A POSY of gillyflowers, each differing from other in colour and odour, yet all sweet. By Humphrey Gifford Gent.  
¶ Imprinted at London for john Perin, and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's Churchyard, at the sign of the Angel. 1580.   

❧ To the Worshipful his very good Master Edward Cope of Edon, Esquire, Humphrey Gifforde wisheth many years of prosperities.  
Having by your worship's favourable permittance, convenient opportunity in your service, to bestow certain hours amongst my books, with which exercise (of all earthly recreations I am most delighted) both reason bids me, and duty binds me, to make you partaker of some of the fruits of my studies. And farther, your worship being the only master that ever I served, unto whom (my parents excepted) I acknowledge myself more bound, then to all the world beside, I might be said to carry a very bad mind with me, if I should not endeavour by some one means or other, to show myself thankful for your benefits. And not knowing better how to do the same, I have (amongst other toys by me taken in hand) made special choice of these translations ensuring, to present you with, as a pledge of my loyalty and testimony of the dutiful zeal that I bear yond. The first thing that shall herein be offered to your view, is a most excellent Epistle, written first in Italian by Master Clodius Ptholomoeus, which according unto my simple skill, I have converted into English, although not with such eloquence as some other might (peradueuture) have done it: yet I trust with such diligence that ye shall find the intent of the Author sufficiently explained. He made it for the comforting of an acquaintance of his, who being fallen into poverty, did bear it very impatiently, wherein he hath discharged the duty of a friend, so faithfully, that no man can say so much in the commendation of it, but that it will deserve a great deal more. An● what indifferent judgement, it shall seem too want of the praise that I give it, shall appear to come to pass through the imperfection of the Translator, and not any default of the Author, wohse ability, if it shall not in all points answer to the willingness of his mind, meriteth the rather too be pardoned in that he hath done his goodwill. Next unto this Epistle followeth another of the same man's composition, which for the occasion, whereupon it was made, is not inferior to the first. For the golden examples and divine sentences that are couched in them, I christened this discourse by the name of A Comfortable Recreation, nothing doubting but that whosoever shall peruse it with advised consideration, will acknowledge that what the Title doth profess in show, the treatise will perform in substance. As the illness of my manner of handling of it was as it were a bridle to hold me back from giving my consent that it should come forth, so the goodness of the matter contained in it, served me as a spur to prick me forwards to yield to their entreaties that craved to have it published. Such other french and Italian toys as I have translated, and added hereunto (if I flatter not myself overmuch in mine own follies) are such as will bring more delight than disliking to the perusers of them. I am to crave pardon for my presumption in dedicating them to your worship, which I have done, in that passing under the shadow of your protection, they shall of a number that know you, be received with the greater favour.  
Thus hoping that my well-meaning & willing endeavour shallbe construed in the best part, remaining most thankful to your worship, for your benefits bestowed on me, I put an end to my rud preface, wishing unto & you my mistress, with your little ones, and all other your well-willers, many years of prosperities. With humble and hearty intercession unto God, that as ye have already planted a good and laudable beginning amongst your neighbours, and live in credit in your country, with the love and good liking of as many as know you, that so ye may grow and go forwards with daily increase of worship, until it shallbe his good pleasure, that ye shall exchange this earthly mansion, for a heavenly habitation.  
Your servant Humphrey Gifford.   

To the Reader.  
Courteous and friendly Reader, being desirous to content many, and not give occasion of offence to any, I have suffered the importunacy of some my well-willers to prevail so far with me, that I have yielded them my consent for the publishing of this Treatise, not being ignorant unto what hazard of reproach they oppose themselves, that permit their doings to be laid open to the view of a multitude. For as the better sort will pronounce their opinions of it, answerable to the verity of the substance, that shallbe in the works contained: so the greater sort do commonly give their verdict according to the vanity of the surmises that shall by them be conceived: often kindling a kind of mislike with the matter, for some secret malice that they bear to the man: And more oftener for a resolute and settled determination that they have grounded in them, never to like well of any thing, unless it meet iumpewtth their own doting and peevish imaginations, or be some pig of their proper farrowing: being in this point not unlike the crow, who always thinks her own birds fairest. But daily examples teach us, that they which vomit forth the poisoned rancour of their malicious stomachs, against the laudable attempts of others: most, are such as of themselves can do least: who neither carry a mind to undertake any commendable exercise themselves, nor have a meaning to permit others that would, to perform it without their venomous backbiting. If comparisons were not odious, I would here liken all such whelps of Zoilus, to that crabbed and canckerly natured cur, which being laid upon a bottle of hay, would neither feed of it himself, (being meat contrary to his complexion) nor suffer the poor hunger-starved beasts to approach near it quietly: but would lie still snapping and snarling at them. But to omit these preambulations, and come to the purpose, I tell thee (gentle Reader) if thou wilt vouchsafe the overlooking of this comfortable recreation, with a mind to profit, thou mayst reap benefit, and be greatly bettered by the reading of it. For the bridling and keeping under of our disordinate affections: for the restraining and containing of our desires within the compass of a contented mean: For the use and abuse of riches, and for the gaining and obtaining of the true and perfect tranquillity of mind, one may read much, and yet not find it more pithily and substantially set down, then in these Epistles following: And especially in the first, where thou shalt meet with such plenty of sweet and comfortable consolations, collected out of the bowels of the scripture, and applied so aptly, as will move them, if thou have never so little taste or feeling in them of God, or godliness, to mind thy creator, and be thankful unto him for his benefits. And my hope is, that the goodness and excellency of the matter shall so ravish thy senses that my imperfections in the translating of them, shall be passed over by thee unespied. Nevertheless if either in the edition of this, or other my trifles, any thing shall chance to escape me, which in thy unpartial opinion shall seem unfitting, I will most willingly submit myself to the censure of thy judgement, & upon admonition amend the fault by repentance, yielding thee thanks for thy friendliness, answerable to the mind and good meaning that I shall see thee to advertise me of it. ●ut if I shall perceive thee to speak it, more of malice to reprehend me, then of meaning to amend me, it will so discomfort and discourage me, and take down mine edge in such sort, that I doubt, I shall very hardly be brought hereafter to repose confidence again in thy courtesy. Yet if thou be learned, and wilt tell me of my faults lovingly, spare not, I will take it most thankfully: also if thou be one of Momus mates, and dost rail at my doings spytefullie Icare not, I will brook it most patiently, accounting it no less commendation to be ill spoken of, by one that is ignorant and foolish, then to be well spoken of, by one that is skilful and wise.  
Thus we should do, and thus (would to God) we could do: but as it is most easy to profess patience in words when our estate is in quiet: so is it very difficult to express it in deeds, when our affections are distempered. Such as take men's purses from them undesired, pass often by the sentence of a cord, and shall such as rob men of their good names undeserved, be suffered to escape scotfree? This may be set down for a rule that never fails: that as many men would be glad to be better thought of, than his dealings shall deserve: so any man would be loath to be worse thought of, than his doings shall demerit. For to be defrauded of deserved praise, and pursued with undeserved reproach, may well be accounted a double injury. To conclude (gentle Reader) I have been so chary in the choice of the things contained in this pamphlet, that thou mayst find many things herein to delight thee, and not any thing to despite thee. If thou shalt take pleasure, or gain profit by the reading of them: be thankful to the authors, and vouchsafe to think well of the translator, who when he would thee worst, wisheth thee well.  
Thine in all courtesy, Humphrey Gifford.   

¶ An Epistle written in Italian, by Master Claudius Ptholomoeus, for the comforting of his very loving and learned friend, Master Dionysius, being fallen into poverty, and englished by H. G.  
ye should have done me a great pleasure, if (as I requested you) ye had come and remained with me at my house this Summer; where, far from the rumours of the city, amidst the delectable woods, ye should have avoided a great part of these griefs, with which ye now are molested; and above all, ye should not so sharply have felt the bitings of poverty, which in your last letter, ye so cruelly complain of. For it is a thing most manifest (as S. Jerome saith very well) that our eyes are the chief cause, that poverty seemeth so sharp and bitter unto us. Take away the sight of riches, by and by poverty seemeth light unto me. When I see not the pomps, the treasures, the jewels, the rich attire, delicious tables, sumptuous palaces, great trains of servants in others; I neither search for them, nor covet after them, neither am I careful for being without them. But assoon as these wild beasts are once presented before my eyes, straightways with their false and deceivable beauty, like enchauntresses, they lime my desire, which done (like infernal furies) they torment it with a thousand annoys; by the means whereof, all quiet & tranquillity is banished from the mind of man; in place whereof, unpleasant cogitations, broken sleeps, froward hatred, blind envy, servile fear, doubtful hope, and divers other their cruel companions, and copesmates, reign, and govern our affections. Truly, I myself, who do now think by long experience, and sound judgement of mind, to be somewhat established, and confirmed in temperate desires; when sometimes I am conversant (I say) amongst the pomps of the city, I seem to feel certain waters of vain appetites to bubble up within me, which might peradventure breed some grievous infirmity in my mind, if I did not suddenly kill & keep them down with the tempest of moderation: & doubtless as oft as I make repair into these places, I seem to be carried on a calm Sea, with a moderate wind, without swelling of the waves, or danger of any tempest. ye might (I say) have done me a most acceptable pleasure, if ye had come unto me, to have avoided the dangers & annoyances of poverty amongst these solitary woods, & ye should also have delivered me of a great trouble in writing unto you. For that here the green grass, the flourishing trees, the crystal streams the chirping birds, the harmless beasts, the open air, the seeing of every thing to rejoice at the gifts of nature, would have been better masters for the instructing of you, than all the schools of Philosophers in Athens. Or if this had not been sufficient, yet had it been more easy for me to have told you what was convenient in walking, and (as it were) sporting with you, (then being distant) I can now do by writing. But a friend is never to be abandoned, rather we should endeavour to search out every remedy, for his health; to undertake any travel; and to put ourselves betwixt every danger, for his safety. Although I believe, ye demand consolation of me, not for that ye want it in yourself, I knowing you to be both wise & temperate; but for that (as it comes too pass) ye esteem the consolation given by a dear friend, to be more pleasant than your own. For in this ye taste but yourself only: in the other ye shall participate both of the fruit of yourself, and of your friend. I say unto you (Master Dionysius) that first, I know not, whether to be poor or rich, be a thing that hath his foundation in nature, or is altogether placed in the opinion of men. But this I clearly know, the poverty is an evil or affection, which men without necessity, have by opinion only placed amongst the evils, & affections, which nature hath bestowed on us; & have made the same of her, as (Menander saith) they have done of ambition, of the injury of words; of unlucky dreams; of wonders, & many other things, which not being given us by nature for any evil at all; we, nevertheless through our foolish imagination, accounted them as a disgrace that not a little tormenteth us. Through which it comes to pass, that man is more unfortunate, than any other living creature whatsoever. Who is he living according to the use of men nowadays, seeing himself to fall out of favour with his master, had not rather have ten burning fevers, then lose this his favour? whereas if he had sound judgement, & would not suffer himself to be corrupted, with false imagination, he ought rather to choose the disfavour of four masters, then to suffer one only fever; for that the first, is an evil springing only of opinion, & this is grounded & founded in nature itself. So likewise seemeth it unto me of poverty, that if it be an evil (which I believe not) it taketh his original only of the fantasies, & thoughts of men of weak understanding, having no foundation at all in nature. And therefore jesus Christ our saviour most prudently & divinely comforted, not only his disciples, but all the poor also, which this goodly & most beautiful example of two sparrows. Is not man (saith Christ) of greater price than two sparrows? hath not God greater regard of him, then of these little birds? & yet they want nothing that is needful for their sustenance. Shall any thing be wanting them unto men which are had in greater estimation, both with God & nature? And verily, it is not to be doubted but that poverty & riches sprang first of the division of dominions; being brought in rather by the greediness & ambition of men, then by any order of nature. O blessed be ye little beasts; you feel not at all, those pearcing, & privy bitings of poverty, but live freely and joyfully in the pure law of nature, without encombring yourselves, with either riches or poverty. Let poverty be what she will, I know not wherefore we should account of her, when as she is not of the things that are within us, but reckoned in the number of those that are without us.  
For man is made and framed of soul and body only, and it is not necessary to the composition of him, that there should appertain a soul, a body, and riches. Now if poverty be not of the things within us, but without us, what evil (I pray you) can she do us? Surely it must be much less, then that which offendeth the parts of which we are truly composed sickness, and diseases make death seem unto us more bitter than gall; likewise ignorance, dullness, envy, sin, and wickedness corrupt the beauty of our souls: of these in part we are framed. But what hath poverty to do with us? she hath respect (as hath been said) to the things without us, and should not annoy us, if we (enemies to our own selves) took not her darts in our hands, and with them most bitterly pierced our own souls. But I say unto you farther, that the restless grief, the loathsome irksomeness, and cruel prickings that poverty procureth, spring all from one root: which is, the desire of superfluous things. Take away the desire of those things that are peerless, and all this troublesome Sea will presently become quiet, and calm. Of a troth, that sentence manifested by the Philosophers, celebrated of the sages, & allowed by long experience (that nature is contented with very few things) is most true Whervp●̄ Cleanthus gave unto men this worthy lesson. Wilt thou (said Cleanthus) be quickly rich? be thou then poor of desires. I pray thee tell me how needful is it, from defending one from the cold, to be clothed in velvet, purple or gold, & to be always in sundry fashions? These garments bring no help unto nature, but increase the smoke of our ambition; neither yet can we ever be satisfied: whereby we gain no other thing, but to make our vanities, & the blind cloud of our desires more apparent. What necessity is there for the feeding of our body & sustentation of our life, to have our tables loaded with a hundred divers meats: all placed in vessels of silver & gold? First this is certain, that if nature desire a measurable quantity of meat for her sustenance; the which is taken more, is to the destroying & corrupting both of nature & life, whereby it was well & truly spoken, that many more are slain by gluttony, then by the sword.  
And it is daily seen, that many of them, at whom the foolish commonalty so greatly wonder, in the end are paid home with a deserved punishment for their ambitious gluttony: Some replenishing themselves with rheums, others gaining to themselves the gout: other some wasting and consuming their liver, & causing their sinews to shrink: others dying miserably long before their time. It is manifest also, that with their sundry kinds of sauces they have brought it so to pass, that nothing savoureth of itself; and that they very seldom eat with appetite, or delight. O how true is that notable sentence, and how well proved at all times; That hunger is the best sauce of all others, which makes all meats savoury and delightful! The example of Darius is no less true than common; who in his flight after a battle being wearied, and drinking a quantity of muddy water, did swear, that in all his life time, he never drank more pleasantly: Behold therefore; the poor men are most rich of those things, of which the rich (through their blind unsatiableness) are most poor. Finally it is manifest, that this superfluous feeding is an example of cruelty: First, against themselves, that use it: for because (as it is said) many are diseased, many killed, and many brought to misery:) Next, against a number of the poor, who (if it were well seen unto) might be relieved temperately with that which these consume immoderately. How much better should they do, & what more praise might they deserve, both of God & the world, if (restraining their diet to an honest & temperate moderation) all that which is vainly spent, were by them converted into some better use, either in marrying some maids, or in giving exhibition to young men addicted to study, or in using any other bountiful courtesy. Truly, I am not of opinion, that for being rich they had need to eat more: neither that their wealth doubling they should redouble their eating & drinking; & that they increasing these; should increase more also. To proceed farther in the matter, I say what need is there, for the keeping us from the rain, the wind, and the sun, to dwell in sumptuous palaces, replenished with most costly ornaments, as though a little cottage might not be sufficient to fence and defend us from such impressions, in which also, for the most part, more rest and safety is found, then in the other. What a fondness? yea, what a monstrous appetite was it of Nero, when that of all the mount Celio and more, he made but one only house, through which it was doubted, lest that therein he would have swallowed up all Rome: and he was not ashamed to say, that now he began to live, as was convenient for men? It pleaseth me well, that sumptuous and stately buildings be seen in the world, not for any need and tranquillity of man, but for the beautifying, and setting out of Cities, and for the demonstration of the wonderfulness and excellency of arts. But he that is without them, so that he have some cottage to cover himself therewith, ought not to be troubled for not having of them.  
What shall we say of the quiet bed for the wearied members? is it requisite that it be adorned with gold and precious stones? as the lascivious Emperors did often use to do in times passed at Rome? or is it sufficient that it be of leaves, as was used in the first world? though but homely, yet more natural? True it is, that Laertes had in his house none other but one old woman, which brought him his meat and drink, who slept commonly on the ground, on a mattress made of leaves. I will not here enter into the discourse, what is pertinent to the use of man's life, wher● ambition and vanity is out of measure augmented beyond that which the necessity of Nature doth require; and with this increasing, hath brought unto mortal creatures many troubles, divers displeasures, & infinite vexations, springing only of a foolish, nay rather frantic, and raging appetite of superfluity. Only thus much I say unto you, that unto a wise man, who will not suffer himself to be carried away, with false resemblances, or feigned appearances, it sufficeth that he have wherewith to defend himself from hunger and thirst; and from the cold and heat: so that the Philosopher Epictetus, with a gallant similitude did say very well. As the foot is the measure of the shoe: so the measure of having is the body of the man itself; if thou desire to be stayed herein, a moderation must be observed in thy desires, beyond the which if thou pass, thou must of necessity run headlong into infinite inconveniences. And to bring this to pass, I think it not necessary to have the substance of Croesus, or Lucullus; but very few things may suffice for the attaining of it, in such sort that almost every one may attain unto it with little difficulty, if they would but bridle and restrain their desires within the limits of an honest moderation.  
Verily, when I way and ponder these things with myself, that divine sentence of Seneca, seemeth unto me to be worthily spoken, who with a true lesson warneth us, saying, If ye have respect unto that, wherewith Nature is sufficed, ye shall never be poor: if ye look unto that which opinion craveth, ye shall never be rich. O most golden sentence, wherein the greatest part of the travail and repose of man con●isteth! Who is he, that having respect only to the necessities of Nature, can ever be poor? Again, who is he that following the appetite of vain things, & the desire of superfluities that, can ever be rich? This man possessing a beautiful house●d sireth a village; having obtained that, he would have a stock and furniture for them both: This being granted, he craveth great store of money for divers uses, & necessities; also this money being gotten, he hath a desire to be Lord over castles, and to have vassals under him: having brought this also to pass, he aspireth to be a marquess, next a Duke, than a King, farther, an Emperor; and in the end he would be Lord of all the world: yet this would not satisfy his greedy appetite: for he would (with Alexander the great) be Lord of all the worlds of Anaxagoras, in such sort, that he that possesseth most, is farthest from his end: for that greater riches engender greater desires. This cruel and unmeasurable lust of having, is so great, and unsatiable.  
I would gladly learn when it may be said, that a man hath sufficient; when it may be said, that he is rich. Marcus Crassus was wont to say, that no man was rich, unless with his yearly revenues he could keep and maintain an army. What fondness? what unsatiableness is this? Truly Aglaius Profidius did not possess so much, but had only one little plot of ground, which he manured with his own hands: never the less he was judged by the Oracle to be most happy of all men. But shall I now declare unto you how many men in extreme poverty have lived joyfully and contentedly, being had in estimation, and honoured greatly? My web should be overlong, if I should here recount them all, but these shall suffice. amongst the Grecians Aristides, Photion, Epaminondus, Pelopidus the Theban, Lampsacus the Atheniensen, Socrates and Efialtus were most poor, yet were they all wise and just men, and well esteemed in the world. Also of the Latins there are many notable examples: but this of Curius and Fabritius shall serve for all, of whom the one would rather command him that possessed gold, then possess it himself: The other with a bold courage refused many gifts that the Samnites did proffer him. But whereof sprang this temperance in them? Without doubt no other where, but that they had clipped the wings to the desire of superfluous things. Of a troth this distinction of the Philosophers is most true; that our appetite is of two sorts; the one measured, and having end; the other infinite, and without end. All those that desire riches, only for the love that they bear unto them, have never any end in their desires: but like him that hath the dropsy, the more they possess, the more always they covet: but they that temperately search after riches, not for mere love they bear towards them, but to employ them to some necessary and determinate use, find some end, and repose in their desires. For so much they ought and commonly do desire, as is needful for that end and use, for which they did desire it.  
But divers entangle themselves, proposing hurtful and unprofitable ends, at the least wise unnecessary. I therefore have made choice of one chief, being both pure and natural: which is the conservation of ourselves, and those that are begotten of us: all other ends are corrupt, full of pride and ambition, and unnatural. O that it pleased God, that men might desire riches to no other use, but for that only, which they indeed stand in need of. Doubtless, great rumours, many lamentations, infinite sorrows should be quieted, which for the want of these enticing riches, are daily made amongst men. But know ye wherefore he is always pensive, why he seemeth continually to be poor, and what the cause is, that he is never contented with his estate? shall I tell you the only occasion hereof? it proceeds of no other cause, but that he always looks before him, fixing his eye on him that is more rich, and more mighty than himself, & either pricked forward by envy, or drawn unto it by covetousness, he would not only reach and arrive unto the same, but also pass farther: and they never look back, or cast their eyes on the poor, which are (as it were) behind them, but rather hold them in a continual contempt: and there are very few that can, or know how to moderate themselves, from these untemperate disorders. Of a treath there are many (yea very many) that bitterly complain of poverty: who, if the whole world were divided into equal parts, would not have so much unto their shares, as they now possess. I verily believe, that if all the men and women were placed on the one side, and all the riches of the world on the other, and that his part were equally divided unto every one (as it is said Lycurgus did in Sparta) it should come to pass, that many that now cry out, of poverty, should apparently see, that they were over rich, and had more than their parts. Amongst which number, I think myself should be one, which now account myself to be poor, and so peradventure, would you also: so that if ye respect this honest and measured end, it may be that this your poverty will not make you seem to be so poor, as ye esteemed yourself to be, nor bring you so great affliction, finding it far less than ye deemed it to be. But you will say peradventure (and I deny it not) that there are a great many rich, which feel pleasure, contentment, and honour by them: whereas I by my poverty receive sorrow, displeasure, and shame. What complaints are those? Shouldest thou despair, for not having that which other men enjoy? Wherefore then do these rich men (which bring you in this estate) despair, seeing others above them to be Dukes, Princes, Kings and Emperors? Why do not many, that delight in eating and drinking hang themselves, for not being able to drink so much as Trigungius did with the Romans; or because they cannot devour a whole table of meat, as Catellactus hath done in our time? and to bring a more true and lively example, why are not all men afflicted, and as it were brought into despair, because they have not the strength and force of a Lion; the sight of an Eagle; the swiftness of a Tiger; the scenting of a Dog; the length of the life of a Heart, and in the end, the flyeing of birds.  
It is not needful to look to that which others have, but to that which is convenient for our estates and callings. And herein (according to every man's degree) to repose our chief contentment and felicity. But perhaps, you will say that it is not requisite to make such an arithmetical division of the goods of Fortune, but rather that it were more convenient to maken a Geometrical, not according to the number, but the desert. It were well said. But who shall judge of this desert?  
This, doubtless is the head fountain and original of all errors. Every one doth deem, and judge better of himself then there is cause why.  
self-love doth corrupt our judgement, and sedure our senses in such sort, with false imaginations that it presenteth unto us, that in partial esteeming of ourselves, every one suffers himself pleasantly to be deceived. Infinite is the number of them, unto whom it seemeth, that they have deserved a great deal more than they have: but there are very few of the other sort, that think they have a great deal more than they have deserved: whereof grievous perturbations, and continual lamentations, for the want of riches and preferment, do afterwards ensue. I know not then how in this general discourse we should consider of the deserts of every one aright, through which, all things might be brought into question and controversy.  
It is a great deal better to ponder by this Arithmetical division, that the greatest part of them, that complain of poverty, shall find themselves deceived, if the world were divided into equal parts. But let us pass on farther, if it please you; and let us set down, with what just measure riches and poverty ought to be measured. Every one doth love, honour, and reverence riches, and covet after them. Every one holdeth poverty in contempt, despiseth her, and flieth from her. Know ye wherefore? For that every man only respecteth the good, and commodity of riches, never forecasting the evils and discommodities that they bring with them. Contrarily, every one looks unto the evil, that is found to be in poverty, and there stayeth himself; but none respecteth or hath regard to the good, and commeditie that cometh by her: so that it is not to be wondered at, if (the eyes being opened to the good that riches hath in them, and shut to the evil) so many do praise and desire them. Neither is it any marvel likewise, if (opening them to the evil that poverty hath in her, and shutting them to the good) every one despiseth, and escheweth it. Know ye then whereof this proceedeth? surely of none other cause, but the first appearance. For that riches doth present herself unto us, which a gladsome and cheerful countenance, bringing with her a certain counterfeit beauty, that doth dazzle our eyes, and lime our senses and affections, with her enticement: in such sort, that we are drawn, and as it were brought besides ourselves, with these coloured enchantments, believe that every thing of her is pleasant, beautiful and good: And these shadows, and feigned resemblances, wherewith she is set out unto us, will not permit us to penetrate into the naughtiness, that she conceals within her, nor suffer us to see the poison that lies hidden under her, through which that chanceth oftentimes, which is spoken of the Mermaids, that (alluring with their sweet, but deceivable voices) men see not the great evil that lurketh under them, and is prepared for them. On the other side, poverty presenteth herself unto us with a filthy and horrible countenance, in such sort, that none would ever surmise, that any good thing were contained within her▪ nevertheless, under ill favoured counterfeits, most beautiful figures, and wonderful works, both of art and nature are oftentimes comprehended. But (as I said) these measures are not just, neither can the troth ever be bolted out by them.  
It is not sufficient of one thing to open only the good, concealing the evil; and of another, to lay forth only the evil, not revealing the good: and troth cannot possible be discerned from a doubtful matter, if a division of the good and the evil that resteth in either of them, be not first made and sifted out, and the substance of the thing after considered of accordingly. It being a most true and unfallible principle, that all things under the Sun, are (I know not in what sort) intermixed with good and evil, so that nothing is neither wholly good, nor wholly evil: and now it may well be said, that riches brings with her much evil; and poverty containeth in her not a little good. Neither is it convenient that they, whose poverty is great, should be left without an advocate, as we often see they are: but good & just Princes should see their right granted them without any expense. Behold again the riches puff men up with a certain vain kind of insolency, and makes them become proud, and disdainful, whereas poverty replenisheth them with humility, and makes them humble and courteous: we see Pallantes the free man of Clodius to be out of measure rich: we see him likewise to be passing proud, in such sort, that in a long season, he would not vouchsafe to speak to any of his servants: we see Fabritius to be most poor, we see him therewith, very lowly and pleasant. But one example may suffice for a thousand, for we may daily read, hear, and see them. This first Dowry therefore is to be detested, that riches brings with her, in that it makes men proud and insolent; as that of poverty is to be beloved, in that it makes men humble and courteous. Riches make not men only to be puffed up with pride, but also drowneth them in divers kinds of voluptuous naughtiness, for it maketh them lascivious, vain, given to gluttony, always occupied in earthly delights, and wallowing in worldly wantonness, and filth of the flesh: for that being possessors of great riches, they déem it a privilege, and reckon it in place of great game, that by the means of them they may feed their superfluous appetites and disordinate affections. Whereas the poor acknowledging his estate, for the most part lives sparingly & temperately, not so greatly corrupted, nor defiled with vain & worldly allurements. That Plutarcke said very well, terming poverty to be an abundant temperance, and a strict observance of the Laws, in such sort that Arcesilaus was accustomed to say, that poverty was sharp after the manner of craggy Ithaca, but yet brought forth good sons, teaching them to abstain and suffer, and making them frugal, concluding that it was a notable schoolhouse and open wrestling place for all virtue. What shall I say more? Riches make men become despisers of God, at the leastwise little acknowledging his power, and bounty. For the rich man seeing himself to abound in wealth, and increase in substance, seemeth in his own conceit not to stand in need of any other assistance, wherefore he very seldom hath recourse unto God, and seldom prayeth unto him, or is thankful for his benefits: but as it were, dependeth of himself only, swelling and wondering at his own wisdom, and (as one might say) playing the Peacock in his felicity. Whereas the poor man confessing his imbecility, runneth unto God for refuge; & acknowledging his bounty, commits himself wholly to his custody, lauding and praising his name, and calling him to his aid and assistance. But riches do not only corrupt the will; but together therewith, are a hindrance, and impediment to the understanding: for these (for the most part) accounting it enough to be rich, seldom or never give their minds, to good and laudable studies; or noble and high contemplations, either of philosophy, or of any other science: but rather addict their whole endeavours, either to some vain & frivolous pastimes▪ or to the increase of their riches. Whereof it comes to pass, that the true and right end of science is changed into a false, and counterfeit. For that the right use to learn science in deed, is, for the more, and better perfecting and ennobling the mind of man: But the common sort, wrist it clean contrary, accounting the acquiring of substance, to be the only end of the learning of Science. Through which the rich man weaves the web of his own woe, saying in himself; what cause is there, that I should travel myself in study? if I be already rich, I am come to the end; what need is it then that I have recourse, either to the beginning or midst. But the poor man, moved either with the right or wrong way, with great desire and fervent affection followeth his study: Through which it hath been seen, and is seen daily that many poor men by learning, attain unto great excellency, promotion, and preferment. So that Taletus the noble Philosopher said very well; who so affirmeth (quoth he) that poverty withdraweth a man from Philosophy, & riches inflame him with the desire of it, is deceived greatly. O God, how many do we see, hindered rather by abundance of substance, then by scarcity? is it not evident that the poor (for the most part) give themselves to study? that the rich busied in other affairs, either cannot, or will not follow their learning? So much of Taletus. But let us proceed farther. Who seeth not that the rich men with great difficulty come to the knowledge of the troth? having always about them a company of feigned friends: & swarm of flatterers? Many examples might here be alleged of rich men that have been abused by such dissemblers; whereas the poor man is free from this plague? none going about to cirumvent him by flattery, it being a thing most manifest, that they that profess to be his friends are true friends, it being far from any suspicion, that they should come to flatter him, or fain to be his friends, to the end, to pluck his wealth & substance from him, who standeth more in need to be relieved himself, then to give to others. What shall I here speak of the snares that are intended against the rich: both towards their substance and persons? It were better for the beast called the Castor, that he had not those virtuous stones, when as for them he is so pursued of the hunters; it should be better also for men that they had not these riches, when as so many snares & deceits are laid by other men for the getting of them. But even as the Castor (as some writ of him) seeing the hunters pursue him, bites of his stones, for the safeguard of the rest of his body: so should that rich man do, which seeth himself besieged with snares, and counter watches for his substance, & rather to choose to cast all away, than not to be assured of his life, & liberty. That deed therefore of Crates the Philosopher was worth the noting: who seeing himself encumbered, and his estate endangered, through a great quantity of jewels, & money that he had, threw all into the Sea: saying, I had rather drown you, than ye should cause me to perish or be destroyed. Great are the number of the rich men which are injuried and pursued of the mighty, to the end to procure their substance from them. Wherefore was he that was banished at the instant request of Fulvia so hardly dealt with, but that Fulvia would have had his fair house from him? The books of histories both old and new are replenished with examples of them, with makes me in opinion to be contrary to Anacarsus. He said, that the laws were like the spider's web, into which if any light or small thing fell, it there remained, but being great, it passeth through, and broke it asunder. Contrariwise, I say that they are like unto the nets of hunters, into the which if any little beast happen, he presently passeth through the meshes, the nets not being made to that end: but if any good beast enter therein, as a hare, a goat, or a Dear, he sticketh fast, and is taken, being both good and profitable for the hunters. Verily the covetous rich man liveth continually in great suspicion & fear, lest that his substance be taken from him; or that he be beguiled of it, or forced to departed with it against his will; so that every shadow seemeth a Bugbear unto him; every little stirring in the house disquieteth him: so that both at home in his chamber, and abroad in his journey, he is never without suspicion, not unlike the man that is jealous of some woman whom he loveth. Whereas the poor man, not having his breast loaded with such fear; and feeling himself to be light in his journey, stands not in doubt to be rob: As that common verse sayeth,  
The man, that traveling by the way  
no wealth with him doth bear,  
Amids the troops of thieves may sing,  
not having cause of fear.  
AND doubtless if it be well considered of, the poor man hath but one care, which is, to procure a little sustenance wherewith to live, but the rich man hath three thoughts and cares together. The one to conserve the riches that he hath: the other how to increase them: the third how to dispose them: through which it comes to pass, that the poor man is replenished with greater hope than fear; and of the other part, the rich man is assailed more with fear, than hope. He always hopeth to change his poor estate and miserable fortune into the better, being already placed in the lowest degree that Defilus said w●ll.  
The man that is most poor,  
most happy is of all;  
For that he never fears  
in worse estate to fall.  
This always doubteth least that his sweet will be transformed into sour, through which it is evident, that the poor feeleth a greater tranquillity in his mind, being replenished with hope, then doth the rich being surprised with fear. What farther? That poverty bringeth forth more worthy effects than riches, not only in itself, but in others also. For poverty raiseth pity & compassion in others which are most beautiful virtues in man's mind, but riches inflame and stir them up to envy, which is a most wicked vice. Wherefore if good effects come of good causes, and nanghtie of naughty causes, it is very likely that poverty is more virtuous that engendereth virtue, then are riches, that produce vices in others. What more shall I say, that riches procure delights, delights tenderness and delicacy of the body, tenderness and delicacy causeth weakness and faintness, through which it happeneth that rich men are less able to tolerate travel, heat and cold, and other humane discommodities, than the poor are, who by a patience perforce, are taught to endure all labour and travel, and every little impression of the air, neither are brought down with every little trifling disease, as the rich are. What farther? Riches engender faintness of courage, in the possessors of them, in that for fear of abandoning of them; they will not adventure to hazard themselves in any danger, neither for their friends, nor for their kindred, nor country, neither yet for themselves, but are always of a timorous and fearful mind. But the poor man not drawn back with the jealousy of this worldly pelf, showeth his valour boldly, and courageously exposeth himself to perils and dangers for the love of his friends, & country. What besides this? Abundant riches make men sluggish, not suffering them to awake to any good exercise; whereas poverty seldom permits them to stand drowsy and idle, but awakens them to beautiful inventions, and laudable travels. But let us consider one point that toucheth rich men to the quick, but the poor nothing so much. All men both by the law of God and nature, of necessity must once die. But he that abounds in riches, with what grief and torment doth he departed this life? he would not leave his fair house, his gallant village, his costly apparel; his brave horses, his bright silver: his glittering gold, and other infinite commodities, and delights that he tasteth in this world: which seeing that he must needs forego, he is out of measure vexed, and through inward grief kills himself, before the hour of his death approach. But the poor man, who takes little joy in this world, makes no great reckoning to leave it, not tasting that bitter sorrow, with dying, which the rich men feel: hoping to enjoy a better life in the world to come. The poor also in this world have great consolation: and it is no small comfort unto them, to think that the rich (will they, nil they) must die, and that they are forced (in spite of their teeth) to forego all their substance. Neither will we omit to say, that sometimes honest poverty bringeth with it more liberty & contentment of life, then unmeasurable riches: for that is frank and free, & this is tied and bound, to respects, and suspicions. So that now we perceive, that all is not pleasant, & delightful that is found in riches, nor all unsavoury, and bitter that is tried in poverty, but in this, much of the sweet; and in the other not a little of the sour: in both seen, felt, and tasted. Now let us proceed a little farther. And (if ye think it good) let it be granted, that poverty is evil and contemptuous, and hath in it no consolation (but truly it hath in it all these comforts, of which we have before made mention, which being well tasted of the poor man, he shall feel no little contentment in his poverty) let this be considered farther, that he is not only poor: & that this evil is not taken from all others, and cast on him alone: but the number of the poor are unnumerable, when as of the rich there are very few: Through which, if to have company in ones adversity, make the evil to seems the less, how light should the evil of poverty be, the poor man having so great a number of other poor men to associate him? Let us consider farther that poverty doth not always pinch, but only then, when he feeleth the want of some thing that he greatly needeth. It is not like a quotidian ague, which whiles it endureth, always vexeth and tormenteth a man; but this yéeldes the rest and repose, first whilst thou sléepest, thou hast no feeling of her: whereof this ancient Proverb took his original; That in one half of their life, there was no difference betwixt the happy, and unfortunate.  
Further, many hours of the day, a man thinks not of it: but lives joyfully, as if he were rich, and in good case. I have seen many poor men, lead their lives so iocundly, as did never king nor Emperor. On the other side, I have known many rich men, have their minds always troubled and disquieted, as if they were wrapped in extreme want, and misery: never to laugh, never to be gladsome, nor joyful, whereby I have noted, that the true tranquillity of the mind springs not of things that are without us, but of that delectable music, and well tempered harmony, of the human affections that are within us. Let us farther consider how that poverty is a thing that may be taken from us in a day, in an hour, and as it were, in a moment. It is not as too be blind, lame, foolish, or maimed, or a calamity whereof no hope remaineth ever to be cured; but poverty may suddenly be taken away: either by the benevolence of thy prince, or some noble man, or by the means of some wealthy friend, who moved by some favourable motion, will advance thee too riches.  
Abdolomenus was most poor, Alexander the great had a desire to make him king, and it was done presently. Hereupon Menander said well, that of all evils, poverty was the lightest, for that any friend that will assist thee, may unload thee of it. On the other side, riches are frail, & fugitive, when as a man in a moment may be bereft of all. (O God) how many have we ourselves seen, either by spoiling on the land, or by drowning their ships on the Sea, or by confiscation of their goods, or through the displeasure of the Prince, of most rich, on the sudden to become most poor. Let us farther consider that the poor man is nearer the attaining of his end, then is the rich: Forasmuch as he doth not ordinarily desire more than wherewith to supply his necessities, which (as hath been showed before) are few, and may easily be remedied. But the rich man, swelling through the pride of his substance, hath his natural, and reasonable appetite corrupted, and desires to increase infinitely in his riches, whereby it may be seen, that he is farther from his end, than the poor man. What more? That the rich man increasing in wealth, increaseth also in desires, and by how much his riches are the greater, so much the greater also are his needs. Whereof this sentence was wisely spoken. Necesse est eum multis indigere, qui multa habeat: He that hath many things, must of necessity want many things. Let it be considered farther that man is borne naked, and hath that which he possesseth of the mere grace of God, in such sort, that if he will rightly esteem every thing: he ought not to be pensive and sorrowful for that he hath not, but ought rather to render immortal thanks unto GOD, for that which he hath. Finally, let this be weighed, that if poverty be evil, it is very short, let it endure as long as it can; for all the time we have to live here, being compared with the infinite eternity that endureth everlastingly, is but as it were the twinkling of an eye.  
But I greatly marvel, that man, knowing how he must die, and sometimes thinking thereof, doth not take comfort of his poverty, and (as it were) of every other evil that he suffereth: For that, either he believes that our soul is immortal (as we ought true and resolutely to believe) or thinks (as some naughty and perverse people do) that she shall die together with the body. If he deem it to be immortal, and sees infinite rewards in an other world, set down for the good, and everlasting torments for the wicked, who is he (as one might say) that would not little set by all the evil and good of this world, to gain the felicity of the other. But if he now think the soul to be mortal, how can poverty afflict him, if he consider of the entire destruction of himself? But if he resolve of neither of these, it is an evil of all others most to be detested. Hippocrates in his divine Oracles, sayeth, that when two evils afflict one place, of which the one is great, and the other very little, the lesser is not felt. If then poverty, in comparison of the entire destruction of himself be a light evil: how should it so pinch and torment them? But as it is most requisite, let us be Christians, and affirm not only the immortality of the soul, but unfeignedly believe the infallible law of jesus Christ, revealed unto us by the light of his grace, taught us by the divine scriptures, confirmed by the testimony of so many Martyrs, showed by so many lights of divine understandings, approved by the universal law of God, by which we are guided through this sea of faith. Let us I say, be Christians, and then we ought not to account poverty to be evil, but deem it rather to be a true imitation of Christ, who whiles he remained in this world, lived always poorly, and meekly. But besides this imitation, the commandments that the eternal verity hath left us, to do in many places, teach it us, which if I should here set it down at large, I greatly fear, that in steed of a comforting friend, ye would think me to be a tedious preacher. I will only rehearse unto you his wonderful and divine philosophy, when as he sayeth; I say unto you, Be ye not careful what to eat, nor wherewith to clothe yourselves. Is not the soul of more value than meat? and the body, than raiment? Behold the little fowls of the air, who sow not, neither reap, nor gather into their barns, and yet our heavenly father feedeth them al. Are not you of more account than they? which of you is there, that with all your thought can add one cubyt to your stature? Why are you so careful for apparel? consider the lilies of the field in what sort they grow, they work not, they spin not, and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his royalty was not clothed like unto one of these. And if God cloth the grass of the field, which too day is seen, and too morrow is thrown into the furnace, how much rather will he clothe you, O ye of little faith? wherefore be not troubled in yourselves, saying, What shall we ●at, or, what shall we drink, and wherewith shall we be clothed? These thoughts are of the heathen, and not of Christians. Your heavenly father knoweth well, what ye need. Seek first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all other things that ye stand in need of shall be given unto you. be ye not careful what to eat tomorrow: but let too morrow care for itself. Sufficient is unto the day, the travail thereof. O most divine Philosophy, which, if it were well tasted of men, and not lightly passed over, no man would ever be grieved or afflicted with poverty. But we, (for the most part) have not any fervent desire to enter to the quick, in the searching out the troth of things, through which it comes to pass, that we seldom, or never understand aright. It is not needful to lay up treasure here on earth, where rust and moths do consume; but in heaven, where neither rust nor moths do consume, nor thieves break in & steal. And if we consider farther, how hard it is for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven, there is none of so little understanding, but will despise and abhor riches: not, but that rich men may be saved: but for that the most part of them have their minds so encumbered with riches, that it is very hard for them to attain salvation: & therefore Christ said, it is less easy for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven, them for a Camel to pass thorough the eye of a needle. For he whose affection is greedily set on riches, seldom thinks reverently of God, but so fixeth his desire on earthly things, that he makes himself unworthy of the glory of heaven, preferring mundane vanity, before God's verity. Whereas Christ teaching christian perfection, saith otherwise, to the Hebrew young man: Go, and sell that which thou hast, and give it to the poor, & after follow me. Truly poverty is a dowry most convenient for a Christian: Therefore, when ye know yourselves to be poor, be ye not comfortless: but rather think that ye are the more in God's favour, who in all his sayings, and doings, recommended the poor, praised them, called them blessed, and received them into his protection, being dear and beloved of him: so that it is a most goodly thing to live poorly, in this short and transitory life; to become most rich in the life to come, which shallbe permanent & everlasting: to set at nought the false and deceivable jewels of this world; to gain most plentiful and abundant treasure in paradise. O most worthy merchandise! O most plentiful gain! which neither thieves can rob thee of; nor servant beguile thee; nor debtor deceive thee: but will fill and replenish thee with far greater, and better fruit, then by the tongue of man may be expressed. What shall I say farther? that those things are few, and very easy to be procured, with which our human nature is sufficed: but many and infinite, which our appetite desireth.  
And that the grace of God is never wanting unto those, who filled with a fervent spirit, refrain their earthly affections, and restrain them within the limits of Christian temperance. Whereof Saint Paul writing unto Timothy most divinly said, It is a great gain of godliness, to be contented with the which is sufficient. We brought nothing into this world, & it is manifest, that we shall carry nothing hence with us. But having convenient food and apparel, let us content ourselves therewith: for they that would become rich, fall into the snares, and temptations of the devil, and into sundry hurtful and unprofitable desires, which drown them in ruin & perdition: for that covetousness is the root of all evil: which divers falling into, stray from the true faith, and are encumbered with many ears and sorrows. O words worthy to pierce into the lively hearts of men, and so there to be grounded and graven, that with no earthly force, they might ever be razed out.  
The divine words of Paul being thoroughly considered of, there is no cause wherefore poor men should be pensive or sorrowful. But wherefore wade I farther in the comforting of them; when as it is impossible for me to say so much, but that much more will remain unspoken? And I am assured, I have scarcely launched out from the shore, and am far from being half entered from this most profound, and large sea. And yet, herewith I know assuredly, that the least part of that, which hath been said, is sufficient for the quieting and comforting of any mind, that is not become either beastly, or furious with the prickings, or pinchings that poverty may bring unto him: so that, if those things, which I have said, and many other that I could allege, do not moderate and pacify him, believe me, poverty is not the cause hereof: but this distemperate, and ill composed mind, which also would have molested him, if he had been rich. For he would have found out some other arrow, or sword wherewith to have thorough pierced his heart. You then, who have your mind stored with so many good lessons of Philosophy, comfort yourself, and take all things that God sends, in good part; hope in him, who never faileth nor deceiveth them, that put their trust in him. He will open you the way, and minister the mean, whereby to cure these wounds of poverrie; at the least he will teach you, how to bear them with patience: and peradventure also will give you manifestly to understand that it is for your health and consolation. Comfort yourself, in that although ye want riches, yet want ye not the true knowledge, & beauty of wit & understanding, and virtues of the mind, which things are more appertinent and proper unto you, then are riches; which are placed among the external things, and are no part of you; and so much the more comfort yourself, by how much the gifts of your mind cannot be taken from you, neither by men, nor fortune; but of your riches and worldly substance, thieves may spoil you in a moment. Comfort yourself, in that ye have many good friends, which love you entirely, who will never endure to see you long in poor estate. But rather after the manner of true and steadfast friends, will account your poverty to be their own, and with some part of their substance, will take it from you: comfort yourself, with your books, which ye were always accustomed to hold in great estimation; they will feed and nourish your understanding, and with singular declectation, always recreate your senses: they will pacify every stormy and troublesome tempest; and both by night and by day; within doors, and without; in good fortune and bad, will remain your most faithful friends, and comfortable companions.  
Finally, comfort yourself, in that, if poverty be evil, yet have ye not this evil by your own offence, or procuremen, not by dicing and carding, nor by haunting the tavern; not by playing the harlot, nor by any other sort of lewd life, or naughty behaviour: but in every action your usage hath been honest, and temperate; your mind being no less adorned with laudable customs, and conditions, than learning. ye are then fallen into this necessity, by the offence of Fortune, who (as it is not unknown to the most part of Rome) being envious at the good course that ye have taken, hath many years sithence wounded your body, and brought you into a miserable & dangerous estate, oftentimes even to death; hath also settled & letted you back, from all good enterprises & operations both of body & mind; & in this her rage hath caused you to make far greater expense, than your ability will reach unto; in such sort, that ye are now brought into that miserable estate, in which ye now are, only by her sinister procurement: so that if with her great outrage, there were not joined an arrogant impudency, she would not for very shame of herself be seen any more in the world. But besides these consolations, let reason & necessity move you; ye afflict yourself; what doth this affliction avail you? is your poverty taken away by making of so great sorrow as ye do? if it were so, it were a very good remedy. But, alas, she is not yet departed, but remains as at the first, or rather greater; and this uncessant sorrowing doth not only profit, but rather endamage you greatly. Adding to the first evil, the most grievous evil of affliction; whereof Plato in his books of a Common wealth, said most divinely, That it was the best thing that could be in calamity, to take it so patiently & to be contented therewith as we possibly can: in the first it is uncertain, whether the thing, for which we lament, be good or evil. Farther, the being sorrowful, doth not in any thing remedy that which is happened: besides that, no humane thing should be of such estimation, that it should move a man to dwell in anguish for it.  
What more? that grief and sorrow are a hindrance to those remedies which might speedily have been taken. Most true and worthy are those reasons of Plato, which if they were well weighed, and duly considered of, who is there that ever would afflict himself for any worldly calamity? Truly such sorrowing is forbidden to all: but to the learned and virtuous, much more: whereof Favorinus said most wisely, that a man of bold courage, trained up in the golden precepts of true Philosophy, should have tranquillity of mind, shut up and settled in his breast, before any ill hap light upon him: which is no more to say, but that a wise man should have a strong Armour in a readiness, wherewith to defend himself against every stroke and assault of fortune. But what mean I to go forwards to speak vainly as a Philosopher, having already reasoned with you as a Christian? The largnes of the matter doth carry me away; and the great affection that I bear you, doth prick me forward, neither can I well set down, which of these two are greater. Therefore, unless I would always speak, it is needful that I make an end of speaking. It was an easy thing, to enter into the deep sea of this argument, but uneasy to get forth. Wherefore I must do here, as Alexander the great did by Gordianus his knot, who being unable to undo it, did cut it in sunder with his sword. Now although poverty have not all that dowries of me, which God and Nature hath endued her with: yet have I bestowed so many on her, that she may every way go richly to her husband. Ye ought not to fear of being any more poor, she bringing so wealthy a dowry to your house: neither need ye to stand in doubt of having many rivalles, to contend for her, as Eurimacus, & Antinous, with other wooers did for Penelope, for that poverty (as Xenophon in the person of Socrates says very well) amongst other her virtues, hath this privilege: that she provoketh not men, to brawl and fight, and to deceive and seek one an others death for the having of her, as it often cometh to pass, for the attaining of riches, honour or kingdoms: for although she be not locked up, nor guarded, she conserves and keeps herself, and that which is most to be esteemed, she is so modest and chaste, that none in the house where she dwelleth, will be jealous of her. See then whether she be honest, or deserve to be had in reputation, or no.  
But know ye not why she remaies without a husband? It is not for want of any goodness, or beauty, being endued plentifully with either of them: But because every one doth stain and defile her; every one holds her in contempt, filling her with filthiness, and most spiteful pollutinge, in such sort, that her true and native beauty cannot be seen. But if any man would lovingly bring her to his house, and purify and wash her, adorning her with her true and proper ornaments, no doubt she would appear most gallant and beautiful: and it will then evidently be seen, how vile and contemptible riches are in comparison of her. Behold almost, I cannot end, and yet I will end. Far ye well: and repose your confidence in God, who is the true and bountiful dispenser of all good things.   

An answer of Master Clodius Ptholomoeus, to a Letter sent him by a friend, that marveled wherefore he having such learning, remained in so mean and base an estate of calling.  
IN the last Letter that I received from you, great was the wonder and complaint that ye brought in against me, which considering that it springeth altogether of the over great affection that ye bear towards me, I neither marvel at it, nor am sorry for it.  
This avoucheth that to be true, which is spoken by Plato, That the lover is often blinded in the thing beloved: I account myself deeply indebted to your courtesy, for this your affection: but therewithal I wish your judgement to be somewhat more temperate: for I would not that contrary effects should meet in me at one instant, feeling pleasure of the love that ye bear me, & displeasure of your judgement. I pray you therefore better to consider of this point following, and after pronounce such judgement of me, as ye shall think requisite.  
That as an ancient caviller did appeal from Caesar being moved and angry, to Caesar being not moved nor angry; so I at this present appeal from you being carried away with over great affection, to yourself having Reason for your governess. ye do not a little marvel that I, in so long a time have not leapt to any degree of honour or fortune. It seeming unto you that my lineage, my country, my age, my studies, my customs, my long abode in the court, my favour acquired with men of high calling, and finally, my present noble and honourable service, should have advanced me; yea and farther that many other are daily to be seen in the court, endued with qualities far inferior to mine, to leap suddenly to degrees of preferment; and that I was accursed, and that it was a shame for me, to remain thus always in base fortune, and private condition. And in the end (as a disdainful friend) ye conclude, that this cannot come to pass, but of an extreme soft spritednesse in me, in that I help not forward my fortune as I should, putting me in mind of that ancient sentence of the Spartans, that in calling for aid of God, it is necessary that we set to our own helping hands, as the instruments of God. Truly I know not with what beginning it were best to answer this your long marvel, and tedious complaint. And being desirous to do you a pleasure, eit came in my mind once, to grant you that which you affirm to be true; thinking at one instant, to ease myself of labour in answering, and you of annoy, in reading this my troublesome reply. But I should err in performing the duty that is convenient to a true friend, if either to flatter you, or to avoid labour; I should not apparently tell you that which I think.  
First, I know not whether this greatness of fortune that ye wish me, be a thing that bringeth felicity to a man yea or no, or whether it take it from him. For y● as the most wise & ancient sages have set down untous) there is no man that perfectly knows what is good or evil unto him in this world. Whereupon Socrates would not that any particular thing should be craved at God's hands, but that only, which is good. And when I look well about me, I find not in them that are advanced to high degrees, any tranquillity of mind, but rather as their dignity, and greatness augmenteth, so increase they likewise in greater perturbations and frettings of the mind. For it seldom or never comes to pass otherwise, but that with the abundance of the gifts of fortune; ambition, and greater desire of honour and riches increase. Through which the oracle did not judge any king to be happy, although he were most rich, and mighty; but rather Aglaius Psofidius, who manuring a little piece of ground that he had, & taking care of nothing, with great joy and contentment, lived a most happy and fortunate life. Those that persist infinitely in the desire of riches, may be compared unto them which in old time ran to a mighty great mountain, with dogs, nets, and other engines with purpose to have taken the moon, which they verily thought to have done; but they that first (with great travel and labour) arrived to the top of this huge hill, found themselves so far distant, and no less out of hope, than those which were climbed up but to the side of it, or those others, who removed not from the valley. tranquillity doth not spring of those things that are without us, but of the harmony of a temperate mind within, which doth truly create felicity in us, and is the cause thereof. For even as some great pillar placed in the bottom of a deep well, is nevertheless great; and a Dwarf placed on the top of some steeple, is always little: so the free and noble mind wrapped in basest fortune, will show his magnanimity, & the base mind in the highest degree of dignity will discover his vility. I speak not this now as concerning Christian perfection, for ye know that making mention hereof, it shall not be needful to enter into question; when as neither riches, nor honour bring happiness unto men, but rather y● one & the other are oftentimes the occasions of bringing them into extreme misery, & cause the gate of heaven to be shut up against them. For the true & only felicity of a Christian, is the grace of God, & no other thing. I speak then as a gentleman governed by human reason and civil orders, living betwixt the law of men and nature. He verily, which sees not how that honour & riches deprive men of felicity, it is manifest and apparent, that he hath his eyes blinded & darkened with the smoke of ambition and clouds of covetousness, which are the two beasts, compared by the Poet Dante, to a Lion, and a she wolf, which let & hinder us from leaping to the mount of felicity. I deny not, but that riches & dignity may help towards the contentment of the mind. In this point I will be a Peripatetic, and purpose not to defend as a Stoic, that only virtue sufficeth. Let it be so, that riches & dignity are requisite towards the accomplishment of felicity: should it then have no end? Behold Abdolomenus borne of the stock royal lived in passing tranquillity, in a little farm, tilled, and sowed with his own hands, in such sort that he never heard of the bruit and rumours of the army of Alexander the great, which had driven all Asia into a maze and astonishment. He tasted far greater felicity in this his poor calling, then when afterwards by Ephestion he was advanced to the title of the kingdom. Of whom being demanded how he could with patience brook that poor and abject estate, with a haughty & courageous mind, answered him, saying; O that I knew so well (if it pleased God) how to support the troubles, & weightiness of the kingdom. Dioclesian a most prudent and puissant Emperor, having weighed and considered of the annoys, and encumbrances that bearing rule, brought with it, returning to a private life, gave it over; and at Salon a manor of his, he planted herbs & trees with his own hands, neither could he ever be alured by any persuasion, nor removed by any occasion, from this his fixed & determinat resolution, preferring the quiet tranquillity of this private life, before the troublesome turmoils of principalities, & Empires. The like we read of the emperor Adrian, a most puissant captain, who by great travel & intercession, obtained licence in the end of his days, to dwell in a little village of his, where he lived 7. years in great ease and quiet. Who dying, left an apparent testimony, that the life led in honour and dignity, was not the true life. For he caused these words to be graved on his tomb: Hear lies the wight whose age is of many years, but he lived but only seven. I could here bring to your memory, with how many hatred and enmities the worldly promotions are environed, so that nothing is sure in them, nothing without suspect, in such sort that the Poet Pindarus said that the Gods with one good had always intermixed two evils. And I dare boldly avouch that in these smokes, and vain pomps, for every one contentment, ye are attached with ten displeasures. But ye know well that this place being of the philosophers most largely entreated of, is of many men not understood, of othersome despised, of very few believed, and almost of none followed. But for the better manifesting of both our intents) I will come nearer unto you. Be it so that riches and honour are full of these felicities, that are commonly believed to be in them, by them that praise them, and hold them in reverent admiration. What of this? is it of necessity that it must be good for others also? The natures, instincts, desires, and motions are not equal and alike in all men: either by the influxion of the stars, or the variety of temperaments, or diversity of educations, many things delight and recreate some one mind, which work contrary effects in another: And for those things that Hirachtus wept bitterly, Democrates laughed joyfully. Then is it not greatly to be wondered at, if those things which are comfortable, and nutritive unto other men's minds, seem noisome and bitter unto me? How many are there that abhor wine, a most healthful and precious liquor? and how many are there that cannot savour roses, being flowers most delectable? Ought these therefore to be reproved, and made to drink wine, and smell roses by force? And why may I not say y● unto you by the law of nature, which Alexauder the great did to Parmenio by reason of his fortune? Who propounding a condition of peace unto Darius, and proffering him a part of his kingdom, demanded Parmenio his advice and judgement herein. Who answered, saying, if I were Alexander, I would do it. So would I, answered Alexander, if I were Parmenio. So whereas in your letter ye say, if that you were myself, you would do it, and say it: I likewise reply and answer you that I should peradventure both say it, and do it, if I were you. But as Alexander esteemed it a discredit to his fortune to consent to such a peace; so I account it inconvenient for my disposition, and nature, to enter, and encumber myself with that care and bondage, which ye depaint out unto me, whiles ye allure me thereunto with the enticing baits of honour and riches: yet I would ye should understand, that I have not a mind so backward and dull, but that I take comfort of those things, that other men commonly delight in. Let it be granted, that it is good for me to be advanced to riches and dignity: doth it follow that I should be despised or blamed, or despair, and think the worse of myself, if I reach not to that preferment, which might be desired, or hoped for? What woondering? what complaints are these of yours? as though ye were ignorant, that many things are desired, that are not obtained; much hoped for, that is not enjoyed; many more run, then get the goal: and finally far greater are the number of them that shoot at a mark, than those which strike it? May not all this happen of the malignity of my fortune, which will not permit or suffer me, to be lifted up from the ground or advanced? if it be so, is the fault mine? Of a truth divers Astrologers, by the view of the day of my nativity, have found out by their rules and observances that most unlucky condition, unto which I am predestinate, that is to say, continual feebleness & baseness of fortune; And although I am Didimus in that they say, & an heretic in their science (as I have often told you here in Rome) nevertheless, in this unlucky forewarning I have over well known, and found by experience, that they have told me the troth. Yet will I not lay the blame hereof upon fortune, as on a dumb image that cannot answer to the accusations that are brought in against her, let it be granted that the chiefest part of humane proceedings, are directed by man's wisdom, and let him be (as the wiseman affirmeth) the framer of his own fortune. What should I then do? with what instruments (I pray you) would you have me to frame and fashion this my good hap? with remaining long in Rome, and looking for occasions? it is now twenty and five years sithence I came first into this court, and I think that in this long season, I was never three miles distant, and yet neither have I any good or fortunate success by my service, neither stand in hope of any. Yet have I been a continual waiter, & was never almost at liberty, whereof it greatly repenteth me: not for that the service of noble men little liked me: but rather because the iniquity of fortune hath (by my long courting) brought me into such a miserable servitude and slavery, that no good resolution of mind can enter into me. I have heretofore done too much, but I tell you that hereafter, neither will I, nor can I, neither is it convenient that I do it, this is a practice for young men, & not of old men, amongst which number I now reckon myself. Young men abound in leisure, and travel seemeth not tedious unto them, which wanteth in old men, unto whom every little discontentment is a torment. And as gracious and seemly as it is to see a young man attendant on some noble man: so unseemly & ridiculous is it, to see an old man.  
Truly the long loss of time that is spent in courting, is to me very noyson: and chief in that I stand there, as an image or painted table. And rather would I employ it either in reasoning, which my friends or in learning, amongst my books, or in pleasuring or profiting others, by my studies; & this is a laudable means, whereby to mount to those degrees of dignity that ye propound unto me. But alas, if the nature hath given me small wit, not over great memory, weak judgement (& that which more grieveth me) unhealthfulnes of stomach; soreness of eyes & every other part of my body il affected, what can I do here in? it might here unto be added, that at this present I am tossed with such sundry mishaps, that they never permit me quietly to incline my mind to study. Whereof the desire only is left me, my forces being insufficient any longer to undertake any such travel. Wherefore if I do not and cannot arrive unto this praise, let the torment and annoy (I pray you) that I taste and suffer in being deprived of that sweet consolation, which study brings with it, suffice, without adding new griefs unto me, of the privation of my deserts; what I knew to do, I have done, no more could I do.  
And I assure myself, that although for learning I can challenge no commendation, yet am I not unworthy of some excuse, in that I have always taken a singular delight, to see these things in other, that I find wanting in myself; I have loved, reverenced, and as it were, adored them. Neither did I ever account any more worthy of the titles of honour and dignity, than those which have lifted up their understandings to beautiful contemplations, through which their minds are replenished with virtuous wisdom. And I have put such betwixt these men and others, as is betwixt the living, and things painted.  
But you will peradventure, demand me whether I mean it of those that are virtuous indeed, or of such as counterfeit a certain outward hypocritical show of virtue: do not so much as surmise it, I beseech you, that I speak it of the feigned. For my nature doth detest nothing more than counterfeit virtue, and rather would I make choice to die, then deceive the world, in enforcing myself to be holden for devout, when as I am neither good, nor godly. And I believe for troth, that there are no men in this world more pernicious, nor greater enemies to our saviour Christ, then are such hypocrites.  
But as touching true bounty indeed, I tell you for certain, that I think nothing more pertinent unto a man than it, & so far forth I deem it proper unto him, that a man leaving it, & giving himself over to wickedness, is no more to be counted a man, but that rather under his human shape, he carrieth the mind of a bruit beast. Now it seemeth not unto me that bounty should be used for the hope of reward, but rather for the band of humanity, and love and desire to do well. And it shineth so much the brighter in any man, by how much he is not led astray by any other end, than goodness itself. Of which if any sparkle be in me, either by nature, or election, it is not to be marveled at if it want the reward ye look for; in that first, I know very well, that not only by the universal humane debility, but by that which is proper and peculiar to myself, I find it so slender in me, that of itself, it giveth no light at all; Farther, I never directed it to the end to receive guerdon by it, being an excercise (in my opinion) far different from the neat and pure condition of being good. I tell you truly that I have and do receive a far greater reward than that ye desire in me. For that little which I feel in myself, makes me taste, how much the life of the good, is more blessed then that of the wicked: How this abounds in sweetness, tranquillity and consolation; how that is the spring and fountain of all fears, hatreds, debates, vexations & travels. In such sort that when a man will not, for God's sake do the deeds of an honest man, & good Christian; yet me thinks at the leastwise he should do it for the quiet & comfort that is tasted thereby in this world. But you will tell me that rewards ensue virtue, as the shadow followeth the body.  
Now, as the body being not made too the end to bring forth the shadow, nevertheless bringeth it forth: so virtue is the cause that reward is obtained, although it be not sought for, or used to that end.  
You would have me confess it, & I grant it also, that I am not arrived, through the mortification of my body, & quickening of the spirit, to that high degree and spiritual union, with which the old divine fathers, conjoined themselves to God; neither am I yet come to that christian perfection, which was required in the Hebrew youngman. I have not sold that little which I have, and given it to the poor: neither have I denied myself, nor taken Christ his cross on my shoulders, and followed him. What more? that in slack observing of the commandments of God's law, I neither merit, nor have deserved the title of a perfect Christian; for that many occurrences have happened, which have caused me to wander wide from these divine observations.  
What farther? that (setting christianity apart) I am not (as a moral Philosopher) arrived to that excellency of manners, which are fitting and convenient for a purified mind, as in times past was known to be in Aristides, in Socrates, in Photion, and divers others, with most apparent examples of justice, temperance, and fortitude, and other rare and divine virtues. But rather my doubt is, that (as a man that is not governed by any learning, but liveth only by the instinct of nature) I want greatly that, which is requisite for that estate: through which I know not how to challenge unto myself these praises, which my conscience tells me I am unworthy of. And finally, as of no part I deem myself praisewoorthy: so, if there be any thing in me, that doth not altogether deserve praise, it is this: that I have had a care in what I might, not to injury others: than I have done mine endeavour (when occasion hath been offered me) to pleasure and gratify as many as I might, being induced thereunto by Nature, persuaded by precepts of good writers, and confirmed therein by judgement, which hath imprinted a settled resolution in my mind: and this I account to be the chief fountain, from which all other virtues (that maintain humane society amongst us) first flow and proceed.  
Now, if those virtues that are requisite to the advancing of me to the degrees of riches and honour, be not in me: will ye marvel if I be not advanced? And if there be any such in me, wherefore do ye reprehend me? aught I, in not deserving those degrees, to have them; and deserving them, to be reprehended for not having them? If I deserve them not, for God's sake let me live with so many others my equals, subject to the like fortune, and add not the sin of arrogancy, to the want of desert. For it is a foolish and presumptuous part for a man to aspire to those degrees, of which he knows himself unworthy. But if it seem unto you that I have deserved them, it had been your part rather to comfort me, than reprehend me, & ye might have said, the oftentimes my betters have been deprived of the fruits of their desert and praise that they have merited; and that it is much better to deserve an honour, then to have it. For honour may be received by the will of him that gives it, virtue not being the guide of it: But no man can deserve it, but the virtue must first make a way to the desert. hereunto the example of Cato might be added, who would rather that it should be demanded, wherefore Images were not set up to Cato, then why they were set up.  
And if now it seem strange unto you, that more than two hundred are gone beyond me, in preferment; ye ought in the best part to interpret such accidents, and herein imitate the example of Pedaretus, a valiant man with the Spartans, who amongst three hundred that bare office in their City,, not being elected for one, joyed greatly: who being demanded (of his friend Ephorus) the cause of his gladness, pleasantly answered; what should I do, but be joyful, seeing that there are three hundred men in our City, better than myself? so should you rejoice of Rome in having so many good men that excel me. And ye ought to wish, that not only two hundred, but five hundred, a thousand; yea three thousand men should pass me in virtue, and wisdom, and by consequence, in fortune and honour: through which I deem it would come to pass, that this our Realm should be much more flourishing and honourable, then now it is.  
I do not seem to myself to be such a one, as should deserve those dignities that ye wish me: but be it that I had many of these parts, which you call desert in me, nevertheless neither could I, nor should I have any of these honours but by favour: in that I stand assured that the fountain from whence these preferments flow, is beyond and above all our merits and deserts. But in the end, I know you will say, that being often conversant with them, in requesting, and being importunate, I might have obtained riches, and dignity, and that this is the means that hath helped, and doth help a number daily, and that it is the very same whereof mention is made by Christ in his Gospel, when he saith, Ask, and it shall be given you; knock, and it shallbe opened. What shall I answer hereunto? but that not deserving it, it seemeth an unadvised part of me to crave reward, & deserving it, me thinks it should come without ask. As I have said, so will I say, that I know not whether I have deserved it or no.  
Now, if there be any that thinks me worthy of any thing, let him request it for me: but not by my commandment. For if I knew that I deserved it a thousand times, yet would I not be so shameless and impudent to demand it. For I have not directed my operations to that end, that I should crave guerdon for them; besides that, it is not convenient for a Gentleman so to do.  
What farther? that it is a thing clean repugnant to my nature and disposition, and in the craving thereof I should be so cold and timorous, that (as the Proverb saith) I should teach others to deny me. For I being unable to demand any thing, without speech of some desert of mine, how shall this be done without arrogancy, when as I know none to be in me? And if there were any, could I speak of it myself, without blushing?  
To conclude, I think it neither good, profitable, nor honest for me.  
Thus I pray you, judge of me, that although I have no great substance of sound virtue: yet want I not some little shadow of decent modesty. Neither would I have you wish me to become a new Satibarsanes, with Araxzrxes, or Turinus, with Alexander. And of this resolve yourself, that it for these twenty and five years, I have with a bold courage, known how to tolerate many strokes of Fortune: I hope also with like fortitude to overpass the rest of the time that God hath appointed me to live in this world: and shall (perhaps) taste greater tranquillity in this my poor and mean calling, than a number of others do, with their riches and honour.  
To conclude, I know this your advice to proceed of an incredible affection that ye bear me, but yet I purpose not to put it in practice, nor follow it: but as Marius, when that certain veins in his legs should be cut, made answer, that the health of his legs was not such, as that it should deserve to be bought with such terrible anguish, and torment: so seemeth it unto me, that the smoke which proceedeth from these honours and promotions, are not so beneficial, as that they should merit to be bought with so great trouble and affliction, both of body and mind.  
I would not wish you, to take in hand, to answer every part of my letter, nor that desire should so far transport you, a● to make you to taste new annoys by the same: put an end thereunto, I beseech you. And if you will needs write again, send it to Laconica, either reproving me, or confirming me in that I have written. Whatsoever it shall be, I will take it in good part from you, whom I love entirely, and reckon of amongst the number of my best and chiefest friends.   

A translation out of french, of a Supplication presented by john Meschinot, Esquire, unto the Duke of Britain his Lord and Master, wherein he nameth himself the Banished from joyfulness, by H. G.  
MOst humbly complaineth unto your honour, your poor vassal, loyal subject, and obedient servant, The banished from joyfulness, remaining in the diocese of misfortune, the parishioner of affliction, and near neighbour of despair: giving you to understand, how from his young years, he hath continually served my Lords your predecessors, whose souls God hath received: And whom it hath pleased you (for which I yield you humble thanks) to entertain amongst the number of them, which are of your special safeguard and protection. Nevertheless, a thief, (the common enemy of humane creatures) named Mishap, remaining always with Fortune, accompanied with an old lean woman, called Poverty, have uncessantly warred, and almost in every place pursued your said suppliant, tending to his total destruction: whose rage and fury hath until this present been resisted by the good aid and support, that it hath pleased you, and your honourable ancestors to make for him. And it is so (Sovereign sir) that although in times past, the Banished from joyfulness hath been cruelly handled, and sharply assailed by the forenamed Mishap and Poverty: yet at this present, they have taken and bound him, in such lamentable sort, that without your speedy aid and succour, he cannot long endure to resist their malice. And for the better bringing of their purpose to pass, they have first despoiled your said suppliant of fifty years, and more, which he had received of God and nature, being deprived of all hope, of ever recovering any of them again. And in this sort, as a slave or bondman, do they detain him against his wil And for his farther punishment, they have given express commandment, and delivered it strictly in charge to Fury, Sorrow, thought & vexation being their armourers, to forge for the said banished from joyfulness a strong & weighty armour of proof, double sodored, the stuff thereof being of the steel or melancholy; The smythy or hearth whereon they heat, it is Langor, which is kindled with the fire of fretting, from whence issues so great flame, and smoke of anger & fury, occasioned through the wind, proceeding from the bellows of sighings and groanings, as it is a thing most horrible to express. And God, thou knowest, how sour most ugly and hideous old women, that is to say Impatience, Lamentation, Injury, and Misery, continually strike and beat on it, on the anvil of anguish, with the hammers of Rigour. Afterwards they temper the said armour with the water of bitterness, near the which leaps forth a salt river of trickling tears, taking his course through the valley of shame, overnéere the sorrowful abode of your said suppliant: so that oftentimes through the superabundaunce of rain and showers of sorrow, the waters of disquiet and controversy grow and flow so high, that the village of his heart is, as it were all drowned.  
It resteth to tell you how they scour, and make bright this harness. They have a great grinding stone of torment, turned about by feebleness and slander on the one side, and ruin and confusion on the other side. The masters of this work, are Danger, Debate, and displeasure, which often besprinkle the said harness with the powder or sparkdust of rage, making therewith a black varnish. With this armour of proof have they determined to arm your foresaid suppliant, upon a doublet of dolour, tied on by travel, with the points of discomfort, and their purpose is to make him carry it on foot through the dark kingdom of solitariness, to war against felicity. And I verily think, that in the end, they will take from him the power to do you any longer service (which I beseech your honour, most sovereign Lord, not to permit) for neither they, nor any other whatsoever, shall never be able to take from him the desire that he hath still to serve you.  
Now it is so, that a notable and reverent Lady called old Age▪ (seeing into what misery and captivity the foresaid Mishap and Poverty have brought your said suppliant) hath promised and determined shortly to deliver him out of their hands, and in the mean season will keep him good and comfortable company, until the end of his days, so that he may obtain your good favour and assistance. For otherwise wanting wherewith to supply his necessities, he cannot be restored to his freedom.  
Might it stand therefore with your good pleasure (most sovereign Lord) to command Honour the procurer general of your enterprises, to stand with your said suppliant, and take such order in this behalf, that his forenamed enemies may be expulsed, and that he no longer remain besieged with such imminent destruction. Consider that this riot hath been made, whiles I remained under your safeguard and in your service.  
Lastly therefore, these are most humbly to pray and beseech you, so to ordain for the estate of the banished from joyfulness, that he may with joy and contentment finish and accomplish the short time that he hath to live in this world.  
In so doing ye shall reform him, both in changing his name, and the place of his abode; so will he more and more enforce himself, to dwell nearer your palace, to do you loyal service to his power, during life: making continual intercession to god, that he may grant you peace and repose of spirit, ease and health of body, honour, good and long life; with all that your noble heart wisheth, and heaven for your final inheritance.   

Translated out of Italian.  
Two sworn Brothers, being soldiers, married two sisters: the one of them made much of his wife, entreating her with all lenity that might be, yet would she not obey his will and pleasure: The other threatened his wife, and kept her in obedience, and she always did, what he commanded her. The one requesteth the other, to teach him ●ow to make her obedient, which he did, whereupon he threatening and using her as the other did, she laughed him to scorn.  
THere dwelled in times past, in a garrison near adjoining to Rome, two sworn brothers, who no less loved one the other, then if they had issued out of one womb: of which the one had to name Silverius, the other was called Pisardus, and both of them by profession were soldiers: although their amity was great, yet they dwelled not in one house. Silverius, the younger wanting a governess for his house, took to wife the daughter of a tailor, being named Spinella, a gallant and beautiful maiden, but of a high, and lofty disposition. The marriage being ended, & the wife being brought home to his house, he was so fervently enamoured on her beauty, that he thought there was not any woman in the world, able to go beyond her: and in this his doting mood, suffered her to say and do what she listed, & gave her every thing that she demanded: through which Spine Ila became so bold, and heady, that she little or nothing esteemed her husband; & the ignorant foot was now come to such a pass, that when he willed her to do one thing, she would go about another thing, & bidding her to come hither, she would go a clean contrary way, and laugh him to scorn. And her husband being none of the wisest, dared neither to remedy it, nor to reprehend her, but suffered her in every thing to do, what best pleased her fancy. Within a year after, Pisardus was married to another daughter of the foresaid Tailor, who was called Fiorella, being full out as beautiful as her sister, but inferior to her in bravery, & subtlety of wit. The nuptials being finished, and the wife brought home to his house, Pisardus took a pair of breeches, and two cudgels, saying unto her,  
Fiorella, these are the breeches of a man, take you one of these staves, and I will have the other; and we will try by combat, which of us shall carry away the breeches; on this condition, that he which shallbe conqueror, shall have them; & he that shallbe overcome shall always remain obedient to the Conqueror.  
Fiorella hearing these words of her husband, without any delay, readily answered with great humility: Alas, my husband, what mean ye by these speeches that ye utter? are not you the husband, and I the wife? Ought not the wife always to be obedient to her husband? How should I ever then commit such a folly? Now carry you the breeches and wear them, for they belong more unto you, and will better become you, than me.  
I will then (answered Pisardus) still wear the breeches, & be the husband, and thou as my beloved wife, stand obedient unto me. But take heed, that ye altar not your determination, in seeking to make yourself the husband, and me the wife, for that after it shall repent you.  
Fiorella, who was wise, confirmed that he had spoken, and at the same instant, her husband gave her the government of all his house; then said he, wife I will bring thee to my stable and show thee my horses, for that thou mayst know what order to take for them, if I shall chance to be absent. And being come thither, said, Fiorella, how like ye these my geldings? are they not fair? are they not gallant, and in good plight? To whom she answered; they are in deed, Sir, but behold (said Pisardus) how ready, and obedient they are: and taking a wand, touched now the one, and now the other, saying; Holla, hoist, come aloft, and they showed themselves most obedient to their master. Amongst the rest, Pisardus had one horse, fair enough to the eye, but very dogged of disposition, which was the cause that he little esteemed him; coming unto him with the rod in his hand, he said; come here; come there; and struck him; but the horse being by nature knavish, suffered his master to lay on him, not doing any thing of that he bade him, but that he kicked and spurned at him, now with one foot, now with both. Pisardus seeing his crabbedness, with a great and tough cudgel beat him a good, but all prevailed not. Which his master seeing, being kindled in choler, set hand to his sword that he had by his side, in the presence of Fiorella, ran him through, & killed him; whereat she being moved with compassion, said, alas my husband, why have ye killed this horse? He was very fair, and it is great pity so to kill him. Pisardus with a troubled countenance, answered, I let you understand, that all they, which eat that is mine, and do not what I bid them, shallbe paid with the same money. Fiorella hearing this answer, was very pensive, and said within herself, Alas, sorrowful creature, & wretch that I am, in ill time came I hither, I thought that I had a wise man too my husband, but now I see I have happened on a beast. See how for little or nothing he hath killed a gallant horse. Thus remained, she very pensive in herself, not knowing to what end her husband spoke it. Through which Fiorella was so exceedingly affrighted, and stood in such awe of him ever after, that when she heard him but stir, she would tremble for fear, & whatsoever he willed her to do, it was accomplished presently, and scantly could her husband open his mouth to speak, before she understood him, & there was never any contention, or brawling heard betwixt them. Silverius who loved his friend Pisardus passing well, oftentimes came to visit him, and would dine and sup with him, who noting the mild demeanour & modest behaviour of Fiorella, marveled greatly, saying within himself. O God, why was it not my hap to have taken Fiorella to wife, as well as my brother Pisardo? See how she governs the house, and doth what he commandeth her most obediently. But mine (wretch that I am) doth clean contrary, not affording me neither a good word, nor cheerful countenance unless she may have her own will in every thing:  
Silverius on a certain day walking alone with Pisardus, and debating of divers matters, amongst other communication, he said. Brother Pisardus, thou knowest the love and goodwill that hath long remained betwixt us. I would willingly learn of you, what means ye used at the first, in bringing your wife to such obedience and to win her to make so much of you. I can never so lovingly command Spinella to do any thing, but she answers me overthwartly, and herewith doth all things contrary to that I bid her.  
Pisardus smile hereat, from point to point told him, the order and means that he had used when he brought her first to his house, persuading him to do the like, and prove whether it would take effect, which if it did not, he knew not what advise to give him. This liked Silverius very well, who taking his leave of his friend and being come home to his house, without any delay called for his wife, and taking a pair of his own breeches, and a couple of staves, did as his friend Pisardus had counseled him. Which Spinella seeing, said unto him. What new thing, Silverius, is this that ye are about to do? What buzzes are there put in your head? Are you now become a fool? Do we not know, think you; that men, and not women, should wear breeches? and what necessity is there I pray you, in doing these things, so besides the purpose? but Silverius making no answer, proceeded in his determinate order, giving her the rule and government of his house.  
Spinella marveling hereat, crookedly said unto him. Think you that I cannot do these things sufficiently without these your godly instructions that you so hotly give me? But her husband held his peace, and going with his wife to the stable, did the like to his horses, that Pisardo had done before, and killed one; Spinella seeing such fondness, thought verily that he was beside himself, and said unto him, Alas, I pray you tell me Sir, what mad moods are these? what is there come in your brain? What is there meant by these unadvised parts that ye play? Are ye witless? Silverius answered. I am neither mad nor foolish. But all they that live at my charge, and do not obey me, shallbe chastised in like sort as ye have now seen.  
Spinella perceruing to what end this was done by her unwise husband, ●aid unto him: Ah sot that thou art. It seemeth well that thy horse was a simple beast, to suffer himself so miserably to be killed at thy hands. But what mean ye by this? Think ye to do that unto me, which ye have done to your horse? in truth; if ye so think ye, are deceived greatly: and overlate it is now to look unto that, which ye would look unto.  
The bone is over much hardenned; the wound is now grown to a scar: neither is there now any remedy. Order should sooner have been taken with this your strange manner of conjuration, O fool, O witless Goose, dost thou not see that thou sustainest both loss & scorn by these innumerable ●ollies? And what gain ye hereby? In good faith, nothing. Silverius hearing the words of his subtle wife, & seeing his loving purpose like to come to no effect, determined against his will, patiently to suffer this his hard fortune, till death should end these his dolours. And Spinella seeing her husband's counsel not to prevail, whereas she took an inch of liberty before, took an Ell afterwards. For a woman that is by nature obstinate, had rather suffer a thousand deaths, then altar her settled determination.   

¶ Master Gasparinus a Physician, by his cunning, healeth fools.  
THere dwelled in times passed in England, a very rich man who had one only son, called Gasparinus, whom he sent over too the university of Padua, that he might there follow his study: but he making no account of learning, spent his time in gaming and rioting, haunting brothel houses, and other suspected places, leading the most dissolute life that might be: His father thinking that he spent his time in the study of Physic; he practised in steed of books, bowls; for disputing di●ing; and whereas he should have attained learning, he altogether frequented loitering. Having remained there the space of five years, he returned into his country and showed by experience that he had learned backwards, for going about to seem a Roman, he manifested himself to be a Barbarian; and men noted him and pointed at him, as a common laughing stock, in the town where he dwelled. What grief it was unto the poor father to see his cost lost, and his only child as it were cast away, I refer the consideration thereof to your discretions. Wherefore for the mitigating of his sorrows, he called his son unto him, and opening a chest full of money and jewels, laid forth unto him the one half of his goods (which verily he deserved not) & said, Take here (my son) thy portion of thy father's hereditaments, & get thee far from me; For I rather choose to remain without a child, then to live with thee in infamy. No sooner were these words spoken, but he most willingly obeying his father's commandment fingering the money, took his leave & departed. And being far distant from him, at the entrance of a wood near a river, he built a costly & sumptuous palace, the gates being of brass, and with this river it was moated about. Herein with a device of sluices he made certain little pools, whose depth he would increase or diminish at his pleasure. Into some, the water entered the depth of a man; into some other, that it would reach to his eyes; others, unto the navel, some to the middle, & some to the knees; & unto every of these pools, an iron chain was fastened. Over the gate of this palace was a title written, which said, A place, wherein to heal fools. The fame of this palace, in short space, was spread abroad in most places of the world, & fools repaired thither in great abundance, to be cured, but (to speak more nearer the troth) to be washed. The master according to the greatness of their follies, would plunge them in these pits, and some of these he would heal with whippings, some with watching, some with fasting, & other some by little & little he would restore to their former estate, & understanding, by the temperature & subtlety of the air. On a time in a large court, without the gates of this palace, as certain of the meanest sort of these fools, were sporting themselves in the heat of the sun, it fortuned that a Falconer came by, which carried a sparhawk on his fist, having a great number of Spaniels waiting on him. Who presently being espird by these fools, they marveled greatly what he meant to ride with that bird and spaniels: and one of them demanded of him what bird it was that he carried on his fist? He answered, a Sparhawke. And to what end (quoth he) do ye keep her? (quoth the Gentleman) she is a bird greedy at her pray, and I keep her to kill Partridge with, which is a great bird, and delicate in taste: these are called spaniels which spring and retrine the birds, & this sparhauke killeth them, and I eat them. Quoth the ●oole then: I pray do tell me what this Sparhawke & Spaniels stand thee in? The Falconer made answer, I bought the horse that I ride on, for six pound, the Sparhawke cost me twenty shillings, & my Spaniels three proved: and the feeding and nourishing of all these yearly, I value at xx. pounds. Now I beseech thee tell me said the fool how many Partridges thou takest yearly, and what they be worth. I catch (quoth he) about two hundred, and they are at the least, worth twenty shillings. The fool, but not a fool herein, but rather he showed himself very wise, with a loud voice cried unto him, fly, fly, fool that thou art, which spendest twenty pound yearly, for the gaining of twenty shillings, and yet reckonest not the time, that is vainly consumed. Fly with all speed, for the passion of God, fly, for if my master find thee here, he will throw thee into a pit, where thou shalt be plunged over head & ears, & be suffered hardly to escape with life. For I which am a feole, may discern that thou art more foolish than them which are most foolish of all.   

¶ The Florentines and the Citizens of Bergamaske, bring all their Doctors to a disputation, and they of the city of Bergamaske, with a pretty policy confuted, and had the victory of the Florentines.  
IN times past, it happened that divers Merchants of Florentine and Bergamaske, met: who riding together (as it often chanceth) had talk and conference of divers matters, and digressing from one thing too another, one of the Florentines said, Truly you of Bergamaske (as far as I can perceive) are dull spirited, and men of small capacity, and were it not for that little traffic of merchandise that ye practise, for the great grossness and unaptness that is in you, ye were good for nothing. And it comes to pass, that ye have prosperous success in merchandise, not for any skill that ye have, or dexterity of wit, but for the greediness, and covetousness of gain, that is in you. For I know not any that may go beyond you, in grossness and blockishness. Having thus spoken, one of the city of Bergamaske, stepped forth and made him answer, saying: And I tell thee that we of Bergamaske in all points, are able to go beyond you. And albeit you Florentines are smoothly tongued, & bring greater delight with your fyled speech, to the ears of the hearers, than we: nevertheless in all other things ye are far inferior unto us, & if ye consider it well, there is not one amongst us, be he great or little, but hath some smack in learning; and herewith we are apt to every courageous enterprise, which is not found in you, or if it be, it is in very few of you.  
The contention growing to be very great, both of the one side, and the other, they of the City of Bergamaske not intending to yield unto the Florentines, nor the Florentines to them, every one defending his own side with great stoutness, one of Bergamaske stood up, and said. To what end are all these words? Let us make proof of it by deeds. Let a solemn disputation be appointed, whereat the flower of learning, and doctors may meet, and then shall it manifestly be seen, which of us is most excellent. hereunto the Florentines yielded their consent: but this was the difference; whether the Florentines should go to Bergamaske, or they of Bergamask to Florence. After many words, it was concluded that they should cast lots. And it so fell out, the the Florentines must go to the City of Bergamaske. The day of disputation was nominated to be in the month of May. The Merchants returned to their Cities; and acquainted their Doctors, and other learned men what match they had made● who understanding the matter, were very well pleased, and made provision for a gallant and long disputation.  
They of the Town of Bergamaske, as wise and subtle men, determined to work so, that the Florentines should remain both confuted and scorned. Wherefore all the most learned men of the City being assembled, as well Grammarians as Rhetoricians; and well common lawieres, as canonists, as well Philosophers, as divines, and Doctors and masters of all other sorts whatsoever, they made choice of the chiefest of them, and retained them in their City, that they might be their rock and sortresse in their disputation against the Florentines. The others being appareled in course and ragged apparel, against the day of the disputations, they sent forth of the City, towards that part where the Florentines must needs come. And charge was given, that they should speak nothing unto them but Latin.  
These Doctors being thus attired in clownish apparel, and intermixed amongst them, of policy, they set hands unto divers exercises: some digged ditches, some carried wood, and some did one thing, and some an other.  
These Doctors of Bergamaske remaining in these exercises, and seeming to be clowns, behold the Florentine Doctors came riding by with great pomp, who seeing these labourers, said unto them, God save you brethren. To whom the clowns answered in latin, Benè veniant tanti viri. The Florentines thinking that they jested, demanded how many miles it was to the City of Bergamaske: to whom the Clowns answered, decem, vel circa.  
The Florentines hearing this answer; unto them. O brethren, we speak unto you, in your mother tongue, and from whence comes it, that you answer us in latin? They of Bergamaske replied: Ne miremini, excellentissimi Domini, unusquisque enim nostrûm, sic ut auditis loquitur, quoniam Maiores & sapientes nostri sic nos docuerunt.  
Riding on their journey a good distance off, they saw other clowns, which in the broad ways cleansed ditches: and staying, said unto them. Ho companions, God speed you: to whom they answered: Et Deus vobiscum semper sit. How far is it to Bergamaske? said the Florentines. The other answered, Exigua vobis restat via. And entering from one word to another, they began at length to reason in Philosophy, and these clowns of Bergamaske framed their arguments so strongly and profoundly, that the Florentine Doctors were scarce able to answer them. At which all of them wondering, said amongst themselves: How is it possible, that these clownish men, brought up in digging of the ground, and other rustical exercises, should be so well instructed in human sciences? Departing from them, they road towards an inn, not far distant from the City, which was fair and large. As they came somewhat near it, an Ostler came forth to invite them, saying: Domini, libèt ne vobis hospitari? Hîc enim vobis erit bonum hospitium. And for that the Florentines were very weary, they alighted, and meant to ride no farther that night. As they were mounting up the stairs to go to their lodging, the goodman of the Inn met them, saying: Excellentissimi Domini, placétne vobis, ut praeparetur coena? híc enim sunt bona vina, ova recentia, carnes, volatilia, & alia huiusmodi. hereat the Florentines were amazed, and knew not what to say: for that all they, with whom they had speech, spoke latin, and pronounced no otherwise, then if they had been brought up in study all the days of their life. Shortly after a maid servant, indeed came unto them, which was a young woman, both witty and learned, and craftily brought thither for the purpose, which said. Indigéntne dominationes vestrae re aliqua? placét ut sternentur lectuli, ut requiem capiatis? These words of the Maiden brought greater astonishment to the Florentines, who began to reason with her, who having answered to many things exceedingly well, (and all in latin) they questioned with her of divinity, of which she did argue so catholicly, that there was not any that heard her, but gave her singular commendation. Whiles the Maiden talked with them, there came one in, arrayed like a baker, his face blacked with coals: who hearing the disputation that they had with the Maiden, began to argue in her defence, and interpreted the holy scriptures so learnedly, that all the Florentine doctors affirmed amongst themselves, that they had seldom or never heard his better. This disputation's being finished, the Florentine Doctors went to supper, and so to their rest. And the next day approaching, they took counsel amongst themselves, whether it were better to go forwards, or return home again. After great contention had about this matter, they resolved, that it was better to depart, thinking thus with themselves, that if the innkeepers, labourers, ostler's, & women had such profound learning: what was to be looked for in the City, where are most excellent men, which continually follow nothing else but their books and study.  
This determination being well considered of, without any longer tarriance, they put it in practice. And not as much as seeing the walls of the City of Bergamaske, taking their horses, took their journey back again towards Florence. And in this manner, the Florentines were by policy conquered of them of Bergamaske. And from thence forwards the Citizens of Bergamaske had a privilege from the Emperor, to pass safely through all the parts of the world, without th● let or disturbance of any man.   

Of one that hired a foolish servant, and was served accordingly.  
PAndolfus a Gentleman of Padua, on a time standing greatly in need of a ser●●iant, chanced to meet with one, wh● he thought would well serve his turn: of whom he demanded, whether he would serve him for reasonable wages, who made answer that he would: but with this condition, that he would at no time do him any other service, but look to his horses, and ride with him. hereon they concluded, and there were Indentures of covenants drawn, sealed, and delivered for the performance of the premises. It happened on a certain day that Pandolfus, as he road with his new servant, in a filthy miry way, his horse stumbling, fell into a ditch, and Padolfus under him: who being in great fear and danger, cried unto his man for help. His servant standing still, gave him the looking on, saying that he● was not bound to do it, and that there was no such thing contained in his Indenture of covenant, and taking the copy thereof out of his pocket, began from point to point to read the conditions of it, to see whether it were therein contained, or no, that he should help him in such a i●operdie. His master cried out unto him, saying, For the passion of God help me. He answered, I cannot sir: for that it is against the covenants of my Indenture. His master told him, that if he would not help him, and deliver him out of this danger, he would not pay him such wages, as was therein contained he should have. The foolish servant said that he would not do it, for fear of incurring the penalty contained in the Indenture of covenant. And if his master had not been presently helped by one that came that way, doubtless he could never have escaped.  
For this cause, after their return home, there were new covenants drawn, unto which he yielded his consent, under a certain forfeiture, to perform and observe them truly: which was, that he should assist his master at all times; in all causes that he commanded him, and should never depart or separate himself from him.  
It chanced on a time, that Pandolfus entering into one of the chiefest Churches of the City, with certain Venetian Gentlemen, his servant always followed him at his shoulders, and would never leave him.  
The Gentlemen and other that were by, for the rareness of the sight, took up a great laughter, through which the master returning to his house, chid him bitterly, showing him what a foolish and unadvised part he played, in walking so childishly with him, in the Church, without any respect, either of him, or the Gentlemen that were with him.  
The servant alleged unto him, that he had not done contrary to the covenants that were drawn betwixt them, and had fulfilled the contents thereof and no more. Upon this there was a new covenant put in, that he should go farther of from him.  
After that time the servant would keep himself aloof, and not come near him by forty foot, at the least. And although his master called him, and had need to use him: Nevertheless, his servant would not for fear of incurring the penalty contained in the Indentures. hereat Pandolphus fretting a good at the folly, and simplicity of his man; told him that his coming farther of him, was to be understood about a three foot distant The servant thinking himself now too be apparently advertised of his masters meaning, took a staff of the length of three foot, and as he went in the city, would set one end thereof against his breast, and holding the other towards his masters shoulders, so followed him. The Citizens, & Prentices, seeing him to go in this order, deeming him to be some notable fool, did laugh at him unmeasurably. The master as yet not knowing wherefore they so laughed, marveled greatly, but being afterwards advertised how he carried the staff after him, he was in a great rage, reprehending his servant vehemently, threatening also to beat him. And he weeping and lamenting, excused himself, saying, ye do me manifest injury, Master, in going about to beat me; made I not a bargain with you? have I not observed all the covenants? When did I any thing contrary to that you willed me? read the Indenture, and then punish me if I have failed in any thing. And thus his master could never justly take him at any advantage. At another time his master sent him to the Market, to buy meat, and speaking figuratively unto him; said; Go thy way, and let it be a year ere ye come again: meaning that he should make speed. The servant over obedient to his master, went into his Country and there tarried till the year was expired; and within one day after came home: & brought the meat with him to his master, who marveling thereat greatly; having forgotten what he gave him in commandment to do, rebuked him as a Runaway; saying: ye are come somewhat too late, that the gallows take you. But I will reward thee according to thy deserts knave and varlet, that thou art; and thou shalt be sure to pay the penalty that thou hast forfeited, and gettest not one penny of wages of me.  
The servant answered that he had not swerved from any one covenant contained in his Indenture: but had observed them all, and had obeyed him in every thing that he commanded.  
Call ye to mind master (said he) that whiles ye willed me to tarry a year, ere I came again: I have done so: and therefore pay me my wages that ye promised me. And here upon they waged the law, and in conclusion the master was constrained to pay him his wages, whether he would, or no.  
THere dwelled in the City of Ferrara, an exceeding rich man, and of a worshipful house, who had a servant called Fortunius, a young man of no great wit. It chanced that his master on a time sitting asleep in his orchard, in the extreme heat of the sun, Fortunius having a bush of feathers, kept of the flies from his master, the he might take his rest the more quietly. Amongst the other flies, there was one so importunate, that not weighing the bush of feathers, wherewith she was stricken, often, with her sharp sting would never lin biting the bald pate of his master, and having been three or four times to annoy him, would still prf●er to come again.  
In fine Fortunius noting the malapert presumption of the beast, not being able any longer to forbear her, very unadvisedly determined to kill her. And the fly sitting on the bald pate of his master sucking out his blood Fortunius like a simple and ignorant set, took a weighty pestle of brass that by chance lay some what too near him; and lifting it up with great force with intent to kill the fly, knocked out the brains of his master. He seeing his master to be ●●aine in deed, and thinking that he should be hanged for it, determined to run away, and save himself by flight: But altering this his purpose, he thought it better to bury him in some secret place, and putting him into a sack, did so. And then taking a great he Goat of his masters, flung him into a well, that stood near the Orchard where he slept. The goodman not coming in at night, as he was accustomed, began to think evil of the servant, and demanding of him for her husband, he made answer, that he saw him not.  
Then the good wife being very sorrowful, began to weep bitterly, and with a skriking voice, called her husband, but all in vain. Her parents and kinsfolks seeing that the good man could not be found, went to the Mayor of the City, and there accused Fortunius the feruaunt, saying, that he should be committed to prison, and so to be had on the rack, there to be made to confess, what was become of his master.  
The Mayor presently caused him to be taken, and bound, and upon presumptions committed him to the rack. The servant not being able to abide the torment thereof, promised to manifest the whole: so that he might be let down, and being taken down, and had before the Mayor, with a crafty deceit, he said, as followeth.  
Yesterday, as I was asleep in the orchard, and suddenly a great noise awaked me, which seemed, as though some great stone had fallen into the well. I being astovied thereat, ran suddenly thither, and looking into the water, saw it quiet and still, so that I sought no farther: whiles I returned, I heard an other like noise, & I stayed. And I verily think it was my master, who being about to draw some water, fell into the well. But for that the troth may be known of the matter, let us all go thither, and I will descend into the well to see whether that it be true or no, which I gather by presumptions.  
The Mayor desirors to make proof of the troth hereof, called all his brethren with him, and with divers other Gentlemen came to the well. And with them went a great company of the common sort of people, both men and women, being desirous to see the issue of this matter. And behold as the wicked fellow by the commandment of the Mayor descended into the well, & sought for his master in the water, he found the goat which he had before thrown thereinto, and there with cried out to his mistress, (which was amongst the rest of the company) saying, ho, mistress; tell me, had your husband any horns? I have found one here in this well, which hath a pair both great and long, was he ever your husband? she being surprised with these speeches, said never a words. The Mayor with all the rest of the company stood still, being very desirous to see the dead body, which being drawn up, when they perceived that it was a Goat, they made such exceeding joy, that they were like to break insunder with laughter. And the Mayor seeing the chance, adjudged the servant to be trusty, and released him as innocent, and it was never known what became of his master; and the good wife with the scorn of the horn, remained defamed ever after.   

¶ To the Worshipful John Stafford of Bletherwicke Esquire, Humphrey Gifford most humbly sendeth greeting.  
ACknowledging myself deeply indebted to your worship for your professed courtesies, & good opinion conceived of me, & desiring by some one means or other to make manifest my thankful mind, I have adventured the dedication of this trifling toy, unto your protection, notdoubting of your favourable acceptance, in that I bestow it as an earnest penny of my well meaning, and testimony of the unfeigned goodwill that I bear you. The thing that I here present you with, is a posy of Gillowflowers collected out of the garden of mine own inventions. Which if they shall come too short in show and colour, or prove inferior in scent and odour to that which is to be looked for of so fragrant a flower, let the Gardener (I pray you) be excused, who hath done his goodwill and endeavour in the sowing, & setting of them, and lay the fault in the barrenness of the soil, wherein they were planted: which had it been better, their virtue would have proved to be greater. Though all the flowers herein contained, carry one name, yet each of the differs from other, both in colour and savour, the better to satisfy the diversity of eyes that shall view them, and variety of noses that shall smell them. Now if the spider shall happen to suck any poison out of them, let not the flowers be the worse thought of, but consider that it is his property to do the like, out of the most pure and delectable flowers, that ever were. And God in giving unto her and other such like creatures this nature, doth no less manifest his omnipotent power herein, then in his other wonderful works. For reason telleth, & experience teacheth, that in this vale of misery, there is nothing so beautiful, but that it hath some blemish; nor so pure, but that it savours of some imperfection: so that as long as the world is a world, corruption must continue amongst us. Which filthy dregs & poisoned humours, if they were not in part drawn & drained away by the venomous beasts and worms of the earth, they would a great deal more annoy us, than now they do. And it is to be doubted whether life could any long time be conserved a mogst us. I might here take occasion to liken the crew of curious carpers (which more of malice then good meaning accustomed to cavil at other men's doings, playing the idle drones themselves) to the venomous beasts & worms before spoken of: Whom for their congruity in condition, and affinity in disposition I might bring them within the compass of one comparison, & conclude that both the one & the other are necessary evils. But lest that the old proverb be objected against me, Ne suitor ultra crepitam, let the Gardener meddle no farther than his spade, I will leave them to their predecessor Zoilus (whose apes they are in imitating his conditions) & return again to my Gillowflowers, eft foones beseeching your worship to accept those that I present you with no less thankfulness than the Gardener doth offer them willingly, whereof he doubts not, calling to mind your accustomed courtesy. In one thing I have used such circumspection as my simple skill, would permit me, which is that the beauty of my flowers be not blemished with the weeds of wantonness, that commonly grow in such gardens. I hope therefore, ye shall find them rooted out in such sort, that if there remain any, my trust is they shall not fall out, to be many. The only thing that I doubt of this in my dedication, is that your worship shall have cause to account me a deep dissembler and one that hath been more lavish in promise, than he is able to pay with performance. For whereas by my former speeches, ye might peradventure look for some delicate Gillowflowers, it will fall out to be but a copy of my countenance, having done nothing else, but (as the fashion of the world is now adays) set a good face on a bad matter. For (to deal plainly with you) I was never Gardener in all my life. And the thing that I here present you with, is but a collection of such verses and odd devices as have (at such idle hours as I found in my master his service) upon sundry occasions by me been composed. The one I confess far unworthy your view, and yet such as when ye shall return home wearied from your field sports, may yield you some recreation. The chief mark that I level at is, the continuance of your woorships' courtesy and good mind towards me, which as they have already surmounted the reach of my deserts, so if I might enjoy the fruition of them hereafter, in that fullness which I hope for, I shall account all the dutiful endeavour that I can possibly show you insufficient, for the satisfaction of the least part of them. Thus for fear of being tedious, I end, wishing your worship, with my good mistress your wife & all yours many years of prosperity, with daily increase of worship, & heaven for your haven to rest in, when the dangerous sea of this life shallbe over sailed.  
Yours in all dutifulness, HG.   


D      Do guide my paths, O Lord my God,  
   T   that I walk not astray:  
O     O who can mount thy holy hill,  
   E   Except thou lead the way?  
R     Renew me with such grace, that I  
   M   May learn thy laws aright:  
O     Order my steps, so shall I be  
   P   Preserved day and night.  
T     The wicked Serpent every hour,  
   E   Endeavours me to spill:  
H     Haste to my help, so shall I, Lord,  
   R   Right well eschew the ill.  
Y     In thee I put mine only trust,  
   A   Assist me then at need.  
S     Stand on my side; but thee alone,  
   N   None else my suit can speed.  
A     Amidst the sea of sin and death,  
   C   Continually we ride,  
M     Making still shipwreck of our souls,  
   E   except thou be our guide.  
V     Unto the Lord with humble suit,  
   I   I lift my heart and hands:  
E     Incline thine ears to my request,  
   V   Unlose my sinful bands.  
L     Let not vile Satan's crafty trains,  
   S   So sore our souls assail:  
D     Do thou protect us with thy shield,  
   T   Then shall he not prevail.  
A     As to a Rock of safe refuge,  
   I   I still to thee do fly.  
N     None else there is I know, that can  
   C   Cause all my sins to die.  
I     I do confess my force is weak,  
   E   Increase my faith (O Lord)  
E     Expel from meal heresies,  
   P  Protect me with thy word.  
L     Let not the fiend that seeks my foil,  
   R   Rejoice at my decay,  
D     Do make me strong in lively faith.  
    V   Unto thee still I pray.  
A     All truth, all good and godly deeds,  
   D   Do still proceed from thee:  
N     No man can think one holy thought,  
   E   Except their guide thou be.  
V     Unless thou Lord do give increase,  
   N   No fruit our deeds bring forth.  
E     Esteemed we are as rotten weeds,  
   C   Corrupt and nothing worth.  
R     Remember not my sins forepast,  
   E   Eluminate my ways:  
S     So shall I still with heart and voice,  
   G   Give thee all laud and prays.  
H     Happy are they that do thee serve,  
   I   In thought and eke in deed:  
V     Unturned never is thy face,  
   F   From them in time of need.  
M     Make Lord in me a steadfast faith,  
   F   For ever to abide.  
F     Frame still my life to keep thy laws,  
   A   And I shall never slide.  
R     Remove from me all errors blocks,  
   R   Right so shall I remain.  
I     In perfect footsteps of thy paths,  
   D   devoid of worldly pain.    

To his approved friend.  

Serve God Serve God thy Lord, delight to keep his laws.  
always. Always, have care to do his holy hest.  
Commit Commit not that which may his anger cause.  
no evil, No evil, then (dear friend) can thee molest.  
Still fear Still fear and mind the dreadful judgement day.  
to sin, To sin, breeds death, but mercy do require,  
defy Defy such things, as work thy soul's decay;  
the devil. The devil, so shall lose his chief desire.  
If thou If thou, wilt spend thy days in great content.  
praise God Praise God, each hour, serve him in fear and dread,  
with heart With heart contrite thy former sins lament.  
and mind, And mind, hence forth a better life to lead  
Great joys Great joys the Lord (as his pure word doth say)  
in heaven In heaven, above, for good men hath prepared,  
thy soul Thy soul when that this life shall pass away,  
shall find. Shall find such bliss, as cannot be declared.    

The life of man metaphorically compared to a ship, sailing on the seas in a tempest.  

HAste homewards, man, draw nearer to the shore,  
The skies do scowl, the winds do blow amain:  
The raged rocks, with rumbling noise do roar,  
The foggy clouds do threaten storms of rain.  
Each thing foreshows a tempest is at hand,  
Hoist up thy sails, and haste to happy land.   

In worldly seas thy silly ship is tossed:  
With waves of woe beset on every side,  
Blown here, and there, in danger to be lost:  
Dark clouds of sin do cause thee wander wide,  
Unless thy God pity some on thee take,  
On rocks of ruth, thou needs must shipwreck make.   

Cut down the mast of rancour and debate,  
Vnfraight the ship of all unlawful wares:  
Cast over board the packs of hoardward hate,  
Pump out fowl vice, the cause of many cares.  
If that some leek, it make thee stand in doubt,  
Repentance serves, to stop the water out.   

Let Gods pure word thy line and compass be,  
And steadfast faith use, thou in anckors steed:  
Lament thy sins, then shalt thou shortly see,  
That power divine, will help thee forth at need.  
Fell Satan is chief ruler of these seas:  
He seeks our wrack, he doth these tempests raise.   

In what we may let us always repress,  
The furious waves of lust and fond desire:  
A quiet calm our conscience shall possess,  
if we do that which duty doth require:  
By godly life in fine obtain we shall,  
the port of bliss, to which God send us all.    

A doleful Dump  

WHo so doth moan, and lacks a mate,  
to be partaker of his woe,  
And will discourse of his estate,  
Let him and I together go:  
And I will make him grant in fine,  
his grief to be far less than mine.   

Perhaps he will, to win the best,  
paint forth what pangs oppress his mind,  
How that he feels no quiet rest:  
how fortune is to him unkind:  
And how he pines in secret grief,  
and finds no means for his relief.   

These and such like a number will,  
allege to witness their distress,  
Some roll up stones against the hill▪  
with Sisyphus; some eke express,  
That like to Tantalus they far,  
and some with Yxion do compare.   

But I not only feel the smart,  
of all those evils rehearsed before:  
But taste the forment in my heart,  
of thousand times as many more:  
So that the worst of their annoys,  
Is best and chiefest of my joys.   

I never fed on costly meat,  
Since that this grief oppressed me first:  
Dole is the dainties that I eat,  
And trickling tears do cool my thirst:  
Care is my carving knife, God wots,  
Which daily seeks to cut my throat.   

Muse not that here I secret keep  
The cause that first procured my grief:  
What doth it boot a man to weep,  
When that his tears find no relief?  
Contents me only, this repose,  
That death ere long will end my woes.    

In praise of the contented mind.  

IF all the joys that worldly wights possess,  
Were thoroughly scanned, and pondered in their kinds,  
No man of wit, but justly must confess,  
That they joy most, that have contented minds.  
And other joys, which bear the name of joys,  
Are not right joys, but sunshines of annoys.   

In outward view we see a number glad,  
Which make a show, as if mirth did abound:  
When pinching grief within doth make them sad.  
And many a one in these days may be had,  
Which faintly smile to shroud their sorrows so,  
When oftentimes they pine in secret woe.   

But every man that holds himself content,  
And yéeldes God thanks, as duty doth require:  
For all his gifts that he to us hath sent,  
And is not vexed with over great desire:  
And such, I say, most quietly do sleep,  
When fretting cares doth others waking keep.   

What doth avail huge heaps of shining gold,  
Or gay attire, or stately buildings brave:  
If worldly pelf thy heart in bondage hold?  
Not thou thy goods, thy goods make thee their slave.  
For greedy men like Tantalus do fare,  
In midst of wealth, they needy are and bare.   

A wary heed that things go not to loss,  
Doth not amiss, so that it keep the mean:  
But still to toil and moil for worldly dross,  
And taste no joy nor pleasure for our pain:  
In cark and care both day and night to dwell,  
Is nothing else but even a very hell.   

Wherefore I say, as erst I did begin,  
Contented men enjoy the greaetst bliss:  
Let us content ourselves to fly from sin,  
And still abide what Gods good pleasure is.  
If joy, or pain, if wealth, or want befall,  
Let us be pleased, and give God thanks for all.    

In the praise of Friendship.  

Reveal (O tongue) the secrets of my thought,  
Tell forth the game that perfect friendship brings:  
Express what joys by her to man are brought,  
unfold her praise which glads all earthly things:  
If one might say, in earth a heaven to be,  
It is no doubt, where faithful friends agree.   

To all estates true friendship is a stay,  
To every wight a good and welcome guest:  
Our life were death, were she once ta'en away,  
Consuming cares would harbour in our breast.  
Fowl malice eke, would banish all delight,  
And puff us up with poison of despite.   

If that the seeds of envy and debate;  
Might yield no fruit, but wither and decay;  
No cankered minds would hoard up heaps of hate.  
No hollow hearts dissembling parts should play.  
No clawback than would fawn in hope of meed,  
Such life to lead, were perfect life in deed.   

But nowadays desire of worldly pelf,  
With all estates makes friendship very cold:  
Few for their friends, each shifteth for himself,  
If in thy purse thou hast good store of gold:  
Full many a one, thy friendship will embrace,  
Thy wealth once spent, they turn away their face.   

Let us still pray unto the Lord above,  
For to relent our hearts as hard as stone:  
That through the world one knot of loyal love,  
In perfect truth might link us all in one:  
Then should we pass this life without annoys,  
And after death possess eternal joys.    

A commendation of Peace.  

WHen boiling wrath perturbs man's troubled breast,  
Outraging will bids reason's lore adieu:  
turmoiling cares bereave all quiet rest,  
And hasty ire makes harmful haps ensue,  
Great storms of strife are raised, through dire debate,  
But golden peace preserves the quiet state.   

A gift divine, than precious pearl more worth,  
Is blessed peace, to discord deadly foe.  
Most plenteous fruits this blooming tree brings forth  
When war and strife yield crops of care and woe.  
Rash rancours rage procures fond furious fights,  
Peace makes men swim in feaes of sweet delights.   

If that this peace be such a passing thing,  
That it by right may challenge worthy praise:  
What thanks own we unto our heavenly king,  
Through whom we have enjoyed such happy days?  
Next to our Queen, how deeply are we bound,  
Whose like on earth, before was never found?   

If England would perpend the bloody broils,  
And slaughters huge that foreign realms have tried,  
It should me seems, by warned by their turmoils,  
In perfect love and concord to abide.  
But (out alas) my heart doth rue to tell)  
Small fear of God, amongst us now doth dwell.   

And where that wants, what hope doth else remain,  
But dire revenge for rash committed crimes?  
Heaps of mishaps will fall on us amain,  
If we do not lament our sins betimes.  
Unless with speed, to God for grace we call,  
I fear, I fear, great plagues on us will fall.   

England therefore, in time convert from vice,  
The pleasant spring abides not all the year.  
Let foreign ills, forewarn thee to be wise,  
Storms may ensue, though now the coasts be clear.  
I say no more, but only do request,  
That God will turn all things unto the best.    

For Soldiers.  

Ye buds of Brutus land, courageous youths, now play your parts  
Unto your tackle stand, abide the brunt with valiant hearts.  
For news is carried too & fro, that we must forth to warfare go:  
Men muster now in every place, & soldiers are priest forth apace.  
Faint not, spend blood; to do your Queen & country good.  
Fair words, good pay, will make men cast all care away.   

The time of war is come, prepare your corselet, spear & shield,  
Me thinks I hear the drum, strike doleful marches to the field,  
Tantara, tantara, the trumpet's sound, with makes our heart's with joy abound,  
The roaring guns are heard a far, & every thing denounceth war.  
Serve God, stand stout; bold courage brings this gear about.  
Fear not; forth run; faint heart, fair Lady never won.   

ye curious Carpet knights, that spend the time in sport & play  
Abroad & see new sights, your country's cause calls you away:  
Do not to make your Lady's game, bring blemish to your worthy name.  
Away to field, & win renown, which courage beat your enemies down.  
Stout hearts gain praise, when Dastards sail in slanders seas:  
Hap what hap shall, we sure, shall die but once for all,   

Alarm me thinks they cry, be packing mates, be gone with speed,  
Our foes are very nigh, shame have that man that shrinks at need.  
Unto it boldly let us stand, God will give right the upper hand.  
Our cause is good, we need not doubt, in sign of courage give a shout.  
March forth, be strong, good hap will come ere it be long.  
Shrink not, fight well, for lusty lads must bear the bell.   

All you that will shun evil, must dwell in warfare every day,  
The world, the flesh & Devil, always do seek our soul's decay.  
strive with these foes which all your might, so shall you fight a worthy fight.  
That conquest doth deserve most praise, where vice do yield to virtues ways.  
Beat down foul sin, a worthy crown then shall ye win.  
If we live well, in heaven with Christ our souls shall dwell.    

To his friend.  

MUse not too much (o wight of worthy fame)  
At view of this my rude & ragged rhyme,  
I am almost enforced to write the same:  
Wherefore forgive, if I commit a crime.  
The cause hereof, and how it came to pass,  
I shall declare, even briefly as it was.   

Revolving in my mind your friendly face,  
Your bounty great, your love to every man,  
I heard my wit, and will to scan this case,  
If I should write or no, thus will began.  
Take pen in hand thou fearful wight she said,  
To write thy mind what should make thee afraid?   

Not so (quoth wit) acquaintance hath he small,  
With him to whom thou bidst him write his mind,  
What tho (quoth will) that skills nothing at all,  
He writeth to one that is to all a friend.  
Him so to be (quoth wit) none can deny.  
Thou art a fool (quoth will) then to reply.   

Great cause (quoth wit) should make him to refrain.  
He would (quoth will) declare his friendly heart.  
What if (quoth wit) he chance to reap disdain?  
Of such foul fruits (quoth will) friends have no part.  
Perchance (quoth wit) it willbe taken ill.  
Well meaned things, who will take ill (quoth will?)   

He hath no skill (quoth wit,) how should he write?  
All want of skill (quoth will) good will supplies.  
I see (quoth wit) thou wilt work him despite.  
For counsel good thou, givest him rash advice.  
Wit said no more: But will that stately Dame,  
Still bade me write, not forcing any blame.   

Since will, not wit, makes me commit offence,  
Of pardon yours the better hope I have.  
To show my love was all the whole pretence,  
That made me write. This only do I crave:  
In any thing if pleasure you I can,  
Command me so, as if I were your man.    

A renouncing of love.  

ALL earthly things by course of kind,  
Are subject still to reason's lore:  
But sure I can no reasons find,  
That makes these lovers love so sore.  
They fry and freeze in mildest weather,  
They weep and laugh even both together.   

Even now in waves of deep despair,  
Their bark is tossed too and fro.  
A gale of hope expels all fear,  
And makes the wind to overblow:  
Twixt fear and hope these lovers sail,  
And doubtful are which shall prevail.   

At night in slumber sweetly laid,  
They seem to hold their love in arms:  
Awaking then, they are afraid,  
And feel the force of thousand harms.  
Then do they toss in restless bed,  
With hammers working in their head.   

A merry look from Lady's face,  
Brings them a foot which could not go:  
A frowning brow doth them disgrace,  
And brews the broth of all their woe,  
Hereby all men may plainly know:  
That reason rules not lovers law.   

But reason doth me thus persuade,  
Where reason wants, that nothing frames:  
Therefore this reason hath me made,  
To set aside all lovely gains.  
Since reason rules not Venus' sport,  
No reason bids me scale that fort.    

A will or Testament.  

WHen dreadful death with dint of piercing dart,  
By fatal doom, this corpses of mine shall kill;  
When lingering life shall from my life departed,  
I thus set down, my testament and will.  
My faithful friends executory shall remain,  
To see performed what here I do or deign.   

To thee (O world) I first of all do leave  
The vain delights, that I in thee have found,  
Thy feigned shows wherewith thou didst deceive,  
Thy fickle trust, and promises unsound.  
My wealth, my woe, my joys commixed with care.  
Do take them, all do fall unto thy share.   

And Satan thou, for that thou wert the cause,  
That I in sin did still misspend my days,  
I thee defy, and here renounce thy laws,  
My wicked thoughts, my vile and naughty ways,  
And eke my vice do to thy lot befall,  
From thee they came, do take them to thee all.   

To thee, O earth, again I do restore,  
My carrion corpses, which from thee did proceed:  
Because it did neglect all godly lore,  
Let greedy worms upon it always feed;  
Let it in filth consume and rot away,  
And so remain until the judgement day.   

But my poor soul, whom Christ most dearly bought  
Which hated sin, and loathed to offend,  
Together with each good and godly thought,  
Into thy hands, sweet jesus, I commend.  
O saviour Christ, do guide my steps so well,  
That after death, she still with thee may dwell.    

A Complaint of a Lover.  

IF ever woeful wight had cause, to pipe in bitter smart,  
I which am thrall to Cupid's laws, with him may bear a part.  
Whose joyful days alas, are gone; whom daily cares do toss,  
But wot ye why I thus take on? my luck is turned to loss.  
Erecruell love my heart possessed, no cares did vex my head,  
But since he harboured in my breast, my golden days are fled.  
Time was when fortune did allow, great gladness to my share,  
But ah, for that time is not, now doth grow my cause of care.  
Time was when I lived in delight, and reaped of joys my fill:  
But now time is, works me despite, would waste had tarried still.  
No hap so hard, no grief so great, whereof I feel not part,  
Now shivering cold, now flaming heat, annoys my woeful heart.  
So that hope is the only stay, on which my life depends,  
Which if it once be ta'en away, my date of living ends.  
God grant my hope, such hap may see, that good success ensue,  
Which if it long prolonged be, through grief I die, adieu.    

For his friend.  

I That in freedom lived of late,  
And never stooped to Cupid's lure,  
Have now made change of my estate,  
And thousand torments do endure.  
As late abroad I cast my looks,  
In fancies lune I fast was caught,  
And beauty with her baited hooks,  
Hath me alas in bondage brought.  
I love, but lack the thing I crave,  
I live, but want my chiefest good,  
I hope, but hap I cannot have,  
I serve, but starve for want of food.  
Then so to love, what state more ill?  
Such life affords small time of joy,  
Such wavering hope doth often kill,  
To serve and starve what worse annoy?  
Yet will I love whiles life doth last,  
And live whiles any hope remains,  
And hope when dismal days are past,  
To have reward for all my pains.   

Lo thus I live by hope sustained,  
Yet through despair, die every hour,  
In sorrow glad, in pleasure pained,  
Now fed with sweet, now choked with sour.  
Dear Dame in humble sort I sew,  
Since mine estate to you is known,  
Vouchsafe my doleful case to rue,  
And save his life who is your own.    

Somewhat made of nothing, at a Gentlewoman's request  

YE gladly would have me to make you some toy,  
And yet will not tell me whereof I should write:  
The strangeness of this doth breed me annoy,  
And makes me to seek what things to indite.  
If I should write rashly what comes in my brain,  
It might be such matter as likes you not best,  
And rather I would great sorrow sustain,  
Than not to fulfil your lawful request.  
Two dangers most doubtful oppress me alike,  
Ne am I resolved to which I might yield,  
Wherefore by perforce I am foretd to seek,  
This slender device to serve for my shield.  
Since nothing ye give me to busy my brain,  
Nothing but your nothing of me can ye crave.  
Wherefore now receive your nothing again,  
Of nothing, but nothing, what else would ye have.    

Of the instability of Fortune.  

WHo wisely ways false fortunes fickle change,  
Which in short space turns love to mortal hate,  
Shall find small cause to déem it wondrous strange,  
To fleet from happy life to worse estate.  
For why her sweet is always mixed with sour,  
If now she fawn, she frowns within an hour,   

Her smiles are wiles to cause men hope for hap,  
Her trains breed pains, though pleasant be the show,  
Him whom she now doth dandle in her lap,  
Straightway sustains a wretched over throw.  
And whom thou seest at foot of wheel down cast,  
Within short space, she hoisteth up as fast.   

The raging Seas which daily ebbs and flows,  
The wavering winds, which blow now here now there,  
More constant are then fortunes flattering vows,  
Who in one hood, a double face doth bear.  
To trust her looks, when she doth fleer or laugh,  
Is nothing else but trust a broken staff.   

Pollicrates (as ancient writers tell)  
On Fortune's wheel most highly was advaunste,  
And many a year she favoured him so well,  
That no ill hap long time unto him chanced.  
Yet in the end, to show her double ways,  
With hemping rope, she caused him end his days.   

If thou wilt shun all sorrow and distress,  
By fortune's threats do set but little store,  
If thine affairs have ever good success,  
Yield hearty thanks to God thy Lord therefore.  
If great annoys do fall upon thee fast,  
Think them due plagues for some offences past.   

By prayer then make level with the Lord.  
Repentant hearts have mercy when they call:  
Love him with fear, delight to read his word,  
So great good haps unto thee will befall.  
So shalt thou lead thy life without annoys,  
And after death possess eternal joys.    

Of the vanity of this life.  

I Read in Poets feigned books,  
That wise Ulysses wandering came,  
Where Circe's through her fawning looks,  
Did work his men a spiteful shame.  
She caused them quaff great bowls of wine,  
And presently they turned to swine.   

But he which followed virtue still,  
Refused to taste this proffered charm,  
And would not work her beastly will,  
As one that doubted farther harm.  
Her witchcrafts and enchantmentes strange,  
Were not of force this man to change.   

The world with his alluring toys,  
Is Circe's witch of whom they writ:  
Which tempts us with her sugared joys,  
And makes us swim in such delight,  
That we so play with pleasures ball,  
As if there were no God at all.   

If man would way, what enemies  
Are always priest him to devour,  
Me thinks from sin he should arise,  
And make defence with all his power.  
For why, the world, the flesh, and devil,  
Do never cease to work us evil.   

These so bewitch our foolish brains,  
That nought we force eternal pain:  
And every one in sin remains,  
As if hell were a fable vain.  
Alas we are seduced so,  
That all true hearts do bleed for woe.   

The sheep doth yearly yield his fleece,  
The plodding Ox the plough doth draw:  
And every thing in willing wise,  
Keeps and obeys dame Nature's law:  
But man in wit, which should excel,  
Against his Lord doth still rebel.   

Each doth defer from day to day,  
And thinks the morrow to amend:  
But death arestes us by the way,  
And suddenly some makes their end.  
O wretched case that they be in,  
Which die, and not lament their sin.   

Thou silly man, still fear the Lord,  
Thy former sins with speed forsake:  
The judgement day in mind record,  
In which each soul account must make,  
Confess thy faults to God therefore,  
Repent, amend, and sin no more.    

Of the vanity of the world.  

AS I lay musing in my bed,  
A heap of fancies came in head,  
Which greatly did molest me.  
Such sundry thoughts of joy and pain,  
Did meet within my pondering brain,  
That nothing could I rest me;  
Sometimes I felt excèeding joy;  
Sometimes the torment of annoy,  
Even now I laugh, even now I weep,  
Even now a slumber made me sleep.   

Thus did I with thoughts of strange device,  
Lie musing alone in pensive wise:  
I knew not what means might health procure,  
Nor finish the toil I did endure.  
And still I lay, and found no way,  
That best could make my cares decay.   

Revolving these things in my mind,  
Of wretched world the fancies blind:  
Alone a while I ponder:  
Which when I had perused well,  
And saw no virtue there to dwell,  
It made me greatly wonder.  
Is this that goodly thing (thought I)  
That all men love so earnestly?  
Is this the fruit that it doth yield,  
Whereby we all are so beguiled?  
Ah jesus, how then my heart did rue,  
Because I had followed them, as true.  
Alas we have lost the heavenly joys,  
And have been deceived with worldly toys;  
Whose fancies vain, will breed us pain,  
If Christ do not restore again.   

O wretched man, leave off therefore,  
In worldly things put trust no more.  
Which yéeldes no thing but sorrow:  
To God thy Lord with speed convert,  
Because thou most uncertain art:  
If thou shalt live too morrow,  
Leave of to quaff, to dance and play,  
Remember still the judgement day,  
Repent, relent, and call for grace,  
For pardon ask, whilst thou hast space.   

Who doth from his heart repentance crave,  
Forgiveness (saith Christ) of me shall have.  
He will not the death of a sinner give:  
But rather he should repent and live.  
Still laud the Lord, peruse his word,  
And let thy deeds with it accord.    

A Lesson for all estates.  

HAst thou desire thy golden days to spend,  
In blissful state exempt from all annoys?  
So live, as if death how thy life should end,  
Still tread the paths that lead to perfect joy.  
Be slow to sin, but speedy to ask grace,  
How are they blest that thus run out their race?   

Each night, ere sleep shut up thy drowsy eyes,  
Think thou how much in day thou hast transgressed;  
And pardon crave of God in any wise,  
To do that's good, and to forsake the rest.  
Sin thus shake of, the ●●end for envy weeps,  
Sound are our joys, most quiet are our sleeps,   

Have not thy head so cloyed with worldly cares,  
As to neglect that thou shouldst chief mind:  
But bear an eye to Satan's wil● snares:  
Who to beguile, a thousand shifts will find,  
Vain are the joys that wretched world allows,  
Who trust them most, do trust but rotten bows.   

Shun filthy vice, persist in doing well,  
For doing well doth godly life procure:  
And godly life makes us with Christ to dwell,  
In endless glisse that ever shall endure.  
We pray thee Lord, our follies to redress,  
That we thus do, thus live, this bliss possess.    

A Dream.  
IN pleasant month of gladsome May  
I walked abroad to view  
The fields, which nature had bedecked  
With flowers of sundry hue.  
The sight whereof did recreate  
My senses in such sort,  
As passeth far beyond my power,  
Thereof to make report.  
Then sat I near a pleasant wood,  
And listened with desire:  
Unto the small birds chirping charm,  
Which set my heart on fire.  
Of Goldfinch and of Nightingale  
I there might hear the voice:  
The Wren, the Robin and the thrush,  
Did make a heavenly noise.  
Whose sweet melodious harmony  
My senses so bere●t,  
That I in this delightful plot,  
A pray to sleep was left.  
In slumber mine an ancient dame,  
Before my face appears:  
Whose hollow cheeks and wrinkled face,  
Did argue many years.  
Her vesture was as white as snow,  
Her countenance very sad,  
It seemed by her watery eine,  
Some inward grief she had.  
For why, great streams of trickling tears,  
Distilled down her cheeks,  
And thus to me with trembling voice,  
This aged beldame speaks.  
My friend (quoth she) be not dismayed,  
At this my sudden sight,  
Ne let the speeches I shall use,  
Thy fearful mind affright.  
I am not of the fury's brood,  
Ne damned spirits of hell:  
But he through whom my being is,  
Above the skies doth dwell.  
And Lady Concord I am called,  
From foreign Realms exiled:  
Once mutual Love my husband was,  
And plenty was our child:  
But, ah, quoth she, a hag of hell,  
That long hath sought their spoil  
Hath slain them both, unless they dwell,  
Within your english soil.  
herewith there issued from her eine,  
Of tears abundant store:  
And sighs so stopped her feeble voice,  
That she could speak no more.  
The sight whereof (me thought) did raise,  
Great dolours in my breast:  
Yet praying her for to proceed,  
She thus her mind expressed.  
Vile Covetousness that fury fell,  
Hath wrought us all this woe:  
To Concord and to Mutual Love,  
She is a deadly foe.  
Time was, when we were well esteemed,  
And called each country's stay:  
But Covetousness now rules the roast,  
And beareth all the sway.  
And were it not that in this land,  
I find some small relief:  
I had been dead long ere this time,  
Through greatness of my grief.  
Debate and rancour night and day,  
On this vile Dame attend,  
Whom she to work her beastly will,  
About the world doth send.  
These two have raised such war and strife,  
In parts beyond the Seas,  
That now few nations in the earth,  
Enjoy their wonted peace.  
Now gold is reverenced as a God,  
Each hunts for private gain.  
Men care not how their souls shall speed,  
So wealth they may attain.  
Of conscience now, few make account,  
Him men esteem most wise:  
Which to beguile his neighbour poor,  
Can craftiest means devise.  
This said, me thought the ancient dame,  
Did vanish strait away.  
And I awaking here withal,  
Went home without delay,  
Where taking paper, pen, and ink,  
With speed I there enrolled:  
The circumstance of all the tale,  
That Concord to me told.  
Which makes me wish that every one,  
Would mutual love embrace:  
And that no spots of covetousness,  
With sin their deeds deface.   

A Dream.  

Laid in my quiet bed to rest,  
When sleep my senses all had drowned;  
Such dreams arose within my breast,  
As did with fear my mind confound.  
Me thought I wandered in a wood,  
Which was as dark, as pit of hell:  
In midst whereof such waters stood,  
That where to pass, I could not tell.  
The Lion, Tiger, Wolf, and Bear,  
There thundered forth such hideous cries:  
As made huge Eccoes' in the air,  
And seemed almost to pierce the skies.  
Long vexed with care I there abode,  
And to get forth I wanted power:  
At every footesteppe that I trod,  
I feared some beast would me devour.  
Abiding thus perplexed with pain,  
This case within myself I scanned,  
That humane help was all in vain,  
Unless the Lord with us do stand.  
Then falling flat upon my face,  
In humble sort to God I prayed:  
That in this dark and dreadful place,  
He would vouchsafe to be mine aid.  
Arising then a wight with wings,  
Of ancient years me thinks I see:  
A burning torch in hand he brings,  
And thus began to speak to me.  
That God, whose aid thou didst implore,  
Hath sent me hither for thy sake:  
Pluck up thy spirits, lament no more,  
With me thou must thy journey take.  
Against a huge and lofty hill,  
With swiftest pace me thinks we go:  
Where such a sound mine ears did fill,  
As moved my heart to bleed for woe.  
Me thought I heard a woeful wight,  
In doleful sort power forth great plaints:  
Whose cries did so my mind affright,  
That even with fear each member faints.  
Fie (quoth my guided) what means this change,  
Pass on a pace with courage bold,  
Hereby doth stand a prison strange,  
Where wondrous things thou mayst behold.  
Then came we to a fort of brass,  
Where péering through great iron grates,  
We saw a woman sit alas,  
Which ruthfully bewailed her fates.  
Her face was far more white than snow,  
And on her head a crown she ware,  
Beset with stones that glistered so,  
As hundred torches had been there.  
Her song was woe, and weal away,  
What torments here do I sustain?  
A new mishap did her dismay,  
Which more and more increased her pain,  
An ugly creature all in black,  
Ran to her seat, and flung her down,  
Who rend her garments from her back,  
And spoiled her of her precious crown.  
This crown he placed upon his head,  
And leaving her in doleful case,  
With swiftest pace away he fled:  
And darkness came in all the place.  
But then to hear the woeful move,  
And piteous groans that she forth sent,  
He had no doubt, a heart of stone,  
That could give ear and not lament,  
Then (quoth my guide) note well my talk.  
And thou shalt hear this dream declared:  
The wood in which thou first didst walk,  
Unto the world may be compared.  
The roaring beasts plainly express,  
The sundry snares in which we fall,   

This jail is named deep distress,  
In which Dame virtue lies as thrall,  
She is the wight which here within,  
So dolefully doth howl and cry,  
Her foe is called deadly sin,  
That proffered her this villainy.  
My name is Time, whom God hath sent,  
To warn thee of thy soul's decay,  
In time therefore thy sins lament,  
Lest time from thee be ta'en away.  
As soon as he these words had said,  
With swiftest pace away he flies,  
And I hereat was so afraid,  
That drowsy sleep forsook mine eyes.    

For a Gentlewoman.  
LIke as a fort or fenced town.  
By foe's assault that lies in field,  
When Bulwarks all are beaten down,  
Is by perforce constrained to yield,  
So I that could no while withstand,  
The battery of your pleasant love,  
The flag of truce took in my hand,  
And meant your mercy for to prove.  
My foolish fancy did enforce,  
Me first to like your friendly suit,  
Whiles your demands bred such remorse,  
That I could not the same refute.  
I bade you take with free consent,  
All that which true pretence might crave,  
And you remained as one content,  
The thing obtained that you would have.  
Such friendly looks and countenance fair,  
You freely then to me professed.  
As if all troth that ever were,  
Had harboured been within your breast.  
And I which saw such perfect shows,  
Of fraudless faith in you appear.  
Did yield myself to Cupid's Laws,  
And showed likewise a merry cheer.  
No loving toys I did withhold,  
And no suspect did make me doubt.  
Till your demeanour did unfold,  
The wily trains ye went about.  
Who sees a ruinous house to fall,  
And will not shift to get him thence.  
When limines be crushed, and broken all.  
It's then too late to make defence.  
When pleasant bait is swallowed down.  
The hooked fish is sure to die,  
On these Dame Fortune oft do frown,  
As trust too far before they try.  
Of had I witted, who makes his moan,  
It's ten to one he never thrives,  
When thieves are from the Gibbet thrown,  
No pardon then can save their lives.  
Such good advice as comes too late,  
May well be called, Sir fore wits fool:  
Elsewhere go play the cozening mate,  
I am not now to go to school.  
But clearly do at length discern,  
The mark to which your bow is bend,  
And these examples shall me warn,  
What harm they have that late repent.  
Your sugared speech was but a bait,  
Wherewith to blear my simple eyes,  
And under them did lurk deceit,  
As poison under honey lies.  
Wherefore since now your drift is known,  
Go set your stall some other where:  
I may not so be overthrown,  
Your double dealings make me fear.  
When steed by thieves is stolen away,  
I will not then the door lock fast,  
Wherefore depart without delay,  
Your words are wind, your suit is waste.  
And this shallbe the final doom,  
That I to your request will give,  
Your love in me shall have no room,  
Whiles life and breath shall make me live,   

For a Gentlewoman.  
WHat luckless lot had I alas,  
To plant my love in such a soil,  
As yields no corn nor fruitful grass,  
But crops of care, and brakes of toil?  
When first I chose the plot of ground,  
In which mine Anchor forth was cast,  
I thought it stable, firm, and sound,  
But found it sand and s●ime at last.  
Like as the Fouler with his gins,  
Beguiles the birds that think no ill,  
By filed speech▪ so divers wins  
The simple sort to work their will.  
But I, whom good advice hath taught,  
To shun their snares and subtle charms,  
Am not into such danger brought,  
But that I can eschew the harms.  
The skilful Falconer still doth prove,  
And praise that hawk which makes best whing,  
So I by some that seemed to love,  
Have had the proof of such a thing.  
From 〈◊〉 they did pursue their game,  
With swiftest whing and ega● mind,  
But when in midst of flight they came,  
They turned their trains against the wind.  
ye haggards strange therefore adieu,  
Go seek some other for your mate,  
ye false your faith and prove untrue,  
I like and love the sole estate.  
Like as Ulysses wandering men,  
In red seas as they passed along,  
Did stop their ears with wax as then,  
Against the subtle Mermaid's song.  
So shall their crafty filled talk,  
Here after find no listening ear,  
I will bid them go pack and walk,  
And spend their words some otherwhere.  
By proof experience tells me now,  
What fickle trust in them remains,  
And tract of time hath learned me how,  
I should eschew their wily trains.  
Such as are bound to lovers toys,  
Make shipwreck of their freedom still,  
They never taste but brittle joys:  
For one good chance a thousand ill.  
Cease now your suits and gloze no more,  
I mean to lead a Virgin's life:  
In this of pleasure find I store,  
In doubtful suits but care and strife.   

A Godly discourse.  

LIke as the wight far banished from his soil,  
In country strange, oppressed with grief & pain,  
Doth nothing way his long and weary toil,  
So that ye may come to his home again:  
And not accounts of perils great at hand,  
For to attain his own desired land.  
Such is the state of us thy servants all,  
(Most gracious God) that here on earth do dwell:  
We banished were through Adam's cursed fall,  
From place of bliss, even to the pit of hell:  
Our vice and sins, as marks and signs we have,  
Which still we bear, and shall do to our grave.   

When that all hope of remedy was past,  
For our redress when nothing could be found:  
Thine only son, thou didst send down at last,  
To salve this sore, and heal our deadly wound:  
Yet did they please to use him as a mean,  
Us banished wights for to call home again.   

And for because thy Godhead thought it meet,  
The sacred book of thy most holy will,  
Thou didst us leave a lantern to our feet,  
To light our steps, in this our voyage still,  
Directing us what to eschew or take:  
All this thou dost, for us vile sinners sake.   

Grant us sound faith, that we take steadfast hold,  
On Christ his death which did our ransom pay,  
So shall we shun the dangers manifold,  
Which would us let, and cause us run astray.  
The wicked world, the flesh, the Devil and all,  
Are stumbling blocks, each hour to make us fall.   

This Dungeon vile of Satan is the nest,  
A Den of dole, a sink of deadly sin.  
Heaven is the haven in which we hope to rest,  
Death is the door whereby we enter in.  
Sweet Saviour, grant that so we live to die,  
That after death, we live eternally.    

In the praise of Music.  
THe books of Ovid's changed shapes,  
A story strange do tell,  
How Orpheus to fetch his wife,  
Made voyage unto hell.  
Who having passed old Charon's boat,  
Unto a Palace came,  
Where dwelled the Prince of damned spirits,  
Which Pluto had to name.  
When Orpheus was once arrived  
Before the Regal throne:  
He played on Harp, and sang so sweet,  
As moved them all to moon.  
At sound of his melodious tunes,  
The very souls did mourn,  
Yxion with his whirling wheel,  
stood still and would not turn:  
And Tantalus did not assay,  
The fléeting floods to taste:  
The sisters with their hollow sieves,  
For water made no haste.  
The greedy vultures that are feigned,  
On Titius' heart to gnaw,  
Left off to feed: and stood amazed,  
When Orpheus they saw,  
And Sysyphus which rolls the stone,  
Against a mighty hill,  
Whiles that his music did endure,  
Gave ear, and sat him still.  
The furies eke which at no time,  
Were seen to weep before,  
Were moved to moan his heavy happ●  
And shed of tears great store.  
If muficke with her notes divine,  
So great remorse can move,  
I deem that man bereft of wits,  
which music will not love.  
She with her silver sounding tunes,  
Revives man's dulled spirits,  
She feeds the ear: she fills the heart,  
With choice of rare delights.  
Her sugared descant doth withdraw,  
Thy mind from earthly toys,  
And makes thee feel within thy breast,  
A taste of heavenly joys.  
The Planets and Celestial parts,  
Sweet harmony contain,  
Of which if creatures' were deprived,  
This world could not remain.  
It is no doubt, the very deed  
Of golden melody,  
That neighbours do together live  
In love and unity.  
Where man and wife agrees in one,  
Sweet music doth abound,  
But when such strings begin to jar,  
Unpleasant is the sound.  
Amongst all sorts of harmony,  
none doth so well accord,  
As when we live in perfect fear,  
And favour of the Lord.  
Who grant unto us sinful wights,  
Sufficient power and might,  
According to his mercy great,  
To tune this string aright.   

A pleasant jest.  

SOmetimes in France it did so chance,  
One that did service lack:  
A country clown went up and down,  
With farthel on his back.  
When that this swad long travailed had,  
Some service to require:  
His fortune was, as he did pass,  
A farmar did him hire.  
When April showers, y● brings May flowers,  
Made spring time bud and sprout:  
This country swain, for masters gain,  
Did ride his fields about:  
Now as he road, in ground abroad,  
In prime of pleasant spring:  
Hard by their town, this country clown,  
Did hear two cuckoos sing:  
One of them sat fast by a gate,  
In their town field, which stood  
In place néereby, he might descry  
The other in a wood.  
These Cuckoos seemed, as lobcock deemed,  
With envy to contend:  
Which of them twain, in plain song vain,  
The other could amend.  
Thus sang they long, their wonted song,  
Their townefielde Cuckoos throat  
Was nothing clear, which changed the cheer  
Of farmer's man, God wot.  
His horse he ties, and fast he hies,  
Upon a tree to stand:  
And made a noise, with Cuckoos voice,  
To get the upper hand.  
He thought not good, he of the wood,  
Should bear away the praise:  
To make him yield, to him of field,  
Himself the Cuckoo plays.  
Cuckoo, quoth he, upon the tree,  
And cuckoo, cuckoo said,  
With cuckoo, cuckoo, & cuck cuck cuckoo,  
Long time these cuckoos played.  
As they thus stand, from woods at hand  
Two wolves for pray that sought,  
By chance espied, the horse fast tied,  
That lobcock thither brought,  
To him they high, and presently,  
In pieces did him tear:  
Whereat amazed, the lobcock gazed,  
And pissed himself for fear.  
When Wolves were gone, coming down anon,  
Homewards he hide with speed:  
And there doth tell, all that befell,  
Of this unlucky deed.  
His master swore, being wroth therefore,  
He would none other nay,  
But that the slave, and foolish knave,  
The price of horse should pay.  
But to proceed, it was agreed,  
The wives that there did dwell,  
The case should scan, of this poor man,  
If he did ill or well.  
It being seen, he did it in.  
Defence of all the town:  
With one intent, they gave consent,  
For to accquite the clown.  
They eke him gave a garland brave,  
Adorned with many a rose:  
And great and small, him captain call  
Of Cuckoos, where he goes.  
Now in my mind, he were unkind,  
That would wish any ill:  
Unto a wight, in townships right,  
That showed so great goodwill.    

A Newyeeres' gift to a Gentlewoman.  

IF pure goodwill, not meaning ill, might boldly, might boldly,  
Presume to tell his mind:  
I would not use, in terms diffuse, thus coldly, thus coldly  
To show myself a friend.  
But now adays, so sin prevails,  
That faith decay, and friendship fails,  
Most men are so infected with jealous musing brains,  
That trust as one rejected, forsaken clean remains.  
And things are construed clean awry,  
When nought was meant but honesty.   

Thus much I say, as by the way, reciting, reciting,  
What danger may ensue:  
Because that I suspiciously, in writing, in writing,  
Do send my mind to you.  
Some will surmise, that I pretend,  
By such device some naughty end:  
But let them speak and spare not, I force it not a bean,  
For all their talk I care not, whilst guiltless I remain.  
Such as have not transgressed the laws,  
Do never fear to plead their cause.   

But now, sweet heart, it is my part; to open, to open,  
The sum of mine intent:  
I send this bill, for pure goodwill, in token, in token,  
That former year is spent.  
It is in deed a simple shift:  
To serve in steed of new years gift,  
Though slenderly I make it, your pardon let me have▪  
If in good part you take it, no more of you I crave:  
So shall you bind me day by day,  
To pleasure you in what I may.   

But I offend, such words to spend, in seeking, in seeking,  
That you should pardon me:  
If oft I do, that breeds in you, misliking, misliking,  
Corrected let me be.  
Myself to you I yield and give,  
As prisoner true, whilst that I live:  
So may you be revenged, for my presumptuous heart:  
Which hath perhaps offended, to play so lewd a part.  
Condemn me to be prisoner still,  
So may you boldly work your will.   

Proceed my deer, the case is clear, now stay not, now stay not  
Give judgement out of hand:  
If you ordain, perpetual pain, I way not, I way not,  
Your just decree shall stand.  
And if you will award it so,  
That I must now to prison go:  
Your heart shall be the prison, wherein I will abide,  
Until by right and reason, my case be thoroughly tried.  
O God, how happy should I be.  
If such a gail enclosed me?    

A delectable Dream.  

AS late abroad asleep I lay,  
Me thought I came by wondrous chance:  
Whereas I heard a harper play,  
And saw great store fairies dance.  
I marched near, drawn by delight,  
And priest these gallant Dames among:  
When as their dance being ended quite,  
Of him that played they crave a song.  
My presence nought appalled their mind,  
He tuned his harp, his voice was clear:  
And as a foe to woman kind,  
He sang this song that followeth here.   

A Woman's face is full of wiles,  
Her tears are like the Crocadill:  
With outward cheer on thee she smiles,  
When in her heart she thinks thee ill.  
Her tongue still chattels of this and that,  
Then aspen leaf it wags more fa●●  
And as she talks she knows not what,  
There issues many a troathlesse blast.  
Thou far dost take thy mark amiss,  
If thou think faith in them to find:  
The Weathercock more constant is,  
Which turns about with every wind.  
O, how in pity they abound!  
Their heart is mild, like marble stone,  
If in thyself no hope be found,  
Be sure of them thou gettest none.  
I know some pepernosed dame  
Will term me fool and saucy jack,  
That dare their credit so defame,  
And lay such slanders on their back.  
What though on me they power their spite,  
I may not use the glosérs' trade,  
I cannot say the crow is white,  
But needs must call a spade a spade.  
herewith his song and music ceased,  
The Fairies all on him did frown:  
A stately dame amongst the rest,  
Upon her face falls prostrate down.  
And to the God's request did make,  
That some great plagues might be assind  
To him, that all might warning take,  
How they speak ill of womankind.   

herewith (a wonder to be told)  
His feet stood fast upon the ground.  
His face was neither young, nor old,  
His harp untouched, would, yield no sound.  
Long hair did grow about his s●ull,  
His skin was white, his blood was read,  
His paunch with guts was bombast full,  
No dog had ever such a head.  
His colour oft did go and come,  
His eyes did stare as he did stand:  
Also four fingers and a thumb,  
Might now be seen in either hand,  
His tongue likewise was plagued sore,  
For that it played this peevish part,  
Because it should offend no more,  
'Twas tied with strings unto his heart.  
Yet in his mouth abode she still,  
His teeth like walls did keep her in:  
Which now grind meat, much like a mill,  
His lips were placed above his chin.  
Thus was he changed, that none him knew,  
But for the same he was before:  
By silent signs he seemed to sue,  
That Gods would now torment no more.  
And he would there without delays,  
Recant all that, which erst he spoke.  
He pardoned is, on harp he plays,  
And presently this song did make.   

AMongst all creatures bearing life,  
A woman is the worthiest thing:  
She is to man a faithful wife:  
She mother was to Christ our king.  
If late by me they were accused,  
I have therefore received my hire:  
Unless they greatly be abused,  
They never are replete with ire.  
They neither chide, fight, brawl, nor lie,  
The gentlest creatures under sun:  
When men do square for every fly,  
To make them friends the women run,  
And where they chance to fix their love,  
They never serve, or seek for change:  
No new persuasions can them move,  
'tis men that have desire to range.  
Like Turtles true they love their spouse,  
And do their duties every way:  
● hay fee good orders in the house,  
When husbands are abroad at play.  
And to conclude they Angels are,  
Though here on earth they do remain,  
Their glittering hue, which shines like Star,  
And beauty brave declares it plain.   

This said, the Fairies laughed,  
And seemed in countenance very glad,  
To speak my mind, I then had thought.  
How some were good, and some were bad,  
But (mark ill hap) a friend came by,  
Who as he found me sleeping so,  
Did call me up with voice so high,  
That slumber sweet I did forego.    

To his most faithful friend.  
A Thing most strange to tell, of late did chance to me:  
whiles that I took my pen in hand, to writ my mind to thee,  
As I had thought in haste to patch a verse or two,  
Without regard, as common friends, accustomed oft to do:  
I could not for my life, mine eyes so waking keep,  
But that a sudden slumber came, which made me fall asleep,  
In dream I seemed to see, appear before mine eine,  
A comely Lady well be seen, attired in decent wise,  
Most modest were her looks, most cheerful eke her face,  
Me thought therein was pictured out, a worthy matron's grace.  
O thankless wretch, she said, and canst thou so neglect  
My worthy laws? is there with thee of friends no more respect?  
Dost know to whom thou writest? is he a common friend?  
Sufficeth it in common sort, that thou shouldst show thy mind.  
Hath his deserts deserved of thee no better meed?  
Is this due guerdon for the love, which did from him proceed?  
In that he hath in deeds, been always friend to thee,  
Let him overthrow by friendly words, thee thankful still to be.  
He looks not for thy deeds, he knows thy power is small,  
And wilt thou then deprive him, wretch, of words, of deeds & all?  
Brute beasts requite good turns, it cannot be denied,  
Wilt thou then be ungrateful which hast reason for thy guide?  
Shall friendship dwell in beasts, and men be found unkind?  
Shall they for love, show love again, & thou forget thy friend?  
With that she gave a beck, and bade me to awake,  
And said, do show thy thankful mind, & so requital make.  
Herewith she did departed, my slumber passed away,  
I felt my cheeks bedewed with tears, through words that she did say  
Her bitter sharp rebukes, did make me muse a space,  
Chief in that they did proceed, out from so fair a face.  
But then I called to mind, that Gratitude she was,  
That thankful Dame whose custom is from friend to friend to pass.  
I took my pen in hand, with purpose to declare  
The Circumstance of this my dream, with cloyed my head with care,  
Herein also I thought her precepts to obey,  
And all the plot of thy deserts, most largely to display,  
But when my dream was done, I found such little store:  
Of paper, that I could not have, wherein to write the more.   

¶ One that had a froward Husband, makes complaint to her mother: Written in French, by Clement Marott,  
AND is there any wight alive,  
That rightly may compare.  
Or go beyond me silly wretch,  
In sadness and in care?  
Some such may be, but this I say,  
One must go far to seek,  
To find a woman in this world,  
Whose grief to mine is like:  
Or hath so just a cause of moan,  
In dumps of deep despite,  
I linger on my loathsome life,  
Deprived of all delight.  
Men say the Phoenix is a bird,  
Whose like cannot be found,  
I am the Phoenix in this world,  
Of that those care doth wound.  
And he that works me all this woe,  
May be the Phoenix well,  
Of all enraged senseless wights,  
That in the earth do dwell.  
I moan not here as Dido did,  
Being stricken at the heart,  
As worthy Virgil doth record,  
With dint of Cupid's dart.  
Nor in my plaints some Lover name,  
As Sappho did of yore:  
But husband is the cause hereof,  
Which makes my grief the more.  
For Lovers if they like us not,  
We may cast of again,  
But with our husbands (good or bad)  
Till death we must remain.  
I do not speak these words, as if  
His death I did desire,  
But rather that it might please God,  
His thoughts so to inspire,  
That he might use me as he ought,  
Or as I do deserve,  
Since that I him (as duty binds)  
Do honour, love, and serve.  
And seems it not desert think you?  
At his command to have  
The beauty great and other gifts,  
that nature to me gave?  
Is't not desert, such one with him  
In loyal bed to lie,  
As always hath most faithful been,  
And will be till she die:  
To look on him with cheerful face,  
to call him Spouse and friend,  
To coll and kiss, all this he hath,  
With frank and willing mind,  
And all things else as God commands,  
And duty doth allow,  
Yet am I dealt with at his hands,  
Alas, I know not how,  
He thankless man, doth ill for good,  
Against all right and law,  
He had of me good fruitful Corn,  
And pays me chaff and straw,  
For meek and humble courtesy,  
Fierce cruelty he gives,  
For loyalty, disloyalty,  
And that which most me grieves,  
Is when in sweet and humble sort,  
I come to make my moan,  
His heart no more is mollified,  
Then is the Marble stone.  
The cruel Lion ready bend,  
With paws and teeth to tear,  
When that the silly Hound doth yield,  
His malice doth forbear.  
When Attalus the Roman host  
Did erst subdue in field,  
His heart to mercy was inclined,  
Assoon as they did yield.  
Black Pluto eke the Prince of hell,  
Uneasy to be won,  
When Orpheus had played on harp,  
His rancour all was done.  
By sweetness and by courtesy,  
What is not wrought alas,  
Nerethlesse the sweetness Feminine,  
Which others all doth pass  
Can nothing do before the eyes,  
Of my hardhearted fear,  
The more that I submit myself,  
The stranger is his cheer.  
So that in wrongful cruelty,  
And spite he doth excel,  
The Lion's wild, the Tyrant's stout,  
And monsters eke of hell.  
As oft as I revolve in mind  
The greatness of my harms,  
I think how forth the Fowler goes,  
with sweet and pleasant charms,  
To take the birds, which once betrayed,  
He either kills strait way,  
Or keeps them pend in pensive cage,  
That fly no more they may.  
And so at first, I taken was,  
By his sweet fleering face,  
And now deprived of joy alas:  
Am handled in like case.  
Now, if the birds (as some avouch,  
Do curse his keeper still,  
In language his, why curse I not,  
The Author of my ill.  
That grief doth ever greater harm,  
Which hidden lies in breast,  
Then that which to some faithful friend,  
By speaking is expressed,  
My sorrows then shall be revealed,  
Some steadfast friend unto,  
My tongue thereby unto my heart,  
A pleasure great may do.  
But unto whom should I disclose  
My bondage and my thrall?  
Unto my spouse? No surely no,  
My gains should be but small,  
Alas to whom then should I moan?  
Should I some Lover choose,  
Who in my sorrows and my griefs,  
As partner I might use?  
Occasions great do counsel me  
To put this same in ure:  
Mine honour and mine honesty,  
Forbidden such rashness sure.  
Wherefore ye lovers all, adieu,  
Unto some other go:  
I will observe my vowed faith,  
Though to my greatest foe.  
To whom shall I power forth my plaints?  
To you most loving mother?  
For they by duty do belong,  
To you, and to none other.  
To you I come to seek relief,  
With moist and weeping eyes:  
Even as the heart with thirst oppressed,  
Unto the fountain hies.  
If any salve in all the world,  
may serve to cure my wound:  
Dame Nature says undoubtedly,  
In you it must be found.  
Now if some succour may be had,  
Assisted let me be,  
But if it lie not in your power:  
Yet spend some tears with me.  
That yours with mine, & mine with yours  
Might so keep moist the flower,  
That erst proceeded from your womb,  
And wasteth every hour.   

His Friend W. C. to Mistress F. K. whom he calls his Captain.  

AS soldiers good obey their captains will,  
And ready are to go, to ride, or run:   

And never shrink their duty to fulfil,  
But what they bid, it by and by is done.  
So rest I yours (good Captain) to dispose,  
When as you please, to combat with your foes.   

Your foes, said I? alas what may they be,  
That have the heart, to harm so sweet a wight?  
Who dare attempt to try his force with thee,  
Shall conquered be, ere he begin to fight.  
Let thousand foes against thee come in field,  
Thy beauty great will make them all to yield,   

To yield, said I? nay rather would they choose,  
By thee subdued, to live in bondage still,  
Then lead such life as Conquerors do use,  
In thy disgrace, and wanting thy good will.  
But strike the drum, & let the trumpet sound,  
To take thy part, whole legions will be found.   

So many ears as ever heard thee speak:  
So many eyes as have thy feature viewed,  
So many hands thy puissance hath made weak,  
So many hearts thy beauty hath subdued,  
Each of these ears, each eye, each hand, each heart,  
(Sweet Captain) still are priest to take thy part.   

Each ear, to hear when envy seeks thy foil:  
Each eye to spy who worketh thine annoy,  
Each hand, with blade to conquer them in broil:  
Each gladsome heart, for victory to joy.  
Thus every part the trusty friend will play,  
For thy behoof, whom God preserve always.    

The complaint of a sinner.  

LIke as the thief in prison cast,  
With woeful wailing moans,  
When hope of pardon clean is past,  
And sighs with doleful groans:  
So I a slave to sin,  
With sobs and many a fear,  
As one without thine aid forlorn,  
Before thy throne appear.   

O Lord, in rage of wanton youth  
My follies did abound,  
And eke, since that I knew thy truth,  
My life hath been unsound.  
Alas I do confess,  
I see the perfect way,  
Yet frailty of my feeble flesh,  
Doth make me run astray.   

Ay me, when that some good desire,  
Would move me to do well,  
Affections fond make me retire,  
And cause me to rebel.  
I wake, yet am asleep,  
I see, yet still am blind,  
In ill I run with headlong race,  
In good I come behind.   

Lo thus in life I daily die,  
And dying shall not live,  
Unless thy mercy speedily,  
Some succour to me give.  
I die O Lord, I die,  
If thou do me forsake,  
I shall be likened unto those,  
That fall into the lake.   

When that one prop, or only stay,  
Holds up some house or wall:  
If that the prop be ta'en away,  
needs must the building fall.  
O Lord, thou art the prop,  
to which I clean and lean:  
If thou forsake, or case me of,  
I still shall live in pain.   

Although my hard and stony heart  
Be apt to run astray:  
Yet let thy goodness me convert,  
So shall I not decay:  
Sweet God do rue my plaints,  
And shield me from annoy:  
Then my poor s●ule this life once past  
Shall rest with thee in joy.    

¶ Of the uncontented estate of Lovers.  

WHo so attempts to publish and display,  
Of Cupid's thralls the strange & awkward fits,  
Doth seek to count the sand amidst the Sea,  
And wades beyond the compass of his wits:  
Whose griping griefs and passions to disclose,  
Is to describe a world of care and woes.   

More easy it's to wield the weighty charge,  
That Atlas hath in bearing up the Skies:  
Then to unsolde, and picture out at large,  
The uncouth caresin lovers breasts that lies.  
Whose rest is toil, whose joy is endless grief,  
They often sue, but seldom find relief.   

If Pluto's den that ugly pit of hell,  
Great griefly plague, and torments hath in store:  
I dare avouch that those in love which dwell,  
Do taste them all, and twice as many more.  
Which makes me say, & not without good cause,  
Thrice hapless wights, that yield to Cupid's laws,   

As Aetna hill doth belike forth flakes of fire,  
And hideous sounds are hard within the same:  
So Lovers burn through inward hot desire,  
And hollow sighs burst out amidst the flame:  
Whose scorched heart's despair and anguish gnaw  
Like greedy Gripes, that peck Prometheus' maw.   

In mirth they moan, yet smile amidst their woe,  
In fire they freeze, in frost they fry strait way:  
Swift legs to run, yet are not able go,  
Such is the state, in which poor Lovers stay:  
As hovering hope doth hoist them up on high,  
Fear clips their wings, so that they cannot fly.   

They feign in hell, one only plague to fall,  
For just revenge to those that do amiss:  
But they that love, are subject to them all,  
And never feel one lightning hour of bliss:  
That (to conclude) thrice happy is their chance,  
That never knew to tread the lovers dance.    

A Newyeres gift to Mistress C. P.  
Sweet wight be glad, pluck up your spirits,  
Old Friendship is renewed:  
Mild Concord hath thrown down the broth.  
That Discord lately brewed.  
Fowl Envy, Malice, and Debate,  
In tears their time do spend:  
In that the platform which they laid,  
Came not to wished end.  
The mighty jove, which ruleth all,  
Their prayers heard, no doubt:  
Else could not their hot kindled wrath,  
So soon be quenched out.  
Thus far their fury did prevail,  
A time and place was set,  
Whereas at their appointed hour,  
To try it out, they met,  
And dealt. For vows had rashly passed,  
So long foes to abide:  
Until the one, the others force,  
In open field had tried:  
I shrink, to think what horror great.  
Now gripes your heart through fear.  
I seem to see each member quake,  
As if ye had been there:  
To hear my muse unto your ears.  
This doleful tale to tell.  
Put fear to flight, cast care aside,  
All things are ended well:  
But Rancour vile, couldst thou power forth,  
Thy spite upon none other:  
But that to combat thou must bring,  
My father and my brother?  
And I myself with eyes must see,  
And view this doleful sight?  
Go pack, thou hast sustained the foil,  
For all thy poisoned might.  
For by the blows that they did give,  
Their friendship doth increase,  
And in their hearts established is,  
An ever-during peace.  
The seeds that thou in them didst plant,  
Are plucked up by the root:  
Thy sister Discord never shall,  
Again set in her foot.  
For if in dealing of their blows,  
Their hands had not been blest:  
A late repent had made them rue,  
For harbouring such a gest.  
But of ungrate discourtesies,  
We justly might complain:  
In that entreaties would not serve,  
To make them friends again.  
If in their mad and brainsick heads,  
Dame Reason had borne sway:  
But malice, rancour, and debate,  
Had banished wit away.  
So that occasion of this broil,  
Was not our faithful friends:  
But these forenamed furies fell,  
And other hellish fiends.  
Whose daily drifts are to deface,  
Of friends the pure estate:  
And makes them barber in their hearts,  
Great heaps of deadly hate:  
In that things past, betwixt them are  
For given and forgot:  
Let us embrace and love them so,  
As if this happened not.  
If strange it seem, that stranger I,  
in verse to you do write:  
Assure yourself, it doth proceed,  
through greatness of delight,  
That I conceive in that I see,  
them reconciled so well,  
Whom no persuasions lately served,  
their furies to expel.  
These simple verses to your view,  
I have thought good to send,  
In token of a good neweyeere,  
and so farewell, I end.   

A strange history.  

ye that would hear a Story strange  
To this example rare,  
Attentively take heed:  
Which pictures here, before your face,  
A worthy wight indeed.  
A Phoenix well she may be called,  
Whose like cannot be found,  
chaste Camna was her name:  
Endued with such comely gifts,  
As none can tell the same.  
All wives that in those days did live,  
This woman did excel:  
In constant love towards her spouse,  
As doth my Story tell.  
Sinatus was her Husband called,  
a gentleman by blood,  
Whose grave advice in time of need,  
did neighbours his much good.  
In such chaste love this man and wife,  
together did remain.  
That no man could their spotless life,  
With any blot distain.   

In self same city where they dwelled,  
A tyrant vile bare rule:  
Sinoris was his name,  
Who being taken with her love,  
Did woo this worthy Dame.  
When after many onsets given,  
He had sustained repulse,  
His travail spent in vain,  
Her worthy spouse Sinatus then  
He caused to be slain.  
For he surmised the fervent love,  
That she to husband bare,  
Did hinder him from his desires,  
And eke procured his care.  
This done, afresh this tyrant vile,  
Pursues in cursed suit  
Of her: then that he did before,  
He reaps none other fruit.  
The secret flames of Cupid's fire,  
Now broiled so in his breast:  
That nought but Camna could restore,  
Sinoris wont rest.   

Resolved fully was he then,  
To take this dame to wife,  
Though base in degree:  
When no means else could serve his turn,  
To crack her honesty.  
Then suit was made unto her friends,  
Who weighing well his wealth,  
Would have her needs consent.  
She after great denialles made,  
At length did seem content.  
Sinoris, when he heard this news,  
Was passing measure glad:  
And order gave in all post hast,  
For marriage to be had.  
To temple of Diana then,  
With speed these couple go:  
And with them sundry worthy wights,  
The marriage rites to do.  
In outward show she did express,  
Great signs of mirth and joy:  
But in her heart she did contrive,  
This tyrant to destroy.   

Ere that they fully were assured,  
chaste Camna bade one bring,  
To her a drinking glass:  
Of which she must to husband drink,  
As there the custom was.  
She tempered had a pleasant drink,  
With baleful poison strong:  
Of which she drank one part,  
And to Sinoris gave the rest,  
Which so did prick his heart:  
That Physics skill could not prevail,  
To save his vading life,  
Which well did please the mind of her,  
That then should be his wife.  
When Camna saw that her device,  
Did frame even as she would:  
She gréetes Diana's Image there,  
With thanks a thousand fold.  
And meekly kneeling on her knees,  
Ah Goddess, than she said,  
Thou knowest from murdering of myself  
How hardly I have stayed.  
Thou knowest, quoth she, what bitter pangs,  
Hath gripped my heart with grief:  
Since my dear husband's death:  
And only hope of just revenge,  
Prolonged hath my breath.  
Which since I see now come to pass,  
With gladness will I die,  
And seek that soul to find:  
In life and death, which then myself,  
To me was dearer friend.  
And thou, thou caitiff vile (quoth she)  
Which didst my marriage crave:  
In steed now of a marriage bed,  
Prepare thyself a grave,  
But seeing then Sinoris dead.  
To husbands spirit she cried:  
Oh, let not thy sweet company,  
To me now be denied:  
Come meet me now my loving mate,  
Who still I tender most:  
And saying so her arms abroad,  
She yielded up the Ghost.    

Amery jest.  
SOmetimes in France, a woman dwelled,  
Whose husband being dead:  
Within a year, or somewhat more,  
An other did her wed.  
This good wife had of wealth great store,  
Yet was her wit but thin:  
To show what hap to her befell,  
My Muse doth now begin.  
It chanced that a scholar poor,  
Attired in course array,  
To see his friends that dwelled far thence,  
From Paris took his way:  
The garments were all rent and torn  
Wherewith this wight was clad:  
And in his purse, to serve his need,  
Not one denéere he had:  
He was constrained to crave the alms,  
Of those which oft would give,  
His needy and his poor estate  
With some thing to relieve.  
This scholar on a frosty morn,  
By chance came to the door:  
Of this old silly woman's house,  
Of whom we spoke before.  
The husband than was not at home,  
He craveth of the dame:  
Who had him in, and gave him meat,  
And asked from whence he came.  
I came (quoth he) from Paris town,  
From Paradise (quoth she)  
Men call that Paradise the place,  
Where all good souls shallbe.  
I'm zure my vurst goodman is dear,  
Which died this other year:  
Chould give my friend a good grey groat,  
Some news of him to hear.  
He saw she did mistake his words,  
And thought to make some glee:  
And said, your husband is in health,  
I lately did him see.  
Now by my troth (quoth she) I'm glad,  
Good scholar do declare:  
Was not he wroth, because I sent  
Him from this world so bare?  
In deed (quoth he) he was disppleasd,  
And thought it far unmeet,  
You having all to send him hence,  
With nothing but a sheet.  
(Quoth she) good scholar, let me know,  
When thou returnest again,  
He answered, Dame I will be there,  
Within this week or twain.  
She said, my friend if that iche durst  
Presume to be so bold,  
Chould pray thee carry him some clothes,  
To keep him from the cold.  
He said he would with all post haste,  
Into the town she hies,  
Hat, doublet, shirt, coat, hose and shoes  
She there for husband buys,  
She praying him in earnest sort,  
It safely to convey,  
Did give him money in his purse,  
And so he went his way,  
Not half of half an hour was past,  
Ere husband hers was come,  
What news she heard from Paradise,  
She told him all and some.  
And farther did to him declare,  
What token she had sent,  
Whereat her husband waxed wroth,  
And wondrous ill content.  
He called her sot, and doting fool,  
And after him doth ride,  
The Scholar was within a Hedge,  
And him a far espied.  
He was afraid, and down doth fling  
His farthel in a dike,  
The man came near, andaskt him news,  
Of one whom he did seek.  
That bore a farthel at his back,  
The scholar mused a while,  
Then answering, said, such one I saw,  
Pass over yonder style.  
With hasty speed he down alightes,  
And doth the scholar pray,  
Till he the man had overta'en,  
So long the horse to stay.  
Until he passed out of sight,  
Full still the scholar bides,  
Who taking then his farthel on  
His horse, away he rides.  
When he returned and saw himself,  
By scholar flouted so,  
Yourselves may judge what cheer he made,  
If he were wroth or no.  
He swore I think a hundred oaths,  
At length per mundum toots,  
For that he had no shoes to wear,  
March homewards in his boots.  
His wife did meet him at the door.  
Hayée caught man? (quoth she)  
No Dame (he said) he caught my horse:  
The Devil take him and thee.  
With that she laughed, and clapped her hands,  
And said I'm glad ich swear,  
For now he hath a horse to ride,  
He willbe quickly there.  
When that her husband well had weighed,  
That remedy there was none,  
He takes his fortune in good part,  
And makes no farther moan.  
Now whether that this honest wife,  
Did love her first good man,  
To such as shall peruse this tale,  
The case I leave to scan.   

To his friend.  

IF thou wilt shun the pricking briars,  
And thorny cares that folly breeds,  
Put bridle to thy fond desires,  
Make reason mistress of thy deeds.  
Attempt nothing by rash advice,  
If thou thus do, than art thou wise.   

Where Wit to Will is slave and thrall,  
Where fond affection beareth sway,  
Ten thousand mischiefs do befall:  
And virtue clean is cast away,  
For having rashness for their guide,  
Such cannot choose but wander wide.   

Their credit quickly lies in dust,  
Which yield as bondslaves to their will,  
And follow every foolish lust,  
Such leave the good, and choose the ill,  
The ways of virtue those forego,  
And tread the paths of care and woe.   

Wilt thou possess eternal joys,  
And port of bliss at length attain?  
Still praise the Lord with heart and voice,  
From doing ill thy steps refrain.  
These things observed, be sure at last,  
In heaven with Christ, thou shalt be placed.    

A Newyeeres' gift to Master G. R.  

THe courtesies ye have to me professed,  
The bounty great that doth from you proceed,  
Would make me deem that day to be most blest,  
In which I might stand you in any steed:  
When if I flinch, cry on me open shame,  
And where you come, do bafful my good name.   

If ye do muse that I but now begin,  
For to express that heart hath long concealed,  
Assure yourself, my secret thought within,  
So prick me forth, it needs must be revealed.  
And eke desire doth bid me let you know:  
The loyal zeal, and duty that jowe.   

As I confess there is not in me aught,  
To answer that my Velle would fulfil,  
So (make account) right far he must be sought,  
That doth surmount or pass me in goodwill.  
Which as in words I have given out to some.  
My deeds shall try, if once occasion come.   

A crew there are, whose nature is to gloze  
And vaunt in words, when heart thinks nothing less,  
Assure yourself, that I am none of those,  
But will perform, what here I do profess.  
If that I shrink, when you have cause to rid me  
Do cast me off, and utterly deny me.   

Of fortune's gifts since slender is my part,  
Take here in sign of happy year at hand,  
These ragged lines true heralds of my heart  
By which ye may my meaning understand,  
Their master hath given them in charge to tell,  
When he would worst, that he doth wish you well.    

A Translation out of French.  

O Heavenly God, all beasts that do remain,  
And nourished are with food that thou dost send,  
Within the woods, the mountains, and the plain,  
Thy holy hest, and laws do not offend.  
The scudding fish that swims amidst the Sea,  
The pretty birds that play them in the air:  
Sun moon and stars, each thing doth thee obey,  
And at thy voice do tremble all for fear,  
But man alas, yea man, whom thou dost make,  
More perfect far than all things else that live,  
Man whom thou wouldst thy proper shape to take,  
To whom for guide, thou reason eke didst give,  
And wit, and sense for to discern aright,  
What thing to take, what likewise to refuse:  
He, he, vile wretch, and most unthankful wight,  
Thy majesty, and honour doth abuse.    

A Complaint of a Sinner.  

O Lord most dear, with many a tear, lamenting, lamenting,  
I fall before thy face,  
And for each crime, done ere this time, repenting, repenting  
Most humbly call for grace.  
Through wanton will, I must confess,  
Thy precepts still I do transgress,  
The world with his vain pleasure,  
Be witched my senses so,  
That I could find no leisure,  
My vices to forego.  
I grant I have through my desert,  
Deserved great plagues and bitter smart.  
But yet sweet God, do stay thy rod, forgive me, forgive me,  
Which do thine aid implore,  
O cease thine ire, I thee desire, believe me, believe me,  
I will so sin no more.  
But still shall pray thy holy name,  
In the right way my steps to frame,  
So shall I not displease thee,  
Which art my Lord of might.  
My heart and tongue shall praise thee,  
Most humbly day and night.  
I will delight continually,  
Thy name to laud and magnify.   

With sighs & sobs, my heart it throbs, remembering, remembering  
The frailty of my youth,  
I ran a race, devoid of grace, not rendering, not rendering  
Due reverence to thy truth.  
Such care I cast on earthly toys,  
That nought I passed for heavenly joys,  
But now it me repenteth,  
My heart doth bleed for woe,  
Which inwardly lamenteth,  
That ever it sinned so.  
With many a sigh, and many a groan,  
O Lord to thee I make my moan.   

Though furious fires of fond desires, allure me, allure me,  
From thee so wander wide:  
Let pitiful eyes, and moistened eyes, procure thee, procure thee  
To be my Lord and guide.  
As Scripture saith, thou dost not crave,  
A sinner's death, but wouldst him save:  
That sinful wretch am I O Lord,  
Which would repent and live,  
With ceaseless plaints I cry Lord,  
Thy pardon to me give.  
O Lord for thy sweet jesus sake,  
Do not shut up thy mercy gate.   

Mercy, mercy, mercy, grant me I pray thee, I pray thee,  
Grant mercy loving Lord,  
Let not the Devil which means me evil, betray me, betray me,  
Protect me with thy word.  
So shall my heart find sweet relief,  
Which now feels smart and bitter grief,  
O Lord, I do request thee,  
To guide my steps so well,  
That when death shall arrest me,  
My soul with thee may dwell  
In heaven above, where Angels sing,  
Continual praise, to thee their king.    

A Dump.  

THE pangs, the privy moans,  
The inward secret smart,  
The griefs, the heavy groans,  
That vex my doleful heart,  
So plunge my life in pains,  
And reave me of all joy,  
That death is only means,  
To rid me from annoy.  
I grant that vital breath, preserveth life in me,  
Yet live I so, that death more welcome far should be.  
No wight was ever so perplexed with despite,  
I live to taste each woe, and die to all delight.   

Although by outward looks, some deem me void of thought  
Looks are no certain books, but bear false titles oft.  
For sundry times I jest, when joy (alas) is small,  
And laugh amongst the rest, yet have no lust at all.   

Lo thus in secret strife, my lingering days are led,  
I die yet am alive: I live, as being dead.  
The more I bear it out, as if I felt no ill,  
The greater griefs, no doubt, do grow within me still.   

The thing which doth amate, and most annoy my mind,  
Is that my hard estate, no remedy can find.  
As one that loathes to live, and daily calls for death,  
These lines to thee I give, in witness of my faith.    

A Dump by his friend. G. C.  

MY heavy heart in dolours drowned,  
Consumes and pines away:  
And for me wretch, nought can be found,  
To cause my cares decay.  
ye eyes of mine, help to bewail,  
power forth your brinish tears,  
To rue, alas, his wretched state,  
In whom no joy appears,   

How should I wretch take any rest,  
How can my heart feel joy,  
When as the wight, that loves me best,  
Lies plunged in annoy?  
Whereto serve tears, but to bewail,  
The loss of such a friend:  
Weep eyes, alas, weep on your fill,  
And never make an end.   

His troubled state, if to redress,  
The spending of my blood:  
Or that small pelf that I possess,  
Can do him any good.  
Then should your eyes sometimes permit,  
Me silly wretch to sleep,  
But out alas, it may not be,  
Wherefore cease not to weep.   

Such inward grief doth me assail,  
Through thought of his estate:  
That if I long of succour fail,  
All help will come too late:  
O sacred jove, to cure these woes,  
Use thou some speedy means:  
Or else, alas, with some short death,  
Dispatch me of these pains.    

For his friend.  
LAte being new fangled, so fancy did move,  
I was fast entangled in nets of blind love,  
(Good friends, do believe me) I chose out a trull,  
Which daily doth give me a shrewd crow to pull.  
Favour with her fellows raised coals of desire,  
Beauty was the bellows, that first blew the fire.  
Thus was I inflamed, no reason was left me,  
My senses were lamed, my wits were bereft me.  
In hope of some favour, I then fell a-wooing:  
Such was her behaviour, she sought my undoing,  
Small is my promotion, most foolish, what meant I,  
To yield my devotion, to such a dame dainty?  
Since love first sojourned, such ease do I feel,  
As Yxion, turned about on the wheel.  
Although by deserving, she ought to be mine,  
With Tantalus' starving, in grief still I pine.  
And through her controlling, my rest is as ill:  
As Sisyphus rolling the stone up the hill.  
Thus is my state changed, deep dolours do fill me:  
My mirth is estranged, good death come and kill me.  
Whiles I here in moaning, the time out do linger:  
My grief and my groaning, is fallen in my finger.  
My finger, my finger, my finger, believe me:  
Alas little finger, full sore thou dost grieve me,  
Was ever a finger perplexed in such taking,  
I think my poor finger will never leave aching.  
The cause of my sadness, at length I conjecture:  
Is love with his madness, that breeds this infecture.  
I force not a pin, it forth now is gotten:  
Yet whole is the skin, the flesh is not rotten.  
I heard when it fell, now feel I no evil:  
Dame dainty farewell, adieu to the devil.   

A strange History.  
AYoungman once, by chance that lost his way,  
Through deserts wild, as on a time he passed:  
Four Lions fierce, that sought to gain some prey,  
With gasping throat, he saw make at him fast.  
Who running swift, to shun this danger great,  
Espied a well, small trees about it gréewe,  
By which he hung, and in the same did leap,  
Their ramping paws and malice to eschew.  
Thus as he thought the peril to escape,  
He did descry a mighty Dragon fell,  
With open mouth most hidiously to gape:  
Him to devour in bottom of the well.  
Then lifting up his head, he looked out,  
And might perceive the Lions still remain,  
Which in such sort beset the well about,  
That of escape, all hoping was in vain.  
Thus as with death himself besieged he saw,  
A chance befell, which made him more dismayed,  
Two beasts, one white, the other black did knaw,  
The little twigs, that him from falling stayed.  
With danger thus desette on every side,  
He in a hole, behind his back did find,  
A honey pot, which some man there did hide,  
Now casting all his care out of his mind,  
He with one hand the honey sweet did taste:  
The other did from falling him sustain:  
Until the beasts had gnawn the twigs at last,  
That down he fell, and ruthfully was slain.  
This well, the world doth truly represent,  
In which we live in danger every hour:  
By Lions four the elements are meant,  
Which daily seek all mankind to devour.  
The Dragon fell, doth signify our grave,  
The twigs self love, the beasts, the night and day,  
The honey pot, the great desire we have  
To worldly joys, even to our soul's decay.  
Each one therefore, I earnestly advise,  
Here in this world to use themselves so well▪  
And spend their days in such a godly wise,  
That after death their souls in heaven may dwell.   

Farewell Court.  
The Preface to a Treatise ensuing, compiled by the Author, upon a theme given by his approved friend and kinsman Master A. D.  
I Have, according to my promise, though slenderly, compiled this simple discourse on the theme that ye gave me, which was your Farewell to the court: which although it be nothing so well handled, as by some experienced courtier it might have been done: nevertheless it being considered, that my education hath been so far distant from the court, that I never saw the fashions of the court, I hope that the privilege of a pardon may be purchased for my excuse in this behalf. I have herein introduced Wit and Will as two domestical counsellors, always attendant on a man marching in this vale of misery: The one giving him trusty and wholesome admonitions, how he should here direct his life to the glory of God, and his soul's health: The other with the flattering alluremets of the sinful flesh, enticeth him to the pursuits of the pleasures of this world, in the end drowning him in the puddle of all abomination, to the utter confusion both of body and soul. Under the person of Wit is prefigured a man, having a certain careful regard of his calling, which is once in a man's life instilled into the hearts of those, whom God hath sealed up unto salvation, and causeth them clean to cast away the vile and vain vanities that the wicked world accounteth as precious, and addict all their doings towards the attainment of life everlasting. Under the person of Will, is pictured out, how a man letting flippe the bridle of his affections, is carried from the precious paths of perfect felicity, to the inevitable dangers of drowning Charybdis: and so passing the sea of this world, not stopping his ears with the wax of understanding, the voluptuous pleasures thereof, as subtle Sirens, entice him to the following of them, whom they presently drown in such delights, that he hath never farther regard to the preserving of his soul, but imitating the nature of bruit beasts, addicteth himself only unto that, which his own sensual appetite shall allow to be good. Although this may, peradventure seem unto you, a too far fetched circumstance, little or nothing pertinent to the purpose: yet my hope is, that when ye have thoroughly perused it, ye shall not find the theme that ye gave me, left altogether untouched. The best is, I know your thankful disposition to be such, that how soever it be, being willingly offered, it shall not of you be ungratefully accepted. Thus referring the view hereof to your discreet consideration, I wish you and yours abundance of such prosperity, as your heart desireth.  
H. G.   

Farewell Court.  

I Youth, when Fancy bore the sway,  
Within my peevish brain:  
And Reason's lore by no means could  
My wanton will restrain:  
My gadding mind did prick me forth,  
A courtier's life to prove:  
Whose golden shows, and vain delights,  
My senses then did move.  
Not half so fast the bowdged ship,  
The water in doth drink:  
When foes by force of roaring guns,  
Endeavour her to sink:  
As when the floods of fond desires,  
Came rumbling in my head:  
Which clean extinguished Virtues sparks,  
That Nature there had bred.  
No power I had the sinful snares  
Of filthy vice to shun:  
My good desires did melt away,  
As snow against the sun.  
If wit sometimes would go about,  
Me wisely to persuade,  
How that I spent my time amiss,  
And used a naughty trade.  
Then wilful will would be at hand,  
And pluck me by the sleeve:  
And tell me plain, wit was a fool,  
And could no counsel give.  
His lores (quoth will) are very sour,  
His precepts are but cold:  
Do follow me, than all delights  
To use thou mayst be bold.  
He talks of scripture every hour,  
unsavoury to digest:  
And I will always serve thy turn,  
With that which likes thee best.  
Who would not rather roam abroad,  
To seek some pleasant sport:  
Then to be penned in study fast,  
Like soldier in a fort?  
To hawk, to hunt, to card, to dice,  
To sing, to dance, to play:  
And can there be more pleasant means,  
To drive away the day?  
To toss the buckler and the blade,  
Lewd women to entice:  
Are not these virtues most esteemed,  
And had in greatest price?  
To lend each man a friendly look,  
And use the glosers art:  
In outward show to bear good will,  
And hate him with our heart.  
Are not such men as flatter best,  
In every coast esteemed?  
Is not Tom teltroath every where,  
A busy coxcomb deem?  
It is a world to see the sot,  
To have a check, he knows:  
And yet the noddy never linnes,  
men's vices to disclose.  
He ever tells men of their faults  
Such is his rude behaviour,  
When he by speaking nought at all,  
Might purchase greater favour.  
Who counts it not a wiseman's part,  
To run with hare and hound?  
To say and unsay with one breath,  
So winning may be found:  
Wherefore rejoice, set cock on hoop,  
Let nothing make thee sad,  
be merry here: when thou art dead,  
No mirth can then be had.  
Thus wanton will would every day  
Still whisper in mine ear:  
And wit, which could not then be heard,  
Was fled I know not where.   

Who tries the hazard of the seas,  
By sturdy tempest tossed:  
If that a drunkard guide their ship,  
Are they not quickly lost?  
How like (I pray you) is he then,  
To● suffer shipwreck still,  
Whose wit and wisdom governed is,  
By his unruly will?  
This Pilot vile, in me long time,  
Did masters room supply:  
Till good Advice did tell me plain,  
I ran my course awry.  
He spied a time to break his mind,  
When Will was gone apart:  
And thus to me he did unfold,  
The secrets of his heart.   

O Man, for whom Christ on the cross,  
His precious blood did spill:  
What dost thou mean in mundane toys  
To spend thy time so ill?  
Dost thou not think that God hath eyes.  
To see thy vile abuse?  
What show of reason canst thou bring,  
Thy rashness to excuse?  
Did Christ sustain must bitter death,  
All sinne●● to red●eme:  
And wilt thou wallow still in lust?  
And not his laws esteem?  
If he by death, and no means else,  
men's sinful souls could save,  
Dost thou then think by wanton life,  
Eternal joys to have?  
Too too too much thou art deceived,  
If so thou do believe:  
That he to have men live in vice,  
Himself to death would give.  
With upright eye peruse his laws:  
And thou shalt clearly see,  
Into what sinks of deadly sin,  
Thy will hath carried thee.  
Thine eyes do see, thine ears do hear:  
Thy senses all do serve thee,  
Yet canst thou neither hear nor see,  
Such things as should preserve thee.  
In earthly toys thou canst discern  
That which may best avail thee,  
But in such thing as touch thy soul,  
Thy eyesight still doth fail thee.  
O what a madness moves thy mind▪  
Thou seest and hast thy senses:  
Yet wilt thou blindly wallow still,  
In filth of vile offence.  
It better were for one to be,  
Of sight deprived clear,  
Then see to sin, and not see that  
Which chief should be seen.  
Take heed therefore: at length repent,  
It's better late than never:  
For Christ the Cockle from the corn,  
At harvest will dissever.  
At day of doom, the good and bad,  
Shall not alike remain:  
The good shall taste uncessant joys:  
The bad eternal pain.  
Dost think that such as tospotlike,  
Set all at six and seven,  
Are in a ready way to bring  
Their sinful souls to heaven?  
And those that in great Princes Courts,  
Do Ruffian like behave them,  
Dost deem that they thereby procure,  
A ready mean to save them?  
To swear, to stare, to bib & bows,  
To flatter, gloze, and lie,  
Is this (tell me) the steadfast faith,  
That men are saved by?  
If white be black, if night be day,  
If true pretence, be treason:  
If fire be cold, if senseless things  
Fulfil the rule of reason.  
Then may the pleasures of this world,  
Be cause of our salvation,  
For otherwise, thou must confess,  
They further our damnation.  
Take heed therefore, and warned thus,  
Let not the world beguile thee,  
Ne let the lusts of lawless flesh,  
With sinful deeds defile thee.  
Let wilful will be banished clean,  
With all his wanton toys,  
Which fills thy head with vain delights,  
In steed of steadfast joys.  
Note well my words, still serve the Lord,  
Repent and sin no more,  
Christ hath for true repentant hearts,  
Great mercy still in store.  
When good advice had told this tale,  
Prostrate I down did fall,  
And humbly holding up my hands,  
Thus on the Lord did call.   

OMighty God which for us men,  
Didst suffer on the Cross,  
The painful pangs of bitter death,  
To save our souls from loss,  
I yield thee here most hearty thanks,  
In that thou dost vouchsafe,  
Of me most vile and sinful wretch,  
So great regard to have.  
Alas none ever had more cause,  
To magnify thy name,  
Then I, to whom thy mercies showed,  
Do witness well the same.  
So many brunts of fretting foes,  
Who ever could withstand,  
If thou hadst not protected me,  
with thy most holy hand?  
A thousand times in shameful sort,  
My sinful life had ended,  
If by thy gracious goodness Lord,  
I had not been defended.  
In stinking pools of filthy vice,  
So deeply was I drowned,  
That none there was but thee alone,  
To set my foot on ground.  
Whenas the fiend had led my soul  
Even to the gates of hell,  
Thou calld'st me back, and dost me choose,  
In heaven with thee to dwell,  
Let furies now fret on their fill:  
Let Satan rage and roar,  
As long as thou art on my side,  
What need I care for more?   

MY Prayer said: me thought I felt  
Such quiet in my mind,  
As shipmen after tempest past,  
In wished harbour find.  
My will would then no more presume,  
To rule in reason's place,  
For good advice would be at hand,  
His doings to disgrace.  
Who told me plain that wanton will,  
Did always serve the Devil,  
And was his busiest instrument,  
To stir up men to evil.  
Although the gallant be so brave,  
And sell such pleasures here,  
They that best cheap do buy the same,  
Shall find it all too dear.  
Yet they that would adventure there,  
The Devil and all may gain.  
With every inch of pleasant joys,  
He sells ten else of pain.  
If that thou wisely wilt foresee,  
Such winnings to eschew,  
Ere beggary take thee by the back,  
Do bid the Court adieu.  
Henceforth exile vile wanton will,  
Which is thy chiefest foe,  
Go get thee home: live to thyself,  
And let all courting go.  
Experience now should make thee know,  
What vice in court doth rain,  
And tract of time should teach thee shun  
Her pleasures mixed with pain,  
Though some may daily there be seen,  
That follow virtue still,  
Which honour God, obey their Prince,  
And fly from doing ill,  
Yet sure, of them the greatest part  
Are carried so away  
With vain delights, that they ne think,  
Nor mind their soul's decay.  
O that I here told not a lie,  
O, were it not too true:  
That very few, their Princess steps,  
In godliness ensue.  
Should I pass on her golden gifts  
And graces to declare?  
The sands in bottom of the Seas,  
More easily numbered are.  
If tongue or pen should take in hand,  
Her virtues to unfold,  
Tongue should not speak, pen would be worn  
Ere half the tale were told.  
She is (next God) the only spring,  
From which our welfare flows:  
She is a tree, on which nought else,  
But grafts of goodness grows.  
She is a Sun that shines on us,  
with beams of blissful haps,  
She is a dew that daily drops,  
Great plenty in our laps.  
When angry Neptune shipwreck threats,  
Through force of wrestling waves  
She is a port of safe refuge,  
Which us from danger saves.  
When dusky clouds of errors black,  
Had dimmed our joyful day,  
Through Christ she caused the Gospel shine  
Which drove them all away.   

She worthy statutes hath ordained,  
To keep men still in awe,  
But every man unto himself,  
Will now set down a law,  
Such as his will doth fancy best,  
They never care how bad,  
Nor far from God and godliness,  
So pleasure may be had.  
If lawless lust were lawful love,  
If wavering words were deeds,  
Then would the Court bring forth more fruit,  
And not so many weeds.  
Thou knowest among the courting crew,  
How little faith is forced:  
Sound friendship from the most of them.  
Is utterly divorced.  
Who cannot flatter, gloze and lie,  
And set thereon a face,  
Is never able for his life,  
To get a Courtly grace.  
Who sweats not in his suits of silk,  
And is not passing brave,  
Amongst them bears no countenance,  
They deem him but a slave  
As long as thou hast store of coin,  
And spendst it with the best,  
In outward show great friendliness,  
To thee shallbe professed.  
But if thy wealth begin to wear,  
If pence begin to fail thee,  
Their friendship then in time of need,  
But little shall avail thee.  
For they will shrink their heads aside,  
And leave thee posts alone,  
If twenty were thy friends before,  
Now hardly getst thou one.  
I pray thee let us scan this case,  
And do thou sadly tell,  
What thing at first, did make thee like,  
And love the Court so well?  
Didst think that there a godly life,  
Might soon be attained,  
And motions of the sinful flesh,  
Most easily be refrained?  
That cannot be, for all men see,  
How vice is there embraced,  
And virtue with the greatest part,  
Is utterly defaced.  
Did hope of wealth, first prick thee forth,  
In Court to spend thy life?  
Or didst thou think that liberal gifts,  
With noble men were rife?  
If aught thou carry in thy purse,  
Thou quickly there mayst spend it:  
But when thy lands, and rents are gone,  
How canst thou then amend it?  
To beg would grieve thy lofty mind,  
That erst had store of wealth,  
And hanging is the end of such,  
as take men's goods by stealth.  
Because thou serust a noble man,  
Perhaps thou mak'st no doubt,  
In hope that he at such a pinch,  
Will always bear thee out.  
Such hope hath hanged many a one,  
Whom wilful Will did guide:  
By often proof in these our days,  
Too true it hath been tried.  
For when a halter's sliding knot,  
Hath stopped their vital breath,  
He was (say they) a handsome man,  
Its pity of his death.  
Thus all too late their pity comes,  
But seldom comes their aid,  
Wherefore do not forget these words.  
That I to thee have said,  
Be not sedewste by wanton will,  
Let warnings make thee wise.  
And after this in all thy deeds,  
Be ruled by good advise.   

This tale being told, he healed his peace,  
And I which found it true,  
Did yield him thanks and gate me home,  
And bade the Court adieu.   

We till to sow, we sow to reap,  
We reap and grind it by and by:  
We grind to bake, we bake to eat,  
We eat to live, we live to die.  
We die with Christ to rest in joy,  
In heaven made free from all annoy.   
FINIS.   

A Preface to certain questions and Riddles ensuing, translated out of Italian verse, into english verse, by H. G.  

ALL ye unto whom the scanning and viewing,  
Shall come of these questions, & riddles ensuing:  
I let you first know thus much without feigning,  
That all of them carry a good and clean meaning,  
If so they be construed aright in their sense,  
Thus much may I boldly speak in their defence:  
But if in ill part some fortune to take them,  
We fail of the end, to which we did make them.  
Which was for the solace of them that can use them.  
What things can be sound, if men will abuse them?  
To such as are clean, what can be unpure?  
Such as are defiled, ill thoughts have in ure,  
If of any riddle bad sense ye pick out,  
Guess at it again: ye fail without doubt,  
And do not aright his meaning expound:  
Their true exposition is honest and sound.  
And that shall be proved, if you will crave trial,  
So truly, that no man will stand in denial.  
Committing the sequel to your approbation,  
I finish the preface of this my translation.   

1  
A Father once, as books express,  
Had sons twice six, nor more nor less:  
Each son of children had scores three,  
Half of them sons, half daughters be.  
The sons are far more white than snow,  
The daughters blacker than a crow.  
We see these children daily die,  
And yet they live continually.   

2  
A mighty black horse, with gallant white wings,  
Within his grand paunch bears many strange things:  
He oft doth travail for masters avail,  
And caries his bridle tied fast to his tail.  
In going he flies twixtearth and the air,  
And oft, where they would not, his riders doth bear:  
He hath divers eyes, and yet cannot see,  
I pray you do tell me what may this beast be?   

3  
A certain thing liveth in place near at hand,  
Whose nature is strange, if it be well scanned:  
It sees without eyes, it flies without wings.  
It runs without feet, it works wondrous things.  
To places far distant it often doth room:  
Yet never departeth, but tarries at home.  
If thou do it covet to feel or to see,  
Thy labour is lost, for it may not be.   

4  
What am I that wanting, both hands feet and head,  
Of all them that see me, being deemed for dead.  
Of breath have great store, and move too and fro,  
Now up, and now down, now high, and now low?  
Alas what hard fortune doth to me befall:  
That guiltless am spited of great and of small.  
They strike me, and push me, South, West, North & East:  
Yet do I no harm to most, neither least.  
When as my breath failing, I can do no more,  
They then give me over, and never before.   

5  
I being the daughter of my uncles brother,  
Am now of late become a mother:  
And with my milk from my paps which flows,  
I nourish a son, my mothers own spouse,  
Now tell what I am, declare mine estate,  
For I give him suck, that first me begat.   

6  
None liveth more jocund in all the whole land,  
Though head doth lie buried in muck and in sand:  
My beard it is grey, though not very old,  
The strong I make weep, nor for heat, nor for cold:  
Yet such is my state, that the poor love me well.  
And still I am forced with great men to dwell.   

7  
From south and west cometh a strange warlike nation,  
Attired and apparels in wonderful fashion:  
In garments milk white, these people are clad,  
Which strike and oppress both good men and bad,  
But favour they show in dealing their blows.  
And save him from danger, each on his way goes.  
And on his back caries dead bodies great store,  
Which with their thick buffets had beat them before,  
Great furies are kindled at end of the fray:  
Which makes this strange nation all vanish away.   

8  
Long is it since first to the world I came,  
Small am I of body, poor, feeble, and lame▪  
Yet none in this world, nor one neither other,  
In richesses and substance surpasseth my mother.   

8  
Not long am I granted this life to enjoy,  
So many there are that work me annoy.  
O Lord how they rend me, it cannot be told:  
What torments I suffer in heat and in cold.  
One while am I drowned, such hap doth befall,  
Than next do they roast me: yet this is not al.  
When thus they have used me, they cannot forbear me,  
Ere first being beaten, by piecemeal they tear me.  
Then serve I the turn of every estate,  
But one kind of people me deadly doth hate.   

9  
Do tell me my friends, what creature is he,  
That two times is borne, as all men may see,  
And liveth a space, though not very long:  
And often is killed, not having done wrong?  
When that his breath faileth, it liveth no more,  
It then is baptized, and never before.  
Though many a one do evil entreat it,  
They love it right well, and often do eat it.   

10  
A certain dead creature in mine arms I take,  
With her back to my bosom, great glee doth she make.  
As thus I do hold her, she greatly doth cheer me,  
And well are they pleased, that see me and hear me.  
Whilst erst it remained in forest and field,  
It silent remaining, no speech forth did yield.  
But since she of life, by death was deprived,  
With language she speaketh, men's spirits are revived.   

11  
A father begat me, yet I have no mother.  
Nor Uncle nor aunt, nor sister, nor brother.  
Strait when I was born, I began to flourish,  
For every estate took care me to nourish,  
Thus many score years, they have loved me full well:  
And eke entertained me, amongst them to dwell,  
All parts of the world I viewed in short space:  
And still was bad welcome, in every place.  
Though many by me, reap loss, care, and woe,  
They never will licence me from them to go.   

12  
Hard fortune doth haunt me, by nature estranged  
From male into female, I often am changed.  
And where as before I lived well contented,  
With prickings and punching I now am tormented:  
Now, more to accomplish their greedy desire,  
They cruelly heat me, and scorch me with fire.  
Though badly they use me, so mild am I still:  
That I yield them life that thus do me kill.   

13  
Amongst the firiendships' rare,  
Of which old writers tell:  
This may be placed in highest room,  
And doth deserve it well.  
Whiles death with gasping throat  
Did gape for bloody pray,  
Life conquered death, and saved that life,  
Which death did seek to slay.  
That life which did this deed,  
As death would strait have slain:  
That life which late by him was saved,  
Preserved from death again.   

14  
Begot father, in earth I remain,  
And oft I am turned, to my mother again.  
By night and by day I labour always,  
And with my sharp savour both please & displease.  
Thus here in this earth my race out I run:  
And never have issue, nor daughter, nor son.   

15  
A female I by name,  
Am sister to a brother:  
In all the world may not be found,  
Our like, nor one nor other.  
For he no sooner dies,  
But I straightways do live:  
And I oft yielding unto death,  
Still life to him do give.  
Oft after him I hie,  
And gladly would him stay:  
But he than a-row from the bow,  
More swiftly flies away.  
Strait ways he follows me,  
My presence to attain:  
And as he fled from me before,  
I fly from him again.  
Though strange our state doth seem,  
By proof ye may it try:  
That both of us are still alive,  
Yet both do daily die.  
That ye may better know,  
What strangers great we be.  
We day and night do dine and sup,  
With men of each degree.   

16  
Two are we in name, though in substance but one,  
First framed by art then finished with moan.  
Before we are ready, for those that will buy,  
Through greatness of torment, we howl and we Cry.  
Yet feel we no grief, for all this annoy,  
Great numbers by us have comfort and joy.  
Who when for their profits we have done what we may,  
They then do reject us, and cast us away.   

17  
Fair art thou and ●●d, deserving great praise,  
And all men thee reverence, and honour always,  
Whiles that thy white banner abroad still is spread,  
For than thou dost comfort both living and dead,  
But if thy black banner be spread forth in view,  
All honour farewell, all gladness adieu.  
Such woe than thou bringest to more and to less,  
As pen cannot write it, nor tongue may express.   

18.  
Of thee (O my friend) a thing I do crave,  
Which thou never hadst, nor never shalt have.  
If that for thyself thou purpose to gain it,  
Thy labour is lost, thou mayst not obtain it.  
Although thou shouldst live a whole thousand year,  
And seek it, yet shouldst thou be nothing the near.  
Now if thou do love me, even so as thou sayest,  
Do give it. For truly, I know that thou mayst.    

The solutions of the riddles.  
1 THe father the year: the xii. sons, the xii. months: the ix. children, the thirty. days, and thirty. nights.  
2 A Ship.  
3 Amans mind.  
4 A football made of a bladder.  
5 An old man being in prison, his daughter coming to visit him, would give him suck of her breasts & so nourish him.  
6 An Onion.  
7 Men travellng in the snow are beaten with it, and carry the dead bodies on their garments until they come to a fire, which makes them vanish away.  
8 Hemp.  
9 A chicken, being first an Egg, & then a chicken.  
10 A Lute.  
11 Play at all kind of games,  
12 Wheat being the Neuter Gender, in Latin is turned into farinam, meal, which is the feminine, which is then connerted into bread, & so nourisheth them that bake it.  
13 A man coming to a fountain to drink, saw a serpent climbing up on a tree, to devour a nest of young Eagles, which serpent he slew with his sword, and so saved their lives, being about then to drink of the water, the young birds, scraping out the filth of their nests fouled it in such sort, that it letted him from drinking: a spaniel that he had there with him, tasting of it, was presently poisoned.  
14 Salt.  
15 The night and day.  
16 A pair of shears.  
17 A good tongue and a bad  
18 A maid being in love with a young man, desires him to give her a husband, which in marrying with her he might do.