the cause, for why I take this pain,  
Lo how I love the wight which me doth hate:  
Lo thus I lie, and restless rest in Bath,  
Whereas I bathe not now in bliss pardie,  
But boil in Bale and skamble thus in scathe,  
Because I think on thine unconstancy.  
And wilt thou know how here I spend my time,  
And how I draw my days in dolours still?  
Then stay a while: give ear unto my rhyme,  
So shalt thou know the weight of all my will.  
When Titan is constrained to forsake,  
His Lemons couch, and climbeth to his cart,  
Then I begin to languish for thy sake,  
And with a sigh, which may bewray my smart.  
I clear mine eyes whom gum of tears had glued,  
And up on foot I set my ghostly corpse,  
And when the stony walls have often renewed.  
My piteous plaints, with Echoes of remorse,  
Then do I cry and call upon thy name,  
And thus I say, thou cursed and cruel both,  
Behold the man, which taketh grief for game,  
And loveth them, which most his name do loath.  
Behold the man which ever truly meant,  
And yet accused as author of thine ill,  
Behold the man, which all his life hath spent.  
To serve thyself, and ay to work thy will:  
Behold the man, which only for thy love,  
Did love himself, whom else he set but light:  
Behold the man, whose blood (for thy behove)  
Was ever priest to shed itself outright.  
And canst thou now condemn his loyalty?  
And canst thou craft to flatter such a friend?  
And canst thou see him sink in jeopardy?  
And canst thou seek to bring his life to end?  
Is this the right reward for such desert?  
Is this the fruit of seed so timely sown?  
Is this the price, appointed for his part?  
Shall truth be thus by treason overthrown?  
Then farewell faith, thou art no woman's fere:  
And with that word I stay my tongue in time,  
With rolling eyes I look about each where,  
Lest any man should hear my raving rhyme.  
And all in rage, enraged as I am,  
I take my sheet, my slippers and my Gown,  
And in the Bath from whence but late I came,  
I cast myself in dolours there to drown.  
There all alone I can myself convey,  
Into some corner where I sit unseen,  
And to myself (there naked) can I say,  
Behold these brawn fallen arms which once have been.  
Both large and lusty, able for to fight,  
Now are they weak, and wearish God he knows  
Unable now to daunt the fowl despite,  
Which is presented by my cruel foes.  
My thighs are thin, my body lank and lean,  
It hath no bombast now, but skin and bones:  
And on mine Elbow as I lie and lean,  
I see a trusty token for the nonce. 
Another mystery.   
I spy a bracelet bound about mine arm,  
Which to my shadow seemeth thus to say,  
Believe not me: for I was but a Charm,  
To make thee sleep, when others went to play.  
And as I gaze thus galded all with grief,  
I find it fazed almost quite in sunder,  
Then think I thus: thus wasteth my relief,  
And though I fade, yet to the world no wonder.  
For as this lace, by leisure learns to wear,  
So must I faint, even as the Candle wasteth,  
These thoughts (dear sweet) within my breast I bear,  
And to my long home, thus my life it hasteth.  
Herewith I téele the drops of sweltering sweat,  
Which trickle down my face, enforced so,  
And in my body feel I likewise beat,  
A burning heart which tosseth too and fro.  
Thus all in flames I sinderlyke consume,  
And were it not that wanhope lends me wind,  
Soon might I fret my facyes all in fume,  
And like a Ghost my ghost his grave might find.  
But frysing hope doth blow full in my face,  
And cold of cares becomes my cordial,  
So that I still endure that irksome place,  
Where sorrow seethes to scald my skin withal.  
And when from thence or company me drieus,  
Or weary woes do make me change my seat,  
Then in my bed my restless pains revives,  
Until my fellows call me down to meat.  
And when I rise, my corpse for to array,  
I take the glass, sometimes (but not for pride,  
For God he knows my mind is not so gay)  
But for I would in comeliness abide:  
I take the glass, wherein I seem to see,  
Such withered wrinkles and so fowl disgrace,  

Another mystery.  That little marvel seemeth it to me,  
Though thou so well didst like the noble face.  
The noble face was fair and fresh of hew,  
My wrinkled face is fowl and fadeth fast:  
The noble face was unto thee but new,  
My wrinkled face is old and clean outcast:  
The noble face might move thee with delight,  
My wrinkled face could never please thine eye:  
Lo thus of crime I covet thee to quite.  
And still accuse myself of Surcuydry:  
As one that am unworthy to enjoy,  
The lasting fruit of such a love as thine,  
Thus am I tickled still with every toy,  
And when my Fellows call me down to dine,  
No change of meat provokes mine appetite,  
Nor sauce can serve to taste my meats withal,  
Then I devise the juice of grapes to dight,  
For Sugar and for Cinnamon I call,  
For Ginger, Grains, and for each other spice,  
Wherewith I mix the noble Wine apace,  
My Fellows praise the depth of my devise,  

Another mystery.  And say it is as good as Ippocrace.  
As Ippocrace say I? and than I swelled,  
My fainting limbs strait fall into a sown,  
Before the taste of Ippocrace is felt,  
The naked name in dolours doth me drown,  
For than I call unto my troubled mind,  
That Ippocrace hath been thy daily drink,  
That Ippocrace hath walked with every wind.  
In bottles that were filled to the brink.  
With Ippocrace thou banquetedst full oft,  
With Ippocrace thou mad'st thyself full merry,  
Such cheer had set thy new love so aloft,  
That old love now was scarcely worth a cherry.  
And then again I fall into a trance,  
But when my breath returns against my will,  
Before my tongue can tell my woeful chance,  
I hear my fellows how they whisper still.  
One saith that Ippocrace is contrary,  
Unto my nature and complexion,  
Whereby they judge that all my malladye,  
Was long of that by alteration.  
An other saith, not, not this man is weak,  
And for such weak, so hot things are not best,  
Then at the last I hear no liar speak,  
But one which knows the cause of mine unrest▪  
And saith, this man is (for my life) in love,  
He hath received repulse, or drunk disdain.  
Alas cry I: and ere I can remove,  
Into a sown I soon return again.  
Thus drive I forth, my doleful dining time,  
And trouble others with my troubles still,  
But when I here, the Bell hath passed prime,  
Into the Bath I wallow by my will,  
That there my tears (unseen) might ease my grief,  
For though I starve yet have I fed my fill,  
In privy pangs I count my best relief.  
And still I strive in weary woes to drench,  
But when I plondge, than woe is at an ebb,  
My glowing coals are all to quick to quench.  
And I (to warm) am wrapped in the web,  
Which makes me swim against the wished wave,  
Lo thus (dear wench) I lead a loathsome life,  
And greedily I seek the greedy grave,  
To make an end of all these storms and strife,  
But death is deaf, and hears not my desire,  
So that my days continue still in dole,  
And in my nights I feel the secret fire,  
Which close in embers, coucheth like a coal,  
And in the day hath been but raked up,  
With covering ashes of my company,  
Now breaks it out, and boils the careful cup,  
Which in my heart doth hung full heavily.  
I melt in tears, I swelled in chilling sweat,  
My swelling heart, breaks with delay of pain,  
I freeze in hope, yet burn in haste of heat,  
I wish for death, and yet in life remain.  
And when dead sleep doth close my dazzled eyes,  
Then dreadful dreams my dolours do increase,  
Me thinks I lie awake in woeful wise.  
And see thee come, my sorrows for to cease.  
Me seems thou sayst (my good) what meaneth this?  
What ails thee thus to languish and lament?  
How can it be that bathing all in bliss:  
Such cause unknown disquiets thy content?  
Thou dost me wrong to keep so close from me  
The grudge or grief, which gripeth now thy heart,  
For well thou knowest, I must thy partner be.  
In bale, in bliss, in solace, and in smart.  
Alas, alas, these things I deem in dreams,  
But when mine eyes are open and awake,  
I see not thee: where with the flowing streams,  
Of brinish tears their wonted floods do make.  
Thus as thou seest I spend both nights and days,  
And for I found the world did judge me once,  
A witless writer of these lovers lays,  
I take my pen and paper for the nonce,  
I lay aside this foolish riding rhyme,  
And as my troubled head can bring to pass,  
I thus bewray the torments of my time:  
Bear with my Muse, it is not as it was.  Fato non fortuna.  

The extremity of his Passion.  

AMong the toys which toss my brain,  
and reave my mind from quiet rest,  
This one I find, doth there remain,  
to breed debate within my breast.  
When woe would work, to wound my will,  
I cannot weep, nor wail my fill.   

My tongue hath not the skill to tell,  
the smallest grief which gripes my heart,  
Mine eyes have not the power to swell,  
into such Seas of secret smart,  
That will might melt to waves of woe,  
and I might swelled in sorrows so.   

Yet shed mine eyes no trickling tears,  
but bloods which flow abundantly,  
Whose fountain first enforced by fears,  
found out the gap of jealousy.  
And by that breach, it soaketh so,  
that all my face, is still on flow.   

My voice is like the raging wind,  
which roareth still, and never stays,  
The thoughts which tumble in my mind,  
are like the wheel which whirls always.  
Now here, now there, now up, now down,  
in depth of waves, yet cannot drown.   

The sighs which boil out of my breast,  
are not like those, which others use,  
For lovers sighs, sometimes take rest,  
And lend their minds, a leave to muse.  
But mine are like the surging Seas,  
whom calm nor quiet can appease.   

And yet they be but sorrows smoke,  
my breast the forge where fury plays,  
My panting heart, it strikes the stroke,  
my fancy blows the flame always,  
The coals are kindled by desire,  
and Cupid warms him by the fire.   

Thus can I neither drown in dole,  
nor burn to ashes though I waste,  
Mine eyes can neither quench the coal,  
which warms my heart in all this haste.  
Nor yet my fancy make such flame,  
that I may smoulder in the same.   

Wherefore I come to seek out Care,  
beseeching him of courtesy,  
To cut the thread which cannot wear,  
by pangs of such perplexity.  
And but he grant this boon of mine,  
thus must I live and ever pine.   Fato non fortuna.  

LO thus (dear heart) I force my frantic Muse,  
To frame a verse in spite of my despite,  
But whiles I do these mirthless méeters use,  
This rash conceit doth reave me from delight.  
I call to mind how many loving lays,  
How many Sonnets, and how many songs,  
I did devise within those happy days,  
When yet my will, had not received wrongs.  
All which were evermore regarded so,  
That little fruit I seemed thereby to reap,  
But rather when I had bewrayed my woe,  
Thy love was light, and lusted still to leap.  
The rhymes which pleased thee were all in print,  
And mine were ragged, hard for to be read, 
Another similitude.   
Lo dear: this dagger dubbes me with this dint,  
And leave this wound within my jealous head.  
But since I have confessed unto Care,  
That now I stand upon his courtesy,  
And that the bale; which in my breast I bore,  
Hath not the skill to kill me cunningly,  
Therefore with all my whole devotion,  
To Care I make this supplication.  Fato non fortuna.  

His libel of request exhibited to Care.  

O Courteous Care, whom others (cruel) call,  
And rail upon thine honourable name,  
O knife that canst cut of the thread of thrall,  
O shear that shreadst the séemerent sheet of shame,  
O happy end of every grievous game:  
Vouchsafe O Prince, thy vassal to behold,  
Who loves thee more, than can with tongue be told.  
And now vouchsafe to pity this his plaint,  
Whose tears bewray,  
His truth always,  
Although his feeble tongue be forced to faint.   

I must confess O noble king to thee,  
That I have been a Rebel in my youth,  
I priest always in pleasures court to be,  
I fled from that, which Cupid still eschuth,  
I fled from Care, lo now I tell the truth,  
And in delights, I loved so to devil,  
Thy heavenly house did seem to me but hell.  
Such was my rage, the which I now repent,  
And pardon crave,  
My soul to save,  
Before the web of weary life be spent.   

But mark what fruits did grow on such a tree,  
What crop did rise upon so rash sown seed,  
For when I thought myself in heaven to be,  
In depth of hell I drowned was in deed:  
Whereon to think my heavy heart doth bleed:  
Me thought I swum in Seas of all delight,  
When as I sunk in puddles of despite,  
Alas alas I thought myself beloved,  
When deadly hate,  
Did play check mate,  
With me poor pawn, that no such pranks had proved.   

This when I tried (aye me) to be to true,  
I wept for woe, I pined all for pain,  
I tare my here, I often changed hew,  
I left delight, with dolours to complain.  
I shunned each place where pleasure did remain,  
I cried, I called on every kind of death,  
I strove each way to stop my fainting breath.  
Short tale to make, I stepped so far in strife,  
That still I sought,  
With all my thought,  
Some happy help to leave my loathed life.   

But hope was he that held my hand aback,  

Hope is ever contrary to a lovers Passion  From quick dispatch of all my griping grief,  
When heat of hate had burnt my will to wrack.  
Then hope was cold, and lent my life relief,  
In every choice hope challenged to be chief.  
When coldest cramps had clean o'ercome my heart,  
Then hope was hot, and warned my weary smart,  
Then heart was heardie, hope was still in dread,  
When heart was faint,  
(With fears attaint,)  
Then hardy hope held up my fearful head.   

Thus when I found that neither flowing tears,  
Can drown my heart in waves of weary woe,  
Nor hardy hand could overcome my fears,  
To cut the sack of all my sorrows so,  
Nor death would come, nor I to death could go.  
And yet I felt great drops of secret smart,  
Distilling still within my dying heart:  
I than perceiude that only care was he,  
Which as my friend,  
Might make an end,  
Of all these pains, and set my fancy free.   

Wherefore (o Care) grant thou my just request,  
O kill my corpse, o quickly kill me now.  
O make an end and bring my bones to rest,  
O cut my thread (good Care) I care not how,  
O Care be kind: and here I make a vow,  
That when my life out of my breast shall part,  
I will present thee with my faithful heart:  
And sand it to thee as a Sacrifice,  
Because thou hast,  
Vouchsafed at last,  
To end my furies in this friendly wise.   Fato non Fortuna.  

WHat greater glory can a Keysar gain,  
If mad mood move his subjects to rebel,  
Than that at last (when all the traitors train,  
Have trod the path, of deep repentance well,  
And naked need with Cold and Hunger both,  
Hath bitten them abroad in foreign land,  
Whereby they may their lewd devices loath.  
(When hairbraind haste, with cold advise is scanned)  
If then at last, they come upon their knee,  
And pardon crave with due submission:  
And for this cause, I think that Care of me,  
Was moved most, to take compassion.  
For now I found, that pity pricks his mind,  
To see me plunged still in endless pain,  
And right remorse, his princely heart doth bind,  
To rule the rage wherein I do remain.  
I feel my tears do now begin to stay,  
For Care from them their swelling springs doth soak,  
I feel my sighs their labours now allay,  
For Care hath quenched the coals that made them smoke.  
I feel my panting heart begins to rest,  
For Care hath staid the hammers of my head,  
I feel the flame which blazed in my breast,  
Is now with careful ashes overspread.  
And gentle Care, hath whet his karuing knife,  
To cut in twain the thread of all my thrall,  
Desired death now overcometh life,  
And woe still works to help in haste with all.  
But since I feel these pangs approaching so,  
And loathed life begin to take his leave,  
Me thinks it meet, to give before I go,  
Such lands, and goods, as I behind me leave.  
So to discharge my troubled conscience,  
And eke to set an order for my heir,  
Who might (perhaps) be put to great expense,  
To sue for that, which I bequeath him here.  
Wherefore (dear wench) with all my full intent,  
I thus begin to make my Testament.  Fato non fortuna.  

His last will and Testament.  
IN jove his mighty name, this eight and twentieth day,  
Of frosted bearded januar, the enemy to May:  
Since Adam was created, five thousand years I guess,  
Five hundredth, forty more and five, as stories do express.  
I being whole of mind, (immortal Gods have praise)  
Though in my body languishing with pangs of pain always,  
Do thus ordain my will which long in woes have wept,  
Beseeching mine executors to see it duly kept.  
first I bequeath my soul on Charon's boat to tend,  
Until thy life (my love) at last may light on lucky end,  
That there it may await, to wait upon thy ghost,  
When thou hast quite & clean forgot what pranks now please thee most.  
So shall it well be seen whose love is like to mine:  
For so I mean to try my truth, and there till then to pine.  
My body he enbalmde, and closed up in chest,  
With ointments and with spiceries of every sweet the best:  
And so preserved still until the day do come,  
That death divorce my love from life, & truss her up in tomb.  
Then I bequeath my corpse to couch beneath her bones,  
And there to feed the greedy worms that linger for the nonce.  
To fret upon her flesh, which is to fine therefore,  
This service may it do her yet, although it do no more.  
My heart (as heretofore) I must bequeathe to Care,  
And God he knows, I think the gift to simple for his share.  
But that he may perceive, I mean to pay my dew,  
I will it shall be taken quick, and borne him bleeding new,  
As for my funerals, I leave that toy at large,  
To be as mine executors will give thereto in charge.  
Yet if my goods will stretch unto my strange device,  
Then let this order be observed, mine heir shall pay the price:  
First let the torch bearers be wrappeth in weeds of woe,  
Let all their lights be virgin wax, because I loved it so.  
And care not though the twist be course that lends them light,  
If fancy fume, & free will flame, then must they needs burn bright,  
Next them let come the quire, with psalms and doleful song,  
Recording all my rough repulse and wraying all my wrong.  
And when the deskant sings, in tréeble tunes above,  
Then let fa burden say, (by low) I lived and died for love:  
About my heavy hearse, some mourners would I have,  
Who might the same accompany and stand about the grave,  
But let them be such men, as may confess with me,  
How contrary the lots of love, to all true lovers be.  
Let Patience be the Priest, the Clerk be Close conceit,  
The Sertin be Simplicity, which meaneth no deceit.  
Let alms of Love be dealt, even at the Chaunsell door,  
And feed them there with fresh delays, as I have been of yore:  
Then let the youngest sort, be set to ring loves Bells,  
And pay Repentance for their pains, but give them nothing else,  
Thus when the Dirge is done, let every man departed,  
And learn by me what harm it is to have a faithful heart.  
Those little lands I have, mine heir must needs possess,  
His name is Lust, the lands be loss, few lovers scape with less.  
The rest of all my goods, which I not here rehearse,  
Give learned Poets for their pains, to deck my Tomb with verse:  
And let them writ these words upon my careful chest,  
Lo here he lies, that was as true (in love) as is the best.  
Alas I had forgot the Parson's dew to pay,  
And so my soul in purgatory, might remain always.  
Then for my privy Tithes, as kisses caught by stealth,  
Sweet collinges & such other knacks as multiplied my wealth:  
I give the Vicar here, to please his greedy will,  
A dainty dish of sugar sops, but saust with sorrow still:  
And twice a week at lest, let dight them for his dish,  
On Fridays and on wednesdays, to save expense of fish.  
Now have I much bequeathed and little left behind,  
And others more must yet be served or else I were unkind.  
Wet eyes and wailing words, executors I make,  
And for their pains ten pound of tears let either of them take.  
Let sorrow at the last my Supravisor be,  
And steadfastness my surest stead, I give him for his fee.  
Yet in his patent place this Sentence of proviso,  
That he which loveth steadfastly, shall want no sauce of sorrow.  
Thus now I make an end, of this my weary will,  
And sign it with my simple hand, and set my seal there till.  
And you which read my words, although they be in rhyme,  
Yet reason may persuade you eke, Thus lovers dote sometime.   

The Subscription and seal.  
MY mansion house was Moon: from Dolours dale I came,  
I Fato: Non Fortuna, height, lo now you know my name:  
My seal is sorrows sith, within a field of flame,  
Which cuts in twain a careful heart, that sweltreth in the same.  Fato non Fortuna.  

ALas, lo now I hear the passing Bell,  
Which Care appointeth carefully to knoule,  
And in my breast, I feel my heart now swell,  
To break the strings, which joined it to my soul.  
The Crystal ice, which lent mine eyes their light,  
Doth now wax dim, and dazzled all with dread,  
My senses all, will now forsake me quite,  
And hope of health abandoneth my head,  
My weary tongue can talk no longer now,  
My trembling hand now leaves my pen to hold,  
My joints now stretch, my body cannot bow,  
My skin looks pale, my blood now waxeth cold.  
And are not these, the very pangs of death?  
Yes sure (sweet heart) I know them so to be,  
They be the pangs, which strive to stop my breath,  
They be the pangs, which part my love from thee.  
What said I? Love? Nay life: but not my love,  
My life departs, my love continues still:  
My loathed life may from my corpse remove,  
My loving Love shall always work thy will.  
It was thy will even thus to try my truth,  
Thou hast thy will, my truth may now be seen,  
It was thy will, that I should die in youth,  
Thou hast thy will my years are yet but green.  
Thy penance was that I should pine in pain,  
I have performed thy penance all in woe,  
Thy pleasure was that I should here remain,  
I have been glad to please thy fancy so.  
Now since I have performed every part  
Of thy command, as near as tongue can tell,  
Content thee yet before my muse departed,  
To take this Sonnet for my last farewell.  Fato non fortuna.  

His Farewell.  
FArewell dear Love whom I have loved and shall,  
Both in this world, and in the world to come,  
For proof whereof my spirit is Charon's thrall,  
And yet my corpse attendant on thy tomb.  
Farewell dear sweet, whose wanton will to please  
Each taste of trouble seemed mell to me,  
Farewell sweet dear, whose doubts for to appease,  
I was contented thus in bale to be.  
Farewell my life, farewell for and my death,  
For thee I lived for thee now must I die,  
Farewell from Bath, whereas I feel my breath  
Forsake my breast in great perplexity,  
Alas how welcome were this death of mine,  
If I had died between those arms of thine?  Fato non Fortuna.  

The Reporters conclusion.  

WHere might I now found floods of flowing tears,  
So to suffice the swelling of mine eyes,  
How might my breast unload the bale it bears?  
Alas alas how might my tongue devise  
To tell this weary tale in woeful wise?  
To tell I say these tidings now of truth,  
Which may provoke the craggy rocks to rush?   

In depth of dole would God that I were drowned,  
Where flattering joys might never found me out,  
Or graved so within the greedy ground,  
As false delights might never breed my doubt,  
Nor guileful love her purpose bring about:  
Whose trustless trains in colours for to paint,  
I found by proof my wits are all to faint.   

I was that man whom destinies ordain,  
To bear each grief that groweth on the mould,  
I was that man which proved to my pain,  
Moore pangs at once than can with tongue be told,  
I was that man (hereof you may be hold)  
Whom heaven and earth did frame to scoff and scorn,  
I, I was he which to that end was borne.   

sufficed not myself to taste the fruit,  
Of sugared sours which grow in gadding years,  
But that I must with pain of like pursuit,  
Perceive such pangs by pattern of my pears,  
And feel how fancies fume could fond my pheares?  
Alas I found all fates against me bend,  
For nothing else I live but to lament.   

The force of friendship bound by holy oath,  
Did draw my will into these crooked ways,  
For with my friend I went to Bath (though loath)  
To lend some comfort in his dollie days,  
The steadfast friend sticks fast at all assays:  
Yet was I loath such time to spend in vain,  
The cause whereof, lo here I tell you plain.   

By proof I found as you may well perceive,  
That all good counsel was but worn in waist,  
Such painted pains his passions did deceive.  
That bitter gall was mell to him in taste,  
Within his will such roots of ruin placed,  
As graffs of griefs were only given to grow,  
Where youth did plant and rash conceit did sow.   

I saw at first his ears were open ay  
To every tale which fed him with some hope,  
As fast again I saw him turn away  
From grave advise, which might his conscience grope,  
From reasons rule his fancy lightly lope,  
He only gave his mind to get that gain,  
Which most he wished and least could yet attain.   

Not I alone, but many more with me,  
Had found what fickleness his Idol used,  
And how she claimed Cressides heir to be,  
And how she had his great good will abused,  
And how she was of many men refused,  
Who tried her tricks and knew her by the kind,  
Save only him she made no lover blind.   

But what for this? whose face is plainer seen,  
Than he which thinks he walketh in a net?  
Or who in bale hath ever deeper been.  
Than he which thought his state might not be bet,  
In such a iollitye these lovers jet.  
That weal to them doth seem to be but wo.  
And grief seems joy, they feed their fancies so.   

Tell him that reason aught to be his rule,  
And he allowed no reason but his own,  
Tell him that best were quickly to recoil,  
Before all force by fears were overthrown,  
And that his base were better overblown.  
Then thus to pine remediless in grief,  
And he would say that grief was his relief.   

Short tale to make so long he lived thus,  
Till at the last he 'gan in deed to die,  
Believe me Lords (and by him that died for us)  
I saw him give to close his dying eye,  
I saw him strive and strangle passingly.  
And such a grief I took, that yet I not,  
If he or I had then more grief ygot.   

But who hath seen a Lamp begin to fade,  
Which lacketh oil to feed his lyngring light,  
And then again who so hath seen it made,  
With oil and wéecke to last the longsome night:  
Let him conceive that I saw such a sight.  
Whereof to think (although I sighde erewhile)  
Lo now I laugh my sorrows to beguile.   

Upon the stones a trampling steed we heard,  
Which came full strait unto our lodging door,  
And strait therewith we heard how one enquired,  
If such a Knight (as I described before)  
Were lodged there: the Host withouten more,  
Said yes forsooth, and God he knows (quoth he)  
He is as sick as any man may be.   

The messenger swore by no bugs I trow,  
But bade our host to bring him where he lay,  
(Quoth I to Bartholomew) I hear by low,  
A voice which seems somewhat of you to say:  
And ear that passed not full a furlong way,  
Behold the man came stooping in at door,  
And truth to tell he syked wondrous sore.   

At last from out his bosom did he take,  
A Letter sealed yfolded fair and well,  
And kissing it (I think for Mistress sake)  
He said to Bartholomew: Sir Knight be well,  
Now read these lines the which I need not tell,  
From whence they come: but make an end of moan,  
For you are sick, and she is woebegone.   

The thief condemned and gone to gallowe tree,  
(If one cry Grace: lo here a Pardon priest)  
Doth die sometimes, when most he seemed to be,  
From death redéemd, such bronts may breed in breast,  
twixt sudden joy, and thoughts which pain oppressed,  
The Roman Widow died when she beheld,  
Her Sun (whom erst) She counted slain in field.   

So Bartholomew 'tween grief and sudden joy,  
Say still in trance, me thinks I see him yet,  
And out of doubt it gave me such annoy,  
To see him so, himself in fancies fret,  
That sure I thought his eyes in head were set.  
And that he lay (as some say) drawing on,  
Until his breath and all were past and gone.   

But high degrees of heaven which had ordained,  
(For his decay) a fresh delay of pain,  
revived him: yet from his eyes down rained,  
Such rueful tears as moved me to plain,  
The doleful plight wherein he did remain.  
For trust me now, to see him sorrow so.  
It might have made a stone to melt in wo.   

Thrice did his tongue begin to tell his thought,  
And thrice (alas) it foltred in his mouth,  
With stopping sobs and scalding sighs he sought.  
To utter that which was to me uncouth.  
So stays the stream, when furiously it flouth.  
And fills the dikes where it had wont to swim,  
Until by force it breaks above the brim.   

At last (with pain) the first word that he spoke,  
Was this: Alas, and therewithal he stayed,  
His feebled jaws and hollow voice could make,  
None other sound, his thoughts were all dismayed,  
His hearye head full low in bosom laid.  
Yet when he saw me mark what he would say,  
He cried right out Alas and well away.   

Alas (quoth he) dear friend behold this blood,  
And with that word be 'gan again to sorrowne:  
The messenger which in a studdye stood,  
Awaked at last: and in mine ear did rowne,  
Saying: those lines which I have there thrown down.  
Were written all with blood of her own hand,  
For whom he now in this distress doth stand.   

And since (quoth he) She hath vouchsafed so,  
To shed her blood in witness of her grief,  
Me thinks he rather should relieve her woe:  
Then thus deny to sand her some relief.  
Alas alas (quoth he) she holds him chief.  
And well wot I (what ere his fancy be)  
There sits no man so near her heart as he.   

Therewith he raised his heavy head alight,  
Askaunces Ha'? in deed and thinkest thou so?  
But out alas his weak and weary spirit,  
Forbade his tongue in further terms to go.  
His thought said Haight, his silly speech cried Ho.  
And thus he lay in dompes and doleful trance,  
Till darksome night did somewhat change his chance.   

For when the light of day began to fade,  
And courtins round about his bed were drawn,  
A golden slumber did his limbs invade,  
And held him hushed till day again 'gan dawn,  
Whereby Dame quiet put him in a pawn,  
To set his thoughts (which strived erst) at one,  
And bad debate be packing to be gone.   

Percase sweet love did lull him so on sleep,  
Perhaps Dame fancy rocked the Cradle too,  
How so it were I take thereof no keep,  
With such conceits have I nothing to do,  
But when he waked he asked plainly who,  
Had brought him so from rage to quiet rest,  
And who had borne the torments from his breast?   

(Quoth I) my friend: here is a letter lo,  
Behold it here and be all hole again,  
What man were he that wither would in woe,  
Which thus might prospero in despite of pain?  
Were he not worse than mad which would complain,  
On such a friend as this to me doth seem?  
Which (for thy health) her blood doth not esteem?   

Thus much I said to comfort him God knows,  
(But what I thought that keep I close in hold)  
Sometimes a man must flatter with his foes,  
And sometimes say that brass is bright as Gold:  
For he that hath not all things as he would,  
Must wink sometimes, as though he did not see,  
And seem to think things are not as they be.   

Dan Bartholomew 'gan take the brief in hand,  
And broke the seal, but when he saw the blood,  
Good Lord how bolt upright his here did stand?  
For though the friendly words therein were good,  
Yet many a thought they moved in his mood.  
As well appeared by his flecked cheeks,  
Now cherry red, now pale and green as leeks.   

I dreamt (quoth he) that I was done to death,  
And that I lay full cold in earth and clay,  
But that I was restored unto breath,  
By one that seemed like Pellycane to play,  
Who shed his blood to give me food alway,  
And made me live in spite of sorrow still,  
See how my dream agrees now with this bill?   

His feebled wits forgotten had there while,  
By whom and how he had this letter first,  
But when he spied the man, than 'gan he smile,  
For secret joy his heart did seem to burst,  
Now thought he best that (erst) he counted worst.  
And lovingly he did the man embrace,  
And asked how fared the root of all his grace?   

See sudden change, see subtle sweet deceit,  
Behold how love can make his subjects blind,  
Let all men mark hereby what guileful bait,  
Dan Cupid layeth to tyse the lovers mind:  
Alack alack a slender thread may bind,  
That prysonor fast, which means to tarry still,  
A little road corrects a ready will.   

The brief was writ and blotted all with gore,  
And thus it said: Behold how steadfast love,  
Hath made me hardy (thanks have he therefore)  
To writ these words thy doubts for to remove,  
With mine own blood: and if for thy behove.  
These bloody lines do not thy Cares convert:  
I vow the next shall bleed out of my heart.   

I devil to long upon this thriftless tale,  
For Bartholomew was well appeased hereby,  
And féelingly he banished his bale,  
Taking herein a taste of remedy,  
By light and light his fits away 'gan fly.  
And in short space he did recover strength,  
To stand on foot and take his horse at length.   

So that we came to London both yfere,  
And there his Goddess tarried till we came,  
I am to blame to call her Goddess here,  
Since she deserved in deed no Goddess name,  
But sure I think (and you may judge the same)  
She was to to him a Goddess in his thought,  
Although perhaps her Shrines was overbought,   

I may not writ what words between them past.  
How tears of grief were turned to tears of joy,  
Nor how their dole become delight at last.  
Nor how they made great mirth of much annoy,  
Nor how content was coined out of coy,  
But what I saw and what I well may writ,  
That (as I may) I mean for to indite.   

In lovely London love 'gan now renew,  
This bloody Letter made it battle much,  
And all the doubts which he in fancies drew,  
Were done away as there had been none such,  
(But to himself) he bore no body grudge.  
Himself (he said) was cause of all this woe,  
Withouten cause that her suspected so.   

O loving Youths this glass was made for you,  
And in the same you may yourselves behold,  
Believe me now not one in all your crew,  
Which (where he loves) hath courage to be bold,  
Your Cressides climes are always uncontrolled.  
You dare not say the Sun is clear and bright,  
You dare not swear that darksome is the night.   

Terence was wise which taught by Pamphilus,  
How courage quails where love be blinds the sense,  
Though proof of times makes lovers quarelous,  
Yet small excuse serves love for just defence.  
These Courtisanes have power by pretence.  
To make a Swan of that which was a Crow,  
As though black pitch were turned into snow.   

Ferenda, She whom heaven and earth had framed,  
For his decay and to bewitch his wits,  
Made him now think himself was to be blamed.  
Which causeless thus would fret himself in fits,  
She made him think that sorrow seldom sits,  
Where trust is tied in fast and faithful knots,  
She said Mistrust was meet for simple sots.   

What will you more she made him to believe,  
That she first loved although she younger were,  
She made him think that his distress did grieve,  
Her guiltless mind: and (that it might appear,  
How these conceits could join or hung yfere)  
She did confess how soon she yielded his,  
Such force (quoth she) in learned men there is.   

She further said that all to true it was,  
How youthful years (and lack of him alone)  
Had made her once to choose out brittle glass,  
For perfect Gold: She did confess (with moan)  
That youthfully she bit a worthless bone.  
But that therein she tasted deep delight,  
That said she not, nor I presume to writ.   

She swore (and that I bear full well in mind)  
How Dyomede had never Troilus place,  
She said and swore (how ever sat the wind)  
That Admirals did never know her case,  
She said again that never Noble Face,  
Did please her eye nor moved her to change,  
She said her mind was never given to range.   

She said and said that Bracelets were ybound,  
To hold him fast (but not to charm his thought)  
She wysht therewith that she were deeply drowned,  
In Ippocrace: if ever she had sought,  
Or drunk, or smelled, or ta'en, or found, or bought,  
Such Nectar drops as she with him had drunk,  
(But this were true) she wished her soul were sunk.   

And to conclude, she said no printed rhymes,  
Can please her so as his brave Triumphs did:  
Why wander I? She covered all her crimes,  
With deep deceit, and all her guiles she hid,  
With feigned tears, and Bartholomew she rid.  
With double gyrthes, she bit and whyned both,  
And made him love where he had cause to loath.   

These be the fruits which grow on such desire,  
These are the gains ygot by such an art,  
To late comes be that seeks to quench the fire,  
When flames possess the house in every part,  
Who list in peace to keep a quiet heart.  
Fly love betimes, for if he once o'ertake him,  
Then ceil or never shall he well forsake him.   

If once thou take him Tenant to thy breast,  
No writ nor force can serve to pluck him thence,  
No pills can purge his humour like the rest,  
He bides in bones, and there takes residence,  
Against his blows no bucklar makes defence.  
And though (with pain) thou put him from thy house,  
Yet lurks he still in corners like a Mouse.   

At every hole he creepeth in by stealth,  
And privily he feedeth on thy crumbs,  
With spoils unseen he wasteth all thy wealth,  
He plays boe peep when any body comes,  
And dastardlik he seems to dread the drums,  
Although in deed in Embushe he awaits,  
To take thee straggling if thou pass his straits.   

So seemed now by Bartholmews success,  
Who yielded soon unto this second charge,  
Accusing still himself for his distress,  
And that he had so languished at large,  
Short work to make: he had none other charge.  
To bear loves blows, but still to trust her tale,  
And pardon crave because he bread her bale.   

And thus he lived contented still with craft,  
Mistrusting most, that gave lest cause of doubt,  
He fled mishap and held it by the haft,  
He banished bale and bare it still about,  
He let in love and thought to hold him out.  
He seemed to bathe in perfect bliss again,  
When (God he knows) he fostered privy pain.   

For as the Tree which crooked grows by kind,  
(Although it be with propping underset)  
In tracked of time to crooked course will twined,  
So could Ferenda never more forget,  
The lease at large where she her flings had set.  
But ranged again, and to her bias fell,  
Such changes chance where lust (for love) doth devil.   

And as it happed (and God his will it was)  
Dan Bartholomew perceived it very plain,  
So that perforce he let his pleasures pass,  
And strove no more against the stream in vain,  
But therewithal he purchased such pain,  
As yet I shrink in mind thereof to muse,  
And marvel more how he the same could use.   

His lustless limbs which wonted were to sit,  
In quiet chair, with pen and paper priest,  
Were armed now with helm and harness fit,  
To seek adventures boldly with the best,  
He went to wars that wont to live in rest.  
And wars in deed he made withouten blows,  
For why his friends were now become his foes.   

Such was his hap to war both night and day,  
To watch and ward at every time and tide,  
Though foes were far yet skowted he alway.  
And when they came he must their brunts abide,  
Who ever fled he would his head not hide.  
For sure despair his corpse so close had armed,  
That by deaths dart he could no whit be harmed.   

In his Ensign these colours 'gan he choose,  
Black, white, and green, first black for morning moan,  
Then white for chaste, because he did refuse,  
(Thenceforth) to think but even of her alone.  
A bend of green: for though his joys were gone,  
Yet should it seem he hoped for a day,  
And in that bend his name he did display.   

That self same name which in his will he wrote,  
(You know my mind) when he was out of tune a,  
When he subscribed (which may not be forgot)  
How that his name was Fato Non Fartuna.  
And as I guess because his love was una,  
That played her pranks according to her kind,  
He wrote these words her best excuse to find.   

As who should say, lo destinies me drive,  
And hap could not have overthrown me thus:  
I constrew this because I do believe,  
That once again he will be amorous,  
I fear it much by him that died for us,  
And who so doubts that causeless thus I faint.  
Let him but read the green Knights heavy plaint.   

Bartello he which writeth riding tales,  
Brings in a Knight which clad was all in green,  
That sighed sore amid his grievous gales,  
And was in hold as Bartholomew hath been.  
But (for a placke) it may therein be seen,  
That, that same Knight which there his griefs begun,  
Is bats own Father's Sisters brother's Son.   

Well since my borrell brain is all to bloont.  
To give a guess what end this man shall have,  
And since he rageth not as he was wont.  
Although sometimes he seem (alight) to crave,  
Yet will I not his doings so deprave,  
As for to judge (before I see his end)  
What harder hap his angry stars can send.   

And therewithal my weary muse desires,  
To take her rest: and pardon craves also,  
That she presumed to bring herself in briars,  
By penning thus this true report of woe:  
With silly grace these sorry rhymes may go,  
In such a rank as Bartholomew hath placed,  
So that she fears her cunning is disgraced.   

But take them yet in 'gree as they be meant,  
And wail with me the loss of such a man:  
I count him lost because I see him bend,  
To yield again where first his grief began,  
And though I cannot writ as others can.  
Some mournful verse to move you moon his fall,  
Yet weep (with me) you faithful lovers all.   
Finis.  
quod Dixit & Dixit.   

Lenuoye.  

Sir Salamanke to thee this tale is told,  
Peruse it well and call unto thy mind,  
The pleasant place where thou didst first behold  
The rueful rhymes: remember how the Wind  
Did calmelye blow: and made me leave behind,  
Some leaves thereof: whiles I sat reading still,  
And thou than séemdst to harken with good will.   

Believe me now, hadst thou not seemed to like  
The woeful words of Bartholmews discourse,  
They should have lain still drowned in the dyke,  
Like Sybylls' leaves which fly with little force,  
But for thou séemdst to take therein remorse.  
I sought again in corners of my breast,  
To find them out and place them with the rest.   

Such skill thou hast to make me (fool) believe,  
My babbles are as brave as any be,  
Well since it is so, let it never grieve  
Thy friendly mind this worthless verse to see  
In print at last: for trust thou unto me,  
Thy only praise did make me venture forth,  
To set in show a thing so little worth.   

Thus unto thee these leaves I recommend,  
To read, to raze, to view, and to correct,  
Vouchsafe (my friend) therein for to amend  
That is amiss, remember that our sect,  
Is sure to be with flouts always infect.  
And since most mocks will light upon my muse,  
Vouchsafe (my friend) her faults for to peruse.   Tam Marti quam Mercurio.    

❧ The fruits of War, written upon this Theme, Dulce Bellum inexpertis, and it was written by piecemeal at sundry times, as the Author had valiant leisures from service, being begun at Delfe in Holland, and directed to the right honourable the Lord Greye of Wylton as appeareth by the Epistle Dedicatory next following.   

¶ To the Right honourable and mine especial good Lord, The Lord Greye of Wylton.  
MY Singular good Lord: I am of opinion that long before this time your honour hath thoroughly perused the book, which I prepared to be sent unto you somewhat before my coming hither, and therewithal I do likewise coniectour that you have found therein just cause to laugh at my follies forepast. So that I am partly in doubt whether I were more overseen in my first devising, or in my last dyrecting of the same? But as fantastical humours are common imperfections in green unmellowed brains: So hope I yet that your good Lordship will rather wink at my weakness in generality, then reprove my rashness in particularity. And because I would be glad, to draw your Lordship into forgetfulness thereof, by fresh record of some more martial matter, as also for that I would have your Honour perceive that in these lingering broils, I do not altogether pass over my time in idleness: I have therefore thought meet now to present you with this Pamphlete written by stealth at such times as we Loitered from service. And the sobiect thereof being war, I could not more conveniently address the same unto any Martial man, then unto your good Lordship: Whom I have heard to be an universal patron of all Soldiers, and have found to be an exceeding favourour of me your unworthy follower. The verse is rough. And good reason, sithence it treateth of rough matters, but if the sense be good then have I it the mark which I shoot at: Knowing that your Lordship can win Honey out of the Thistle. And such as it is, I direct it unto your Honour. Beseeching the same, to take it in 〈◊〉 ●gree, and to perceive that I am and ever will continue.  
Your Lordship's most bounden and assured. George Gascoigne.   

Dulce bellum inexpertis.  

TO writ of War and wot not what it is,  
Nor ever yet could march where War was made,  
May well be thought a work begun amiss,  
A rash attempt, in worthless verse to wade,  
To tell the trial, knowing not the trade:  
Yet such a vain even now doth feed my Muse,  
That in this theme I must some labour use.   

2  
And herewithal I cannot but confess,  
How unexpert I am in feats of war:  
For more than writing doth the same express,  
I may not boast of any cruel jar,  
Nor vaunt to see full valiant facts from far:  
I have nor been in Turkey, Denmark, Gréece,  
Ne yet in Colch, to win a Golden fleece.   

3  
But nevertheless I some what read in writ,  
O high exploits by Martial men ydone,  
And thereupon I have presumed yet,  
To take in hand this Poem now begun:  
Wherein I mean to tell what race they run,  
Who follow Drums before they know the dub,  
And brag of Mars before they feel his club.   

4  
Which talk to tell, let first with pen declare 
à definito.   
What thing war is, and whereof it proceeds,  
What be the fruits that fall unto their share  
That gape for honour by those haughty deeds,  
What bloody broils in every state it breeds:  
A weary work uneths I shall it writ,  
Yet (as I may) I must the same indite.   

5  
The Poets old in their fond fables feign,  
That mighty Mars is god of War and Strife,  

poets & Astronomers definition.  These Astronomers think, where Mars doth reign,  
That all bebate and discord must be rife,  
Some think Bellona goddess of that life:  
So that some one, and some another judge,  
To be the cause of every grievous grudge.   

6  

Painter's description.  Among the rest that Painter had some skill,  
Which thus in arms did once set out the same,  
A field of Genles, and on a Golden hill  
A stately town consumed all with flame,  
On cheafe of Sable (taken from the dame)  
A sucking babe (o) borne to bide mischance,  
Begoarde with blood, and pierced with a lance.   

7  
On high the Helm, I bear it well in mind,  
The Wreath was Silver powdered all with shot,  
About the which (goutté du sang) did twined  
A roll of Sable, black and foul beblot,  
The Crest two hands, which may not be forgot,  
For in the Right a trenchand blade did stand,  
And in the Left a fiery burning brand.   

8  
Thus Poets, Painters, and Astronomers,  
Have given their guess this subject to define,  
Yet are those three, and with them travelers,  
Not best betrust among the Worthies nine,  
Their words and works are deemed not divine:  
But why? God knows (my matter not so mar,)  
Unless it be because they feign to far.   

9  

Common people's opinion.  Well then, let see what saith the common voice,  
These old said saws, of war what can they say?  
Who list to hearken to their whispering noise,  
May hear them talk and tattle day by day,  
That Prince's pride is cause of war always:  
Plenty brings pride, pride plea, plea pine, pine peace,  
Peace plenty, and so (say they) they never cease.   

10  
And though it have been thought as true as steel,  
Which people prate, and preach above the rest,  
Yet could I never any reason feel,  
To think Vox populi vox Dei est,  
As for my skill, I count him but a beast,  
Which trusteth truth to devil in common speech,  
Where every lourden will become a léech.   

11  
Then what is war? define it right at last,  
And let us set all old said saws aside,  
Let Poets lie, let Painters feign as fast,  
Astronomers let mark how stars do glide,  
And let these travelers tell wonders wide:  
But let us tell by trusty proof of truth,  
What thing is war which raiseth all this ruth.   

12  
And for my part my fancy for to wright, 
The Author's definition.   
I say that war is even the scourge of God,  
Tormenting such as devil in princely plight,  
Yet not regard the reaching of his rod,  
Whose deeds and duties often times are odd,  
Who range at random jesting at the just,  
As though they reigned to do even what they lust.   

13  
Whom neither plague can pull into remorse,  
Nor dearth can draw to mend that is amiss,  
Within whose hearts no pity findeth force,  
Nor right can rule to judge what reason is.  
Whom sickness salueth not, nor bale brings bliss:  
Yet can high love by waste of bloody war,  
Send schoolmasters to teach them what they are.   

14  
Then since the case so plain by proof doth stand,  
That war is such, and such always it was,  
How chanceth then that many take in hand  
To joy in war, whiles greater pleasures pass?  
Who count the quiet Burgher but an Ass,  
That lives at ease contented with his own,  
While they seek more and yet are overthrown.   

15  
If Mars move war, as Starcoonners can tell,  
And Poets eke in fables use to feign,  
Or if Bellona cause men's hearts to swell  
By deadly grudge, by rancour or disdain,  
Then what delight may in that life remain?  
Where anger, wrath, teen, mischief and debate,  
Do still uphold the pillars of the State?   

16  
If Painters craft have truly war dysplayde,  
Then is it woorsse (and bad it is at best)  
Where towns destroyed, and fields with blood berayed,  
Young children slain, old widows foul oppressed,  
Maids ravished, both men and wives distressed:  
Short tale to make, where sword and cindring flame  
Consume as much as earth and air may frame.   

17  
If pride make war (as common people prate)  
Then is it good (no doubt) as good may be,  
For pride is root of evil in every state,  
The sowrse of sin, the very fiend his fee,  
The head of Hell, the bough, the branch, the tree,  
From which do spring and sprout such fleshly seeds,  
As nothing else but moan and mischief breeds.   

18  
But if war be (as I have said before)  
Gods scourge, which doth both Prince and people tame,  
Then warn the wiser sort by learned lore,  
To flee from that which bringeth nought but blame,  
And let men count it grief and not a game,  
To feel the burden of God's mighty hand,  
When he concludes in judgement for to stand.   

19  
O Prince be pleased with thine own diadem,  
Confine thy countries with their common bounds, 
Prince.   
Enlarge no land, ne stretch thou not thy stream,  
Pen up thy pleasure in Repentance pounds,  
Lest thine own sword because of all thy wounds:  
Claim naught by war where title is not good,  
It is God's scourge, than Prince beware thy blood.   

20  
O Dukes, o Earls, o Barons, Knights & squires,  
Keep you content with that which is your own, 
Nobility.   
Let bravery never bring you in his briars,  
Seek not to mow where you no seed have sown,  
Let not your neighbours house be overthrown,  
To make your garden strait, round, even and square,  
For that is war, (God's scourge) than Lords be ware.   

21  
O bishops, deacons, prelate's, 
Prelacy.  priests and all,  
Strive not for tithes, for glebelande, nor for fees,  
For polling Peter pens, for popish Pall,  
For proud pluralities, nor new degrees,  
And though you think it lubberlike to lose,  
Yet should you lend that one half of your cote:  
Then Priests leave war, and learn to sing that note.   

22  
O lawless Lawyers, 
Lawyers.  stop your too long nose,  
Wherewith you smell your needy neighbours lack,  
Which can pretend a title to suppose,  
And in your rules uplandish louts can rack,  
Till you have brought their wealth unto the wrack:  
This is plain war, although you term it strife,  
Which God will scourge, than Lawyers leave this life.   

23  
O Merchants make more conscience in an oath,  
Cell not your Silks by danger nor deceit,  

Merchants.  Break not your banks with coin and credit both,  
Heap not your hoards by wiliness of weight,  
Set not to sale your subtleties by sleight,  
breed no debate by bargaining for days,  
For God will scourge such guiles ten thousand ways.   

24  

Husbandmen.  O country clowns, your closes see you keep,  
With hedge, & ditch, & mark your mead with meres,  
Let not dame flattery in your bosom creep,  
To tell a fittone in your Landlords ears,  
And say the ground is his as plain appears.  
Where you but set the bounders forth to far:  
Ply you the plough and be no cause of war.   

25  
O common people claim nothing but right,  

Commonalty.  And cease to seek that you have never lost,  
Strive not for trifles: make not all your might,  
To put your neighbour's purse to peerless cost,  
When your own guilt is spent, then farewell frost:  
The Lawyer gains, and leads a Lordly life,  
While you lose all and beg to stint your strife.   

26  
Known Kings and Princes what a pain it were,  
To win more realms than any wit can wield,  
To pine in hope, to fret as fast for fear,  
To see their subjects murdered in the field,  
To lose at last, and then themselves to yield,  
To break sound sleep with cark and inward care,  
They would love peace, and bid war well to far.   

27  
If noble men and gentle bloods yborn,  
Wist what it were to have a widows curse,  
Known they the scourge of God (which wrongs doth skorns)  
Who sees the poor still wronged to the worse,  
Yet stays revenge till he it list disburse:  
Wist they what were to catch Gods after claps,  
Then would they not oppress somuch perhaps.   

28  
These spiritual Pastors, nay these spiteful Popes,  
Which aught to lend a lauterne to the rest,  
Had they themselves but light to see the ropes,  
And snares of Hell which for their feet are dressed,  
Because they pill and pole, because they wrist.  
Because they covet more than borrell men,  
(Hard be their hearts) yet would they tremble then.   

29  
Lawyers and Merchants put them both yfeare,  
Can they foresee how fast their heirs lash out,  
If they in mind this old Proverb could bear.  
De bonis malepartis vix (through out)  
Gaudebit tertius baeres out of doubt,  
They would percase more peace than plea procure,  
Since goods ill got, so little time endure.   

30  
While Pierce the Ploughman hopes to pick a thank,  
By moving bounds (which got scarce graze his goose)  
His Landlord laws so long to win that bank,  
Till at the last the Farm and all flies lose,  
Then farewell Pierce the man proves but a mouse,  
And seeks a cottage if he could one get,  
So fair he fished by moving mischief yet,   

31  
If common people could foresee the fine,  
Which lights at last by lashing out at law,  
Than who best loves this question, Mine or Thine,  
Would never grease the greedy sergeants paw,  
But sit at home and learn this old said saw,  
Had I revenged been of every harm,  
My coat had never kept me half so warm.   

32  
But whether now? my wits are went awry,  
I have presumed to preach to long God wot,  
Where mine emprise was well to testify  
How sweet war is to such as know it not,  
I have but touched their ill luck and their lot,  
Which are the cause why strife and wars begin,  
Naught have I said of such as serve therein.   

33  
And therewithal I termed have all strife,  
All quarrels, contecks, and all cruel jars,  
Oppressions, bryberes, and all greedy life,  
To be (in genere) no bet than wars,  
Whereby my theme is stretched beyond the stars,  
And I am entered in a field so large,  
As to much matter doth my Muse surcharge.   

34  
But as the hawk which soareth in the sky,  
And clymbes aloft for solace of her wing,  
The greater gate she getteth up on high,  
The truer stoup she makes at any thing:  
So shall you see my Muse by wandering,  
Find out at last the right and ready way,  
And keep it sure though erst it went astray.   

35  
My promiss was, and I record it so,  
To writ in verse (God wots though little worth)  
That war seems sweet to such as little know  
What comes thereby, what fruits it bringeth forth:  
Who knows none evil his mind no bad abhorth,  
But such as once have felt the skortching fire,  
Will seldom (eft) to play with flame desire.   

36  
Then war is bad: and so it is in deed,  
Yet are three sorts which therein take delight,  
But who they be now hearken and take heed,  
For (as I may) I mean their names to wright,  
The first height Haughty heart, a man of might,  
The second Greedy mind most men do call,  
And Miser (he the mome) comes last of all.   

37  
As for the first, three sparks of mighty mood  
Desire of fame, disdain of Idleness,  
And hope of honour, so inflame his blood, 
Haughty hearts.   
That he haunts war to win but worthiness,  
His doughty deeds always declare no less:  
For whiles most men for gains or malice fight,  
He gapes for glory setting life but light.   

38  
O noble mind: alas and who could think,  
So good a heart so hard a hap should have?  
A sweet perfume to fall into a sink,  
A costly jewel in a swelling wave,  
Is hap as hard as if in greedy grave,  
The lustiest life should shrined be perforce,  
Before dire death give sentence of divorce.   

39  
And such I count the hap of Haughty heart,  
Which hunts (naught else) but honour for to get,  
Where treason, malice, sickness, sore and smart,  
With many mischiefs more his purpose let,  
And he mean while (which might have spent it bet)  
But loseth time, or doth the same misspend,  
Such guerdons gives the wicked war at end.   

40  
I set aside to tell the restless toil,  
The mangled corpse, the lamed limbs at last,  
The shortened years by fret of fevers foil,  
The smoothest skin with scabs and scars disgraced,  
The frolic favour frounced and foul defaced,  
The broken sleeps, the dreadful dreams, the woe,  
Which won with war and cannot from him go.   

41  
I list not writ (for it becomes me not)  
The secret wrath which God doth kindle often,  
To see the sucklings put unto the pot,  
To hear their guiltless blood sand cries aloft,  

☞  And call for vengeance unto him, but soft  
The Soldiers they commit those heinous acts,  
Yet Kings and Captains answer for such facts.   

42  
What need me now at large for to rehearse,  
The force of Fortune, when she list to frown?  
Why should I here display in barren verse,  
How realms are turned topsy-turvy down,  
How Kings and Keysars lose both claim and crown?  
Whose haughty hearts to hent all honour haunt,  
Till high mishaps their doughtiest deeds do daunt.   

43  
All these with more my pen shall overpass,  
Since Haughty heart hath fixed his fancy thus,  
Let chance (sayeth he) be fickle as it was,  
Sit bonus (in re mala) Animus,  
Nam omne solum viro forti Ius.  
And fie (sayeth he) for goods or filthy gain,  
I gape for glory, all the rest is vain.   

44  
Vain is the rest, and that most vain of all,  
A smouldering smoke which flieth with every wind,  
A tickle treasure, like a trendling ball,  
A passing pleasure mocking but the mind,  
A fickle fee as fancy well can find.  
A summers fruit which long can never last,  
But ripeneth soon, and rots again as fast.   

45  
And tell me Haughty heart, confess a truth,  
What man was ay so safe in Glories port?  
But trains of treason (o the more the ruth)  
Can undermine the Bulwarks of this fort,  
And raze his ramparts down in sundry sort?  
Search all thy books, and thou shalt find therein,  
That honour is more hard to hold than win:   

46  
Ask julius Caesar 
Caesar.  if this tale be true,  
The man that conquered all the world so wide,  
Whose only word commanded all the crew,  
Of Roman Knights at many a time and tide,  
Whose pomp was thought so great it could not glide.  
At last with bodkins dubbed and dost to death,  
And all his glory banished with his breath.   

47  
Of malice more what should I make discourse,  
Than thy foul fall proud Pompey 
Pompey.  by thy name,  
Whose swelling heart envying Caesar's force,  
Did boil and burn in will and wicked flame,  
By his down fall thy fonder clime to frame,  
Till thine own head bebathed with enemies tears,  
Did end thy glory with thy youthful years.   

48  
Alas alas how many may we read,  
Whom sickness scythe hath cut as green as grass?  
Whom cold in Camps hath changed as pale as lead?  
Whose grease hath moult all caffed as it was,  
With charges given, with skarmouching in chasse?  
Some lamed with gout (soon gotten in the field)  
Some forced by flux all glory up to yield.   

49  
Of sudden sores, or claps caught unaware,  
By sword, by shot, by mischief, or by mine,  
What need I more examples to declare,  
Then Montacute 
Montacute Earl of Salisbury.  which died by doom divine?  
For when he had all France defayct, in fine,  
From lofty tower discovering of his foes,  
A Cannon's clap did all his glory loose.   

50  
I had forgot (wherein I was to blame)  
Of bold brave Bourbon somewhat for to say  
That Haughty heart whom never Prince could tame,  

Borbon.  Whom neither town could stop nor wall let way,  
Nor king nor kaiser could his journey stay:  
His Epitaph down set upon his Tomb  
Declares no less: I leave it to your doom.   


Borbons' Epitaph.  Devicto Gallo, Aucto Imperio, Pontifice obsesso, Italia superata,  
Roma capta, Borbonij boc marmor bahet cineres.   

51  
O glorious title ringing out renown,  
O Epitaph of honour and high hap,  
Who reads the same as it is there set down,  
Would think that Borbon sat in fortune's lap,  
And could not fall by chance of after clap:  
Yet he that wrote this thundering flattering verse,  
Left out one thing which I must needs rehearse.   

52  
For when he had his king by war foredone,  
Enlarged the Empire and besieged the Pope,  
Ta'en Rome, and Italy had overrun,  
Yet was he forced, always from laws to lope,  
And trudge from trial so to scape the rope:  
Yea more than that a banished man he served,  
Lest loved of them whose thanks he most deserved.   

53  
Lo lordings here a lesson for the nonce,  
Behold this glass and see yourselves therein,  
This Epitaph was writ for worthy ones,  
For Haughty hearts which honour hunt to win.  
Beware beware, what broils you do begin.  
For smiling luck hath often times Finem duram,  
And therefore think possic victoria Curam.   

54  
And yet if glory do your hearts inflame,  
Or hot desire a haughty name to have,  
Or if you thirst for high renown or fame,  
To blaze such brute as time might not deprave,  
You lose the labour that you might well save:  
For many a praise in that mean while you past,  
Which (bet than war) might make your name to last.   

55  
As first (percase) you skipped Philosophy,  
That noble skill which doth surmount the rest,  
Whereto if you had 〈◊〉 your memory,  
Then brunts of war had never bruzde your breast,  
Yet had our name been blazed, and you been blest:  
Ask Aristotle 
Aristotle.  if I speak amiss,  
Few soldiers fame can greater be than his.   

56  
Next Rhetoric, that hoonnie harmless art,  
Which conquers more than war can well subdue,  
You passed it by, and therefore lose your part  
Of glories great, which thereunto are due,  
And might by right your names for ay renew:  
Such glory lo did Cicero 
Cicero.  attain,  
Which longer lasts, than other glories vain.   

57  
Of Physic speak for me king Avicen, 
Auicene.   
Who more esteemed the mean to save himself,  
Than lessons lewd of proud ambitious men,  
Which make debate for muck and worldly pelf:  
Yet was his glory never set on shelf,  
Nor never shall, whiles any world may stand,  
Where men have mind to take good books in hand.   

58  
What should I stretch into Astronomy?  
Or marvels make of Musics sugared sound?  
Or beat my brains about Geometry?  
Or in Arithmetic of arts the ground?  
Since evermore it is and hath been found,  
That who excels in any of the same,  
Is sure to win an everlasting fame.   

59  
My meaning is no more but to declare,  
That Haughty hearts do spend their time in vain,  
Which follow wars, and bring themselves in snare,  
Of sundry ills, and many a pinching pain,  
While if they list to occupy their brain,  
In other feats with lesser toil● ygot,  
They might have fame when as they have it not.   

60  
Well, Greedy mind 
Greedy mind  is of another mood,  
That man was framed out of some other mould,  
He follows wars for wealth and worldly good,  
To fill his purse with groats and glistering gold,  
He hopes to buy that Haughty heart hath sold:  
He is as hot as any man at spoil,  
But at a breach he keepeth no such coil.   

61  
Alas good Greedy mind, and canst thou find  
Not better trade, to fill thy boisterous gabs?  
Is wit now went so wandering from thy mind?  
Are all thy points so void of Reason's tags?  
Well so mayst thou come roisting home in rags,  
And loose thy time as Haughty heart doth eke,  
While like a dolt thou wealth in war dost seek.   

62  
O bleareyde fool, are both thine eyes beblast?  
Canst thou not see? look up (what man?) God mend thee,  
Look at these Lawyers how they purchase fast,  
Mark well these Merchants (better mind God sand thee)  
See how the suits of silk that they would lend thee,  
And many more so fine in fashion stand,  
Till at the last they pay for unthrifts land.   

63  
The Grazier gets by feeding fat his neat,  
The Clothier coins by carding locks of wool,  
The Butcher builds by cutting out of meat,  
The Tanner's hides do fill his budget full,  
The Sheep master his old cast crones can cull,  
The Shoemaker can shifted by shaping shoes,  
The Crafty bawd can live by keeping stews.   

64  
The gorgeous Goldesmith gets the Devil and all,  
The Haberdasher heapeth wealth by hats,  
The Barber lives by handling of his ball,  
The Coupers' house is héelde by hooping fats,  
The Rogue rubs out by poisoning of Rats,  
The Channel raker liveth by his fee,  
Yet count I him more worthy praise than thee.   

65  
To rake up richeses evermore by wrong,  
To multiply by moving of mischief,  
To live by spoil which seldom lasteth long,  
To hoard up heaps whiles others lack relief,  
To win all wealth by playing of the thief,  
Is not so good a gain I dare avow,  
As his that lives by toiling at the plough.   

66  
And yet the drudge that delveth in the ground,  
The poorest peasant and the homeliest hind,  
The meanest man that ever yet was found,  
To get a gain by any trade or kind,  
lives more at rest and hath more ease of mind,  
Moore sure to win, much lesser dread to lose,  
Than any page that lives by Mars his fees.   

67  
Ne will I yet affray the doubtful hearts  
Of such as seek for wealth in war to fall,  
By thundering out the sundry sudden smarts  
Which daily chance as fortune trilles the ball:  
Sufficeth this to proole my theme withal,  
That every bullet hath a lighting place,  
Though Greedy mind foreseeth not that disgrace.   

68  
The mist of Moore would have, doth blear his eyes,  
So is he armed with avarice always,  
And as he covets more than may suffice,  
So is he blind and dazzled day by day,  
For whiles he ventures for a double pay,  
He quite forgets the pay that pays for all,  
Till Lead (for Gold) do glut his greedy gall.   

69  
Yea though he gain & cram his purse with crowns,  
And therewith scape the foeman's force in field,  
He naught foreseeth what treasons dwells in Towns,  
Ne what mishaps his ill got goods may yield:  
For so may chance (and seen it is not séelde)  
His own companions can contrive a mean,  
To cut his throat and rinse his budgets clean.   

70  
But if he witted, or had the wit to know,  
What dangers devil, where might bears right adown,  
What inward griefs to quiet minds may grow  
By greedy thirst of riches or renown,  
Where wrong of war often times erects the crown,  
He would percase confess among the rest,  
That Dulce bellum inexpertis est.   

71  
So that I say as erst I said before,  
That even as Haughty heart doth hunt in vain,  
Which seeks to win most honour evermore,  
By haunting wars: so can I see no gain,  
(With calm content) to feed that others vain:  
Wherefore my word is still (I change it not)  
That War seems sweet to such as range it not.   

72  
Well then, let see what reason or what rule  
Can Miser 
Miser.  move, to march among the rest:  
I mean not Miser he that starves his Mule  
For lack of meat: not that were but a jest:  
My Miser is as brave (sometimes) as best,  
Where if he were a snudge to spare a groat,  
Then Greedy mind and he might wear one coat.   

73  
But I by Miser mean the very man,  
Which is enforced by chip of any chance,  
To step aside and wander now and than,  
Till lowering luck may pipe some other dance,  
And in mean while yet hopeth to advance  
His stayless state, by sword, by spear, by shield,  
Such bulwarks (lo) my Miser's brain doth build.   

74  
The forlorn hope, which have set up their rest  
By rash expense, and know not how to live,  
The busy brain that meddleth with the best,  
And gets disgrace his rashness to repréeve,  
The man that slew the wight that thought to théeve,  
Such and such more which flee the Catchpoles fist,  
I count them Misers, though the Queen it witted.   

75  
And yet forsooth these love to live in war,  
When (God he knows) they wot not what it means,  
Where if they saw how much deceived they are,  
While they be brought into mine uncles beans,  
And hop in hazard by their heady means:  
Then would they learn and love to live at home,  
Much rather yet than wide in wars to roam.   

76  
The unthrift 
Unthrifts.  he that sells a rood of land,  
For Flemish sticks of Silks and such like wares,  
weens yet at last to make a happy hand  
By bloody war, and hopes to shred such shares,  
In goods ill got to countervail his cares,  
That he may once recover his estate,  
To roist again in spite of Catchpolles' pate.   

77  
The restless tongue that tattleth still at large,  

Praters.  Till just correction 'cause it to be still,  
Is banished often, and sits in Miser's barge,  
To bridle so the wandering of his will:  
Yet when he hears a trumpet sounding thrill,  
He follows fast, and to himself he says,  
Now can I keep me out of Catchpoles ways.   

78  
The bloody murderer and the crafty thief,  

Felons.  Which have by force or fraud done what offence,  
To creep in corners, o they think it léefe,  
Though Miser there do pay for their expense:  
But when they hear a pay proclaimed for pence,  
Lo then they trudge, and gape to get such wealth,  
As may discharge their heads from hangman's health.   

79  
Of these three sorts full many have I seen,  
Some hate the streets, because the stones were hot,  
Some shunned the Court (& though they loved our Queen)  
Yet in the Counsellors ways they stumbled not,  
Some might not drink of justice Griffyns' pot:  
But all and some had rather fight with foes,  
Than once to light within the laps of those.   

80  
As for the first what need I much to wright?  
Since now adays the Sun so hot doth shine,  
That few young bloods (unless it be by night)  
Can bide the streets: not, narrow lanes be fine,  
Where every fhade may serve them for a shrine:  
But in Cheapside the Sun so scalds the street,  
That every paving stone would parch their feet.   

81  
So of the second some what could I say,  
How tattling tongues and busy biting pens,  
Have fled from Court long sithence many a day,  
And been full glad to lurk in Miser's dens,  
Some for their own speech, some for other men's,  
Some for their books because they wrote too much,  
Yea some for rhymes, but sure I know none such.   

82  
And for the third, I cannot blame them I,  
If they at bar have once held up their hand,  
And smelled the smoke which might have made them fry,  
Or learned the leap out of their native land,  
Me think if then their cause be rightly scanned,  
That they should more delight to follow drums,  
Than bide at home to come in hangman's thumbs.   

83  
But holla yet, and lay a straw thereby,  
For whiles they scape for one offence or twain,  
They go so long to school with felony,  
And learn such lessons in the Soldiers train,  
That all delays are dallied but in vain:  
For commonly at their home come they pay,  
The debt which hangman claimed erst many a day.   

84  
How much were better then, with contrite heart  
First to repent, and then to make amends?  
And therewithal to learn by troubles smart,  
What sweet repose the lawful life us lends:  
For when such plagues the mighty God us sends,  
They come aswell to scourge offences past,  
As eke to teach a better trade at last.   

85  
And eke how much were better for the first,  
To bear low sail, begin the world anew,  
And stand content to muster with the worst,  
Till God convey them to some better crew,  
It better were to bid all pride adieu,  
And stoop betimes in hope to rise again,  
Than still to strive against the stream in vain.   

86  
So were more meet for mealy mouthed men,  
And bufle pedlar's with their Prince's mates,  
Writers and rhymers for to turn their pen  
In humble style unto the lofty states,  
And eke with tongue attending at their gates,  
In lowly wise their favour to beseech,  
Than still to stand in stout and sturdy speech.   

87  
But mighty Mars hath many men in store,  
Which wait always to keep his kingdom up,  
Of whom no one doth show his service more,  
Than lingering Hope which still doth bear his cup,  
And flatteringly lends every man a sup.  
Which haunts his court or in his progress pass,  
Hope brings the bowl whereon they all must quasse.   

88  
Th'ambitious Prince doth hope to conquer all,  
The Dukes, Earls, Lords, & Knights hope to be kings,  
The Prelates hope to push for Popish pall,  

Hope is cupbearer to war.  The Lawyers hope to purchase wondrous things,  
The merchants hope for no less reckonings,  
The peasant hopes to get a Farm at lest,  
All men are guests where Hope doth hold the feast.   

89  
Among the rest poor Miser is so dry,  
And thirsteth so to taste of some good change  
That he in haste to Hope runs by and by.  
And drinks so deep (although the taste be strange,)  
That madding mood doth make his wits to range,  
And he runs on were Hope doth lead the way,  
Most commonly (God knows) to his decay.   

90  
So that for company he sings the same,  
Which Haughty heart and Greedy mind do sing  
He saith that Bellum breedeth grief of game:  
And though at first it seem a pleasant thing  
At last (sayeth he) it striketh with a sting,  
And leaves a scar although the wound be healed,  
Which gives disgrace and cannot be concealed.   

91  
To prove this true how many in my days,  
(And I for one) might be rehearsed here,  
Who after proof of divers wandering ways,  
Have been constreynd to sit with sorry cheer,  
Close in a corner fumbled up for fear?  
Till from such dens, drums dub hath called them forth,  
To change their chance for lots (oft) little worth.   

92  
But here (me thinks) I hear some carping tongue,  
That barks a pace and kills me with his cry,  
One thinks he says that all this gear goeth wrong,  
When works of war are wrote by such as I,  
methinks I hear him still this text apply,  
That evil may those presume to teach a trade,  
Which nay themselves in scholars room did wade.   

93  
And for because myself confessed have,  
That (more than might by writ expressed be)  
I may not seem above my skill to brave,  
Since yet mine eyes the wars did never see:  
Therefore (say some) how fond a fool is he,  
That takes in hand to writ of worthy war,  
Which never yet hath come in any jar?   

94  
Not jar (good sir) yes yes and many jars,  
For though my pen of courtesy did put,  
A difference twixt broils and bloody wars,  
Yet have I shot at master Bellums butt,  
And thrown his ball although I touched no tutte:  
I have percase as deeply dealt the dole,  
As he that hit the mark and got the goal.   

95  
For I have seen full many a Flushing fray, 
Flushing frays & fleesing of Flaunders.   
And fléest in Flaunders eke among the rest,  
The brag of Bruges, where was I that day?  
Before the walls good sir as brave as best,  
And though I marched all armed withouten rest,  
From Aerdenburgh and back again that night,  
Yet mad were he that would have made me knight.   

96  
So was I one forsooth that kept the town,  
Of Aerdenburgh 
Aerdenburgh.  (withouten any walls)  
From all the force that could be dressed down,  
By Alba Duke for all his cries and calls,  
A high exploit. We held the Flemings thralls,  
Seven days and more without or brags or blows,  
For all that while we never herd of foes.   

97  
I was again in trench before Tergoes, 
Tergoes.   
(I dare not say in siege for both mine ears)  
For look as often as ever Hell broke loose,  
I mean as often as the Spanish pears,  
Made salie forth (I speak this to my pheares)  
It was no more but which Cock for a groat,  
Such troops we were to keep them up in coat.   

98  
Yet surely this withouten brag or boast,  
Our English bloods did there full many a deed,  
Which may be Chronicled in every coast,  
For bold attempts, and well it was agreed,  
That had their heads been ruled by wary heed,  
Some other feat had been attempted then,  
To show their force like worthy English men.   

99  
Since that siege raised I roamed have about,  
In Zéeland, Holland, Waterland, and all,  
By sea, by land, by air, and all throughout,  
As leaping lots, and chance did seem to call,  
Now here, now there, as fortune trilde the ball,  
Where good 
* The Prince of Orange his name is Guillam of Nassau.  Guyllam of Nassau bad me be,  
There needed I none other guide but he.   

100  
Percase sometimes S. Gyptians pilgrimage,  
Did carry me a month (yea sometimes more)  
To broke the Bowers, and rack them in a rage,  
Because they had no better cheer in store,  
Beef, Mutton, Capon, Plover, Pigeons, Boar,  
All this was nought, and for no Soldiers tooth,  
Were these no jars? (speak now Sir) yes forsooth.   

101  
And by my troth to speak even as it is,  
Such pranks were played by Soldiers daily there,  
And though myself did not therein amiss,  
(As God he knows and men can witness bear,)  
Yet since I had a charge, I am not clear,  
For seldom climbs that Captain to renown, 
☜   
Whose Soldiers faults so pluck his honour down.   

102  
Well let that pass I was in rolling trench,  
At Ramykins, 
Ramykins.  where little shot was spent,  
For gold and groats their matches still did quench,  
Which kept the Fort, and forth at last they went,  
So pined for hunger (almost ten days penned)  
That men could see no wrinkles in their faces,  
Their powder packed in caves and privy places.   

103  
Next that I served by night and eke by day,  
By Sea, by land, at every time and tide,  
Against 
* A Colonel of the king's side.  Mountdragon whiles he did assay,  
To land his men along the salt sea side,  
For well he witted that Ramykins went wide,  
And therefore sought with victual to supply,  
Poor Myddleburgh which then in suds did lie.   

104  
And there I saw full many a bold attempt,  
By silly souls best executed ay,  
And bravest brags (the foeman's force to tempt)  
Accomplished but coldly many a day,  
The Soldier charge, the leader lope away,  
The willing drum a lusty march to sound,  
While rank retyrers gave their enemies ground.   

105  
Again at Seathe Soldier forward still,  
When Mariners had little lust to fight,  
And whiles we stay twixt faint and forward william.  
Our enemies prepare themselves to flight,  
They hoist up sail (oh weary word to wrihgt)  
They hoist up sail that lack both stream and winds,  
And we stand still so forced by froward minds.   

106  
O victory: (whom Haughty hearts do hunt)  
O spoil and pray (which greedy minds desire)  
O golden heaps (for whom these Miser's wont  
To follow Hope which sets all hearts on fire)  
O gain, O gold, who list to you aspire,  
And glory eke, by bold attempts to win,  
There was a day to take your prisoners in.   

107  
The ships retire with riches full yfraught,  
The Soldiers march (mean while) into the town,  
The tide scarce good, the wind stark staring nought,  
The haste so hot that (ere they sink the sown)  
They came on ground, and strike all sails adown:  
While we (aye me) by backward sailors led,  
Take up the worst when all the best are fled.   

108  
Such triumphs chance where such Lieutenant's rule,  
Where will commands when skill is out of town,  
Where boldest bloods are forced to recoil,  
By Simme the boteswayne when he list to frown,  
Where Captains crouch, and fishers wear the Crown.  
Such haps which happen in such hapless wars,  
Make me to term them broils and beastly jars.   

109  
And in these broils (a beastly broil to write,)  
My Colonel, and I fell at debate,  
So that I left both charge and office quite,  
A Captains charge and eke a Marshal's state,  
Whereby I proved (perhaps though all to late)  
How soon they fall which lean to rotten bows,  
Such faith find they, that trust to some men's vows.   

110  
My heart was high, I could not seem to serve,  
In regiment where no good rules remain,  
Where officers and such as well deserve,  
Shall be abused by every page and swain,  
Where discipline shall be but deemed vain,  
Where blocks are stridde by stumblers at a straw,  
And where self will must stand for martial law.   

111  
These things (with more) I could not seem to bear,  
And thereupon I cracked my staff in two,  
Yet stayed I still though out of pay I were,  
And learn to live as private Soldiers do,  
I lived yet, by God and lacked too:  
Till at the last when Beavois fled amain,  
Our camp removed to strain 
(a) An Island so called which was sore spoiled by our countrymen.  the land van Strain.   

112  
When 
(b) A Colonel of the king's side which was governor of Middelburgh next before Mountdragon.  Beavois fled, Mountdragon came to town,  
And like a Soldier Myddelburgh he kept,  
But courage now was coldly come adown,  
On either side: and quietly they slept,  
So that myself from Zealand lightly leapt,  
Withfull intent to taste our English ale,  
Yet first I meant to tell the Prince my tale.   

113  
For though the wars waxed cold in every place,  
And small experience was there to be seen,  
Yet thought I not to part in such disgrace,  
Although I longed much to see our Queen:  
For he that once a hired man hath been,  
Must take his masters leave before he go,  
Unless he mean to make his friend his foe.   

114  
Then went I strait to 
* A town in Holland.  Delfe, a pleasant town,  
Unto that Prince, whose passing virtues shine,  
And unto him I came on knees adown,  
Beseeching that his excellence in fine,  
Would grant me leave to see this country mine:  
Not that I weary was in wars to serve,  
Nor that I lacked what so I did deserve.   

115  
But for I found some contecke and debate,  
In regiment where I was wont to rule,  
And for I found the stay of their estate,  
Was forced now in towns for to recule,  
I craved leave no longer but till 
* Christmas.  Yewle,  
And promised then to come again Sans fail,  
To spend my blood where it might him avail.   

116  
The noble Prince gave grant to my request,  
And made me passeporte signed with his seal,  
But when I was with gabs and baggage priest,  
The Prince began to ring another peal,  
And sent for me, (desiring for my weal)  
That I would stay a day or two, to see,  
What was the cause he sent again for me.   

117  
My Colonel was now come to the Court,  
With whom the Prince had many things to treat,  
And for he hoapte, in good and godly sort,  
'Tween him and me to work a friendly feat,  
He like a gracious Prince his brains did beat,  
To set accord between us if he might,  
Such pains he took to bring the wrong to right.   

118  
O noble Prince, there are too few like thee,  
If Virtue wake, she watcheth in thy will,  
If justice live, then surely thou art he,  
If Grace do grow, it groweth with thee still,  
O worthy Prince would God I had the skill,  
To writ thy worth that men thereby might see,  
How much they err that speak amiss of thee.   

119  
The simple Sots do count thee simple too,  
Whose like for wit our age hath seldom bred,  
The railing rogues mistrust thou darest not do,  
As Hector did for whom the Grecians fled,  
Although thou yet wert never seen to dread,  
The slanderous tongues do say thou drinkst to much,  
When God he knows thy custom is not such.   

120  
But why do I in worthless verse devise,  
To writ his praise that doth excel so far?  
He heard our grieves himself in gracious wise,  
And mildly meant to join our angry jar,  
He meant to make that we began to mar:  
But wicked wrath had some so far enraged,  
As by no means their malice could be suaged.   

121  
In this mean while the Spainiards came so near  
That Delfe was girt with siege on every side,  
And though men might take shipping every where,  
And so be gone at any time or tide,  
Yet truth to tell (I speak it for no pride)  
I could not leave that Prince in such distress,  
Which cared for me and yet the cause much less.   

122  
But see mishap how craftily it creeps,  
While fawning fortune fleareth full in face,  
My heavy heart within my belly weeps,  
To reckon here a drop of dark disgrace,  
Which fell upon my pleasant plight apace,  
And brought a pack of doubts and dumps to pass,  
While I with Prince in love and favour was.   

123  
A worthy dame whose praise my pen shall writ  
(My sword shall eke her honour still defend)  
A loving letter to me did endight,  
And from the Camp the same to me did send,  
I mean from Camp where foes their force did bend:  
She sent a brief unto me by her maid,  
Which at the gates of Delfe was stoutly stayed.   

124  
This letter ta'en, I was mistrusted much,  
And thought a man that were not for to trust,  

The fruit of fancy.  The Burghers straight began to bear me grudge,  
And cast a snare to make my neck be trust,  
For when they had this letter well discussed:  
They sent it me by her that brought it so,  
To try if I would keep it close or no.   

125  
I red the lines, and knowing whence they came,  
My harmless heart began to pant apace,  
Well to be plain, I thought that never Dame,  
Should make me deal in any doubtful case,  
Or do the thing might make me hide my face:  
So that unto the Prince I went forthwith,  
And showed to him of all this pack the pith.   

126  
The thing God knows was of no great import,  
Some friendly lines the virtuous Lady wrote  
To me her friend: and for my safe passport,  
The Camepomaster Valdes his hand was got,  
And seal therewith, that I might safely trot,  

The pleasantest village (as I think) that is in Europe.  Unto the Hague a stately pleasant place,  
Whereas remained this worthy woman's grace.   

127  
And here I set in open verse to show,  
The whole effect wherefore this work was wrought,  
She had of mine (whereof few folks did know)  
A counterfeit, a thing to me dear bought,  
Which thing to have I many time had sought  
And when she knew how much I did esteem it  
She vowed that none but I should thence redeem it.   

128  
Lo here the cause of all this secret sleight,  
I swear by jove that nothing else was meant,  
The noble Prince (who saw that no deceit,  
Was practised) gave trust to mine intent:  
And leave to writ from whence the same was sent,  
But still the Bowgers (Burghers should I say)  
Increased their doubts and watched me day by day.   

129  
At every port it was (forsooth) 
(a) forbidden.  be last,  
That I 
(b) the Green captain.  (die groene Hopman) might not go out,  
But when their foes came skirmishing full fast,  
Then with the rest the Green knight for them fought,  
Then might he go without mistrust or doubt:  
O drunken plompes, I plain without cause why,  
For all cards told there was no fool but I   

130  
I was the fool to fight in your defence.  
Which know no friend, nor yet yourselves full well,  
Yet thus you see how pay proclaimed for pence,  
pulls needy souls in stead of heaven to hell,  
And makes men hope to bear away the bell.  
Whereas they hung in ropes that never rot,  
Yet war seems sweet to such as know it not.   

131  
Well thus I dwelled in Delfe a winter's tide,  
In Delfe (I say) without one penny pay:  
My men and I did cold and hunger bide,  
To show our truth, and yet was never day,  
Wherein the Spaniard came to make us play,  
But that the Green knight was amongst the rest,  
Like 
(c) a proverb.  john Greyes' bird that ventured with the best.   

132  
At last the Prince to Zealand came himself,  
To hunger Middleburgh, or make it yield,  
And I that never yet was set on shelf,  
When any sailed, or wind, or waves could wield,  
Went after him to show myself in field.  
The self same man which erst I vowed to be,  
A trusty man to such a Prince as he.   

133  
The force of Flaunders, Brabant, Geldres, Fryze,  
Henault, Artoys, Lyegeland, and Luxembrough,  
Were all ybent, to bring in new supplies  
To Myddleburgb: and little all enough,  
For why the 
(a) protestaunts  Gaeulx would neither bend nor bough.  
But one of force must break and come to naught,  
All 
(b) The Island wherein Flushing doth stand.  Walkers theirs, or Flushing dearly bought.   

134  
There once again I served upon seas,  
And for to tell the cause and how it fell,  
It did one day the Prince (my chieftain) please,  
To ask me thus: Gascoigne (quoth he) you devil  
Among us still: and thereby seemeth well,  
That to our side you bear a faithful heart,  
For else long since we should have seen you start.   

135  
But are (said he) your Soldiers by your side?  
O Prince (quoth I) full many days be past,  
Since that my charge did with my Cronall glide:  
Yet bide I here, and mean to be with last:  
And for full proof that this is not a blast  
Of glorious talk: I crave some fisher boat,  
To show my force among this furious float.   

136  
The Prince 'gan like my faith and forward will,  

(c) Rigged up and fully furnished.  Equyppt a Hoy and set her under sail,  
Wherein I served according to my skill,  
My mind was such, my cunning could not quail,  
Withouten brag of those that did assail  
The foeman's fleet which came in good array,  
I put myself in foremost rank always.   

137  
Three days we fought, as long as water served,  
And came to anchor neyghbourlike yféere,  
The Prince himself to see who best deserved,  
Stood every day attending on the peer,  
And might behold what bark went foremost there:  
Ill heart had he that would not stoutly fight,  
When as his Prince is present still in sight.   

138  
At last our foes had tidings over land,  
That near to 
(d) a Town.  Bergh their fellows went to wrack,  
On 
(e) a River.  Scheld they met by Rymerswaell a band  
Of 
(f) Lusty gallants.  Edell bloets, who put their force aback,  

(g) The admiral of flushing.  Lewes de Boyzett did put them there to sack,  
And lost an eye, because he would resemble  

(h) julian de Romero.  Dan Julian, whom (there) he made to tremble.   

139  
When this was known 
(i) The castellane of Anwerp.  Sancio de Auila,  
Who had the charge of those that fought with us,  
Went up the 
(k) A River.  Hont and took the ready way,  
To Antwerp town: leaving in danger thus,  
Poor Myddelburgh which now waxed dolorous,  
To see all hope of succour shrink away,  
While they lacked bread and had done many a day.   

140  
And when Mountdragon might no more endure,  
He came to talk and rendered all at last,  
With whom I was within the City sure,  
Before he went, and on his promiss past,  
Such trust I had to think his faith was fast:  
I dined, and supped, and lay within the town,  
A day before he was from thence ybowne.   

141  
Thus Middleburgh, Armew, and all the rest,  
Of Walkers isle become the Princes pray,  
Who gave to me because I was so priest,  
At such a pinch, and on a dismal day,  
Three hundredth gilderns good above my pay.  
And bade me bide till his ability,  
Might better guerdon my fidelity.   

142  
I will not lie, these Gilderns pleased me well,  
And much the more because they came uncraved,  
Though not unnéeded as my fortune fell,  
But yet thereby my credit still was saved,  
My scores were paid, and with the best I braved,  
Till (lo) at last, an English new relief,  
Came over seas, and Chester was their chief.   

143  
Of these the Prince persuaded me to take,  
A band in charge with Colonels consent,  
At whose requests I there did undertake,  
To make mine ensign once again full bend,  
And sooth to say, it was my full intent,  
To lose the saddle or the horse to win,  
Such hapless hope the Prince had brought me in.   

144  
Soldiers behold and Captains mark it well,  

Hope is the herbenger of mishap.  How hope is harbinger of all mishap,  
Some hope in honour for to bear the bell.  
Some hope for gain and venture many a clap,  
Some hope for trust and light in treasons lap.  
Hope leads the way our lodging to prepare,  
Where high mishap (oft) keeps an Inn of care.   

145  
I hoapt to show such force against our foes,  
That those of Delf might see how true I was,  
I hoped in deed for to be one of those  
Whom fame should follow, where my feet should pass,  
I hoapt for gains and found great loss alas:  
I hoapt to win a worthy Soldiers name,  
And light on luck which brought me still to blame.   

146  
In Valkenburgh (a fort but new begun)  
With others more I was ordained to be,  
And far before the work were half way done,  
Our foes set forth our sorry seat to see,  
They came in time, but cursed time for me,  
They came before the courtine raised were,  
One only foot above the trenches there.   

147  
What should we do, four ensigns lately priest,  
Five hundredth men were all the bulk we bore,  
Our enemies three thousand at the lest,  
And somuch more they might always prepare:  
But that most was, the truth for to declare,  
We had no store of powder, nor of pence,  
Nor meat to eat, nor mean to make defence.   

148  
Here some may say that we were much to blame,  
Which would presume in such a place to bide,  
And not foresee (how ever went the game)  
Of meat and shot our soldiers to provide:  
Who so do say have reason on their side,  
Yet proves it still (though ours may be the blot)  
That war seems sweet to such as know it not.   

149  
For had our fort been fully fortified,  
Two thousand men had been but few enough,  
To man it once, and had the truth been tried,  
We could not see by any reason how,  
The Prince could sand us any succour now,  
Which was constreynd in towns himself to shield,  
And had no power to show his force in field.   

150  
Herewith we had nor powder packed in store,  
Nor flesh, nor fish, in powdering tub yput,  
Nor meal, nor malt, nor mean (what would you more?)  
To get such gear if once we should be shut.  
And God he knows, the English Soldiers gut,  
Must have his fill of victuals once a day,  
Or else he will but homely earn his pay.   

151  
To excuse ourselves, and Colonel withal,  
We did foretell the Prince of all these needs,  
Who promised always to be our wall,  
And bad us trust as truly as our creeds,  
That all good words should be performed with deeds,  
And that before our foes could come so near,  
He would both sand us men and merry cheer.   

152  
Yea Robin Hood, our foes came down apace,  
And first they charged another Fort likewise,  
Alphen I mean, which was a stronger place,  
And yet to weak to keep in warlike wise:  
Five other bands of English 
* footmen.  Fanteries,  
Were therein set for to defend the same,  
And them they charged for to begin the game.   

153  
This Fort fro ours was distant ten good miles,  
I mean such miles as English measure makes,  
Between us both stood Leyden town therewhiles,  
Which every day with fair words undertakes,  
To feed us fat and cram us up with cakes:  
It made us hope it would supply our need,  
For we (to it) two Bulwarks were in deed.   

154  
But when it came unto the very pinch,  
Leyden farewell, we might for Leyden starve,  
I like him well that promiseth an inch,  
And pays an ell, but what may he deserve  
That flatters much and can no faith observe?  
And old said saw, that fair words make fools feign, 
☜   
Which proverb true we proved to our pain.   

155  
A conference among ourselves we called,  
Of Officers and Captains all yféere,  
For truth (to tell) the Soldiers were apald,  
And when we asked, now mates what merry cheer?  
Their answer was: it is no biding here.  
So that perforce we must from thence be gone,  
Unless we meant to keep the place alone.   

156  
Herewith we thought that if in time we went,  
Before all straits were stopped and taken up,  
We might (perhaps) our enemies prevent,  
And teach them eke to taste of sorrows cup:  
At Maesland Sluyse, we hoped for to sup,  
A place whereas we might good service do,  
To keep them out which took it after too.   

157  
While thus we talk, a messenger behold,  
From Alphen came, and told us heavy news,  
Captains (quoth he) hereof you may be bold,  
Not one poor soul of all your fellows crews,  
Can scape alive, they have no choice to choose:  
They sent me thus to bid you shift in time,  
Else look (like them) to stick in Spanish lime.   

158  
This tale once told, none other speech prevailed,  
But pack and trudge, all leisure was to long,  
To mend the mart, our watch (which never failed)  
Descried our foes which marched all along,  
And towards us began in haste to throng,  
So that before our last could pass the port,  
The foremost foes were now within the Fort.   

159  
I promised once and did perform it too,  
To bide therein as long as any would,  
What booted that? or what could Captains do,  
When common sort would tarry for no gold?  
To speak a troth, the good did what they could,  
To keep the bad in ranks and good array,  
But labour lost to hold that will away.   

160  
It peerless were to tell what deeds were done,  
Nor who did best, nor who did worst that day,  
Nor who made head, nor who began to run,  
Nor in retreat what chief was last always,  
But Soldier like we held our enemies play:  
And every Captain strove to do his best,  
To stay his own and so to stay the rest.   

161  
In this retire three English miles we trod,  
With face to foes and shot as thick as hail,  
Of whose choice men full fifty souls and odd,  
We laid on ground, this is withouten fail,  
Yet of our own, we lost but three by tale:  
Our foes themselves confessed they bought full dear,  
The hot pursuit which they attempted there.   

162  
Thus came we late at last to Leyden walls,  
Too late, too soon, and so may we well say,  
For notwithstanding all our cries and calls,  
They shut their gates and turned their ears away:  
In fine they did forsake us every way,  
And bad us shift to save ourselves apace,  
For unto them were fond to trust for grace.   

163  
They neither gave us meat to feed upon,  
Nor drink, nor powder, pickax, tool nor spade,  
So might we starve, like miser's woe begun,  
And fend our foes, with blows of English blade,  
For shot was shrunk, and shift could none be made:  
Yea more than this, we stood in open field,  
Without defence from shot ourselves to shield.   

164  
This thus well weighed, when weary night was past,  
And day 'gan peep, we heard the Spanish drums,  
Which struck a march about us round to cast,  
And forth withal their Ensigns quickly comes,  
At sight whereof, our Soldiers bit their thommes:  
For well they wilt it was no boot to fly,  
And biding there, there was no boot but die.   

165  
So that we sent a drum to summon talk,  
And came to Parley middle way between,  
Monsieur de Licques, and Mario did walk,  
From foeman's side, and from our side were seen,  
Myself, that match for Mario might been:  
And Captain Sheffeld borne of noble race,  
To match the Licques, which there was chief in place.   

166  
Thus met we talked, and stood upon our toes,  
With great demands whom little might content,  
We craved not only freedom from our foes,  
But shipping eke with sails and all full bent,  
To come again from whence we first were went:  
I mean to come, into our English coast,  
Which soil was sure, and might content us most.   

167  
An old said saw, (and oft seen) that whereas,  
Thou comste to crave, and doubtst for to obtain,  
Iniquum pete (then) ut aequum feras,  
This had I heard, and sure I was full fain,  
To prove what profit we thereby might gain:  
But at the last when time was stolen away,  
We were full glad to play another play.   

168  
We rendered then with safety for our lives,  
Our Ensigns splayed, and manyging our arms,  
With further faith, that from all kind of gives,  
Our soldiers should remain withouten harms:  
And sooth to say, these were no false alarms,  
For why? they were within twelve days discharged,  
And sent away from prison quite enlarged.   

169  
They were sent home, and we remained still,  
In prison penned, but yet right gently used,  
To take our lives, it was not Licques will,  
(That noble blood, which never man abused,)  
Nor ever yet was for his faith accused,  
Would God I had the skill to writ his praise,  
Which lent me comfort in my doleful days.   

170  
We bode behind, four months or little less,  
But whereupon that God he knows not I,  
Yet if I might be bold to give a guess,  
Then would I say it was for to espy,  
What ransom we would pay contentedly:  
Or else to know how much we were esteemed,  
In England here, and for what men ydéemde.   

171  
How so it were, at last we were dispatched,  
And home we came as children come from school,  
As glad, as fish which were but lately catched,  
And strait again were cast into the pool:  
For by my faith I count him but a fool,  
Which would not rather poorly live at large,  
Than rest in prison fed with costly charge.   

172  
Now have I told a tedious tale in rhyme,  
Of my mishaps, and what ill luck I had,  
Yet some may say, that all to loud I chime,  
Since that in wars my fortune was not bad,  
And many a man in prison would be glad,  
To far no worse, and lodge no worse than we,  
And eke at last to scape and go so free.   

173  
I must confess that both we were well used,  
And promise' kept according to contract,  
And that nor we, nor Soldiers were abused,  
No rigour showed, nor lovely dealing lacked:  
I must confess that we were never racked,  
Nor forced to do, nor speak against our will,  
And yet I count it froward fortune still.   

174  
A truth it is (since wars are led by chance,  
And none so stout but that sometimes may fall,)  
Not man on earth his honour might advance,  
To tender better (if he once were thrall)  
Why who could wish more comfort at his call,  
Than for to yield with ensign full displayed,  
And all arms borne in warlike wise for aid?   

175  
Or who could wish dispatch with greater speed,  
Than soldiers had which tarried so few days?  
Or who could wish, more succour at his need,  
Than used was to them at all assays?  
Bread, meat, and drink, yea wagons in their ways,  
To ease the sick and hurt which could not go,  
All ta'en in wars, are seldom used so.   

176  
Or who could wish (to ease his captive days)  
Moore liberty than on his faith to rest?  
To eat and drink at Baron's board always,  
To lie on down, to banquet with the best,  
To have all things, at every just request,  
To borrow coin, when any seemed to lack,  
To have his own, away with him to pack?   

177  
All this and more I must confess we had,  
God save (say I) our noble Queen therefore,  
Hinc illae lachrimae, there lay the pad,  
Which made the straw suspected be the more,  
For trust me true, they coveted full sore,  
To keep our Queen and country fast their friends,  
Till all their wars might grow to lucky ends.   

178  
But were that once to happy end ybrought,  
And all stray sheep come home again to fold,  

☞  Then look to door: and think the cat is naught,  
Although she let the mouse from out her hold:  
Believe me now, me thinks I dare be bold,  
To think that if they once were friends again,  
We might soon cell, all friendship found in Spain.   

179  
Well these are words and far beyond my reach,  
Yet by the way receive them well in worth,  
And by the way, let never Licques appeach  
My railing pen, for though my mind abhorrth,  
All Spanish pranks: yet must I thunder forth  
His worthy praise, who held his faith unstained,  
And evermore to us a friend remained.   

180  
Why said I then, that war is full of woes?  
Or sour of taste, to them that know it best?  
Who so demands, I will my mind disclose,  
And then judge you the burdens of my breast:  
Mark well my words and you shall find him blest,  
That meddleth least with wars in any wise,  
But quiet lives, and all debate defies.   

181  
For though we did with truth and honour yield,  
Yet yielding is always a great disgrace,  
And though we made a brave retire in field,  
Yet who retires, doth always yield his place:  
And though we never did ourselves embase,  
But were always at Baron's table fed,  
Yet better were at home with Barley bread.   

182  
I leave to tell what loss we did sustain,  
In pens, in pay, in wares, and ready wealth,  
Since all such trash may gotten be again,  
Or wasted well at home by privy stealth:  
Small loss hath he which all his living selth,  
To save his life, when other help is none,  
Cast up the saddle when the horse is gone.   

183  
But what I said, I say and swear again,  
For first we were in Holland sore suspect,  
The states did think, that with some filthy gain  
The Spanish peers us Captains had infect,  
They thought we meant our ensigns to erect  
In King's behalf: and eke the common sort,  
Thought privy pay had made us leave our fort.   

184  
Again, the King's men (only Licques except,  
And good 
* A colonel of the king's side.  Verdugo) thought we were too well,  
And that we were but played with in respect,  
When as their men in great distress did devil:  
So that with hate their burning hearts did swell,  
And bad hung up or drown us everichone,  
These bones we had always to bite upon.   

185  
This sauce we had unto our costly fare,  
And every day we threatened were in deed,  
So that on both sides we must bide the care,  
And be mistrust of every wicked deed,  
And be reviled, and must ourselves yet feed  
With lingering Hope, to get away at last,  
That self same Hope which tied us there so fast.   

186  
To make up all, our own men played their part,  
And rang a peal to make us more mistrust,  
For when they should away from us depart,  
And saw us hide, they thought we stayed for lust,  
And sent them so in secret to be trust:  
They thought and said, thus have our Captains sold  
Us silly souls, for groats and glistering gold.   

187  
Yea, when they were to England safely brought,  
Yet talkte they still even as they did before:  
For slanderous tongues, if once they tattle aught,  
With mickell pain will change their wicked lore:  
It hath been proved full many days of yore,  
That he which once in slander takes delight,  
Will seldom frame his words to sound aright.   

188  
Strange tale to tell, we that had set them free,  
And set ourselves on sands for their expense,  
We that remained in danger of the tree,  
When they were safe, we that were their defence,  
With arms, with cost, with deeds, with eloquence:  
We that saved such, as knew not where to fly,  
Were now by them accused of treachery.   

189  
These fruits (I say) in wicked wars I found,  
Which make me write much more than else I would,  
For loss of life, or dread of deadly wound,  
Shall never make me blame it though I could,  
Since death doth devil on every kind of mould:  
And who in war hath caught a fatal clap,  
Might chance at home to have no better hap.   

190  
So loss of goods shall never trouble me,  
Since God which gives can take when pleaseth him,  
But loss of fame or slandered so to be,  
That makes my wits to break above their brim,  
And frets my heart, and lames me every limb:  
For Noble minds their honour more esteem,  
Than worldly wights, or wealth, or life can deem.   

191  
And yet in wars, such graffs of grudge do grow,  
Such lewdness lurks, such malice makes mischief,  
Such envy boils, such falsehood fire doth blow,  
That Bounty burns, and truth is called thief, 
☜   
And good deserts are brought into such brief,  
That Saunder snuff which swears the matter out,  
Brings oftentimes the noblest names in doubt.   

192  
Then whether I be one of Haughty heart,  
Or Greedy mind, or Miser in decay,  
I said and say that for mine own poor part,  
I may confess that Bellum every way,  
Is Sweet: but how? (bear well my words away)  
Forsooth, to such as never did it try,  
This is my Theme I cannot change it I   

Peroratio.  

193  
O noble Queen, whose high foresight provides,  
That wast of war, your realms doth not destroy,  
But pleasant peace, and quiet concord glides,  
In every coast, to drive out dark annoy,  
O virtuous dame, I say Pardonez moy,  
That I presume in worthless verse to warn,  
th'ambitious Prince, 
Prince.  his duties to discern.   

194  
Your skilful mind (O Queen without compare)  
Can soon conceive that cause constrains me so,  
Since wicked wars have bred such cruel care,  
In Flaunders, France, in Spain and many more,  
Which reap thereby none other worth but woe:  
While you (mean while) enjoy the fruits of peace,  
Still praising God, whose bounties never cease.   

195  
If you (my liege) vouchsafe in gracious wise,  
To pardon that which passeth from my Muse,  
Then care I not what other king's devise,  
In wars defence: nor though they me accuse,  
And say that I their bloody deeds abuse:  
Your only grace my sovereign Lady be,  
Let other Kings think what they list of me.   

196  
And you my Lords to whom I duties own,  
And bear such love as best becometh me,  

Nobility.  First Earl of Bedford, whom I right well know,  
To honour arms: and worthy Warwyke he,  
In whose good grace I covet sore to be:  
Then Leyster next, (Sussex not set behind)  
And worthy Essex men of noble mind.   

197  
Young Oxenford as toward as the best,  
Northumberland, and Ormount worthy praise,  
Lyncolne, Kildare, and Worster with the rest  
Of noble Earls, which hold your happy days  
In high renown, as men of war always:  
With others more to many to recite,  
Vouchsafe my Lords to pardon that I writ.   

198  
Of Wilton Grey (to whom these rhymes I wrote)  
With all the Barons hold of English soil,  
I humbly crave that it may be forgot,  
Although my Muse have seemed to keep a coil  
With mighty men which put the weak to foil:  
I meant not you since, by your deeds appears,  
You rule with right, like wise and worthy pears.   

199  

Prelacy.  Right reverend, of Canterbury chief,  
London, and Lincoln, Bishops by your name,  
Good Drove of Pawles (which lend a great relief,  
To naked need) and all the rest of fame,  
In pastors place: with whom I were too blame,  
If Nevynsone my master were not placed,  
Since by his help I learning first embraced.   

200  
Bear with my verse, and think I meant not you,  
Whereas I spoke of pride in Prelacy,  
But let it bide even there where first it grew,  
Till God vouchsafe to quench hypocrisy,  
Which by pretence to punish heresy,  
Doth conquer realms, and common concords break,  
You know my mind, I need no plainer speak.   

201  
You gems of justice, chief of either bench,  
And he that keeps her majesties great seal,  
Good queens attorney, he whose pities quench 
Lawyers.   
(I say sometimes) the rigour of his zeal,  
When misery, to mercy must appeal,  
And Sergeant Lovelace, many ways my friend,  
As I have found (yet let me there not end,)   

203  
But hold my tale to Rugge and all the rest  
Of good Gray's Inn, where honest Yeluerton,  
And I Per se sometimes yféere did rest,  
When amity first in our breasts begun,  
Which shall endure as long as any Sun  
May shine on earth, or water swim in Seas,  
Let not my verse your lawlike minds displease,   

203  
For well wots you. our master Christ himself,  
Which had but twelve Apostles in his train,  
Had judas yet, which sold for worldly pelf  
Our Saviour: this text is true and plain:  
And where so many Lawyers do remain,  
There may be some although that you be none,  
Which breed debate and love to cast a bone.   

204  
In Chancery I need no man suspect,  
Since conscience, in that court beareth sway,  
Yet in the same I may no ways neglect,  
Nor worthy Poll, nor Cordell by the way,  
Of whom that one, is of my keep the key,  
That other once did lend me such advise,  
As was both sound and good, had I been wise.   

205  
He told me once, (I bear it well in mind,  
And shall it nay forget whiles life doth last)  
That hard it is a noble name to find,  
In such attempts as then in service past:  
Believe me now I found his words no blast,  
Wherefore I pray both him and his compéere,  
To bear with that which I have written here.   

206  
And as for Merchants, though I find the most  
Hard hearted men and counting cunningly,  
Yet Albany shall think I do not boast  

merchants.  In railing wise: for sure his courtesy,  
Constreynes me now to praise him worthily.  
And gentle Row with Luntley make me say,  
That many merchants bear even what they may.   

207  
But to conclude, I mean no more but thus,  
In all estates some one may tread awry,  
And he that list my verses to discuss,  
Shall see I meant no more, but modestly  
To warn the wise, that they such faults do fly  
As put down peace by covin or debate,  
Since war and strife bring woe to every state.   
FINIS.   

L'enuoié.  
GO little Book, God grant thou none offend,  
For so meant he which sought to set thee forth,  
And when thou comest where Soldiers seem to wend,  
Submit thyself as writ but little worth:  
Confess withal, that thou hast been too bold,  
To speak so plain of Haughty hearts in place,  
And say that he which wrote thee could have told  
Full many a tale, of bloods that were not base:  
He could have writ Dan Dudleyes' noble deeds,  
Whose like hath since been hard on earth to find,  
Although his Virtue shows itself in Seeds,  
Which freade his tracks, and come not far behind.  
He might have sung of Grey the worthy praise,  
Whose offspring holds the honour of his sire:  
He could declare what Wallop was always,  
What Awdelie seemed, what Randell did require.  
He could say what deserts in Drewrie be,  
In read, in Bryckwell, and a meany more:  
But bashfulness did make him blush, lest he  
Should but eclipse their fames by singing so.  
Sufficeth this, that still he honours those  
Which wade in wars to get a worthy name,  
And lest esteems the greedy snudge, which goes  
To gain good gold, without respect of fame.  
And for the third sort, those that in distress  
Do drive their days, till drums do draw them out,  
He coumpts himself to be nor more nor less,  
But even the same: for sure withouten doubt,  
If drums once sound a lusty march in deed,  
Then farewell books, for he will trudge with speed.   
FINIS.  Tam Marti quàm Mercurio. 
Corected, perfected, and finished.   

WHo soever is desirous to read this proposition more at large and cunningly handled, let him but peruse the Proverb or adage itself in the first Centurion of the fourth Chyllyade of that famous Clerk Erasmus Roterodamus: the which is there also Entitled: Dulce bellum inexpertis.   

❧ HERBS.  Tam Marti quàm Mercurio. 
¶ In this division are contained: 

The Comedy called Supposes. Folio. 1.  
The Tragedy called jocasta. Fol. 73  
The fruit of Reconciliation. 129  
The force of true Friendship. 131  
The force of Love in Strangers. 132  
The praise of brown beauty. 134  
The Partridge and the Merlin. 135  
The virtue of Ver. 136  
The complaint of a Dame in absence. 138  
The praise of a Countess. 139  
The affection of a lover. 140  
The complaint of a Dame suspected. 141  
A Riddle. 143  
The shield of love. 144  
The gloze upon Dominus ijs opus habet. 145  
Gascoignes counsel to Dive. Fol. 148  
Gascoignes counsel to Wythipole. 151  
Gascoygnes woodmanship. Fol. 156  
Gascoigns gardenings. 160  
Gascoigns journey into Holland. 163     

SUPPOSES: A Comedy written in the Italian tongue by Ariosto, Englished by George Gascoigne of Gray's Inn Esquire, and there presented. 1566.  

The names of the Actors.  
BAlia, the Nurse.  
Polinesta, the young woman.  
Cleander, the Doctor, suitor to Polinesta.  
Pasyphilo, the Parasite.  
Carion, the Doctors man.  
Dulypo, feigned servant and lover of Polinesta.  
Erostrato, feigned master and suitor to Polinesta.  
Dalio & Crapyno servants to feigned Erostrato.  
Siennese, a gentleman stranger.  
Paquetto & Petrucio his servants.  
Damon, father to Polinesta.  
Nevola, and two other his servants.  
Psyteria, an olda hag in his house.  
Phylogano, a Sicilian gentleman, father to Erostrato.  
Lytio, his servant.  
Ferrarese, an Innkeeper of Ferrara.   
The Comedy presented as it were in Ferrara.   

The Prologue or argument.  
I Suppose you are assembled here, supposing to reap the fruit of my travails: and to be plain, I mean presently to present you with a Comedy called Supposes: the very name whereof may peradventure drive into every of your heads a sundry Suppose, to suppose, the meaning of our supposes. Some percase will suppose we mean to occupy your ears with sophistical handling of subtle Suppositions. Some other will suppose we go about to decipher unto you some quaint conceits, which hitherto have been only supposed as it were in shadows: and some I see smile as though they supposed we would trouble you with the vain suppose of some wanton Suppose. But understand, this our Suppose is nothing else but a mistaking or imagination of one thing for an other. For you shall see the master supposed for the servant, the servant for the master: the freeman for a slave, and the bondslave for a freeman: the stranger for a well known friend, and the familiar for a stranger. But what? I suppose that even already you suppose me very fond, that have so simply disclosed unto you the subtleties of these our Supposes: where otherwise in deed I suppose you should have heard almost the last of our Supposes, before you could have supposed any of them aright. Let this then suffice.   

Supposes.  

Actus primus.  

Scena. 1.  BALIA, the Nurse. POLYNESTA, the young woman. 
HEre is no body, come forth Polinesta, let us look about, to be sure lest any man hear our talk: for I think within the house the tables, the planks, the beds, the portals, yea and the cupboards themselves have ears.  Pol. 
You might as well have said, the windows and the doors: do you not see how they hearken?  Ba. 
Well you jest fair, but I would advise you take heed, I have bidden you a thousand times beware: you will be spied one day talking with Dulipo.  Po. 
And why should I not talk with Dulipo, as well as with any other, I pray you?  Ba. 
I have given you a wherefore for this why many times: but go too, follow your own advise till you overwhelm us all with sudden mishap.  Po. 
A great mishap I promise' you: marry God's blessing on their heart that set such a brooch on my cap.  Ba. 
Well, look well about you: a man would think it were enough for you secretly to rejoice, that by my help you have passed so many pleasant nights together: and yet by my troth I do it more than half against my will, for I would rather you had settled your fancy in some noble family yea and it is no small grief unto me, that (rejecting the suits of so many nobles and gentlemen) you have chosen for your darling a poor servant of your fathers, by whom shame and infamy is the best dower you can look for to attain.  Po. 
And I pray you whom may I thank but gentle nurse? that continually praising him, what for his parsonage, his courtesy, and above all, the extreme passions of his mind, in fine you would never cease till I accepted him, delighted in him, and at length desired him with no less affection, than he erst desired me.  Ba. 
I can not deny, but at the beginning I did recommend him unto you (as in deed I may say that for myself I have a pitiful heart) seeing the depth of his unbridled affection, and that continually he never ceased to fill mine ears with lamentable complaints.  Po. 
Nay rather that he filled your purse with bribes and rewards, Nurse.  Ba. 
Well you may judge of Nurse as you list. In deed I have thought it always a deed of charity to help the miserable young men, whose tender youth consumeth with the furious flames of love. But be you sure if I had thought you would have passed to the terms you now stand in, pity nor pension, penny nor pater noster should ever have made Nurse once to open her mouth in the cause.  Po. 
Not of honesty, I pray you, who first brought him into my chamber? who first taught him the way to my bed but you? fie nurse fie, never speak of it for shame, you will make me tell a wise tale anon.  Ba. 
And have I these thanks for my good will? why than I see well I shall be counted the cause of all mishap.  Po. 
Nay rather the author of my good hap (gentle Nurse) for I would thou knewest I love not Dulipo, nor any of so mean estate, but have bestowed my love more worthily than thou deemest: but I will say no more at this time.  Ba. 
Then I am glad you have changed your mind yet.  Po. 
Nay I neither have changed, nor will change it.  Ba. 
Then I understand you not, how said you?  Po. 
Marry I say that I love not Dulipo, nor any such as he, and yet I neither have changed nor will change my mind.  Ba. 
I can not tell, you love to lie with Dulipo very well: this gear is Greek to me: either it hangs not well together, or I am very dull of understanding: speak plain I pray you.  Po. 
I can speak no plainer, I have sworn to the contrary.  Ba. 
How? make you so dainty to tell it Nurse, lest she should reveal it? you have trusted me as far as may be, (I may show to you) in things that touch your honour if they were known: and make you strange to tell me this? I am sure it is but a trifle in comparison of those things whereof heretofore you have made me privy.  Po. 
Well, it is of greater importance than you think Nurse: yet would I tell it you under condition and promise that you shall not tell it again, nor give any sign or token to be suspected that you know it.  Ba. 
I promise' you of my honesty, say on.  Po. 
Well hear you me then: this young man whom you have always taken for Dulipo, is a noble borne Sicilian, his right name Erostrato, son to Philogano, one of the worthiest men in that country.  Ba. 
How Erostrato? is it not our neighbour, which?  Po. 
Hold thy talking nurse, and hearken to me, that I may explain the whole case unto thee. The man whom to this day you have supposed to be Dulipo, 
The first suppose & ground of all the suposes  is (as I say) Erostrato, a gentleman that came from Sicilia to study in this City, & even at his first arrival met me in the street, fell enamoured of me, & of such vehement force were the passions he suffered, that immediately he cast aside both long gown and books, & determined on me only to apply his study. And to the end he might the more commodiously both see me and talk with me, he exchanged both name, habit, clotheses and credit with his servant Dulipo (whom only he brought with him out of Sicilia) and so with the turning of a hand, of Erostrato a gentleman, he become Dulipo a serving man, and soon after sought service of my father, and obtained it.  Ba. 
Are you sure of this?  Po. 
Yea out of doubt: on the other side Dulipo took upon him the name of Erostrato his master, the habit, the credit, books, and all things needful to a studente, and in short space profited very much, and is now esteemed as you see.  Ba. 
Are there no other Sicilians here: nor none that pass this way, which may discover them?  Po. 
Very few that pass this way, and few or none that tarry here any time.  Ba. 
This hath been a strange adventure: but I pray you how hung these things together? that the studente whom you say to be the servant, and not the master, is become an earnest suitor to you, and requireth you of your father in marriage?  Po. 
That is a policy devised between them, to put Doctor Dotipole out of conceit: the old dotard, he that so instantly doth lie upon my father for me. But look where he comes, as God help me it is he, out upon him, what a lusty younker is this? yet I had rather be a Noon a thousand times, than be cumbered with such a Coistrel.  Ba. 
Daughter you have reason, but let us go in before he come any nearer.  Polinesta goeth in, and Balya stayeth a little while after, speaking a word or two to the doctor, and then departeth.  

Scena. 2.  CLEANDER, Doctor. PASIPHILO, Parasite. BALYA, nurse. 
WEre these dames here, or did mine eyes dazzle?  Pa. 
Nay sir here were Polinesta and her nurse.  Cle. 
Was my Polinesta here? alas I knew her not.  Ba. 
He must have better eyesight that should marry your Polinesta, or else he may chance to oversee the best point in his tables sometimes.  Pa. 
Sir it is no marvel, the air is very misty too day: I myself knew her better by her apparel than by her face.  Cle. 
In good faith and I thank God I have mine eye sight good and perfect, little worse than when I was but twenty years old.  Pa. 
How can it be otherwise? you are but young.  Cle. 
I am fifty years old.  Pa. 
He tells ten less than he is.  Cle. 
What sayst thou of ten less?  Pa. 
I say I would have thought you ten less, you look like one of six and thirty, or seven and thirty at the most.  Cle. 
I am no less than I tell.  Pa. 
You are like enough too live fifty more: show me your hand.  Cle. 
Why is Pasiphilo a Chiromancer?  Pa. 
What is not Pasiphilo? I pray you show me it a little.  Cle 
Here it is.  Pa. 
O how strait and infract is this line of life? you will live to the years of Melchisedech.  Cle. 
Thou wouldst say, Methusalem.  Pa. 
Why is it not all one?  Cle. 
I perceive you are no very good Bibler Pasiphilo.  Pa. 
Yes sir an excellent good Bibbeler, specially in a bottle: O what a mount of Venus here is? but this light serveth not very well, I will behold it an other day, when the air is clearer, and tell you somewhat, peradventure to your contentation.  Cle. 
You shall do me great pleasure: but tell me, I pray thee Pasiphilo, whom dost thou think Polinesta liketh better, Erostrato or me?  Pa. 
Why? you out of doubt: She is a gentlewoman of a noble mind, and maketh greater account of the reputation she shall have in marrying your worship, than that poor scholar, whose birth and parentage God knoweth, and very few else.  Cle. 
Yet he taketh it upon him bravely in this country.  Pa. 
Yea, where no man knoweth the contrary: but let him brave it, boast his birth, and do what he can, the virtue and knowledge that is within this body of yours, is worth more than all the country he came from.  Cle. 
It becometh not a man to praise himself: but in deed I may say, (and say truly,) that my knowledge hath stood me in better stead at a pinch, than could all the goods in the world. I came out of Otranto when the Turks won it, and first I came to Milan, after hither, where by reading, counseling, and pleading, within twenty years. I have gathered and gained as good as ten thousand Ducats.  Pa. 
Yea marry, this is the right knowledge: Philosophy, Poetry, Logic, and all the rest, are but pickling sciences in comparison to this.  Cle. 
But pickling in deed, whereof we have a verse: The trade of Law doth fill the boisterous bags, They swim in silk, when others roist in rags.  Pa. 
O excellent verse, who made it? Virgil?  Cle. 
Virgil? tush it is written in one of our gloss.  Pa. 
Sure who soever wrote it, the moral is excellent, and worthy to be written in letters of gold. But too the purpose: I think you shall never recover the wealth that you lost at Otranto.  Cle. 

An other suppose.  I think I have doubled it, or rather made it four times as much: but in deed, I lost mine only son there, a child of five years old.  Pa. 
O great pity.  Cle. 
Yea, I had rather have lost all the goods in the world.  Pa. 
Alas, alas: by God and grafts of such a stock are very gaysome in these days.  Cle. 
I know not whether he were slain, or the Turks took him and kept him as a bond slave.  Pa. 
Alas, I could weep for compassion, but there is no remedy but patience, you shall get many by this young damsel with the grace of God.  Cle. 
Yea, if I get her.  Pa. 
Get her? why doubt you of that?  Cle. 
Why? her father holds me off with delays, so that I must needs doubt.  Pa. 
Content yourself sir, he is a wise man, and desirous to place his Daughter well: he will not be too rash in his determination, he will think well of the matter: and let him think, for the longer he thinketh, the more good of you shall he think: whose wealth? whose virtue? whose skill? or whose estimation can he compare to yours in this City?  Cle. 
And hast thou not told him that I would make his Daughter a dower of two thousand Ducats?  Pa. 
Why, even now, I came but fr●m thence since.  Cle. 
What said he?  Pa. 
Nothing, but that Erostrato had proffered the like.  Cle. 
Erostrato? how can he make any dower, and his father yet alive?  Pa. 
Think you I did not tell him so? yes I warrant you, I forgot nothing that may further your cause: & doubt you not, Erostrato shall never have her unless it be in a dream.  Cle. 
Well gentle Pasiphilo, go thy ways and tell Damon I require nothing but his daughter: I will none of his goods: I shall enrich her of mine own: & if this dower of two thousand Ducats seem not sufficient, I will make it five hundredth more, yea a thousand, or what so ever he will demand rather than fail: go to Pasiphilo, show thyself friendly in working this feat for me: spare for no cost, since I have gone thus far, I willbe loath to be out bidden. Go.  Pa. 
Where shall I come to you again?  Cle. 
At my house.  Pa. 
When?  Cle. 
When thou wilt.  Pa. 
Shall I come at dinner time?  Cle. 
I would bid thee to dinner, but it is a Saints even which I have ever fasted.  Pa. 
Fast till thou famish.  Cle. 
Hark.  Pa. 
He speaketh of a dead man's fast.  Cle. 
Thou hearest me not.  Pa. 
Nor thou understandest me not.  Cle. 
I dare say thou art angry I bid the not to dinner: but come if thou wilt, thou shalt take such as thou findest.  Pa. 
What? think you I know not where to dine?  Cle. 
Yes Pasiphilo thou art not to seek.  Pa. 
Not be you sure, there are enough will pray me.  Cle. 
That I know well enough Pasiphilo, but thou canst not be better welcome in any place than to me, I will tarry for thee.  Pa. 
Well, since you will needs, I will come.  Cle. 
Dispatch then, and bring no news but good.  Pa. 
Better than my reward by the rood.  Cleander exit, Pasiphilo restat.  

Scena. iij.  PASIPHILO. DULIPO. 
O Miserable covetous wretch, he findeth an excuse by S. Nicolas fast, because I should not dine with him, as though I should dine at his own dish: he maketh goodly feasts I promise' you, it is no wonder though he think me bound unto him for my fare: for over and beside that his provision is as scant as may be, yet there is great difference between his diet and mine. I never so much as sip of the wine that he tasteth, I feed at the boards end with brown bread: Marry I reach always to his own dish, for there are no more but that only on the table. Yet he thinks that for one such dinner I am bound to do him all the service that I can, and thinks me sufficiently rewarded for all my travel, with one such festival promotion. And yet peradventure some men think I have great gains under him: but I may say and swear, that this dozen year I have not gained so much in value as the points at my hose (which are but three with codpiece point and all): he thinks that I may feed upon his favour and fair words: but if I could not otherwise provide for one, Pasiphilo were in a wise case. Pasiphilo hath more pastures to pass in than one, I warrant you: I am of household with this scholar Erostrato, (his rival) as well as with Domine Cleander: now with the one, and then with the other, according as I see their Caters provide good cheer at the market: and I find the means so to handle the matter, that I am welcome too both. If the one see me talk with the other, I make him believe it is to hearken news in the furtherance of his cause: and thus I become a broker on both sides. Well, let them both apply the matter as well as they can, for in deed I will travel for none of them both: yet will I seem to work wonders on each hand. But is not this one of Damon's servants that cometh forth? it is: of him I shall understand where his master is. Wither goeth this jolly gallant?  Du. 
I come to seek some body that may accompany my Master at dinner, he is alone, and would fain have good company.  Pa. 
Seek no further, you could never have found one better than me.  Du. 
I have no commission to bring so many.  Pa. 
How many? I will come alone.  Du. 
How canst thou come alone, that hast continually a legion of ravening wolves within thee?  Pa. 
Thou dost (as servants commonly do) hate all that love to visit their masters.  Du. 
And why?  Pa. 
Because they have too many teeth as you think.  Du. 
Nay because they have to many tongues.  Pa. 
Tongues? I pray you what did my tongue ever hurt you?  Du. 
I speak but merrily with you Pasiphilo, go in, my master is ready to dine.  Pa. 
What? dineth he so early?  Du. 
He that riseth early, dineth early.  Pa. 
I would I were his man, master doctor never dineth till noon, and how dilicately then God knoweth. I will he bold to go in, for I count myself bidden.  Du. 
You were best so. Pasiphilo intrat. Dul. restat.  
Hard hap had I when I first began this unfortunate enterprise: for I supposed the readiest medicine to my miserable affects had been to change name, clothes, & credit with my servant, & to place myself in Damon's service: thinking that as shivering cold by glowing fire, thirst by drink, hunger by pleasant repasts, and a thousand such like passions find remedy by their contraries, so my rest less desire might have found quiet by continual contemplation. But alas, I found that only love is unsatiable: for as the fly playeth with the flame till at last she is cause of her own decay, so the lover that thinketh with kissing and colling to content his unbridled appetite, is commonly seen the only cause of his own consumption. Two years are now passed since (under the colour of Damon's service) I have been a sworn servant to Cupid: of whom I have received as much favour & grace as ever man found in his service. I have free liberty at all times to behold my desired, to talk with her, to embrace her, yea (be it spoken in secret) to lie with her. I reap the fruits of my desire: yet as my joys abound, even so my pains increase. I far like the covetous man, that having all the world at will, is never yet content: the more I have, the more I desire. Alas, what wretched estate have I brought myself unto, if in the end of all my far fetches, she be given by her father to this old doting doctor, this buzzard, this bribing villain, that by so many means seeketh to obtain her at her father's hands? I know she loveth me best of all others, but what may that prevail when perforce she shallbe constrained to marry another? Alas, the pleasant taste of my sugared joys doth yet remain so perfect in my remembrance, that the lest sop of sorrow seemeth more sour than gall in my mouth. If I had never known delight, with better contentation might I have passed these dreadful dolours. And if this old Mumpsimus (whom the pocks consume) should win her, then may I say, farewell the pleasant talk, the kind embracings, yea farewell the sight of my Polynestat for he like a jealous wretch will pen her up, that I think the birds of the air shall not win the sight of her. I hoped to have cast a block in his way, by the means that my servant (who is supposed to be Erostrato, and with my habit and credit is well esteemed) should proffer himself a suitor, at the lest to countervail the doctor's proffers. But my master knowing the wealth of the one, and doubting the state of the other, is determined to be fed no longer with fair words, but to accept the doctor, (whom he right well knoweth) for his son in law. Well, my servant promised me yesterday to devise yet again some new conspiracy to drive master doctor out of conceit, and to say a snare that the fox himself might be caught in: what it is, I know not, nor I saw him not since he went about it: I will go see if he be within, that at lest if he help me not, be may yet prolong my life for this once. But here cometh his lackey: ho jack pack, where is Erostrato?  Here must Crapine be coming in with a basket and a stick in his hand.  

Scena. iiij.  CRAPINO the Lackey. DULIPO. 
ERostrato? marry he is in his skin.  Du. 
Ah whoreson boy, I say, how shall I find Erostrato?  Cra. 
Find him? how mean you, by the week or by the year?  Du. 
You crack halter, if I catch you by the ears, I shall make you answer me directly.  Cra. 
In deed?  Du. 
Tarry me a little.  Cra. 
In faith sir I have no leisure.  Du. 
Shall we try who can run fastest?  Cra. 
Your legs be longer than mine, you should have given me the advantage.  Du. 
Go to, tell me where is Erostrato?  Cra. 
I left him in the street, where he gave me this Casket, (this basket I would have said) and had me bear it to Dalio, and return to him at the Duke's Palace.  Du. 
If thou see him, tell him I must needs speak with him immediately: or abide awhile, I will go seek him myself, rather than he suspected by going to his house.  Crapino departeth, and Dulipo also: after Dulipo cometh in again seeking Erostrato.  
Finis Actus. 1.   

Actus. ij.  

Scena. j  DULIPO. EROSTRATO. 
I Think if I had as many eyes as Argus, I could not have sought a man more narrowly in every street and every by lane, there are not many Gentlemen, scholars, nor Merchants in the City of Ferara, but I have met with them, except him: peradventure he is come home an other way: but look where he cometh at the last.  Ero. 
In good time have I spied my good master.  Du. 
For the love of God call me Dulipo (not master,) maintain the credit that thou haste hitherto kept, and let me alone.  Ero. 
Yet sir let me sometimes do my duty unto you, especially where no body heareth.  Du. 
Yea, but so long the Parrot useth to cry knap in sport, that at the last she calleth her master knave in earnest: so long you will use to call me master, that at the last we shall be heard. What news?  Ero. 
Good.  Du. 
In deed?  Ero. 
Yea excellent, we have as good as wone the wager.  Du. 
O, how happy were I if this were true?  Ero. 
Hear you me, yesternight in the evening I walked out, and found Pasiphilo, and with small entreating I had him home to supper, where by such means as I used, he become my great friend, and told me the whole order of our adversaries determination: yea and what Damon doth intend to do also, and hath promised me that from time to time, what he can espy he will bring me word of it.  Du. 
I can not tell whether you know him or not, he is not to trust unto, a very flattering and a lying knave.  Ero. 
I know him very well, he can not deceive me: and this that he hath told me I know must needs be true.  Du. 
And what was it in effect?  Ero. 
That Damon had purposed to give his daughter in marriage to this doctor, upon the dower that he hath proffered. 
Another suppose.   Du. 
Are these your good news? your excellent news?  Ero. 
Stay a while, you will understand me before you hear me.  Du. 
Well, say on.  Ero. 
I answered to that, I was ready to make her the like dower.  Du. 
Well said.  Ero. 
Abide, you hear not the worst yet.  Du. 
O God, is there any worse behind?  Ero. 
Worse? why what assurance could you suppose that I might make without some special consent from Philogano my father?  Du. 
Nay you can tell, you are better scholar than I  Ero. 
In deed you have lost your time: for the books that you toss now a days, treat of small science.  Du. 
Leave thy jesting, and proceed.  Ero. 
I said further, that I received letters lately from my father, whereby I understood that he would be here very shortly to perform all that I had proffered: therefore I required him to request Damon on my behalf, that he would stay his promise to the doctor for a fortnight or more.  Du. 
This is somewhat yet, for by this means I shall be sure to linger and live in hope one fortnight longer: but, at the fortnight's end when Philogano cometh not, how shall I then do? yea and though he came, how may I any way hope of his consent, when he shall see, that to follow this amorous enterprise, I have set aside all study, all remembrance of my duty, and all dread of shame. Alas, alas, I may go hung myself.  Ero. 
Comfort yourself man, and trust in me: there is a slave for every sore, and doubt you not, to this mischief we shall find a remedy.  Du. 
O friend revive me, that hitherto since I first attempted this matter have been continually dying.  Ero. 
Well hearken a while then: this morning I took my horse and road into the fields to solace myself, and as I passed the ford beyond S. Anthony's gate, I met at the foot of the hill a gentleman riding with two or three men: and as me thought by his habit and his looks, he should be none of the wisest. He saluted me, and I him: I asked him from whence he came, and whither he would? he answered that he had come from Venice, then from Milan, now was going to Ferrara, and so to his country, which is Sierra: As soon as I knew him to be a Scenese, suddenly lifting up mine eyes, (as it were with an admiration) I said unto him, are you a Scenese, and come to Farrara? why not, said he: quoth I (, half and more with a trembling voice) know you the danger that should ensue if you be known in Ferrara to be a Scenese? he more than half amazed, desired me earnestly to tell him what I meant.  Du. 
I understand not whereto this tendeth.  Ero. 
I believe you: but hearken to me.  Du. 
Go too then.  Ero. 
I answered him in this sort: Gentleman, because I have heretofore found very courteous entertainment in your country, (being a student there,) I account myself as it were bound to a Scenese: and therefore if I knew of any mishap towards any of that country, God forbidden but I should disclose it: and I marvel that you knew not of the injury that your countrymen offered this other day to the Ambassadors of Count Hercules.  Du. 
What tales he telleth me: what appertain these to me?  Ero. 
If you will hearken a while, you shall find them no tales, but that they appertain to you more than you think for.  Du. 
forth.  Ero. 
I told him further, these Ambassadors of Count Hercules had divers Mules, Wagons, and Chariots, laden with divers costly jewels, gorgeous furniture, & other things which they carried as presents, (passing that way) to the king of Naples: the which were not only stayed in Sienna by the officers whom you call Customers, but searched, ransacked, tossed & turned, & in the end exacted for tribute, as if they had been the goods of a mean merchant.  Du. 
Wither the devil will he? is it possible that this gear appertain any thing to my cause? I find neither head nor foot in it.  Ero. 
O how impatient you are: I pray you stay a while.  Du. 
Go to yet a while then.  Ero. 
I proceeded, that upon these causes the Duke sent his Chancellor to declare the case unto the Senate there, of whom he had the most uncourteous answer that ever was heard: whereupon he was so enraged with all of that country, that for revenge he had sworn to spoil as many of them as ever should come to Ferara, and to send them home in their doublet and their hose.  Du. 
And I pray thee how couldst thou upon the sudden devise or imagine such a lie? and to what purpose?  Ero. 
You shall hear by and by a thing as fit for our purpose, as any could have happened.  Du. 
I would fain hear you conclude.  Ero. 
You would fain leap over the style, before you come at the hedge: I would you had heard me, and seen the gestures that I enforced to make him believe this.  Du. 
I believe you, for I know you can counterfeit well.  Ero. 
Further I said, the duke had charged upon great penalties, that the Inholders and victuallers should bring word daily of as many Siennese as came to their houses. The gentleman being (as I guessed at the first) a man of small sapientia, when he heard these news, would have turned his horse an other way.  Du. 
By likelihood he was not very wise when he would believe that of his country, which if it had been true every man must needs have known it.  Ero. 
Why not? when he had not been in his country for a month paste, and I told him this had happened within these seven days.  Du. 
Belike he was of small experience.  Ero. 
I think, of as little as may be: but best of all for our purpose, and good adventure it was, that I met with such an one. Now hearken I pray you.  Du. 
Make an end I pray thee.  Ero. 
He, as I say, when he hard these words, would have turned the bridle: and I feigning a countenance as though I were somewhat pensive and careful for him, paused a while, & after with a great sigh said to him: Gentleman, for the courtesy that (as I said) I have found in your country, & because your affairs shall be the better dispatched, I will find the means to lodge you in my house, and you shall say to every man, that you are a Sicilian of Cathanea, your name Philogano, father to me that am in deed of that country and city, called here Erostrato. And I (to pleasure you) will (during your abode here) do you reverence as you were my father.  Du. 
Out upon me, what a gross headed fool am I? now I perceive whereto this tale tendeth.  Ero. 
Well, and how like you of it?  Du. 
Indifferently, but one thing I doubt.  Ero. 
What is that?  Du. 
Marry, that when he hath been here two or three days, he shall hear of every man that there is no such thing between the Duke and the Town of Sienna.  Ero. 
As for that let me alone, I do entertain and will entertain him so well, that within these two or three days I will disclose unto him all the whole matter, and doubt not but to bring him in for performance of as much as I have promised to Damon: for what hurt can it be to him, when he shall bind a strange name and not his own?  Du. 
What, think you he will be entreated to stand bound for a dower of two thousand Ducats by the year?  Ero. 
Yea why not, (if it were ten thousand) as long as he is not in deed the man that is bound?  Du. 
Well, if it be so, what shall we be the nearer to our purpose?  Ero. 
Why? when we have done as much as we can, how can we do any more?  Du. 
And where have you left him?  Ero. 
At the Inn, because of his horses: he and his men shall lie in my house.  Du. 
Why brought you him not with you?  Ero. 
I thought better to use your advise first.  Du. 
Well, go take him home, make him all the cheer you can, spare for no cost, I will allow it.  Ero. 
Content, look where he cometh.  Du. 
Is this he? go meet him, by my truth he looks even like a good soul, he that fisheth for him, might be sure to catch a cod's head: I will rest here a while to decipher him.  Erostrato espieth the Scenese and goeth towards him: Dulipo standeth aside.  

Scena. ij.  The SCENESE. PAQVETTO & PETRUCIO his servants. EROSTRATO. 
HE that travaileth in this world passeth by many perils.  Pa. 

An other suppose.  You say true sir, if the boat had been a little more laden this morning at the ferry, we had been all drowned, for I think, there are none of us that could have swam.  Sc. 
I speak not of that.  Pa. 
O you mean the foul way that we had since we came from this Milan, I promise' you, I was afraid twice or thrice, that your mule would have lain fast in the mire.  Sc. 
jesus, what a blockhead thou art, I speak of the peril we are in presently since we came into this city.  Pa. 
A great peril I promise' you, that we were no sooner arrived, but you found a friend that brought you from the Inn, and lodged you in his own house.  Sc. 
Yea marry, God reward the gentle young man that we met, for else we had been in a wise case by this time. 
A dottish suppose.  But have done with these tales, and take you heed, & you also sirrah, take heed that none of you say we be Siennese, and remember that you call me Philogano of Cathanca.  Pa. 
Sure I shall never remember these outlandish words, I could well remember Haccanea.  Sc. 
I say, Cathanea, and not Haecanea, with a vengeance.  Pa. 
Let another name it then when need is, for I shall never remember it.  Sc. 
Then hold thy peace, and take heed thou name not Scene.  Pa. 
How say you, if I feign myself dumb as I did once in the house of Crisobolus?  Sc. 
Do as thou thinkest best: but look where cometh the gentleman whom we are so much bound unto.  Ero. 
Welcome, my dear father Philogano.  Sc. 
Gramercy my good son Erostrato.  Ero. 
That is well said, be mindful of your tongue, for these Ferarese be as crafty as the Devil of hell.  Sc. 
Not, not, be you sure we will do as you have bidden us.  Ero. 
For if you should name Scene they would spoil you immediately, and turn you out of the town, with more shame, than I would should befall you for a thousand Crowns.  Sc. 
I warrant you, I was giving them warning as I came to you, and I doubt not but they will take good heed.  Ero. 
Yea and trust not the servants of my household to far, for they are Ferarese all, and never knew my father, nor came never in Sicilia: this is my house, will it please you to go in? I will follow.  They go in. Dulipo tarrieth and espieth the Doctor coming in with his man.  

Scena. iij.  DULIPO alone. 
THis gear hath had no evil beginning, if it continued so and fall to happy end. But is not this the silly Doctor with the side bonnet, the doting fool, that dare presume to become a suitor to such a peerless Paragon? O how covetousness doth blind the common sort of men. Damon more desirous of the dower, than mindful of his gentle & gallant daughter, hath determined to make him his Son in law, who for his age may be his father in law: and hath greater respect to the abundance of goods, than to his own natural child. He beareth well in mind to fill his own purse, but he little remembreth that his daughter's purse shallbe continually empty, unless Master Doctor fill it with double duck eggs. Alas: I jest and have no joy, I will stand here aside and laugh a little at this lobcock.  Dulipo espieth the Doctor and his man coming.  

Scena. iiij.  Carrion the doctors man. CLEANDER. DULIPO. 
Master, what the Devil mean you to go seek guests at this time of the day? the majors officers have dined ere this time, which are always the last in the market.  Cle. 
I come to seek Pasiphilo, to the end he may dine with me.  Ca 
As though six mouths and the cat for the seventh, be not sufficient to eat an harlotry shotterel, a pennie-worth of cheese, and half a score spurlings: this is all the dainties you have dressed for you and your family.  Cle. 
Ah greedy gut, art thou afeard thou shalt want?  Ca 
I am afeard in deed, it is not the first time I have found it so.  Du. 
Shall I make some sport with this gallant? what shall I say to him?  Cle. 
Thou art afeard belike that he will eat thee and the rest.  Ca 
Nay, rather that he will eat your mule, both hear and hide.  Cle. 
Hear and hide? and why not flesh and all?  Ca 
Because she hath none. If she had any flesh, I think you had eaten her yourself by this time.  Cle. 
She may thank you then, for your good attendance.  Ca 
Nay she may thank you for your small allowance.  Du. 
In faith now let me alone.  Cle. 
Hold thy peace drunken knave, and espy me Pasiphilo.  Du. 
Since I can do no better, I will set such a stance between him and Pasiphilo, that all this town shall not make them friends.  Ca 
Can you not have sent to seek him, but you must come yourself? surely you come for some other purpose, for if you would have had Pasiphilo to dinner, I warrant you he would have tarried here an hour since.  Cle. 
Hold thy peace, here is one of Damon's servants, 
An other suppose.  of him I shall understand where he is: good fellow art not thou one of Damon's servants?  Du. 
Yes sir, at your commandment.  Cle. 
Gramercy, tell me then, hath Pasiphilo been there this day or no?  Du. 
Yes sir, and I think he be there still, ah, ah, ah.  Cle. 
What laughest thou?  Du. 
At a thing, that every man may not laugh at.  Cle. 
What?  Du. 
Talk, that Pasiphilo had with my master this day.  Cle. 
What talk I pray thee?  Du. 
I may not tell it.  Cle. 
Doth it concern me?  Du. 
Nay I will say nothing.  Cle. 
Tell me.  Du. 
I can say no more.  Cle. 
I would but know if it concern me, I pray thee tell me.  Du. 
I would tell you, if I were sure you would not tell it again.  Cle. 
Believe me I will keep it close: Carion give us leave a little, go aside.  Du. 
If my master should know that it came by me, I were better die a thousand deaths.  Cle. 
He shall never know it, say on.  Du. 
Yea, but what assurance shall I have?  Cle. 
I lay thee my faith and honesty in pawn.  Du. 
A pretty pawn, the fulkers will not lend you a farthing on it.  Cle. 
Yea, but amongst honest men it is more worth than gold.  Du. 
Yea marry sir, but where be they? but will you needs have me tell it unto you?  Cle. 
Yea I pray thee if it any thing appertain to me.  Du. 
Yes it is of you, and I would gladly tell it you, because I would not have such a man of worship so scorned by a villain ribald.  Cle. 
I pray thee tell me then.  Du. 
I will tell you so that you will swear never to tell it to Pasiphilo, to my master, nor to any other body.  Ca 
Surely it is some toy devised to get some money of him.  Cle. 
I think I have a book here.  Ca 
If he knew him as well as I, he would never go about it, for he may as soon get one of his teeth from his jaws with a pair of pinchers, as a penny out of his purse with such a conceit.  Cle. 
Here is a letter will serve the turn: I swear to thee by the contents hereof never to disclose it to any man.  Du. 
I will tell you, I am sorry to see how Pasiphilo doth abuse you, persuading you that always he laboureth for you, where in deed, he lieth on my master continually, as it were with tooth and nail for a stranger, a scholar, borne in Sicilia they call him Roscus or arse-kiss, he hath a mad name I can never hit upon it.  Cle. 
And thou reckonest it as madly: is it not Erostrato?  Du. 
That same I should never have remembered it: and the villainy speaketh all the evil of you that can be devised.  Cle. 
To whom?  Du. 
To my master, yea and to Polinesta herself sometimes.  Cle. 
Is it possible, Ah slave, and what saith he?  Du. 
Moore evil than I can imagine: that you are the miserablest and most niggardly man that ever was.  Cle. 
Sayeth Pasiphilo so by me?  Du. 
And that as often as he cometh to your house, he is like to die for hunger, you far so well.  Cle. 
That the Devil take him else.  Du. 
And that you are the testiest man, & most divers to please in the whole world, so that he cannot please you unless he should even kill himself with continual pain.  Cle. 
O devilish tongue.  Du. 
Furthermore, that you cough continually and spit, so that a dog cannot abide it.  Cle. 
I never spit nor cough more than thus, who, who, and that but since I caught this murr, but who is free from it?  Du. 
You say true sir, yet further he saith, your arm holes stink, your feet worse than they, and your breath worst of all.  Cle. 
If I quite him not for this gear.  Du. 
And that you are bursten in the cods.  Cle. 
O villain, he lieth, and if I were not in the street thou shouldest see them.  Du. 
And he saith, that you desire this young gentle woman, as much for other men's pleasure as for your own.  Cle. 
What meaneth he by that?  Du. 
Peradventure that by her beauty, you would entice many young men to your house.  Cle. 
Young men? to what purpose?  Du. 
Nay, guess you that.  Cle. 
Is it possible that Pasiphilo speaketh thus of me?  Du. 
Yea, and much more.  Cle. 
And doth Damon believe him?  Du. 
Yea, more than you would think: in such sort, that long ere this, he would have given you a flat repulse, but Pasiphilo entreated him to continued you a suitor for his advantage.  Cle. 
How for his advantage?  Du. 
Marry, that during your suit he might still have some reward for his great pains.  Cle. 
He shall have a rope, and yet that is more than he deserveth: I had thought to have given him these hose when I had worn them a little nearer, but he shall have a. etc.  Du. 
In good faith sir, they were but lost on him. Will you any thing else with me sir?  Cle. 
Nay, I have heard to much of thee already.  Du. 
Then I will take my leave of you.  Cle. 
Farewell, but tell me, may I not know thy name?  Du. 
Sir, they call me Fowl fall you.  Cle. 
An ill favoured name by my truth: art thou this country man?  Du. 
No sir, I was borne by a castle men call Scab catch you: far you well sir.  Cle. 
Farewell. O God how have I been abused? what a spokesman? what a messenger had I provided?  Car. 
Why sir, will you tarry for Pasiphilo till we die for hunger?  Cle. 
Trouble me not, that the Devil take you both.  Car. 
These news what so ever they be, like him not.  Cle. 
Art thou so hungry yet? I pray to God thou be never satisfied.  Car. 
By the mass no more I shall as long as I am your servant.  Cle. 
Go with mischance.  Car. 
Yea, and a mischief to you, and to all such covetous wretches.   
Finis Actus. 2.   

Actus. iij.  

Scena. j  DALIO the cook. CRAPINE the lackey. EROSTRATO, DULIPO. 
BY that time we come to the house, I trust that of these xx. eggs in the basket we shall found but very few whole. But it is a folly to talk to him. What the devil, wilt thou never lay that stick out of thy hand? he fighteth with the dogs, beateth the bears, at every thing in the street he findeth occasion to tarry: if he spy a slipstring by the way such another as himself, a Page, a Lackey or a dwarf, the devil of hell cannot hold him in chains, but he will be doing with him: I cannot go two steps, but I must look back for my younker: go to halter sick, if you break one egg I may chance break, etc.  Cra. 
What will you break? your nose in mine & c?  Da. 
Ah beast.  Cra. 
If I be a beast, yet I am no horned beast.  Da. 
Is it even so? is the wind in that door? If I were unloaden I would tell you whether I be a horned beast or no.  Cra. 
You are always laden either with wine or with ale.  Dal. 
Ah spiteful boy, shall I suffer him?  Cra. 
Ah cowardly beast, darest thou strike and say never a word?  Dal. 
Well, my master shall know of this gear, either he shall redress it, or he shall loose one of us.  Cra. 

Erostra. & Du. ex improviso.  Tell him the worst thou canst by me.  Ero. 
What noise, what a rule is this?  Cra. 
Marry sir, he striketh me because I tell him of his swearing.  Dal. 
The villain lieth deadly, he reviles me because I bid him make haste.  Ero. 
Holla: no more of this. Dalio, do you make in a readiness those Pigeons, stock Doves, and also the breast of Veal: and let your vessel be as clear as glass against I return, that I may tell you which I will have roasted, & which boiled. Crapine, say down that basket and follow me. O that I could tell where to find Pasiphilo, but look where he cometh that can tell me of him.  Dul. 

Dulipo is espied by Erostrato.  What have you done with Philogano your father?  Ero. 
I have left him within, I would feign speak with Pasiphilo, can you tell me where he is?  Du. 
He dined this day with my master, but whether he went from thence I know not, what would you with him?  Ero. 
I would have him go tell Damon that Philogano my father is come and ready to make assurance of as much as he will require. Now shall I teach master doctor a school point, he travaileth to none other end but to catch Cornua, and he shall have them, for as old as he is, and as many subtleties as he hath learned in the law, he can not go beyond me one ace.  Du. 
O dear friend, go thy ways seek Pasiphilo, find him out, and conclude somewhat to our contentation.  Ero. 
But where shall I find him?  Du. 
At the feasts if there be any, or else in the market with the poulters or the fishmongers.  Ero. 
What should he do with them?  Du. 
Marry he watcheth whose Caters buy the best meat. If any buy a fat Capon, a good breast of Veal, fresh Salmon or any such good dish, he followeth to the house, and either with some news, or some stolen jest he will be sure to make himself a jest.  Ero. 
In faith, and I will seek there for him.  Du. 
Then must you needs find him, and when you have done I will make you laugh.  Ero. 
Whereat?  Du. 
At certain sport I made to day with master doctor.  Ero. 
And why not now?  Du. 
Not it asketh further leisure, I pray thee dispatch, and find out Pasiphilo that honest man.  Dulipo tarrieth. Erostrato goeth out.  

Scena. ij.  DULIPO alone. 
THis amorous cause that hangeth in controversy between Domine doctor & me, may be compared to them that play at primero: of whom some one peradventure shall lose a great sum of money before he win one stake, & at last half in anger shall set up his rest: win it: & after that another, another, & another, till at last he draw the most part of the money to his heap: the other by little & little still diminishing his rest, till at last he be come as near the brink, as erst the other was: yet again peradventure fortune smiling on him, he shall as it were by piece meal, pull out the guts of his fellows bags, & bring him barer than he himself was tofore, & so in play continued still, (fortune favouring now this way, now that way) till at last the one of them is left with as many crosses as God hath brethren. O how often have I thought myself sure of the upper hand herein? but I triumphed before the victory. And then how oft again have I thought the field lost? Thus have I been tossed now over, now under, even as fortune list to whirl the wheel, neither sure to win nor certain to lose the wager. And this practice that now my servant hath devised, although hitherto it hath not succeeded amiss, yet can I not count myself assured of it: for I fear still that one mischance or other will come and turn it topsy-turvy. But look where my master cometh.  Damon coming in, espieth Dulipo and calleth him.  

Scena. iij.  DAMON. DULIPO. NEVOLA, and two more servants. 
Dulipo.  Du. 
Here sir.  Da. 
Go in and bid Nevola and his fellows come hither that I may tell them what they shall go about, and go you into my study: there upon the shelf you shall found a roll of writings which john of the Deane made to my Father, when he sold him the Grange ferme, endorsed with both their names: bring it hither to me.  Du. 
It shall be done sir.  Da. 
Go, I will prepare other manner of writings for you than you are ware of. O fools that trust any man but themselves now adays: o spiteful fortune, thou dost me wrong I think, that from the depth of Hell pit thou haste sent me this servant to be the subversion of me and all mine. Come hither sirs, 
The servants come in.  and hear what I shall say unto you: go into my study, where you shall find Dulipo, step to him all at once, take him and (with a cord that I have laid on the table for the nonce) bind him hand and foot, carry him into the dungeon under the stairs, make fast the door & bring me the key, it hangeth by upon a pin on the wall. Dispatch and do this gear as privily as you can: and thou Nevola come hither to me again with speed.  Ne. 
Well I shall.  Da. 
Alas how shall I be revenged of this extreme despite? if I punish my servant according to his devilish deserts, I shall heap further cares upon mine own head: for to such detestable offences no punishment can seem sufficient, but only death, and in such cases it is not lawful for a man to be his own carver. The laws are ordained, and officers appointed to minister justice for the redress of wrongs: and if to the potestates I complain me, I shall publish mine own reproach to the world. Yea, what should it prevail me to use all the puinishments that can be devised? the thing once done can not be undone. My daughter is deflowered, and I utterly dishonested: how can I then wipe that blot off my brow? and on whom shall I seek revenge? Alas, alas I myself have been the cause of all these cares, and have deserved to bear the punishment of all these mishaps. Alas, I should not have committed my dearest darling in custody to so careless a creasure as this old Nurse: for we see by common proof, that these old women be either peevish, or pitiful: either easily inclined to evil, or quickly corrupted with bribes and rewards. O wife, my good wife (that now liest cold in the grave) now may I well bewail the want of thee, and mourning now may I bemoan that I miss thee: if thou hadst lived (such was thy government of the lest things) that thou wouldst prudently have provided for the preservation of this pearl. A costly jewel may I well account her, that hath been my chief comfort in youth, and is now become the corrosive of mine age. O Polinesta, full evil hast thou requited the clemency of thy careful father: and yet to excuse thee guiltless before God, and to condemn thee guilty before the world, I can count none other but my wretched self the caitiff and causer of all my cares. For of all the duties that are requisite in human life, only obedience is by the parents to be required of the child: where on the other side the parents are bound, first to beget them, then to bring them forth, after to nourish them, to preserve them from bodily perils in the cradle, from danger of soul by godly education, to match them in consort inclined to virtue, too banish them all idle and wanton company, to allow them sufficient for their sustentation, to cut off excess the open gate of sin, seldom or never to smile on them unless it be to their encouragement in virtue, and finally, to provide them marriages in time convenient, jest (neglected of us) they learn to set either to much or to little by themselves. Five years are past since I might have married her, when by continual excuses I have prolonged it to my own perdition. Alas, I should have considered, she is a collop of my own flesh: what should I think to make her a princess? Alas alas, a poor kingdom have I now caught to endow her with: It is too true, that of all sorrows this is the head source and chief fountain of all furies: the goods of the world are incertain, the gains to be rejoiced at, and the loss not greatly to be lamented: only the children cast away, cutteth the parent's throat with the knife of inward care, which knife will kill me surely, I make none other account.  Damon's servants come to him again.  

Scena. iiij.  NEVOLA. DAMON. PASIPHILO. 
SIr, we have done as you had us, and here is the key.  Da. 
Well, go then Nevola and seek master Casteling the jailer, he dwelleth by S. Antony's gate, desire him too lend me a pair of the fetters he useth for his prisoners, and come again quickly.  Ne. 
Well sir.  Da. 
Hear you, if he ask what I would do with them, say you can not tell, and tell neither him nor any other, what is become of Dulipo. Damon goeth out.  
I warrant you sir. Fie upon the Devil, 
An other suppose.  it is a thing almost unpossible for a man now a days to handle money, but the metal will stick on his fingers: I marveled always at this fellow of mine Dulipo, that of the wages he received, he could maintain himself so bravely appareled, but now I perceive the cause, he had the disbursing and receipt of all my master's affairs, the keys of the granary, Dulipo here, Dulipo there, favour with my master, in favour with his daughter, what would you more, he was Magister factotum: he was as fine as the Crusado, and we silly wretches as course as canvas: well, behold what it is come to in the end, he had been better to have done less. 
Pasi. subito & improviso venit.   Pa. 
Thou sayst true Nevola, he hath done to much in deed.  Ne. 
From whence comest thou in the devils name?  Pa. 
Out of the same house thou camest from, but not out of the same door.  Ne. 
We had thought thou hadst been gone long since.  Pa. 
When I arose from the table, I felt a rumbling in my belly, which made me run to the stable, and there I fell on sleep upon the straw, and have line there ever since: And thou whether goest thou?  Ne. 
My master hath sent me on an errand in great haste.  Pa. 
Whether I pray thee?  Ne. 
Nay I may not tell: Farewell.  Pa. 
As though I need any further instructions: O God what news I heard even now, as I lay in the stable: O good Erostrato and poor Cleander, 
An other suppose.  that have so earnestly striven for this damsel, happy is he that can get her I promise' you, he shall be sure of more than one at a clap that catcheth her, either Adam or Eve within her bely. O God, how men may be deceived in a woman? who would have believed the contrary but that she had been a virgin? ask the neighbours and you shall hear very good report of her: mark her behaviours & you would have judged her very maidenly: seldom seen abroad but in plac● of prayer, and there very devout, and no gazer at outward sights, no blazer of her beauty above in the windows, no stolen at the door for the bypassers: you would have thought her a holy young woman. But much good do it Domine Doctor, he shall be sure to lack no CORN in a dear year, whatsoever he have with her else: I beshrew me if I let the marriage any way. But is not this the old scabbed quean that I heard disclosing all this gear to her master, as I stood in the stable ere now? it is she. Wither goeth Psiteria?  Pasiphilo espieth Psiteria coming.  

Scena. u  PSITERIA, PASIPHILO. 
TO a Gossip of mine hereby.  Pa. 
What? to tattle of the goodly stir that thou keptst concerning Polinesta.  Ps. 
Not not: but how knew you of that gear?  Pa. 
You told me.  Ps. 
I? when did I tell you?  Pa. 
Even now when you told it to Damon, I both saw you and heard you, though you saw not me: a good part I promise' you, to accuse the poor wench, kill the old man with care, over and beside the danger you have brought Dulipo and the Nurse unto, and many more, fie, fie.  Ps. 
In deed I was to blame, but not so much as you think.  Pa. 
And how not so much? did I not hear you tell?  Ps. 
Yes, But I will tell you how it came to pass: I have known for a great while, that this Dulipo and Polinesta have lain together, and all by the means of the nurse: yet I held my peace, and never told it. Now this other day the Nurse cell on scolding with me, and twice or thrice called me drunken old whore, and such names that it was too bad: and I called her bawd, and told her that I knew well enough how often she had brought Dulipo to Polynesta's bed: yet all this while I thought not that any body had heard me, but it befell clean contrary: for my master was on the other side of the wall, and heard all our talk, where upon he sent for me, and forced me to confess all that you heard.  Pas. 
And why wouldst thou tell him? I would not for. etc.  Ps. 
Well, if I had thought my master would have taken it so, he should rather have killed me.  Pas. 
Why? how could he take it?  Ps. 
Alas, it pitieth me to see the poor young woman how she weeps, wails, and tears her hear: not esteeming her own life half so dear as she doth poor Dulipo's: and her father, he weeps on the other side, that it would pierce an heart of stone with pity: but I must be gone.  Pas. 
Go that the gun powder consume thee old trot.   
Finis Actus. 3.   

Actus. iiij.  

Scena. j  EROSTRATO feigned. 
WHat shall I do? Alas what remedy shall I find for my rueful estate? what escape, or what excuse may I now devise to shift over our subtle supposes? for though to this day I have usurped the name of my master, and that without check or control of any man, now shall I be openly deciphered, and that in the sight of every man: now shall it openly be known, whether I be Erostrato the gentleman, or Dulipo the servant. We have hitherto played our parts in abusing others: but now cometh the man that will not be abused, the right Philogano the right father of the right Erostrato: going to seek Pasiphilo, and hearing that he was at the water gate, behold I espied my fellow Litio, and by and by my old master Philogano setting forth his first step on land: I to fuge and away hither as fast as I could to bring word to the right Erostrato, of his right father Philogano, that to so sudden a mishap some subtle shift might be upon the sudden devised. But what can be imagined to serve the turn, although we had months respite to beat our brains about it, since we are commonly known, at the least supposed in this town, he for Dulipo, a slave & servant to Damon, & I for Erostrato a gentleman & a student? But behold, run Crapine to yonder old woman before she get within the doors, & desire her to call out Dulipo: but hear you? if she ask who would speak with him, say thyself and none other.  Erostrato espieth Psiteria coming, and sendeth his lackey to her.  

Scena. ij.  CRAPINE. PSITERIA. EROSTRATO feigned. 
HOnest woman, you gossip, thou rotten whore, hearest thou not old witch?  Ps. 
A rope stretch your young bones, either you must live to be as old as I, or be hanged while you are young.  Cra. 
I pray thee look if Dulipo be within.  Ps. 
Yes that he is I warrant him.  Cra. 
Desire him then to come hither and speak a word with me, he shall not tarry.  Ps. 
Content yourself, he is otherwise occupied.  Cra. 
Yet tell him so gentle girl.  Ps. 
I tell you he is busy.  Cra. 
Why is it such a matter to tell him so, thou crooked Crone?  Ps. 
A rope stretch you marry.  Cra. 
A pocks eat you marry.  Ps. 
Thou wilt be hanged I warrant thee, if thou live to it.  Cra. 
And thou wilt be burnt I warrant thee, if the canker consume thee not.  Ps. 
If I come near you hempstring, I will teach you to sing solfa.  Cra. 
Come on, and if I get a stone I will scare crows with you.  Ps. 
Go with a mischief, I think thou be some devil that would tempt me.  Ero. 
Crapine: hear you? come away, let her go with a vengeance, why come you not? Alas look where my master Philogano cometh: what shall I do? where shall I hide me? he shall not see me in these clotheses, nor before I have spoken with the right Erostrato.  Erostrato espieth Phylogano commming, and runneth about to hide him.  

Scena. iij.  PHILOGANO. FERRARESE the Inn keeper. LITIO a servant. 
HOnest man it is even so: be you sure there is no love to be compared like the love of the parents towards their children. It is not long since I thought that a very weighty matter should not have made me come out of Sicilia, and yet now I have taken this tedious toil and travail upon me, only to see my son, and to have him home with me.  Fer. 
By my faith sir, it hath been a great travail in deed, and to much for one of your age.  Phi. 
Yea be you sure: I came in company with certain gentlemen of my country, who had affairs to dispatch as far as to Aneona, from thence by water too Ravenna, and from Ravenna hither, continually against the tide.  Fer. 
Yea & I think that you had but homely lodging by that way.  Phi. 
The worst that ever man had: but that was nothing to the stir that the searchers kept with me when I came aboard the ship: jesus how often they untrussed my male, & ransacked a little capcase that I had, tossed & turned all that was within it, searched my bosom, yea my breeches, that I assure you I thought they would have flayed me to search between the fell and the flesh for farthings.  Fer. 
Sure I have heard no less, and that the merchants bob them sometimes, but they play the knaves still.  Phi. 
Yea be you well assured, such an office is the inheritance of a knave, and an honest man will not meddle with it.  Fer. 
Well, this passage shall seem pleasant unto you when you shall find your child in health and well: but I pray you sir why did you not rather sand for him into Sicilia, than to come yourself, specially since you had none other business? peradventure you had rather endanger yourself by this noisome journey, than hazard to draw him from his study.  Phi. 
Nay, that was not the matter, for I had rather have him give over his study altogether and come home.  Fer. 
Why? if you minded not to make him learned, to what end did you sand him hither at the first?  Phi. 
I will tell you: when he was at home he did as most young men do, he played many mad pranks and did many things that liked me not very well: and I thinking, that by that time he had seen the world, he would learn to know himself better, exhorted him to study, and put in his election what place he would go to. At the last he came hither, and I think he was scarce here so soon as I felt the want of him, in such sort, as from that day to this I have passed few nights without tears. I have written to him very often that he should come home, but continually he refused still, beseeching me to continued his study, wherein he doubted not (as he said) but to profit greatly.  Fer. 
In deed he is very much commended of all men, and specially of the best reputed students.  Phi. 
I am glad he hath not lost his time, but I care not greatly for so much knowledge. I would not be without the sight of him again so long, for all the learning in the world. I am old now, and if God should call me in his absence, I promise' you I think it would drive me into desperation.  Fer. 
It is commendable in a man to love his children but to be so tender over them is more womanlike?  Phi. 
Well, I confess it is my fault: and yet I will tell you another cause of my coming hither, more weighty than this. divers of my country have been here since he came hither, by whom I have sent unto him, and some of them have been thrice, some four or five times at his house, and yet could never speak with him. I fear he applies his study so, that he will not lose the minute of an hour from his book. What, alas, he might yet talk with his countrymen for a while: he is a young man, tenderly brought up, and if he far thus continually night & day at his book, it may be enough to drive him into a frenzy.  Fer. 
In deed, enough were as good as a feast. Lo you sir here is your son Erostrato's house, I will knock.  Phi. 
Yea, I pray you knock.  Fer. 
They hear not.  Phi. 
Knock again,  Fer. 
I think they be on sleep.  Ly. 
If this gate were your Grandfather's soul, you could not knock more softly, let me come: ho, ho, is there any body within?  Dalio cometh to the window, and there maketh them answer.  

Scena. iiij.  DALIO the cook. FERARESE the inholder. PHILOGANO. LITIO his man. 
WHat devil of hell is there? I think he will break the gates in pieces.  Lively 
Marry sir, we had thought you had been on sleep within, and therefore we thought best to wake you: what doth Erostrato?  Da. 
He is not within.  Phi. 
Open the door good fellow I pray thee.  Da. 
If you think to lodge here, you are deceived I tell you, for here are guests enough already.  Phi. 
A good fellow, and much for thy master honesty by our Lady: and what guests I pray thee?  Da. 

Another suppose.  Here is Philogano my masters father, lately come out of Sicilia.  Phi. 
Thou speakest truer than thou art ware of, he will be, by that time thou hast opened the door: open I pray thee heartily.  Da. 
It is a small matter for me to open the door, but here is no lodging for you, I tell you plain, the house is full.  Phi. 
Of whom?  Da. 
I told you: here is Philogano my masters father come from Cathanea.  Phi. 
And when came he?  Da. 
He came three hours since, or more, he alighted at the Angel, and left his horses there: afterward my master brought him hither.  Phi. 
Good fellow, I think thou hast good sport to mock me.  Da. 
Nay, I think you have good sporet to make me tarry here, as though I have nothing else to do: I am matched with an unruly mate in the kitchen. I will go look to him another while.  Phi. 
I think he be drunken.  Fer. 
Sure he seems so: see you not how red he is about the gillss?  Phi. 
Abide fellow, what Philogano is it whom thou talkest of?  Da. 
An honest gentleman, father to Erostrato my master.  Phi. 
And where is he?  Da. 
Here within.  Phi. 
May we see him?  Da. 
I think you may if you be not blind.  Phi. 
Go to, go tell him here is one would speak with him.  Da. 
Marry that I will willingly do.  Phi. 
I can not tell what I should say to this gear. Litio, what thinkest thou of it?  Lively 
I cannot tell you what I should say sir, the world is large and long, 
Another suppose.  there may be more Philoganoes and more Erostratos than one, yea and more Ferrara's, more Sicilias, and more Cathaneas: peradventure this is not that Ferrara which you sent your son unto.  Phi. 
Peradventure thou art a fool, and he was another that answered us even now. But be you sure honest man, that you mistake not the house?  Fer. 
Nay, than god help, think you I know not Erostratos house? yes, and himself also: I saw him here no longer since than yesterday. But here comes one that will tell us tidings of him, I like his countenance better than the others that answered at the window erewhile.  Dalio draweth his head in at the window, the Scenese cometh out.  

Scena. u  SCENESE. PHLLOGANO. DALIO. 
WOuld you speak with me sir?  Phi. 
Yea sir, I would feign know whence you are.  Sce. 
Sir I am a Sicilian, at your commandment.  Phi. 
What part of Sicilia?  Sce. 
Of Cathanea.  Phi. 
What shall I call your name?  Sce. 
My name is Philogano.  Phi. 
What trade do you occupy?  Sce. 
Merchandise.  Phi. 
What merchandise brought you hither?  Sce. 
None, I ●ame only to see a son that I have here whom I saw not these two years.  Phi. 
What call they your son?  Sceva 
Erostrato.  Phi. 
Is Erostrato your son?  Sce. 
Yea verily.  Phi. 
And are you Philogano?  Sce. 
The same.  Phi. 
And a merchant of Cathanea?  Sce. 
What need I tell you so often? I will not tell you a lie.  Phi. 
Yes, you have told me a false lie, and thou art a villain and no better.  Sce. 
Sir, you offer me great wrong with these injurious words.  Phi. 
Nay, I will do more than I have yet proffered to do, for I will prove thee a liar, and a knave to take upon thee that thou art not.  Sce. 

A stout suppose.  Sir I am Philogano of Cathanea, out of all doubt, if I were not I would be loath to tell you so.  Phi. 
O, see the boldness of this brute beast, what a brazen face he setteth on it?  Sce. 
Well, you may believe me if you list: what wonder you?  Phi. 
I wonder at thy impudency, for thou, nor nature that framed thee, can ever counterfeit thee to be me, ribald villain, and lying wretch that thou art.  Da. 

A pleasant suppose.  Shall I suffer a knave to abuse my masters father thus? hence villain, hence, or I will sheathe this good fawchion in your paunch: if my master Erostrato found you prating here on this fashion to his father, I would not be in your coat for more coney skins than I got these twelve months: come you in again sir, and let this Cur bark here till he burst.  Dalio pulleth the Scenese in at the doors.  

Scena. vj.  PHILOGANO. LITIO. FERARESE. 
LItio, how likest thou this gear?  Lively 
Sir, I like it as evil as may be: but have you not often heard tell of the falsehood of Ferara, and now may you see, it falleth out accordingly.  Fer. 
Friend, you do not well to slander the City, these men are no Ferrarese you may know by their tongue.  Lively 
Well, there is never a barrel better herring, béetwene you both: but in deed your officers are most to blame, that suffer such faults to escape unpunished.  Fer. 
What know the officers of this? think you they know of every fault?  Lively 
Nay, I think they will know as little as may be, specially when they have no gains, by it, but they aught to have their ears as open to hear of such offences, as the In-gates be to receive guests.  Phi. 
Hold thy peace fool.  Lively 
By the mass I am a feared that we shall be proved fools both two.  Phi. 
Well, what shall we do?  Lively 
I would think best we should go seek Erostrato himself.  Fer. 
I will wait upon you willingly, and either at the schools, or at the convocations, we shall found him.  Phi. 
By our Lady I am weary, I will run no longer about to seek him, I am sure hither he will come at the last.  Lively 
Sure, 
A true suppose.  my mind gives me that we shall found a new Erostrato ere it be long.  Fe. 
Look where he is, whether runs he? stay you awhile, I will go tell him that you are here: Erostrato, Erostraro, ho Erostrato, I would speak with you.  Erostrato is espied upon the stage running about.  

Scena. seven.  Feigned EROSTRATO. FERARESE. PHILOGANO. LITIO. DALIO. 
Now can I hide me no longer. Alas what shall I do: I will set a good face on, to bear out the matter.  Fera. 
O Erostrato, Philogano your father is come out of Sicilia.  Ero. 
Tell me that I know not, I have been with him and seen him already.  Fera. 
Is it possible? and it seemeth by him that you know not of his coming.  Ero. 
Why, have you spoken with him? when saw you him I pray you?  Fera. 
Look you where he stands, why go you not too him? Look you Philogano, behold your dear son Erostrato.  Phi. 
Erostrato? this is not Erostrato: this seemeth rather to be Dulipo, and it is Dulipo in deed.  Lively 
Why, doubt you of that?  Ero. 
What saith this honest man?  Phi. 
Marry sir, in deed you are so honourably ●ladde, it is no marvel if you look big.  Ero. 
To whom speaketh he?  Phi. 
What, God help, do you not know me?  Ero. 
As far as I remember Sir, I never saw you before.  Phi. 
Hark Litio, h●●e is good gear, this honest man will not know me.  Ero. 

A shameless suppose.  Gentleman, you take your marks amiss.  Lively 
Did I not tell you of the falsehood of Ferrara master? Dulipo hath learned to play the knave indifferently well since he came hither.  Phi. 
Peace I say.  Ero. 
Friend, my name is not Dulipo, ask you through out this town of great and small, they know me: ask this honest man that is with you, if you will not believe me.  Ferra. 
In deed, I never knew him otherwise called than Erostrato: and so they call him, as many as know him.  Lively 
Master, now you may see the falsehood of these fellows: this honest man your host, is of counsel with him, 
A needless suppose.  and would face us down that it is Erostrato: beware of these mates.  Fera. 
Friend, thou dost me wrong to suspect me, for sure I never heard him otherwise called than Erostrato.  Ero. 
What name could you hear me called by, but by my right name? But I am wise enough to stand prating here with this old man, I think he be mad.  Phi. 
Ah runagate, ah villain traitor, dost thou use thy master thus? what hast thou done with my son villain?  Da. 
Doth this dog bark here still? and will you suffer him master thus to revile you?  Ero. 
Come in, come in, what wilt thou do with this pestle?  Da. 
I will rap the old cackabed on the costard.  Ero. 
Away with it, & you sirrah, lay down these stones: come in at door every one of you, bear with him for his age, I pass not of his evil words.  Erostrato taketh all his servants in at the doors.  

Scena. viii.  PHILOGANO. FERARESE. LITIO. 
ALas, who shall relieve my miserable estate? to whom shall I complain? since he whom I brought up of a child, yea and cherished him as if he had been mine own, doth now utterly deny to know me: and you whom I took for an honest man, and he that should have brought me to the sight of my son, are compact with this false wretch, and would face me down that he is Erostrato. 
An other suppose.  Alas, you might have some compassion of mine age, to the misery I am now in, and that I am a stranger desolate of all comfort in this country: or at the lest, you should have feared the vengeance of God the supreme judge (which knoweth the secrets of all hearts) in hearing this false witness with him, whom heaven and earth do know to be Dulipo and not Erostrato.  Lively 
If there be many such witnesses in this country, men may go about to prove what they will in controversies here.  Fer. 
Well sir, you may judge of me as it pleaseth you: & how the matter cometh to pass I know not, but truly, ever since he came first hither, I have known him by the name of Erostrato the son of Philogano a Cathanese: now whether he be so in deed, or whether he be Dulipo, (as you allege) let that be proved by them that knew him before he came hither. But I protest before God, that which I have said, is neither a matter compact with him, nor any other, but even as I have hard him called & reputed of all men.  Phi. 
Out and alas, he whom I sent hither with my son to be his servant, 
A shrewd suppose.  and to give attendance on him, hath either cut his throat, or by some evil means made him away: and hath not only taken his garments, his books, his money, and that which he brought out of Sicilia with him, but usurpeth his name also, and turneth to his own commodity the bills of exchange that I have always allowed for my sons expenses. O miserable Philogano, o unhappy old man: o eternal God, is there no judge? no officer? no higher powers whom I may complain unto for redress of these wrongs?  Fer. 
Yes sir, we have potestates, we have judges, and above all, we have a most just prince: doubt you not, but you shall have justice if your cause be just.  Phi. 
Bring me then to the judges, to the potestates, or to whom you think best: for I will disclose a pack of the greatest knavery, a farthel of the foulest falsehood that ever was heard of.  Lively 
Sir, he that will go to the law, must be sure of four things: first, a right and a just cause: then a righteous advocate to plead: next, favour coram judice: and above all, a good purse to procure it.  Fer. 
I have not heard, that the law hath any respect to favour: what you mean by it I cannot tell.  Phi. 
Have you no regard to his words, he is but a fool.  Fer. 
I pray you sir, let him tell me what is favour.  Lively 
Favour call I, to have a friend near about the judge, who may so solicit thy cause, as if it be right, speedy sentence may ensue without any delays: if it be not good, then to prolong it, till at the last, thine adversary being weary, shallbe glad to compound with thee.  Fer. 
Of thus much (although I never heard thus much in this country before) doubt you not Philogano, I will bring you to an advocate that shall speed you accordingly.  Phi. 
Then shall I give myself, as it were a pray to the Lawyers, whose insatiable jaws I am not able to feed, although I had here all the goods and lands which I possess in mine own country: much less being a stranger in this misery. I know their cautels of old: at the first time I come they will so extol my cause, as though it were already won: but within a seuennight or ten days, if I do not continually feed them as the crow doth her brats, twenty times in an hour, they will begin to wax cold, and to find cavils in my cause, saying, that at the first I did not well instruct them, till at the last, they will not only draw the stuffing out of my purse, but the marrow out of my bones.  Fer. 
Yea sir, but this man that I tell you of, is half a Saint.  Lively 
And the other half a Devil, I hold a penny.  Phi. 
Well said Litio, in deed I have but small confidence in their smooth looks.  Fer. 
Well sir, I think this whom I mean, is no such manner of man: but if he were, 
An other suppose.  there is such hatred and evil will between him & this gentleman (whether he be Erostrato or Dulipo, what so ever he be) that I warrant you, he will do whatsoever he can do for you, were it but to spite him.  Phi. 
Why? what hatred is betwixt them?  Fer. 
They are both in love and suitors to one gentlewoman, the daughter of a wealthy man in this city.  Phi. 
Why? is the villeine become of such estimation that he dare presume to be a suitor to any gentlewoman of a good family?  Fer. 
Yea sir out of all doubt.  Phi. 
How call you his adversary?  Fer. 
Cleander, one of the excellentest doctors in our city.  Phi. 
For God's love let us go to him.  Fer. 
Go we then.   
Finis Actus. 4.   

Actus. u  

Scena. 1.  Feigned EROSTRATO. 
WHat a mishap was this? that before I could meet with Erostrato, I have light even full in the lap of Philogano: where I was constrained to deny my name, to deny my master, & to feign that I knew him not, to contend with him, & to revile him, in such sort, that hap what hap can, I can never hap well in favour with him again. Therefore if I could come to speak with the right Erostrato, I will renounce unto him both habit and credit, and away as fast as I can trudge into some strange country, where I may never see Philogano again. Alas, he that of a little child hath brought me up unto this day, 
Another suppose.  and nourished me as if I had been his own: & in deed (to confess the troth) I have no father to trust unto but him. But look where Pasiphilo cometh, the fittest man in the world to go on me message to Erostrato.  Erostrato espieth Pasiphilo coming towards him.  

Scena. ij.  PASIPHILO. EROSTRATO. 
TWo good news have I heard to day already: one that Erostrato prepared a great feast this night: the other, that he seeketh for me. And I to ease him of his travail, lest he should run up and down seeking me, and because no man loveth better than I to have an errand where good cheer is, come in post hast even home to his own house: and look where he is.  Ero. 
Pasiphilo, thou must do one thing for me if thou love me.  Pas. 
If I love you not, who loves you? command me.  Ero. 
Go then a little there, to Damon's house, ask for Dulipo, and tell him.  Pas. 
Wots you what? I cannot speak with him, he is in prison.  Ero. 
In prison? how cometh that to pass? where is he in prison?  Pas. 
In a vile dungeon there within his master's house.  Ero. 
Canst thou tell wherefore?  Pas. 
Be you content to know he is in prison, I have told you to much.  Ero. 
If ever you will do any thing for me, tell me.  Pas. 
I pray you desire me not, what were you the better if you knew?  Ero. 
Moore than thou thinkest Pasiphilo by God.  Pas. 
Well, and yet it stands me upon more than you think, to keep it secret.  Ero. 
Why Pasiphilo, is this the trust I have had in you? are these the fair promises you have aways made me?  Pas. 
By the mass I would I had fasted this night with master doctor, rather than have come hither.  Ero. 
Well Pasiphilo, either tell me, or at few words never think to be welcome to this house from henceforth.  Pas. 
Nay, yet I had rather lose all the Gentlemen in this town. But if I tell you any thing that displease you, blame no body but yourself now.  Ero. 
There is nothing can grieve me more than Dulipo's mishap, not not mine own: and therefore I am sure thou canst tell me no worse tidings.  Pa. 

Another plain and homely suppose.  Well, since you would needs have it, I will tell you: he was taken a bed with your beloved Polinesta.  Ero. 
Alas, and doth Damon know it?  Pa. 
An old trot in the house disclosed it to him, whereupon he took both Dulipo and the Nurse which hath been the broker of all this bargain, and clapped them both in a cage, where I think they shall have sorrow sops too their sweet meats.  Ero. 
Pasiphilo, go thy ways into the kitchen, command the cook to boil and roast what liketh thee best, I make thee supra viso of this supper.  Pa. 
By the mass if you should have studied this seven-night, you could not have appointed me an office to please me better. You shall see what dishes I will devise.  Pasiphilo goeth in, Erostrato tarrieth.  

Scena. iij.  Feigned EROSTRATO alone. 
I Was glad to rid him out of the way, lest he should see me burst out of these swelling tears, which hitherto with great pain I have prisoned in my breast, & lest he should hear the Echo of my doubled sighs, which bounce from the bottom of my heavy heart. O cursed I, O cruel fortune, that so many dispersed griefs as were sufficient to subvert a legion of Lovers, hast suddenly assembled within my careful carcase to treat this fearful heart in sunder with desperation. Thou that hast kept my master all his youth within the realm of Sicilia, reserving the wind and waves in a temperate calm (as it were at his command) now to convey his aged limbs hither, neither sooner nor later: but even in the worst time that may be. If at any time before thou hadst conducted him, this enterprise had been cut off without care in the beginning: and if never so little longer thou hadst lingered his journey, this happy day might then have fully finished our drifts & devices. But alas, thou hast brought him even in the very worst time, to plunge us all in the pit of perdition. Neither art thou content to entangle me alone in thy ruinous ropes, but thou must also catch the right Erostrato in thy crooked claws, to reward us both with open shame & rebuke. Two years hast thou kept secret our subtle Supposes, even this day to decipher them with a sorrowful success. What shall I do? Alas what shift shall I make? it is too late now to imagine any further deceit, for every minute seemeth an hour till I found some succour for the miserable captive Erostrato. Well, since there is no other remedy, I will go to my master Philogano, & to him will I tell the whole truth of the matter, that at the lest he may provide in time, before his son feel the smart of some sharp revenge and punishment. This is the best, and thus will I do. Yet I know, that for mine own part I shall do bitter penance for my faults forepast: but such is the good will and duty that I bear to Erostrato, as even with the loss of my life I must not stick to adventure any thing which may turn to his commodity. But what shall I do? shall I go seek my master about the town, or shall I tarry his return hither? If I meet him in the streets, he will cry out upon me, neither will he hearken to any thing that I shall say, till he have gathered all the people wondering about me, as it were at an Owl. Therefore I were better to abide here, and yet if he tarry long I will go seek him, rather than prolong the time to Erostratos peril.  Pasiphilo returneth to Erostrato.  

Scena. iiij.  PASIPHILO. Feigned EROSTRATO. 
YEa dress them, but lay them not to the fire, till they will be ready to sit down. This gear goeth in order: but if I had not gone in, there had fallen a foul fault.  Ero. 
And what fault I pray thee?  Pa. 
Marry, Dalio would have laid the shoulder of mutton and the Capon both to the fire at once like a fool: he did not consider, that the one would have more roasting than the other.  Ero. 
Alas, I would this were the greatest fault.  Pa. 
Why? and either the one should have been burned before the other had been roasted, or else he must have drawn them off the spit: and they would have been served to the board either cold or raw.  Ero. 
Thou hast reason Pasiphilo.  Pa. 
Now sir, if it please you I will go into the town and buy oranges, olives, and capers, for without such sauce the supper were more than half lost.  Ero. 

Erostrato exit.  There are within already, doubt you not, there shall lack nothing that is necessary.  Pa. 
Since I told him these news of Dulipo, he is clean beside himself: he hath so many hammers in his head, that his brains are ready to burst: 
A knavish suppose.  and let them break, so I may sup with him to night, what care I? But is not this Dominus noster Cleandrus that cometh before? well said, by my truth we will teach master Doctor to wear a cornered cap of a new fashion. By God Polinesta shall be his, he shall have her out of doubt, for I have told Erostrato such news of her, that he will none of her.  Cleander and Philogano come in, talking of the matter in controversy.  

Scena. u  CLEANDER. PHILOGANO. LITIO. PASIPHILO. 
YEa, but how will ye prove that he is not Erostrato, having such presumptions to the contrary? or how shall it be thought that you are Philogano, when an other taketh upon him this same name, and for proof bringeth him for a witness, which hath been ever reputed here for Erostrato?  Phi. 
I will tell you sir, let me be kept here fast in prison, & at my charges let there be some man sent into Sicilia, that may bring hither with him two or three of the honestest men in Cathanea, and by them let it be proved if I or this other be Philogano, and whether he be Erostrato or Dulipo my servant: & if you find me contrary, let me suffer death for it.  Pa. 
I will go salute master Doctor.  Cle. 
It will ask great labour & great expenses to prove it this way, but it is the best remedy that I can see.  Pa. 
God save you sir.  Cle. 
And reward you as you have deserved.  Pa. 
Then shall he give me your favour continually.  Cle. 
He shall give you a halter, knave and villain that thou art.  Pa. 
I know I am a knave, but no villain. I am your servant.  Cle. 
I neither take thee for my servant, nor for my friend.  Pa. 
Why? wherein have I offended you sir?  Cle. 
Hence to the gallows knave.  Pa. 
What soft and fair sir, I pray you, I praesequar, you are mine elder.  Cle. 
I will be even with you, be you sure, honest man.  Pa. 
Why sir? I never offended you.  Cle. 
Well, I will teach you: out of my sight knave.  Pa. 
What? I am no dog, I would you witted.  Cle. 
Pratest thou yet villain? I will make thee.  Pa. 
What will you make me? I see well the more a man doth suffer you, the worse you are.  Cle. 
Ah villain, if it were not for this gentleman, I would tell you what I  Pa. 
Villain? nay I am as honest a man as you.  Cle. 
Thou liest in thy throat knave.  Phi. 
O sir, stay your wisdom.  Pas. 
What will you fight? marry come on.  Cle. 
Well knave, I will meet with you another time, go your way.  Pas. 
Even when you list sir, I will be your man.  Cle. 
And if I be not even with thee, call me out.  Pas. 
Nay by the Mass, all is one, I care not, for I have nothing: if I had either lands or goods, peradventure you would pull me into the law.  Phi. 
Sir, I perceive your patience is moved.  Cle. 
This villain: but let him go, I will see him punished as he hath deserved. Now to the matter, how said you?  Phi. 

Lawyers are never weary to get money.  This fellow hath disquieted you sir, peradventure you would be loath to be troubled any further.  Cle. 
Not a whit, say on, & let him go with a vengeance.  Phi. 
I say, let them sand at my charge to Cathanea.  Cle. 
Yea I remember that well, & it is the surest way as this case requireth: but tell me, how is he your servant? and how come you by him? inform me fully in the matter.  Phi. 
I will tell you sir: when the Turks won Otranto.  Cle. 
O, you put me in remembrance of my mishaps.  Phi. 
How sir?  Cle. 
For I was driven among the rest out of the town (it is my native country) and there I lost more than ever I shall recover again while I live.  Phi. 
Alas, a pitiful case by S. Anne.  Cle. 
Well, proceed.  Phi. 
At that time (as I said) there were certain of our country that scoured those costs upon the seas, with a good bark; well appointed for the purpose, and had espial of a Turkey vessel that came laden from thence with great abundance of riches.  Cle. 

A gentle suppose.  And peradventure most of mine.  Phi. 
So they boarded them, & in the end overcame them, & brought the goods to Palermo, 〈◊〉 whence they came, and amongst other things that they had, was this villeine my servant, a boy at that time, I think not past five years old.  Cle. 
Alas, I lost one of that same age there.  Phi. 
And I being there, and liking the Child's favour well, proffered them four and twenty ducats for him, and had him.  Cle. 
What? was the child a Turk? or had the Turks brought him from Otranto?  Phi. 
They said he was a Child of Otranto, but what is that to the matter? once xxiiij Ducats he cost me, that I wots well.  Cle. 
Alas, I speak it not for that sir, I would it were he whom I mean.  Phi. 
Why, whom mean you sir? 
A crafty suppose.   Liti. 
Beware sir, be not to lavish.  Cle. 
Was his name Dulipo then? or had he not another name?  Liti. 
Beware what you say sir.  Phi. 
What the devil hast thou to do? Dulipo? no sir his name was Carino.  Liti. 
Yea, well said, tell all and more to, do.  Cle. 
O Lord, if it be as I think, how happy were I? & why did you change his name then?  Phi. 
We called him Dulipo, because when he cried as children do sometimes, he would always cry on that name Dulipo.  Cle. 
Well, than I see well it is my own only Child, whom I lost, when I lost my country: he was named Carino after his grandfather, and this Dulipo whom he always remembered in his lamenting, was his foster father that nourished him and brought him up.  Lively 
Sir, have I not told you enough of the falsehood of Ferara? this gentleman will not only pick your purse, but beguile you of your servant also, & make you believe he is his son.  Cle. 
Well goodfellow, I have not used to lie.  Liti. 
Sir not, but every thing hath a beginning.  Cle. 
Fie, Philogano have you not the lest suspect that may be of me.  Liti. 
Not marry, but it were good he had the most suspect that may be.  Cle. 
Well, hold thou thy peace a little good follow. I pray you tell me Philogano had the child any remembrance of his father's name, his mother's name, or the name of his family?  Phi. 
He did remember them, and could name his mother also, but sure I have forgotten the name.  Liti. 
I remember it well enough.  Phi. 
Tell it then.  Liti. 
Nay, that I will not marry, you have told him too much all ready.  Phi. 
Tell it I say, if thou can.  Liti. 
Can? yes by the mass I can well enough: but I will have my tongue pulled out, rather than tell it, unless he tell it first: do you not perceive sir, what he goeth about?  Cle. 
Well, I will tell you then, my name you know already: my wife his mother's name was Sophronia, the house that I came of, they call Spiagia.  Liti. 
I never heard him speak of Spiagia but in deed I have heard him say, his mother's name was Sophronia: but what of that? a great matter I promise' you. It is like enough that you two have compact together to deceive my master.  Cle. 
What needeth me more evident tokens? this is my son out of doubt whom I lost eighteen years since, and a thousand thousand times have I lamented for him: he should have also a mould on his left shoulder.  Lively 
He hath a mould there in deed: and an hole in an other place to, I would your nose were in it.  Cle. 
Fair words fellow Litio: o I pray you let us go talk with him, O fortune, how much am I bound to thee if I find my son?  Phi. 
Yea how little am I beholden to fortune, that know not where my son is become, and you whom I chose to be mine advocate, will now (by the means of this Dulipo) become mine adversary?  Cle. 

A right suppose.  Sir, let us first go found mine: and I warrant you yours will be found also ere it be long.  Phi. 
God grant: go we then,  Cle. 
Since the door is open, I will never knock nor call, but we will be bold to go in.  Lively 
Sir, take you heed, lest he lead you to some mischief.  Phi. 
Alas Litio, if my son be lost what care I what become of me?  Lively 
Well, I have told you my mind Sir, do you as you please.  Exeunt: Damon and Psiteria come in.  

Scena sexta.  DAMON. PSITERIA. 
COme hither you old callet, you tattling housewife, that the devil cut out your tongue: tell me, how could Pasiphilo know of this gear but by you?  Psi. 
Sir, he never knew it of me, he was the first that told me of it.  Da. 
Thou liest old drab, but I would advise you tell me the truth, or I will make those old bones rattle in your skin.  Psi. 
Sir, if you find me contrary, kill me.  Da. 
Why? where should he talk with thee?  Psi. 
He talked with me of it here in the street.  Da. 
What did you here?  Psi. 
I was going to the weavers for a web of cloth you have there.  Da. 
And what cause could Pasiphilo have to talk of it, unless thou began the matter first?  Psi. 
Nay, he began with me sir, reviling me, because I had told you of it: I asked him how he knew of it, and he said he was in the stable when you examined me ere while.  Da. 
Alas, alas, what shall I do then? in at doors old whore, I will pluck that tongue of thine out by the roots one day. Alas it grieveth me more that Pasiphilo knoweth it, than all the rest. He that will have a thing kept secret, let him tell it to Pasiphilo: the people shall know it, and as many as have ears and no more. By this time he hath told it in a hundredth places. Cleander was the first, Erostrato the second, and so from one to another throughout the city. Alas, what dower, what marriage shall I now prepare for my daughter? O poor dolorons Damon, more miserable than misery itself, 
The first suppose brought to conclusion.  would God it were true that Polinesta told me ere while: that he who hath deflowered her, is of no servile estate, (as hitherto he hath been supposed in my service) but that he is a gentleman borne of a good parentage in Sicilia. Alas, small riches should content me, if he be but of an honest family: but I fear that he hath devised these toys to allure my daughter's love. Well I will go examine her again, my mind giveth me that I shall perceive by her tale whether it be true or not. But is not this Pasiphilo that cometh out of my neighbour's house? what the devil aileth him to leap and laugh so like a fool in the high way?  Pasiphilo cometh out of the town laughing.  

Scena septima.  PHILOGANO. DAMON 
O God, that I might find Damon at home.  Da. 
What the devil would he with me?  Pas. 
That I may be the first that shall bring him these news.  Da. 
What will he tell me, in the name of God?  Pas. 
O Lord, how happy am I? look where he is.  Da. 
What news Pasiphilo, that thou art so merry?  Pas. 
Sir I am merry to make you glad: I bring you joyful news.  Da. 
And that I have need of Pasiphilo.  Pas. 
I know sir, that you are a sorrowful man for this mishap that hath chanced in your house, peradventure you thought I had not known of it. But let it pass, pluck up your spirits, and rejoice: for he that hath done you this injury is so well borne, and hath so rich parents, that you may be glad to make him your son in law.  Da. 
How knowest thou?  Pas. 
His father Philogano one of the worthiest men in all Cathanea, is now come to the city, and is here in your neighbour's house.  Da. 
What, in Erostratos house?  Pas. 
Nay in Dulipo's house: for where you have always supposed this gentleman to be Erostrato, it is not so, but your servant whom you have imprisoned hitherto, supposed to be Dulipo, he is in deed Erostrato: and that other is Dulipo. And thus they have always, even since their first arrival in this city, exchanged names, to the end that Erostrato the master, under the name of Dulipo a servant, might be entertained in your house, & so win the love of your daughter.  Da. 
Well, than I perceive it is even as Polinesta told me.  Pas. 
Why, did she tell you so?  Da. 
Yea: But I thought it but a tale.  Pas. 
Well, it is a true tale: and here they will be with you by and by: both Philogano this worthy man, and master doctor Cleander.  Da. 
Cleander? what to do?  Pas. 
Cleander? Why thereby lies another tale, the most fortunate adventure that ever you heard: wots you what? this other Dulipo, whom all this while we supposed to be Erostrato, is found to be the son of Cleander, whom he lost at the loss of Otranto, and was after sold in Sicilia too this Philogano the strangest case that ever you heard: a man might make a Comedy of it. They will come even strait, and tell you the whole circumstance of it themselves.  Da. 
Nay I will first go hear the story of this Dulipo, be it Dulipo or Erostrato that I have here within, before I speak with Philogano.  Pas. 
So shall you do well sir, I will go tell them that they may stay a while, but look where they come.  Damon goeth in, Scenese, Cleander and Philogano come upon the stage.  

Scena eight  SCENESE. CLEANDER. PHILOGANO. 
SIr, you shall not need to excuse the matter any further, since I have received no greater injury than by words, let than pass like wind, I take them well in worth: and am rather well pleased than offended: for it shall both be a good warning to me another time how to trust every man at the first sight, yea, and I shall have good game here after to tell this pleasant story another day in mine own country.  Cle. 
Gentleman, you have reason: and be you sure, that as many as hear it, will take great pleasure in it. And you Philogano may think, that god in heaven above, hath ordained your coming hither at this present to the end I might recover my lost son, whom by no other means I could ever have found out.  Phi. 
Surely sir I think no less, for I think that not so much as a leaf falleth from the tree, without the ordinance of god. But let us go seek Damon, for me thinketh every day a year, every hour a day, and every minute to much till I see my Erostrato.  Cle. 
I cannot blame you, go we then. Carino take you that gentleman home in the mean time, the fewer the better to be present at such affairs.  Pasiphilo stayeth their going in.  

Scena ix  PHILOGANO CLEANDER. 
Master doctor, will you not show me this favour, to tell me the cause of your displeasure?  Cle. 
Gentle Pasiphilo, I must needs confess I have done thee wrong, and that I believed tales of thee, which in deed I find now contrary.  Pas. 
I am glad then that it procéedee rather of ignorance than of malice.  Cle. 
Yea believe me Pasiphilo.  Pas. 
O sir, but yet you should not have given me such foul words.  Cle. 
Well, content thyself Pasiphilo, I am thy friend as I have always been: for proof whereof, come sup with me to night, & from day to day this seven night be thou my guest. But behold, here cometh Damon out of his house.  Here they come all together  

Scena decima.  CLEANDER. PHILOGANO. DAMON. EROSTRATO. PASIPHILO. POLINESTA. NEVOLA. and other servants. 
WE are come unto you sir, to turn you sorrow into joy and gladness: the sorrow, we mean, that of force you have sustained since this mishap of late fallen in your house. But be you of good comfort sir, and assure yourself, that this young man which youthfully and not maliciously hath committed this amorons offence, is very well able (with consent of this worthy man his father) to make you sufficient amends: being borne in Cathanea of Sicilia, of a noble house, no way inferior unto you, and of wealth (by the report of such as know it) far exceeding that of yours.  Phi. 
And I here in proper person, do present unto you sir, not only my assured friendship and brotherhood, but do earnestly desire you to accept my poor child (though unworthy) as your son in law: and for recompense of the injury he hath done you, I proffer my whole lands in dower to your daughter: yea and more would, if more I might.  Cle. 
And I sir, who have hitherto so earnestly desired your daughter in marriage, do now willingly yield up and quite claim to this young man, who both for his years and for the love he beareth her, is most meetest to be her husband. For where I was desirous of a wife by whom I might have issue, to leave that little which god hath sent me: now have I little need, that (thanks be to god) have found my dearly beloved son, whom I lost of a child at the siege of Otranto.  Da. 
Worthy gentleman, your friendship, your alliance, and the nobility of your birth are such, as I have much more cause to desire them of you than you to request of me that which is already granted. Therefore I gladly, and willingly receive the same, and think myself most happy now of all my life past, that I have gotten so toward a son in law to myself, and so worthy a father in law to my daughter: yea and much the greater is my contentation, since this worthy gentleman master Cleander, doth hold himself satisfied. And now behold your son.  Ero. 
O father.  Pas. 
Behold the natural love of the child to the father: for inward joy he cannot pronounce one word, in stead whereof he sendeth sobs and tears to tell the effect of his inward invention. But why do you abide here abroad? will it please you to go into the house sir?  Da. 
Pasiphilo hath said well: will it please you to go in sir?  Ne. 
Here I have brought you sir, both fetters & bolts.  Da. 
Away with them now.  Ne. 
Yea, but what shall I do with them?  Da. 
Marry I will tell thee Nevola: to make a right end of our supposes, lay one of those bolts in the fire, and make thee a suppository as long as mine arm, God save the sample. Nobles and gentlemen, if you suppose that our supposes have given you sufficient cause of delight, show some token, whereby we may suppose you are content.  Et plauserunt.   
FINIS.   

JOCASTA: A Tragedy written in Greek by Euripides, translated and digested into Act by George Gascoigne, and Francis Kinwelmershe of Gray's Inn, and there by them presented, 1566.  
The argument of the Tragedy.  
To scourge the crime of wicked Laius,  
And wreck the foul Incest of Oedipus,  
The angry Gods stirred up their sons, by strife  
With blades imbrued to reave each other's life:  
The wife, the mother, and the concubine,  
(Whose fearful heart foredrad their fatal fine,)  
Her sons thus dead, disdaineth longer life,  
And slays hirself with self-same bloody knife:  
The daughter she, surprised with childish dread  
(That durst not die) a loathsome life doth lead,  
Yet rather chose to guide her banished sire,  
Than cruel Creon should have his desire.  
Creon is King, the 
* figure.  type of Tyranny,  
And Oedipus, mirror of misery.  Fortunatus Infoelix.  

The names of the Interlocutors.  

jocasta, the Queen.  
servus, a noble man of the Queen's train.  
Bailo, governor to the Queen's sons.  
Antigone, daughter to the Queen.  
Chorus, four Theban dames.  
Polynices & Eteocles. sons to Oedipus & the Queen.  
Creon, the Queen's brother.  
Meneceus, son to Creon.  
Tiresias, the divine priest.  
Manto, the daughter of Tiresias.  
Sacerdos, the sacrificing priest.  
Nuntij, three messengers from the camp.  
Oedipus, the old King father to Eteocles and Polynices, son and husband to jocasta the Queen.   
The Tragedy presented as it were in Thebes.   

¶ The order of the dumb shows and Musics before every Act.  
first, before the beginning of the first Act, did sound a doleful & strange noise of viols, Citherns, Bandurion, and such like, during the which, there came in upon the Stage a king with an Imperial crown upon his head, very richly appareled: a Sceptre in his right hand, a Mound with a Cross in his left hand, sitting in a Chariot very richly furnished, drawn in by four Kings in their Doublets and Hosen, with Crowns also upon their heads. Representing unto us Ambition, by the history of Sesostris king of Egypt, who being in his time and reign a mighty Conqueror, yet not content to have subdued many princes, and taken from them their kingdoms and dominions, did in like manner 'cause those Kings whom he had so overcome, to draw in his Chariot like Beasts and Oxen, thereby to content his unbridled ambitious desire. After he had been drawn twice about the Stage, and retired, the Music ceased, and jocasta the Queen issued out of her house, beginning the first Act, as followeth. jocasta the Queen issueth out of her Palace, before her twelve Gentlemen, following after her eight Gentlewomen, whereof four be the Chorus that remain on the Stage after her departure. At her entrance the Trumpets sounded, and after she had gone once about the Stage, she turneth to one of her most trusty and esteemed servants, and unto him she discloseth her grief, as followeth.   


The first Act.  

The first Scene.  JOCASTA. SERWS. 
O Faithful servant of mine ancient sire,  
Though unto thee, sufficiently be known  
The whole discourse of my recureless grief  
By seeing me from Princes royal state  
Thus basely brought into so great contempt,  
As mine own sons repined to hear my plaint,  
Now of a Queen but barely bearing name,  
Seeing this town, seeing my flesh and blood,  
Against itself to levy threatening arms,  
(Whereof to talk my heart it rends in twain)  
Yet once again, I must to thee recount  
The wailful thing that is already spread,  
Because I know, that pity will compel  
Thy tender heart, more than my natural child,  
With ruthful tears to moon my mourning case.  Ser. 
My gracious Queen, as no man might surmount  
The constant faith I bear my sovereign Lord,  
So do I think, for love and trusty zeal,  
No Son you have, doth own you more than I:  
For hereunto I am by duty bound,  
With service meet no less to honour you,  
Than that renowned Prince your dear father.  
And as my duties be most infinite,  
So infinite, must also be my love:  
Then if my life or spending of my blood  
May be employed to do your highness good,  
Command (O Queen) command this carcase here,  
In spite of death to satisfy thy will,  
So, though I die, yet shall my willing ghost  
Contentedly forsake this withered corpse,  
For joy to think I never showed myself  
Ingrateful once to such a worthy Queen.  joca. 
Thou know'st what care my careful father took,  
In wedlocks sacred state to settle me  
With Laius, king of this unhappy Thebes,  
That most unhappy now our City is:  
Thou know'st, how he, desirous still to search  
The hidden secrets of supernal powers,  
Unto Divines did make his oft recourse,  
Of them to learn when he should have a son,  
That in his Realm might after him succeed:  
Of whom receiving answer sharp and sour,  
That his own son should work his wailful end,  
The wretched king (though all in vain) did seek  
For to eschew that could not be eschewed:  
And so, forgetting laws of nature's love,  
Not sooner had this painful womb brought forth  
His eldest son to this desired light,  
But strait he charged a trusty man of his  
To bear the child into a desert wood,  
And leave it there, for Tigers to devour.  Ser. 
O luckless babe, begot in woeful hour.  joc. 
His servant thus obedient to his hest,  
Up by the heels did hung this faultless Imp,  
And piercing with a knife his tender feet,  
Through both the wounds did draw the slender twigs,  
Which being bound about his feeble limbs,  
Were strong enough to hold the little soul.  
Thus did he leave this infant scarcely borne,  
That in short time must needs have lost his life,  
If destiny (that for our greater griefs  
Decreed before to keep it still alive)  
Had not unto this child sent present help:  
For so it chanced, a shepherd passing by,  
With pity moved, did stay his guiltless death:  
He took him home, and gave him to his wife,  
With homely fare to feed and foster up:  
Now hearken how the heavens have wrought the way  
To Laius' death, and to mine own decay.  " Ser. 
Experience proves, and daily is it seen,  
" In vain (too vain) man strives against the heavens.  joca. 
Not far fro thence, the mighty Polybus,  
Of Corinth King, did keep his princely court,  
Unto whose woeful wife (lamenting much  
She had no offspring by her noble fere)  
The courteous shepherd gave my little son:  
Which grateful gift, the Queen did so accept,  
As nothing seemed more precious in her sight:  
Partly, for that, his features were so fine,  
Partly, for that, he was so beautiful,  
And partly, for because his comely grace  
Gave great suspicion of his royal blood.  
The infant grew, and many years was deemed  
Polybus' son, till time, that Oedipus  
(For so he named was) did understand  
That Polybus was not his sire in deed,  
Whereby forsaking friends and country there,  
He did return to seek his native stock:  
And being come into Phocides land,  
Took notice of the cursed oracle,  
How first he should his father do to death,  
And then become his mother's wedded mate.  Ser. 
O fierce aspect of cruel planets all,  
That can decree such seas of heinous faults.  joca. 
Then Oedipus, freight full of chilling fear,  
By all means sought t' avoid this furious fate,  
But whiles he weened to shun the shameful deed,  
Unluckily guided by his own mishap,  
He fell into the snare that most he feared:  
For lo, in Phocides did Laius' lie,  
To end the broils that civil discord than  
Had raised up in that unquiet land,  
By means whereof my woeful Oedipus,  
Affording aid unto the other side,  
With murdering blade unwares his father slew.  
Thus heavenly doom, thus fate, thus powers divine,  
Thus wicked read of Prophets took effect:  
Now only rests to end the bitter hap  
Of me, of me his miserable mother.  
Alas, how cold I feel the quaking blood  
Pass too and fro within my trembling breast?  
Oedipus, when this bloody deed was done,  
Forced forth by fatal doom, to Thebes came,  
Where as full soon with glory he achieved  
The crown and sceptre of this noble land,  
By conquering Sphinx that cruel monster lo,  
That erst destroyed this goodly flowering soil:  
And thus did I (O hateful thing to hear)  
To my own son become a wretched wife.  Ser. 
No marvel, though the golden Sun withdrew  
His glittering beams from such a sinful fact.  joca. 
And so by him that from this belly sprang,  
I brought to light (O cursed that I am)  
Aswell two sons, as daughters also twain:  
But when this monstrous marriage was disclosed,  
So sore began the rage of boiling wrath  
To swell within the furious breast of him,  
As he himself by stress of his own nails,  
Out of his head did tear his griefful eyen,  
Unworthy more to see the shining light.  Ser. 
How could it be, that knowing he had done  
So foul a blot, he would remain alive?  " joca. 
So deeply faulteth none, the which unwares  
" Doth fall into the crime he can not shun:  
And he (alas) unto his greater grief,  
Prolongs the date of his accursed days,  
Knowing that life doth more and more increase  
The cruel plagues of his detested guilt,  
" Where stroke of griefly death doth set an end  
" Unto the pangs of man's increasing pain.  Ser. 
Of others all, most cause have we to moon  
Thy woeful smart (O miserable Queen)  
Such and so many are thy grievous harms.  joca. 
Now to the end this blind outrageous sire.  
Should reap no joy of his unnatural fruit,  
His wretched sons, pricked forth by furious spite,  
Adjudge their father to perpetual prison:  
There buried in the depth of dungeon dark,  
(Alas) he leads his discontented life,  
Accursing still his stony hearted sons,  
And wishing all th'infernal spirits of hell,  
To breath such poisoned hate into their breasts,  
As each with other fall to bloody wars,  
And so with pricking point of piercing blade,  
To rip their bowels out, that each of them  
With others blood might strain his guilty hands,  
And both at once by stroke of speedy death  
Be forthwith thrown into the Stygian lake.  Ser. 
The mighty Gods prevent so fowl a deed,  joca. 
They to avoid the wicked blasphemies,  
And sinful prayer of their angry sire,  
Agreed thus, that of this noble realm,  
Until the course of one full year was run,  
Eteocles should sway the kingly mace,  
And Polynices as exul should depart,  
Till time expired: and then to Polynices  
Eteocles should yield the sceptre up:  
Thus year by year the one succeeding other,  
This royal crown should unto both remain.  Ser. 
O th'unbridled minds of ambitious men.  joca. 
Etocles thus placed in princely seat,  
Drunk with the sugared taste of kingly reign,  
Not only shut his brother from the crown,  
But also from his native country soil.  
Alas poor Polynices, what might he do,  
Unjustly by his brother thus betrayed?  
To Argos he, with sad and heavy cheer  
Forthwith conveyed himself, on whom at length  
With fawning face good fortune smiled so,  
As with Adrastus' king of Argives there,  
He found such favour and affinity,  
As (to restore my son unto his reign,)  
He hath besiege this noble city Thebes,  
And hence proceeds my most extreme annoy:  
For, of my sons, who ever do prevail,  
The victory will turn unto my grief:  
Alas, I fear (such is the chance of war)  
That one, or both shall purchase death thereby.  
Wherefore, to shun the worst that may befall,  
Though comfortless, yet as a pitiful mother  
Whom nature binds to love her loving sons,  
And to provide the best for their avail,  
I have thought good by prayers to entreat  
The two brethren (nay rather cruel foes)  
A while to stay their fierce and furious fight,  
Till I have tried by means for to appease  
The swelling wrath of their outraging wills,  
And so with much to do, at my request  
They have forborn unto this only hour.  Ser. 
Small space good wots, to stint so great a strife.  joca. 
And even right now, a trusty man of mine,  
Returned from the camp, informing me  
That Polynices will strait to Thebes come,  
Thus of my woe, this is the wailful sum.  
And for because, in vain and bootless plaint  
I have small need to spend this little time,  
Here will I cease, in words more to be wray  
The restless state of my afflicted mind,  
Desiring thee, thou go to Eteocles,  
Hartly on my behalf beseeching him,  
That out of hand according to his promise,  
He will vouchsafe to come unto my court,  
I know he loves thee well, and to thy words  
I think thou know'st he will give willing ear.  Ser. 
(O noble Queen) sith unto such affairs  
My speedy diligence is requisite,  
I will apply effectually to do  
What so your highness hath commanded me.  joca. 
I will go in, and pray the Gods therewhile,  
With tender pity to appease my grief.  jocasta goeth off the stage into her palace, her four handmaids follow her, the four Chorus also follow her to the gates of her palace, after coming on the stage, take their place, where they continue to the end of the Tragedy. SERWS SOLUS. 
" THe simple man, whose marvel is so great  
" At stately courts, 
The court lively painted.  and princes regal seat,  
" With gazing eye but only doth regard  
" The golden gloss that outwardly appears,  
" The crowns bedecked with pearl and precious stones,  
" The rich attire embossed with beaten gold,  
" The glittering mace, the pomp of swarming train,  
" The mighty halls heaped full of flattering friends,  
" The chambers huge, the goodly gorgeous beds,  
" The gilted roofs embowed with curious work,  
" The faces sweet of fine disdaining dames,  
" The vain suppose of wanton reign at lust:  
" But never views with eye of inward thought,  
" The painful toil, the great and grievous cares,  
" The troubles still, the new increasing fears,  
" That princes nourish in their jealous breasts:  
" He weigheth not the charge that jove hath laid  
" On princes, how for themselves they reign not:  
" He weens, the law must stoop to princely will,  
" But princes frame their noble wills to law:  
" He knoweth not, that as the boisterous wind  
" Doth shake the tops of highest reared towers,  
" So doth the force of froward fortune strike  
" The wight that highest sits in haughty state.  
Lo Oedipus, that sometime reigned king  
Of Theban soil, that wonted to suppress  
The mightest Prince, and keep him under check,  
That fearful was unto his foreign foes,  
Now like a poor afflicted prisoner,  
In dungeon dark, shut up from cheerful light,  
In every part so plagued with annoy,  
As he abhors to lead a longer life,  
By means whereof, the one against the other  
His wrathful sons have planted all their force,  
And Thebes here, this ancient worthy town,  
With threatening siege girt in on every side,  
In danger lies to be subverted quite,  
If help of heavenly jove uphold it not,  
But as dark night succeeds the shining day,  
So lowering grief comes after pleasant joy.  
Well now the charge her highness did command  
I must fulfil, though haply all in vain.  Servus goeth off the stage by the gates called Electrae. Antigone attended with three gentlewomen and her governor cometh out of the Queen her mother's Palace. BAILO. ANTIGONE. 
O Gentle daughter of King Oedipus,  
O sister dear to that unhappy wight  
Whom brother's rage hath reaved of his right,  
To whom, thou know'st, in young and tender years  
I was a friend and faithful governor,  
Come forth, sith that her grace hath granted leave,  
And let me know what cause hath moved now  
So chaste a maid to set her dainty foot  
Over the threshold of her secret lodge?  
Since that the town is furnished every where  
With men of arms and warlike instruments,  
Unto our ears there comes no other noise,  
But sound of trump, and neigh of trampling steeds,  
Which running up and down from place to place,  
With hideous cries betoken blood and death:  
The blazing sun ne shineth half so bright,  
As it was wont to do at dawn of day:  
The wretched dames throughout the woeful town,  
Together clustering to the temples go,  
Beseeching jove by way of humble plaint,  
With tender ruth to pity their distress.  An. 
The love I bear to my sweet Polynices,  
My dear brother, is only cause hereof.  Bai. 
Why daughter, know'st thou any remedy  
How to defend thy father's city here  
From that outrage and fierce repining wrath,  
Which he against it, justly hath conceived?  An. 
O governor might this my faultless blood  
Suffice to stay my brethren's dire debate,  
With glad content I could afford my life  
Betwixt them both to plant a perfect peace.  
But since (alas) I cannot as I would,  
A hot desire inflames my fervent mind  
To have a sight of my sweet Polynices.  
Wherefore (good guide) vouchsafe to guide me up  
Into some tower about this hugy court,  
From whence I may behold our enemy's camp,  
Thereby at lest to feed my hungry eyes  
But with the sight of my beloved brother:  
Then if I die, contented shall I die.  Bai. 
O princely dame, the tender care thou tak'st  
Of thy dear brother, deserveth double praise:  
Yet crav'st thou that, which cannot be obtained,  
By reason of the distance from the town  
Unto the plain, where th'army lies encamped:  
And furthermore, beseemeth not a maid  
To show herself in such unseemly place,  
Whereas among such young and lusty troops  
Of harebrained soldiers marching to and fro,  
Both honest name and honour is impaired:  
But yet rejoice, sith this thy great desire,  
Without long let, or yet without thy pain,  
At wish and will shortly may be fulfilled.  
For Polynices forthwith will hither come,  
Even I myself was lately at the camp,  
Commanded by the Queen to bid him come,  
Who laboureth still to link in friendly league,  
Her jarring sons (which hap so hoped for,  
eftsoons I pray the gracious gods to grant)  
And sure I am, that ere this hour pass,  
Thou shalt him here in person safely see.  Anti. 
O loving friend, dost thou then warrant me,  
That Polynices will come unto this court?  Bai. 
Ere thou he ware thou shalt him here behold.  Anti. 
And who (alas) doth warrant his adventure,  
That of Eteocles he take no harm?  Bai. 
For constant pledge, he hath his brother's faith,  
He hath also the truce that yet endures.  An. 
I fear alas, alas I greatly fear,  
Some trustless snare his cruel brother lays  
To trap him in.  Bai. 
Daughter, god knows how willing I would be  
With sweet relief to comfort thy distress,  
But I cannot impart to thee, the good  
Which I myself do not as yet enjoy.  
The wailful cause that moves Eteocles  
With Polynices to enter civil wars  
Is overgreat, and for this only cause  
Full many men have broke the laws of truth,  
And topsy-turvy turned many towns,  
" To greedy (daughter) too too greedy is  
" Desire to rule and reign in kingly state.  
Ne can he bide, that sways a realm alone  
To have another joined with him therein:  
Yet must we hope for help of heavenly powers,  
Sigh they be just, their mercy is at hand,  
To help the weak when worldly force doth fail.  An. 
As both my brethren be, so both I bear  
As much good will as any sister may,  
But yet the wrong that unto Polynices  
This trothless tyrant hath unjustly showed,  
Doth lead me more, to wish the prosperous life  
Of Polynices, than of that cruel wretch,  
Besides that, Polynices whiles he remained  
In Thebes here, did ever love me more,  
Than did Eteocles, whose swelling hate  
Is towards me increased more and more:  
Whereof I partly may assure myself,  
Considering he disdains to visit me,  
Yea, haply he intends to reave my life,  
And having power he will not stick to do it.  
This therefore makes me earnestly desire  
Often times to see him: yet ever as I think  
For to discharge the duty of a sister,  
The fear I have of hurt, doth change as fast  
My doubtful love into disdainful spite.  Bai. 
Yet daughter, must ye trust in mighty jove,  
His will is not, that for th'offence of one  
So many suffer undeserved smart:  
I mean of thee, I mean of Polynices,  
Of jocasta thy woeful aged mother,  
And of Ismena thy beloved sister,  
Who though for this she doth not outwardly  
For dreary eyen distill lamenting tears,  
Yet do I think, no less aflicting grief  
Doth inwardly torment her tender breast.  An. 
Besides all this, a certain jealousy,  
Lately conceived (I know not whence it springs)  
Of Creon, my mother's brother, appalls me much,  
Him doubt I more than any danger else.  Bai. 
Dear daughter, leave this foolish jealousy,  
And seeing that thou shalt here shortly find  
Thy brother Polynices, go in again.  An. 
O joyful would it be to me therewhile,  
To understand the order of the host,  
Whether it be such as have sufficient power  
To overthrow this mighty town of Thebes.  
What place supplies my brother Polynices?  
Where found ye him? what answer did he give?  
And though so great a care pertaineth not  
Unto a maid of my unskill years,  
Yet, forbecause myself partaker am  
Of good and evil with this my country soil,  
I long to hear thee tell those fearful news,  
Which otherwise I cannot understand.  Bai. 
So noble a desire (O worthy dame)  
I much commend: and briefly as I can,  
Will satisfy thy hungry mind herein.  
The power of men that Polynices hath brought,  
(Whereof he, (being Adrastus' son in law)  
Takes chiefest charge) is even the flower of Grece,  
Whose hugy train so mighty seems to be,  
As I see not, how this our drooping town  
Is able to withstand so strong a siege.  
Entering the field their army did I find  
So orderly in form of battle set,  
As though they would forthwith have given the charge:  
In battles seven the host divided is,  
To each of which, by order of the king,  
A valiant knight for captain is assigned:  
And as you know this city hath seven gates,  
So every captain hath his gate prescribed,  
With fierce assault to make his entry at.  
And further, passing through our frowning foes  
(That gave me countenance of a messenger)  
Hard by the King I spied Polynices,  
In golden glistering arms most richly clad,  
Whose person many a stately prince empaled,  
And many a comely crowned head enclosed:  
At sight of me his colour strait he changed,  
And like a loving child, in clasped arms  
He caught me up, and friendly kissed my cheek,  
Then hearing what his mother did demand  
With glad consent according to her hest  
Gave me his hand, to come unto the court,  
Of mutual truce desirous so he seemed,  
He asked me of Antigone and Ismena,  
But chiefly unto thee above the rest  
He gave me charge most heartily to commend him.  An. 
The gods give grace he may at length possess  
His kingly right, and I his wished sight.  Bai. 
Daughter no more, 'tis time ye now return:  
It stands not with the honour of your state  
Thus to be seen suspiciously abroad:  
" For vulgar tongues are armed evermore  
" With slanderous brute to blemish the renown  
" Of virtues dames, which though at first it spring  
" Of slender cause, yet doth it swell so fast,  

A glass for young women. " As in short space it filleth every ear  
" With swift report of undeserved blame:  
" You cannot be to curious of your name:  
" Fond show of evil (though still the mind be chaste)  
" Decays the credit often, that Ladies had,  
" Sometimes the place presumes a wanton mind:  
" Repair sometimes of some, doth hurt their honour:  
" Sometimes the light and garish proud attire  
" Persuades a yielding bent of pleasing youths.  
The voice that goeth of your unspotted fame,  
Is like a tender flower, that with the blast  
Of every little wind doth fade away.  
Go in dear child, this way will I go see  
If I can meet thy brother Polynices.  Antigone with her maids returneth into her mother's palace, her governor goeth out by the gates Homoloydes. CHORUS. 

IF greedy lust of man's ambitious eye  
(That thirsteth so for sway of earthly things)  
Would eke foresee, what mischiefs grow thereby,  
What careful toil to quiet state it brings,  
What endless grief from such a fountain springs:  
Then should he swim in seas of sweet delight,  
That now complains of fortunes cruel spite.   

For than he would so safely shield himself  
With sacred rules of wisdoms sage advise,  
As no alluring train of trustless pelf,  
To fond affects his fancy should entice,  
Then wary heed would quickly make him wise:  
Where contrary (such is our skilless kind)  
We most do seek, that most may hurt the mind.   

Amid the troop of these unstable toys,  
Some fancies lo to beauty must be bend,  
Some hunt for wealth, and some set all their joys,  
In regal power of princely government,  
Yet none of these from care are clean exempt:  
For either they be got with grievous toil,  
Or in the end foregone with shameful foil.   

This flitting world doth firmly naught retain,  
Wherein a man may boldly rest his trust,  
Such fickle chance in fortune doth remain,  
As when she lust, she threateneth whom she lust,  
From high renown to throw him in the dust:  
Thus may we see that each triumphing joy  
By fortune's frown is turned to annoy.   

Those elder heads may well be thought to err,  
The which for easy life and quiet days,  
The vulgar sort would seem for to prefer,  
If glorious Phoebe withhold his glistering rays,  
From such a peer as crown and sceptre sways,  
No marvel though he hide his heavenly face,  
From us that come of less renowned race.   

seld shall you see the ruin of a Prince, 
Argumentum â maiore.   
But that the people eke like brunt do bear,  
And old records of ancient time long since,  
From age to age, yea almost every where,  
With proof hereof hath glutted every ear:  
Thus by the follies of the prince's heart,  
The bounden subject still receiveth smart.   

Lo, how unbridled lust of private reign,  
Hath pricked both the brethren unto war:  
Yet Polynices, with sign of less disdain,  
Against this land hath brought from countries far,  
A foreign power, to end this cruel jar,  
Forgetting quite the duty, love, and zeal,  
He aught to bear unto this common weal.   

But whosoever gets the victory,  
We wretched dames, and thou O noble town,  
Shall feel thereof the woeful misery,  
Thy gorgeous pomp, thy glorious high renown,  
Thy stately towers, and all shall fall a down,  
Sigh raging Mars will each of them assist  
In other's breast to bathe his bloody fist.   

But thou 
Bacchus.  O son of Semel, and of jove,  
(That tamed the proud attempt of giants strong)  
Do thou defend, even of thy tender love,  

Bacchus was the God whom they most honoured in Thebes.  Thy humble thralls from this afflicting wrong,  
Whom waist of war hath now tormented long:  
So shall we never fail ne day ne night  
With reverence due thy praises to recite.   
Finis Actus primi.  Done by F. Kinwelmarshe.   

The order of the second dumb show.  
BEfore the beginning of this second Act did sound a very doleful noise of flutes: during the which there came in upon the stage two coffins covered with hearclothes, & brought in by eight in mourning weed: & accompanied with eight other mourners: & after they had carried the coffins about the stage, there opened & appeared a Grave, wherein they buried the coffins & put fire to them: but the flames did sever & part in twain, signifying discord by the history of two brethren, whose discord in their life was not only to be wondered at, but being buried both in one Tomb (as some writers affirm) the flames of their funerals did yet part the one from the other in like manner, and would in no wise join into one flame. After the Funerals were ended & the fire consumed, the grave was closed up again, the mourners withdrew them off the stage, & immediately by the gates Homoloydes entered Polynices accompanied with vj. gentlemen and a page that carried his helmet and Target: he & his men unarmed saving their gorgets, for that they were permitted to come into the town in time of truce, to the end jocasta might bring the two brethren to a parley: and Polynices after good regard taken round about him, speak as followeth.   

Actus. 2.  

Scena. 1.  POLYNICES. CHORUS. JOCASTA. ETEOCLES. 
Lo here mine own city and native soil,  
Lo here the nest I aught to nestle in,  
Yet being thus entrenched with mine own towers,  
And that, from him the safeconduct is given  
Which doth enjoy as much as mine should be,  
My feet can tread no step without suspect:  
For where my brother bides, even there behoves  
Moore wary scout than in an enemies camp.  
Yet while I may wthin this right hand hold  
This 
Never.  bronde, this blade, (unyelden ever yet)  
My life shall not be left without revenge.  
But here behold the holy sanctuary,  
Of Bacchus eke the worthy Image, lo  
The altars where the sacred flames have shone,  
And where of yore these guiltless hands of mine  
Full often have offered to our mighty gods:  
I see also a worthy company  
Of Theban dames, resembling unto me  
The train of jocasta my dear mother:  
Behold them clad in clotheses of grisly black,  
That hellish hew that 
Sword.  nay for other harms  
So well beseemed wretched wights to wear:  
For why, ere long their selves, themselves shall see  
(Gramercy to their prince's tyranny)  
Some spoiled of their sweet and sucking babes,  
Some lose their husband, other some their sire,  
And some their friends that were to them full dear.  
But now 'tis time to lay the sword aside.  
And eke of them to know where is the Queen:  
O worthy dames, heavy, unhappy ye,  
Where resteth now the restless queen of Thebes?  Chor. 
O worthy imp sprung out of worthy race,  
renowned Prince, whom we have looked for long,  
And now in happy hour art come to us,  
Some quiet bring to this unquiet realm.  
O queen, O queen, come forth and see thy son,  
The gentle fruit of all thy joyful seed.  jocast. 
My faithful friends, my dear beloved maids,  
I come at call, and at your words I move  
My feebled feet with age and agony:  
Where is my son? O tell me where is he,  
For whom I sighed have so often sith,  
For whom I spend both nights and days in tears?  Poli. 
Here noble mother, here, not as the king,  
Nor as a Citizen of stately Thebes,  
But as a stranger now, I thank my brother.  jocast. 
O son, O sweet and my desired son,  
These eyes they see, these hands of mine thee touch,  
Yet scarcely can this mind believe the same,  
And scarcely can this bruised breast sustain  
The sudden joy that is enclosed therein:  
O gladsome glass, wherein I see myself.  Chor. 
So grant the Gods, for our common good,  
You friendly may your sons both friends behold.  jocast. 
At thy depart, O lovely child, thou left  
My house in tears, and me thy wretched dame,  
Mirror of martyrdom, 
Lamenting.  waymenting still  
Th'unworthy exile thy brother to thee gave:  
Ne was there ever son or friend far off,  
Of his dear friends or mother so desired,  
As thy return, in all the town of Thebes.  
And of myself more than the rest to speak,  
I have as thou mayst see, clean cast aside  
My princely robes, and thus in woeful weed,  
Bewrapped have these lustless limbs of mine:  
nought else but tears have trickled from mine eyes,  
And eke thy wretched blind and aged sire,  
Since first he heard what war 'tween you there was,  
As one that did his bitter curse repent,  
Or that he prayed to jove for your decay,  
With stretching string, or else with bloody knife  
Hath sought full oft to end his loathed life.  
Thou this mean while my son, hast lingered long  
In far and foreign coasts, and wedded eke,  
By whom thou mayst, (when heavens appoints it so)  
Strange issue have by one a stranger borne,  
Which grieves me sore, and much the more dear child,  
Because I was not present at the same,  
There to perform thy loving mothers due.  
But for I find thy noble match so meet,  
And worthy both for thy degree and birth,  
I seek to comfort thee by mine advise,  
That thou return this city to inhabit,  
Which best of all may seem to be the bower,  
Both for thyself and for thy noble spouse.  
Forget thou then thy brother's injuries,  
And know dear child, the harm of all mishap  
That haps twixt you, must hap likewise to me:  
Ne can the cruel sword so slightly touch  
Your tender flesh, but that the self same wound  
Shall deeply bruise this aged breast of mine.  Cho. 
" There is no love may be compared to that,  
" The tender mother bears unto her child:  
" For even somuch the more it doth increase,  
" As their grief grows, or contentations cease.  Poli. 
I know not mother, if I praise deserve,  
(That you to please, whom I aught not displease)  
Have trained myself among my trustless foes:  
But Nature draws (whether he will or nill)  
Each man to love his native country soil:  
And who should say, that otherwise it were,  
His tongue should never with his heart agree.  
This hath me drawn beside my bounden due,  
To set full light this luckless life of mine:  
For of my brother, what may I else hope,  
But trains of treason, force and falsehood both?  
Yet neither peril present, nor to come,  
Can hold me from my due obedience:  
I grant I can not griefless, well behold  
My father's palace, the holy altars,  
Ne lovely lodge wherein I fostered was:  
From whence driven out, and chaste unworthily,  
I have to long abode in foreign coasts:  
And as the growing green and pleasant plant,  
Doth bear fresh branches one above another,  
Even so amid the huge heap of my woes,  
Doth grow one grudge more grievous than the rest,  
To see my dear and doleful mother, clad  
In mourning tire, to tire her mourning mind,  
Wretched alonely for my wretchedness,  
So likes that enemy my brother best:  
Soon shall you see that in this wandering world,  
No enmity is equal unto that  
That dark disdain (the cause of every evil)  
Doth breed full oft in consanguinity.  
But jove, he knows what dole I do endure,  
For you and for my father's wretched woe,  
And eke how deeply I desire to know  
What weary life my loving sisters lead,  
And what annoy mine absence them hath given.  jocast. 
Alas, alas, how wreakful wrath of Gods  
Doth still afflict Oedipus progeny:  
The first cause was thy father's wicked bed,  
And then (o why do I my plagues recount?)  
My burden borne, and your unhappy birth:  
" But needs we must with patient hearts abide,  
" What so from high the heavens do provide.  
With thee my child, fain would I question yet  
Of certain things me would I that my words  
Might thee annoy, ne yet renew thy grief.  Poli. 
say on, dear mother, say what so you please:  
What pleaseth you, shall never me disease.  jocast. 
And seems it not a heavy hap my son,  
To be deprived of thy country coasts?  Poly. 
So heavy hap as tongue can not express.  jocast. 
And what may most molest the mind 
Exile an exceeding grief to an honest mind.  of man  
This is exiled from his native soil?  Poli. 
The liberty he with his country lost,  
" And that he lacketh freedom for to speak,  
" What seemeth best, without control or check.  jocast. 
Why so? each servant lacketh liberty  
To speak his mind, without his masters leave.  Poli. 
" In exile, 
All exyles are like bondmen.  every man, or bond or free,  
" Of noble race, or meaner parentage,  
" Is not in this unlike unto the slave,  
" That must of force obey to each man's will,  
" And praise the peevishness of each man's pride.  jocast. 
And seemed this so grievous unto thee?  Poli. 
What grief can greater be, than so constrained  
Slave-like to serve 'gainst right and reason both,  
Yea much the more, to him that noble is,  
By stately line, or yet by virtuous life,  
And hath a heart like to his noble mind.  jocast. 
What helpeth most in such adversity?  Poli. 
Hope helpeth most to comfort misery. 
Hope the help in misery.   joca. 
Hope to return from whence he first was driven?  Poli. 
Yea, hope that happeneth oftentimes to late,  
And many die before such hap may fall.  jocast. 
And how didst thou before thy marriage son,  
Maintain thy life, a stranger so bestead?  Poli. 
Sometime I found (though seldom so it were)  
Some gentle heart, that could for courtesy,  
Content himself to secure mine estate.  jocast. 
Thy father's friends and thine, did they not help  
For to relieve that naked need of thine?  Poli. 
" Mother, he hath a foolish fantasy,  
" That thinks to find a friend in misery. 
Fuw friends in misery.   jocast. 
Thou mightest have help by thy nobility.  Poli. 
" Covered alas, in cloak of poverty?  jocast. 
" Well aught we then that are but mortal here,  
" Above all treasure count our country dear:  
Yea let me know my son, what cause thee moved  
To go to Grece?  Poli. 
The flying fame that thundered in mine ears,  
How king Adrastus, governor of Greece,  
Was answered by Oracle, that he  
Should knit in links of lawful marriage,  
His two fair daughters, and his only heirs,  
One to a Lion, th'other to a Boar:  
An answer such as each man wondered at.  jocast. 
And how belongs this answer now to thee?  Poli. 
I took my guess even by this ensign here,  
A Lion lo, which I did always bear:  
Yet think I not, but jove alonely brought  
These hands of mine to such an high exploit.  jocast. 
And how yet came it to this strange effect?  Poli. 
The shining day had run his hasted course,  
And dewy night bespread her mantel dark,  
When I that wandered after weary toil,  
To seek some harbour for mine irked limbs,  
'Gan find at last a little cabin, close  
Adjoined fast unto the stately walls,  
Where king Adrastus held his royal towers.  
Scarce was I there in quiet well ycought,  

Small causes may move the needy to contend.  But thither came another exile eke,  
Named Tydeus, who strove perforce to drive  
Me from this sorry seat, and so at last,  
We settled us to fell and bloody fight,  
Whereof the rumour grew so great forthwith,  
That strait the king informed was thereof,  
Who seeing then the ensigns that we bore,  
To be even such as were to him foresaid,  
Choose each of us to be his son by law,  
And sithence did solemnize eke the same.  jocast. 
Yet would I know, if that thy wife be such  
As thou canst joy in her? or what she is?  Pyli. 
O mother dear, fairer ne wiser dame  
Is none in Greece, Argia is her name.  jocast. 
How couldst thou to this doubtful enterprise,  
So many bring, thus armed all at once?  Poli. 
Adrastus swore, that he would soon restore  
Unto our right both Tydeus, and me:  
And first for me, that had the greater need,  
Whereby the best and boldest bloods in Greece,  
Have followed me unto this enterprise.  
A thing both just and grievous unto me,  
grievous I say, for that I do lament  
To be constrained by such open wrong,  
To war against mine own dear country fears.  
But unto you (O mother) doth pertain  
To stint this strife, and both deliver me  
From exile now, and eke the town from siege:  
For otherwise, I swear you here by heavens,  
Eteocles, who now doth me disdain  
For brother, shortly shall see me his lord▪  
I ask the seat, whereof I aught of right  
Possess the half, I am Oedipus son,  
And yours, so am I true son to you both.  
Wherefore I hope that as in my defence,  
The world will weigh, so jove will me assist.  Eteocles cometh in here by the gates Electrae, himself armed, and before him twenty gentlemen in armour, his two pages, whereof the one beareth his Target, the other his helm. Chor. 
Behold O queen, behold O worthy queen, 
The dames did love Polynices and hate Eteocles.   
Unworthy he, Eteocles here comes,  
So, would the Gods, that in this noble realm  
Should never long unnoble tyrant reign,  
Or that with wrong the right and doubtless heir,  
Should banished be out of his princely seat.  
Yet thou O queen, so file thy sugared tongue.  
And with such counsel deck thy mother's tale,  
That peace may both the brother's hearts inflame,  
And rancour yield, that erst possess the same.  Eteocl. 
Mother, behold, your hests for to obey,  
In person now am I resorted hither:  
In haste therefore, fain would I know what cause  
With hasty speed, so moved hath your mind  
To call me now so causeless out of time,  
When common wealth most craves my only aid:  
Fain would I know what quent commodity  
Persuades you thus to take a truce for time,  
And yield the gates wide open to my foe,  
The gates that might our stately state defend,  
And now are made the path of our decay.  joca. 
" Repress dear son, those raging storms of wrath,  
" That so bedim the eyes of thine intent,  
" As when the tongue (a ready Instrument)  
" Would fain pronounce the meaning of the mind,  
" It cannot speak one honest seemly word.  
" But when disdain is shrunk, or set aside,  
" And mind of man with leisure can discourse  
" What seemly words his tale may best beseem,  
" And that the tongue unfoldes without affects  
" Then may proceed an answer sage and grave,  
" And every sentence sawst with soberness:  
Wherefore unbend thine angry brows dear child,  
And cast thy rolling eyes none other way,  

One of the furies.  That here dost not Medusa's (a) face behold,  
But him, even him, thy blood and brother dear.  
And thou behold, my Polynices eke,  
Thy brother's face, wherein when thou mayst see  
Thy own image, remember therewithal,  
That what offence thou wouldst to him were done,  
The blows thereof rebound unto thyself.  
And hereof eke, I would you both forewarn,  
When friends or brethren, kinsfolk or allies,  
(Whose hasty hearts some angry mood had moved)  
Be face to face by some of pity brought,  
Who seeks to end their discord and debate:  

Rehearsal of old grudges do● h●●der all reconcilition.  They only aught consider well the cause  
For which they come, and cast out of their mind  
For evermore the old offences passed:  
So shall sweet peace drive pleading out of place.  
Wherefore the first shall Polynices be,  
To tell what reason first his mind did rule,  
That thus our walls with foreign foes enclosed  
In sharp revenge of causeless wrong received,  
As he allegeth by his brother's doom:  
And of this wicked woe and dire 
(b) Cruel or vengeable.  debate,  
Some God of pity be the equal judge,  
Whom I beseech, to breath in both your breasts  
A yielding heart to deep desire of peace.  Poli. 

Truth pleadeth simply when falssehood useth eloquence. " My worthy dame, I find that tried truth  
" Doth best beseem a simple naked tale,  
" Ne needs to be with painted process pricked,  
" That in herself hath no diversity,  
" But always shows one undisguised face,  
" Where deep deceit and lies must seek the shade,  
" And wrap their words in guileful eloquence,  
" As ever fraught with contrariety:  
So have I often said, and say again,  
That to avoid our father's foul reproach  
And bitter curse, I parted from this land  
With right good will, yet thus with him agreed,  
That while the whirling wings of flying time  
Might roll one year about the heavenly sphere,  
So long alone he might with peace possess  
Our father's seat in princely 
(c) Crown 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  Diadem,  
And when the year should eke his course renew,  
Might I succeed to rule again as long.  
And that this law might still be kept for ay,  
He bond himself by vow of solemn oath  
By Gods, by men, by heaven, and eke by earth:  
Yet that forgot, without all reverence  
Unto the Gods, without respect to right,  
Without respect that reason aught to rule,  
His faith and troth both trodden under foot,  
He still usurps most tyrantlike with wrong  
The right that doth of right to me belong.  
But if he can with equal doom consent,  
That I return into my native soil  
To sway with him alike the kingly seat  
And evenly bear the bridle both in hand,  
Dear mother mine I swear by all the Gods  
To raise with speed the siege from these our walls,  
And sand the soldiers home from whence they came:  
Which if he grant me not, then must I do  
(Though loath) as much as right and reason would,  
To venge my cause that is both good and just.  
Yet this in heaven the Gods my records be,  
And here in earth each mortal man may know,  
That never yet my guiltless heart did fail  
Brotherly duty to Eteocles,  
And that causeless he holds me from mine own.  
Thus have I said O mother, even as much  
As needful is, wherein I me assure:  
That in the judgement both of good and bad,  
My words may seem of reason to proceed,  
Constrained thus in my defence to speak.  Chor. 
None may deny, O peer of princely race,  
But that thy words, are honest, good and just,  
And such as well beseem that tongue of thine.  Eteo. 
" If what to some seems honest good and just,  

Sundry men sundry minds. " Can seem even so in every doubtful mind,  
" Not dark debate nor quarrel could arise:  
" But look, how many men so many minds,  
" And that, that one man judgeth good and just,  
" Some other deems as deeply to be wrong.  
To say the truth (mother) this mind of mine  
Doth fleet full far from that farfetch of his,  
Ne will I longer cover my conceit:  
If I could rule or reign in heaven above,  
And eke command in depth of darksome hell,  
No toil ne travel should my spirits abash,  
To take the way unto my restless will,  
To climb aloft, nor down for to descend.  
Then think you not, that I can give consent  
To yield a part of my possession,  
Wherein I live and lead the 
Only rule.  monarchy.  
" A witless fool may every man him guess,  
" That leaves the more and takes him to the less.  
With this, reproach might to my name redound,  
If he, that hath with foreign power spoiled  
Our pleasant fields, might reave from me perforce,  
What so he list by force of arms demand.  
Not less reproof the citizens ensues,  
If I, for dread of Greekish hosts, should grant  
That he might climb to height of his desire.  
In fine, he aught not thus of me to crave  
Accord, or peace, with bloody sword in hand,  
But with humility and prayer both,  
For often is it seen, and proof doth teach,  
" Sweet words prevail, where sword and fire do fail.  
Yet this, if here within these stately walls  
He list to live, the son of Oedipus,  
And not as king of Thebes, I stand content.  
But let him think, since now I can command,  
This neck of mine shall never yield to yoke  
Of servitude: let bring his banners splayed,  
Let spear and shield, sharp sword, and cindering flames  
Procure the part that he so vainly claims:  
As long as life within this breast doth last,  
I nill 
Will not.  consent that he should reign with me.  
If law of right may any way be broke,  
" Desire of rule within a climbing breast  
" To break a vow may bear the buckler best.  Cho. 
" Who once hath passed the bounds of honesty 
Tullyes' opinion.   
" In earnest deeds, may pass it well in words.  joca. 
O son, amongst so many miseries  
This benefit hath crooked age, I found,  
That as the track of trustless time hath taught,  
" It seeth much, and many things discerns, 
Youth seeth not so much as age.   
" Which reckless youth can never rightly judge,  
O, cast aside that vain ambition,  
That corrosive, that cruel pestilence,  
That most infects the minds of mortal men:  
" In princely palace and in stately towns 
Ambition doth destroy all: equalytte doth maintain all things.   
" It creepeth oft, and close with it conveys,  
" (To leave behind it) damage and decays:  
" By it be love and amity destroyed,  
" It breaks the laws and common concord beats,  
" Kingdoms and realms it topsy-turvy turns,  
And now, even thee, her gall so poisoned hath,  
That the weak eyes of thine affection  
Are blinded quite, and see not to themself  
But worthy child, drive from thy doubtful breast  
This monstrous mate, in stead whereof embrace  
" Equality, which stately states defends  
" And binds the mind with true and trusty knots  
" Of friendly faith which never can be broke,  
" This man, of right should properly possess,  
And who that other doth the more embrace,  
Shall purchase pain to be his just reward  
By wrathful woe, or else by cruel death.  
" This, first divided all by equal bonds  
" What so the earth did yield for our avail?  
" This, did divide the nights and days alike,  
" And that the vail of dark and dreadful night)  
" (Which shrouds in misty clouds the pleasant light,  
" Ne yet the golden beams of Phoebus' rays  
" (Which clears the dimmed air with gladsome gleams)  
" Can yet heap hate in either of them both.  
If then the days and nights to serve our turn  
Content themselves to yield each other place,  
Well oughtest thou with weighty doom to grant  
Thy brother's right to rule the reign with thee,  
Which heavens ordained common to you both:  
If so thou nill O son, O cruel son,  

If the head be evil the body cannot be good. " In whose high breast may justice build her hour  
" When princes' hearts wide open lie to wrong?  
Why likes thee so the type of tyranny  
With other's loss to gather greedy gain?  
" Alas how far he wanders from the truth  
" That counts a pomp, all other to command,  
" Yet can not rule his own unbridled will,  
" A vain desire much riches to possess  
" Whereby the breast is bruised and battered still,  
" With dread, with danger, care and cold suspect.  
" Who seeks to have the thing we call enough,  
" Acquaint him first with contentation, 
Content to rich   
" For plenteousness is but a naked name.  
" And what sufficeth use of mortal men,  
" Shall best apay the mean and modest hearts.  
" These hoardward heaps of gold and worldly wealth  
" Are not the proper goods of any one,  
" But pawns which jove powers out abundantly 
Richeses are but borrowed ware.   
" That we likewise might use them equally,  
" And as he seems to lend them for a time,  
" Even so in time he takes them home again,  
" And would that we acknowledge every hour,  
" That from his hands we did the same receive:  
" There nothing is so firm and stayed to man,  
" But whirls about with wheels of restless time.  
Now if I should this one thing thee demand,  
Which of these two thou wouldst choose to keep,  
The town quiet or unquiet tyranny?  
And wouldst thou say I choose my kingly chair?  
O witless answer sent from wicked heart,  
For if so fall (which mighty God defend)  
Thy enemies hand should overcome thy might,  
And thou shouldest see them sack the town of Thebes,  
The chastest virgins ravished for wreck, 
Moore care to lose than pleasure to possess.   
The worthy children in captivity,  
" Then shouldest thou feel that sceptre, crown, & wealth  
" Yield deeper care to see them ta'en away,  
" Than to possess them yieldeth deep content.  
Now to conclude my son, Ambition  
Is it that most offends thy blinded thought,  
Blame not thy brother, blame ambition  
From whom if so thou not redeem thyself,  
I fear to see thee buy repentance dear.  Cho. 
Yea dear, too dear when it shall come too late.  joc. 
And now to thee my Polynices dear,  
I say that silly was Adrastus read,  
And thou God knows a simple silly soul,  
He to be ruled by thy heady will,  
And thou, to war against the Theban walls,  
These walls I say whose gates thyself should guard:  
Tell me I pray thee, if the City yield,  
Or thou it take by force in bloody fight,  
(Which never grant the Gods I them beseek)  
What spoils? what Palms? what sign of victory  

Small glory for a rebel to see his own country spoiled.  Canst thou set up to have thy country won?  
What title worthy of immortal fame,  
Shall blazed be in honour of thy name?  
O son, dear son, believe thy trusty dame,  
The name of glory shall thy name refuse,  
And fly full far from all thy fond attempts.  
But if so fall thou shouldst be overcome,  
Then with what face canst thou return to Greece,  
That here hast left so many greeks on ground▪  
Each one shall curse and blame thee to thy face,  
As him that only caused their decay,  
And eke condemn Adrastus simple head,  
That such a fere had chosen for his child.  
So may it fall, in one accursed hour,  
That thou mayst lose thy wife and country both,  
Both which thou mayst with little toil attain,  
If thou canst leave high mind and dark disdain.  Cho. 
O mighty Gods of goodness, never grant  
Unto these evils, but set desired peace  
Between the hearts of these two friendly foes.  Ete. 
The question that betwixt us two is grown,  
Believe me mother, can not end with words:  
You waste your breath, and I but lose my time,  
And all your travel lost and spent in vain:  
For this I swear, that peace you never get  
Between us two, but with condition,  
That whilst I live, I will be Lord of Thebes.  
Then set aside these vain forwasted words,  
And yield me leave to go where need doth press:  
And now good sir, get you out of these walls,  
Unless you mean to buy abode with blood.  Po. 
And who is he that seeks to have my blood,  
And shall not shed his own as fast as mine?  Ete. 
By thee he stands, and thou stand'st him before:  
Lo here the sword that shall perform his word.  Po. 
And this shall eke maintain my rightful cause.  joc. 
O sons, dear sons, away with glittering arms:  
And first, before you touch each other's flesh,  
With doubled blows come pierce this breast of mine.  Po. 
Ah wretch, thou art both vile and coward like,  
Thy high estate esteems thy life to dear.  Ete. 
If with a wretch or coward shouldst thou fight,  
O dastard villain, what first moved thee  
With swarms of Greeks to take this enterprise?  Po. 
For well I witted, that cankered heart of thine  
Could safely keep thy head within these walls,  
And flee the field when combat should be called.  Ete. 
This truce assureth thee Polynices,  
And makes thee bold to give such boasting words:  
So be thou sure, that had this truce not been,  
Then long erethiss, these hands had been imbrued,  
And eke this soil besprinkled with thy blood.  Po. 
Not one small drop of my blood shalt thou spill,  
But buy it dear against thy cankered william.  joc. 
O sons, my sons, for pity yet refrain.  Ch. 
Good Gods, who ever saw so strange a sight?  
True love and friendship both be put to flight.  Po. 
Yield villain, yield my right which thou witholdst.  Ete. 
Cut of thy hope to reign in Theban walls,  
Naught hast thou here, nor naught shall ever have,  
Away.  Po. 
O altars of my country soil.  Ete. 
Whom thou art come to spoil and to deface.  Po. 
O Gods, give ear unto my honest cause.  Ete. 
With foreign power his country to invade.  Po. 
O holy temples of the heavenly Gods.  Ete. 
That for thy wicked deeds do hate thy name  Po. 
Out of my kingdom am I driven by force.  Ete. 
Out of the which thou camest me for to drive.  Po. 
Punish O Gods this wicked tyrant here.  Ete. 
Pray to the Gods in Greece and not in Thebes.  Po. 
Not savage beast so cruel nor unjust.  Ete. 
Not cruel to my country like to thee.  Po. 
Since from my right I am with wrong deprived.  Ete. 
Eke from thy life if long thou tarry here.  Po. 
O father hear what injuries I take.  Ete. 
As though thy devilish deeds were hid from him.  Po. 
And you mother.  Eteo. 
Have done thou not deservest  
With that false tongue thy mother once to name.  Po. 
O dear City.  Eteo. 
When thou arivest in Greece,  
Choose out thy dwelling in some musty Moors.  Po. 
I must depart, and parting must I praise  
O dear mother the depth of your good william.  joc. 
O son.  Eteo. 
Away I say out of these walls.  Po. 
I can not choose but must thy will obey,  
Yet grant me once my father for to see.  Ete. 
I hear no prayers of my enemy.  Po. 
Where be my sweet sisters?  Eteo. 
And canst thou yet  
With shameless tongue once name thy noble race  
That art become a common foe to Thebes?  
Be sure thou shall them never see again,  
Nor other friend that in these walls remain.  Po. 
Rest you in peace, O worthy mother mine.  joc. 
How can that be and thou my joy in war?  Po. 
Hence forth n'am I your join yet your son.  joc. 
Alas the heavens me whelm with all mishap.  Po. 
Lo here the cause that stirreth me by wrong.  Ete. 
Much more is that he proffereth unto me.  Po. 
Well, speak, darest thou come armed to the field?  Ete. 
So dare I come, wherefore dost thou demand?  Po. 
For needs or thou must end this life of mine,  
Or quench my thirst with pouring out thy blood.  Eteo. 
Ah wretch, my thirst is all as dry as thine.  joc. 
Alas and wellaway, what hear I sons?  
How can it be? dear children can it be  
That brethren's hearts such rancour should enrage?  Eteo. 
And that right soon the proof shall plainly show.  Io. 
O say not so, yet say not so dear sons.  Po. 
O royal race of Thebes now take thine end.  Cho. 
God shield.  Eteo. 
O slow & sluggish heart of mine,  
Why do I stay t'embrew these slothful hands?  
But for his greater grief I will depart,  
And at return if here I find my foe,  
This hasty hand shall end our hot debate.  Eteocles here goeth out by the gates Electrae. Po. 
Dear Citizens, and you eternal Gods,  
Bear witness with me here before the world,  
How this my fierce and cruel enemy,  
Whom causeless now my brother I do call,  
With threats of death my lingering steps doth drive  
Both from my right and from my country soil,  
Not as beseems the son of Oedipus,  
But as a slave, an abject, or a wretch:  
And since you be both pitiful and just,  
Vouchsafe O Gods, that as I part with grief,  
So may I yet return with joyful spoil  
Of this accursed tyrant and (he slain)  
I may recover quietly mine own.  Polynices goeth out by the gates Homolydeses. Io. 
O wretched wretch jocasta, where is found  
The misery that may compare to thine?  
O would I had nor gazing eyes to see,  
Nor listening ears to hear that now I dread:  
But what remains, save only to entreat  
That cruel dole would yet so courteous be  
To reave the breath out of this woeful breast,  
Before I hearken to some woeful news.  
Rest you here dames, and pray unto the Gods  
For our redress, and I in that mean while  
Will shut myself from sight of loathsome light.  jocasta goeth into her Palace. Cho. 
O mighty God, the governor of Thebes  
pity with speed the pain jocasta bides,  
And eke our needs O mighty Bacchus help,  
Bend willing ear unto our just complaint:  
Leave them not comfortless that trust in thee,  
We have no gold nor silver thee to give,  
Ne sacrifice to those thine altars due,  
In steed whereof we consecrated our hearts  
To serve thy will, and hests for to obey.  Whiles the Chorus is thus praying to Bacchus, Eteocles returneth by the gates called Electrae.   

Actus. 2.  

Scena. 2.  ETEOCLES. CREON. 
SInce I have rid mine enemy out of sight,  
The best shall be for Creon now to send,  
(My mother's brother) that with him I may  
Reason, consult, confer, and counsel both,  
What shall be best to use in our defence,  
Before we venture forth into the field.  
But of this travail, lo, he me acquits  
That comes in haste towards these royal towers.  Here Creon attended by four gentlemen, cometh in by the gates Homoloydes. Cre. 
O mighty king, not causeless now I come,  
To find, that long have sought your majesty.  
So to discharge the duty that I own  
To you, by comfort and by counsel both.  Ete. 
Not less desire this heart of mine did press,  
To sand for thee Creon, since that in vain  
My mother hath her words and travail spent,  
To reconcile Polynices and me:  
For he (so dull was his caparitie)  
Did think, he could by dread of danger, win  
My princely heart to yield to him his realm.  Cre. 
I understand, the army that he brings  
Against these walls, is such, that I me doubt  
Our city's force may scarce the same resist.  
Yet true it is, that right and reason both  
Are on our side, which bring the victory  
Oftentimes: for we our country to defend,  
They to subdue the same in arms are come.  
But what I would unto your highness show,  
Is of more weight, and more behoves to know.  Ete. 
And what is that? o quickly tell it me.  Cre. 
A Greek prisoner is come unto my hands.  Ete. 
And what saith he that doth so much import?  Cre. 
That even already by their ranks in ray,  
And straight will give assault to these our walls.  Ete. 
Then must I straight prepare our Citizens  
In glittering arms to march into the field.  Cre. 
O Prince (and pardon me) thy youthful years  
Nor see themself, ne let thee once discern,  
What best behoveth in this doubtful case.  
" For Prudence, she that is the mighty queen  
" Of all good works, grows by experience,  
" Which is not found with few days seeking for.  Ete. 
And were not this both sound and wise advise,  
Boldly to look our foemen in the face,  
Before they spread our fields with hugy host,  
And all the town beset by siege at once?  Cre. 
We be but few, and they in number great.  Ete. 
Our men have yet more courage far than they.  Cre. 
That know I not, nor am I sure to say.  Ete. 
Those eyes of thine in little space shall see  
How many I myself can bring to ground.  Cre. 
That would I like, but hard it is to do.  Eto. 
I nill pen up our men within the walls.  Cre. 
In counsel yet the victory consists.  Ete. 
And wilt thou then I use some other read?  Cre. 
What else? be still a while, for haste makes waste.  Ete. 
By night I will the Cammassado give.  Cre. 
So may you do and take the overthrow.  Ete. 
The vantage is to him that doth assault.  Cre. 
Yet skirmish given by night is perilous.  Ete. 
Let set upon them as they sit at meat.  Cre. 
Sudden assaults affray the mind no doubt,  
But we had need to overcome.  Ete. 
So shall we do.  Cre. 
Not sure, unless some other counsel help.  Ete. 
Amid their trenches shall we them invade?  Cre. 
As who should say, were none to make defence.  Ete. 
Should I then yield the City to my foes?  Cre. 
Not, but advise you well if you be wise.  Ete. 
That were thy part, that knowest more than I  Cre. 
Then shall I say that best doth seem to me?  Ete. 
Yea Creon yea, thy counsel hold I dear.  Cre. 
Seven men of courage have they chosen out.  Ete. 
A slender number for so great emprise.  Cre. 
But they them chose for guides and captains.  Ete. 
To such an host? why they may not suffice.  Cre. 
Nay, to assault the seven gates of the city.  Ete. 
What then behoveth so bestead to done?  Cre. 
With equal number see you do them match.  Ete. 
And then commit our men in charge to them?  Cre. 
Choosing the best and boldest bloods in Thebes.  Ete. 
And how shall I the City then defend?  Cre. 
Well-with the rest,, for one man sees not all.  Ete. 
And shall I choose the boldest or the wisest?  Cre. 
Nay both, for one without that other fails.  Ete. 
Force without wisdom than is little worth.  Cre. 
" That one must be fast to that other joined.  Ete. 
Creon I will thy counsel follow still,  
For why, I hold it wise and trusty both,  
And out of hand for now I will depart  
That I in time the better may provide  
Before occasion slip out of my hands,  
And that I may this Polynices 
Kill.  quell:  
For well may I with bloody knife him slay  
That comes in arms my country for to spoil.  
But if so please to fortune and to fate  
That other end than I do think may fall,  
To thee my friend it resteth to procure  
The marriage twixt my sister Antigone  
And thy dear son Haemon, to whom for dower  
At parting thus I promise' to perform  
As much as late I did 
promiss.  behest to thee:  
My mother's blood and brother dear thou art,  
Ne need I crave of thee to guard her well,  
As for my father care I not, for if  
So chance I die, it may full well be said  
His bitter curses brought me to my bane.  Cre. 
The Lord defend, for that unworthy were.  Ete. 
Of Thebes town the rule and sceptre lo  
I need nor aught it otherwise dispose  
Than unto thee, if I die without heir.  
Yet longs my lingering mind to understand,  
The doubtful end of this unhappy war:  
Wherefore I will thou sand thy son to seek  
Tiresias the divine, and learn of him,  
For at my call I know he will not come  
That often have his arts and him reproved.  Cre. 
As you command, so aught I to perform.  Ete. 
And last, I thee and city both command,  
If fortune friendly favour our attempts,  
And make our men triumphant victors all,  
That none there be so hardy ne so bold  
For Polynices' bones to give a grave:  
And who presumes to break my best herein,  
Shall die the death in penance of his pain:  
For though I were by blood to him conjoined  
I pa●t it now, and justice goeth with me  
To guide my steps victoriously before.  
Pray you to jove he deign for to defend,  
Our City safe both now and evermore.  Cre. 
Gramercy worthy prince, for all thy love  
And faithful trust thou dost in me repose,  
And if should hap, that I hope never shall,  
I promise' yet to do what best behoves,  
But chiefly this I swear and make a vow,  
For Polynices now our cruel foe,  
To hold the hest that thou dost me command.  Creon attendeth Eteocles to the gates Electrae he returneth and goeth out by the gates called Homoloydes. CHORUS. 

O Fierce and furious Mars, whose harmful heart,  
Rejoiceth most to shed the guiltless blood,  
Whose heady will doth all the world subvert,  
And doth envy the pleasant merry mood,  
Of our estate that erst in quiet stood.  
Why dost thou thus our harmless town annoy,  
Which mighty Bacchus governed in joy?   

Father of war and death, that dost remove  
With wrathful wreck from woeful mother's breast,  
The trusty pledges of their tender love,  
So grant the Gods, that for our final rest,  
Dame Venus pleasant looks may please thee best,  
Whereby when thou shalt all amazed stand,  
The sword may fall out of thy trembling hand.   

And thou mayst prove some other way full well  
The bloody prowess of thy mighty spear,  
Wherewith thou raisest from the depth of hell,  
The wrathful spirits of all the furies there,  
Who when the weak, do wander every where,  
And never rest to range about the coasts,  
Tenriche that pit with spoil of damned ghosts.   

And when thou hast our fields forsaken thus,  
Let cruel discord bear thee company,  
Engirt with snakes and serpents venomous,  
Even she that can with read vermilion die  
The gladsome green that flourished pleasantly,  
And make the greedy ground a drinking cup,  
To sup the blood of murdered bodies up.   

Yet thou return O joy and pleasant peace,  
From whence thou didst against our will departed,  
Ne let thy worthy mind from travel cease,  
To chase disdain out of the poisoned heart,  
That raised war to all our pains and smart,  
Even from the breast of Oedipus his son,  
Whose swelling pride hath all this jar begun.   

And thou great God, that dost all things decree,  
And sit'st on high above the starry skies,  
Thou chiefest cause of causes all that be,  
Regard not his offence but hear our cries,  
And speedily redress our miseries,  
For what cause we poor woeful wretches do  
But crave thy aid, and only cleave thereto?   
Finis Actus secundi.  Done by G. Gascoigne.   

The order of the third dumb show.  
BEfore the beginning of this three Act did sound a very doleful noise of cornets, during the which there opened and appeared in the stage a great Gulf. Immediately came in uj gentlemen in their doublets & hose, bringing upon their shoulders baskets full of earth and threw them into the Gulf to fill it up, but it would not so close up nor be filled. Then came the ladies and dames that stood by, throwing in their chains & jewels, so to 'cause it stop up and close itself: but when it would not so be filled, came in a knight with his sword drawn, armed at all points, who walking twice or thrice about it, & perusing it, seeing that it would neither be filled with earth nor with their jewels and ornaments, after solemn reverence done to the gods, and courteous leave taken of the Ladies and standers by, suddenly leapt into the Gulf, the which did close up immediately: betokning unto us the love that every worthy person oweth unto his native country, by the history of Curtains, who for the like cause adventured the like in Rome. This done, blind Tiresias the divine prophet led in by his daughter, and conducted by Meneceus the son of Creon, entereth by the gates Electrae, and saith as followeth.   

Actus. iij.  

Scena. 1.  TIRESIAS. CREON. MANTO. MENECEUS. SACERDOS. 
THou trusty guide of my so trustless steps  
Dear daughter mine go we, lead thou the way,  
For since the day I first did lose this light  
Thou only art the light of these mine eyes:  
And for thou know'st I am both old & weak  
And ever longing after lovely rest,  
Direct my steps amid the plainest paths,  
That so my feebled feet may feel less pain.  
Meneceus thou gentle child, tell me,  
Is it far hence, the place where we must go,  
Where as thy father for my coming stays?  
For like unto the slothful snail I draw,  
(Dear son) with pain these aged legs of mine,  Creon returneth by the gates Homoloydes. 
And though my mind be quick, scarce can I move.  Cre. 
Comfort thyself divine, Creon thy friend  
Lo standeth here, and came to meet with thee  
To ease the pain that thou mightst else sustain,  
" For unto eld each travel yields annoy  
And thou his daughter and his faithful guide, 
Age must be helped by youth.   
Lo rest him here, and rest thou there withal  
Thy virgin's hands, that in sustaining him  
Dost well acquit the duty of a child.  
" For crooked age and hoary silver hears  
" Still craveth help of lusty youthful years.  Tyr. 
Gramercy Lord what is your noble will?  Cre. 
What I would have of thee Tiresias  
Is not a thing so soon for to be said.  
But rest a while thy weak and weary limbs  
And take some breath now after weary walk,  
And tell I pray thee, what this crown doth mean,  
That sits so kingly on thy skilful head?  Tyr. 
Know this, that for I did with grave advise,  
Foretell the Citizens of Athens town,  
How they might best with loss of little blood,  
Have victories against their enemies,  
Hath been the cause why I do wear this Crown,  
As right reward and not unmeet for me.  Cre. 
So take I then this thy victorious crown,  
For our avail in token of good luck,  
That knowest, how the discord and debate  
Which late is fallen between these brethren twain,  
Hath brought all Thebes in danger and in dread.  
Eteocles our king, with threatening arms,  
Is gone against his greekish enemies,  
Commanding me to learn of thee (who art  
A true divine of things that be to come)  
What were for us the safest to be done,  
From peril now our country to preserve.  Tyr. 
Long have I been within the town of Thebes,  
Since that I tied this trusty tongue of mine  
From telling truth, fearing Eteocles:  
Yet, since thou dost in so great need desire  
I should reveal things hidden unto thee,  
For common cause of this our common weal,  
I stand content to pleasure thee herein.  
But first (that to this mighty God of yours  
There might some worthy sacrifice be made)  
Let kill the fairest goat that is in Thebes  
Within whose bowels when the Priest shall look,  
And tell to me what he hath there espied,  
I trust t'advise thee what is best to doen.  Cre. 
Lo here the temple, and ere long I look  
To see the holy priest that hither comes,  
Bringing with him the pure and fair offerings,  
Which thou requirest: for not long since, I sent  
For him, as one that am not ignorant  
Of all your rites and sacred ceremonies:  
He went to choose amid our herd of goats,  
The fattest there: and look where now he comes.  Sacerdos accompanied with xuj Bacchanales and all his rites and ceremonies, entereth by the gates Homoloydes. Sacer. 
O famous Citizens, that hold full dear  
Your quiet country: Lo where I do come  
Most joyfully, with wonted sacrifice,  
So to beseech the supreme Citizens,  
To stay our state that stagg'ringly doth stand,  
And plant us peace where war and discord grows:  
Wherefore, with heart devout and humble cheer,  
While I break up the bowels of this beast,  
(That often thy veneyarde Bacchus hath destroyed,)  
Let every wight crave pardon for his faults,  
With bending knee about his altars here.  Tyr. 
Take here the salt, and sprinkle therewithal  
About the neck: that done, cast all the rest  
Into the sacred fire, and then anoint  
The knife prepared for the sacrifice.  
O mighty jove, preserve the precious gift  
That thou me gave, when first thine angry Queen, 
Venus made him blind for giving sentence against her.   
For deep disdain did both mine eyes do out,  
Grant me, I may foretell the truth in this,  
For, but by thee, I know that I ne may,  
Ne will, ne can, one trusty sentence say.  Sa. 
This due is done.  Tyr. 
With knife then stick the kid,  Sac. 
Thou daughter of divine Tiresias,  
With those unspotted virgin's hands of thine  
Receive the blood within this vessel here,  
And then devoutly it to Bacchus yield.  Man 
O holy God of Thebes, that dost both praise  
Sweet peace, and dost in heart also disdain  
The noisome noise, the furies and the fight  
Of bloody Mars and of Bellona both:  
O thou the giver both of joy and health,  
Receive in 'gree and with well willing hand  
These holy whole brunt offerings unto thee:  
And as this town doth wholly thee a door,  
So by thy help do grant that it may stand  
Safe from the enemies outrage evermore.  Sac. 
Now in thy sacred name I bowel here  
This sacrifice.  tire. 
And what entrails hath it?  Sac. 
Fair and well-formed all in every point,  
The liver clean, the heart is not infect,  
Save lo, I find but only one heart string  
By which I find something I wot near what,  
That seems corrupt, and were not only that,  
In all the rest, they are both sound and hole.  Tyr. 
Now cast at once into the holy flame  
The sweet incense, and then advertise me  
What hue it bears, and every other rite  
That aught may help the truth for to conject.  Sac. 
I see the flames do sundry colours cast,  
Now bloody sanguine, strait way purple, blue,  
Some parts seem black, some grey, and some be green.  Tyr. 
Stay there, sufficeth this for to have seen.  
Know Creon, that these outward seemly signs  
(By that the Gods have let me understand  
Who know the truth of every secret thing)  
Betoken that the City great of Thebes  
Shall Victor be against the Greekish host,  
If so consent be given: but more than this  
I list not say.  Cre. 
Alas, for courtesy  
Say on Tiresias, never have respect  
To any living man, but tell the truth.  Sacerdos returneth with the Bacchanales, by the gates Homolydeses. Sac. 
In this mean while I will return with speed  
From whence I came: for lawful is it not,  
That such as I should hear your secrecies.  Tyr. 
Contrary then to that which I have said,  
The incest foul, and childbirth monstrous  
Of jocasta, so stirs the wrath of jove,  
This city shall with bloody channels swim,  
And angry Mars shall overcome it all  
With famine, flame, rape, murder, dole and death:  
These lusty towers shall have a headlong fall,  
These houses burnt, and all the rest be razed,  
And soon be said, here whilom Thebes stood.  
One only way I find for to escape,  
Which both would thee displease to hear it told,  
And me to tell percase were perilous.  
Thee therefore with my travel I commend  
To jove, and with the rest I will endure,  
What so shall chance for our adversity.  Cre. 
Yet stay a while,  Tyr. 
Creon make me not stay  
By force.  Cre. 
Why fléest thou?  Tyr. 
Sir 'tis not from thee  
I flee, but from this fortune foul and fell.  Cre. 
Yet tell me what behoves the city do?  Tyr. 
Thou Creon seemest now desirous still  
It to preserve: but if as well as I  
Thou knewest that which is to thee unknown,  
Then wouldst thou not so soon consent thereto.  Cre. 
And would not I with eager mind desire  
The thing that may for Thebes aught avail?  Tyr. 
And dost thou then so instantly request  
To know which way thou mayest the same preserve?  Cre. 
For nothing else I sent my son of late  
To seek for thee.  Tyr. 
Then will I satisfy  
Thy greedy mind in this: but first tell me,  
Menetius where is he?  Cre. 
Not far from me.  Tyr. 
I pray thee send him out some other where.  Cre. 
Why wouldst thou that he should not be here?  Tyr. 
I would not have him hear what I should say.  Cre. 
He is my son, ne will he it reveal.  Tyr. 
And shall I then while he is present speak?  Cre. 
Yea, be thou sure that he no less than I,  
Doth wish full well unto this common weal.  Tyr. 
Then Creon shalt thou know: the mean to save  
This City, is, that thou shalt slay thy son,  
And of his body make a sacrifice  
For his country: lo here is all you seek  
So much to know, and since you have me forced  
To tell the thing that I would not have told,  
If I have you offended with my words,  
Blame then yourself, and eke your froward fate.  Cre. 
O cruel words, o, o, what hast thou said,  
Thou cruel soothsayer?  Tyr. 
Even that, that heaven  
Hath ordained once, and needs it must ensue.  Cre. 
How many evils hast thou knit up in one?  Tyr. 
Though evil for thee, yet for thy country good.  Cre. 
And let my country perish, what care I?  " Tyr. 
Above all things we aught to hold it dear.  Credit 
Cruel were he, that would not love his child.  " Tyr. 
For common weal, were well, that one man wail.  Cre. 
To lose mine own, I list none other save.  " Tyr. 
Best Citizens care lest for private gain.  Cre. 
Departed, for now, with all thy prophecies.  " Tyr. 
Lo, thus the truth doth always hatred get.  Cre. 
Yet pray I thee by these thy silver hears,  " Tyr. 
The harm that comes from heaven can not be scaped.  Cre. 
And by thy holy spirit of prophecy,  " Tyr. 
What heaven hath done, that cannot I undo.  Cre. 
That to no more this secret thou reveal.  Tyr. 
And wouldst thou have me learn to make a lie?  Cre. 
I pray thee hold thy peace.  Tyr. 
That will I not:  
But in thy woe to yield thee some relief,  
I tell thee once, thou shalt be Lord of Thebes,  
Which hap of thine this string did well declare,  
Which from the heart doth out alonely grow.  
So did the piece corrupted plainly show,  
An argument most evident to prove  
Thy son his death.  Cre. 
Well, yet be thou content  
To keep full close this secret hidden grief.  Tyr. 
I neither aught, ne will keep it so close.  Cre. 
Shall I be then the murderer of mine own?  Tyr. 
Ne blame not me, but blame the stars for this.  Cre. 
Can heavens condemn but him alone to die?  Tyr. 
We aught believe the cause is good and just.  " Cre. 
Unjust is he condemns the innocent. 
Great folly to accuse the gods.   " Tyr. 
A fool is he accuseth heavens of wrongs.  " Cre. 
There can no ill thing come from heavens above.  Tyr. 
Then this that heaven commands can not be ill.  Cre. 
I not believe that thou hast talked with God.  Tyr. 
Because I tell thee that doth thee displease.  Cre. 
Out of my sight accursed lying wretch.  Tyr. 
Go daughter go, 
A thankless office to foretell a mischief.  o what fool is he  
That puts in ure to publish prophecies?  
" For if he do foretell a froward fate,  
" Though it be true, yet shall he purchase hate:  
" And if he silence keep, or hide the truth,  
" The heavy wrath of mighty Gods ensueth.  
Apollo he might well tell things to come,  
That had no dread the angry to offend.  
But high we daughter hence some other way.  Tiresias with Manto his daughter, returneth by the gates called Electrae.  

Scena. 2.  CREON. MENECEUS. 
O my dear child, well hast thou heard with ear  
These weary news, or rather wicked tales  
That this divine of thee divined hath:  
Yet will thy father never be thy foe,  
With cruel doom thy death for to consent.  Me. 
You rather aught, O father, to consent  
Unto my death, since that my death may bring  

Not greater honour than to die for thy country.  Unto this town both peace and victory.  
" Ne can I purchase more praise worthy death  
" Than for my country's wealth to loose my breath  Cre. 
I cannot praise this witless will of thine.  Me. 
" You know dear father, that this life of ours  
" Is brittle, short, and nothing else in deed  
" But tedious toil and pangs of endless pain:  
" And death, whose dart to some men seems so fell,  

Death (indeed) yieldeth more pleasure than life. " Brings quiet end to this unquiet life.  
" Unto which end who soon doth arrive,  
" Fi●●s soon rest of all his restless grief.  
" And were it so, that here on earth we felt  
" Not prick of pain, nor that our flattering days  
" Were never dashed by froward fortunes frown,  
" Yet being borne (as all men are) to die,  
" Were not this worthy glory and renown,  
" To yield the country soil where I was borne,  
" For so long time, so short a time as mine?  
I can not think that this can be denied.  
Then if to shun this haughty high behest,  
Mine only cause, O father, doth you move,  
Be sure, you seek to take from me your son,  
The greatest honour that I can attain:  
But if your own commodity you move,  
So much the less you aught the same allow:  
For look, how much the more you have in Thebes,  
So much the more you aught to love the same:  
Here have you Haemon, he that in my stead  
(O my dear father) may with you remain,  
So that, although you be deprived of me  
Yet shall you not be quite deprived of heirs.  Cre. 
I can not choose, dear son, but disallow  
This thy too hasty, hot desire of death:  
For if thy life thou settest all so light,  
Yet oughtest thou thy father me respect,  
Who as I draw the more to lumpish age,  
So much more need have I to crave thine aid:  
Ne will I yet, with stubborn tongue deny,  
" That for his common weal to spend his life,  
" Doth win the subject high renowned name.  
" But how? in armour to defend the state,  
" Not like a beast to bleed in sacrifice:  
And therewithal, if any should consent  
To such a death, then should the same be I,  
That have prolonged life even long enough,  
Nay many days have I now to draw on.  
And more avail might to the country come,  
Dear son, to hold that lusty life of thine,  
That art both young and eke of courage stout.  
Than may by me that feeble am and old.  
Then live dear son in high prosperity,  
And give me leave that worthy am to die.  Mene. 
Yet worthy were not that unworthy change.  Cre. 
If such a death bring glory, give it me.  Mene. 
Not you, but me, the heavens call to die.  Cre. 
We be but one in flesh and body both.  Mene. 
I father aught, so aught not you, to die.  Cre. 
If thou son die, think not that I can live:  
Then let me die, and so shall he first die,  
That aught to die, and yet but one shall die.  Me. 
Although I, father, aught t'obey your beasts,  
Yet evil it were in this to yield your william.  Cre. 
Thy wit is wily for to work thy wo.  Me. 
O, tender pity moveth me thereto.  " Cre. 
A beast is he, that kills himself with a knife,  
" Of pity to preserve an other's life.  " Me. 
Yet wise is he, that doth obey the Gods  Cre. 
The Gods will not the death of any wight.  " Me. 
Whose life they take, they give him life also.  Cre. 
But thou dost strive to take thy life thyself.  Me. 
Nay them to obey, that will I shall not live.  Cre. 
What fault, O son, condemneth thee to death?  " Me. 
Who liveth (father) here without a fault?  Cre. 
I see no guilt in thee that death deserves.  Me. 
But God it seeth that every secret seeth.  Cre. 
How should we know what is the will of God?  Me. 
We know it then, when he reveals the same.  Cre. 
As though he would come down to tell it us,  Me. 
By divers means his secrets he discloseth.  Cre. 
O, fond is he, whothinkes to understand  
The mysteries of jove his secret mind:  
And for to end this controversy here,  
Lo thus I say, I will we both live yet:  

commandments.  Prepare thee then, my (*) hests to hold and keep,  
And pull a down that stubborn heart of thine,  Me. 
You may of me, as of yourself dispose,  
And since my life doth seem so dear to you,  
I will preserve the same to your avail,  
That I may spend it always to your wil  Cre. 
Then, thee behoves out of this town to fly:  
Before the bold and blind Tiresias  
Do publish this that is as yet unknown.  Me. 
And where, or in what place shall I become?  Cre. 
Where thou mayst be hence furthest out of sight.  Me. 
You may command, and I aught to obey.  Cre. 
Go to the land of Thesbeoita.  Me. 
Where Dodona doth sit in sacred chair?  Cre. 
Even there my child.  Me. 
And who shall guide my wandering steps?  Cre. 
high jove.  Me. 
Who shall give sustenance for my relief?  Cre. 
There will I sand thee heaps of glistering gold.  Me. 
But when shall I eftsoons my father see?  Cre. 
Ere long I hope: but now, for now departed.  
For every lingering let or little stay,  
May purchase pain and torment both to me.  Me. 
First would I take my congee of the Queen,  
That since the day my mother lost her life,  
Hath nourished me as if I were her own.  Creon goeth out by the gates Homoloydes. Cre. 
O, tarry not my dear son, tarry not.  Me. 
Behold father, I go. You dames of Thebes,  
Pray to almighty jove for my return:  
You see how mine unhappy stars me drive  
To go my country fro: and if so chance,  
I end in woe my prime and lusty years  
Before the course of Nature do them call,  
Honour my death yet with your dreary plaints:  
And I shall eke, where so this carcase come,  
Pray to the Gods that they preserve this town.  Meneceus departeth by the gates Electrae. CHORUS. 

WHen she that rules the rolling wheel of chance,  
Doth turn aside her angry frowning face,  
On him, whom erst she deigned to advance,  
She never leaves to gaulde him with disgrace,  
To toss and turn his state in every place,  
Till at the last the hurl him from on high  
And yield him subject unto misery:  
And as the branch that from the root is rest,  
He never wins like life to that he left:  
Yea though he do, yet can not taste of joy  
Compare with pangs that past in his annoy.   

Well did the heavens ordain for our behoof  
Necessity, and fates by them aloud,  
That when we see our high mishaps aloof  
(As though our eyes were muffled with a cloud)  
Our froward will doth shrink itself and shroud  
From our avail wherewith we run so faree:  
As none amendss can make that we do mar:  
Then draws evil hap & strives to show his strength,  
And such as yield unto his might, at length  
He leads them by necessity the way  
That destiny prepared for our decay.   

The Mariner amid the swelling seas  
Who seeth his bark with many a billow beaten,  
Now here, now there, as wind and waves best please,  
When thundering jove with tempest list to threaten,  
And dreads in deepest gulf for to be eaten,  
Yet learns a mean by mere necessity  
To save himself in such extremity:  
For when he seeth no man hath wit nor power  
To fly from fate when fortune list to lower,  
His only hope on mighty jove doth cast,  
Whereby he wins the wished heaven at last.   

How fond is that man in his fantasy,  
Who thinks that jove the maker of us all,  
And he that tempers all in heaven on high,  
The sun, the moan, the stars celestial,  
So that no leaf without his leave can fall,  
Hath not in him omnipotence also  
To guide and govern all things here below?  
O blinded eyes, O wretched mortal wights,  
O subject slaves to every ill that lights,  
To scape such woe, such pain, such shame and scorn,  
Happy were he that never had been borne.   

Well might duke Creon driven by destiny,  
(If true it be that old Tiresias saith)  
Redeem our city from this misery,  
By his consent unto Meneceus' death,  
Who of himself would feign have lost his breath:  
" But every man is loath for to fulfil  
" The heavenly hest that pleaseth not his william.  
" That public weal must needs to ruin g●  
" Where private profit is preferred so.  
Yet mighty God, thy only aid we crave,  
This town from siege, and us from sorrow save.   
Finis Actus tertij.  done by G. Gascoigne.   

The order of the fourth dumb show.  
BEfore the beginning of this fourth Act, the Trumpets, drums and mischiefs sounded, and a great peal of ordinance was shot of: in the which there entered upon the stage uj knights armed at all points: whereof three came in by the Gates Electrae, and the other three by the Gates Homolydeses: either part being accompanied with vij other armed men: and after they had marched twice or thrice about the Stage, the one party menacing the other by their furious looks and gestures, the uj knights caused their other attendants to stand by, and drawing their Swords, fell to cruel and courageous combat, continuing therein, till two on the one side were slain. The third perceiving, that he only remained to withstand the force of three enemies, did politicly run aside: wherewith immediately one of the three followed after him, and when he had drawn his enemy thus from his company, he turned again and slew him. Then the second also ran after him, whom he slew in like manner, and consequently the third, and then triumphantly marched about the Stage with his sword in his hand. Hereby was noted the incomparable force of concord between brethren, who as long as they hold together may not easily by any means be overcome, and being once dissevered by any means, are easily overthrown. The history of the brethren Horatij & Curiatij, who agreed to like combat and came to like end. After that the dead carcases were carried from the Stage by the armed men on both parties, and that the victor was triumphantly accompanied out, also came in a messenger armed from the camp, seeking the Queen, and to her spoke as followeth.   

Actus four  

Scena i  NUNCIUS JOCASTA. Nuncius cometh in by the gates Homolydeses. 
O Sage and sober dames, O shamefast maids,  
O faithful servants of our aged Queen,  
Come lead her forth, sith unto her I bring  
Such secret news as are of great import.  
Come forth, O Queen, surcease thy woeful plaint,  
And to my words vouchsafe a willing ear.  The Queen with her train cometh out of her Palace. joca. 
My servant dear, dost thou yet bring me news  
Of more mishap? ah weary wretch, alas,  
How doth Eteocles? whom heretofore  
In his increasing years, I wonted aye  
From dangerous hap with favour to defend,  
Doth he yet live? or hath untimely death  
In cruel fight herefte his flowering life?  Nun. 
He lives (O Queen) hereof have ye no doubt,  
From such suspect myself will quit you soon.  joca. 
The venturous Greeks have haply ta'en the town?  Nun. 
The Gods forbidden.  joca. 
Our soldiers then, perchance,  
Dispersed been and yelden to the sword.  Nun. 
Not so, they were at first in danger sure,  
But in the end obtained victory.  joca. 
Alas, what then becomes of Polynices?  
O canst thou tell? is he dead or alive?  Nun. 
You have (O Queen) yet both your sons alive  joca. 
O, how my heart is eased of his pain.  
Well, then proceed, and briefly let me hear,  
How ye repulsed your proud presuming foes,  
That thereby yet at lest I may assuage  
The swelling sorrows in my doleful breast,  
In that the town is hitherto preserved:  
And for the rest, I trust that might jove  
Will yield us aid.  Nun. 
Not sooner had your worthy valiant son,  
Severde the Dukes into seven several parts,  
And set them to defence of several gates,  
And brought in brave array his horsemen out,  
First to encounter with their mighty foen,  
And likewise pitched, the footmen face to face  
Against the footmen of their enemies,  
But fiercely strait, the armies did approach,  
Swarming so thick, as covered clean the field,  
When dreadful blast of braying trumpets sounds,  
Of doleful drums, and thundering cannon shot,  
Gave hideous sign of horror of the fight,  
Then 'gan the greeks to give their sharp assault,  
Then from the walls our stout courageous men,  
With rolling stones, with peise of hugy beams,  
With flying darts, with flakes of burning fire,  
And deadly blows, did beat them back again:  
Thus striving long, with stout and bloody fight,  
(Whereby full many thousand slaughtered were)  
The hardy Greeks came underneath the walls:  
Of whom, first Capaney (a lusty Knight)  
Did scale the walls, and on the top thereof  
Did vaunt himself, when many hundred more,  
With fierce assaults did follow him as fast.  
Then lo, the Captains seven bestirred themselves,  
(Whose names ye have already understood)  
Some here, some there, naught dreading loss of life,  
With new relief to feed the fainting breach:  
And Polynices, he bended all the force  
Of his whole charge, against the greatest gate,  
When suddenly a flash of lightning flame  
From angry skies struck captain Capaney  
That there down dead he fell: at sight whereof  
The gazers on were fraught with sudden fear.  
The rest, that strove to mount the walls so fast,  
From ladder's top did headlong tumble down.  
Herewith our men encouraged by good hap,  
Took hardy hearts, and so repulsed the Greeks.  
There was Eteocles, and I with him,  
Who setting first those soldiers to their charge,  
Ran straight to tother gates: unto the weak  
He manly comfort gave: unto the bold  
His lusty words increased courage still:  
In so much as th'amazed Graecian king  
When he did hear of Capaney his death,  
Fearing thereby the Gods become his foen,  
Out from the trench withdrew his weary host.  
But rash Eteocles (presuming too too much  
Upon their flight) did issue out of Thebes,  
And forward strait with strength of chivalry,  
His flying foes courageously pursued.  
Too long it were to make recount of all  
That wounded been, or slain, or captive now:  
The cloudy air was filled round about  
With howling cries and woeful wailing plaints:  
So great a slaughter (O renowned Queen)  
Before this day I think was never seen.  
Thus have we now cut of the fruitless hope  
The Grecians had, to sack this noble town.  
What joyful end will happen hereunto  
Yet know I not: the gods turn all to good.  
" To conquer, lo, is doubtless worthy praise,  
" But wisely for to use the conquest got,  
" Hath ever won immortal sound of fame.  
Well, yet therewhile in this we may rejoice,  
Sigh heaven and heavenly powers are pleased therewith.  joca. 
This good success was lucky sure, and such,  
As for my part I little looked for:  
To save the town and eke to have my sons  
(As you report) preserved yet alive.  
But yet proceed, and further let me know  
The final end that they agreed upon.  Nun. 
Not more (O queen) let this for now suffice,  
Sigh hitherto your state is safe enough.  joca. 
These words of tdine, do whelm my jealous mind  
With great suspect of other mischiefs hid.  Nun. 
What would you more, already being sure  
That both your sons in safety do remain?  joca. 
I long to know the rest, or good or bad.  Nun. 
O let me now return to Eteocles,  
That of my service greatly stands in need.  joca. 
Right well I see, thou dost conceal the worst.  Nun. 
O force me not, the good now being past,  
To tell the ill.  joca. 
Tell it I say, on pain of our displeasure.  Nun. 
Since thus ye seek to hear a doleful tale,  
I will no longer stay: wit ye therefore,  
Your desperate sons together be agreed  
For to attempt a wicked enterprise:  
To private fight they have betrothed themselves,  
Of which conflict, the end must needs be this,  
That one do live, that other die the death.  joca. 
Alas, alas, this did I ever fear.  Nun. 
Now, sith in sum I have revealed that,  
Which you have heard with great remorse of mind,  
I will proceed, at large to tell the whole.  
When your victorious son, with valiant force  
Had chaste his foes into their joining tents,  
Even there he staid, and strait at sound of trump  
With stretched voice the herald thus proclaimed:  
You princely Greeks, that hither be arrived  
To spoil the fruit of these our fertile fields,  
And us to drive from this our Native soil,  
O suffer not so many guiltless souls  
By this debate descend in Stygian lake,  
For private cause of wicked Polynices,  
But rather let the brethren, hand to hand,  
By mutual blows appease their furious rage,  
And so to cease from shedding further blood:  
And, to the end you all might understand  
The profit that to every side may fall,  
Thus much my Lord thought good to proffer you,  
This is his will, if he be overcome,  
Then Polynices to rule this kingly realm:  
If so it hap (as reason would it should)  
Our rightful prince to conquer Polynices,  
That then no one of you make more ado,  
But strait to Argos I'll hast home again.  
This, thus pronounced unto the noble Greeks,  
Not sooner did the sound of trumpet cease,  
But Polynices stepped forth before the host,  
And to these words this answer did he make:  
O thou, (not brother) but my mortal foe,  
Thy proffer here hath pleased me so well,  
As presently, without more long delay,  
I yield myself prepared to the field.  
Our noble King no sooner heard this vaunt,  
But forth as fast he priest his princely steps,  
With eager mind, as hovering falcon wonts  
To make her stoop, when prey appears in sight:  
At all assays they both were bravely armed,  
To either's side his sword fast being girt,  
In either's hand was put a sturdy lance:  
About Eteocles our soldiers clung,  
To comfort him, and put him then in mind,  
He fought for safety of his country soil,  
And that in him consisted all their hope.  
To Polynices the king Adrastus swore,  
If he escaped victor from the field,  
At his return he would in Greece erect  
A golden Image unto mighty jove  
In sign of his triumphing victory.  
But all this while seek you (O noble queen)  
To hinder this your furious sons attempt:  
Entreat the Gods it may not take effect,  
Else must you needs ere long deprived be  
Of both your sons, or of the one at lest.  Nuncius returneth to the camp by the gates Homoloydes. JOCASTA. ANTIGONE. 
ANtigone my sweet daughter, come forth  
Out of this house, that naught but woe retains,  
Come forth I say, not for to sing or dance,  
But to prevent (if in our powers it lie)  
That thy malicious brethren (swollen with ire)  
And I alas, their miserable mother,  
Be not destroyed by stroke of dreadful death.  Antigone cometh out of her mother's Palace. Anti. 
Ah sweet mother, ah my beloved mother,  
Alas alas, what cause doth move ye now  
From trembling voice to sand such careful cries?  
What painful pang? what grief doth gripe you now?  joca. 
O dear daughter, thy most unhappy brethren  
That sometimes lodged within these wretched loins  
Shall die this day, if jove prevent it not.  Anti. 
Alas what say you? alas what do you say?  
Can I (alas) endure to see him dead,  
Whom I thus long have sought to see alive?  joca. 
They both have vowed (I quake alas to tell)  
With trenchant blade to spill each other's blood.  Antig. 
O cruel Eteocles, ah ruthless wretch,  
Of this outrage thou only art the cause,  
Not Polynices, whom thou with hateful spite  
Hast reaved first of crown and country soil,  
And now dost seek to reave him of his life.  joca. 
Daughter no more delay, let's go, let's go.  Anti. 
Ah my sweet mother, whither shall I go?  joca. 
With me, dear daughter, to the greekish host.  Anti. 
Alas how can I go? unless I go  
In danger of my life, or of good name?  joca. 
Time serves not now (my well beloved child)  
To way the loss of life or honest name,  
But rather to prevent (if so we may)  
That wicked deed, which only but to think,  
Doth hale my heart out of my heavy breast.  Anti. 
Come then, let's go, good mother let us go.  
But what shall we be able for to do,  
You a weak old woman foworn with years,  
And I God knows a silly simple maid?  joca. 
Our woeful words, our prayers & our plaints,  
Poured out with streams of overflowing tears,  
(Where Nature rules) may happen to prevail,  
When reason, power, and force of arms do fail.  
But if the glowing heat of boiling wrath  
So furious be, as it may not relent,  
Then I atwixt them both will throw myself,  
And this my breast shall bear the deadly blows,  
That otherwise should light upon my sons:  
So shall they shed my blood and not their own.  
Well now dear daughter, let us hasten hence,  
For if in time we stay this raging strife,  
Then haply may my life prolonged be:  
If ere we come the bloody deed be done,  
Then must my ghost forsake this feeble corpse:  
And thou, dear child, with dolour shalt bewail,  
Thy brother's death and mothers all at once.  jocasta with Antigone, and all her train (except the Chorus) goeth towards the camp, by the gates Homoloydes. CHORUS. 
WHo so hath felt, what faith and fervent love  
A mother bears unto her tender sons,  
She and none other sure, can comprehend  
The doleful grief, the pangs and secret pain,  
That presently doth pierce the princely breast  
Of our afflicted Queen: alas, I think  
No martyrdom might well compare with hers.  
So oft as I record her restless state,  
Alas me thinks I feel a shivering fear  
Flit to and fro along my flushing veins.  
Alas for ruth, that thus two brethren should,  
Enforce themselves to shed each other's blood.  
Where are the laws of nature now become?  
Can flesh of flesh, alas can blood of blood,  
So far forget itself, as slay itself?  
O lowering stars, O dim and angry skies,  
O geltie fate, such mischief set aside.  
But if supernal powers decreed have,  
That death must be the end of this debate,  
Alas what floods of tears shall then suffice,  
To weep and wail the near approaching death.  
I mean the death of sons and mother both,  
And with their death the ruin and decay,  
Of Oedipus and his princely race:  
But lo, here Creon comes with careful cheer:  
'tis time that now I end my just complaint.  Creon cometh in by the gates Homoloydes. CREON. NUNCIUS. 
ALthough I straightly charge my tender child  
To flee from Thebes for safeguard of himself,  
And that long since he parted from my sight,  
Yet do I greatly hung in lingering doubt,  
Lest passing through the gates, the privy watch  
Hath stayed him by some suspect of treason.  
And so therewhile, the prophets having scried  
His hidden fate, he purchased have the death  
Which I by all means sought he might eschew:  
And this mischance so much I fear the more,  
How much the wished conquest at the first,  
Fallen happily unto the town of Thebes,  
" But wise men aught with patience to sustain  
" The sundry haps that slippery fortune frames.  Nuncius cometh in by the gates Electrae. Nun. 
Alas, who can direct my hasty steps  
Unto the brother of our woeful Queen?  
But lo where carefully he standeth here.  Cre. 
If so the mind may dread his own mishap,  
Then dread I much, this man that seeks me thus,  
Hath brought the death of my beloved son.  Nun. 
My Lord, the thing you fear is very true,  
Your son Meneceus no longer lives.  Cre. 
Alas who can withstand the heavenly powers?  
Well, it beseems not me, ne yet my years,  
In bootless plaint to waste my wailful tears:  
Do thou recount to me his luckless death,  
The order, form, and manner of the same.  Nun. 
Your son (my Lord) came to Eteocles,  
And told him this in presence of the rest:  
renowned King, neither your victory,  
Ne yet the safety of this princely Realm  
In armour doth consist, but in the death  
Of me, of me, (O most victorious King)  
So heavenly doom of mighty jove commands.  
I (knowing what avail my death should yield  
Unto your grace, and unto native land)  
Might well be deemed a most ungrateful son  
Unto this worthy town, if I would shun  
The sharpest death to do my country good:  
In mourning weed now let the vestal Nymphs,  
With feigning tunes commend my faultless ghost  
To highest heavens, while I despoil myself,  
That afterward (sith jove will have it so)  
To save your lives, I may receive my death,  
Of you I crave, O courteous Citizens,  
To shrine my corpse in tomb of marble stone:  
Whereon grave this: Meneceus here doth lie,  
For country's cause that was content to die.  
This said, alas, he made no more a do,  
But drew his sword, and sheathed it in his breast.  Cre. 
Not more, I have enough, return ye now  
From whence ye came.  Nuncius returneth by the gates Electrae. 
Well, since the blood of my beloved son,  
Must serve to slake the wrath of angry jove,  
And since his only death must bring to Thebes  
A quiet end of her unquiet state,  
Me thinks good reason would, that I henceforth  
Of Theban soil should bear the kingly sway:  
Yea sure, and so I will ere it belong,  
Either by right, or else by force of arms.  
Of all mishap lo here the wicked brood,  
My sister first espoused hath her son  
That slew his fire, of whose accursed seed  
Two brethren sprang, whose raging hateful hearts,  
By force of boiling ire are bolne so sore  
As each do thirst to suck the other's blood:  
But why do I sustain the smart hereof?  
Why should my blood be spilled for other's guilt?  
O welcome were that messenger to me  
That brought me word of both my nephews deaths: 
Any messenger is welcome that bringeth tidings of advancement.   
Then should it soon be seen in every eye,  
Twixt prince and prince what difference would appear,  
Then should experience show what grief it is  
To serve the humours of unbridled youth.  
Now will I go for to prepare with speed  
The funerals of my young guiltless son,  
The which perhaps may be accompanied  
With th'obsequies of proud Eteocles.  Creon goeth out by the gates Homoloydes.  
Finis Actus. 4.   

Actus. 4.  CHORUS. 

O Blissful concord, bred in sacred breast  
Of him that guides the restless rolling sky,  
That to the earth for man's assured rest  
From height of heavens vouchsafest down to fly,  
In thee alone the mighty power doth lie,  
With sweet accord to keep the frowning stars  
And every planet else from hurtful wars.   

In thee, in thee such noble virtue bides,  
As may command the mightiest Gods to bend,  
From thee alone such sugared friendship slides  
As mortal wights can scarcely comprehend,  
To greatest strife thou setst delightful end,  
O holy peace, by thee are only found  
The passing joys that every where abound.   

Thou only thou, through thy celestial might,  
Didst first of all, the heavenly pole divide  
From th'old confused heap that Chaos height:  
Thou mad'st the Sun, the Moon, and stars to glide,  
With ordered course about this world so wide:  
Thou hast ordained Dan Titan's shining light,  
By dawn of day to chase the darksome night.   

When tract of time returns the lusty Ver.  
By thee alone, the buds and blossoms spring,  
The fields with flowers be garnished every where,  
The blooming trees, abundant fruit do bring,  
The cheerful birds melodiously do sing,  
Thou dost appoint, the crop of summers seed  
For man's relief, to serve the winter's need.   

Thou dost inspire the hearts of princely peers  
By providence, proceeding from above,  
In flowering youth to choose their worthy fears,  
With whom they live in league of lasting love,  
Till fearful death doth flitting life remove,  
And look how fast, to death man pays his due,  
So fast again, dost thou his stock renew.   

By thee, the basest thing advanced is,  
Thou every where, dost graff such golden peace,  
As filleth man, with more than earthly bliss,  
The earth by thee, doth yield her sweet increase  
At beck of thee, all bloody discords cease,  
And mightiest Realms in quiet do remain,  
Whereas thy hand doth hold the royal rain.   

But if thou fail, than all things gone to wrack,  
The mother then, doth dread her natural child,  
Then every town is subject to the sack,  
Then spotless maids, the virgins be defiled,  
Then rigour rules, than reason is exiled:  
And this, thou woeful Thebes, to our great pain,  
With present spoil, art likely to sustain.   

Me think I hear the wailful weeping cries  
Of wretched dames, in every coast resound,  
Me thinks I see, how up to heavenly skies  
From battered walls, the thundering claps rebound,  
Me think I hear, how all things go to ground,  
Me think I see, how soldiers wounded lie  
With gasping breath, and yet they can not die.   

By means whereof, o sweet Meneceus he,  
That gives for country's cause his guiltless life,  
Of others all, most happy shall he be:  
His ghost shall flit from broils of bloody strife,  
To heavenly bliss, where pleasing joys be rife:  
And would to God, that this his fatal end  
From further plagues, our city might defend.   

O sacred God, give ear unto thy thrall,  
That humbly here upon thy name doth call,  
O let not now, our faultless blood be spilled,  
For hot revenge of any others gilt.   
Finis Actus quarti.  Done by F. Kinwelmarshe.  

The order of the last dumb show.  
FIrst the Stillpipes sounded a very mournful melody, in which time came upon the Stage a woman clothed in a white garment, on her head a pillar, double faced, the foremost face fair & smiling, the other behind black & louring, muffled with a white lawn about her eyes, her lap full of jewels, sitting in a chariot, her legs naked, her feet set upon a great round bal, & being drawn in by four noble personages, she led in a string on her right hand two kings crowned, and in her left hand two poor slaves very meanly attired. After she was drawn about the stage, she stayed a little, changing the kings unto the left hand & the slaves unto the right hand, taking the crowns from the king's heads she crowned therewith the ij. slaves, & casting the vile clotheses of the slaves upon the kings, she despoiled the kings of their robes, and therewith appareled the slaves. This done, she was drawn eftsoons about the stage in this order, and then departed, leaving unto us a plain Type or figure of unstable fortune, who doth oftentimes raise to height of dignity the vile and unnoble, and in like manner throweth down from the place of promotion, even those whom before she herself had thither advanced: after her departure came in Duke Creon with four gentlemen waiting upon him and lamented the death of Meneceus his son in this manner.   

Actus three  

Scena .1.  CREON. CHORUS. 
ALas what shall I do? bemoan myself?  
Or rue the ruin of my Native land,  
About the which such clouds I see enclosed,  
As darker cannot cover dreadful hell.  
With mine own eyes I saw my own dear son  
All gored with blood of his too bloody breast,  
Which he hath shed full like a friend, too dear  
To his country, and yet a cruel foe  
To me, that was his friend and father both.  
Thus to himself he gained a famous name,  
And glory great, to me redoubled pain:  
Whose hapless death in my afflicted house,  
Hath put such plaint, as I ne can espy  
What comfort might acquit their distress.  
I hither come my sister for to seek,  
jocasta, she that might in woeful wise  
Amid her high and over pining cares,  
Prepare the baynes for his so wretched corpse,  
And eke for him that now is not in life,  
May pay the due that to the dead pertains,  
And for the honour he did well deserve,  
To give some gifts unto infernal Gods.  Cho. 
My Lord, your sister is gone forth long since,  
Into the camp, and with her Antigone,  
Her daughter dear.  Cre. 
Into the camp? alas and what to do?  Cho. 
She understood, that for this realm forthwith  
Her sons were 'greed in combat for to join.  Cre. 
Alas, the funerals of my dear son  
Dismayed me so, that I ne did receive,  
Ne seek to know these new unwelcome news.  
But lo, behold a plain apparent sign  
Of further fears: the furious troubled looks  
Of him that cometh here so hastily.   

Scena. 2.  NUNCIUS. CREON. CHORUS. 
ALas, alas, what shall I do? alas,  
What shrieking voice may serve my woeful words?  
O wretched I, ten thousand times a wretch,  
The messenger of dread and cruel death  Cre. 
Yet more mishap? and what unhappy news:  Nun. 
My Lord, your nephews both have lost their lives.  Cre. 
Out and alas, to me and to this town,  
Thou dost account great ruin and decay,  
You royal family of Oedipus:  
And hear you this? your liege and sovereign Lords  
The brethren both are slain and done to death.  Cho. 
O cruel news, most cruel that can come,  
O news that might these stony walls provoke  
For tender ruth to burst in bitter tears,  
And so they would, had they the sense of man.  Cre. 

Cesers' tears.  O worthy young Lords, that unworthy were  
Of such unworthy death, O me most wretch.  Nun. 
Moore wretched shall ye deem yourself, my lord,  
When you shall hear of further misery.  Cre. 
And can there be more misery than this?  Nun. 
With her dear sons the queen herself is slain.  Cho. 
Bewail ladies, alas good ladies wail,  
This hard mischance, this cruel common evil,  
Ne henceforth hope for ever to rejoice.  Cre. 
O jocasta, miserable mother,  
What hapless end thy life alas hath hent?  
Percase the heavens purveyed had the same,  
Moved thereto by the wicked wedlock  
Of Oedipus thy son yet might thy excuse  
But justly made, that knew not of the crime.  
But tell me messenger, 
We hearken somtimee willingly to woeful news.  o tell me yet  
The death of these two brethren, driven thereto,  
Not thus all only by their dreary fate,  
But by the banning and the bitter curse  
Of their cruel sire, borne for our annoy,  
And here on earth the only source of evil.  Nun. 
Then know my Lord, the battle that begun  
Under the walls, was brought to lucky end.  
Eteocles had made his footmen flee  
Within their trenches, to their foul reproach:  
But herewithal the brethren both straightway  
Each other challenge forth into the field,  
By combat so to stint their cruel strife,  
Who armed thus amid the field appeared,  
First Polynices turning toward Gréece  
His lovely looks, 'gan juno thus beseech:  
O heavenly queen, thou seest, that since the day  
I first did wed Adrastus' daughter dear,  
And stayed in Gréece, thy servant have I been:  
Then (be it not for mine unworthiness)  
Grant me this grace, the victory to win,  
Grant me, that I with high triumphant hand,  
May bathe this blade within my brother's breast:  
I know I crave unworthy victory,  
Unworthy triumphs, and unworthy spoils,  
Lo he the cause, my cruel enemy.  
The people wept to bear the woeful words  
Of Polynices, foreseeing eke the end  
Of this outrage and cruel combat ta'en,  
Each man 'gan look upon his drooping mate,  
With minds amazed, and trembling hearts for dread,  
Whom pity pierced for these youthful knights.  
Eteocles with eyes up cast to heaven,  
Thus said:  
O mighty love his daughter grant to me,  
That this right hand with this sharp armed lance  
(Passing amid my brother's cankered breast,)  
It may eke pierce that coward heart of his,  
And so him slay that thus unworthily  
Disturbs the quiet of our common weal.  
So said Eteocles, and trumpets blown,  
To send the summons of their bloody fight,  
That one the other fiercely did encounter,  
Like Lions two yfraught with boiling wrath,  
Both couched their lances full against the face,  
But heaven it 
* would not  nolde that there they should them taint:  
Upon the battered shields the mighty spears  
Are both ybroke, and in a thousand shivers  
Amid the air flown up into the heavens:  
Behold again, with naked sword in hand,  
Each one the other furiously assaults.  
Here they of Thebes, there stood the greeks in doubt,  
Of whom doth each man feel more chilling dread,  
Lest any of the twain should loose his life,  
Than any of the twain did feel in fight.  
Their angry looks, their deadly daunting blows.  
Might witness well, that in their hearts remained  
As cankered hate, disdain, and furious mood,  
As ever bred in bear or tigers breast.  
The first that happed to hurt was Polynices,  
Who smote the right thigh of Eteocles:  
But as we deem, the blow was nothing deep,  
Then cried the Greeks, and leapt with lightened hearts,  
But straight again they held their peace, for why?  
Eteocles 'gan thrust his wicked sword  
In the left arm of unarmed Polynices,  
And let the blood from bore unfenced flesh.  
With falling drops distill upon the ground,  
Ne long he stays, but with an other thrust  
His brother's belly bowelled with his blade,  
Then wretched he, with bridle left at large,  
From of his horse fell pale upon the ground,  
Ne long it was, but down our duke dismounts  
From of his startling steed, and runs in haste,  
His brother's hapless helm for to unlace,  
And with such hungry mind desired spoil,  
(As one that thought the field already won)  
That at unwares, his brother's dagger drawn,  
And gripped fast within the dying hand,  
Under his side he reckless doth receive,  
That made the way to his wide open heart.  
Thus falls Eteocles his brother by,  
From both whose breasts the blood fast bubbling, gave  
A sorry show to greeks and Thebans both.  Cho. 
O wretched end of our unhappy Lords.  Cre. 
O Oedipus, I must bewail the death  
Of thy dear sons, that were my nephews both,  
But of these blows thou oughtest feel the smart,  
That with thy wonted prayers, thus hast brought  
Such noble bloods to this unnoble end.  
But now tell on, what followed of the Queen?  Nun. 
When thus with piecced hearts, by their own hands  
The brothers fell and wallowed in their blood,  
(That one still tumbling on the other's gore)  
Came their afflicted mother, then to late,  
And eke with her, chaste child Antigone,  
Who saw no sooner how their fates had fallen,  
But with the doubled echo of alas,  
She dimmed the air with loud complaints and cries:  
O sons (quoth she) too late came all my help,  
And all to late have I my succour sent:  
And with these words, upon their carcase cold  
She shrieked so, as might have stayed the Sun  
To mourn with her: the woeful sister eke,  
(That both her cheeks did bathe in flowing tears)  
Out from the depth of her tormented breast,  
With scalding sighs 'gan draw thief weary words,  
O my dear brethren, why abandon ye  
Our mother dear, when these her aged years,  
(That of themselves are weak and grown with grief,)  
Stood most in need of your sustaining help?  
Why do you leave her thus disconsolate?  
At sound of such her weeping long lament,  
Eteocles our king held up his hand,  
And sent from bottom of his woeful breast  
A doubled sigh, divided with his grief,  
In faithful token of his feeble will  
To recomfort his mother and sister both:  
And in stead of sweet contenting words,  
The trickling tears reigned down his paled cheeks:  
Then clasped his hands, and shut his dying eyes.  
But Polynices, that turned his rolling eyen  
Unto his mother and his sister dear,  
With hollow voice and fumbling tongue, thus spoke:  
Mother, you see how I am now arrived  
Unto the heaven of mine unhappy end:  
Now nothing doth remain to me, but this,  
That I lament my sister's life and yours,  
Left thus in everlasting woe and grief:  
So am I sorry for Eteocles,  
Who though he were my cruel enemy,  
He was your son, and brother yet to me:  
But since these ghosts of ours must needs go down  
With staggering steps into the Stygian reign,  
I you beseech, mother and sister both,  
Of pity yet, that you will me procure  
A royal tomb within my native realm:  
And now shut up with those your tender bands,  
These grieffull eyes of mine, whose dazzled light  
Shadows of dreadful death be come to close.  
Now rest in peace, this said, he yielded up  
His fainting ghost, that ready was to part.  
The mother thus beholding both her sons  
Ydone to death, and overcome with dole,  
Drew out the dagger of her Polynices,  
From brother's breast, and gored therewith her throat,  
Falling bet ween her sons:  
Then with her feebled arms, she doth unfold  
Their bodies both, as if for company  
Her uncontented corpse were yet content  
To pass with them in Charon's ferry boat.  
When cruel fate had thus with force bereft  
The woeful mother and her two dear sons,  
All suddenly alarm, alarm, they cry,  
And hot conflict began for to arise  
Between our army and our enemies:  
For either part would have the victory.  
A while they did with equal force maintain  
The bloody fight, at last the Greeks do fly,  
Of whom could hardly any one escape,  
For in such hugy heaps our men them slew.  
The ground was covered all with carcases:  
And of our soldiers, some 'gan spoil the dead,  
Some other were that parted out the pray,  
And some pursuing. Antigone took up  
The Queen jocasta, and the brethren both,  
Whom in a chariot hither they will bring  
Ere long: and thus, although we gotten have  
The victory over our enemies,  
Yet have we lost much more than we have won.  Creon exit. Cho. 
O hard mishap, we do not only hear  
The weary news of their untimely death,  
But eke we must with wailing eyes behold  
Their bodies dead, for look where they be brought.   

Scena. 3.  ANTIGONE. CHORUS. 
MOst bitter plaint, O ladies, us behoves  
Behoveth eke not only bitter plaint,  
But that our hears dyshevylde from our heads  
About our shoulders hung, and that our breasts  
With bouncing blows be all be battered,  
Our ghastly faces with our nails defaced:  
Behold, your Queen twixt both her sons lies slain,  
The Queen whom you did love and honour both,  
The Queen that did so tenderly bring up  
And nourish you, each one like to her own,  
Now hath she left you all (O cruel hap)  
With her too cruel death in dying dread,  
Pining with pensiveness without all help.  
O weary life, why bydste thou in my breast  
And I contented be that these mine eyes  
Should see her die that gave to me this life,  
And I not venge her death by loss of life?  
Who can me give a fountain made of moan,  
That I may weep as much as is my will,  
To souse this sorrow up in swelling tears?  Cho. 
What stony heart could leave for to lament?  Anti. 
O Polynices, now hast thou with thy blood  
Bought all too dear the title to this realm,  
That cruel he Eteocles thee refte,  
And now also hath rest thee of thy life,  
Alas, what wicked deed can wrath not do?  
And out alas for me.  
While thou yet livedst, I had a lively hope  
To have some noble wight to be my fere,  
By whom I might be crowned a royal Queen:  
But now, thy hasty death hath done to die  
This dying hope of mine, that hope henceforth  
None other wedlock, but tormenting woe,  
If so these trembling hands for coward dread  
Dare not presume to end this wretched life.  Cho. 
Alas dear dame, let not thy raging grief  
Heap one mishap upon another's head.  Anti. 
O doleful day, wherein my sorry sire  
Was borne, and yet O more unhappy hour  
When he was crowned king of stately Thebes  
The Hymenei in unhappy bed,  
And wicked wedlock, wittingly did join,  
The guiltless mother with her guilty son,  
Out of which root we be the branches borne,  
To bear the scourge of their so foul offence:  
And thou, O father, thou that for this fact,  
Haste torn thine eyes from thy tormented head,  
Give ear to this, come forth, and bend thine ear  
To bloody news, that canst not them behold:  
Happy in that, for if thine eyes could see  
Thy sons both slain, and even between them both  
Thy wife and mother dead, bathed and imbrued  
All in one blood, then wouldst thou die for dole,  
And so might end all our unlucky stock.  
But most unhappy now, that lack of sight  
Shall linger life within thy luckless breast,  
And still tormented in such misery,  
Shall always die, because thou canst not die.  Oedipus entereth.  

Scena. 4.  OEDIPUS. ANTIGONE. CHORUS. 
WHy dost thou call out of this darksome den,  
(The lustless lodge of my lamenting years,)  
(O daughter dear) thy father's blinded eyes,  
Into the light I was not worthy of?  
Or what such sight (O cruel destiny)  
Without tormenting cares might I behold,  
That image am of death and not of man?  Anti. 
O father mine, I bring unlucky news  
Unto your ears, your sons are now both slain,  
Ne doth your wife (that wonted was to guide  
So piteously your stayless stumbling steps)  
Now see this light, alas and wellaway.  Oed. 
O heap of infinite calamities,  
And canst thou yet increase when I thought least  
That any grief more great could grow in thee?  
But tell me yet, what kind of cruel death  
Had these three sorry souls?  Anti. 
Without offence to speak, dear father mine,  
The luckless lot, the froward frowning fate  
That gave you life to end your father's life,  
Have led your sons to reave each other's life.  Oed. 
Of them I thought no less, but tell me yet  
What causeless death hath caught from me my dear,  
(What shall I call her) mother or my wife?  Anti. 
When as my mother saw her dear sons dead,  
As pensive pangs had priest her tender heart,  
With bloodless cheeks and ghastly looks she fell,  
Drawing the dagger from Eteocles side,  
She gored herself with wide recureless wound:  
And thus, without more words, gave up the ghost,  
Embracing both her sons with both her arms.  
In these affrights this frozen heart of mine,  
By fear of death maintains my dying life.  Cho. 
This dreary day is cause of many evils,  
Poor Oedipus, unto thy progeny,  
The Gods yet grant it may become the cause  
Of better hap to this afflicted realm.   

Scena. 5.  CREON. OEDIPUS. ANTIGONE. 
GOod Ladies leave your bootless vain complaint,  
Leave to lament, cut off your woeful cries,  
High time it is as now for to provide  
The funerals for the renowned king:  
And thou Oedipus harken to my words,  
And know thus much, that for thy daughter's dower,  
Antigone with Haemon shall be wed.  
Thy son our king not long before his death  
Assigned hath the kingdom should descend  
To me, that am his mother's brother borne,  
And so the same might to my son succeed.  
Now I that am the lord and king of Thebes,  
Will not permit that thou abide therein:  
Ne marvel yet of this my heady will,  
Ne blame thou me, for why, the heavens above  
(Which only rule the rolling life of man,)  
Have so ordained, and that my words be true,  
Tiresias he that knoweth things to come,  
By trusty tokens hath foretold the town,  
That while thou didst within the walls remain,  
It should be plagned still with penury:  
Wherefore depart, and think not that I speak  
These woeful words for hate I bear to thee,  
But for the weal of this afflicted realm.  Oedipus. 
O foul accursed fate, that hast me bred  
To bear the burden of the misery  
Of this cold death, which we account for life:  
Before my birth my father understood  
I should him slay, and scarcely was I borne,  
When he me made a prey for savage beasts.  
But what? I slew him yet, then caught the crown,  
And last of all defiled my mother's bed,  
By whom I have this wicked offspring got:  
And to this heinous crime and filthy fact  
The heavens have from high enforced me,  
Against whose doom no counsel can prevail.  
Thus hate I now my life, and last of all,  
Lo by the news of this so cruel death  
Of both my sons and dear beloved wife,  
Mine angry constellation me commands  
Withouten eyes to wander in mine age,  
When these my weary, weak, and crooked limb:  
Have greatest need to crave their quiet rest.  
O cruel Creon, wilt thou slay me so,  
For cruelly thou dost but murder me,  
Out of my kingdom now to chase me thus:  
Yet can I not with humble mind beseech  
Thy courtesy, ne fall before thy feet.  
Let fortune take from me these worldly gifts,  
She can not conquer this courageous heart,  
That never yet could well be overcome,  
To force me yield for fear to villainy:  
Do what thou canst I will be Oedipus.  Cre. 
So hast thou reason Oedipus, to say,  
And for my part I would thee counsel eke,  
Still to maintain the high and haughty mind,  
That hath been ever in thy noble heart:  
For this be sure, if thou wouldst kiss these knees,  
And practise eke by prayer to prevail,  
No pity could persuade me to consent  
That thou remain one only hour in Thebes.  
And now, prepare you worthy Citizens,  
The funerals that duly do pertain  
Unto the Queen, and to Eteocles,  
And eke for them provide their stately tombs.  
But Polynices, as common enemy  
Unto his country, carry forth his corpse  
Out of the walls, ne none so hardy be  
On pain of death his body to engrave,  
But in the fields let him unburied lie,  
Without his honour, and without complaint,  
An open pray for savage beasts to spoil.  
And thou Antigone, dry up thy tears,  
Pluck up thy spirits, and cheer thy harmless heart  
To marriage: for ere these two days pass,  
Thou shalt espouse Haemon mine only heir.  Antig. 
Father, I see us wrapped in endless woe,  
And now much more do I your state lament,  
Than these that now be dead, not that I think  
Their great mishaps too little to bewail,  
But this, that you (you only) do surpass  
All wretched wights that in this world remain.  
But you my Lord, why banish you with wrong  
My father thus out of his own perforce?  
And why will you deny these guiltless bones  
Of Polynices, their grave in country soil?  Creon. 
So would not I, so would Eteocles.  Anti. 
He cruel was, you fond to hold his hests.  Creon. 
Is then a fault to do a king's command?  Anti. 
When his command is cruel and unjust.  Creon. 
Is it unjust that he unburied be?  Anti. 
He not deserved so cruel punishment.  Creon. 
He was his countries cruel enemy.  Anti. 
Or else was he that held him from his right.  Cre. 
Bore he not arms against his native land?  Anti. 
Offendeth he that seeks to win his own?  Cre. 
In spite of thee he shall unburied be.  Anti. 
In spite of thee these hands shall bury him.  Cre. 
And with him eke then will I bury thee.  Anti. 
So grant the gods, I get none other grave,  
Then with my Polynices dear to rest.  Cre. 
Go sirs, lay hold on her, and take her in.  Anti. 
I will not leave this corpse unburied.  Cre. 
Canst thou undo the thing that is decreed?  Anti. 
A wicked foul decree to wrong the dead.  Cre. 
The ground ne shall ne aught to cover him.  Anti. 
Creon, yet I beseech thee for the love,  Cre. 
Away I say, thy prayers not prevail.  Anti. 
That thou didst bear jocasta in her life,  Cre. 
Thou dost but waste thy words amid the wind.  Anti. 
Yet grant me leave to wash his wounded corpse.  Cre. 
It can not be that I should grant thee so.  Anti. 
O my dear Polynices, this tyrant yet  

She showeth the fruits of true kindly love.  With all his worongfull force can not fordo,  
But I will kiss these cold pale lips of thine,  
And wash thy wounds with my waymenting tears.  Cre. 
O simple wench, O fond and foolish girl,  
Beware, beware, thy tears do not foretell  
Some sign of hard mishap unto thy marriage.  Anti. 
Not, not, for Haemon will I never wed.  Cre. 
Dost thou refuse the marriage of my son?  Anti. 
I will nor him, nor any other wed.  Cre. 
Against thy will then must I thee constrain.  Anti. 
If thou me force, I swear thou shalt repent.  Cre. 
What canst thou 'cause that I should once repent?  Anti. 
With bloody knife I can this knot unknit.  Cre. 
And what a fool were thou to kill thyself?  Anti. 
I will ensue some worthy woman's steps.  Cre. 
Speak out Antigone, that I may hear.  Anti. 
This hardy hand shall soon dispatch his life.  Cre. 
O simple fool, and dar'st thou be so bold?  Anti. 
Why should I dread to do so doughty deed?  Cre. 
And wherefore dost thou wedlock so despise?  Anti. 
In cruel exile for to follow him. pointing to Oedipus  Cre. 
What others might beseem, beseems not thee.  Anti. 
If need require with him eke will I die.  Cre. 
Depart, depart, and with thy father die,  
Rather than kill my child with bloody knife:  
Go hellish monster, go out of the town.  Creon exit. Oed. 
Daughter, I must commend thy noble heart.  Anti. 
Father, 
The duty of a child truly performed.  I will not live in company  
And you alone wander in wilderness.  Oed. 
O yes dear daughter, leave thou me alone  
Amid my plagues: be merry while thou mayst.  Anti. 
And who shall guide these aged feet of yours,  
That banished been, in blind necessity?  Oed. 
I will endure, as fatal lot me drives:  
Resting these crooked sorry sides of mine  
Where so the heavens shall lend me harborough.  
And in exchange of rich and stately towers,  
The woods, the wilderness, the darksome dens,  
Shall be the bower of mine unhappy bones.  Anti. 
O father now where is your glory gone?  " Oed. 
" One happy day did raise me to renown,  
" One hapless day hath thrown mine honour down.  Anti. 
Yet will I bear a part of your mishaps.  Oed. 
That sitteth not amid thy pleasant years.  " Anti. 
Dear father yes, let youth give place to age.  Oed. 
Where is thy mother? let me touch her face,  
That with these hands I may yet feel the harm  
That these blind eyes forbidden me to behold.  Anti. 
Here father, here her corpse, here put your hand.  Oed. 
O wife, O mother, O both woeful names,  
O woeful mother, and O woeful wife,  
O would to God, alas, O would to God  
Thou near had been my mother, nor my wife.  
But where lie now the paled bodies two,  
Of mine unlucky sons, O where be they?  Anti. 
Lo here they lie one by an other dead.  Oedip. 
Stretch out this hand, dear daughter, stretch this hand  
Upon their faces.  Anti. 
Lo father, here, lo, now you touch them both.  Oedi. 
O bodies dear, O bodies dearly bought  
Unto your father, bought with high mishap.  Anti. 
O lovely name of my dear Polynices,  
Why can I not of cruel Creon crave,  
Ne with my death now purchase thee a grave?  Oedi. 
Now comes Apollo's oracle to pass,  
That I in Athens town should end my days:  
And since thou dost, O daughter mine, desire  
In this exile to be my woeful mate,  
Lend me thy hand, and let us go together.  Anti. 
Lo, here all priest my dear beloved father,  
A feeble guide, and eke a simple scout,  
To pass the perils in a doubtful way.  Oedi. 
Unto the wretched, be a wretched guide.  Anti. 
In this all only equal to my father.  Oedi. 
And where shall I set forth my trembling feet?  
O reach me yet some surer staff, to stay  
My staggering pace amid these ways unknown.  Anti. 

She giveth him a staff, and stayeth him herself also.  Here father here, and here set forth your feet.  Oedi. 
Now can I blame none other for my harms  
But secret spite of foredecreed fate,  
Thou art the cause, that crooked, old and blind,  
I am exiled far from my country soil,  
And suffer dole that I aught not endure.  " Anti. 
O father, father, justice lies on sleep,  
" Ne doth regard the wrongs of wretchedness,  
" Ne princes swelling pride it doth redress. 
justice sleepeth.   Oedi. 
O careful raytife, how am I now changed  
From that I was? I am that Oedipus, 
A Glass for brittle Beauty and for iusty limbs.   
That whilom had triumphant victory,  
And was both dread and honoured eke in Thebes:  
But now (so pleaseth you my froward stars)  
Down headlong hurled in depth of misery,  
So that remains of Oedipus no more  
As now in me, but even the naked name,  
And lo, this image, that resembles more  
Shadows of death, than shape of Oedipus.  Antig. 
O father, now forget the pleasant days  
And happy life that you did whilom lead,  
The muse whereof redoubleth but you grief:  
Sustain the smart of these your present pains  
With patience, that best may you preserve.  
Lo where I come, to live and die with you,  
Not (as sometimes) the daughter of a king,  
But as an abject now in poverty,  
That you, by presence of such faithful guide,  
May better bear the wreck of misery.  Oedi. 
O only comfort of my cruel hap.  Anti. 
Your daughter's pity is but due to you?  
Would God I might as well engrave the corpse  
Of my dear Polynices, but I ne may,  
And that I can not, doubleth all my do●e.  Oedi. 
This thy desire, that is both good and just,  
Impart to some that be thy trusty friends,  
Who moved with pity, may procure the same.  " Anti. 
Believe me father, when dame fortune frowns,  
" Be few that find trusty companions.  Oedi. 
And of those few, yet one of those am I:  
Wherefore, go we now daughter, lead the way  
Into the stony rocks and highest hills,  
Where fewest tracks of step may be spied.  
" Who once hath sit in chair of dignity,  
" May shame to show himself in misery.  Anti. 
From thee, O country, am I forced to part,  
Despoiled thus in flower of my youth,  
And yet I leave within my enemies rule,  
Ismene my infortunate sister.  Oed. 
Dear citizens, behold your Lord and King  

A mirror for Magistrates.  That Thebes set in quiet government,  
Now as you see, neglected of you all,  
And in these ragged ruthful weeds bewrapt,  
Ychased from his native country soil,  
Betakes himself (for so this tyrant will)  
To everlasting banishment: but why  
Do I lament my luckless lot in vain?  
" Since every man must bear with quiet mind,  
" The fate that heavens have erst to him assigned.  CHORUS. 
EXample here, lo take by Oedipus,  
You Kings and Princes in prosperity,  
And every one that is desirous  
To sway the seat of worldly dignity,  
How fickle 'tis to trust in Fortunes wheel:  
For him whom now she hoisteth up on high,  
If so he chance on any side to reel,  
She hurls him down in twinkling of an eye:  
And him again, that growleth now on ground,  
And lieth low in dungeon of despair,  
Her whirling wheel can heave up at a bound,  
And place aloft in stay of stately chair.  
As from the Sun the Moon withdraws her face,  
So might of man doth yield dame Fortune place.  
Finis Actus quinti.  Done by G. Gascoigne.   

Epilogus.  
LO here the fruit of high aspiring mind,  
Who weens to mount above the moving Skies:  
Lo here the trap that titles proud do find,  
See, ruin grows, when most we reach to rise:  
Sweet is the name, and stately is the reign  
Of kingly rule, and sway of royal seat,  
But bitter is the taste of Prince's gain,  
When climbing heads do hunt for to be great.  
Who would forecast the bank of restless toil,  
Ambitious wights do fraught their breasts withal,  
The growing cares, the fears of dreadful foil,  
To ill success that on such flight's doth fall,  
He would not strain his practise to achieve  
The largest limits of the mightiest states.  
But o, what fancies sweet do still relieve  
The hungry humour of these swelling hates?  
What poison sweet inflameth high desire?  
How soon the haughty heart is puffed with pride?  
How soon is thirst of sceptre set on fire?  
How soon in rising minds doth mischief slide?  
What bloody stirs doth glut of honour breed?  
th'ambitious son doth often surpresse his sire:  
Where nature's power unfeigned love should spread,  
There malice reigns and reacheth to be higher.  
O blind unbridled search of sovereignty,  
O tickle train of evil attained state,  
O fond desire of princely dignity,  
Who climbs too soon, he oft repentes too late.  
The golden mean, the happy doth suffice,  
They lead the posting day in rare delight,  
They fill (not feed) their uncontented eyes,  
They reap such rest as doth beguile the might,  
They not envy the pomp of haughty train,  
Ne dread the dint of proud usurping sword,  
But placed allow, more sugared joys attain,  
Than sway of lofty Sceptre can afford.  
Cease to aspire then, cease to soar so high,  
And shun the plague that pierceth noble breasts.  
To glittering courts what fondness is to fly,  
When better state in base Towers rests?  
Finis Epilogi.  Done by Chr. Yeluerton.   

NOte (Reader) that there were in Thebes four principal gates, whereof the chief and most commonly used were the gates called Electrae and the gates Homoloydes. This I have thought good to explain: as also certain words which are not common in use are noted and expounded in the margin. I did begin those notes at request of a gentlewoman who understood not poëtycall words or terms. I trust those and the rest of my notes throughout the book, shall not be hurtful to any Reader.   


❧ The Fruit of reconciliation, Written upon a reconciliation between two friends.  
THe hateful man that heapeth in his mind,  
Cruel revenge of wrongs forepast and done,  
May not (with ease) the pleasant pathway find,  
Of friendly verse which I have now begun,  
Unless at first his angry breast untwined,  
The crooked knot which cankered choler knit,  
And then recoil with reconciled grace.  
Likewise I find it said in holy writ,  
If thou intend to turn thy fearful face,  
To God above: make thine agreement yet,  
First with thy Brother whom thou didst abuse,  
Confess thy faults, thy frowardness and all,  
So that the Lord thy prayer not refuse.  
When I consider this, and then the brawl,  
Which raging youth (I will not me excuse)  
Did whilom breed in mine unmellowed brain,  
I thought it meet before I did assay,  
To writ in rhyme the double golden gain,  
Of amity: first yet to take away  
The grudge of grief, as thou dost me constrain.  
By due desert whereto I now must yield,  
And drown for ay in depth of Lethe's lake,  
Disdainful moods whom friendship cannot wield:  
Pleading for peace which for my part I make  
Of former strife, and henceforth let us writ  
The pleasant fruits of faithful friends delight.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

Two gentlemen did run three courses at the Ring for one kiss to be taken of a fair gentlewoman being then present, with this condition, that the winner should have the kiss, and the loser be bound to writ some verses upon the gain or loss thereof. Now it fortuned that the winner triumphed, saying, he much lamented that in youth he had not seen the wars. Whereupon the loser compiled these following, in discharge of the condition above rehearsed.  
THis vain avail which thou by Mars hast won,  
Should not allure thy flitting mind to field,  
Where sturdy stéeds in depth of dangers run,  
By guts welgnawen by claps that Canons yield.  
Where faithless friends by warfare waxed ware,  
And run to him that giveth best reward:  
No fear of laws can 'cause them for to care,  
But rob and reave, and steal without regard,  
The father's coat, the brother's steed from stall:  
The dear friends purse shall picked be for pence,  
The native soil, the parents left and all,  
With Tant troth tant, the Camp is marching hence.  
But when bore beggary bids them to beware,  
And late repentance rules them to retire,  
Like hivelesse Bees they wander here and there,  
And hung on them who (erst) did dread their ire.  
This cut throto life (me seems) thou shouldst not like,  
And shun the happy haven of mean estate:  
High jove (pardie) may send what thou dost seek,  
And heap up pounds within thy quiet gate.  
Nor yet I would that thou shouldst spend thy days  
In idleness to tear a golden time:  
Like country louts, which count none other praise,  
But grease a sheep, and learn to serve the swine.  
In vain were then the gifts which nature lent,  
If Pan so press to pass dame Pallas lore:  
But my good friend, let thus thy youth be spent,  
Serve God thy Lord, and praise him evermore.  
Search out the skill which learned books do teach,  
And serve in field when shadows make thee sure:  
Hold with the head, and row not past thy reach.  
But pled for peace which plenty may procure.  
And (for my life) if thou canst run this race,  
Thy bags of coin will multiply apace.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

Not long after the writing hereof: he departed from the company of his said friend (whom he entirely loved) into the west of England, and feeling himself so consumed by women's craft that he doubted of a safe return: wrote before his departure as followeth.  

THe feeble thread which Lachesis hath spun,  
To draw my days in short abode with thee,  
Hath wrought a web which now (well-near) is done,  
The wale is worn: and (all to late) I see  
That lingering life doth dally but in vain,  
For Atropos will cut the twist in twain.   

I not discern what life but loathsome were,  
When faithful friends are kept in twain by want:  
Nor yet perceive what pleasure doth appear,  
To deep desires where good success is scant.  
Such spite yet shows dame fortune (if she frown,)  
The haughty hearts in high mishaps to drown.   

Hot be the flames which boil in friendly minds,  
Cruel the care and dreadful is the doom:  
Slipper the knot which tract of time untwynds,  
Hateful the life and welcome were the tomb.  
Blest were the day which might devour such youth,  
And cursed the want that seeks to choke such truth.   

This wailing verse I bathe in flowing tears,  
And would my life might end with these my lines:  
Year strive I not to force into thine ears,  
Such feigned plaints as fickle faith resigns.  
But high foresight in dreams hath stopped my breath,  
And caused the Swan to sing before his death.   

For lo these naked walls do well declare,  
My latest leave of thee I taken have:  
And unknown coasts which I must seek with care  
Do well divine that there shallbe my grave:  
There shall my death make many for to moon,  
Scarce known to them, well known to thee alone.   

This boon of thee (as last request) I crave,  
When true report shall sound my death with fame:  
Vouchsafe yet then to go unto my grave,  
And there first writ my birth and then my name:  
And how my life was shortened many years,  
By women's wiles as to the world appears.   

And in reward of grant to this request,  
Permit O God my tongue these words to tell:  
(When as his pen shall writ upon my chest)  
With shrieking voice mine own dear friend farewell:  
Not care on earth did seem so much to me,  
As when my corpse was forced to part from thee.   Si fortunatus infoelix.  

He wrote to the same friend from Excester, this Sonnet following.  
A hundredth sons (in course but not in kind)  
Can witness well that I possess no joy:  
The fear of death which fretteth in my mind  
Consumes my heart with dread of dark annoy.  
And for each son a thousand broken sleeps  
Divide my dreams with fresh recourse of cares:  
The youngest sister sharp her shear she keeps,  
To cut my thread, and thus my life it wears.  
Yet let such days, such thousand restless nights,  
Spit forth their spite, let fates eke show their force:  
Deaths daunting dart where so his buffet lights,  
Shall shape no change within my friendly corpse:  
But dead or live, in heaven, in earth, in hell  
I willbe thine where so my carcase devil.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

He wrote to the same friend from fountain bell eaü in France, this Sonnet in commendation of the said house of Fountain bel'eaü.  
NOt stately Troy though Priam yet did live,  
Can now compare fountain bel'eaü to pass:  
Nor Syrian towers, whose lofty steps did strive,  
To climb the throne where angry Saturn was.  
For outward show the ports are of such price,  
As scorn the cost which Cesar spilled in Room:  
Such works within as stain the rare devise,  
Which whilom he Apelles wrought on tomb.  
Swift Tiber flood which fed the Roman pools,  
Puddle to this where Crystal melts in streams,  
The pleasant place where Muses kept their schools,  
(Not parched with Phoebe, nor banished from his beams)  
Yield to those Dames, nor sight, nor fruit, nor smell,  
Which may be thought these gardens to excel.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

He wrote unto a Skotish Dame whom he chose for his Mistress in the French Court, as followeth.  
LAdy receive, receive in gracious wise,  
This ragged verse, these rude ill skribled lines:  
Too base an object for your heavenly eyes,  
For he that writes his freedom (lo) resigns  
Into your hands: and freely yields as thrall  
His sturdy neck (erst subject to no yoke)  
But bending now, and headlong priest to fall,  
Before your feet, such force hath beauty's stroke.  
Since than mine eyes (which scorned our English) dames  
In foreign courts have chosen you for fair,  
Let be this verse true token of my flames,  
And do not drench your own in deep despair.  
Only I crave (as I nill change for new)  
That you vouchsafe to think your servant true.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

A Sonnet written in praise of the brown beauty, compiled for the love of Mistress E. P. as followeth.  
THe thristles thread which pampered beauty spins,  
In thraldom binds the foolish gazing eyes:  
As cruel Spiders with their crafty gins,  
In worthless webs do snare the simple Flies.  
The garments gay, the glittering golden gite,  
The 'ticing talk which flows from Pallas pools:  
The painted pale, the (too much) read made white,  
Are smiling baits to fish for loving fools.  
But lo, when eld in toothless mouth appears,  
And hoary hears in steed of beauty's blaze:  
Than had I witted, doth teach repenting years,  
The tickle tract of crafty Cupid's maze.  
Twixt fair and foul therefore, twixt great and small,  
A lovely nuthrowne face is best of all.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

Now to begin with another man, take these verses written to be sent with a ring, wherein were engraved a Partridge in a Merlines foot.  

THe Partridge in the pretty Mertines foot,  
Who feels her force suppressed with fearfulness,  
And finds that strength nor strife can do her boot,  
To scape the danger of her deep distress:  
These woeful words may seem for to rehearse  
Which I must writ in this waymenting verse.   

What helpeth now (sayeth she) dame natures skill,  
To die my feathers like the dusty ground?  
Or what prevails to lend me wings at will  
Which in the air can make my body bound?  
Since from the earth the dogs me drove perforce,  
And now aloft the Hawk hath caught my corpse.   

If change of colours, could not me convey,  
Yet might my wings have scaped the dogs despite:  
And if my wings did fail to fly away,  
Yet might my strength resist the Merlines might.  
But nature made the Merline me to kill,  
And me to yield unto the Merlines william.   

My lot is like (dear Dame) believe me well,  
The quiet life which I full closely kept.  
Was not content in happy state to devil,  
But forth in haste to gaze on thee it leapt.  
Desire thy dog did spring me up in haste,  
Thou wert the Hawk, whose talents caught me fast.   

What should I then, seek means to fly away?  
Or strive by force, to break out of thy feet?  
Not, not, perdie, I may no strength assay,  
To strive with thee iwis, it were not meet.  
Thou art that Hawk, whom nature made to hent me,  
And I the Bird, that must therewith content me.   

And since Dame nature hath ordained so,  
Her happy hest I gladly shall embrace:  
I yield my will, although it were to woe,  
I stand content to take my grief for grace:  
And seal it up within my secret heart,  
Which seal receive, as token of my smart.   Spraeta tamen viwnt.  

A loving Lady being wounded in the spring time, and now galded eftsoons with the remembrance of the spring, doth therefore thus bewail.  

THis tenth of March when Aries receyud  
Dame Phoebus' rays, into his horned head:  
And I myself, by learned lore perceived,  
That Ver approached, and frosty winter fled.  
I crossed the Thames, to take the cheerful air,  
In open fields, the weather was so fair.   

And as I rowed, fast by the further shore,  
I heard a voice, which seemed to lament:  
Whereat I stayed, and by a stately door,  
I left my Boat, and up on land I went:  
Till at the last by lasting pain I found,  
The woeful wight, which made this doleful sound.   

In pleasant garden (placed all alone)  
I saw a Dame, who sat in weary wise,  
With scalding sighs, she uttered all her moan,  
The rueful tears, down rained from her eyes:  
Her lowering head, full low on hand she laid,  
On knee her arm: and thus this Lady said.   

Alas (quoth she) behold each pleasant green,  
Will now renew, his summers livery,  
The fragrant flowers, which have not long been seen,  
Will flourish now, (ere long) in bravery:  
The tender buds, whom cold hath long kept in,  
Will spring and sprout, as they do now begin.   

But I (alas) within whose mourning mind,  
The graffs of grief, are only given to grow,  
Cannot enjoy the spring which others find,  
But still my will, must whither all in woe:  
The cold of care, so nips my joys at root,  
No sun doth shine, that well can do them boot.   

The lusty Ver, which whilom might exchange  
My grief to joy, and then my joys increase,  
Spring's now else where, and shows to me but strange,  
My winter's woe, therefore can never cease:  
In other coasts, his sun full clear doth shine,  
And comforts lends to every mould but mine.   

What plant can spring, that feels no force of Ver?  
What flower can flourish, where no sun doth shine?  
These Bales (quoth she) within my breast I bear,  
To break my bark, and make my pith to pine:  
Needs must I fall, I fade both root and rind,  
My branches bow at blast of every wind.   

This said: she cast a glance and spied my face,  
By sight whereof, Lord how she changed hue?  
So that for shame, I turned back a pace  
And to my home, myself in haste I drew:  
And as I could her woeful words rehearse,  
I set them down in this waymenting verse.   

Now Ladies you, that know by whom I sing,  
And feel the winter, of such frozen wills:  
Of courtesy, yet 'cause this noble spring,  
To sand his sun, above the highest hills:  
And so to shine, upon her fading sprays,  
Which now in woe, do wither thus always.   Spraeta tamen viwnt.  

An absent Dame thus complaineth.  
Much like the seely Bird, which close in Cage is penned,  
So sing I now, not notes of joy, but lays of deep lament.  
And as the hooded Hawk, which hears the Partridge spring,  
Who though she feel herself fast tied, yet beats her bating wing:  
So strive I now to show, my feeble forward will,  
Although I know my labour lost, to hop against the Hill.  
The drops of dark disdain, did never drench my heart,  
For well I know I am beloved, if that might ease my smart.  
Ne yet the privy coals, of glowing iellosie,  
Can ever kindle needless fear, within my fantasy.  
The rigour of repulse, doth not renew my plaint,  
Nor choice of change doth move my moan, nor force me thus to faint.  
Only that pang of pain, which passeth all the rest,  
And cankerlike doth fret the heart, within the guiltless breast.  
Which is if any be, most like the pangs of death,  
That present grief now gripeth me, & strives to stop my breath.  
When friends in mind may meet, and heart in heart embrace,  
And absent yet are feign to plain, for lack of time and place:  
Then may I count, their love like seed, that soon is sown,  
Yet lacking drops of heavenvly dew, with weeds is overgrown.  
The Greyhound is aggrieved, although he see his game,  
If still in slip he must be stayed, when he would chase the same.  
So fares it now by me, who know myself beloved  
Of one the best, in each respect, that ever yet was proved.  
But since my luckless lot, forbids me now to taste,  
The dulcet fruits of my delight, therefore in woes I wast.  
And Swallow like I sing, as one enforced so,  
Since others reap the gainful crop, which I with pain did sow.  
Yet you that mark my song, excuse my Swallows voice,  
And bear with her unpleasant tunes, which cannot well rejoice.  
Had I or luck in love, or lease of liberty,  
Then should you hear some sweeter notes, so clear my throat would be.  
But take it thus in 'gree, and mark my plainsong well,  
No heart feels so much hurt, as that, which doth in absence devil.  Spraeta tamen viwnt.  

In praise of a Countess.  

DEsire of Fame would force my feeble skill,  
To praise a Countess by her due desert:  
But dread of blame holds back my forward will,  
And quenched the coals which kindled in my heart.  
Thus am I plongd between dread and deep desire,  
To pay the dew which duty doth require.   

And when I call the mighty Gods in aid  
To further forth some fine invention:  
My bashful spirits be full ill afraid  
To purchase pain by my presumption.  
Such malice reigns (sometimes) in heavenly minds,  
To punish him that praiseth as he finds.   

For Pallas first, whose filled flowing skill,  
Should guide my pen some pleasant words to writ,  
With angry mood hath framed a froward will,  
To dash devise as often as I indite.  
For why? if once my Lady's gifts were known,  
Pallas should lose the praises of her own.   

And bloody Mars by change of his delight  
Hath made Ioues daughter now mine enemy:  
In whose conceit my Countess shines so bright,  
That Venus pines for burning jealousy:  
She may go home to Vulcan now again,  
For Mars is sworn to be my Lady's swain.   

Of her bright beams Dan Phoebus stands in dread,  
And shames to shine within our Horizon:  
Dame Cynthia holds in her horned head,  
For fear to lose by like comparison:  
Lo thus she lives, and laughs them all to scorn,  
Countess on earth, in heaven a Goddess borne.   

And I sometimes her servant, now her friend,  
Whom heaven and earth for her (thus) hate and blame:  
Have yet presume in friendly wise to spend,  
This ragged verse, in honour of her name:  
A simple gift compared by the skill,  
Yet what may seem so dear as such good william.   Meritum petere, grave.  

The Lover declareth his affection, together with the cause thereof.  

WHen first I thee beheld in colours black and white,  
Thy face in form well framed with favour blooming still:  
My burning breast in cares did choose his chief delight,  
With pen to paint thy praise, contrary to my skill:  
Whose worthiness compared with this my rude devise,  
I blush and am abashed, this work to enterprise.   

But when I call to mind thy sundry gifts of grace,  
Full fraught with manners meek in happy quiet mind:  
My hasty hand forthwith doth scribble on apace,  
Lest willing heart might think, it meant to come behind:  
Thus do both hand and heart these careful méetres use,  
Twixt hope and trembling fear, my duty to excuse.   

Wherefore accept these lines, and banish dark disdain,  
Be sure they come from one that loveth thee in chief:  
And guerdon me thy friend in like with love again,  
So shalt thou well be sure to yield me such relief,  
As only may redress my sorrows and my smart:  
For proof whereof I pledge (dear Dame) to thee my heart.   Meritum petere, grave.  

A Lady being both wronged by false suspect, and also wounded by the durance of her husband, doth thus bewray her grief.  

Give me my Lute in bed now as I lie,  
And lock the doors of mine unlucky bower:  
So shall my voice in mournful verse descry  
The secret smart which causeth me to lower:  
Resound you walls an Echo to my moan,  
And thou cold bed wherein I lie alone,  
Bear witness yet what rest thy Lady takes,  
When other sleep which may enjoy their makes.   

In prime of youth when Cupid kindled fire,  
And warmed my will with flames of fervent love:  
To further forth the fruit of my desire,  
My friends devised this mean for my behove.  
They made a match according to my mind,  
And cast a snare my fancy for to blind:  
Short tale to make: the deed was almost done,  
Before I knew which way the work begun.   

And with this lot I did myself content,  
I lent a liking to my parent's choice:  
With hand and heart I gave my free consent,  
And hung in hope for ever to rejoice.  
I lived and loved long time in greater joy,  
Than she which held king Priam's son of Troy:  
But three lewd lots have changed my heaven to hell  
And those be these, give ear and mark them well.   

First slander he, which always beareth hate,  
To happy hearts in heavenly state that bide:  
'Gan play his part to stir up some debate,  
Whereby suspect into my choice might glide.  
And by his means the slime of false suspect,  
Did (as I fear) my dearest friend infect.  
Thus by these twain long was I plunged in pain,  
Yet in good hope my heart did still remain.   

But now (ay me) the greatest grief of all,  
(Sound loud my Lute, and tell it out my tongue)  
The hardest hap that ever might befall,  
The only cause wherefore this song is song,  
Is this alas: my love, my Lord, my Roy,  
My chosen fere, my gem, and all my joy,  
Is kept perforce out of my daily sight,  
Whereby I lack the stay of my delight.   

In lofty walls, in strong and stately towers,  
(With troubled mind in solitary sort,)  
My lovely Lord doth spend his days and hours,  
A weary life devoid of all disport.  
And I poor soul must lie here all alone,  
To tire my truth, and wound my will with moan:  
Such is my hap to shake my blooming time,  
With winter's blasts before it pass the prime.   

Now have you heard the sum of all my grief,  
Whereof to tell my heart (o) rends in twain:  
Good Ladies yet lend you me some relief,  
And bear a part to ease me of my pain.  
My sorts are such, that weighing well my truth,  
They might provoke the craggy rocks to ruth,  
And move these walls with tears for to lament,  
The loathsome life wherein my youth is spent.   

But thou my Lute, be still, now take thy rest,  
Repose thy bones upon this bed of down:  
Thou hast discharged some burden from my breast,  
Wherefore take thou my place, herelie thee down.  
And let me walk to tire my restless mind,  
Until I may entreat some courteous wind  
To blow these words unto my noble make,  
That he may see I sorrow for his sake.   Meritum petere, grave.  

A Riddle.  
A Lady once did ask of me,  
This pretty thing in privity:  
Good sir (quoth she) feign would I crave,  
One thing which you yourself not have:  
Nor never had yet in times past,  
Nor never shall while life doth last.  
And if you seek to found it out,  
You lose your labour out of doubt:  
Yet if you love me as you say,  
Then give it me, for sure you may.  Meritum petere, grave.  

The shield of Love. etc.  

L'Escü d'amour, the shield of perfect love,  
The shield of love, the force of steadfast faith,  
The force of faith which never will remove,  
But standeth fast, to bide the brunts of death:  
That trusty targe, hath long borne off the blows,  
And broke the thrusts, which absence at me throws.   

In doleful days I lead an absent life,  
And wound my will with many a weary thought:  
I pled for peace, yet starve in storms of strife,  
I found debate, where quiet rest was sought.  
These pangs with more, unto my pain I prove,  
Yet bear I all upon my shield of love.   

In colder cares are my conceits consumed,  
Than Dido felt when false Aeneas fled:  
In far more heat, than trusty Troilus fumed,  
When crafty Cressyde dwelled with Diomed:  
My hope such frost, my hot desire such flame,  
That I both fryse, and smoulder in the same.   

So that I live, and die in one degree,  
Healed by hope, and hurt again with dread:  
Fast bound by faith when fancy would be free,  
Untied by trust, though thoughts enthrall my head:  
reviv'd by joys, when hope doth most abound,  
And yet with grief, in depth of dolours drowned.   

In these assaults I feel my feebled force  
Gins to faint, thus wearied still in woes:  
And scarcely can my thus consumed corpse,  
Hold up this Buckler to bear of these blows:  
So that I crave, or presence for relief,  
Or some supply, to ease mine absent grief.   

Lenuoie.  
To you (dear Dame) this doleful plaint I make,  
Whose only sight may soon redress my smart:  
Then show yourself, and for your servants sake,  
Make hast post haste, to help a faithful heart:  
Mine own poor shield hath me defended long,  
Now lend me yours, for else you do me wrong.   Meritum petere, grave.  

A gloze upon this text, Dominus ijs opus habet.  
MY reckless race is run, green youth and pride be past,  
My riper mellowed years begin to follow on as fast.  
My glancing looks are gone, which wonted were to pry  
In every gorgeous garish glass that glistered in mine eye.  
My sight is now so dim, it can behold none such,  
No mirror but the merry mean, can please my fancy much.  
And in that noble glass, I take delight to view,  
The fashions of the wonted world, compared by the new.  
For mark who list to look, each man is for himself,  
And beats his brain to hord & heap this trash & worldly pelf.  
Our hands are closed up, great gifts go not abroad,  
Few men will lend a lock of hay, but for to gain a load.  
Give gave is a good man, what need we lash it out,  
The world is wondrous fearful now, for danger bids men doubt.  
And ask how chanceth this? or what means all this meed?  
Forsooth the common answer is, because the Lord hath need.  
A noble jest by gisse, I found it in my glass,  
The same fréehold our Saviour Christ conveyed to his ass.  
A text to try the truth, and for this time full fit,  
For where should we our lessons learn, but out of holy writ?  
First mark our only God, which ruleth all the roast,  
He sets aside all pomp and pride, wherein fond worldlings boast.  
His train is not so great, as filthy Satan's band,  
A smaller herd may serve to feed, at our great master's hand.  
Next mark the heathens Gods, and by them shall we see,  
They be not now so good fellows, as they were wont to be.  
jove, Mars, and Mercury, Dame Venus and the rest,  
They banquet not as they were wont, they know it were not best:  
So kings and Princes both, have left their halls at large,  
Their privy chambers cost enough, they cut off every charge:  
And when an office falls, as chance sometimes may be,  
First keep it close a year or twain, then geld it by the fee.  
And give it out at last, but yet with this proviso,  
(A bridle for a brainsick jade) durant bene placito.  
Some think these ladders low, to climb aloft with speed:  
Well let them creep at leisure then, for sure the Lord hath need.  
Duke's Earls and Barons bold, have learned like lesson now,  
They break up house & come to court, they live not by the plow.  
Percase their rooms be scant, not like their stately hour,  
A field bed in a corner couched, a pallad on the flower.  
But what for that? no force, they make thereof no boast,  
They feed themselves with delicates, and at the prince's cost.  
And as for all their men, their pages and their swains,  
They choke them up with chines of beef, to multiply their gains.  
Themselves lie near to look, when any lease doth fall,  
Such croomes were wont to feed poor grooms, but now the Lords lick al.  
And why? o sir, because, both Dukes and Lords have need,  
I mock not I, my text is true, believe it as your creed.  
Our Prelates and our Priests, can tell this text with me,  
They can hold fast their fattest fermes, and let no lease go free.  
They have both wife and child, which may not be forgot,  
The scriptures say the Lord hath need, & therefore blame them not.  
Then come a little lower, unto the country knight,  
The Squire and the Gentleman, they leave the country quite,  
Their halls were all to large, their tables were to long,  
The clouted shoes came in so fast, they kept to great a throng,  
And at the porters lodge, where lubbers wont to feed,  
The porter learns to answer now, hence hence the Lord hath need.  
His gests came in too thick, their diet was to great,  
Their horses eat up all the hay, which should have fed his neat:  
Their teeth were far to fine, to feed on pork and sauce,  
Five flocks of sheep could scarce maintain good mutton for his house.  
And when this count was cast, it was no biding here,  
Unto the good town is he gone, to make his friends good cheer.  
And welcome there that will, but shall I tell you how?  
At his own dish he feedeth them, that is the fashion now:  
Side boards be laid aside, the table's end is gone,  
His cook shall make you noble cheer, but ostler hath he none.  
The chargers now be changed, wherein he wont to eat,  
An old fruit dish is big enough to hold a joint of meat,  
A salad or a sauce, to taste your cates withal,  
Some strange devise to feed mens eyes, mens stomachs now be small.  
And when the tenants come to pay a quarters rend,  
They bring some fowl at Midsummer, & a dish of fish in Lent,  
At Christmas a capon, at Mighelmasse a goose:  
And somewhat else at Newyeres tied, for fear their lease fly lose.  
Good reason by my troth, when Gentlemen lack groats,  
Let ploughmen pinch it out for pens, and patch their russet coats:  
For better Former's fast, than Manor houses fall,  
The Lord hath need, then says the text, bring old Ass, colt & all.  
Well, lowest now at last, let see the country lout,  
And mark how he doth swink & sweat to bring this gear about:  
His feastings be but few, cast whipstockes, clout his shone,  
The wheaten loaf is locked up, as soon as dinners done:  
And where he wont to keep a lubber, two or three,  
Now hath he learned to keep no more but Sim his son and he,  
His wife and Mawde his maid, a boy to pitch the cart,  
And turn him up at Hallontide, to feel the winter's smart:  
Dame Alyson his wife doth know the price of meal,  
Her bridecakes be not half so big as she was wont to steal:  
She wears no silver hooks, she is content with w●●sse,  
Her pendants and her silver pings she putteth in her purse.  
Thus learn I by my glass, that merry mean is best,  
And he most wise that finds the mean to keep himself at rest.  
Perchance some open mouth will mutter now and than,  
And at the market tell his mate, our landlords a zore man:  
He racketh up our rents, and keeps the best in hand,  
He makes a wondrous deal of good out of his own measne land:  
Yea let such pelters prate, saint Needam be their speed,  
We need no text to answer them, but this, The Lord hath need.  Ever or Never.  

Council to Duglasse Dive written upon this occasion. She had a book wherein she had collected sundry good ditties of divers men's doings, in which book she would needs entreat the author to writ some verses. And thereupon he wrote as followeth.  
TO bind a bush of thorns amongst sweet smelling flowers,  
May make the posy seem the worse, and yet the fault is ours:  
For throw away the thorn, and mark what will ensue?  
The posy than will show itself, sweet, fair, and fresh of hue.  
A puttock set on perch, fast by a falcons side,  
Will quickly show itself a kite, as time hath often tried.  
And in my musing mind, I fear to find like fall,  
As just reward to recompense my rash attempts withal.  
Thou bidst, and I must bow, thou wilt that I shall writ,  
Thou canst command my weary muse some verses to indite.  
And yet perdie, thy book is fraught with learned verse,  
Such skill as in my musing mind I can none like rehearse.  
What follows then for me? but if I must needs writ,  
To set down by the falcons side, myself a silly kite.  
And yet the filly kite, well woyde in each degree,  
May serve sometimes (as in his kind) for man's commodity.  
The kite can weed the worm, from corn and costly seeds,  
The kite can kill the mowldiwarpe, in pleasant meads the breeds:  
Out of the stately streets, the kite can cleanse the filth,  
As men can cleanse the worthless weeds, from fruitful fallowed tilth.  
And only set aside the hens poor progeny,  
I cannot see who can accuse the kite for felony.  
The falcon, she must feed on partritch, and on quail,  
On pigeon, plover, duck & drake, hearne, lapwing, teal, & rail,  
Her hungry throat devours both food and dainty fare,  
Whereby I take occasion, thus boldly to compare.  
And as a silly kite, (not falcon like that fly,  
Nor yet presume to hover by mount Hellycon 
(a) The Hill where poets feign th●t the Muse's sleep.  on high)  
I friendly yet presume, upon my friends request,  
In barren verse to show my skill, then take it for the best.  
And Douty Douglasse thou, that art of falcons kind,  
Give willing ear yet to the kite, and bear his words in mind,  
Serve thou first God thy Lord, and praise him evermore,  
Obey thy Prince and love thy make, by him set greatest store.  
Thy Parents follow next, for honour and for awe,  
Thy friends use always faithfully, for so commands the law.  
Thy seemly self at last, thou shalt likewise regard,  
And of thyself this lesson learn, and take it as reward:  
That look how far deserts, may seem in thee to shine,  
So far thou mayst set out thyself, without impeach or crime.  
For this I dare avow, without self love (alight)  
It can scarce be that virtue devil, in any earthly wight.  
But if in such self love, thou seem to wade so far,  
As fall to foul presumption, and judge thyself a star,  
Beware betimes and think in our 
(a) A true exposition.  Etymology,  
Such faults are plainly called pride, and in french 
(b) Querweening  Surcüydrye,  
Lo thus can I poor kite, adventure for to teach  
The falcon fly, and yet forewarn, she row not past her reach.  
Thus can I weed the worm, which seeketh to devour  
The seeds of virtue, which might grow within thee every hour.  
Thus can I kill the mole, which else would overthrow  
The good foundation of thy fame, with every little blow.  
And thus can I convey, out of thy comely breast,  
The sluttish heaps of peevish pride, which might defile the rest.  
Perchance some falcons fly, which will not greatly grudge,  
To learn thee first to love thyself, and then to love to much,  
But I am none of those, I list not so to range,  
I have man's meat enough at home, what need I then seek change.  
I am no peacock I: my feathers be not gay,  
And though they were, I see my feet such fond affects to stay,  
I list not set to sale a thing so little worth,  
I rather could keep close my crest, than seek to set it forth.  
Wherefore if in this verse, which thou commandest to flow,  
Thou chance to fall on construing, whereby some doubts may grow,  
Yet grant this only boon, peruse it twice or thrice,  
Digest it well ere thou condemn the depth of my devise.  
And use it like the nut, first crack the outward shell,  
Then try the kernel by the taste, and it may please thee well.  
Do not as barbers do, which wash beards curiously,  
Then cut them off, then cast them out, in open streets to lie.  
Remember therewithal, my muse is tied in chains,  
The goonshot of calamity hath battered all my brains.  
And though this verse scape out, take thou thereat no mark,  
It is but like a heedless fly, that tumbleth in the dark.  
It was thine own request, remember so it was,  
Wherefore if thou dislike the same, then licence it to pass  
Into my breast again, from whence it flew in haste,  
Full like a kite which not deserves by falcons to be placed:  
And like a stubbed thorn, which may not seem to serve,  
To stand with such sweet smelling flowers, like praises to deserve.  
Yet take this harmless thorn, to pick thy teeth withal,  
A tooth pick serves some use perdie, although it be but small.  
And when they teeth therewith, be picked fair and clean,  
Then bend thy tongue no worse to me, than mine to thee hath been.  Ever or Never.  

Council given to master Bartholomew Withipoll a little before his latter journey to Geane. 1572.  
MIne own good Bat, before thou hoist up sail,  
To make a furrow in the foaming seas,  
Content thyself to hear for thine avail,  
Such harmless words, as aught thee not displease.  
First in thy journey, jape not over much,  
What? laughest thou Batte, because I writ so plain?  
Believe me now it is a friendly touch,  
To use few words where friendship doth remain.  
And for I find, that fault hath run to fast,  
Both in thy flesh, and fancy too sometime,  
Me thinks plain dealing biddeth me to cast  
This bone at first amid my doggerel rhyme.  
But shall I say, to give thee grave advise?  
(Which in my head is (God he knows) full geazon)?  
Then mark me well, and though I be not wise,  
Yet in my rhyme, thou mayst perhaps found reason.  
First every day, beseech thy God on knee,  
So to direct thy staggering steps always,  
That he which every secret thought doth see  
May hold thee in, when thou wouldst go astray:  
And that he deign to send thee safe retoure,  
And quick dispatch of that which is thy due:  
Let this (my Bat) be both thy prime and hour,  
Wherein also commend to Nostre Dieu,  
Thy good Companion and my very friend,  
To whom I should (but time would not permit)  
Have taken pain some ragged rhyme to send  
In trusty token, that I not forget  
His courtesy: but this is debt to thee,  
I promysde it, and now I mean to pay:  
What was I saying? sirrah, will you see  
How soon my wits were wandering astray?  
I say, pray thou for thee and for thy mate,  
So shipmen sing, and though the note be plain,  
Yet sure the music is in heavenly state,  
When friends sing so, and know not how to fayne.  
The next to GOD, thy Prince have still in mind  

There are to many of them in every country.  Thy countries honour, and the common wealth:  
And flee from them, which fled with every wind  
From native soil, to foreign coasts by stealth:  
Their trains are trustless, tending still to treason,  
Their smoothed tongues are lined all with guile,  
Their power slender, scarcely worth two peason,  
Their malice much, their wits are full of wile:  
Eschew them then, and when thou seest them, say,  
Da, da, sir KING, I may not come at you,  
You cast a snare your country to betray,  
And would you have me trust you now for true?  
Remember Batte the foolish blink eyed boy  

A Mystery.  Which was at Rome, thou knowest whom I mean,  
Remember eke the pretty beardless toy,  
Whereby thou foundst a safe return to Geane,  
Do so again: (God shield thou shouldst have need,)  
But rather so, than to forswear thyself:  
A loyal heart, (believe this as thy Creed)  
Is evermore more worth than worldly pelf.  
And for one lesson, take this more of me,  
There are three Ps almost in every place,  
From which I counsel thee always to flee,  
And take good heed of them in any case,  
The first is poison, perilous in deed  
To such as travail with a heavy purse:  
And thou my Bat beware, for thou hast need,  
Thy purse is lined with paper, which is worse:  
Thy bills of credit will not they thinkest thou,  
Be bait to set italian hands on work?  
Yes by my faith, and never worse than now,  
When every knave hath leisure for to lurk,  
And knoweth thou comest for the shells of Christ:  
Beware therefore where ever that thou go,  
It may fall out that thou shalt be entiste  
To sup sometimes with a Magnifico,  
And have a Fico foisted in thy dish,  
Because thou shouldest digest thy meat the better:  
Beware therefore, and rather feed on fish,  
Than learn to spell fine flesh with such a Letter.  
Some may present thee with a pound or twain  
Of Spanish soap to wash thy linen white:  
Beware therefore, and think it were small gain,  
To save thy shirt, and cast thy skin off quite:  
Some cunning man may teach thee for to ride,  
And stuff thy saddle all with Spanish wool,  
Or in thy stirrups have a toy so tied,  
As both thy legs may swell thy buskins full:  
Beware therefore, and bear a noble port,  
Drink not for thirst before an other taste:  
Let none outlandish Tailor take disport  
To stuff thy doublet full of such Bombast,  
As it may cast thee in unkindly sweat,  
And 'cause thy hair per company to glide,  
Strangers are fine in many a proper feat:  
Beware therefore: the second P. is Pride,  
Moore perilous than was the first by far,  
For that infects but blood and leaves the bones,  
This poisons all, and minds of men doth mar,  
It findeth nooks to creep in for the nonce:  
First from the mind it makes the heart to swell,  
From thence the flesh is pampered every part,  
The skin is taught in Dyers shops to devil,  
The hair is curled or frilled up by art:  
Believe me Bat, our Countrymen of late  
Have caught such knacks abroad in foreign land,  
That most men call them Devils incarnate,  
So singular in their conceits they stand:  
Now sir, if I shall see your mastership  
Come home disguysde and clad in quaint array,  
As with a piketoothe biting on your lip,  
Your brave Mustachyos turned the Turkey way,  
A Coptanckt hat made on a Flemish block,  
A nightgown cloak down trailing to your toes,  
A slender slop close couched to your dock.  
A curtold slipper, and a short silk hose:  
Bearing your Rapier point above the hilt,  
And looking big like Marquis of all Beef,  
Then shall I count your toil and travail spilled,  
Because my second PEA, with you is chief.  
But forwards now, although I stayed a while,  
My hindmost PEA, is worse than both these two,  
For it both bones and body doth defile,  
With fouler blots than both those other do.  
Short tale to make, this PEA, can bear no blocks,  
(God shield me Bat, should bear it in his breast)  
And with a dash it spelleth piles and pocks  
A perilous P, and woorsse than both the rest:  
Now though I find no cause for to suspect  
My Bat in this, because he hath been tried,  
Yet since such Spanish buttons can infect  
Kings, Emperors, Princes and the world so wide.  
And since those suns do mellow men so fast  
As most that travail come home very ripe  
Although (by sweat) they learn to live and last  
When they have danced after Guydoes' pipe:  
Therefore I thought it meet to warn my friend  
Of this foul PEA, and so an end of Ps.  
Now for thy diet mark my tale to end,  
And thank me then, for that is all my fees.  
See thou exceed not in three double Us,  
The first is Wine, which may inflame thy blood,  
The second Women, such as haunt the stews,  
The third is Wilfulness, which doth no good.  
These three eschew, or temper them always:  
So shall my Bat prolong his youthful years,  
And see long George again, with happy days,  
Who if he be as faithful to his fears,  
As he was wont, will daily pray for Bat,  
And for 
(a) Sir William Morgan of Pencoyde.  Pencoyde: and if it fall out so,  
That james a Parrye do but make good that,  
Which he hath said: and if he be (not, not)  
The best companion that long George can find,  
Then at the Spawe I promise' for to be  
In August next, if God turn not my mind,  
Where as I would be glad thyself to see:  
Till then farewell, and thus I end my song,  
Take it in 'gree, for else thou dost me wrong.  Haud ictus sapio.  

Gascoignes woodmanship written to the L. Grey of Wilton upon this occasion, the said L. Grey delighting (amongst many other good qualities) in choosing of his winter dear, & kill the same with his bow, did furnish the Author with a crossbow cum pertinencijs and vouchsafed to use his company in the said exercise, calling him one of his woodmen. Now the Author shooting very often, could never hit any dear, yea and oftentimes he let the heard pass by as though he had not seen them. Whereat when this noble Lord took some pastime, and had often put him in remembrance of his good skill in choosing, and readiness in kill of a winter dear, he thought good thus to excuse it in verse.  
MY worthy Lord, I pray you wonder not,  
To see your woodman shoot so oft awry,  
Nor that he stands amazed like a sot,  
And lets the harmless dear (unhurt) go by.  
Or if he strike a Do which is but carrion,  
Laugh not good Lord, but favour such a fault,  
Take will in worth, he would feign hit the barren,  
But though his heart be good, his hap is nought:  
And therefore now I crave your Lordship's leave,  
To tell you plain what is the cause of this:  
First if it please your honour to perceive,  
What makes your woodman shoot so oft amiss,  
Believe me L. the case is nothing strange,  
He shoots awry almost at every mark,  
His eyes have been so used for to range,  
That now God knows they be both dim and dark.  
For proof he bears the note of folly now,  
Who shot sometimes to hit Philosophy,  
And ask you why? forsooth I make avow,  
Because his wanton wits went all awry.  
Next that, he shot to be a man of law,  
And spent sometime with learned Litleton,  
Yet in the end, he proved but a daw●,  
For law was dark and he had quickly done.  
Then could he wish Fitzharbert such a brain,  
As Tully had, to writ the law by art,  
So that with pleasure, or with little pain,  
He might perhaps, have caught a truants part.  
But all to late, he most misliked the thing,  
Which most might help to guide his arrow straight▪  
He winked wrong, and so let slip the string,  
Which cast him wide, for all his quaint conceit.  
From thence he shot to catch a courtly grace,  
And thought even there to wield the world at will,  
But out alas he much mistook the place,  
And shot awry at every rover still.  
The blazing baits which draw the gazing eye,  
Unfeather there his first affection,  
No wonder then although he shot awry,  
Wanting the feathers of discretion.  
Yet more than them, the marks of dignity,  
He much mistook and shot the wronger way,  
Thinking the purse of prodigality,  
Had been best mean to purchase such a prey.  
He thought the flattering face which fleareth still,  
Had been full fraught with all fidelity,  
And that such words as courtiers use at william.  
Can not have varied from the verity.  
But when his bonnet buttened with gold,  
His comely cape begarded all with gay,  
His bombast hose, with linings manifold,  
His knit silk stocks and all his quaint array,  
Had picked his purse of all the Peter pence,  
Which might have paid for his promotion,  
Then (all to late) he found that light expense,  
Had quite quenched out the courts devotion.  
So that since then the taste of misery,  
Hath been always full bitter in his bit,  
And why? forsooth because he shot awry,  
Mistaking still the marks which others hit,  
But now behold what mark the man doth found,  
He shoots to be a soldier in his age,  
Mistrusting all the virtues of the mind,  
He trusts the power of his parsonage.  
As though long limbs led by a lusty heart,  
Might yet suffice to make him rich again,  
But Flushing frays have taught him such a part,  
That now he thinks the wars yield no such gain.  
And sure I fear, unless your lordship deign,  
To train him yet into some better trade,  
It will be long before he hit the vein,  
Whereby he may a richer man be made.  
He cannot climb as other catchers can.  
To lead a charge before himself be led,  
He cannot spoil the simple sakeles man,  
Which is content to feed him with his bread.  
He cannot pinch the painful soldiers pay,  
And shear him out his share in ragged sheeets,  
He cannot stoop to take a greedy pray  
Upon his fellows groveling in the streets,  
He cannot pull the spoil from such as pill,  
And seem full angry at such foul offence,  
Although the gain content his greedy will,  
Under the cloak of contrary pretence:  
And now adays, the man that shoots not so,  
May shoot amiss, even as your Woodman doth:  
But than you marvel why I let them go,  
And never shoot, but say farewell forsooth:  
Alas my Lord, while I do muse hereon,  
And call to mind my youthful years myspente,  
They give me such a bone to gnaw upon,  
That all my senses are in silence penned.  
My mind is rapt in contemplation,  
Wherein my dazzled eyes only behold,  
The black hour of my constellation,  
Which framed me so luckless on the mould:  
Yet therewithal I can not but confess,  
That vain presumption makes my heart to swell,  
For thus I think, not all the world (I guess,)  
Shoots 
(a) bett●●  bet than I, nay some shoots not so well.  
In Aristotle somewhat did I learn,  
To guide my manners all by comeliness,  
And Tully taught me somewhat to discern  
Between sweet speech and barbarous rudeness.  
Old Parkyns, Rastall, and Dan Bractens books,  
Did lend me somewhat of the lawless Law,  
The crafty Courtiers with their guileful looks,  
Must needs put some experience in my maw:  
Yet can not these with many masteries more,  
Make me shoot straight at any gainful prick,  
Where some that never handled such a bow,  
Can hit the white, or touch it near the quick,  
Who can nor speak, nor writ in pleasant wise,  
Nor lead their life by Aristotle's rule,  
Nor argue well on questions that arise,  
Nor plead a case more than my Lord Mairs mule,  
Yet can they hit the marks that I do miss,  
And win the mean which may the man maintain.  
Now when my mind doth mumble upon this,  
No wonder then although I pine for pain:  
And whiles mine eyes behold this mirror thus,  
The heard goeth by, and farewell gentle does:  
So that your Lordship quickly may discuss  
What blinds mine eyes so oft (as I suppose.)  
But since my Muse can to my Lord rehearse  
What makes me miss, and why I do not shoot,  
Let me imagine in this worthless verse,  
If right before me, at my standings foot  
There stood a do, and I should strike her dead,  
And then she prove a carrian carcase too,  
What figure might I find within my head,  
To 'scuse the rage which ruled me so to do?  
Some might interpret by plain paraphrase,  
That lack of skill or fortune led the chance,  
But I must otherwise expound the case,  
I say jehova did this do advance,  
And made her bold to stand before me so,  
Till I had thrust mine arrow to her heart,  
That by the sudden of her overthrow,  
I might endeavour to amend my part,  
And turn mine eyes that they no more behold,  
Such guileful marks as seem more than they be:  
And though they glister outwardly like gold,  
Are inwardly but brass, as men may see:  
And when I see the milk hung in her teat,  
Me thinks it saith, old babe now learn to suck,  
Who in thy youth couldst never learn the feat  
To hit the whites which live with all good luck.  
Thus have I told my Lord, (God grant in season)  
A tedious tale in rhyme, but little reason.  Haud ictus sapio.  

Gascoignes gardnings, whereof were written in one end of a close walk which he hath in his Garden, this discourse following.  

THe figure of this world I can compare,  
To Garden plots, and such like pleasant places,  
The world breeds men of sundry shape and share,  
As herbs in gardens, grow of sundry graces:  
Some good, some bad, some amiable faces,  
Some foul, some gentle, some of froward mind,  
Subject like bloom, to blast of every wind.   

And as you see the flowers most fresh of hue,  
That they prove not always the holesomest,  
So fairest men are not always found true:  
But even as withered weeds fall from the rest,  
So flatterers fall naked from their nest:  
When truth hath tried, their painting tising tale,  
They lose their gloss, and all their jests seem stolen.   

Yet some do present pleasure most esteem,  
Till beams of bravery whither all their wealth,  
And some again there be can rightly deem,  
Those herbs for best, which may maintain their health.  
Considering well, that age draws on by stealth,  
And when the fairest flower is shrunk and gone,  
A well grown root, will stand and shift for one.   

Then thus the restless life which men here lead,  
May be resembled to the tender plant,  
In spring it sprouts, as babes in cradle breed,  
Flourish in May, like youths that wisdom want,  
In Autumn ripes and roots, lest store wax scant  
In winter shrinks and shrouds from every blast,  
Like crooked age when lusty youth is past.   

And as the ground or grace whereon it grew,  
Was fat or lean, even so by it appears▪  
If barren soil, why then it changeth hew,  
It fadeth fast, it flits to fumbling years,  
But if he gathered root amongst his fears,  
And light on land that was well muckte in deed,  
Then stands it still, or leaves increase of seed.   

As for the rest, fall sundry ways (God wots)  
Some faint like froathe at every little puff,  
Some smart by sword, like herbs that serve the pot,  
And some be weeded from the finer stuff,  
Some stand by props to maintain all their ruff:  
And thus (under correction be it told)  
Hath Gascoigne gathered in his Garden mould.   Haud ictus sapio.  

In that other end of his said close walk, were written these toys in rhyme.  

IF any flower that here is grown,  
Or any herb may ease your pain,  
Take and account it as your own,  
But recompense the like again:  
For some and some is honest play,  
And so my wife taught me to say.   

If here to walk you take delight,  
Why come, and welcome when you will:  
If I bid you sup here this night,  
Bid me an other time, and still  
Think some and some is honest play,  
For so my wife taught me to say.   

Thus if you sup or dine with me,  
If you walk here, or fit at ease,  
If you desire the thing you see,  
And have the same your mind to please,  
Think some and some is honest play,  
And so my wife taught me to say.   Haud ictus sapio.  

In a chair in the same Garden was written this following.  
IF thou sit here to view this pleasant garden place,  
Think thus: at last will come a frost, & all these flowers deface:  
But if thou sit at ease to rest thy weary bones,  
Remember death brings final rest to all our grievous groans.  
So whether for delight, or here thou sit for ease,  
Think still upon the latter day, so shalt thou God best please.  Haud ictus sapio.  

Upon a stone in the wall of his Garden he had written the year wherein he did the cost of these devices, and therewithal this posy in Latin.  
Quoniam etiam humiliatos, amoena delectant.   

Gascoignes voyage into Holland. An. 1572. written to the right honourable the Lord Grey of Wilton.  
A Strange conceit, a vain of new delight,  
Twixt weal and woe, betwixt joy and bitter grief,  
Hath pricked forth my hasty pen to writ  
This worthless verse in hazard of repréefe:  
And to mine 
(a) best beloved  Alderlievest Lord I must indite  
A woeful case, a chip of sorry chance,  
A type of heaven, a lively hue of hell,  
A fear to fall, a hope of high advance,  
A life, a death, a dreary tale to tell.  
But since I know the pith of my pastance  
Shall most consist in telling of a truth,  
Vouchsafe my Lord 
(b) in good worth  (en bon gré) for to take  
This trusty tale the story of my youth,  
This Chronicle which of myself I make,  
To show my Lord what healplesse hap ensueth,  
When heady youth will gad without a guide,  
And range untied in leas of liberty,  
Or when bore need a starting hole hath spied  
To peep abroad from mother Misery,  
And buildeth Castles in the Welkin wide,  
In hope thereby to devil with wealth and ease.  
But he the Lord (whom my good Lord doth know)  
Can bind or loose, as best to him shall please,  
Can save or spill, raise up or overthrow,  
Can galled with grief, and yet the pain appease.  
Which thing to prove if so my L. take time,  
(When greater cares his head shall not possess)  
To sit and read this ranging ragged rhyme,  
I doubt not then but that he will confess,  
What falls I found when last I leapt to climb.  
In March it was, that cannot I forget,  
In this last March upon the nintenth day,  
When from Gravesend in boat I 'gan to jest  
To board our ship in Quinborough that lay,  
From whence the very twentieth day we set  
Our sails abroad to slice the Salt sea foam,  
And anchors weighed 'gan trust the trustless flood:  
That day and night amid the waves we roam  
To seek the coast of Holland where it stood.  
And on the next when we were far from home,  
And near the haven whereto we sought to sail,  
A fearly chance: (whereon alone to think)  
My hand now quakes, and all my senses fail)  
'Gan us befall: the Pilot 'gan to shrink,  
And all aghast his courage seemed to quail.  
Whereat amazed, the Master and his mate  
'Gan ask the cause of his so sudden change.  
And from aloft the Steward of our state,  
(The sounding plumb) in haste post haste must range,  
To try the depth and goodness of our gate.  
Me thinks (even yet) I hear his heavy voice,  

(a) fathom & a half, three ho.  Fathom three, four, foot more, foot less, that cried:  
Me thinks I hear the fearful whispering noise,  
Of such as said full softly (me beside)  
God grant this journey 'cause us to rejoice.  
When I poor soul, which close in cabin lay,  
And there had reached till gaul was well-near burst,  
With giddy head, my stumbling steps must stay  
To look abroad as boldly as I durst.  
And whiles I hearken what the Sailors say,  
The sownder sings, fadame two full no more.  
Aloof, aloof, then cried the Master out,  
The Stearesmate strives to send us from the shore,  
And trusts the stream, whereof we erst had doubt,  
'Tween two extreme thus were we tossed sore,  
And went to 
(b) When all sails are taken down.  Hull, until we leisure had  
To talk at large, and eke to know the cause  
What mood had made our Pilot look so sad.  
At last the dutch with butterbitten jaws,  
(For so he was a dutch, a Devil, a swad,  
A fool, a drunkard, or a traitor tone)  
'Gan answer thus: 
(c) You be to soon  Ghy zijt te uroegh here come,  

(d) It is not good tide  Tuniet goet tijt and standing all alone,  
'Gan preach to us, which fools were all and some  
To trust him fool, in whom there skill was none.  
Or what knew we if Albaes' subtle brain  
(So to prevent our enterprise by treazon)  
Had him subornde to 'tice us to this train  
And so himself (per Company and season)  
For spite, for hate, or else for hope of gain.  
This must we think that 
(e) the Duke  Alba would not spare  
To give out gold for such a sinful deed:  
And glistering gold can oftentimes ensnare,  
Moore perfect wits than Holland soil doth breed.  
But let that pass, and let us now compare  
Our own fond fact with this his foul offence.  
We knew him not, nor where he word that time,  
Nor if he had Pilots experience,  
Or Pylats' craft, to clear himself from crime.  
Yea more than that (how void were we of sense)  
We had small smack of any tale he told,  
He powered out Duchess to drown us all in drink,  
And we (wise men) upon his words were bold,  
To run on head: but let me now bethink  
The master's speech: and let me so unfold  
The depth of all this foolish oversight.  
The master spoke even like a skilful man,  
And said I sail the Seas both day and night,  
I know the tides as well as other can,  
From pole to pole I can the courses plight:  
I know France, Spain, Gréece, Denmark, Dasisk & all,  
Freeze, Flaunders, Holland, every coast I know,  
But truth to tell, it seldom doth befall,  
That English merchants ever bend their bow  
To shoot at Breyll, where now our flight should fall,  
They sand their shafts farther for greater gain.  
So that this haven is yet (quoth he) 
(a) unknown  uncouth,  
And God grant now that England may attain  
Such gains by Breyll, (a gospel on that mouth)  
As is desired: thus spoke the master plain.  
And since (said he) myself knew not the sown,  
How could I well a better Pilot find,  
Than this (which first) did say he dwelled in town,  
And knew the way where ever sat the wind?  
While we thus talk, all sails are taken down,  
And we to Hull (as erst I said) 'gan wend,  
Till full two hours and somewhat more were passed,  
Our guide than spoke in Dutch and bade us bend  
All sails again: for now quoth he (at last)  

(a) It is good tide that know I well  Die tijt is goet, dat heb ick well bekend.  
Why stay I long to end a woeful tale?  
We trust his Duchess, and up the foresail goes,  
We fall on knees amid the happy gale,  
(Which by God's will full kind and calmly blows)  
And unto him we there unfold our bale,  
Whereon to think I write and weep for joy,  
That pleasant song the hundredth and seventh Psalm,  
There did we read to comfort our annoy,  
Which to my soul (me thought) was sweet as balm,  
Yea far more sweet than any worldly joy.  
And when he had with prayers praised the Lord,  
Our 
(b) Lusty gallants  Edell Bloetts, 'gan fall to eat and drink,  
And for their sauce, at taking up the board  
The ship so struck (as all we thought to sink)  
Against the ground. Then all with one accord  
We fell again on knees to pray apace,  
And therewithal even at the second blow,  
(The number cannot from my mind outpace)  
Our helm struck of, and we must fleet and flow,  
Where wind and waves would guide us by their grace.  
The wind waxed calm as I have said before,  
(O mighty God so didst thou suage our woes)  
The selly ship was soused and smitten sore,  
With counter buffets, blows and double blows.  
At last the keel which might endure no more,  
'Gan rend in twain and sucked the water in:  
Then might you see pale looks and woeful cheer,  
Then might you hear loud cries and deadly din:  
Well noble minds in perils best appear,  
And boldest hearts in bale will never blinne.  
For there were some (of whom I will not say  
That I was one) which never changed hue,  
But pumped apace, and laboured every way  
To save themselves, and all their lovely crew,  
Which cast the best freight overboard away,  
Both corn and cloth, and all that was of weight.  
Which halde and pulled at every helping cord,  
Which prayed to God and made their conscience straight.  
As for myself: I here protest my Lord,  
My words were these: O God in heaven on height,  
Behold me not as now a wicked wight,  
A sack of sin, a wretch ywrapt in wroth,  
Let no fault past (O Lord) offend thy sight,  
But weigh my will which now those faults doth loath,  
And of thy mercy pity this our plight.  
Even thou good God which of thy grace didst say  
That for one good, thou wouldst all Sodom save,  
Behold us all: thy shining beams display,  
Some here (I trust) thy goodness shall engrave,  
To be chaste vessels unto thee alway,  
And so to live in honour of thy name:  
Believe me Lord, thus to the Lord I said.  
But there were some (alas the more their blame)  
Which in the pump their only comfort laid,  
And trusted that to turn our grief to game.  
Alas (quoth I) our pump good God must be,  
Our sail, our stern, our tackling, and our trust.  
Some other cried to clear the shipboate free,  
To save the chief and leave the rest in dust.  
Which word once spoke (a wondrous thing to see)  
All hast post haste, was made to have it done:  
And up it comes in haste much more than speed.  
There did I see a woeful work begun,  
Which now (even now) doth make my heart to bleed.  
Some made such haste that in the boat they won,  
Before it was above the hatches brought.  
Strange tale to tell, what hast some men shall make  
To found their death before the same be sought.  
Some twixt the boat and ship their bane do take,  
Both drowned and slain with brains for haste crushed out.  
At last the boat half freighted in the air  
Is hoist aloft, and on the seas down set,  
When I that yet in God could not despair,  
Still plied the pump, and patiently did let  
All such take boat as thither made repair.  
And herewithal I safely may protest  
I might have won the boat as well as one,  
And had that seemed a safety for the rest  
I should percase even with the first have gone.  
But when I saw the boat was over priest  
And pestered full with more than it might bear,  
And therewithal with cheerful look might see  
My chief companions whom I held most dear  
(Whofe company had thither trained me)  
Abiding still aboard our ship yfeare: 
York and Herle.   
Nay then (quoth I) good God thy will be done,  
For with my fears I will both live and die.  
And ear the boat far from our sight was gone  
The wave so wrought, that they (which thought to flee  
And so to scape) with waves were over run.  
Lo how he strives in vain that strives with God  
For there we lost the flower of the band,  
And of our crew full twenty souls and odd,  
The Sea sucks up, whiles we on hatches stand  
In smarting fear to feel that self same rod.  
Well on (as yet) our battered bark did pass,  
And brought the rest within a mile of land,  
Then thought I sure now need not I to pass,  
For I can swim and so escape this sand.  
Thus did I deem all careless like an Ass,  
When suddenly the wind our foresail took,  
And turned about and brought us eft to Seas.  
Then cried we all, cast out the anchor hook,  
And here let bide such help as god may please:  
Which anchor cast, we soon the same forsook,  
And cut it off, for fear lest thereupon  
Our ship should bouge, then called we fast for fire,  
And so discharged our great guns everichone,  
To warn the town thereby of our desire:  
But all in vain, for succour sent they none.  
At last a Hoy from Sea came flinging fast,  
And towards us held course as straight as line.  
Then might you see our hands to heaven up cast  
To tender thanks unto the power divine,  
That so vouchsafed to save us yet at last:  
But when this Hoy 'gan (well-near) board our bark,  
And might perceive what peril we were in,  
It turned away and left us still in 
(a) care  cark,  
This tale is true (for now to lie were sin)  
It left us there in dread and dangers dark.  
It left us so, and that within the sight  
And hearing both of all the pear at Breyll.  
Now ply thee pen, and paint the foul despite  
Of drunken Dutchmen standing there even still,  
For whom we came in their cause for to fight,  
For whom we came their state for to defend,  
For whom we came as friends to grieve their foes,  
They now disdained (in this distress) to lend  
One helping boat for to assuage our woes:  
They saw our harms the which they would not mend,  
And had not been that God even than did raise  
Some instruments to succour us at need,  
We had been sunk and swallowed all in Seas.  
But Gods will was (in way of our good speed)  
That on the pear (lamenting our misease)  
Some english were, whose naked sword did force  
The drunken dutch, the cankered churls to come,  
And so at last (not moved by remorse,  
But forced by fear) they sent us succour some:  
Some must I say: and for to tell the course,  
They sent us succour saust with sour despite,  
They saved our lives and spoiled us of the rest,  
They stolen our goods by day and eke by night,  
They showed the worst and closely kept the best.  
And in this time (this treason must I write)  
Our Pilot fled, but how? not empty handed:  
He fled from us, and with him did convey  
A Hoy full fraught (whiles we mean while were landed)  
With powder, shot, and all our best array:  
This skill he had, for all he set us sanded.  
And now my Lord, declare your noble mind,  
Was this a Pilot, or a Pilate judge?  
Or rather was he not of judas kind:  
Which left us thus and close away could trudge?  
Well, at the Bryell to tell you what we find,  
The Governor was all bedewed with drink,  
His trulls and he were all laid down to sleep,  
And we must shifted, and of ourselves must think  
What mean was best, and how we best might keep  
That yet remained: the rest was close in clink.  
Well, on our knees with trickling tears of joy,  
We gave God thanks: and as we might, did learn  
What might be found in every 
(a) A Small boat.  pynke and hoy.  
And thus my Lord, your honour may discern  
Our perils past, and how in our annoy  
God saved me (your Lordships bound for ever)  
Who else should not be able now to tell,  
The state wherein this country doth persever,  
Ne how they seem in careless minds to devil.  
(So did they erst and so they will do ever)  
And to my Lord for to bewray my mind  
Me thinks they be a race of Bulbéefe borne,  
Whose hearts their Butter mollyfieth by kind,  
And so the force of beef is clean outworn:  
And eke their brains with double beer are lynd●:  
So that they march bombast with buttered beer,  
Like sops of browesse puffed up with froth,  
Where inwardly they be but hollow gear,  
As weak as wind, which with one puff up goeth:  
And yet they brag, and think they have no peer,  
Because Harlem hath hitherto held out,  
Although in deed (as they have suffered Spain)  
The end thereof even now doth rest in doubt.  
Well, as for that, let it (for me) remain  
In God his hands, whose hand hath brought me out,  
To tell my Lord this tale now ta'en in hand,  
As how they train their trezons all in drink,  
And when themselves for drunk can scarcely stand,  
Yet suck out secrets (as themselves do think)  
From guests. The best (almost) in all their land,  
(I name no man, for that were broad before)  
Will (as men say) enure the same sometime,  
But surely this (or I mistake him sore)  
Or else he can (but let it pass in rhyme)  
Dissemble deep, and mock sometimes the more:  
Well, drunkenness is here good company,  
And therewithal per consequens it falls  
That whoredom is accounted jollity:  
A gentle state, where two such Tenisballes  
Are tossed still and better bowls let lie.  
I cannot herewith from my Lord conceal,  
How God and Mammon here do devil yfeare,  
And how the Mass is cloaked under veal  
Of policy, till all the coast be clear.  
Ne can I choose, but I must ring a peal,  
To tell what hypocrites the Nuns here be:  
And how the old Nuns be content to go,  
Before a man in streets like mother B,  
Until they come whereas there dwells a Ho,  
(Re: ceyve that half, and let the rest go free)  
There can they point with finger as they pass,  
Yea sir, sometimes they can come in themself,  
To strike the bergaine 'tween a wanton lass,  
And Edel bloets: now is not this good pelf?  
As for the young Nuns, they be bright as glass,  
And chaste forsooth, met v: and anders niet:  
What said I? what? that is a mystery,  
I may no verse of such a theme indite,  
Young rowland York may tell it bet than I:  
Yet to my Lord this little will I writ,  
That though I have (my self) no skill at all,  
To take the countenance of a Colonel,  
Had I a good Lieutenant general,  
As good john Zuche wherever that he dwell,  
Or else Ned Dennye (fair might him befall)  
I could have brought a noble regiment  
Of smugskinnde Nuns into my country soil:  
But farewell they as things impertinent,  
Let them (for me) go devil with master moil,  
Who hath behight to place them well in Kent.  
And I shall well my silly self content,  
To come alone unto my lovely Lord,  
And unto him (when rhyming sport is spent)  
To tell some sad and reasonable word,  
Of Hollandes' state, the which I will present,  
In Cartes, in Maps, and eke in Models made,  
If God of heaven my purpose not prevent.  
And in mean while although my wits do wade  
In ranging rhyme, and fling some folly forth,  
I trust my Lord will take it well in worth.  Haud ictus sapio.   

❧ WEEDS.  Tam Marti quàm Mercurio. 
¶ In this division are contained:  

The fruit of Fetters. Folio. 175  
The complaint of the green Knight. Folio. 178  
The farewell to Fancy. Folio. 190  
The fable of Ferdinando jeronimi and Leonora de Valasco. Folio. 193  
The praise of a Gentlewoman neither fair nor well-favoured.  
The praise of Philip sparrow. Folio. 279  
Farewell with a mischief. Folio. 281  
The dole of disdain. Folio. 282  
Mars in despite of Vulcan. folio. 284  
Patience perforce. Folio. 286  
A letter for a young lover. Folio. 287  
David saluteth Bersabe. Folio. 288  
Sun acquainted, soon forgotten. Folio. 289    


¶ The fruit of Fetters: with the complaint of the green Knight, and his Farewell to Fancy.  

GReat be the griefs which bruise the boldest breasts,  
And all to séelde we see such burdens borne,  
For cruel care (which reaveth quiet rests)  
Hath oftentimes the worthiest wills foreworne,  
And laid such weight upon a noble heart,  
That wit and will have both given place to smart.   

For proof whereof I tell this woeful tale,  
(Give ear that list, I force no frolic minds)  
But such as can abide to hear of bale,  
And rather rue the rage which Fancy finds,  
Than scorn the pangs which may procure their pine,  
Let them give ear unto these rhymes of mine.   

I tear my time (aye me) in prison penned,  
Wherein the flower of my consuming years,  
With secret grief my reason doth torment,  
And frets itself (perhaps) with needless fears:  
For whiles I strive against the stream too fast,  
My forces fail, and I must down at last.   

The hasty Vine for sample might me serve,  
Which climbs too high about the lofty tree,  
But when the twist his tender joints doth carve,  
Then fades he fast, that sought full fresh to be:  
He fades and faints before his fellows fail,  
Which lay full low, and never hoist up sail.   

Aye me, the days which I in dole consume,  
Ah 'las, the nights which witness well my woe,  
O wrongful world which mak'st my fancy fume,  
Fie fickle Fortune, fie thou art my foe,  
Out and alas, so froward is my chance,  
No days nor nights, nor worlds can me advance.   

In reckless youth, the common plague of Love  
Infected me (all day) with careless mind,  
Enticing dames my patience still did prove,  
And blearde mine eyes, till I become so blind,  
That seeing not what fury brought me forth,  
I followed most (always) that lest was worth.   

In middle years, the reach of Reasons rain  
Not sooner 'gan to bridle in my will,  
Nor naked need no sooner 'gan constrain  
My rash decay to break my sleeps by skill,  
But straight therewith hope set my heart on flame,  
To win again both wealth and worthy name.   

And thence proceeds my most consuming grief,  
For whiles the hope of mine unyolden heart  
In endless toils did labour for relief,  
Came crabbed Chance and marrde my merry mart:  
Yea, not content with one fowl overthrow,  
So tied me fast for tempting any more.   

She tied me fast (alas) in golden chains,  
Wherein I devil, not free, nor fully thrall,  
Where guileful love in double doubt remains,  
Nor honey sweet, nor bitter yet as gall:  
For every day a pattern I behold  
Of scorching flame, which makes my heart full cold.   

And every night, the rage of restless thought  
Doth raise me up, my hope for to renew,  
My quiet bed which I for solace sought,  
Doth irk mine ears, when still the warlike crew  
With sound of drums, and trumpets braying shrill  
Relieve their watch, yet I in thraldom still.   

The common joy, the cheer of company,  
Twixt mirth and moan doth plunge me evermore:  
For pleasant talk, or musics melody,  
Yield no such salve unto my secret sore,  
But that therewith this corsive comes me too,  
Why live not I at large as others do?   

Lo thus I live in spite of cruel death,  
And die as fast in spite of lingering life,  
Fed still with hope which doth prolong my breath.  
But choked with fear, and strangled still with strife,  
Stark staring blind because I see too much,  
Yet gazing still because I see none such.   

Amid these pangs (O subtle Cordial)  
Those farrefet sighs which most men's minds eschew,  
recomfort me, and make the fury fall,  
Which fed the root from whence my fits renew:  
They comfort me (ah wretched doubtful clause)  
They help the harm, and yet they kill the cause.   

Where might I then my careful corpse convey  
From company, which worketh all my woe?  
How might I wink or hide mine eyes always,  
Which gaze on that whereof my grief doth grow?  
How might I stop mine ears, which hearken still,  
To every joy, which can but wound my will?   

How should I seem my sighs for to suppress,  
Which help the heart that else would swelled in sunder?  
Which hurt the help that makes my torment less?  
Which help and hurt (o woeful weary wonder)  
One seely hearty thus toast twixt help and harm,  
How should I seem, such sighs in time to charm?   

How? how but thus? in solitary wise  
To step aside, and make high way to moan:  
To make two fountains of my dazzled eyes,  
To sigh my fill till breath and all be gone:  
So sighed the knight of whom Bartello writes,  
All clad in Green, yet banished from delights.   

And since the story is both new and true,  
A dreary tale much like these lots of mine  
I will assay my muse for to renew,  
By rhyming out his froward fatal fine.  
A doleful speech becomes a dampish man,  
So seemed by him, for thus his tale began.    

The complaint of the green Knight.  

WHy live I wretch (quoth he) alas and wellaway,  
Or why behold my heavy eyes, this gladsome sunny day?  
Since never sun yet shone, that could my state advance,  
Why live I wretch (alas quoth he) in hope of better chance?  
Or wherefore tells my tongue, this dreary doleful tale,  
That every ear might hear my griéefe and so bemoan my bale?  
Since ear was never yet, that hearkened to my plaint,  
Why live I wretch (alas quoth he) my pangs in vain to paint?  
Or wherefore dotes desire, that doth his wish disclose,  
And shows the sore that seeks recure, thereby to ease my woes?  
Since yet he never found, the heart where pity dwelled,  
Why live I wretch (alas quoth he) alone in woe to swelled?  
Why strive I with the stream, or hop against the hill,  
Or search that never can be found, or lose my labour still?  
Since destinies decreed, must always be obeyed,  
Why live I wretch alas (quoth he) with luck thus overleyde?  
Why feeds my heart on hope? why tire I still on trust?  
Why doth my mind still muse on mirth? why leans my life on lust?  
Since hope had never hap, & trust always found treason,  
Why live I wretch alas (quoth he) where all good luck is geazon?  
The fatal Sisters three, which spun my slender twine,  
Known well how rotten was the yarn, from whence they drew their line:  
Yet have they woven the web, with care so manifold,  
(Alas I woeful wretch the while) as any cloth can hold:  
Yea though the threads be cowrse, and such as others loath,  
Yet must I wrap always therein, my bones and body both:  
And wear it out at length, which lasteth but too long.  
O weaver weaver work no more, thy warp hath done me wrong:  
For therein have I leapt my light and lusty years,  
And therein hapless have I happed, mine age and hoary hears:  
Yet never found I warmth, by jetting in thy iaggs,  
Nor never can I wear them out, although they rend like rags.  
The May-moone of mine age, I mean the gallant time  
When coals of kind first kindled love, & pleasure was in prime,  
All bitter was the fruit, which still I reaped then,  
And little was the gain I got, compared by other men.  
Teare-thirstie were the Dames, to whom I sued for grace,  
Some stony stomached, other some, of high disdainful race.  
But all unconstant (aye) and (that to think) I die,  
The guerdon which Cosmana gave, can witness if I lie.  
Cosmana was the wight to whom I wished well,  
To serve Cosmana did I seem, in love to bear the bell:  
Cosmana was my god, Cosmana was my joy,  
Aye me, Cosmana turned my mirth, to dole and dark annoy:  
Revenge it Radamanth, if I be found to lie,  
Or if I slander her at all, condemn me then to die.  
Thou know'st I honoured her, no more but all too much,  
Alas thou know'st she cast me off, when I deserved no grudge.  
She dead (I dying yet) aye me my tears were dried,  
And teeth of time gnew out the grief, which all to long I tried,  
Yet from her ashes sprung, or from such subtle mould,  
Ferenda she, whom every eye, did judge more bright than gold.  
Ferenda then I saw, Ferenda I beheld,  
Ferenda served I faithfully, in town and eke in field:  
Ferenda could not say, the green Knight was untrue,  
But out alas, the green Knight said, Ferenda changed for new:  
Ferenda did her kind: then was she to be borne,  
She did but wear Cosmanes clouts, which she in spite had torn:  
And yet between them both they waare the threads so near,  
As were they not of steel or stone, they could not hold yféere.  
But now Ferenda mine, a little by thy leave:  
What moved thee to madding mood? why didst thou me deceive?  
Alas I was all thine, thyself can say no less,  
And for thy fall, I bathed often in many a deep distress:  
And yet to do thee right, I neither blame thy race,  
Thy shining self, the golden gleams that glistered on thy face,  
Nor yet thy fickle faith, shall never bear the blame,  
But I, whom kind hath framed to find, a grief in every game:  
The high decrees of heaven, have limited my life,  
To linger still where Love doth lodge, yet there to starve in strife.  
For proof, who list to know what makes me now complain,  
Give ear unto the green Knight's tale: for now begins his pain.   

When rash unbridled youth had run his reckless race,  
And carried me with careless course, to many a great disgrace,  
Then riper mellowed years, thought good to turn their trade,  
And bad Repentance holds the reins, to rule the brainsick jade:  
So that with much to do, the bridle held him back,  
And Reason made him bite on bit, which had a better smack:  
And for I felt myself, by feebleness fordoonne,  
And panting still for lack of breath, as one much overroonne.  
Therefore I took advise, to walk him first awhile,  
And so at length to set him up, his travails to beguile:  
Yea when he curried was, and dusted slick and trim,  
I caused both hay and provender to be allowed for him:  
Whereat (alas to think) he gathered flesh so fast,  
That still he played his coltish pranks, when as I thought them past:  
He winched still always, and whisked with his tail,  
And leaping over hedge and ditch, I saw it not prevail  
To pamper him so proud: Wherefore I thought it best,  
To travail him (not as I wont) yet nay to give him rest.  
Thus well resolved then, I kept him still in heart,  
And found a pretty provender appointed for his part,  
Which once a day, no more, he might a little taste:  
And by this diet, made I youth a gentle jade at last:  
And forth I might him ride, an easy journeying pace,  
He never strove with middle age, but gently gave him place:  
Then middle age stepped in, and took the helm in hand,  
To guide my Bark by better skill, into some better land.  
And as each noble heart is evermore most bend,  
To high exploits and worthy deeds, where honour may be hent:  
So mine unyolden mind, by Arms 'gan seek renown,  
And sought to raise, that reckless youth had rashly tumbled down.  
With sword and trusty targe, than sought I for to carve  
For middle age and hoary hairs, and both their turns to serve:  
And in my carvers room, I 'gan to cut such cuts,  
And made such morsels for their mouths, as well might fill their guts,  
Beside some overplus, (which being kept in store)  
Might serve to welcome all their friends, with foison evermore:  
I mean no more but this: my hand 'gan find such hap,  
As made me think, that Fortune ment, to play me in her lap:  
And hope therewith had heaved, my heart to be so high,  
That still I hoapt, by force of arms, to climb above the Sky:  
I bathed still in bliss, I led a lordelie life,  
My Soldiers loved and feared me both, I never dreaded strife:  
My board was furnished still, with cates of dainty cost,  
My back well clad, my purse well lined, my wonted lack was lost,  
My bags began to fill, my debts for to discharge,  
My state so stood, as sure I seemed to swim in good lucks barge:  
But out and well away, what pleasure breeds not pain?  
What sun can shine without a cloud, what thunder brings not rain?  
Such is the life of man, such was the luck of me,  
To fall so fast from highest hap, where sure I seemed to be.  
Five hundred sundry suns (and more) could scarcely serve,  
By sweat of brows to win a room, wherein my knife might carve:  
One only dismal day, sufficed (with despite)  
To take me from my carvers place, and from the table quite.  
Five hundred broken sleeps, had busied all my brains,  
To found (at last) some worthy trade, that might increase my gains:  
One black unlucky hour, my trade hath overthrown,  
And marrde my mart, & broke my bank, & all my bliss oreblowen.  
To wrap up all in woe, I am in prison penned,  
My gains possessed by my foes, my friends against me bend:  
And all the heavy haps, that ever age yet bore,  
Assembled are within my breast, to choke me up with care.  
My modest middle age, which lacks of youth the lust,  
Can bear no such great burdens now, but throws them in the dust:  
Yet in this piteous plight, behold me Lovers all,  
And rue my grieves, lest you yourselves do light on such a fall.  
I am that weary wretch, whom love always hath tired,  
And fed me with such strange conceits, as never man desired.  
For now (even now) aye me: I love and cannot choose,  
So strangely yet, as well may move the wisest minds to muse.  
Not blazing beauty bright, hath set my heart on fire,  
No 'ticing talk, no gorgeous gyte, tormenteth my desire,  
No body finely framed, no haggard Falcon's eye,  
No ruddy lip, no golden locks, hath drawn my mind awry:  
No teeth of shining pearl, no gallant rosy hue,  
No dimpled chin, no pit in cheek, presented to my view:  
In fine, no such delights, as lovers often allure,  
Are cause why thus I do lament, or put my plaints in ure:  
But such a strange affect, as both I shame to tell,  
And all the world may wonder much, how first therein I fell.  
Yet since I have begun (quoth he) to tell my grief,  
I will naught hide, although I hope to find no great relief.  
And thus (quoth he) it is: Among the sundry joys  
Which I conceived in feats of war, and all my Martial toys,  
My chance was late to have a peerless firelock piece,  
That to my wits was nay the like, in Turkey nor in Greece:  
A piece so cleanly framed, so straight, so light, so fine,  
So tempered and so polished, as seemeth work divine:  
A piece whose lock yet past, for why it it never failed,  
And though I bent it night and day, the quickness never quailed:  
A piece as well renforst, as ever yet was wrought,  
The bravest piece for bréech and boar, that ever yet was bought:  
The mounture so well made, and for my pitch so fit,  
As though I see fair pieces more, yet few so fine as it:  
A piece which shot so well, so gently and so straight,  
It neither bruised with recoil, nor wrong with overweight.  
In fine and to conclude, I know no fault thereby,  
That either might be thought in mind, or well discerned with eye.  
This piece then late I had, and therein took delight,  
As much as ever proper piece did please a warlike wight.  
Now though it be not lost, nor rendered with the rest,  
Yet being shut from sight thereof, how can I think me blest?  
Or which way should I hope, that such a jewel rare,  
Can pass unséen in any camp where cunning shooters are?  
And therewith am I sure, that being once espied,  
It never can escape their hands, but that it will be tried:  
And being once but proved, then farewell frost for me,  
My piece, my lock, and all is lost, and I shall never see  
The like again on earth. Now Lovers speak your mind,  
Was ever man so strangely struck, or caught in such a kind?  
Was ever man so fond? was ever man so mad?  
Was ever man so woe begun? or in such cares clad?  
For restless thus I rest, the wretchedst man on live,  
And when I think upon this piece, than still my woes revive.  
Nor ever can I find good plaster for my pain,  
Unless my luck might be so good, to find that piece again.  
To make my mourning more, where I in prison pine,  
I daily see a pretty piece, much like that piece of mine,  
Which helps my hurt, much like unto a broken shin,  
That when it heals, begins to itch, and then rubs off the skin,  
Thus live I still in love, alas and ever shall,  
As well content to lose my piece, as glad to find my fall:  
A wonder to the world, a grief to friendly minds,  
A mocking stock to Momus race, and all such scornful hinds,  
A love (that think I sure) whose like was never seen,  
Nor never warlike wight shall be in love as I have been:  
So that in sooth (quoth he) I cannot blame the Dames,  
Whom I in youth did most esteem, I list not foil their fames,  
But there to lay the fault, from whence it first did flow:  
I say my Fortune is the root, whence all these griefs did grow.  
Since Fortune then (quoth he) hath turned to me her back,  
Shall I go yield to mourning moan, and clothe myself in black●?  
Not not, for noble minds can bear no thraldom so,  
But rather show a merry cheer, when most they wade in wo.  
And so will I in green, my careful corpse array,  
To set a brag amongst the best, as though my heart were gay:  
Not green because I hope, nor green because I joy,  
Nor green, because I can delight in any youthful toy:  
But green, because my greens are always fresh and green,  
Whose root is such it cannot rot, as by the fruit is seen.  
Thus said, he gave a groan, as though his heart had broke,  
And from the furnace of his breast, sent scalding sighs like smoke:  
And sighing so, he sat in solitary wise,  
Conveying floods of brinish tears, by conduct of his eyes.  
What end he had God knoweth, Battello writes it not,  
Or if he do, my wits are short, for I have it forgot.    

The continuance of the Author, upon the fruit of Fetters.  

THus have you heard the green Knight make his moan,  
Which well might move the hardest heart to melt:  
But what he meant, that knew himself alone,  
For such a cause, in weary woes to swelled:  
And yet by like, some peerless piece it was,  
That brought him so in raging storms to pass.   

I have heard tell, and read it therewithal,  
That near the Alps a kind of people be,  
Which serve with shot, whereof the very ball  
Is big of bulk, the piece but short to see:  
But yet it shoots as far, and eke as fast,  
As those which are yframed of longer last.   

The cause (say some) consisteth in the lock,  
Some other judge, because they be so strong,  
Renforced well, and bréeched like a brock,  
Stiff, strait, and stout, which though they be not long,  
Yet spit they forth their pellets such a pace,  
And with such force, as seems a wondrous case.   

Some other think, the metal maketh all,  
Which tempered is both round and smooth to see:  
And sure me thinks, the bigness of the ball,  
Ne yet the lock, should make it shoot so free,  
But even the bréech of metal good and sound,  
Which makes the ball with greater force to bound.   

For this we see, the stiff and strongest arm,  
Which gives a jerk, and hath a cunning lose,  
Shoots furthest still, and doth always most harm,  
For be his flights yfeathred from the goose,  
Or peacocks quills, or Raven, or Swan, or Crow,  
His shafts go swift, when others fly but slow.   

How so it be, the men that use to shoot  
In these short guns, are praised for the best:  
And Princes seek such shot for to promote  
As perfectest and better than the rest:  
So that (by like) their pieces bear the sway,  
Else other men could shoot as far as they.   

Their pieces then are called Petronels,  
And they themselves by sundry names are called:  
As Bandolliers, for who in mountains dwells,  
In troupes and bands, oft times is stoutly stalld:  
Or of the Stone wherewith the lock doth strike,  
Petronelliers, they called are by like.   

And so percase this peerless piece of his  
For which he mourned and made such rueful moan,  
Was one of those: and therefore all his bliss,  
Was turned to bale when as that piece was gone:  
Since Martial men do set their chief delight,  
In arms which are both free and fair in sight.   

Myself have seen some piece of such a price,  
As worthy were to be esteemed well:  
For this you know in any strange devise,  
Such things as seem for goodness to excel,  
Are holden dear, and for great jewels déemd,  
Because they be both rare and much esteemed.   

But now to turn my tale from whence I came,  
I say his lots and mine were not unlike:  
He spent his youth (as I did) out of frame,  
He came at last (like me) to trail the pike.  
He pinned in prison pinchte with privy pain,  
And I likewise in prison still remain.   

Yet some good fruit in fetters can I find,  
As virtue rules in every kind of vice:  
First prison brings repentance to the mind,  
Which wandered erst in lust and lewd device.  
For hardest hearts by troubles yet are taught,  
That God is good when all the world is nought.   

If thou have led a careless life at large,  
Without regard what liberty was worth:  
And then come down to cruel Gaylours' charge,  
Which keeps thee close and never lets thee forth:  
Learn then this fruit in Fetters by thyself,  
That liberty is worth all worldly pelf.   

Whose hap is such to yield himself in war,  
Remember then that peace in pleasure dwells:  
Whose hearts are high and know not what they are  
Let such but mark the jingling of their bells:  
When fetters fret their ankles as they go,  
Since none so high but that may come as low.   

To tell a truth and therein to be short,  
prisons are plagues that fall for man's offence.  
Which maketh some in good and godly sort,  
With contrite heart to grope their conscience.  
Repentance then steps in and pardon craves,  
These fruits (with more) are found in darksome caves.   

If thou have friends, there shalt thou know them right,  
Since fastest friends in troubles show their faith:  
If thou have foes, there shalt thou see their spite  
For all to true it is that Proverb saith:  
Where hedge is low, there every man treads down,  
And friendship fails when Fortune list to frown.   

Patience is found in prison (though perforce)  
And Temperance taught where none excess doth devil,  
Exercise calls, lest flouth should kill thy corpse:  
Diligence drives thy busy brains to swell,  
For some devise which may redeem thy state,  
These fruits I found in fetters all too late.   

And with these fruits another fruit I found,  
A strange conceit, and yet a trusty truth:  
I found by proof, there is no kind of ground,  
That yéeldes a better crop to reckless youth,  
Than that same mould where fetters serve for muck,  
And wit still works to dig up better luck.   

For if the seed of grace will ever grow,  
Then sure such soil will serve to bear it best,  
And if God's mercy therewithal do flow,  
Then springs it high, and ruffles with the rest:  
Often hath been seen such seed in prison cast,  
Which long kept close, and prospered yet at last.   

But therewithal there springs a kind of tars,  
Which are vile weeds, and must be rooted out,  
They choke up grace, and lap it fast in snares,  
Which oftentimes do draw it deep in doubt,  
And hinders plants which else would grow full high,  
Yet is this weed an easy thing to spy.   

Men call it Fancy, sure a worthless weed,  
And of the same full many sorts are found,  
Some fancies are, which think a lawful deed  
To scape away, though faith full fast be bound:  
Some think by love, (nay lust in cloak of love)  
From fetters fast their selves for to remove.   

Some be, that mean by murder to prevail,  
And some by fraud, as fancy rules the thought:  
Sometimes such frights men's fancies do assail,  
(That when they see their freedom must be bought)  
They vow to take a stand on Shooter's hill,  
Till rents come in to please their wicked william.   

Some fancies hopes by lies to come on float,  
As for to tell their friends and kin great tales,  
What wealth they lost in coin, and many a coat,  
What powder packed in coffers and in males,  
What they must pay, and what their charge will be,  
Wherein they mean to save themselves a fee.   

Some fancies eke forecast what life to wield,  
When liberty shall granted be at last,  
And in the air such castles 'gan they build,  
That many times they fall again as fast:  
For Fancy hinders Grace from glories crown,  
As tars and Binds can pluck good grain adown.   

Who list therefore by Fetters fruit to have,  
Take Fancy first out of his privy thought,  
And when thou hast him, cast him in the wave  
Of Lethe's lake: for sure his seed is naught.  
The green Knight he, of whom I late did tell,  
(Mine Author saith) bad Fancy thus farewell.    

The green Knight's farewell to Fancy.  

Fancy (quoth he) farewell, whose badge I long did bear,  
And in my hat full harebrayndly, thy flowers did I wear:  
To late I find (at last), thy fruits are nothing worth,  
Thy blossoms fall & fade full fast, though bravery bring them forth:  
By thee I hoapt always, in deep delights to dwell,  
But since I find thy fickleness, Fancy (quoth he) farewell.   

Thou mad'st me live in love, which wisdom bids me hate,  
Thou bleardst mine eyes & mad'st me think, that faith was mine by fate:  
By thee those bitter sweets, did please my taste always,  
By thee I thought that love was light, and pain was but a play:  
I thought that Beauties blaze, was meet to bear the bell,  
And since I find myself deceived, Fancy (quoth he) farewell.   

The gloss of gorgeous courts, by thee did please mine eye,  
A stately fight me thought it was, to see the brave go by:  
To see their feathers flaunt, to mark their strange devise,  
To lie along in Ladies laps, to lisp and make it nice:  
To fawn and flatter both, I liked sometimes well,  
But since I see how vain it is, Fancy (quoth he) farewell.   

When court had cast me off, I toiled at the plough  
My fancy stood in strange conceits, to thrive I wot not how:  
By mills, by making malt, by sheep and eke by swine,  
By duck and drake, by pig and goose, by calves & keeping kine:  
By feeding bullocks fat, when price at markets fell,  
But since my swains eat up my gains, Fancy (quoth he) farewell.   

In hunting of the dear, my fancy took delight,  
All forests knew my folly still, the moonshine was my light:  
In frosts I felt no cold, a sunneburnt hue was best,  
I sweat and was in temper still, my watching seemed rest:  
What dangers deep I passed, it folly were to tell,  
And since I sigh to think thereon, Fancy (quoth he) farewell.   

A fancy fed me once, to write in verse and rhyme,  
To wray my grief, to crave reward, to cover still my crime:  
To frame a long discourse, on stirring of a straw,  
To rumble rhyme in raff and ruff, yet all not worth an haw:  
To hear it said there goeth, the Man that writes so well,  
But since I see, what poets be, Fancy (quoth he) farewell.   

At Musics sacred sound, my fancies eft begun,  
In concords, discords, notes and cliffs, in tunes of unisonne:  
In Hyerarchies and strains, in rests, in rule and space,  
In monacordes and moving moods, in Burdens under base:  
In descants and in chants, I strained many a yell,  
But since Musicians be so mad, Fancy (quoth he) farewell.   

To plant strange country fruits, to sow such seeds likewise,  
To dig & delve for new found roots, where old might well suffice:  
To prune the water bows, to pick the mossy trees,  
(O how it pleased my fancy once) to kneel upon my knees,  
To griffe a pippine stock, when sap begins to swell:  
But since the gains scarce quite the cost, Fancy (quoth he) farewell.   

Fancy (quoth he) farewell, which made me follow drums,  
Where powdered bullets serves for sauce, to every dish that comes:  
Where treason lurks in trust, where Hope all hearts beguiles,  
Where mischief lieth still in wait, when fortune friendly smiles:  
Where one days prison prones, that all such heavens are hell,  
And such I feel the fruits thereof, Fancy (quoth he) farewell.   

If reason rule my thoughts, and God vouchsafe me grace  
Then comfort of Philosophy, shall make me change my race:  
And fond I shall it find, that Fancy sets to show,  
For weakly stands that building still, which lacketh grace by low:  
But since I must accept, my fortunes as they fell,  
I say God sand me better speed, and Fancy now farewell,   

Epilogismus.  
SEe sweet deceit, that can itself beguile,  
Behold self love, which walketh in a net:  
And seems unseen, yet shows itself therewhile,  
Before such eyes, as are in science set.  
The Green knight here, leaves out his firelocke piece  
That Fancy hath not yet his last farewell.  
When Foxes preach, good folk beware your geese,  
But holla here, my muse to far doth mell:  
Who list to mark, what learned preacher sayeth,  
Must learn withal, for to believe his lore:  
But what he doth, that toucheth nomans' faith,  
Though words with works, (agreed) persuade the more,  
The mounting kite, often lights on homely prey  
And wisest wits, may sometimes go astray.  
FINIS.  Tam Marti, quàm Mercurio.    

The pleasant Fable of Ferdinando jeronomi and Leonora de Valasco, translated out of the Italian riding tales of Bartello.  
IN the pleasant Country of Lombardie, (and not far from the City of Florence) there was dwelling sometimes a Lord of many rich signiories and dominions, who nevertheless bore his name of the Castle of Valasco: this Lord had one only son and two daughters: his son was called (during the life of his father) the heir of Valasco, who married a fair Gentlewoman of the house of Bellavista named Leonora: the elder daughter of the Lord of Valasco was called Francischina, a young woman very toward, both in capacity and other active qualities. Now the Lord of Valasco having already married his son & heir, and himself drawing in age, was desirous to see his daughters also bestowed before his death, and especially the eldest, who both for beauty and ripeness of age might often put him in remembrance that she was a collop of his own flesh: and therefore sought means to draw unto his house Ferdinando jeronimi a young gentleman of Venice, who delighting more in hawking, hunting, and such other pastimes than he did in study, had left his own house in Venice, and was come into Lombardie to take the pleasures of the country. So that the Lord of Valasco knowing him to be of a very good parentage, and therewithal not only rich but adorned with sundry good qualities, was desirous (as is said) to draw him home to his house (under pretence of hunting and hawking) to the end he might behold his fair daughter Francischina: who both for parentage and other worldly respects, might no less content his mind, than her beauty was likely to have alured his liking. But it fell out far contrary to his desire, for Ferdinando jeronimi beholding the Lady Leonora, who was in deed very fair, and of a very courtlike behaviour, become enamoured of her, and forgetting the courtesy that the Lord of Valasco had showed him in entertaining him and his servants, with their horses, by the space of four months (which is a rare courtesy now adays, and especially in such a country) he sought all means possible to make the heir of Valasco a Becco. And to the end that all men may perceive what fruits grow on such trees, and what issues come of such intents, I will set down in English the fable as it is written in Italian by Bartello. And because I do suppose that Leonora is the same name which we call Elinor in English, and that Francischina also doth import none other than Frances, I will so entitle them as to our own countrymen may be most perspicuous. Understand you then, that Ferdinando having now a hot affection unto the said Dame Elynor, and thinking it meeter to utter his first conceits in writing than in speech, did writ unto her as followeth.  
Fair Lady I pray you understand that (being altogether a stranger in this Country) my good hap hath been to behold you to my no small contentation. And my evil hap accompanies the same with such imperfection of my deserts, as that I find always a ready repulse in mine own forwardness: So that considering the natural climate of the country, 
The air of that Country did (by all likelihood) seem colder to him than the streets of Venice.  I must say that I have found fire in frost. And yet comparing the inequality of my deserts, with the lest part of your worthiness, I feel a continual frost, in my most fervent fire. Such is then the extremity of my passions, the which I could never have been content to commit unto this tell-tale paper, were it not that I am destitute of all other help. Accept therefore I beseech you, the earnest good will of a more trusty (than worthy) servant, who being thereby encouraged, may supply the defects of his ability with ready trial of dutiful loyalty. And let this poor paper (besprent with salt tears, and blown over with scalding sighs) be saved of you as a safeguard for your sampler, or a bottom to wind your sowing silk, that when your last needelfull is wrought, you may return to reading thereof and consider the care of him who is  
Moore yours than his own. F. I  
THis letter by her received, her answer was this: She took occasion one day, at his request to dance with him: the which doing, she bashfully began to declare unto him, that she had read over the writing which he delivered unto her: with like protestation, that (as at delivery thereof, she understood not for what cause he thrust the same into her bosom,) so now she could not perceive thereby any part of his meaning: nevertheless at last seemed to take upon her the matter, and though she disabled herself, yet gave him thanks as etc. Whereupon he broke the brawl, and walking abroad, devised immediately these few verses following.  


Fair Bersabe the bright once bathing in a Well,  
With dew bedimmd King David's eyes that ruled Israel.  
And Solomon himself, the source of sapience,  
Against the force of such assaults could make but small defence:  
To it the stoutest yield, and strongest feel like wo.  
Bold Hercules and Samson both, did prove it to be so.  
What wonder seemeth then? when stars stand thick in skies,  
If such a blazing star have power to dim my dazzled eyes?   

Lenuoie.  
To you these few suffice, your wits be quick and good,  
You can conject by change of hue, what humours feed my blood.   
F. I   
BEfore he could put these verses in legible writing, it pleased M. Elinor of her courtesy thus to deal with him. Walking in a garden among divers other gentlemen & gentlewomen, with a little frowning smile in passing by him, she delivered unto him a paper, with these words. For that I understand not (quoth she) the intent of your letters, I pray you take them here again, and bestow them at your pleasure. The which done and said, she passed by without change either of pace or countenance. Ferdinando somewhat troubled with her angry look, did suddenly leave the company, and walking into a park near adjoining, in great rage began to wreak his malice on this poor paper, and the same did rend and tear in pieces. When suddenly at a glance he perceived it was not of his own hand writing, and therewithal abashed, upon better regard he perceived in one piece thereof written in Roman these letters Colei: which in english betokeneth SHE: wherefore placing all the pieces thereof, as orderly as he could, he found therein written, these few lines hereafter following.  
YOur sudden departure, from our pastime yesterday, did enforce me for lack of chosen company too return unto my work, wherein I did so long continued, till at the last the bore bottom did draw unto my remembrance your strange request. And although I found therein no just cause to credit your coloured words, yet have I thought good hereby too requited you with like courtesy, so that at lest you shall not condemn me for ungrateful. But as to the matter therein contained: if I could persuade myself, that there were in me any coals to kindle such sparks of fire, I might yet peradventure be drawn to believe that your mind were frozen with like fear. But as no smoke ariseth, where no coal is kindled, so without cause of affection the passion is easy to be cured. This is all that I understand of your dark letters: and as much as I mean to answer.  
Colei: in english SHE.:  
FErdinando immediately upon receit hereof, grew in jealousy that the same was not her own devise. And therein I have no less allowed his judgement, than commended his invention of the verses, and letters before rehearsed. For as by the style this letter of hers bewrayeth that it was not penned by a woman's capacity, so the sequel of her doings may decipher, that she had more ready clerk than trusty servants in store. Well yet as the perfect hound, when he hath chased the hurt dear, amid the whole heard, will never give over till he have singled it again. Even so Ferdinando though somewhat abashed with this doubtful show, yet still constant in his former intention, ceased not by all possible means, too bring this Dear yet once again to the bows, whereby she might be the more surely stricken: and so in the end enforced to yield. Wherefore he thought not best to commit the said verses willingly into her custody, but privily lost them in her chamber, written in counterfeit. And after on the next day thought better to reply, either upon her, or upon her Secretary in this wise as here followeth.  
THE much that you have answered is very much, and much more than I am able to reply unto: nevertheless in mine own defence, thus much I allege: that if my sudden departure pleased not you, I cannot myself therewith be pleased, as one that seeketh not to please many, and more desirous to please you than any. The cause of mine affection, I suppose you behold daily. For (self love avoided) every wight may judge of themselves as much as reason persuadeth: the which if it be in your good nature suppressed with bashfulness, then mighty love grant, you may once behold my wan cheeks washed in woe, that therein my salt tears may be a mirror to represent your own shadow, and that like unto Nacissus you may be constrained to kiss the cold waves, wherein your counterfeit is so lively purtrayed. For if abundance of other matters failed to draw my gazing eyes in contemplation of so rare excellency, yet might these your letters both frame in me an admiration of such divine esprite, and a confusion too my dull understanding, which so rashly presumed too wander in this endless Labyrinth. Such I esteem you, and thereby am become such, and even  
HERALD F.I.  
THis letter finished and fair written over, his chance was to meet her alone in a Gallery of the same house: (where his manhood in this kind of combat was first tried:) and therein I can compare him to a valiant Prince, who distressed with power of enemies had committed the safeguard of his person to treaty of Ambassade, and suddenly (surprised with a Camassado in his own trenches) was enforced to yield as prisoner. Even so Ferdinando jeronimi lately overcome by the beautiful beams of this Dame Elynor, and having now committed his most secret intent to these late rehearsed letters, was at unwares encountered with his friendly foe, and constrained either to prepare some new defence, or else like a recreant to yield himself as already vanquished. Wherefore (as in a trance) he lifted up his dazzled eyes, and so continued in a certain kind of admiration, not unlike the Astronomer, who (having after a whole night's travail, in the grey morning found his desired star) hath fired his hungry eyes to behold the Comet long looked for: whereat this gracious Dame (as one that could discern the sun before her chamber windows were wide open) did deign to embolden the fainting Knight with these or like words.  
I perceive now (quoth she) how mishap doth follow me, that having chosen this walk for a simple solace, I am here disquieted by the man that meaneth my destruction: and therewithal, as half angry, began to turn her back, when Ferdinando (now awaked) 'gan thus salute her.  
Mistress (quoth he) and I perceive now, that good hap haunts me, for being by lack of opportunity constrained to commit my welfare unto these blabbing leaves of bewraying paper (showing that in his hand) I am here recomforted with happy view of my desired joy: and therewithal reverently kissing his hand, did softly distrain her slender arm, and so slayed her departure. The first blow thus proffered and defended, they walked and talked traversing diverse ways, wherein I doubt not but that the Venetian could quite himself reasonably well. For after long talk she was contented to accept his proffered service, but yet still disabling herself, and seeming to marvel what cause had moved him to subject his liberty so wilfully, or at lest in a prison (as she termed it) so unworthy. Whereunto I need not rehearse his answer, but suppose now, that thus they departed: saving I had forgotten this: she required of him the last rehearsed letter, saying that his first was lost, and now she lacked a new bottom for her silk, the which I warrant you, he granted: and so preffering to take an humble congé by Bezolas manos, she graciously gave him the Zuccado dez labros: and so for then departed. And there upon recompting her words, he compiled these following, which he termed Terza sequenza, too sweet Mistress SHE.  


OF thee dear Dame, three lessons would I learn:  
What reason first persuades the foolish Fly  
(As soon as she a candle can discern)  
To play with flame, till she be burnt thereby?  
Or what may move the Mouse to bite the bait  
Which strikes the trap, that stops her hungry breath?  
What calls the bird, where snares of deep deceit  
Are closely couched to draw her to her death?  
Consider well, what is the cause of this,  
And though percase thou wilt not so confess,  
Yet deep desire, to gain a heavenly bliss,  
May drown the mind in dole and dark distress:  
Often is it seen (whereat my heart may bleed)  
Fools play so long till they be caught in deed.  
And then   

It is a heaven to see them hop and skip,  
And seek all shifts to shake their shackles off:  
It is a world, to see them hung the lip,  
Who (erst) at love, were wont to scorn and skoff.  
But as the Mouse, once caught in crafty trap,  
May bounce and beat against the boorden wall,  
Till she have brought her head in such mishap,  
That down to death her fainting limbs must fall:  
And as the Fly once singed in the flame,  
Cannot command her wings to wave away:  
But by the heel, she hangeth in the same  
Till cruel death her hasty journey stay:  
So they that seek to break the links of love  
Strive with the stream, and this by pain I prove.  
For when   

I first beheld that heavenly hew of thine,  
Thy stately stature, and thy comely grace,  
I must confess these dazzled eyes of mine  
Did wink for fear, when I first viewed thy face:  
But bold desire did open them again,  
And had me look till I had looked to long,  
I pitied them that did procure my pain,  
And loved the looks that wrought me all the wrong:  
And as the bird once caught (but works her woe)  
That strives to leave the limed twigs behind:  
Even so the more I strove to part thee fro,  
The greater grief did grow within my mind:  
Remediless then must I yield to thee,  
And crave no more, thy servant but to be.   
Till then and ever. HERALD F.I.   
WHen he had well sorted this sequence, he sought opportunity to leave it where she might find it before it were lost. And now the coals began to kindle, whereof (but ere while) she feigned herself altogether ignorant. The flames began to break out on every side: and she to quench them, shut up herself in her chamber solitarily. But as the smithie gathers greater heat by casting on of water, even so the more she absented herself from company, the fresher was the grief which galded her remembrance: so that at last the report was spread through the house, that Mistress Elinor was sick. At which news Ferdinando took small comfort: nevertheless Dame Venus with good aspect did yet thus much further his enterprise. The Dame (whether it were by sudden change, or of wonted custom) fell one day into a great bleeding at the nose. For which accident the said Venetian, amongst other pretty conceits, had a present remedy: Whereby he took occasion (when they of the house had all in vain sought many ways to stop her bleeding) to work his feat in this wise: first he pleaded ignorance, as though he knew not her name, and therefore demanded the same of Mistress Frances, who when she had to him declared that her name was Elinor, he said these words or very like in effect: If I thought I should not offend Mistress Elynor, I would not doubt to stop her bleeding, without either pain or difficulty. This Gentlewoman somewhat tickled with his words, did incontinent make relation thereof to the said Mistress Elynor: who immediately (declaring that Ferdinando was her late received servant) returned the said messenger unto him with especial charge, that he should employ his devoir towards the recovery of her health: with whom the same Ferdinando repaired to the chamber of his desired: and finding her set in a chair, leaning on the one side over a Silver basin: After his due reverence, he laid his hand on her Temples, and privily rounding her in her ear, desired her to command a Hazel stick and a knife: the which being brought, he delivered unto her, saying on this wise. Mistress I will speak certain words in secret to myself, and do require no more: but when you hear me say openly this word Amen, that you with this knife will make a nick upon this Hazel stick: and when you have made five nicks, command me also to cease. The Dame partly of good will to the Knight, and partly to be stenched of her bleeding, commanded her maid, and required the other Gentiles, somewhat to stand aside: which done, he began his Orisons, wherein he had not long muttered before he pronounced Amen, wherewith the Lady made a nick on the stick with her knife. The said Ferdinando continued to an other Amen, when the Lady having made an other nick, felt her bleeding began to steynch: & so by the third Amen thoroughly steinched. Ferdinando then changing his prayers into private talk, said softly unto her: Mistress, I am glad that I am hereby enabled to do you some service, and as the staunching of your own blood may some way recomfort you, so if the shedding of my blood may any way content you, I beseech you command it, for it shallbe evermore readily employed in your service: and therewithal with a loud voice pronounced Amen: wherewith the good Lady making a nick, did secretly answer thus: Good servant (quoth she) I must needs think myself right happy to have gained your service and good will, and be you sure, that although there be in me no such desert as may draw you into this depth of affection: yet such as I am, I shallbe always glad to show myself thankful unto you. And now, if you think yourself assured that I shall bleed no more, do then pronounce your fifth Amen: the which pronounced, she made also her fifth nick, and held up her head, calling the company unto her, and declaring unto them, that her bleeding was thoroughly steinched. And Ferdinando tarrying a while in the chamber, found opportunity to lose his sequence near too his desired Mistress: And after congé taken, departed. After whose departure the Lady arose out of her chair, and her maid going about to remove the same, espied, and took up the writing: the which her mistress perceiving, 'gan suddenly conjecture that the same had in it some like matter to the verses once before left in like manner, and made semblant to mistrust that the same should be some words of conjuration: and taking it from her maid, did peruse it, and immediately said too the company, that she would not forego the same for a great treasure. But to be plain, I think that (Ferdinando excepted) she was glad to be rid of all company, until she had with sufficient leisure turned over and retossed every card in this sequence. And not long after being now tickled through all the veins with an unknown humour, adventured of herself to commit unto a like Ambassador the discyphring of that which hitherto she had kept more secret: and thereupon wrote with her own hand and head in this wise.  
GOod servant, I am out of all doubt much beholding unto you, and I have great comfort by your means in the steinching of my blood, and I take great comfort too read your letters and I have found in my chamber divers songs which I think too be of your making, and I promise' you, they are excellently made: and I assure you that I willbe ready to do for you any pleasure that I can, during my life: wherefore I pray you come to my chamber once in a day, till I come abroad again, and I willbe glad of your company: and for because that you have promised to be my HE: I will take upon me this name, your SHE.  
THis letter was doubtless of her own hand writing: and as therein the Reader may find great difference of Style, from her former letter, so may you now understand the cause. She had in the same house a friend, a servant, a Secretary: what should I name him? such one as she esteemed in time past more than was cause in time present. And to make my tale good, I will (by the same words that Bartello useth) describe him unto you. He was in height the proportion of two Pygmies, in breadth the thickness of two bacon hogs, of presumption a Giant, of power a Gnat, Apishly witted, Knavishly mannered, and crabbedly favoured. What was there in him then to draw a fair Ladies liking? Mary sir even all in all, a well lined purse, wherewith he could at every call, provide such pretty conceits as pleased her peevish fantasy: and by that means he had thoroughly (long before) insinuated himself with this amorous dame. This manling, this minion, this slave, this secretary, was now by occasion ridden too Florence forsooth: and though his absenee were unto her a disfurnishing of eloquence: it was yet unto Ferdinando jeromini an opportunity of good advantage: for when he perceived the change of her style, and thereby grew in some suspicion that the same proceeded by absence of her chief Chancellor, he thought good now to smite while the iron was hot, and to lend his Mistress such a pen in her Secretary's absence, as he should never be able (at his return) to amend the well writing thereof. Wherefore according to her command he repaired once every day to her chamber, at the lest whereas he guided himself so well, and could devise such store of sundry pleasures and pastimes, that he grew in favour not only with his desired, but also with the rest of the gentlewomen. And one day passing the time amongst them, their play grew to this end, that his Mistress, being Queen, demanded of him these three questions. Servant (quoth she) I charge you, aswell upon your allgiance being now my subject, as also upon your fidelity, having vowed your service unto me, that you answer me these three questions, by the very truth of your secret thought. First, what thing in this universal world doth most rejoice and comfort you? Ferdinando jeronimi abasing his eyes towards the ground, took good advisement in his answer, when a fair gentlewoman of the company clapped him on the shoulder, saying, how now sir, is your hand on your halfpenny? To whom he answered, no fair Lady, my hand is on my heart, and yet my heart is not in mine own hands: wherewithal abashed, turning towards dame Elinor he said: My sovereign and Mistress, according to the charge of your command, and the duty that I own you, my tongue shall bewray unto you the truth of mine intent. At this present a reward given me without desert, doth so rejoice me with continual remembrance, that though my mind be so occupied to think thereon, as that day nor night I can be quiet from that thought, yet the joy and pleasure which I conceive in the same is such, that I can neither be cloyed with continuance thereof, nor yet afraid, that any mishap can countervail so great a treasure. This is to me such a heaven to devil in, as that I feed by day, and repose by night upon the fresh record of this reward. This (as Bartello sayeth) he meant by the kiss that she lent him in the Gallery, and by the profession of her last letters and words. Well, though this answer be somewhat misty, yet let his excuse be: that taken upon the sudden, he thought better to answer darkly, than to be mistrusted openly. Her second question was, what thing in this life did most grieve his heart, and disquiet his mind, whereunto he answered. That although his late rehearsed joy were incomparable, yet the greatest enemy that disturbed the same, was the privy worm of his own guilty conscience, which accused him evermore with great unworthiness: and that this was his greatest grief. The Lady biting upon the bit at his cunning answers made unto these two questions, gan thus reply. Servant, I had thought to have touched you yet nearer with my third question, but I will refrain to attempt your patience: and now for my third demand, answer me directly in what manner this passion doth handle you? and how these contraries may hung together by any possibility of concord? for your words are strange. Ferdinando now rousing himself boldly, took occasion thus to handle his answer. Mistress (quoth he) my words in deed are strange, but yet my passion is much stranger: and thereupon this other day to content mine own fantasy I devised a Sonnet, which although it be a piece of Cocklorels music, and such as I might be ashamed to publish in this company, yet because my truth in this answer may the better appear unto you, I pray you vouchsafe to receive the same in writing: and drawing a paper out of his pocket, presented it to her, wherein was written this Sonnet.  

Love, hope, and death, do stir in me such strife,  
As never man but I led such a life.  
First burning love doth wound my heart to death,  
And when death comes at call of inward grief,  
Cold linger hope doth feed my fainting breath  
Against my will, and yields my wound relief:  
So that I live, but yet my life is such,  
As death would never grieve me half so much.  
No comfort then but only this I taste,  
To salve such sore, such hope will never want,  
And with such hope, such life will ever last,  
And with such life, such sorrows are not scant.  
O strange desire, O life with torments tossed  
Through too much hope, mine only hope is lost.  
Even HE F.I.   
THis sonnet was highly commended, and in my judgement it deserveth no less. His duty thus performed, their pastimes ended, and at their departure for a watch word he counseled his Mistress by little and little to walk abroad: saying, that the Gallery near adjoining was so pleasant, as if he were half dead he thought that by walking therein he might be half & more revived. Think you so servant (quoth she?) and the last time that I walked there, I suppose I took the cause of my malady: but by your advise (for that you have so clerkly steynched my bleeding) I will assay to walk there to morrow. Mistress quod he, and in more full accomplishment of my duty towards you, and in sure hope that you will use the same only to your own private commodity, I will there await upon you, and between you and me will teach you the full order how to steynch the bleeding of any creature, whereby you shall be as cunning as myself. Gramercy good servant, quoth she, I think you lost the same in writing here yesterday, but I cannot understand it: & therefore to morrow (if I feel myself any thing amended) I will send for you thither to instruct me thoroughly: thus they departed. And at supper time, the Lord of Valasco finding fault that his gests stomach served him no better, began too accuse the grossness of his viands, to whom one of the gentlewomen which had passed the afternoon in his company, answered. Nay sir, quoth she, this gentleman hath a passion, the which once in a day at the lest doth kill his appetite. Are you so well acquainted with the disposition of his body (quoth the Lord of the house?) by his own saying, quoth she, & not otherwise. Fair lady quod Ferdinando, you either mistoke me or overheard me then: for I told of a comfortable humour which so fed me with continual remembrance of joy, as that my stomach being full thereof doth desire in manner none other victuals. Why sir, (quod the host,) do you thē●iue by love? God forbidden sir quod Ferdinando, for then my cheeks would be much thinner than they be: but there are divers other greater causes of joy, than the doubtful lots of love: & for mine own part, to be plain, I cannot love, & I dare not hate. I would I thought so, quoth the gentlewoman. And thus with pretty nyppes, they passed over their supper: which ended, the Lord of the house required Ferdinando jeronimi to dance and pass the time with the gentlewomen, which he refused not to do. But suddenly, before the music was well tuned, came out Dame Elynor in her night attire, and said to the Lord, thee (supposing the solitariness of her chamber had increased her malady) she came out for her better recreation to see them dance. Well done daughter (quoth the Lord.) And I Mistress (quod Ferdinando) would gladly bestow the leading of you about this great chamber, to drive away the faintness of your fever. Not good servant, (quod the Lady,) but in my steed, I pray you dance with this fair Gentlewoman, pointing him too the Lady that had so taken him up at supper. Ferdinando to avoid mistrust, did agree too her request without further entreaty. The dance begun, this Knight marched on with the Image of S. Frances in his hand, and S. Elynor in his heart. The violands at end of the pavion stayed a while: in which time this Dame said to Ferdinando jeronimi on this wise: I am right sorry for you in two respects, although the familiarity have hitherto had no great continuance between us: and as I do lament your case, so do I rejoice (for mine own contentation) that I shall now see a due trial of the experiment which I have long desired. This said, she kept silence: When Ferdinando (somewhat astonished with her strange speech) thus answered: Mistress although I cannot conceive the meaning of your words, yet by courtesy I am constrained to yield you thanks for your good will, the which appeareth no less in lamenting of mishaps, than in rejoicing at good fortune. What experiment you mean to try by me, I know not, but I dare assure you, that my skill in experiments is very simple. Herewith the Instruments sounded a new Measure, and they passed forthwards, leaving to talk, until the noise ceased: which done, the Gentlewoman replied. I am sorry sir, that you did erewhile, deny love and all his laws, and that in so open audience. Not so (quod Ferdinando) but as the word was roundly taken, so can I readily answer it by good reason. Well quoth she, how if the hearers will admit no reasonable answer? My reasons yet be nevertheless (quoth he) in reasonable judgement. Herewith she smiled, and he cast a glance towards dame Elinor, 
(a) as who sayeth  askances art thou pleased? Again the viols called them forthwardes, and again at the end of the brawl said Ferdinando jeronimi to this Gentlewoman: I pray you Mistress, and what may be the second cause of your sorrow sustained in my behalf? Nay soft (quoth she) percase I have not yet told you the first, but content yourself, for the second cause you shall never know at my hands, until I see due trial of the experiment which I have long desired. Why then (quoth he) I can but wish a present occasion to bring the same to effect, to the end that I might also understand the mystery of your meaning. And so might you fail of your purpose (quoth she) for I mean to be better assured of him that shall know the depth of mine intent in such a secret, than I do suppose that any creature (one except) may be of you. Gentlewoman (quoth he) you speak Greek, the which I have now forgotten, and mine instructors are to far from me at this present to expound your words. Or else to near (quoth she) and so smiling stayed her talk, when the Music called them to another dance. Which ended, Ferdinando half afraid of false suspect, and more amazed at this strange talk, gave over, and bringing Mistress Frances to her place, was thus saluted by his Mistress. Servant (quoth she) I had done you great wrong to have danced with you, considering that this gentlewoman and you had former occasion of so weighty conference. Mistress said Ferdinando you had done me great pleasure, for by our conference I have but brought my brains in a busy conjecture, I doubt not (said his Mistress) but you will end that business easily. It is hard said he to end the thing, whereof yet I have found no begining. His Mistress with change of countenance kept silence whereat dame France's rejoicing, cast out this bone to gnaw on. I perceive (quoth she) it is evil to halt before a cripple. Ferdinando perceiving now that his Mistress waxed angry, thought good on her behalf thus to answer: and it is evil to hop before them that run for the Bell: his Mistress replied, and it is evil to hang the Bell at their heels which are always running. The Lord of he Castle overhearing these proper quips, rose out of his chair, & coming towards Ferdinando required him to dance a Gallyard. Sir said he I have hitherto at your appointment but walked about the house, now if you be desirous to see one tumble a turn or twain, it is like enough that I might provoke you to laugh at me, but in good faith my dancing days are almost done, and therefore sir (quoth he) I pray you speak to them that are more nimble at tripping on the toe. Whilst he was thus saying dame Elynor had made her Congey, and was now entering the door of her chamber when Ferdinando all amazed at her sudden departure followed to take leave of his Mistress: but she more than angry, refused to hear his good night, and entering her chamber caused her maid to clap to the door. Ferdinando with heavy cheer returned to his company, and Mistress Frances to touch his sore with a corrosive, said to him softly in this wise. Sir you may now perceive that this our country cannot allow the French manner of dancing, for they (as I have heard tell) do more commonly dance to talk, then entreat to dance. Fardenando hoping to drive out one nail with another and thinking this a mean most convenient to suppress all jealous supposes, took Mistress Frances by the hand and with a heavy smile answered. Mistress and I (because I have seen the french manner of dancing) will eftsonnes entreat you to dance a Bargynet: what mean you by this quod mistress Frances. If it please you to follow (quoth he) you shall see that I can jest without joy, and laugh without lust, and calling the musicians, caused them softly to sound the Tynternall, when he clearing his voice did Allá Napolitana apply these verses following, unto the measure.  


IN prime of lusty years, when Cupid caught me in,  
And nature taught the way to love, how I might best begin:  
To please my wandering eye, in beauties tickle trade,  
To gaze on each that passed by, a careless sport I made.   

With sweet enticing bait, I fished for many a dame,  
And warmed me by many a fire, yet felt I not the flame:  
But when at last I spied, that face that pleased me most,  
The coals were quick, the wood was dry, & I began to tossed.   

And smiling yet full often, I have beheld that face,  
When in my heart I might bewail mine own unlucky case:  
And often again with looks that might bewray my grief,  
I pleaded hard for just reward, and sought to find relief.   

What will you more? so often my gazing eyes did seek,  
To see the rose and Lily strive upon that lively cheek:  
Till at the last I spied, and by good proof I found,  
That in that face was painted plain, the pearcer of my wound   

Then (all to late) aghast, I did my foot retire,  
And sought with secret sighs to quench my greedy scalding fire  
But lo, I did prevail asmuch to guide my will,  
As he that seeks with halting heel, to hop against the hill.   

Or as the feeble sight, would search the sunny beam,  
Even so I found but labour lost, to strive against the stream.  
Then 'gan I thus resolve, since liking forced love.  
Should I mislike my happy choice, before I did it prove?   

And since none other joy I had but her to see,  
Sold I retire my deep desire? no no it would not be:  
Though great the duty were, that she did well deserve,  
And I poor man, unworthy am so wotthie a wight to serve.   

Yet hope my comfort staid, that she would have regard,  
To my good will that nothing craved, but like for just reward:  
I see th● falcon gent sometime will take delight.  
To seek the folace of her wing, and dally with a kite.   

The fairest Woulf will choose the foulest for her make,  
And why? because he doth endure most sorrow for her sake:  
Even so had like I hope, when doleful days were spent  
When weary words were wasted well, to open true intent.   

When floods of flowing tears, had washed my weeping eyes,  
When trembling tongue had troubled her, with loud lamenting cries:  
At last her worthy will would pity this my plaint,  
And comfort me her own poor slave, whom fear had made so faint.   

Wherefore I made a vow, the stony rock should start,  
Ere I presume, to let her slip out of my faithful heart.   

Lenuoie.  
And when she saw by proof, the pith of my good will,  
She took in worth this simple song, for want of better skill:  
And as my just deserts, her gentle heart did move,  
She was content to answer thus: I am content to love:   
F. I   
BY these verses he meant in clouds to decipher unto Mistress France's such matter as she would snatch at, and yet could take no good hold of the same. Furthermore, it answered very aptly to the note which the music sounded, as the skilful reader by due trial may approve. This singing dance, or dancing song ended, Mistress Frances giving due thanks, seemed weary also of the company, and proffering to depart, gave yet this farewell to Ferdinando not vexed by choler, but pleased with contentation, & called away by heavy sleep: I am constrained (quoth she) to bid you good night, and so turning to the rest of the company, took her leave. Then the Master of the house commanded a torch to light Ferdinando to his lodging, where the sudden change of his Mistress countenance, together with the strangeness of Mistress France's talk, made such an encounter in his mind, that he could take no rest that night: wherefore in the morning rising very early (although it were far before his Mistress hour) he cooled his choler by walking in the Gallery near to her lodging, and there in this passion cepiled these verses following.  


A Cloud of care hath coured all my cost,  
And storms of strife do threaten to appear:  
The waves of woe, which I mistrusted most,  
Have broke the banks wherein my life lay clear:  
Chips of ill chance, are fallen amid my choice,  
To mar the mind, that meant for to rejoice.   

Before I sought, I found the haven of hap,  
Wherein (once found) I sought to shroud my ship,  
But lowering love hath lift me from her lap,  
And crabbed lot begins to hung the lip:  
The props of dark mistrust do fall so thick,  
They pierce my coat, and touch my skin at quick.   

What may be said, where truth cannot prevail?  
What plea may serve, where will itself is judge?  
What reason rules, where right and reason fail?  
Remediless then must the guiltless trudge:  
And seek out care, to be the carving knife,  
To cut the thread that lingereth such a life.   
F. I   
THis is but a rough meeter, and reason, for it was devised in great disquiet of mind, and written in rage, but to the matter. When he had long (and all in vain) looked for the coming of his Mistress into her appointed walk: he wandered into the Park near adjoining to the Castle wall, where his chance was to meet Mistress Frances, accompanied with one other Gentlewoman, by whom he passed with a reverence of courtesy: and so walking on, came into the side of a thicket, where he sat down under a tree to alloy his sadness with solitariness. Mistress Frances, partly of courtesy and affection, and partly to content her mind by continuance of such talk as they had commenced over night, entreated her companion to go with her unto this Tree of reformation, whereas they found the Knight with his arms folded in a heavy kind of contemplation, unto whom Mistress Frances stepped a pace (right softhlye) and at unwares gave this salutation. I little thought Sir Knight (quoth she) by your Evensong yesternight, to halt found you presently at such a Morrow Mass, but I perceive you serve your Saint with double devotion: and I p●ny God grant you trouble meed for your true intent. He being taken thus upon the sudden, could none otherwise answer but thus: I told you mistress (quoth he) that I could laugh without lust, and ●est without joy: and therewithal starting up, with a more bold countenance came towards the Dames, proffering unto them his service, to weight upon them homewards. I have heard say oft times (quod Mistress Frances) that it is hard to serve two Masters at one time, but we will be right glad of your company. I thank you (quoth he) and so walking on with them, fell into sundry discourses, still refusing to touch any part of their formor communication, until Mistress Frances said unto him: by my troth (quoth she) I would be your debtor these two days, to answer me truly but unto one question that I will propound: fair Gentlewoman (quoth he) you shall not need to become my debtor, but if it please you to quit question by question, I will be more ready to gratify you in this request, than either reason requireth, or than you would be willing to work my contentation Master Ferdinando jeronomij (quod she, & that sadly) peradventure you know but a little how willing I would be to procure your contation, but you know that hitherto familliarytie hath taken, no deep root beetwixt us twain. And though I find in you no manner of cause whereby I might doubt to commit this or greater matter unto you, yet have I stayed hitherto so to do, in doubt lest you might thereby justly condemn me both of arrogancy and lack of discretion, wherewith I must yet foolishly affirm, that I have with great pain bridled my tongue from disclosing the same unto you. Such is then the good will that I bear towards you, the which if you rather judge to be impudency, than a friendly meaning, I may then curse the hour that I first concluded thus to deal with you: herewithal being now red for chaste bashfulness, she abased her eyes, and slaied her talk: to whom Ferdinando thus answered. Mistress Frances, if I should with so exceeding villainy requite such and so exceeding great courtesy, I might not only seem to digenerate from all gentry, but also to differre in behaviour from all the rest of my life spent: wherefore to be plain with you in few words I think myself so much bound unto you for divers respects, as if ability do not fail me, you shall find me mindful in requital of the same, and for disclosing your mind to me, you may if so if please you adventure it without adventure, for by this Sun quoth he, I will not deceive such trust as you shall say upon me, and furthermore, so far forth as I may, I will be yours in any respect: wherefore I beseech you accept me for your faithful friend, and so shall you surely find me. Not so, quoth she, but you shallbe my Trust, if you vouchsafe the name, and I willbe to you as you shall please to term me: my Hope (quoth he) if you be so pleased: and thus agreed, they two walked a part from the other Gentlewoman, and fell into sad talk, wherein Mistress Frances did very curteousely declare unto him, that in d●ede, one cause of her sorrow sustained in his behalf, was that he had said so openly over night, that he could not love, for she perceived very well the affection between him and Madam Elynor, and she was also advertised that Dame Elynor stood in the portal of her chamber, hearkening to the talk that they had at supper that right, wherefore she seemed to be sorry that such a word (rashly escaped) might become great hindrance unto his desire: but a greater cause of her grief was (as she declared) that his hap was to bestow his liking so unworthily, for she seemed to accuse Dame Elinor, for the most unconstant woman living: In full proof whereof, she bewrayed v●to him, how she the same Dame Elynor, had long time been yielded to the Minion Secretary, whom I have before described: in whom though the rob (quoth the) no one point of worthiness, yet shameth she not to use him as her dearest friend, or rather her holiest Idol and that this not withstanding Dame Elynor had been also sundry times won to choice of change, as she named unto Ferdinando two Gentlemen whereof the one was named Hercule Donaty. and the other Hannibal de Cosmis. by whom she was during sundry times of their several abode in those countries, entreated to like courtesy, for these causes the Dame Frances seemed to mislike his choice, and to lament that she doubted in process of time to see him abused.  
The experiment she meant was this, for that she thought Ferdenando (I use Bartelloes' words) a man in every respect very worthy to have the several use of a more commodious common, she hopped now to see if his enclosure there of might be defensible against her said Secretary, and such like. These things and divers other of great importance, this courteous Lady Frances did friendly disclose unto him, and further more, did both instruct and advise him to proceed in his enterprise. Now to make my talk good, and lest the Reader might be drawn in a ielose suppose of this Lady Frances, I must let you understand that she was a virgin of rare chastity, singular capacity, notable modesty, & excellent beauty: and though Ferdenando jeronimij had cast his affection on the other (being a merry woman) yet was there in their beauties no great difference: but in all other good gifts a wonderful diversity, as much as might between constancy & flattering fantasy, between womanly countenance and girlish garishnes, between hot dissimulation & temperate fidelity. Now if any man will curiously ask the question why he should choose the one and leave the other, over & beside the common proverb (So many men so many minds) thus may be answered we see by common experience, that the highest flying falcon, doth more commonly pray upon the corn fed crow & the simple shiftles dove, then on the mounting kite: & why? because the one is overcome with less difficulty than that other. Thus much in defence of this Lady Frances, & to excuse the choice of Ferdenando who thought himself now no less beholding to good fortune, to have found such a trusty friend, then bounden to Dame Venus, to have won such a Mistress. And to return unto my pretence, understand you, that he (being now with these two fair Ladies come very near the castle) grew in some jealous doubt (as on his own behalf) whether he were best to break company or not. When his assured Hope, perceiving the same, 'gan thus recomfort him: good sir (quoth she) if you trusted your trusty friends, you should not need thus cowardly to stand in dread of your friendly enemies. Well said in faith (quod Ferdinando) & I must confess, you were in my bosom before I witted: but yet I have heard said often, that in Trust is treason. Well spoken for yourself quoth his Hope. Ferdinando now remembering that he had but erewhile taken upon him the name of her Trust, came home per misericordiam, when his Hope entering the Castle gate, caught hold of his lap, & half by force led him by the gallery unto his Mistress chamber: whereas after a little dissembling disdain, he was at last by the good help of his Hope, right thankfully received: & for his Mistress was now ready to dine, he was therefore for that time arrested there, & a supersedias sent into the great chamber unto the Lord of the house, who expected his coming out of the park. The dinner ended, & he thoroughly contented both with welfare & welcome, they fell into sundry devices of pastime: at last Ferdinando taking into his hand a Lute that lay on his Mistress bed, did unto the note of the Venetian galliard apply the Italian ditty written by the worthy Bradamant unto the noble Rugier, as Ariosto hath it. Rugier qual semper fui, etc. but his Mistress could not be quiet until she heard him repeat the Tinternell which he used over night, the which he refused not at that end, whereof his Mistress thinking how she had showed herself to use any further dissimulation, especially perceiving the toward inclination of her servants Hope, fell to flat and plain dealing & walked to the window, called her servant apart unto her, of whom she demanded secretly and in sad earnest, who devised this Tinternell? My Father's Sisters brother's son (quoth he) His mistress laughing right heartily, demanded yet a gain, by whom the same was figured: by a niece to an Aunt of yours, Mistress (quoth he). Well then servant quoth she, I swear unto you by my Father's Soul, that my mother's youngest daughter, doth love your father's eldest son above any ceature living. Fardenando hereby recomforted 'gan thus reply. Mistress, though my father's eldest son be far unworthy of so noble a match, yet since it pleaseth her so well to except him, I would thus much say behind his bark, that your mother's daughter hath done him some wrong: and wherein servant (quoth she) by my troth Mistress (quoth he) it is not yet xx. hours, since with out touch of breast, she gave him such a nip by the heart, as did altogether bereave him his nights rest with the bruise thereof. Well servant (quoth she) content yourself, for your sake, I will speak to her to provide him a plaster, the which I myself will apply to his hurt: And to the end it may work the better with him, I will purvey a lodging for him, where hereafter he may sleep at more quiet.  
This said: the rosy hew, disdained her sikely cheeks, and she returned to the company, leaving Ferdinando ravished between hope and dread, as on that could neither conjecture the meaning of her mystical words, nor assuredly trust unto the knot of her sliding affectiones. When the Lady Frances, coming to him, demanded, what dream you sir? Yea marry do I fair Lady (quoth he). And what was your dream, sir (quoth she?) I dreamt (quoth he) that walking in a pleasant garden garnished with sundry delights, my hap was to espy hanging in the air, a hope wherein I might well behold the aspects and face of the heavens, and calling to remembrance the day and hour of my nativety. I did thereby (according to my small skill in Astronomy) try the conclusion of mine adventures. And what found you therein (quod Dame Frances?) you awaked me out of my dream (quoth he) or else peradventure you should not have known. I believe you well (quoth the lady Frances) and laughing at his quick answer brought him by the hand unto the rest of his company: where he tarried not long before his gracious Mistress bad him to farewell, and to keep his hour there again when he should by her be summoned. Hereby he passed the rest of that day in hope awaiting the happy time when his Mistress should send for him. Supper time came, and passed over, and not long after came the handmaid of the Lady Elynor into the great chamber desiring him to repair unto their Mistress, the which he willingly accomplished: and being now entered into her chamber, he might perceive his Mistress in her nights attire, preparing herself towards bed, to whom Ferdinando said: Why how now mistress? I had thought this night to have seen you dance (at lest or at last) amongst us? By my troth good Servant (quoth she) I adventured so soon unto the great Chamber yeasternyght, that I find myself somewhat sickelye disposed, and therefore do strain courtesy (as you see) to go the sooner to my bed this night: but before I sleep (quoth she) I am to charge you with a matter of weight, and taking him a part from the rest, declared that (as that present night) she would talk with him more at large in the gallery near adjoining to her chamber. Hereupon Ferdinando discreetly dissimuling his joy, took his leave & returned into the great chamber, where he had not long continued before the Lord of the Castle commanded a torch to light him unto his lodging, whereas he prepared himself and went to bed, commanding his servant also to go to his rest. And when he thought aswell his servant, as the rest of the household to be safe, he arose again, & taking his night gown, did under the same convey his naked sword, and so walked to the gallery, where he found his good Mistress walking in her night gown and attending his coming. The Moon was now at the full, the skies clear, and the weather temperate, by reason whereof he might the more plainly had with the greater contentation behold his long desired joys: and spreading his arms abroad to embrace his loving Mistress, he said: o my dear Lady when shall I be able with any desert to countervail the lest part of this your bountiful goodness? The Dame (whether it were of fear in deed, or that the wiliness of womanhood had taught her to cover her conceits with some fine dissimulation) start back from the Knight, and shrieking (but softly) said unto him. Alas servant what have I deserved, that you come against me with naked sword as against an open enemy. Ferdinando perceiving her intent excused himself, declaring that he brought the same for their defence, and not to offend her in any wise. The Lady being therewith somewhat appeased they began with more comfortable gesture to expel the dread of the said late affright, and sithence to become bolder of behaviour, more familiar in speech, and most kind in accomplishing of common comfort. But why hold I so long discourse in describing the joys which (for lack of like experience) I cannot set out to the full? Well, remedy was there none, but dame Elynor must return unto her chamber, and he must also convey himself (as closely as might be) into his chamber, the which was hard to do, the day being so far sprung, and he having a large base court to pass over before he could recover his stair foot door. And though he were not much perceived, yet the Lady Frances being no less desirous to see an issue of these enterprises, than he was willing to cover them in secrecy, laid watch, & even at the entering of his chamber door, perceived the point of his naked sword glistering under the skyrt of his night gown: whereat she smiled & said to herself, this gear goeth well about. Well Ferdenando having now recovered his chamber he went to bede, there let him sleep, as his mistress did on the other side. Although the Lady Frances being thoroughly tickled now in all the veins, could not enjoy such quiet rest, but arising took another gentle woman of the house with her, and walked into the park to take the fresh air of the morning. They had not long walked there, but they returned, and thought Ferdenando jeronimij had not yet slept sufficiently, for one which had so far travailed in the night past, yet they went in to his chamber to raise him, and coming to his bed's side, found him fast on slep. Alas quod that other gentle woman, it were pity to awake him: even so it were quod dame Frances, but we will take away some what of his, whereby he may perceive that we were here, and looking about the chamber, his naked sword presented itself to the hands of dame Frances, who took it with her, and softly shutting his chamber door again, went down the stairs and recovered her own lodging, in good order and unperceyved of any body, saving only that other gentle woman which accompanied with her. At the last Ferdenando awaked, and appareling himself, walked out also to take the air, and being thoroughly recomforted aswell with remembrance of his joys forepast, as well with the pleasant harmony which the Brides made on every side, and the fragrant smell of the redolent flowers and blossoms which budded on every branch: he did in these delights compyle these verses following called a mooneshyne banquet.  


DAme Cynthia herself (that shines so bright,  
And deigneth not to leave her lofty place:  
But only then, when Phoebus shows his face.  
Which is her brother borne and lends her light,)  
Disdained not yet to do my Lady right:  
To prove that in such heavenly wights as she,  
It fitteth best that right and reason be.  
For when she spied my Ladies golden rays,  
Into the clouds,  
Her head she shrouds,  
And shamed to shine where she her beams dissplaies.   

Good reason yet, that to my simple skill,  
I should the name of Cynthia adore:  
By whose high help, I might behold the more,  
My Ladies lovely looks at mine own will,  
With deep content, to gare, and gaze my fill:  
Of courtesy and not of dark disdain,  
Dame Cythia disclosed my Lady plain.  
she did but lend her light (as for a light)  
With friendly grace,  
To show her face,  
That else would show and shine in her despite.   

Dan Phoebus he with many a lowering look,  
Had her beheld in yore in angry wise:  
And when he could none other mean devise  
To stain her name, this deep deceit he took,  
To be the bait that best might hide his hook:  
Into her eyes his parching beams he cast,  
To skorche their skins, that gazed on her full fast:  
Whereby when many a man was sun burnt so  
They thought my Queen,  
The son had been.  
with scalding flames, which wrought them all that woe,   

And that when many a look had looked so long,  
As that their eyes were dim and dazaled both:  
Some fainting hearts that were both lewd and loath  
To look again from whence that error sprung,  
'Gan close their eye for fear of farther wrong:  
And some again once drawn into the maze,  
'Gan lewdly blame the beams of beauty's blaze:  
But I with deep foresight did soon espy,  
How phoebus meant,  
By false intent,  
To slander so her name with cruelty.   

wherefore at better leisure thought I best,  
To try the treason of his treachery:  
And to exalt my Lady's dignity  
when Phoebus fled and drew him down to rest.  
Amid the waves that walter in the west,  
I 'gan behold this lovely Lady's face.  
whereon dame nature spent her gifts of grace:  
And found therein no parching heat at all,  
But such bright hue,  
As might renew,  
An Angels joys in reign celestial.   

The courteous Moon that wished to do me good,  
Did shine to show my dame more perfectly,  
But when she saw her passing jollity,  
The Moon for shame, did blush as read as blood,  
And shrounke a side and kept her horns in hood:  
So that now when Dame Cynthia was gone,  
I might enjoy my Ladies looks alone,  
Yet honoured still the Moon with true intent?  
Who taught us skill,  
To work our will,  
And gave us place, till all the night was spent.   
F. I   
ANd now to return to my tale, by that time, that he returned out of the park, it was dinner time, and at dinner they all met. I mean both dame Elynor, dame Frances & Ferdenando. I leave to describe that the Lady Frances was gorgeously attyered, and set forth with very brave apparel, and Madam Elynor only in her night gown girt to her, with a coif trimmed Alla Piedmonteze, on the which she ware a little cape crossed over the crow with two bands of yellow Sarsenet or Cypress, in the midst whereof she had placed (of her own hand writing) in paper this word, Contented. This attire pleased her then to use, and could not have displeased Mistress Frances, had she not been more privy to the cause, then to the thing itself: at lest the Lord of the Castle, of ignnoraunce, and dame Frances, of great temporance, let it pass with out offence. At dinner, because the on was pleased with all former reconinges, and the other party privy to the account, there passed no word of taunt or grudged, but omnia bene. After dinner dame Elinor being no less desirous to have Ferdinando's company, than dame Frances was to take him in some pretty trip, they began to question how they might best pass the day, the Lady Elinor seemed desirous to keep her chamber, but Mistress Frances (for another purpose) seemed desirous to ride abroad, thereby to take the open air, they 'greed to ride a mile or twain for solace, and requested Ferdinando to accompany them, the which willingly granuted. Each one parted from other, to prepare themselves & now began the sport, for when he was booted, his horses saddled, and he ready to ride, he 'gan miss his Rapier, whereat all astonished he began to blame his man, but blame whom he would, found it could not be. At last the Ladies going towards the horseback called for him in the base Court, and demanded if he were ready: to whom he answered. Madame, I am more than ready, and yet not so ready as I would be, and immediately taking himself in trip, he thought best to utter no more of his conceit, but in haste more than good speed mounted his horse, & coming toward the dames presented himself, turning, bounding, & taking up his courser to the uttermost of his power in bravery: after suffering his horse to breath himself, he 'gan also alloy his own choler, & to the dames he said. Fair Ladies I am ready when it pleaseth you to ride where so you command. How ready so ever you be servant, quod dame Elynor, it seemeth your horse is readier at your command then at ours. If he be at my command Mistress (quoth he) he shall be at yours gramercy good servant (quoth she) but my meaning is, that I fear he be to stirring for our company. If he prove so mistress (quoth he) I have here a soberer palfrey to serve you on. The Dames being mounted they road forthwardes by the space of a mile or very near, & Ferdinando (whether it were of his horse's courage or his own choler came not so near them as they wished) at last the Lady Frances said unto him, master jeronomy you said that you had a sober horse, which if it be so, we would be glad of your company but I believe by your countenance your horse and you are agreed. Ferdinando alighting called his servant, changed horses with, him and over taking the Dames, said to Mistress Frances: And why do you think fair Lady that my horse and I are agreed? Because by your countenance (quoth she) it seemeth your patience is stirred. In good faith, quoth he, you have guessed aright, but not with any of you. Then we care the less servant, quod Dame Elynor. By my troth Mistress, quoth he (looking well about him that none might hear but they two) it is with my servant, who hath lost my sword out of my chamber. Dame Elinor little remembering the occasion, replied it is no matter servant, quoth she, you shall hear of it again, I warrant you, and presently we ride in God's peace, and I trust shall have no need of it: yet Mistress quoth he, a weapon serveth both uses, aswell to defend, as to offend. Now my by troth, quod Dame Frances, I have now my dream, for I dreamt this night that I was in a pleasant meadow alone, where I met with a tall Gentleman, appareled in a night gown of silk, all embroadered about with a guard of naked sword, and when he came towards me I seemed to be afraid of him, but he recomforted me saying, be not afraid fair Lady, for I use this garment only for mine own defence: and in this sort went that warlike God Mars, what time he taught Dame Venus to make Vulcan a hammer of the new fashion. Notwithstanding these comfortable words, the fright of the dream awaked me, and sithence unto this hour I have not slept at al. And what time of the night dreamt you this quoth Ferdinando? In the grey morning about dawning of the day, but why ask you quoth Dame Frances? Ferdenando with a great sigh answered, because that dreams are to be marked more at some hour of the night, then at some other? why are you so cunning at the interpretation of dreams servant (quoth the Lady Elinor?) not very cunning Mistress quoth he, but guess like a young scholar. The Dames continued in these and like pleasant talks: but jeronomij could not be merry, as on that esteemed the preservation of his mistress honour, no lose than the obtaining of his own delights, and yet to avoid further suspicion, he repressed his passions, as much as he could. The Lady Elynor (more careless than considerative of her own case) pricking forwards said softly to him, I had thought you had received small cause servant to be thus dampish, when I would be merry. Alas dear mistress quoth he, it is altogether for your sake, that I am pensive: Dame Frances of courtesy with drew herself and gave them leave, when as Ferdinando declared unto his Mistress, that his sword was taken out of his chamber, and that he dreaded much by the words of the Lady Frances, that she had some understanding of the matter. Dame Elynor now calling to remembrance what had passed the same night, at the first was abashed, but immediately (for these women be readily witted) cheered her servant, and willed him to commit unto her the salving of that sore. Thus they passed the rest of the way in pleasant talk with dame Frances, and so returned towards the Castle where jeronimy suffered the two dames to go together, and he alone unto his chamber to bewail his own misgovernment. But dame Elynor (whether it were according to old custom, or by wily policy) found mean that night, that the sword was conveyed out of Mistress France's chamber, and brought unto hers: and after redeliverye of it unto her servant, she warned him to be more wary from that time forthwardes: afterward when he grew more bold and better acquainted with his Mistress disposition, he adventured one Frydaye in the morning to go unto her Chamber, and thereupon wrote as followeth: which he termed a fridays Breakfast.  

THat self same day, and of that day that hour,  
When she doth reign, that mocked Vulcan the smith,  
And thought it meet to harbour in her bower,  
Some gallant gest for her to dally with,  
That blessed hour, that blessed and happy day,  
I thought it meet, with hasty steps to go:  
Unto the lodge, wherein my Lady lay,  
To laugh for joy, or else to weep for woe.  
And lo, my Lady of her wonted grace,  
First lent her lips to me (as for a kiss)  
And after that her body to embrace,  
Wherein dame nature wrought nothing amiss.  
What followed next, guess you that know the trade,  
For in this sort, myr Fydays feast I made.  
F. I   
MAny days passed these two lovers with great delight, their affairs being no less politicly governed, then happily achieved. And surely it should seem in sad earnest, that he did not only love her, but was furthermore so ravished in ecstasies with continual remembrance of his delights, that he made an Idol of her in his inward conceit. So seemeth it by this challenge to beauty, which be wrote in her praise and upon her name.  

Beauty shut up thy shop, and truss up all thy trash,  
My Nell hath stolen thy finest stuff, & left thee in the lash got  
Thy market now is marred, thy gains are gone god wots,  
Thou hast no ware, that may compare, with this that I have  
As for thy painted pale, and wrinkles surfted up:  
Are dear enough, for such as lust to drink of every cup:  
Thy bodies bolstered out, with bumbact and with bags,  
Thy rolls, thy ruffs, thy, cawls, thy coifs, thy jerkins & thy Jags.  
Thy curling, and thy cost, thy friesling and thy fare,  
To court to court with all those tois, & there set forth such ware  
Before their hungry eyes, that gaze on every gest,  
And choose the cheapest chaffaire still, to please their fancy best.  
But I whose steadfast eyes, could never cast a glance,  
With wandering look, amid the press, to take my choice by chance  
Have won by due desert, a piece that hath no peer,  
And left the rest as refuse all, to serve the market there:  
There let him choose that list, there catch the best who can:  
A painted blazing bait may serve, to choke a gazing man.  
But I have slipped thy flower, that freshest is of hew:  
I have thy corn, go cell thy chaff, I list to seek no new,  
The windows of mine eyes, are glazed with such delight,  
As each new face seems full of faults, that blazeth in my sight:  
And not without just cause, I can compare her so,  
Lo here my glove I challenge him, that can, or dare say no.  
Let Theseus come with club, or Paris brag with brand,  
To prove how fair their Helen was, that skourged the Graecian land:  
Let mighty Mars himself, come armed to the field:  
And vaunt dame Venus to defend, with helmet, spear, & shield.  
This hand that had good hap, my Helen to embrace,  
Shall have like luck to still her foes, & daunt them with disgrace.  
And 'cause them to confess by verdict and by oath,  
How far her lovely looks do stain, the beauties of them both.  
And that my Helen is more fair than Paris wife,  
And doth deserve more famous praise, than Venus for her life.  
Which if I not perform, my life then let me leése,  
Or else be bound in chains of change, to beg for beauty's feése.  
F. I   
BY this challenge I guess, that either he was than in an ecstasy, or else, sure I am now in a lunacy, for it is a proud challenge made to Beauty herself, and all her companions: and imagining that Beauty having a shop where she uttered her wares of all sundry sorts, his Lady had stolen the finest away, leaving none hehind her, but painting, bolstering, forcing and such like, the which in his rage he judgeth good enough to serve the Court: and thereupon grew a great quarrel. When these verses were by the negligence of his Mistress dispersed into sundry hands, and so at last to the reading of a Courtier. Well Ferdinando had his desire, if his Mistress liked them, but as Bartello writeth, she grew in jealousy, that the same were not written by her, because her name was Elynor and not Hellen. And about this point have been divers and sundry opinions among the Venetians, for this & divers other of his most notable Poems, have come to view of the world. And some have attributed this praise unto a Helen, who deserved not so well as this dame Elynor should seem to deserve, and yet never a barrel of good herring between them both: But that other Helen, because she was sayeth Bartello, of so base conditions, as may deserve no manner commendation in any honest judgement, therefore he thinketh that he would never bestow verse of so mean a subject. And yet some of his acquaintance knowing also that he was sometimes acquainted with Helen, have stoade in argument, that it was written by Helen, & not by Elynor. Well mine author affirmeth that it was written by this Dame Elynor, and that unto her he thus alleged, that he took it all for one name, or at lest he never read of any Elynor such matter as might sound worthy like commendation, for beauty. And in deed considering all circumstances of histories, and comparing also the time that such reports do spread of his acquaintance with Helen, it cannot be written less than six or seven years before he knew Helen: marry peradventure if there were any acquaintance between him and that Helen afterwards, he might adapt it to her name, and so make it serve boath their turns, as elder lovers have done before, and still do, and will do world without end. Well by whom he wrote it I know not, and to return to the purpose, he sought more certainly to please his Mistress Elynor with this Sonnet written in her praise as followeth.  

THE stately Dames of Rome, their Pearls did wear.  
About their necks to beautify their name:  
But she (whom I do serve) her pearls doth bear,  
Close in her mouth, and smiling show, the same.  
No wonder then, though every word she speaks,  
A jewel seem in judgement of the wise,  
Since that her sugared tongue the passage breaks,  
Between two rocks, bedecked with pearls of price.  
Her hair of gold, her front of Ivory,  
(A bloody heart within so white a breast)  
Her teeth of Pearl lips Ruby, crystal eye,  
Needs must I honour her above the rest:  
Since she is formed of none other mould,  
But Ruby, Crystal, ivory, Pearl, and Gold.  
Ferdinando jeronimy.   
OF this Sonnet, were it not a little to much praise (as the Italians do most commonly offend in the superlative) I could no more commend it: but I hope the party to whom it was dedicated: had rather it were much more, than any thing less. Well, thus these two Lovers passed many days in exceeding contentation, & more than speakable pleasures, in which time Ferdinando did compile very many verses according to sundry occasions proffered, and they were for the most part fauced with a taste of glory, as you know that in such cases a lover being charged with inexprimable joys, and therewith enjoined both by duty and discretion to keep the same covert, can by no means devise a greater consolation, than to commit it into some cyphred words, and figured speeches, in verse, whereby he feeleth his heart half (or more than half) eased of swelling. For as sighs are some present ease to the pensive mind, even so we found by experience, that such secret enteredmoning of joys doth increase delight. I would not have you construe my words to this effect, that I think a man cannot sufficiently rejoice in the lucky lots of love, unless he impart the same to others: God forbidden that ever I should enter into such an heresy, for I have always been of this opinion, that as to be fortunate in love, is one of the most inward contentations to man's mind of all earthly joys: even so if he do but once bewray the same to any living creature, immediately either dread of discovering doth bruise his breast with an intolerable burden, or else he loseth the principal virtue which gave effect to his gladness, not unlike to a Poticares pot, which being filled with sweet ointments or perfumes, doth retain in itself some sent of the same, and being powered out doth return to the former state, hard, harsh, and of small savour: So the mind being fraught with delights, as long as it can keep them secretly enclosed, may continually feed upon the pleasant record thereof, as the well willing and ready horse biteth on the bridle, but having once disclosed them to any other, strait way we lose the hidden treasure of the same, and are oppressed with sundry doubtful opinions and dreadful conceits. And yet for a man to record unto himself in the inward contemplation of his mind, the often remembrance of his late received joys, doth as it were ease the heart of burden, and ad unto the mind a fresh supply of delight, yea, and in verse principally (as I conceive) a man may best contrive his way of comfort in himself. Therefore as I have said Ferdinando swimming now in delights did nothing but writ such verse as might acumilat his joys, to the extremity of pleasure, the which for that purpose he kept from sight of the world, as one more desirous to seem obscure & defective, than overmuch to glory in his adventures, especially for that in the end his hap was as heavy, as hitherto he had been fortunate. And here I will surcease to rehearse any more of his verses until I have expressed how that his joys being exalted to the highest degree began to bend towards declination. For now the unhappy Secretary whom I have before remembered, was returned from Florence, on whom Ferdinando had no sooner cast his eyes, but immediately he fell into a great passion of mind, which might be compared unto a fever. This fruit grew of the good instructions that his Hope had planted in his mind, whereby I might take just occasion to forewarn every lover, how they suffer this venomous serpent jealousy to creep into their conceits: for surely, of all other diseases in love, I suppose that to be uncurable, and would hold longer discourse therein, were it not that both this tale & the verses of Ferdinando himself hereafter to be recited, shallbe sufficient to speak for me in this behalf. The lover (as I say upon the sudden) was droven into such a malady, as no meat might nourish his body, no delights please his mind, no remembrance of joys forepast content him, nor any hope of the like to come might recomfort him: hereat (some unto whom I have imparted this tale) have taken occasion to discommend his fainting heart, yet surely the cause inwardly & deeply considered, I cannot so lightly condemn him: for an old saying is, that every man can give council better than follow it: and needs must the conflicts of his thoughts be strange: between the remembrance of his forepast pleasure, and the present sight of this monster, whom before (for lack of like instruction) he had not so throughly marked and beheld. Well, such was the grief unto him, that he become sickly and kept his chamber. The Ladies having received the news thereof, 'gan all at once lament his misfortune, & of common consent agreed to visit him: they marched thither in good equipage, I warrant you, and found Ferdinando lying upon his bed languishing, whom they all saluted generally, and sought to recomfort: but especially his Mistress, having in her hand a brance of wyllow, wherewith she defended her from the hot air, 'gan thus say unto him: Servant (quoth she) for that I suppose your malady to proceed of none other cause but only slothfulness, I have brought this preaty rod to beat you a little: nothing doubting, but when you feel the smart of a twig or twain, you will like a tractable young scholar, pluck up your quickened spirits, & cast this drowsiness apart. Ferdinando with a great sigh answered: Alas good Mistress (quoth he) if any like chastisement might quicken me, how much more might the presence of all you lovely Dames recomfort my dulled mind? whom to behold, were sufficient to revive an eye now dazzled with the dread of death: & that not only for the heavenly aspects which you represent, but also much the more for your exceeding courtesy, in that you have deigned to visit me so unworthy a servant. But good Mistress (quoth he) as it were shame for me to confess that ever my heart could yield for fear, so I assure you that my mind cannot be content to induce infirmity by sluggish conceit: But in truth Mistress I am sick (quoth he,) and therewithal the trembling of his heart had sent up such throbbing into his throat, as that his voice (now deprived of breath) commanded the tongue to be still. When Dame Elynor for compassion distilled into tears, and drew towards the window, leaving the other Gentlewomen about his bed, who being no less sorry for his grief, yet for that they were none of them so touched in their secret thoughts, they had bolder spirits and fréeer speech to recomfort him, amongst the rest the Lady Frances, (who in deed loved him deeply, and could best conjecture the cause of his conceits) said unto him: Good Trust (quoth she) if any help of Physic may cure your malady, I would not have you hurt yourself with these doubts which you seem to retain: If choice of Diet may help, behold us here (your cooks) ready to minister all things needful: if company may drive away your annoy, we mean not to leave you solitary, if grief of mind be cause of your infirmity, we all here will offer our devoir to turn it into joy: if mishap have given you cause to fear or dread any thing, remember Hope, which never faileth to recomfort an afflicted mind. And good Trust (quoth she) (distreining his hand right heartily) let this simple proof of our poor good wills be so excepted of you, as that it may work thereby the effect of our desires. Ferdinando (as on in a trance) had marked very little of her courteous talk, & yet gave her thanks, and so held his peace whereat the Ladies (being all amazed) there become a silence in the chamber on all sides. Dame Elynor fearing thereby that she might the more easily be espied, and having now dried up her tears, returned to her servant, recomforting him by all possible means of common courtesy, promising that since in her sickness he had not only staunched her bleeding, but also by his gentle company and sundry devices of honest pastime, had driven a way the pensiveness of her mind, she thought herself bound with like willingness to do her best in any thing that might restore his health, & taking him by the hand said further. Good servant, if thou bear in deed any true affection to thy poor Mistress, start upon thy feet again, and let her enjoy thine accustomed service to her comfort, for sure (quoth she) I will never leave to visit this chamber once in a day, until I may have thee down with me, Ferdinando hearing the hearty words of his Mistress, and perceiving the earnest manner of her pronunciation, began to receive unspeakable comfort in the same, and said: Mistress, your exceeding courtesy were able to revive a man half dead, and to me it is both great comfort, and it doth also glad my remembrance, with a continual smart of mine own unworthiness: but as I would desire no longer life, than till I might be able to deserve some part of your bounty, so I will endeavour myself to live, were it but only unto the end, that I might merit some part of your favour with acceptable service, and requite some deal the courtesy of all these other fair Ladies, who have so far (above my deserts) deigned to do me good. Thus said, the Ladies tarried not long before they were called to Evensong, when his Mistress taking his hand, kissed it saying: Farewell good servant, and I pray thee suffer not the malice of thy sickness to overcome the gentleness of thy good heart. Ferdinando ravished with joy, suffered them all to depart, and was not able to pronounce one word. After their departure, he 'gan cast in his mind the exceeding courtesy used towards him by them all, but above all other the bounty of his Mistress: and therewithal took a sound & firm opinion, that it was not possible for her to counterfeit so deeply (as in deed I believe that she then did not) whereby he suddenly felt his heart greatly eased, and began in himself thus to reason. Was ever man of so wretched a heart? I am the most bounden to love (quoth he) of all them that ever possessed his service, I enjoy one the fairest that ever was found, and I find her the kindest that ever was heard of: yet in mine own wicked heart, I could villainously conceive that of her, which being compared with the rest of her virtues, is not possible to harbour in so noble a mind. Herby I have brought myself without cause into this feebleness: and good reason that for so high an offence, I should be punished with great infirmity: what shall I then do? yield to the same? no, but according to my late protestation, I will recomfort this languishing mind of mine, to the end I may live but only to do penance for this so notable a crime so rashly committed: and thus saying, he start from his bed, and 'gan to walk towards the window: but the venomous serpent which (as before I rehearsed) had stung him, could not be content that these medicines applied by the mouth of his gentle Mistress, should so soon restorte him to guerison. And although in deed they were such Nythrydate to him as that they had now expelled the rancour of the poison yet that ugly hellish monster had left behind her in the most secret of his bosom, (even between the mind and the man) one of her familiars named suspect, which 'gan work in the weak spirits of Ferdinando efectes of no lose peril than before he had received, his head swelling with these troublsome toys, and his heart swimming in the tempests of tossing fantasy: he felt his legs so feeble, that he was constrained to lie down on his bed again, and repeating in his own remembrance every word that his mistress had spoken unto him, he 'gan to dread, that she had brought the willow branch to beat him with, in token that he was of her forsaken: for so lovers do most commonly expound the willow garland, and this to think, did cut his heart in twain. A wonderful change: and here a little to stay you, I will describe as I find it in Bartello the beginning, the fall, the return, and the being of this hellish bird, who in deed may well be counted a very limb of the Devil. Many years since, one of the most dreadful dasterdes in the world, and one of them that first devissed to wear his beard at length, jest the Barber might do him a good turn sooner than he looked for it, and yet not so soon as he deserved, had builded for his security a pile on the highest and most inaccessible mount of all his Territores: the which being fortified with strong walls, and environed with deep ditches, had no place of entire, but one only door so straight and narrow, as might by any possibility receive the body of one living man: from which he asended up a ladder, and so creeping through a marvelous straight hole, attained to his lodging, that which was so dark & obscure, as scarcely either sun or air could enter into it: thus he devised to lodge in safety, and for the more surety gane trust none other letting down this ladder but only his wife: and at the foot thereof kept always by day light, a fierce mastiff close enkeneled which never saw nor heard the face or voice of any other creature but only of them two: him by night he trusted with the scout of this pretty passage, having nevertheless between him & this dog, a double door with triple locks, quadrible bars, and before all a port coulez of Iron: neither yet could he be so hardy as to sleep, until he had caused a guard of servants (whom he kept abroad for that purpose) to search all the corners adjoining to all his fortress, and that between fearful sweat and chyvering cold, with one eye opened & the other closed, he stole sometimes a broken sleep, divided with many terrible dreams. In this sort the wretch lived all to long, until at last his Wife being not able any longer to support this hellish life, grew so hardy, as with his own knife to dispatch his carcase out of this earthly purgatory: the which being done, his soul (and good reason) was quickly conveyed by Carone unto hell: there Radamanthus' judge of that bench, commanded him quickly to be thrust into a boiling pool: and being therein plunged very often, he never shryked or cried, I scaled, as his other companions there cried, but seemed so lightly to esteem it, that the judge thought meet to condemn him unto the most terrible place, where are such torments, as neither pen can write, tongue express, or thought conceive: but the miser (even there) seemed to smile and to make small account of his punishment. Radamanthus' hereof informed, sent for him, and demanded the cause why he made so light of his durance? he answered that whiles he lived on earth, he was so continually afflicted and oppressed with suspicion, as that now (only to think that he was out of those meditations) was sufficient armour to defend him from all other torments. Radamanthus' astonished hereat, 'gan call together the Senators of that kingdom, and propounded this question, how & by what punishment they might devise to touch him according to his deserts? & hereupon fell great disputation: at last being considered, that he had already him plunged in the most unspeakable torments, & thereat little or nothing had changed countenance, there withal that no soul was sent unto them to be relieved of his smart, but rather to be punished for his former delights: it was concluded by the general counsel, that he should be eftsoons sent into the world & restored to the same body wherein he first had his resiance, so to remain for perpetuity, and never to departed nor to perish. Thus this body and soul being once again united, and now eftsoons with the same pestilence infected, he become of a suspicious man, Suspicion itself: and now the wretch remembering the treason of his wife, who had so willingly dispatched him once before, 'gan utterly abhor her, and fled her company, searching in all countries some place of better assurance, and when he had in vain trod over the most part of the earth, he embarked himself to found some unknown Island, wherein he might frame some new habitation: and finding none so commodious as he desired, he fortuned (●●yling alone by the shore) to espy arock, more than six hundredth Cubits high, which hung so suspiciously over the seas, as though it would threate● to fall at every little blast: this did Suspicion Imagin● to be a fit foundation whereon he might build his secon● Bower: he forsook his boat, and travailed by land to espy what entry or access might be made unto the same, and found from land no manner of entry or access, unless it were that some courteous Bird of the air would be Ambassador, or convey some Engines, as whilom the Eagle did carry Ganymedes into heaven. He then returned to Seas, and approaching near to this rock, found a small stream of fresh water issuing out of the same into the Seas: the which, although it were so little and so strait, as might uneaths receive a boat of bigness to carry one living creature at once, yet in his conceit he thought it more large and spacious than that broad way called of our forefathers Via appia, or than that other named Elaminia, he abandoned his bark, and putting of his clotheses adventured (for he was now assured not to drown) to wade and swim against the stream of this unknown brook, the which (a wondrous thing to tell, and skarcelye to be believed) came down from the very top and height of this rock: and by the way he found six strayghts & dangerous places, where the water seemed to stay his course, passing under six straight and low bridges, and hard by every of those places, a pile raised up in manner of a bulwark, the which were hollow, in such sort as lodgings and other places necessary might in them commodiously be devised, by such one as could endure the hellishnes of the place. Passing by these he attained with much pain unto the top of the Rock, the which he found hollowed as the rest, and far more fit for his security, than otherwise apt for any commodity. There 'gan Suspicion, determine to nestle himself, and having now placed six chosen porters, to wit, (Dread, Mistrust, Wrath, Desperation, Frenzy, and Fury:) at these six strange bulwark, he lodged himself in that seven. all alone, for he trusted no company, but ever mistrusting that his wife should eftsonnes find him out therein, he shricketh comtynually like to a shrich owl to keep the watch waking, never content to sleep by day nor by night. But to be sure that he should not over sleep himself, gane stuff his couch with Porpentines quills, to the end that when heavy sleep overcame him, and he thereby should be constrained to charge his pallad with more heavy burden, those plumes might then prick through and so awake him. His garments were steel upon iron, and that iron upon Iron, and Iron again, and the more he was armed, the less he trusted to be out of danger. He chopped and changed continually now this, now that, now keys, now locks, ditches new scoured, and walls newly fortified, and thus always uncontented liveth this wretched hellhound Suspicion, in this hellish dungeon of habitation: from whence he never removeth his foot, but only in the dead & silent nights, when he may be assured that all creatures (but himself) are whelmed in sound sleep. And then with stealing steps he stalketh about the earth, enfecting, tormenting, & vexing all kinds of people with some part of his afflictions: but especially such as either do sit in chair of greatest dignity and estimation, or else such as have achieved some dear and rare emprise. Those above all others he continually gauleth with fresh wounds of dread, lest they might loose and forego the rooms whereunto with such long travail and good haps they had attained, and by this means percase he had crept into the bosom of Ferdinando, who (as is before declared) did erst swim in the deepest seas of earthly delights. Now than I must think it high time to return unto him, who (being now through feebleness eftsoons cast down upon his bed) 'gan cast in his inward meditations all things passed, and as one thoroughly puffed up and filled with one peevish conceit, could think upon nothing else, and yet accusing his own guilty conscience to be infected with jealousy, did compile this as followeth.  


WHat state to man, so sweet and pleasant wear,  
As to be tied, in links of worthy love?  
What life so blessed and happy might appear,  
As for to serve Cupid that God above?  
If that our minds were not sometimes infect,  
With dread, with fear, with care, with cold suspect:  
With deep despair, with furious frenzy,  
Handmaids to her, whom we call jealousy.   

For every other sop of sour chance,  
Which lovers taste amid their sweet delight:  
Increaseth joy, and doth their love advance,  
In pleasure's place, to have more perfect plight.  
The thirsty mouth thinks water hath good taste,  
The hungry jaws, are pleased, with each repast:  
Who hath not proved what dearth by wars doth grow,  
Cannot of peace the pleasant plenties know.   

And though with eye, we see not every joy,  
Yet may the mind, full well support the same,  
And absent life long led in great annoy.  
(When presence comes) doth turn from grief to game,  
To serve without reward is thought great pain,  
But if despair do not therewith remain,  
It may be borne for right rewards at last,  
Follow true service, though they come not fast.   

Disdains, repulses, finally each ill,  
Each smart, each pain, of love each bitter taste,  
To think on them 'gan frame the lovers will,  
To like each joy, the more that comes at last:  
But this infernal plague if once it touch,  
Or venom once the lovers mind with grudge,  
All feasts and joys that afterwards befall,  
The lover compte them light or naught at all.   

This is that sore, this is that poisoned wound,  
The which to heal, nor salve, nor ointmentes serve,  
Nor charm of words, nor Image can be found,  
Nor observance of stars can it preserve,  
Nor all the art of Magic can prevail,  
Which Zoroactes found for our avail,  
O cruel plague, above all sorrows smart,  
With desperate death thou sleast the lovers heart.   

And me even now, thy gall hath so infect,  
As all the joys which ever lover found,  
And all good haps, that ever Troilus sect,  
Achieved yet above the luckless ground:  
Can never sweeten once my mouth with mell,  
Nor bring my thoughts, again in rest to devil.  
Of thy mad moods, and of nought else I think,  
In such like seas, fair Bradamant did sink   
Ferdinando. jeronimy.   
THus Ferdinando continued on his bed, until his bountiful Mistress with the company of the other courteous dames returned after supper to his chamber. At their first entry: Why how now servant (quoth dame Elinor) we hoped to have found you one foot? Mistress quod he, I have assayed my feet since your departure, but I find them yet unable too support my heavy body, and therefore am constrained as you see, to acquaint myself with these pillows. Servant said she I am right sorry thereof, but since it is of necessity to bear sickness, I will employ my endeavour to alloy some part of your pains, and to refresh your weary limbs with some comfortable matter: and therewithal calling her hand maid, delivered unto her a bounch of pretty little keys, and whispering in her ear, dispatched her towards her chamber: The maid tarried not long, but returned with a little Casket, the which her mistress took, opened and drew out of the same much fine linen, amongst the which she took a pillowebere very fine and sweet, which although it were of itself as sweet as might be (being of long time kept in that odoriferous chest) yet did she with damask water and that of the best that might be (I warrant you) all to sprinkle it with her own hands, which in my conceit might much amend the matter. Then calling for a fresh pillow, sent her maid to air the same and at her return put on this, thus perfumed pillowebéere. In mean time also she had with her own hands attired her servants head in a fair wrought kerchief taken out of the same Casket: then laid him down upon this fresh and pleasant place, and prettily as it were in sport, bedewed his temples with sweet water which she had ready in a casting bottle of Gold, kissing his cheek and saying: Good servant be whole, for I might not long endure thus to attend thee, and yet the love that I bear towards thee, cannot be content to see thee languish. Mistress said Ferdinando (and that with a trembling voice) assure yourself, that if there remain in me any spark of life or possibility of recovery, then may this excellent bounty of yours be sufficient to revive me without any further travail or pain unto your person: for whom I am highly to blame, in that I do not spare to put you unto this trouble, & better it were that such a wretch as I had died unknown, than that by your exceeding courtesy, you should fall into any malladye, either by resorting unto me, or by these your pains taken about me. Servant (quoth she) all pleasures seem painful to to them that take no delight therein, and likewise all toil seemeth pleasant to such as set their felicity in the same: but for me be you sure, I do it with so good a will that I can take no hurt thereby, unless I shall perceive that it be rejected or neglected, as unprofitable or uncomfortable unto you. To me Mistress quod Ferdinando, it is such pleasure, as neither my feeble tongue can express, nor my troubled mind conceive. Why? are you troubled in mind, them servant quod dame Elynor? Ferdinando now blushing answered, but even as all sick men be Mistress. Herewith they stayed their talk a while, and the first that broke silence was the Lady Frances: who said, and to drive away the troubles of your mind good Trust, I would be glad if we could devise some pastime amongst us to keep you company: for I remember that with such devices you did greatly recomfort this fair Lady when she languished in like sort. She languished in deed gentle Hope quoth he, but God forbid that she had languished in like sort. Every body thinketh their own grief greatest quoth dame Elynor, but in deed whether my grief were the more or the less, I am right sorry that yours is such as it is: And to assay whither our passions proceeded of like cause or not, I would we could (according to this Ladies saying) devise some like pastimes to try if your malady would be cured with like medicines. A gentle woman of the company whom I have not hitherto named, 'gan thus propound. We have accustomed (quoth she) heretofore in most of our games to choose a King or Queen, and he or she during their government, have charged every of us, either with commandments or questions, as best seemed to their majesty. Wherein (to speak mine opinion) we have given over large a scope, neither seemeth it reasonable that on should have the power to discover the thoughts, or at lest to bridle the affects of all the rest. And though in deed in questioning (which doth of the twain more nearly touch the mind) every on is at free liberty to answer what they list: yet often have I heard a question demanded in such sort, and upon such sudden, that it hath been hardly answered without moving matter of contention. And in commands also, some times it happeneth one to be commanded unto such service, as either they are unfit to accomplish (and then the party's weakness is thereby detected) or else to do something that they would not, whereof ensueth more grudge than game. Wherefore in mine opinion, we shall do well to choose by lot amongst us a governor, who (for that it shallbe sufficient pre-eminence to use the chair of majesty,) shallbe bound to give sentence upon all such arguments and questions as we shall orderly propound unto them: and from him or her (as from an oracle (we will receive answer, and deciding of our lytigious causes. This dame had stuff in her, an old courtier, & a wily wench, named Pergo. Well this proportion of Pergo pleased them well, and by lot it happened that Ferdinando must be moderator of these matters, and colector of these causes. The which being so constituted, the Lady Elynor said unto this dame Pergo. You have devised this pastime (quoth she) & because we think you to be most expert in the handling thereof, do you propound the first question, & we shallbe both the more ready and able to follow your example the Lady Pergo refused not, but began on this wise. Noble governor (quoth she) amongst the adventures that have befallen me, I remember especially this one, that in youth it was my chance to be beloved of a very courtlike young Gentleman, who abode near the place wherein my parents had their resiaunce. This gentleman (whether it were for beauty, or for any other respect that he saw in me, I know not) but he was enamoured of me, & that with an exceeding vehement passion, & of such force were his effects, that notwithstanding many repulses which he had received at my hands, he seemed daily to grow in the renewing of his desires. I on the other side, although I could by no means mislike of him by any good reason (considering that he was of birth no way inferior unto me, of possessions not to be disdamed, of parson right comely, of behaviour Courtly, of manners modest, of mind liberal, and of virtuous disposition) yet such was the gaitye of my mind, as that I could not be content to lend him over large thongs of my love: but always dangerously behaved myself towards him, and in such sort, as he could neither take comfort of mine answers, nor yet once find himself requited with one good look for all his travail. This notwithstanding, the worthy Knight continued his suit with no less vehement affection than erst he had begun it, even by the space of seven years, At the last, whether discomfited by my dealings, or tried by long travail, or that he had percase light upon the lake that is in the forest of Ardena, and so in haste and all thirsty, had drunk some drops of disdain, whereby his hot flames were quenched, or that he had undertaken to serve no longer, but his just term of apprenticehode, or that the teeth of time had gnawn and tired his dulled spirits in such sort, as that all be numbed he was constrained to use some other artificial balm for the quickening of his senses, or by what cause moved I know not he did not only leave his long continued suit, but (as I have since perceived) grew to hate me more deadly than before I had disdained him. At the first beginning of his retire I perceived not his hatred, but imagened that being over wearied, he had withdrawn himself for a time. And considering his worthiness, there withal his constancy of long time proved, I though that I could not in the whole world found out a fit match to bestow myself, than one so worthy a person. Wherefore I do by all possible means procure that he might eftsoons use his accustomed repraye unto my parents: And further, in all places where I happened to meet him, I used all the courtesies towards him that might be contained within the bonds of modesty. But all was in vain, for he was now become more dangerous to be won, than the haggard Falcon. Our lots being thus unluckily changed, I grew to burn in desire, and the more dangerous that he showed himself unto me, the more earnest I was by all means to procure his consent of love. At the last I might perceive that not only he disdained me, but (as me thought (boiled in hatred against me. And the time that I thus continued tormented with these thoughts, was also just the space of seven years. Finally when I perceived no remedy for my perplexityes, I assayed by absence to were away this malady, and therefore utterly refused to come in his presence, yea or almost in any other company. Whereby I have consumed in lost time the flower of my youth, & am become as you see (what with years, and what with the tormenting passions of love) pale, wane, and full of wrinkles. Nevertheless, I have thereby gained thus much, that at last I have word myself clear out of Cupid's chains, and remain careless at liberty. Now mark to what end I tell you this: first seven. years passed in the which I could never be content to yield unto his just desires: next other seven. years I spent in seeking to recover his lost love: and sithence both those seven. years, there are even now on saint Valentine's day last, other seven. years passed, in the which (neither I have desired to see him) nor he hath coveted to here of me. My parents now perceiving how the crows foot is crept under mine eye, and remembering the long suit that this gentleman had in youth spent on me, considering therewith all that green youth is well mellowed in us both, have of late sought to persuade a marriage between us, the which the Knight hath not refused to here of, and I have not disdained to think on. By their mediation we have been eftsoons brought to Parley, wherein over and be sides the ripping up of many old griefs, this hath been chiefly rehearsed & objected between us, what wrong and injury each of us hath done to other. And here abouts we have fallen to sharp contention. He alleged, that much greater is the wrong which I have done unto him, than that repulse which he hath fithenes used to me: and I have affirmed the contrary. The matter yet hangeth in varyence. Now, of you worthy Governor I would be most glad to hear this question decided, remembering that there was no difference in the times between us. And surely, unless your judgement help me, I am afraid my marriage will he marred, and I may go lead Apes in hell. Ferdenando answered, good Pergo, I am sorry to hear so lamentable a discourse of your luckless love, and much the sorrier, in that I must needs give sentence against you. For surely great was the wrong that either of you have done to other, and greater was the peerless grief which causeless each of you hath conceived in this long time, but greatest in my judgement hath been both the wrong and the grief of the Knight. In that notwithstanding his deserts (which yourself confess) he never enjoyed any guerdon of love at your hands. And you (as you allege) did enjoy his love of long time together. So that by the reckoning, it will fall out (although being builded in your own conceit, you see it not) that of the one & twenty years you enjoyed his love seven. at the lest, but that ever he enjoyed yours we cannot perceive. And much greater is the wrong that rewardeth evil for good, than that which requireth tip for tap. Further, it seemeth that where as you went about in time to try him, you did altogether lose time which can never be recovered. And not only lost your own time, whereof you would seem now to lament, but also compelled him to lease his time, which he might (be it spoken with out offence to you) have bestowed in some other worthy place, and therefore, as that grief is much greater which hath no kind of comfort to alloy it, so much more is that wrong which altogether without cause is offered. And I (said Pergo) must needs think, that much easier is it for them to endure grief which never tasted of joy, and much less is that wrong which is so willingly proffered to be by recompense restored. For if this Knight will confess that he never had cause to rejoice in all the time of his service, then with better contentation might he abide grief than I, who having tasted of the delight which I did secretly conceive of his deserts, do think each grief a present death by the remembrance of those for passed thoughts: & less wrong seemeth it to be destitut of the thing which was never obtained, then to be deprived of a jewel whereof we have been already possessed, so that under your correction I might conclude, that greater hath been my grief and injury sustained, than that of the Knight. To whom jeronimy replied, as touching delight, it may not be denied but that every lover doth take delight in the inward contemplation of his mind, to think of the worthiness of his beloved: & therefore you may not allege that the Knight had never 'cause to rejoice, unless you will altogether condemn yourself of worthiness. Marry if you will say that he tasted not the delights that lovers seek, then mark, who was the cause but yourself? And if you would accuse him of like ingratitude, for that he disdained you in the later seven. years (when as he might by accepting your love, have recompensed himself of all former wrongs) you must remember therewithal, that the cruelty by you showed towards him was such, that he could by no means perceive that your change proceeded of good will, but rather eftsoons to hold him enchained in unknown links of subtle dealings, & therefore not without cause he doubted you: & yet without cause you rejected him. He had often sought occasion, but by your refusals he could never found him, you having occasion fast by the foretop, did dally with him so long, till at the last he sliped his head from you, & then catching at the bald noddle, you found yourself the cause, & yet you would accuse another. To conclude, greater is the grief that is sustained without desert, & much more is the wrong that is offered without cause. Thus Ferdinando jeronimy decided the question propounded by Pergo, and expected that some other Dame should propound another? but his Mistress (having her hand on another halfpenny) 'gan thus say unto him. Servant this pastime is good, and such as I must needs like of, to drive away your pensive thoughts: but sleeping time approacheth, & I fear we disquiet you: wherefore the rest of this time we will (if so like you) bestow in trimming up your bed, and to morrow we shall meet here and renew this new begun game with Madam Pargo. Mistress (quoth he) I must obey your will, and most humbly thank you of your great goodness, and all these Ladies for their courtesy. Even so requiring you that you will no further trouble yourselves about me, but let my Servant alone with conducting me to bed. Yes servant (quoth she) I will see if you ●an sleep any better in my sheeets: and therewith commanded her handmaid to fetch a pair of clean sheeets, the which being brought (marvelous fine and sweet) the Ladies Frances and Elinor did courteously unfold them, and laid them on the bed, which done, they also entreated him to unclothe him and go to bed, being laid, his Mistress dressed and couched the clothes about him, sithence moistened his temples with rose-water, gave him handkerchewes and other fresh linen about him, in doing whereof, she whispered in his ear, saying: Servant, this night I will be with thee, and after with the rest of the Dames gave him good night and departed, leaving him in a trance between hope and despair, trust and mistrust. Thus he lay ravished, commanding his servant to go to bed, and feigning that himself would assay if he could sleep. About ten or eleven of the clock came his mistress in her night gown: who knowing all privy ways in that house very perfectly, had conveyed herself into his chamber, unseen and unperceived: and being now come unto his bed's side kneeled down, and laying her arm over him said these or like words: My good Servant, if thou knewest what perplexities I suffer in beholding of thine infirmities, it might then suffice, either utterly to drive away the malady, or much more to augment thy griefs: for I know thou ●ouest me: and I think also that thou hast had sufficient proof of mine unfeigned good will: in remembrance whereof, I fall into sundry passions: First, I count the happy lotes of our first acquaintance, and therein I call to mind the equality of our affections, for I think that there were never two lovers conjoined with freer consent on both parties: and (if my over basty delivery of yielding words be not wrested hereafter to my condemnation) I can then assure myself to escape for ever without desert of any reproof. Here withal I cannot forget the sundry adventures happened since we become one heart divided in two bodies, all which have been both happily achieved, and delectable enjoyed. What resteth then to consider but this thy present stat? The first corrosive that I have felt, and the last cordial that I look forth end of my joys, and the beginning of my torments. And here her salt tears 'gan bathe the dying lips of her servant: who (hearing these words, and well considering her demeanour) began now to accuse himself of such and so heinous treason, as that his guilty heart was constrained to yield unto a just scourge for the same. He swooned under her arm: the which when she perceived, it were hard to tell what fears did most affright her.  
And It were hard now to rehearse how he was revived, since there were none present but he dying, (who could not declare) and she living, who would not disclose so much as I mean to bewray. For mine author dreameth that Ferdenando returning to life, the first thing which he felt, was that his good mistress lay pressing his breast with the whole weight of her body, & biting his lips with her friendly teeth. And peradventure she refrained (either of courtesy towards him, or for womanish fear, to hurt her tender hand) to strike him on the cheeks in such sort, as they do that strive to call again a dying creature: and therefore thought this the aptest mean to reduce him unto remembrance. Ferdinando now awaked, could no less do, than of his courteous nature receive his Mistress into his bed: Who (as one that knew that way better, than how to help his swooning,) 'gan gently strip of her clotheses, and lovingly embracing him, 'gan demand of him in this sort. Alas good Servant (quoth she) what kind of malady is this that so extréemly doth torment thee? jeronimij with fainting speech answered: Mistress as for my malady, it hath been easily cured by your bountiful medicines applied. But I must confess, that in receiving that guerison at your hands, I have been constrained to fall into an Ecstasy, through the galling remembrance of mine own unworthiness? Nevertheless good Mistress, since I perceive such fidelity remaining between us, as that f●we words will persuade such trust as lovers aught to embrace, let these few words suffice to crave your pardon: and do eftsoons power upon me (your unworthy servant) the abundant waves of your accustomed clemency, for I must confess, that I have so highly offended you, as (but your goodness surpass the malice of my conceits) I must remain (and that right worthily) to the severe punishment of my deserts: and so should you but lose him who hath cast away himself, and neither can accuse you, nor dare to excuse himself of the crime. Dame Elinor (who had rather have found her servant perfectly revived, than thus with strange conceyptes encumbered: and musing much at his dark speech, become importunate to know the sertaynty of his thoughts. And Ferdenando as on not master of himself, 'gan at the last plainly confess how he had mistrusted the change of her vowed affections: Yea and (that more was) he plainly expressed with whom, of whom, by whom, and too whom she bent her better liking.  
Now, here I would demand of such as are expert: Is there any greater impediment to the fruition of a lovers delights, than to be mistrusted? or rather, is it not the ready way to raze all love and former good will out of remembrance, to tell a guilty mind that you do mistrust it? It should seem yes, by Dame Elynor, who began now to take the matter whotlye: and of such vehemency were her fancies, that she now fell into flat defiance with Ferdinando, who although he sought by many fair words to temper her chollorike passions, and by yielding himself to get the conquest of an other, yet could he by no means determine the quarrel. The soft pillows being present at all these hot speeches, put forth themselves as mediators for a truce between these enemies, and desired that (if they would needs fight) it might be in their presence but one only blow, & so from thence forth to become friends again for ever. But the Dame denied flatly, alleging that she found no cause at all to use such courtesy unto such a recreant: adding further many words of great reproach: the which did so enrage Ferdinando, as that having forgotten all former courtesies, he assaileth his enemies by force. At last she rose suddenly and determined to save herself by flight, leaving him in bed, with many despiteful words, and swearing that he should never (eftsoons) take her at the like advantage: the which oath she kept better than her former professed good will: and having now recovered her Chamber (because she found her hurt to be nothing dangerous) I doubt not, but she slept quietly the rest of the night. As Ferdinando also (persuading himself that he should with convenient leisure recover her from this haggard conceit) took some better rest towards the morning, than he had done in many nights forepast. So let them both sleep whiles I turn my pen unto the before named Secretary, who being (as I say) come lately from Florence, had made many proffers to renew his accustomed consultations: but the sorrow which his Mistress had conceived in jeronimy his sickness, together with her continual repair to him during the same, had been such lets unto his attempts, as it was long time before he could obtain audience.  
At the last these new accidents fell so favourably for the furtherance of his cause, that he came to his Mistress presence and there pleaded for himself. Now, if I should at large writ his allegations, together with her subtle answers, I should but cumber your ears with unpleasant rehearsal of feminine frailty.  
To be short, the late disdayneful mood which she had conceived against Ferdinando together with a scruple which lay in her conscience, touching the xj. article of her belief. moved her presently with better will to consult with this Secretary, aswell upon the speedy revenge of her late received wrongs as also upon the reformation of her religion. And in very deed, it fell out that the Secretary (having been of long time absent, & there his quiles and pens not worn so near as they were wont to be,) did now prick fair large notes, that his mistress liked better to sing fa-burden under him, than to descant any longer upon Ferdinandoes' plain song, and thus they continued in good accord, until it fortuned that Dame Frances came into her chamber upon such sudden as she had like to have marred all the music, well they conveyed their cliffs as closely as they could, but yet not altogether without some suspicion given to the said dame Frances, who although she could have been content to take any pain in jeronimies' behalf, yet otherwise she could never have bestowed the watching about so worthless a prise. After womanly salutations they fell into sundry discourses, the Secretary still abiding in the chamber with them. At last two or three other gentlewomen of the Castle came into Madam Elinores chamber, who after their Bon iour did all (una voce) seem to lament the sickness of Ferdinando and called upon the Dames Elynor and Frances, to go visit him again.  
The Lady Frances courteously consented, but Madam Elynor first alleged that she herself was also sickly, the which she attributed to her late pains taken about him and said, that only for that cause she was constrained to keep her bed longer than her accustomed hour. The Dames (but specially the Lady Frances) 'gan straight ways conjecture some great cause of sudden change, and so leaving dame Elinor, walked altogether into the park to take the air in the morning: And as they thus walked it chanced that Dame Pergo heard a Cuckoo chant, who (because the pride of the spring was now past) cried Cuck cuck Cuckoo in her stamering voice. A ha' (quod Pergo) this foul bird begins to fly the country, and yet before her departure, see how spitefully she can devise to salute us. Not so (quoth Dame Frances) but some other whom she hath espied, wherewith Dame Pergo looking round about her, and espying none other company said. Why here is no body but we few women, quoth she. Thanks be to God the house is not far from us (quoth Dame Frances.) Here at the wily Pergo partly perceiving Dame France's meaning, replied on this sort: I understand you not (quoth she) but to leap out of this matter, shall we go visit Master jeronimy and see how he doth this morning. Why quoth dame Frances, do you suppose that the Cuckoo called unto him? Nay marry quod Pergo, for (as far as I know) he is not married. As who should say (quod Dame Frances,) that the Cuckoo envieth none but married folks. I take it so, said Pergo, the Lady Frances answered. Yes sure I have noted as evil luck in love (after the Cuckoos call) to have happened unto divers unmarried folks, as ever I did unto the married, but I can be well content that we go unto him, for I promised on the behalf of us all, that we would use our best devoir to recomfort him until he had recovered health: and I do much marvel that the Lady Elinor is now become so unwilling to take any travail in his behalf, especially remembering that but yesternight she was so diligent to bring him to bed. But I perceive that all earthly things are subject unto change. Even so they be quod Pergo, for you may behold the trees which but even this other day were clad in gladsome green, and now their leaves begin to fade and change colour. Thus they passed talkeing and walking until they returned unto the Castle, whereas they went straight unto Ferdinandoes' chamber, and found him in bed. Why how now Trust (quoth Dame Frances,) will it be no better? Yes shortly I hope quod he. The Ladies all saluted him: and he gave them the gra-mercy: at the last Pergo popped this question unto him: And how have you slept in your Mistress sheets Master jeronemy quoth she? reasonably well quoth he, but I pray you where is my mistress this morning? Marry said Pergo, we left her in bed scarce well at ease. I am the more sorry quoth he. Why Trust (said Mistress Frances be of good comfort, & assure yourself that here are others who would be as glad of your well doing, as your mistress in any respect. I aught not to doubt there of (quod Ferdinando) having the proof that I have had of your great courtesies, but I thought it my duty to ask for my mistress being absent. Thus they passed some time with him until they were called away unto prayers, and that being finished they went to dinner, where they met Dame Elynor attired in an night kerchief after the soolenest (the solempnest fashion I should have said,) who looked very drowsely upon all folks, unless it were her secretary, unto whom she deigned sometime to lend a friendly glance. The Lord of the Castle demanded of her how master jeronemy did this morning. She answered that she knew not for she had not seen him that day. You may do well then daughter quoth the Lord) to go now unto him, and to assay if he will eat any thing, and if here be no meats that like him, I pray you command (for him) any thing that is in my house, You must pardon me sir (quoth she,) I am sickly disposed, and would be loath to take the air, why then go you mistress Frances (quoth he) and take some body with you: and I charge you see that he lack nothing. Mistress Frances was glad of the ambassege, and arising from the table with one other gentleman, took with her a dish of chikins boiled in white broth, saying to her father: I think this meat meetest for master jeronimy. Of any that is here. It is so (quoth he) daughter, and if he like not that, cause some what else to be dressed for him according to his appetite. Thus she departed and came to Ferdinando, who being plunged in sundry woes and thrilled with restless thoughts, was now beginning to rise. But seeing the Dames, couched down again, and said unto them. Alas fair Ladies you put yourselves to more pains than either I do desire, or can deserve. Good Trust quoth Dame Frances, our pains are no greater than duty requireth, nor yet so great as we could vouchsafee in your behalf. And presently my father hath sent us unto you (quoth she) with this pittance, and if your appetite desire any on thing more than other, we are to desire likewise that you will not refrain to call for it. O my good Hope (quoth he) I perceive that I shall not die as long as you may make me live. And being now some deal recomforted with the remembrance of his mistress words which she had used over night at her first coming, and also thinking that although she parted in choler, it was but justly provoked by himself, and that at leisure he should find some salve for that sore also) he determined to take the comfort of his assured Hope, and so to expel all venomnes of mistrust before received. Wherefore raising himself in his bed, he cast a night gown about his shoulders saying: It shall never be said that my fainting heart can reject the comfortable cordials of so friendly physicians. Now by me troth well said gentle Trust quod Dame Frances, and in so doing, assure yourself gueryson with speed. This thus said, the courteous Dame become his carver, & he with a bold spirit 'gan taste of her cokerey. But the late conflicts of his conceits had so disaquainted his stomach from repasts, that he could not well a way with meat: and yet nevertheless by little & little received some nouryture. When his Hope had crammed him as long as she could make him seed, they delivered the rest to the other gentlewoman who having not dined, fell to her provender. In which mean while the Lady Frances had much comfortable speech with signior jeronemy and declared that she perceived very well the malady. but my Trust (quoth she) be all whole, and remember what I foretold you in the beginning: nevertheless you must think that there are remedies for all mischiefs, and if you will be ruled by mine advise, we will soon find the mean to ease you of this mishap. Ferdinando took comfort in her discretion, & friendly kissed her hand, gave her a cartlode of thanks for her great good will, promising to put to his uttermost force, and evermore to be ruled by her advice. Thus they passed the dinner while, the Lady Frances always refusing to declare her conceit of the late change which she perceived in his Mistress, for she thought best first to win his will unto conformity, by little and little, and then in the end to persuade him with necessity. When the other gentlewoman had victualed her, they departed, requiring him to rise and boldly to resist the fayntenesse of his fever. The which he promised and so bade them a Dio. The Ladies at their return found the court in Dame Elynores chamber, who had there assembled her secretary, Dame Pergo & the rest: there they passed an hour or twain in sundry discourses, wherein Dame Pergo did always cast out some bone for mistress Frances to gnaw upon, for that in deed she perceived her hearty affection towards Ferdinando whereat Mistress Frances changed no countenance, but reserved her revenge until a better opportunity. At last (quoth Dame Frances unto Mistress Elinor) and when will you go unto your servant fair Lady? When he is sick and I am whole, quod Dame Elinor. That is even now quoth the other, for how sick he is yourself can witness: and how well you are we must bear record. You may as well be deceived in my disposition (quod Dame Elinor, as I was overseen in his sudden alteration: and if he be sick, you are meet to be his physician: for you saw yesterday that my pains did little profit towards his recomfort. Yes surely said the other, not only I but all the rest had occasion to judge that your courtesy was his chief comfort. Well, quod Dame Elinor, you know not what I know. Nor you what I think quod Dame Frances. Think what you list quod Elinor. In deed quod Frances, I may not think that you care, neither will I die for your displeasure: & so half angry she departed At supper they met again, and the master of the house demanded of his daughter Frances how Ferdinando did? Sir (quoth she) he did eat some what at dinner, and sithence I saw him not. The more to blame quoth he, and now I would have all you gentlewomen take of the best meats and go sup with him, for company driveth away carefulness, and leave you me here with your leavings alone. Nay sir quoth Mistress Elinor, I pray you give me leave to bear you company, for I dare not adventure thither. The Lord of the Castle was contented & dispatched away the rest: who taking with them such viands as they thought meetest, went unto jeronimies' chamber, finding him up, and walking about to recover strength: whereat Dame Frances rejoiced, and declared how her Father had sent that company to attend him at supper. Ferdinando gave great thanks, & missing now nothing but his Mistress, thought not good yet to ask for her, but because he partly guessed the cause of her absence, he contented himself, hoping that when his lure was new garnished, he should easily recleame her from those coy conceyptes. They passed over their supper all in quiet, and soon after Mistress Frances, being desirous to requited Dame Pargoes quibbes, requested that they might continued the pastime which Dame Pergo had begun over night: whereunto they all consented, and the lot fell unto Dame Frances to propound the second question who adressing her speech unto Ferdinando said in this wise, Noble governor, I will rehearse unto you a strange history, not feigned, neither borrowed out of any old authority, but a thing done in deed of late days, and not far distant from this place where we now remain. It chanced that a gentleman our neighbour being married to a very fair gentlewoman, lived with her by the space of four or five years in great contentation, trusting her no less than he loved her, and yet loving her as much as any man could love a woman. On that other side the gentlewoman had won (unto her beauty) a singular commendation for her chaste and modest behaviour. Yet it happened in time that a lusty young gentleman (who very often resorted to them) obtained that at her hands, which never any man could before him attain: and to be plain, he won so much in her affections, that forgetting both her own duty, and her husbands kindness, she yielded her body at the commandment of this lover, in which pastime they passed long time by their pollitycke government. At last the friends of this Lady (and especially three sisters which she had) espied overmuch familiarity between the two lovers, and dreading lest it might break out to their common reproach took their sister apart, and declared that the world did judge scarce well of the repair of that Gentleman unto her house: and that if she did not foresee it in time, she should not only lose the good credit which she herself had hitherto possessed, but furthermore should distain their whole race with common obloquy & reproach. These and sundry other Godly admonitions of those sisters, could not sink in the mind of this gentlewoman, for she did not only stand in defiance what any man could think of her, but also seemed to accuse them, that (because they saw her estimation (being their younger) to grow above their own) they had therefore devised this mean to set variance between her husband and her. The sisters seeing their wholesome counsel so rejected, and her continued still in her obstinate opinion, addressed their speech unto her husband, declaring that the world judged not the best, neither they themselves did very well like of the familiarity between their sister and that gentleman, and therefore advised him to forecast all perils, and in time to forbidden him his house. The husband (on the other side) had also conceived such a good opinion of his gest, & had grown into such a strict familiarity with him, that you might with more ease have removed a stone wall, than once to make him think amiss, either of his wife, or of her lover. Yea, and immediately after this conference, he would not stick thus to say unto his wife. Lamia (for so in deed was her name) thou hast three such busy brained sisters, as I think shortly their heads will break: they would have me to be jealous of thee, not no Lamia. etc. so that he was not only far from any such belief, but furthermore did every day increase his courtesies towards the lover. The sisters being thus on all sides rejected, and yet perceiving more & more an unseemly behaviour between their sister and her minion, began to melt in their own grease: and such was their enraged pretence of revenge, that they suborned divers servants in the house to watch so diligently, as that this treason might be discovered. Among the rest, one maid of subtle spirit had so long watched them, that at last she spied them go into the chamber together, and locked the door to them: whereupon she ran with all hast possible to her Master, and toold him that if he would come with her, she would show him a very strange sight. The gentleman (suspecting nothing) went with her, until he came into a chamber near unto that wherein they had shut themselves. And she pointing her master to the keyhole, bade him look through, where he saw the thing which most might mislike him to behold. Where at he suddenly drew his Dagger, and turned towards the maid, who fled from him for fear of mischief. But when he could not overtake her in the heat of his collar, he commanded that she should forth with truss up that little which she had, and to depart his service. And before her departure, he found means to talk with her, threatening that if ever she spoke any word of this mystery in any place where she should come, it should cost her life. The maid for fear departed in silence, and the Master never changed countenance to either his wife or to her paramour, but feigned unto his wife that he had turned a way the maid upon that sudden, for that she had thrown a Kitchen knife at him, whiles he went about to correct a fault in her. etc. Thus the good gentleman drank up his own sweat unseen every day, increasing courtesy to the lover, and never changing countenance to his wife in any thing, but only that he refrained to have such knowledge of her carnally, as he in tims past had, and other men have of their wives. In this sort he continued by the space all most of half a year, nevertheless lamenting his mishap in solitary places. At last (what moved him I know not) he fell a gain to company with his wife as other men do, and (as I have heard it said) he used this policy. Every time that he had knowledge of her, he would leave either in the bed, or in her cusshencloth, or by her looking glass, or in some place where she must needs find it, a piece of money which then was in Italy called a Caroline. Thus he dealt with her continually by the space of four or five months, using her nevertheless very kindly in all other respects, and providing for her all things necessary at the first call. But unto his jest he still augmented his courtesy, in such sort, that you would have thought them to be sworn brothers. All this notwithstanding his wife much musing at these small pieces which she found in this sort, and furthermore, having sundry times found her husband in solitary places making great lamentation, she grew inquisitive, what should be the secret cause of these alterations, unto whom he would none otherwise answer, but the any man should find occasion to be more pensive at one time than at another. The wife notwithstanding increasing her suspect, imparted the same unto her lover, alleging therewithal that she doubted very much lest her husband had some vehement suspicion of their affairs. The lover encouraged her, & likewise declared, that if she would be importunate to inquire the cause, her husband would not be able to keep it from her: and having now thoroughly instructed her, she dealt with her husband in this sort. One day when she knew him to be in his study alone, she came into him, and having fast locked the door after her, & conveyed the key into her pocket, she began first with earnest entreaty, and then with tears to crave that he would no longer keep from her the cause of his sudden alteration. The husband dissimuled the matter still: at last she was so earnest to know for what cause he left money in such sort at sundry times: That he answered on this wise: Wife (quoth he) thou knowest how long we have been married together, and how long I made so dear account of thee as ever man made of his Wife: since which days, thou knowest also how long I refrained thy company, and how long again I have used thy company, leaving the money in this sort, and the cause is this. So long as thou didst behave thyself faithfully towards me. I never loathed thy company: but sithence I have perceived thee to be a harlot, and therefore did I for a time refrain and forbear to lie with thee, and now I can no longer forbear it, I give thee every time that I lie with thee, a Caroline, which is to make thee under stand thine own whoredom: and this reward is sufficient for a whore. The wife began stoutly to stand at defiance, but the husband cut of her speech, and declared when, where, and how he had seen it: hereat the woman being abashed, and finding her conscience guilty of as much as he had alleged, fell down on her knees, & with most bitter tears craved pardon, confessing her offence: whereat her husband (moved with pity) & melting likewise in floods of lamentation, recomforted her, promising that if from that day forwards she would be true unto him, he would not only forgive all that was past, but become more tender and loving unto her then ever he was. What do I tarry so long? they become of accord: and in full accomplishment thereof, the gentlewoman did altogether eschew the company, the speech, and (as much as in her lay) the sight of her lover: although her husband did continued his courtesy towards him, and often charged his wife to make him fair resemblaunt. The Lover was now only left in perplexity, who knew nothing what might be the cause of all these changes, and that most grieved him, he could by no means obtain again the speech of his desired: he watched all opportunities, he suborned messengers, he wroote letters, but all in vain. In the end she caused to be declared unto him a time and place where she would meet him and speak with him. Being met, she put him in remembrance of all that had passed between them: she laid also before him how trusty she had been unto him in all professions: she confessed also how faithfully he had discharged the duty of a friend in all respects, and therewithal she declared that her late alteration and pensiveness of mind was not without great cause, for that she had of late such a mishap, as might change the disposition of any living creature: Yea, and that the case was such, as unless she found present remedy, her death must needs ensue, and that speedily, for the preventing whereof, she alleged that she had beaten her brains with all devices possible, and that in the end she could think of no redress but one, the which lay only in him to acomplish. Wherefore she besought him for all the love and good will which had ever passed between them, now to show the fruits of true friendship, and to gratify her with a free grant to this request. The lover who had always been desirous to pleasure her in any thing, but now especially to recover her wonted kindness, 'gan frankly promise' to accomplish any thing that might be to him possible, yea, though it were to his great detriment, and therewithal, did deeply blame her in that she would so long torment herself with any grief, considering that it lay in him to help it. The Lady answered, that she had so long kept it from his knowledge, because she doubted whether he would be content to perform it or not, although it was such a thing as he might easily grant without any manner of hurt to himself, & yet now in the end she was forced to adventure upon his courtesy, being no longer able to bear the burden of her grief: the lover solicited her most earnestly to disclose it: and she (as fast) seemed to mistrust that he would not accomplish it. In the end she took out a book (which she had brought for the nonce) & bond him by oath to accomplish it. The lover mistrusting nothing less than that ensued, took the oath willingly, which done, she declared all that had passed between her & her husband: his grief, her repentance, his pardon, her vow, and in the end of her tale enjoined the lover, that from thenceforthwardes, he should never attempt to break her constant determination, the lover replied that this was unpossible. But she plainly assured him, that if he granted her that request, she would be his friend in all honest & godly wise: if not, she put him out of doubt that she would eschew his company and flee from his sight as from a scorpion. The lover considering that her request was but just, accusing his own guilty conscience, remembering the great courtesies always used by her husband, and therewithal seeing the case now brought to such an issue, as that by no other means than by this it could be concealed from the knowledge of the world: but most of all, being urged by his oath, did at last give an unwilling consent, and yet a faithful promise to yield unto her will in all things, and thus being become of one assent, he remaineth the dearest friend & most welcome gest that may be, both to the Lady and her husband: and the man and the wife so kind (each to other) as if there never had been such a breach between them. Now, of you noble Governor I would feign learn, whether the perplexity of the husband when he looked in at the key hole, or of the wife when she knew the cause why the Carolines were so scattered, or of the lover when he knew what was his mistress charge, was greater of the three? I might have put in also the troubled thoughts of the sisters & the maid, when they saw their good will rejected, but let these three suffice. Gentle Hope (quod Ferdinando) you have rehearsed (& that right eloquently) a notable tale, or rather a notable history, because you seem to affirm, that is was done in deed of late & not far hence. Wherein I note five especial points: that is a marvelous patience in the husband, no less repentance in the wife, no small boldness of the maid, but much more rashness in the sisters, & last of all, a rare tractability in the lover. Nevertheless so return unto your question. I think the husband's perplexity greatest, because his losses abounded above the rest, & his injuries were uncomparable. The Lady Frances did not seem to contrary him but rather smiled in her sleeve at Dame Pergo, who had no less patience to here the tale recited, than the Lady Frances had pleasure in telling of it. By this time the sleeping hour approached, & the Ladies prepared their departure, when as mistress Frances said unto the Venetiane: Although percase I shall not do it so handsomely as your mistress, yet good Trust (quoth she) if you vouchsafe it, I can be content to trim up your bed in the best manner that I may, as on who would be as glad as she to procure your quiet rest. Ferdinando gave her great thanks desiring her not to trouble hirself, but to let his man alone with that charge. Thus they departed, & how all parties took rest that night I know not: but in the morning Ferdinando began to consider with himself that he might lie long enough in his bed before his mistress would be appeased in her peevish conceits: wherefore he arose, & being appareled in his night gown, took occasion to walk in the gallery near adjoining unto his mistress chamber: but there might he walk long enough ere his Mistress would come to walk with him. When dinner time came he went into the great chamber whereas the Lord of the Castle saluted him, being joyful of his recovery: jeronimy giving due thanks, declared that his friendly entertainment together with the great courtesy of the gentlewomen was such, as might revive a man although he were half dead. I would be loathe (quoth the host) that any Gentleman coming to me for good will, should want any courtesy of entertainment that lieth in my power. When the meat was served to the table, the Gentlewomen came in all but Dame Elynor and Mistress Pergo, the which Ferdinando marked very well, and it did somewhat abate his appetite. After dinner, his Hope came unto him and demanded of him how he would pass the day for his recreation? to whom he answered even as it best pleased her. She devised to walk into the park, and so by little and little to acquaint himself with the air: he agreed, and they walked together being accompanied with one or two other gentle women. And although there were now more cause that he should mistrust his Mistress than ever he had before received, yet the vehement passions which he saw in her when she first came to visit him, and moreover the earnest words which she pronounced in his extremity, were such a refreshing to his mind, as that he determined no more to trouble himself with like conceits: concluding further, that if his mistress were not faulty, then had he committed a foul offence in needless jealousy, and that if she were faulty (especially with the Secretary) than no persuasion could amend her, nor any passion help him? and this was the cause that enabled him after such passing pangs to abide the doubtful conclusion: And thus manfully and valiantly to repress faintness of his mind: nothing doubting but that he should have won his mistress to pardon his presumption, & lovingly to embrace his service in wonted manner: but he was far deceived, for she was now in another tewne, the which Mistress Frances began partly to discover unto him as they walked together: for she burdened him that his malady proceeded only of a disquiet mind. And if it did so my gentle Hope (quoth he) what remedy? My good Trust (quoth she) none other but to plant quiet where disquiet began to grow. I have determined (quoth he) but I must crave the help of your assured friendship. Thereof you may make account (quoth she) but wherein? Ferdinando walking apart with her, began to declare that there was some contention happened between his mistress and him: the Lady told him that she was not ignorant thereof. Then he desired her to treat so much in the cause, as they might eftsoons come to Parley: thereof I dare assure you (quod Mistress Frances,) and at their return she led him into his Mistress Chamber, whom they found lying on her bed, whether gauled with any grief, or weary of the thing (which you wot of) I know not, but there she lay: unto whom Ferdinando gave two or three salutations before she seemed to mark him. At last said the Lady Frances unto her, your servant hearing of your sickness, hath adventured thus far into the air to see you. I thank him (quod dame Elinor) & so lay still, refusing to give him any countenance. Whereat he perceiving all the other Gentlewomen fall to whispering, thought good, boldly to plead his own case: and approaching the bed began to enforce his unwilling Mistress unto courtesy, wherein he used such vehemence as she could not well by any means refuse to talk with him: but what their talk was, I may not take upon me to tell you. Sufficeth this to be known, that in the end she pretended to pass over all old grudges, and thenceforth to pleasuure him as occasion might serve, the which occasion was so long in hapening, that in the end he being now eftsoons troubled with unquiet fantasies, and forced to use his pen again as an Ambassador between them: one day amongst the rest f●und opportunity to thrust a letter into her bosom, wherein he had earnestly requested another Moonshine banquet or fridays breakfast to recomfort his dulled spirits, whereunto the Dame yielded this answer in writing, but of whose endyting judge you.  
I can but smile at your simplicity, who burden your friends with an impossibility. The case so stood as I could not though I would. Wherefore from hence fóorth either learn to frame your request more reasonably, or else stand content with a flat repulse. SHE.  
Ferdinando liked this letter but a little: & being thereby droven into his accustomed vain, he compiled in verse this answer following, upon these words contained in her letter, I could not though I would.  

I could not though I would: good Lady say not so,  
Since one good word of your good will might soon redress my woe,  
Where would is free before, there could can never fail:  
For proof, you see how galleys pass where ships can bear no sail,  
The weary mariner where skies are overcast,  
By ready will doth guide his skill and wins the haven at last,  
The pretty bird that sings with prick against her breast,  
Doth make a virtue of her need, to watch when others rest,  
And true the proverb is, which you have laid apart,  
There is no hap can seem to hard unto a willing heart.  
Then lovely Lady mine, you say not as you should,  
In doubtful terms to answer thus: I could not though I would.  
Yes yes, full well you know, your can is quick and good:  
And wilful will is eke too swift, to shed my guiltless blood.  
But if good will were bend as priest as power is,  
Such will would quickly found the skill to mend that is a miss.  
Wherefore if you desire to see my true love spilled,  
Command and I will slay myself, that yours may be the gilt,  
But if you have no power to say your servant nay,  
Writ thus: I may not as I would, yet must I as I may.  
Ferdinando. jeronimy.   
THus jeronimy replied upon his Mistress answer, hoping thereby to recover some favour at her hands, but it would not be: so that now he had been as likely (as at the first) to have fretted in fantasies, had not the Lady Frances continually comforted him: and by little & little she drove such reason into his mind, that now he began to subdue his humour with discretion, and to determine that if he might espy evident proof of his Mistress fraieltie, he would then stand content with patience perforce, & give his Mistress the Bezo la, mano. And it happened one day amongst others, that he resorted to his mistress chamber and found her (allo solito) lying upon her bed, and the Secretary with Dame Pergo and her bandmaide keeping of her company. Whereat Ferdinando somewhat repining, came to her and fell to dalliance, as one that had now rather adventure to be thought presumptuous than yield to be accounted bashful, he cast his harm over his Mistress, and began to accuse her of sluggishness, using some other bold parts, as well to provoke her, as also to grieve the other. The Lady seemed little to delight in his dallying, but cast a glance at her Secretary, & therewith smiled, when as the Secretary and Dame Pergo burst out into open laughter. The which Ferdinando perceiving, and disdaining her ingratitude, was forced to departed, and in that fantasy compiled this Sonnet.  

WIth her in arms that had my heart in hold,  
I stood of late to plead for pity so:  
And as I did her lovely looks behold,  
she cast a glance upon my rival foe.  
His fleering face provoked her to smile,  
When my salt tears were drowned in disdain:  
He glad, I sad, he laughed, (alas the while)  
I wept for woe: I pined for deadly pain.  
And when I saw none other boot prevail,  
But reason rule must guide my skilful mind:  
Why then (quoth I) old proverbs never fail,  
For yet was never good Cat out of kind.  
Nor woman true but even as stories tell,  
Won with an egg, and lost again with shell.  
Ferdinando. jeronimy.   
THis Sonnet declareth that he began now to account of her as she deserved, for it hath a sharp conclusion, and it is somewhat too general. Well, as it is he lost it, where his Mistress found it, and she immediately imparied the same unto Dame Pergo, and Dame Pergo unto others: so that it quickly become common in the house. Among others Mistress Frances having recovered a copy of it, did seem to pardon the generality, and to be well pleased with the perticularity thereof, the which she bewrayed one day unto Ferdinando in this wise. Of all the joys that ever I had (my good Trust quoth she) there is none where in I take more comfort than in your conformity. And although your present rage is such that you can be content to condemn a number unknown, for the transgression of one to well known: yet I do rather rejoice that you should judge your pleasure over many, than too be abused by any. My good Hope (quoth he) it were not reason that after such manifold profess of your exceeding courtesies, I should use strange or contentious speech with so dear a friend. And in deed I must confess that the opinion which I have conceived of my Mistress, hath stirred my pen to writ very hardly against all the feminine gender. But I pray you pardon me (quoth he) & if it please you I will recant it, as also (percase) I was but cloyed with surcuydrye, and presumed to think more than may be proved. Yea but how if it were proved quod Dame Frances? If it were so (which God forbidden quoth he) then could you not blame me to conceive that opinion. Howsoever I might blame you (quoth she) I mean not to blame you, but I demand further, if it be as I think & you suspect, what will you then do? Surely (quoth he) I have determined to drink up mine own sorrow secretly, and to bid them both a Dieu. I like your farewell better than your fantasy (quoth she) and whensoever you can be content to take somuch pains, as the Knight (which had a night gown guarded with naked sword) did take, I think you may put yourself out of doubt of all these things. By these words and other speech which she uttered unto him, Ferdinando smelled how the world went about, and therefore did one day in the grey morning adventure to pass through the gallery towards his Mistress Chamber, hoping to have found the door open, but he found the contrary, and there attending in good devotion, heard the parting of his Mistress and her Secretary, with many kind words: whereby it appeared that the one was very loath to departed from the other. Poor jeronimy was enforced to bear this burden, and after he had attended there as long as the light would give him leave, he departed also to his Chamber, and appareling himself, could not be quiet until he had spoken with his mistress, whom he burdened flatly with this despiteful treachery: and she as fast denied it, until at last being still urged with such evident tokens as he alleged, she gave him this bone to gnaw upon. And if I did so (quoth she) what than? Where unto Ferdinando made none answer, but departed with this farewell. My loss is mine own, and your gain is none of yours, and sooner can I recover my loss, than you enjoy the gain which you gape after. And when he was in place solitary, he compiled these following for a final end of the matter.  


And if I did what then?  
Are you aggrieved therefore?  
The Sea hath fish for every man,  
And what would you have more?   

Thus did my Mistress once,  
Amaze my mind with doubt:  
And popped a question for the nonce,  
To beat my brains about.   

Whereto I thus replied,  
Each Fisherman can wish,  
That all the Seas at every tide,  
Were his alone to fish.   

And so did I (in vain,)  
But since it may not be:  
Let such fish there as find the gain,  
And leave the loss for me.   

And with such luck and loss,  
I will content myself:  
Till tides of turning time may toss,  
Such fishers on the shelf.   

And when they stick on sands,  
That every man may see:  
Then will I laugh and clap my hands,  
As they do now at me.   
Ferdinando jeronimy.   
THus Ferdinando being no longer able to bear these extreme despites, resolved to absent himself, swell for his own further quiet, as also to avoid the occasion of greater mischiefs that might ensue: And although the exceeding courtesies and approved fidelity of Dame Frances had been sufficient to allure the fast liking of any man, especially considering that she was reasonably fair, and descended of a worthy father, who now fell flatly to move and solicit the same, yet such sinister conceyptes had he taken by the frailty of Dame Elinor, as that rejecting all proffers, and contemning all courtesies, he took his leave, & (without pretence of return) departed to his house in Venice: spending there the rest of his days in a dissolute kind of life: & abandoning the worthy Lady Frances Chima, who (daily being gauled with the grief of his great ingratitude) did shortly bring herself into a miserable consumption: whereof (after three years languishing) she died: Notwithstanding all which occurements the Lady Elinor lived long in the continuance of her accustomed change: & thus we see that where wicked lust doth bear the name of love, it doth not only infect the light minded, but it may also become confusion to others which are vowed to constancy. And to that end I have recited this Fable which may serve as ensample to warn the youthful reader from attempting the like worthless enterprise. I know not how my rude translation thereof will delight the finest judgements: But sure as Bartello writeth it in Italian, it is both pleasant and profitable: the which hath made me adventure thus to publish the same in such simple style as I am able to indite: Desiring the gentle reader, rather to take example of reformation therein, then to find fault at the homely handling of the same.  Ever or never.  


¶ In praise of a gentlewoman who though she were not very fair, yet was she as hard favoured as might be.  
IF men may credit give, to true reported fames,  
Who doubts but stately Rome had store of lusty loving Dames?  
Whose ears have been so deaf, as never yet heard tell,  
How far the fresh Pompeia, for beauty did excel.  
And golden Marcus he, that swayed the Roman sword,  
Bore witness of Boemia, by credit of his word.  
What need I more rehearse? since all the world did know,  
How high the floods of beauty's blaze, within those walls did flow.  
And yet in all that choice a worthy Roman Knight,  
Antonius who conquered proud Egypt by his might.  
Not all to please his eye, but most to ease his mind,  
Choose Cleopatra for his love, and left the rest behind.  
A wondrous thing to read, in all his victory. 
She was an Egyptian.   
He snapped but her for his own share, to please his fantasy.  
She was not fair God wots, the country breads none bright,  
Well may we judge her skin the foil, because her teeth were white.  
Percase her lovely looks, some praises did deserve,  
But brown I dare be bold she was, for so the soil did serve.  
And could Antonius forsake the fair in Rome?  
To love his nutbrown Lady best, was this an equal doom?  
I dare well say dames there, did bear him deadly grudge,  
His sentence had been shortly said, if Faustine had been judge.  
For this I dare avow, (without vaunt be it spoke)  
So brave a knight as Anthony, held all their necks in yoke:  
I leave not Lucrece out, believe in her who list,  
I think she would have liked his lure, & stooped to his fist.  
What moved the chieftain then, to link his liking thus?  
I would some Roman dame were here, the question to discuss.  
But that I read her life, do find therein by fame,  
How clear her courtesy did shine, in honour of her name.  
Her bounty did excel, her truth had never peer,  
Her lovely looks, her pleasant speech, her lusty loving cheer.  
And all the worthy gifts, that ever yet were found,  
Within this good Egyptian Queen, did seem for to abound.  
Wherefore he worthy was, to win the golden fleece,  
Which scorned the blazing stars in Rome, to conquer such a piece.  
And she to quite his love, in spite of dreadful death,  
Enshrinde with Snakes within his Tomb, did yield her parting breath.   

Allegoria.  
IF fortune favoured him, then may that man rejoice,  
And think himself a happy man by hap of happy choice.  
Who loves and is beloved of one as good, as true,  
As kind as Cleopatra was, and yet more bright of hew.  
Her eyes as grey as glass, her teeth as white as milk,  
A ruddy lip, a dimpled chin, a skin as smooth as silk.  
A wight what could you more, that may content man's mind,  
And hath supplies for every want, that any man can find.  
And may himself assure, when hence his life shall pass,  
She will be stung to death with snakes, as Cleopatra was.  Si fortunatus infoelix.  

¶ The praise of Philip sparrow.  

OF all the birds that I do know,  
Philip my Sparrow hath no pear:  
For sit she high or lie she low,  
Be she far off, or be she near,  
There is no bird so fair, so fine,  
Nor yet so fresh as this of mine.   

Come in a morning merely,  
When Philip hath been lately fed,  
Or in an evening soberly,  
When Philip list to go to bed:  
It is a heaven to hear my Phippe,  
How she can chirp with cherry lip.   

She never wanders far abroad,  
But is at hand when I do call:  
If I command she lays on load.  
With lips, with teeth, with tongue and all.  
She chants, she chirpes, she makes such cheer,  
That I believe she hath no peer.   

And yet besides all this good sport,  
My Philip can both sing and dance:  
With new found toys of sundry sort,  
My Philip can both prick and prance:  
As if you say but fend cut phippe,  
Lord how the peat will turn and skip.   

Her feathers are so fresh of hew,  
And so well pruned every day:  
She lacks none oil, I warrant you:  
To trim her tail both trick and gay.  
And though her mouth be somewhat wide,  
Her tongue is sweet and short beside.   

And for the rest I dare compare,  
She is both tender, sweet and soft:  
She never lacketh dainty fare,  
But is well fed and feedeth often:  
For if my phip have lust to eat,  
I warrant you phip lacks no meat.   

And then if that her meat be good,  
And such as like do love always:  
She will lay lips thereon by the rood,  
And see that none be cast away:  
For when she once hath felt a fit,  
Philip will cry still, yet, yet, yet.   

And to tell truth he were to blame,  
Which had so fine a Bird as she,  
To make him all this goodly game,  
Without suspect or jealousy:  
He were a churl and knew no good,  
Would see her faint for lack of food.   

Wherefore I sing and ever shall,  
To praise as I have often proved  
There is no bird amongst them all,  
So worthy for to be beloved.  
Let other praise what bird they will,  
Sweet Philip shallbe my bird still.   Si fortunatus infoelix.  

¶ Farewell with a mischief, written by a lover being disdaynefullye abjected by a dame of high calling, Who had chosen (in his place) a play fellow of base condition: & therefore he determined to step a side, and before his departure giveth her this farewell in verse.  

THy birth, thy beauty, nor thy brave attire,  
(Disdainful Dame, which dost me double wrong)  
Thy high estate, which sets thy heart on fire,  
Or new found choice, which cannot serve thee long  
Shall make me dread, with pen for to rehearse,  
Thy skittish deeds, in this my parting verse.   

For why thou knowest, and I myself can tell,  
By many vows, how thou to me wert bound:  
And how for joy, thy heart did seem to swell,  
And in delight, how thy desires were drowned.  
When of thy will, the walls I did assail,  
Wherein fond fancy, fought for mine avail.   

And though my mind, have small delight to vaunt,  
Yet must I vow, my heart to thee was true:  
My hand was always able for to daunt,  
Thy slanderous ●●oes, and keep their tongues in mew.  
My head (though dull) was yet of such devise,  
As might have kept thy name always in price.   

And for the rest my body was not brave,  
But able yet, of substance to allay,  
The raging lust, wherein thy limbs did rave,  
And quench the coals, which kindled thee to play.  
Such one I was, and such always will be,  
For worthy Dames, but then I mean not thee.   

For thou hast caught a proper paragon,  
A thief, a coward, and a Peacock fool:  
An Ace, a milksop, and a minion,  
Which hath no oil thy furious flames to cool,  
Such on he is, a fere for thee most fit,  
A wandering gest, to please thy wavering wit.   

A thief I count him for he robs us both,  
Thee of thy name, and me of my delight:  
A coward is he noted where he goeth,  
Since every child is match to him in might.  
And for his pride no more, but mark his plumes,  
The which to princke, he days and nights consumes.   

The rest thyself, in secret sort can judge,  
He rides not me, thou knowest his saddle best:  
And though these tricks of thine, might make me grudge,  
And kindle wrath, in my revenging breast  
Yet of myself, and not to please thy mind,  
I stand content, my rage in rule to bind.   

And far from thee now must I take my flight,  
Where tongues may tell, (and I not see) thy fall:  
Where I may drink these drugs of thy despite,  
To purge my Melancholic mind with all.  
In secret so, my stomach will I starve,  
Wishing thee better than thou dost deserve.   Spraeta tamen viwnt.  

The dole of disdain written by alover disdainfully rejected contrary to former promise.  

THe deadly drops of dark disdain,  
Which daily fall on my desert.  
The lingering suit long spent in vain,  
Whereof I feel no fruit but smart:  
Enforce me now this words to writ:  
Not all for love but more for spite.   

The which to the I must rehearse,  
Whom I did honour, serve and trust.  
And though the music of my verse,  
Be plainsong tune both true and just:  
Content thee yet to here my song,  
For else thou dost me doobble wrong.   

I must allege, and thou canst tell  
How faithfully I vowed to serve,  
And how thou seemest to like me well:  
And how thou saidest I did deserve,  
To be thy Lord, thy Knight, thy King.  
And how much more I list not sing.   

And canst thou now (thou cruel one)  
Condemn desert to deep despair?  
Is all thy promise past and gone?  
Is faith so fled into the air?  
If that be so, what rests for me?  
But thus in song to say to thee.   

If Cressydes name were not so known,  
And written wide on every wall:  
If brute of pride were not so blown,  
Upon Angelica withal:  
For haut disdain thou mightst be she, 
Angelica refusing the most famous knights in the whole world, chose at last Medoro a poor serving man.   
Or Cressid for inconstancy.   

And in reward of thy desert,  
I hope at last to see thee paid:  
With deep repentance for thy part.  
Which thou hast now so lewedly played.  
Medoro he must be thy make,  
Since thou Orlando dost for sake.   

Such is the fruit that groweth always,  
Upon the root of ripe disdain:  
Such kindly wages Cupid pays.  
Where constant hearts cannot remain,  
I hope to see thee in such bands,  
When I may laugh and clap my hands.   

But yet for thee I must protest,  
But sure the fault is none of thine,  
Thou art as true as is the best,  
That ever came of Cressedes' line:  
For constant yet was never none,  
But in unconstancy alone.   Meritum petere, grave.  

¶ Mars in despite of Vulcan written for an absent lover (parted from his Lady by Sea.)  

BOth deep and dreadful were the Seas,  
Which held Leander from his love,  
Yet could no doubts his mind appease,  
Nor save his life for her behove:  
But guiltless blood itself would spill,  
To please the waves and work his will.   

O greedy gulf, O wretched waves,  
O cruel floods, O sink of shames,  
You hold true lovers bound like slaves,  
And keep them from their worthy Dames:  
Your open mouth gapes evermore,  
Till one or both be drowned therefore.   

For proof whereof myself may sing,  
And shrich to pierce the lofty skies,  
Whose Lady left me languishing,  
Upon the shore in woeful wise.  
And crossed the Seas out of my sight,  
Whereby I lost my chief delight.   

She said that no such trustless flood,  
Should keep our loves (long time) in twain▪  
She swore no bread should do her good.  
Till she mighe see myself again.  
She said and swore these words and more,  
But now I find them nothing so.   

What resteth then for me to do,  
Thou salt sea foome come say thy mind  
Should I come drown within thee to,  
That am of true Leander's kind?  
And headlong cast this corpses of mine,  
Into this greedy guts of thine.   

Not cruel, but in spite of thee,  
I will make Seas where erst were none,  
My tears shall flow in full degree,  
Till all my mirth may ebb to moon.  
Into such drops I mean to melt,  
And in such Seas myself to swelled.    

Lenuoie.  
¶ Yet you dear Dame for whom I fade,  
Thus starving still in wretched state:  
Remember once your promise made,  
Perform it now though all to late.  
Come home to Mars who may you please,  
Let Vulcan bide beyond the Seas.  Meritum petere, grave.  

¶ Patience perforce, wherein an absent lover doth thus encourage his Lady to continue constant.  

COntent thyself with patience perforce:  
And quench no love with drops of dark mistrust:  
Let absence have no power to divorce,  
Thy faithful friend which meaneth to be just.  
Bear but a while thy constance to declare,  
For when I come one inch shall break no square.   

I must confess that promise did me bind,  
For to have seen thy seemly self ere now:  
And if thou knewest what griefs did gall my mind,  
Because I could not keep that faithful vow.  
My just excuse, I can myself assure,  
With little pain thy pardon might procure.   

But call to mind how long Ulysses was,  
In lingering absence, from his loving make:  
And how she deigned then her days to pass,  
In solitary silence for his sake.  
Be thou a true Penelope to me,  
And thou shalt soon thine own Ulysses see.   

What said I? soon? yea soon I say again,  
I will come soon and sooner if I may:  
Believe me now it is a pinching pain,  
To think of love, when lovers are away.  
Such thoughts I have, and when I think on thee.  
My thoughts are there, whereas my bones would be.   

The longing lust which Priam's son of Troy,  
Had for to see his Cressid come again:  
Can not exceed the depth of mine annoy,  
Nor seem to pass the pattern of my pain.  
I fryse in hope, I thaw in hot desire,  
far from the flame, and yet I burn like fire.   

Wherefore dear friend, think on the pleasures past.  
And let my tears, for both our pains suffice:  
The lingering joys, when as they come at last,  
Are bet then those, which pass in posting wise.  
And I myself, to prove this tale is true,  
In haste, post haste, thy comfort will renew.   Meritum petere, grave.  

¶ A letter devised for a young lover.  
Receive you worthy Dame, this rude & ragged verse,  
Lend willing ear unto the tale, which I shall now rehearse.  
And though my witless words might move you for to smile,  
Yet trust to that which I shall tell, & never mark my style.  
Among five hundredth Dames, presented to my view,  
I found most cause by due desert, to like the best of you.  
I see your beauty such, as seemeth to suffice,  
To bind my heart in links of love, by judgement of mine eyes.  
And but your bounty quench, the coals of quick desire,  
I fear that face of yours will set, ten thousand hearts on fire.  
But bounty so abounds, above all my desert,  
As that I quake and shrink for fear, to show you of my smart.  
Yet since mine eye made choice, my heart shall not repent,  
But yield itself unto your will, & therewith stand content.  
God knoweth I am not great, my power it is not much,  
The greater glory shall you gain, to show your favour such.  
And what I am or have, all that I yield to you,  
My hand and sword shall serve always, to prove my tongue is true.  
Then take me for your own, and so I will be still,  
Believe me now. I make this vow, in hope of your good will.  
Which if I may obtain, God leave me when I change,  
This is the tale I meant to tell, good Lady be not strange.  Meritum petere, grave.  

¶ David's salutations to Berzabe wherein are three sonnets in sequence, written upon this occasion. The deviser hereof amongst other friends had named a gentlewoman his Berzabe, and she was content to call him her David. The man presented his Lady with a book of the Golden Ass, written by Lucius Apuleius, and in the beginning of the books written this sequence. You must confer it with the History of Apuleius, for else it will have small grace.  

THis Apuleius was in Africa borne.  
And took delight to travail Thessaly,  
As one that held his native soil in scorn.  
In foreign coasts to feed his fantasy.  
And such again as wandering wits found out,  
This younker won by will and weary toil,  
A youth misspent, a doting age in doubt,  
A body brusd with many a beastly broil,  
A presaunt pleasure passing on a pace,  
And painting plain the path of penitence.  
A frolic faudur foiled with fowl disgrace,  
When hoary hears should claim their reverence.  
Such is the fruit that grows on gadding trees,  
Such kind of mell most moveth busy Bees.  
For Lucius he.   

Esteeming more one ounce of present sport,  
Than elders do a pound of perfect wit:  
First to the bower of beauty doth resort,  
And there in pleasure passed many a fit,  
His worthy race he (reckless) doth forget,  
With small regard in great affairs he réeles,  
No counsel grave, nor good advise can set  
His brains in brake that whirled still on wheels.  
For if Byrhena could have held him back,  
From Venus' court where he now nufled was,  
His lusty limbs had never found the lack  
Of manly shape: the figure of an Ass,  
Had not been blazed on his blood and bones,  
To wound his will with torments all at once.  
But Fotis she,   

Who saw this Lording whittled with the cup  
Of vain delight, whereof he 'gan to taste:  
Poured out apace, and styled the Mazor up,  
With drunken dole: yea after that in haste,  
She greazde this guest with sauce of Sorcery,  
And fed his mind with knacks both quaint and strange:  
Lo here the treazon and the treachery  
Of gadding girls, when they delight to range.  
For Lucius thinking to becomes a foul,  
Become a fool, yea more than that, an Ass,  
A bobbing block, a beating stock, an owl,  
Well wondered at in place where he did pass:  
And spent his time, his travail and his cost,  
To purchase pain and all his labour lost.  
Yet I poor I,   

Who make of thee my Fotys and my friend,  
In like delight my youthful years to spend:  
Do hope thou wilt from such sour sauce defend,  
David thy King.   Meritum petere grave.  

Soon acquainted, soon forgotten, As appeareth here by an uncourteous farewell to an inconstant Dame.  
IF what you want, you (wanton) had at will,  
A steadfast mind, a faithful loving heart:  
If what you speak you would perform it still,  
If from your word your deed did not revert:  
If youthful years your thoughts did not so rule,  
As elder days may scorn your friendship frail,  
Your doubled fancy would not thus recoil,  
For peevish pride which now I must bewail.  
For Cressid fair did Troilus never love,  
Moore dear than I esteemed your freamed cheer,  
Whose wavering ways (since now I do them prove)  
By true report this witness with me bear:  
That if your friendship be not to dear bought,  
The price is great that nothing gives for naught.  Meritum petere grave.  
FINIS.   

¶ Certain notes of Instruction concerning the making of verse or rhyme in English, written at the request of Master Edovardo Donati.  
Signior Edovardo, since promise is debt, and you (by the law of friendship) do burden me with a promise that I should lend you instructions towards the making of English verse or rhyme, I will assay to discharge the same, though not so perfectly as I would, yet as readily as I may: and therewithal I pray you consider that Quot homines, tot Sententiae, especially in Poetry▪ wherein (nevertheless) I dare not challenge any degree, and yet will I at your request adventure to set down my simple skill in such simple manner as I have used, referring the same hereafter to the correction of the Laureate. And you shall have it in these few points following.  
THe first and most necessary point that ever I found meet to be considered in making of a delectable poem is this, to ground it upon some fine invention. For it is not enough to roll in pleasant words, nor yet to thunder in Rym, Ram, Rufman, by letter (quoth my master Chaucer) nor yet to abound in apt vocables, or epythetes, unless the Invention have in it also aliquid salis. By this aliquid salis, I mean some good and fine devise, showing the quick capacity of a writer: and where I say some good and fine invention, I mean that I would have if both fine and good. For many inventions are so superfine, that they are Vix good. And again many Inventions are good, and yet not finely handled. And for a general for warning what Theme soever you do take in hand, if you do handle it but tanquam in oration perpetua, and never study for some depth of devise in the Invention, & some figures also in the handling thereof: it will appear to the skilful Reader but a tale of a tub. To deliver unto you general examples it were almost unpossible, sithence the occasions of Inventions are (as it were) infinite: nevertheless take in worth mine opinion, and perceive my further meaning in these few points. If I should undertake to write in praise of a gentlewoman, I would neither praise her crystal eye, nor her cherry lip, etc. For these things are trita & obuia. But I would either find some supernatural cause whereby my pen might walk in the superlative degree, or else I would undertake to answer for any imperfection that she hath, and there upon raise the praise of her commendation. Likewise if I should disclose my pretence in love, I would either make a strange discourse of some intolerable passion, or find occasion to plead by the example of some history, or discover my disquiet in shadows per Allegoriam, or use the covertest mean that I could to avoid the uncomely customs of common writers. Thus much I adventure to deliver unto you (my friend) upon the rule of Invention, which of all other rules is most to be marked, and hardest to be prescribed in certain and infallible rules, nevertheless to conclude therein, I would have you stand most upon the excellency of your Invention, & stick not to study deeply for some fine devise. For that being found, pleasant words will follow well enough and fast enough.  
2 Your Invention being once devised, take heed that neither pleasure of rhyme, nor variety of devise, do carry you from it: for as to use obscure & dark phrases in a pleasant Sonnet, is nothing delectable, so to entermingle merry jests in a serious matter is an Indecorum.  
3 I will next advise you that you hold the just measure wherewith you begin your verse, I will not deny but this may seem a preposterous order: but because I covet rather to satisfy you particularly, than to undertake a general tradition, I will not somuch stand upon the manner as the matter of my precepts. I say then, remember to hold the same measure wherewith you begin, whether it be in a verse of six syllables, eight, ten, twelve, etc. and though this precept might seem ridiculous unto you, since every young scholar can conceive that he aught to continued in the same measure where with he beginneth, yet do I see and read many men's Poems now adays, which beginning with the measure of xii. in the first line, & xiv. in the second (which is the common kind of verse) they will yet (by that time they have passed over a few verses) fall into xiv. & fourteen, & sic de similibus, the which is either forgetfulness or carelessness.  
4 And in your verses remember to place every word in his natural Emphasis or sound, that is to say in such wise, and with such length or shortness, elevation or depression of syllables, as it is commonly pronounced or used: to express the same we have three manner of accents, gravis, lenis, & circumflexa, the which I would english thus, the long accent, the short accent, & that which is indifferent: the grave accent is marked by this caracte, 
 / the light accent is noted thus, \ & the circumflexe or indifferent is thus signified ˜: the grave accent is drawn out or elevate, and maketh that syllable long whereupon it is placed: the light accent is depressed or snatched up, and maketh that syllable short upon the which it lighteth: the circumflexe accent is indifferent, sometimes short, sometimes long, sometimes depressed & sometimes elevate. For example of th'emphasis or natural sound of words, this word Treasure, hath the grave accent upon the first syllable, whereas if it should be written in this sort, Treasure, now were the second syllable long, & that were clean contrary to the common use wherewith it is pronounced. For further explanation hereof, note you that commonly now a days in english rhymes (for I dare not call them English verses) we use none other order but a foot of two syllables, whereof the first is depressed or made short, & the second is elevate or made long: and that sound or scamning continueth throughout the verse. We have used in times past other kinds of Méeters: as for example this following:  
Not wight in this world, that wealth can attain,  
Unless he believe, that all is but vain.  
Also our father Chaucer hath used the same liberty in feet and measures that the Latinists do use: and who so ever do peruse and well consider his works, he shall find that although his lines are not always of one self same number of Syllables, yet being red by one that hath understanding, the longest verse and that which hath most Syllables in it, will fall (to the ear) correspondent unto that which hath fewest syllables in it: and like wise that which hath in it fewest syllables, shallbe found yet to consist of words that have such natural sound, as may seem equal in length to a verse which hath many more syllables of lighter accents. And surely I can lament that we are fallen into such a plain and simple manner of writing, that there is none other foot used but one: whereby our Poems may justly be called Rhythms, and cannot by any right challenge the name of a Verse. But since it is so, let us take the ford as we find it, and let me set down unto you such rules or precepts that even in this plain foot of two syllables you wrest no word from his natural and usual sound, I do not mean hereby that you may use none other words but of two syllables, for therein you may use discretion according to occasion of matter: but my meaning is, that all the words in your verse be so placed as the first syllable may sound short or be depressed, the second long or elevate, the third short, the fourth long, the fifth short, etc. For example of my meaning in this point mark these two verses:  
I understand your meaning by your eye.  
Your meaning I understand by your eye.  
In these two verses there seemeth no difference at all, since the one hath the very self same words that the other hath, and yet the latter verse is neither true nor pleasant, & the first verse may pass the musters. The fault of the latter verse is that this word understand is therein so placed as the grave accent falleth upon der, and thereby maketh der, in this word understand to be elevated: which is contrary to the natural or usual pronunciation: for we say  
understand, and not understand.  
5 Here by the way I think it not amiss to forewarn you that you thrust as few words of many syllables into your verse as may be: and hereunto I might allege many reasons: first the most ancient English words are of one syllable, so that the more monasyllables that you use, the truer Englishman you shall seem, and the less you shall smell of the Inkhorn. Also words of many syllables do cloy a verse and make it unpleasant, whereas words of one syllable will more easily fall to be short or long as occasion requireth, or willbe adapted to become circumflexe or of an indifferent sound.  
6 I would exhort you also to beware of rhyme without reason: my meaning is hereby that your rhyme lead you not from your first Invention, for many writers when they have laid the platform of their invention, are yet drawn sometimes (by rhyme) to forget it or at lest to altar it, as when they cannot readily find out a word which may rhyme to the first (and yet continued their determinate Invention) they do then either botch it up with a word that will rhyme (how small reason soever it carry with it) or else they altar their first word and so percase decline or trouble their former Invention: But do you always hold your first determined Invention, and do rather search the bottom of your brains for apt words, than change good reason for rumbling rhyme.  
7 To help you a little with rhyme (which is also a plain young scholars lesson) work thus, when you have set down your first verse, take the last word thereof and count over all the words of the self same sound by order of the alphabet: As for example, the last word of your first line is care, to rhyme therewith you have bore, clare, dare, far, gare, hare, and share, mare, snare, rare, stare, & ware, etc. Of all these take that which best may serve your purpose, carrying reason with rhyme: and if none of them will serve so, then altar the last word of your former verse, but yet do not willingly altar the meaning of your Invention.  
8 You may use the same Figures or Tropes in verse which are used in prose, and in my judgement they serve more aptly, and have greater grace in verse than they have in prose: but yet therein remember this old adage, Ne quid nimis, as many writers which do not know the use of any other figure than that which is expressed in repetition of sundry words beginning all with one letter, the which (being modestly used) dareth good grace to a verse: but they do so hunt a letter to death, that they make it Cram, and Cram bis positum mors est: therefore Ne quid nimis.  
9 Also asmuch as may be, eschew strange words, or obsoleta & inusitata, unless the Theme do give just occasion: marry in some places a strange word doth draw attentive reading, but yet I would have you therein to use discretion.  
10 And as much as you may, frame your style to perspicuity and to be sensible: for the haughty obscure verse doth not much delight, and the verse that is to easy is like a tale of a roasted horse: but let your Poem be such as may both delight and draw attentive reading, and therewithal may deliver such matter as be worth the marking.  
11 You shall do very well to use your verse after th'English phrase, and not after the manner of other languages: The Latinists do commonly set the adjective after the Substantive: As for example Femina pulchra, aedes altae, etc. but if we should say in English a woman fair, a house high, etc. it would have but small grace: for we say a good man, and not a man good, etc. And yet I will not altogether forbid it you, for in some places, it may be borne, but not so hardly as some use it which write thus: 
Now let us go to Temple ours,  
I will go visit mother mine etc.   
Surely I smile at the simplicity of such devisers which might aswell have said it in plain English phrase, and yet have better pleased all ears, than they satisfy their own fancies by such superfinesse. Therefore even as I have advised you to place all words in their natural or most common and usual pronunciation, so would I wish you to frame all sentences in their mother phrase and proper Idióma, and yet sometimes (as I have said before) the contrary may be borne, but that is rather where rhyme enforceth, or per licentiam Poenticam, than it is otherwise lawful or commendable.  
12 This poetical licence is a shrewd fellow, and covereth many faults in a verse, it maketh words longer, shorter, of more syllables, of fewer, newer, older, truer, falser, and to conclude it turkeneth all things at pleasure, for example, ydone for done, adown for down, o'ercome for overcome, ta'en for taken, power for power, heaven for heavn, thews for good parts or good qualities, and a numbered of other which were but tedious and needless to rehearse, since your own judgement and reading will soon make you espy such advantages.  
13 There are also certain pauses or rests in a verse which may be called Ceasures, whereof I would be loath to stand long, since it is at discretion of the writer, and they have been first devised (as should seem) by the Musicians: but yet thus much I will adventure to write, that in mine opinion in a verse of eight syllables, the pause will stand best in the midst, in a verse of ten it will best be placed at the end of the first four syllables: in a verse of twelve, in the midst, in verses o●●welue, in the first and fourteen in the second, we place the pause commonly in the midst of the first, and at the end of the first eight syllables in the second. In Rhythm royal, it is at the writers discretion, and forceth not where the pause be until the end of the line.  
14 And here because I have named Rhythm royal, I will tell you also mine opinion aswell of that as of the names which other rhymes have commonly borne heretofore. rhythm royal is a verse of ten syllables, and seven such verses make a staff, whereof the first and third lines do answer (across) in like terminations and rhyme, the second, fourth, and fifth, do likewise answer each other in terminations, and the two last do combine and shut up the Sentence: this hath been called Rhythm royal, & surely it is a royal kind of verse, serving best for grave discourses. There is also another kind called Ballad, and thereof are sundry sorts: for a man may writ ballad in a staff of six lines, every line containing eight or six syllables, whereof the first and third, second and fourth do rhyme across, and the fifth and sixth do rhyme together in conclusion. You may writ also your ballad of ten syllables rhyming as before is declared, but these two were wont to be most commonly used in ballad, which proper name was (I think) derived of this word in Italian Ballare, which signifieth to dance. And in deed those kinds of rhymes serve best for dances or light matters. Then have you also a rondlette, the which doth always end with one self same foot or repetition, and was thereof (in my judgement) called a rondelet. This may consist of such measure as best liketh the writer, then have you Sonnets, some think that all Poems (being short) may be called Sonnets, as in deed it is a diminutive word derived of Sonare, but yet I can best allow to call those Sonnets which are of fourteen lines, every line containing ten syllables. The first twelve do rhyme in staves of four lines by cross méetre, and the last two rhyming together do conclude the whole There are Dyzaynes, & Syxaines which are of ten lines, and of six lines, commonly used by the French, which some English writers do also term by the name of sonnets. Then is there an old kind of Rhythm called Verlayes, derived (as I have red) of this word Verd which betokeneth Green, and Say which betokeneth a Song, as if you would say green Songs: but I must tell you by the way, that I never red any verse which I saw by authority called Verlay, but one, and that was a long discourse in verses of ten syllables, whereof the four first did rhyme across, and the fifth did answer to the first and third, breaking off there, and so going on to another termination, Of this I could show example of imitation in mine own verses written to the right honourable the Lord Grey of Wilton upon my journey into Holland, etc. There are also certain Poems devised of ten syllables, whereof the first answereth in termination with the fourth, and the second and third answer each other: these are more used by other nations than by us, neither can I tell readily what name to give them. And the commonest sort of verse which we use now adays (viz. the long verse of twelve and fourteen syllables) I know not certainly how to name it, unless I should say that it doth consist of Poulter's measure, which giveth twelve for one dozen and xiv. for another. But let this suffice (if it be not to much) for the sundry sorts of verses which we use now adays.  
15 In all these sorts of verses when soever you undertake to writ, avoid prolixity and tediousness, & ever as near as you can, do finish the sentence and meaning at the end of every staff where you wright staves, & at the end of every two lines where you writ by couples or poulter's measure: for I see many writers which draw their sentences in length, & make an end at latter Lammas: for commonly before they end, the Reader hath forgotten where he begun. But do you (if you will follow my advise) eschew prolixity and knit up your sentences as compendiously as you may, since brevity (so that it be not drowned in obscurity) is most commendable.  
16 I had forgotten a notable kind of rhyme, called riding rhyme, and that is such as our Master and Father Chaucer used in his Canterbury tales, and in divers other delectable and light enterprises: but though it come to my remembrance somewhat out of order, it shall not yet come altogether out of time, for I will now tell you a conceit which I had before forgotten to write: you may see (by the way) that I hold a preposterous order in my traditions, but as I said before I write moved by good will, and not to show my skill. Then to return too my matter, as this riding rhyme serveth most aptly to write a merry tale, so rhythm royal is fittest for a grave discourse. Ballads are best of matters of love, and rondlettes most apt for the beating or handling of an adage or common proverb: Sonnets serve aswell in matters of love as of discourse: Dizaymes and Sixames for short Fantasies: Verlayes for an effectual proposition, although by the name you might otherwise judge of Verlayes, and the long verse of twelve and fourteen syllables, although it be now adays used in all Themes, yet in my judgement it would serve best for Psalms and Himpnes.  
I would stand longer in these traditions, were it not that I doubt mine own ignorance, but as I said before, I know that I writ to my friend, and affying myself thereupon, I make an end.  
FINIS.