LUCRECIA-ROMANA   
¶ Imprinted at London in Paul's Churchyard, at the sign of the Lucrece, by Thomas Purfoote.   

The Arbour of Amity, wherein is comprised pleasant Poems and pretty Poesies, set forth by Thomas howel Gentleman.  
Anno. 1568.  
¶ Imprinted at London by Henry Denham, dwelling in Pater noster row, at the sign of the Star.   

¶ To the right Noble and most virtuous Lady, the Lady Anne Talbot, Thomas howel wisheth long life, with increase of honour.  
FEW WORDS SUN amended, as reporteth the Proverb, inferring thereby that silver sentence of the Philosopher Zeno (worthy for the excellency of it to be graven in durable place, with Letters of the most purest Gold) that nature had given us two ears and one mouth, to the intent, that we should hear more than we utter in words, as it is also more agreeable to the way of wisdom, wisely to be silent, then fond to speak, greater virtue it is, and labour more commendable to learn to suppress thy tongue, then to seek the fasset to set abroach the same, for in silence is wisdom and prudence, when in talk fools are known. Which thing whilst I did perpend with myself (right honourable Lady) though I had purposed before to practise my pen to the utterance of such an homely hoard as was gathered in my unskilful head, and to offer the present thereof unto your honourable Ladyship, yet these rattling sentences thundering along as it were gun-shot by the soldiers amazed ears, so abashed me, that I was utterly discouraged to think, much less it do so far as to present a pattern of my rudeness unto your honour, least in manifesting mine own weakness in words, I should appear even such a one as were wholly drowned in the lake of ignorance, or washed in the Fountain of folly, to the overthrow of the good undeserved report that my friendly well-willers do conceive. But now (right honourable Lady) I have by experience proved of myself being in your daily presence, the fame of your worthiness and virtues to be certain true, which eftsoons before I had heard reported by others, who in each respect of virtue may be comparable to the noble Lady Argia the worthy king Adrastus his daughter, who in beauty being inferior to none: in courtesy, in nobleness, in clemency, in liberal bounty, in prudence a superior, & in many courtlike qualities, in more virtuous knowledge, in all godliness was equal with them that surmounted the chiefest: Whereby she was reputed to be, to her everlasting fame, of a golden nature: so courteous in words, so friendly in deeds, so comely of countenance, so youthful in years, so ancient in talk that she was no less adorned with these venerable virtuous, than with a number of the rest her princelike graces and gifts which sweetly sprang in her, as the flagrant flowers in the delectable month of May. Yea, her virtues were excellent and especially in her true and amiable heart, beautified with loving affection to continue in the same towards▪ her spouse the noble knight Polynices: as in the bloody battle of Thebes when the worthy Polynices was most lamentably slain, gored to the sore wounded heart, with his brother quelled before his doleful eyes and an innumerable sort overthrown, and a general Edict by cruel Creon was set forth that under pain of death no one should adventure to bury them, but leave them a pray to dogs & ravens. Notwithstanding the cruelty, notwithstanding this dreadful danger of commandment, notwithstanding he had lain so long till the stink was so horrible that he was infective, notwithstanding a thousand present perils, yet this most honourable Lady, of only love, of only hearty affection, only accompanied with her good sister the Lady Antigone (who bore like love to her brother) in the night season she spared not to go among an innumerable sort of carcases stinking most loathsomely and ceased not to tumble them up & down with her fine hands, until she had espied her dear husband's body, whom (although his face with gory blood and gravel was piteously defiled) she disdained not to kiss and embrace, washing her face with the tears of her eyes, took it up in her arms, stole it away, and as far as her womanly power could extend, she interred the same, such was the virtue, such was the affection, such was the noble heart of this loyal Lady Argia, whose figure in each quality your honour do lively represent, no courtesy: no comely countenance, no grace, no gift, no one virtue at all in her but that they have already taken root and do harbour in your blessed breast. These honourable ornaments (O noble Argia) afterwards I did plainly perceive to be abundantly in you▪ the inward fear which before overflowed my quailing adventure, is clean put to flight. And presuming on so noble a nature, I am now boldened, yea overbold humbly to give these rude fantasies collected unto your honour, as the work of a well-willer. Although better it were for me to be silent, than in speaking to show my nakedness in wisdom. But you are that princely Argia, which will rather accept these toys of my poor pen, proceeding from the good will of my serviceable heart, than the rich present of a froward friendly foe: wherefore I humbly crave (right honourable Lady, O noble Argia) that you will consider, the heart not the hand, the giver not the gift, the trustiness not the toys, the meaning not the matter, my mind, not my madness, my pain not my pen, whereby I shall be most bound daily to lift my prayers to the protector of all, that you with that right honourable Lord, the Lord Talbot your husband, may most prosperously tread the trace of this painful pilgrimage, to your hearts desire, to the increase of your honours, & perpetual maintenance of that right honourable and Noble name.  
Your honours most humble Orator T. howel.   

Another to the same his honourable and very good Lady.  
SOme blaze in chosen words,  
and filled phrase so fine:  
The passing praise of Ladies great,  
extolleth of wit divine.  
And how the Gods above,  
have given their gifts of grace:  
To plant in them the virtues chief,  
in body head and face.  
But I will this omit,  
my Muse in vain to waste:  
For needless 'tis into the seas,  
a water drop to caste.  
You need no trump to sound,  
to spread your nobleness,  
For why your wit, your words, your works,  
do well the same express:  
Your worthiness each where,  
your courtesy at home:  
Your friendly face, your bounty blessed:  
your grace in great renown.  
Your virtues excellent,  
that spring in noble Well:  
Shall never die, no skill I have,  
one part thereof to tell.  
And God hath given his gifts,  
to you so large and kind:  
That every man may it conceive,  
unless he will be blind.  
Penelope in faith,  
unto the Talbot hie:  
Pandora's peer for qualities,  
that shine as sun in sky.  
The Flower of fame you are,  
for ever fresh to spring:  
As fame will blow her restless trump,  
your lasting name to ring.  
If I had Tully's tongue,  
and thousand wits thereto:  
If Chaucer's vain, if Homer's skill,  
if thousand helpers more:  
Yet tongue, nor wit nor vain,  
nor skill nor help at all  
Can well descry your due desert,  
in praise perpetual.  
Therefore my skilless Muse,  
doth end his tale to tell:  
As one that wanteth might to will,  
O Noble Fem farewell.  
Your Honours T. howel.   

To the courteous and gentle Reader, john Keeper student.  
THe tender graff that grows in grove,  
that took the stock but late:  
From slender sprays his leaves he shoots  
but small and young of rate.  
Which length of time will strengthen strong,  
his yearly fruits to bear:  
Whose branch then buds in stronger stem,  
least froward wight it tear.  
So Howelles heart and hardy hand,  
hath plight his pen to set  
And graft this branch, the fruits whereof,  
are young and tender yet.  
Late root it took in seemly soil,  
which now begins to spring:  
And eke on twigs so trimly grown,  
doth now his profits bring.  
Small gains at first, young trees do yield,  
low things youth handleth right:  
Of matter small the Poets young,  
at first began to write.  
As Horace first his trifling toys,  
in book did place and plat:  
And Virgil's youth occasion took,  
to praise the silly gnat.  
But length of life, shall howel hold,  
on stronger stem to stay:  
By cunning skill of settled branch,  
to bear the bell away.  
Then cease ye not, to help the ground,  
where this good graff doth grow:  
Who can but give deserved praise,  
and thank his Muse I trow,  
Which sweetly springs in sugared sap,  
of every grace full meet:  
Which wife Minerva in lap hath nursed,  
and gave him suck so sweet.  
Whom I do judge, Apollo's Imp,  
and eke our Chaucer's pear:  
What senseless head of malice mad,  
will seek such branch to tear.  
But learned wits will further forth,  
and laud his lore that's rare:  
For Zoils snarres and doggish snuffs,  
no wiseman need to care.  
Then hope I well my Honorio to ply,  
some greater work to see:  
O pity 'tis this golden Muse,  
should vade and die with thee.  
A dew good friends ye Readers right,  
maintain this branch now shoot:  
Then will he spring in time full trim,  
to yield you larger fruit.  
Farewell.   

The Table.  

THe vanity of Beauty. 1  
To his Friend. 1  
Describing his lost of liberty and craving return of love. 1  
He accuseth his tongue. 2  
When he thought himself contemned. 3  
To his Friend. 3  
Being sore sick, answereth his fellow inquiring whether he were willing to die. 3  
An admonition to his Friend. 4  
Use Virtue. 4  
At his Friend's departure. 5  
Of knowledge. 5  
Of Avarice. 5  
Of blind Cupid. 6  
To his friend, whose friendly love he craveth. 6  
To D. M. 6  
To his Friend being absent showing his good will. 7  
To one who after death would leave his lively picture. 7  
The destruction of many. 8  
Being destitute of money, the complaint to his Friend. 8  
The Lover describeth his trusty love. 8  
An admonition to his Friend. 9  
He craveth regard of the cares he taketh. 9  
Desirous to requite for many gifts, one to his dear belove. 9  
Time always causeth some novelty and furthereth knowledge. 10  
Being in extremity, the Lover bewaileth his restless life. 10  
Of misery. 10  
To his Friend H. 11  
To be learned. 11  
Flatterers. 11  
The praise of virtue. 11  
Of counsel. 11  
Of Offence. 11  
To one that matched with a froward woman. 12  
Of Lady Fortune. 12  
To his faithful Friend. 12  
To a Friend requesting his opinion in marriage, he answereth thus. 13  
Few care for the soul, all for the body. 15  
To his Friend Tho. howel. 15  
An answer. 16  
The vanity of riches. 17  
An Epitaph made upon the death of the right honourable, the Lady Gartrid late Countess of Shrewisburie. 17  
Of ingratitude. 18  
Of death. 18  
Answer▪ 19  
To one that feign would speed, yet doubtful to proceed. 19  
The Lover being in the Country, showeth his good will to his Lady in the court. 20  
To his Friend. R. H. 20  
The Lover to his L. 20  
Answer. 21  
Gold corrupteth. 21  
Answer. 21  
A Poesy. 21  
The uncertainty of this world. 21  
A diet prescribed to his Friend G. 22  
Allution. 22  
The Rose. 23  
Of Gold. 23  
The Lover forsaken, bewaileth his estate. 23  
Being between two doubts, he taketh advisement. 24  
He showeth his restless mind tormented for want of relief. 25  
Liberty corrupteth youth. 26  
The languishing Lover to his Lady. 26  
Because no answer was returned in long time. 26  
H. to. K. his Friend. 27  
I. K. to his Friend H. 27  
A Poesy. 29  
Another. 29  
The Lover whose love began in time of spring, declares how natures force then works in every thing. 29  
A Poesy. 30  
Being vexed with the care of the world, he comforteth himself. 30  
Of Degrees. 31  
That men ought to be promoted to dignity, only by worthy deeds. 31  
A Poesy. 32  
Another. 32  
The Lover to his L. 32  
I. K. to his Friend H. 33  
H. to his Friend K. 34  
That learning and knowledge is surest riches. 34  
The Lover receiving no recompense, for entire love, compareth himself to the unlucky Soldier. 34  
E. P. 35  
Answer H. 35  
To T. A. 35  
Answer. 36  
jacke shows his qualities and great good will to jone. 36  
The Lover almost in despair, showeth his great grief and craves redress. 37  
I. K. at his Friend's departure. 38  
H. his answer to his Friend K. 39  
A Poesy. 39  
To his C. 40  
To his feigned Friend. 40  
A Poesy. 40  
Another. 40  
A farewell to his Friend T. Hooper. 41  
To his froward Friend. 42  
The opinion he hath of his Friend. 43  
France's Flower in the commendation of the author. 43   
FINIS.   

 
The Talbot true that is,  
And still hath so remained:  
Lost never nobleness,  
By sprinck of spot distained.  
On such a fixed faith,  
This trusty Talbot stayeth.   

The Arbour of Amity  

The vanity of Beauty.  
Form is most frail, a fading flattering show,  
As brickle glass, it vadth as grass doth grow.  
The more it comes unto the crease of years,  
The more it faylth, and less the front appears.  
The flagrant flowers, and goodly ruby Rose,  
The Violets trim, and Lilies white that gross,  
Do not always retain their sap and sent,  
And flourish gay, with smell most redolent.  
So though thou spring of beauty passing all,  
And bear'st the flower and fame as principal.  
Whose peerless view hath blazed thy form in sight  
Which thou to see in glass tak'st great delight.  
Yet time on face so fair shall furrows plough,  
And writhed wrinkles peer on blemished brow.  
That thou shalt loathe to see thy ragged hew  
And hate thy form in lively glass to view.  
And that which thou hast most delighted on,  
Thou shalt it hate and wish to die anon.  
This is most true, by right experience,  
The fayrste that ever were are soon gone hence.  
Lo Lady fair, of form there is no trust,  
It soon doth slip, and thou shalt reel to dust.  
O greedy eyes bewitched with things so frail,  
That causeth reckless youth in love to quail.  
Whose witless heads on fancies fond debate,  
Such is the slender thread of mortal fate.   

To his Friend.  
BEware my friend,  
Live warily  
At back behind  
Pale death doth pry  
Each hour and space  
Account the last,  
Let Lamp of grace  
With Oil be fast.  
Then shalt thou stand  
In joys to reign,  
When Virgins fond  
Shall knock in vain.  
God grant us all  
To live so right  
That when he call  
Our Lamps give light.   

Describing his lost of liberty and craving return of love.  

ONce free I was at liberty,  
My merry mind was void of woe:  
My heart had great felicity,  
I passed not for Cupid's bow.  
Thus free most free in joyful prime,  
I pass the sports of youthful time.   

Until thy view as Goddess grace  
In heavenly shape that did appear,  
Had hent my heart in captive case,  
Such was thy voice, such was thy cheer.  
That thy fine form of nature's frame,  
The Gods above might well inflame.   

It Venus past in form and face,  
Thy corpse thy limbs each part so fine,  
Thy cheerful cheeks thy gentle race,  
Thy courteous heart thy wit divine.  
That heart did smart in heavy part,  
My freedom fled, bound was my heart.   

When first I cast my careless eye,  
Upon thy hue that drew the dart,  
I little thought thou shouldest lie  
So deep sunk down in my poor heart.  
I would full feign forego my hold,  
My free estate by wit to fold.   

As bird allured in winter's sore,  
On limed twigs that often be,  
Thinks he is free as late before,  
Until he says his flight to flee,  
He cries, he flies, in vain he tries,  
On twig in bondage there he lies.   

So I by lure of thy good grace,  
That thought my heart at liberty:  
Was wrapped unwares by featured face  
With most extreme captivity.  
A Beauty hath me bondman made,  
By love sincere that shall not vade.   

Alas my panting heart so sore,  
That doth lament in sobbing tears:  
Most greedy gripes do prick and gore,  
To groaning grave my corpse that wears.  
My cares and griefs do rack my veins,  
Consider thou my restless pains.   

Alas most fair and peerless gem,  
Have mercy now, draw pity near,  
And count me not the least of them  
That love thee best in heart sincere.  
So thou that mad'st my wound so wide,  
Shalt for the same a salve provide.   

My Lady fair, ah Lady dear,  
Perpend in heart my dolours great:  
And look upon thy prisonere,  
Whose chains hath through his heart yfreat.  
And let not want of wealth in place,  
Retract thy love to run his race.    

He accuseth his tongue.  

WHy fearful tongue: what menst thou thus  
To fail, thy masters pains to paint,  
In matters vain: and frivolous,  
Thou run'st at range: & needs restraint.   

But fewer words: my greater pain,  
The greater pain: the sooner end,  
The sooner end: the better gain,  
For less offence: shortst life doth lend.    

When he thought himself contemned.  

O heart why dost thou sigh: and wilt not break,  
O doleful chance thou hast: a cause thereto  
For thy reward in love, and kindness eke,  
Is recompensed by hate and deadly wo.   

Have I so plight my heart and mind to thee:  
Have I been bend so whole unto thy hand,  
And others now obtain the fruit from me,  
Thou art unkind forsooth: such foe to stand.   

O doleful heart, thus plunged in pinching pain,  
Lament no more, but break thy truth to try:  
For where thy comfort was and joy did reign,  
Now hate returns, no news, O heart now die.   

Lo thus the breeding birds, their nests do build,  
But others take the gains and fruits of them:  
The crooked clown so earth the toiling field,  
But oft the crop, remains to other men.   

Well time may come, wherein my fruitless part,  
So ill bestowed: some others may bewail  
And wish they had, received my yielding heart,  
Whose loving root, took ground to small avail.    

To his friend.  
IN heart and mind  
Your own am I:  
Till death by kind  
Shall force to die.  
Good virtues plant,  
Let truth take place:  
Where that doth want,  
There is no grace.   

Being sore sick, answereth his fellow inquiring whether he were willing to die.  
We flourish now, but flower shall fall,  
and withered fade as frail,  
As years returns, so length of time,  
causeth man and beast to quail.  
Now Lady Ver in lively green  
doth show her grace in field.  
Now Estas spreads the parching heat,  
That Titan's beams do yield.  
Now Autumn shows the harvest sheaves  
that grow on fertile place:  
Now Hiems heaps the dyke with snow  
and shows her frosty face.  
So first we spring in lusty youth,  
at state of childish years,  
Now deeper wit as Estas ripes  
in graver acts appears.  
Then manhood maketh a stabled mind,  
none youthly pranks we have:  
Now hored age with stealing steps  
creeps in, prepare thy grave.  
And thus we fleet and fall away,  
aswell the young as old:  
Then youthful imp trust not on years,  
short life may make thee cold.  
And thus by course and change of time,  
things mortal change their way:  
One age doth pass, an other comes,  
lo Time will all decay.  
For thin is twist or fatal thread,  
on mortal wheel so spoon:  
deaths hour may chance unhoped for,  
to lose that life hath won.  
Then why should I once fear to die,  
our biding is not here:  
But earth shall rot in earth again,  
till righteous judge appear.  
When world and worldly things shall pass,  
but God shall dure for aye:  
Whose grace I crave with heart and soul,  
on whom I stand and stay.  
Now stretch my steps O Lord to run,  
by length of time to be:  
That I may live to die a right,  
and die to live with thee.   

An admonition to his friend.  
IF thou wilt be rightful,  
Always stand thou faithful,  
To do well be careful,  
Note friends and be thankful,  
Vain talk flee, and learn wit,  
Mark wise words, and love it,  
Always pray, and boast not,  
Eschew pride, and vaunt not.  
Hate no man, disdain not,  
Take time, and sleep not.  
Each virtue train justly,  
Regard betters wisely.  
Offend no Wight wrongly,  
And declare always truly.  
So God than will love thee,  
And good men will praise thee.  
When virtue shall clad thee,  
All fame shall embrace thee.   

Use Virtue.  
Do well, abstain from vice,  
obey thy parents will,  
Remember God, and learn, be wise,  
embrace sweet virtue still.  
Mark God before thy face,  
uprise and pray betime:  
No idle hour let pass, seek grace,  
detest all heavy crime.  
Try ere thou trust, take heed,  
have God thy chiefest gain,  
Esteem the time before all meed,  
and godly life retain.  
Always let virtues rule to thy good rest:  
If grace shall grow within thy youthful breast.   

At his Friend's departure.  
MY Muse which once with joyful voice,  
to thee should welcome tell:  
Alas to late, as now she comes,  
more fit to bid farewell.  
But since my doleful farewell must,  
approach in welcomes steed:  
And eke at parture hence from me,  
welcome should ill proceed.  
High jove I pray thou mayst farewell,  
always in prosperous race:  
And eke in joys to make return,  
that welcome may have place.   

Of Knowledge.  
WHen death is bend,  
Yet stands thy praise  
For life once spent,  
Wit, fame doth raise,  
When Gold doth fail,  
Is learning tried:  
When riches quail,  
Good letters bide.  
The more 'tis priest,  
The more it springs:  
It is the best,  
Of mundane things.  
It bydth with thee,  
Do what thou wilt:  
Till dead thou be,  
And breath be spilled.  
No burden 'tis,  
To charge thy back:  
Most wretch he is,  
That this doth lack.  
Each thing that grows,  
Doth likewise die:  
Still learning flows,  
Above the sky.  
Than knowledge crave  
Let riches go:  
If this thou have,  
wealth needs must grow.   

Of Avarice.  

THe childish years in youth,  
doth take the parent's trade:  
And are full oft against their wills,  
compelled by Father's hard.   

To Avarice so wild,  
in Lucre's gain to game:  
And Father is a happy man,  
when son such life doth frame.   

So secret vice doth lurk,  
with cloak of virtues face:  
And greedy gain the shadow shapes,  
of thrift in godly race.   

And so from Sire to son,  
from son to thousands more:  
By fond conceit continually  
this cloaked vice doth grow.   

Thus each man for himself,  
And poor laments in thrall:  
For ravening wolves by greedy gain,  
hath beggared devil and all.   

Thus one doth care for one,  
and one doth learn by one:  
Till lust be puffed and chokte with gain  
and each man turn to none.   

But poor and worldly wights,  
shall never freedom find:  
As long as men take goods for Gods,  
by greedy heart so blind.    

Of blind Cupid.  

LYbido lewd: hath feigned a God of love,  
Whose pestilent power: to blaze which can annoy  
A title fierce: is added through behove,  
A furious God: an Archer blincking boy.  
Whom Venus fond: doth make to range amiss,  
Her pretty boy: her proper son he is.   

He rashly flies: in unadvised way,  
Which heavens do pierce: by his so little hand  
Though lest he be: he bears the greatest sway,  
Of doughty knights: he hath a witless band.  
Alack good child: of wanton foolish crew,  
Thou mak'st them fools: with thy fond badge of blue.   

O little boy, thou shoots thy raging darts,  
Full well he paints: that makes the buzzard blind,  
For right, nor rule: nor reason hath there parts,  
Where fancies fond: doth fire an yielding mind.  
What ever thou art: all furies fierce that be,  
I rather wish: than meddle or make with thee.    

To his Friend, whose friendly love he craveth.  
O Doubtful hap, O pains and pangs that move:  
Thou yet wants years to feel my smarts of love  
Me rue, take age alas to think on me  
My earnest life, and death is set on thee,  
heart true I give, though most thou wouldst me hate,  
Until heart break in woes and starving state,  
I erst do crave, regard me once or never,  
Die though I must, yet love I thee for ever.  
Time trieth all, that flieth without return,  
Nought swifter is then years, that kills things borne.  
Whose stealing steps I wish more fast to flow,  
To make thee apt thy timely faith to sho.  
Time absent still, we wish to come and stay,  
And thus unwares we crave our dying day.  
None is content his present state to see,  
Yet thou my friend content master only me.  
And eke in time I hope thou wilt regard,  
For service true, the servant takes reward.  
As time shall give the tried trust of me,  
Accepted so, let me thy servant be.   

To D. M.  
I Crave who will not love,  
Who loves I cannot crave:  
The thing that doth me move  
I seek and cannot have.  
Amids the floods I stand,  
And yet shall die for drink:  
Of food great store at hand  
Yet hunger makes me shrink.   

To his Friend being absent showing his good will.  

THe heart that lives in pensive doubt,  
His wished joys shut far him fro:  
He draws his doleful tunes full out,  
In grief, in pains, in cares and wo.   

And eke in th'end it may befall,  
So my unlucky choice to spy,  
That guiltless heart thou make full thrall,  
By thy decree to live or die.   

Then flinted stones and barked tree,  
The savage beasts on mountain bred:  
Shall wail my woeful hap by thee,  
As simple lamb to slaughter led.   

My heart hath wonted joys resigned  
Rejecting all for cause of thee.  
A grounded love in yielding mind,  
Flées wit and shoonns' utility.    

To one who after death would leave his lively picture.  
TO leave behind a picture fine to see,  
It may small time well stand in steed for thee.  
But picture fair of noble acts of mind,  
That far excels to learn to leave behind.  
Which will maintain a noble name for ay,  
As Tullis tongue and Caesar's acts can say.  
As Chauser shows and eke our moral Gowre  
With thousands more, whose fame shall still endure.   

The destruction of many.  
NIce hands, poor stock, heart stout, for to see,  
No friends, no skill, bags penniless be.  
And pride doth press, to pass the degree,  
These brings lewd heads, to great misery.   

Being destitute of money, the complaint to his Friend.  

OF all the hapless hap,  
That chance to mortal fone:  
golds want to stop a gap,  
By proof I find is one.   

No pain so sore doth fret,  
No pinsons so can rend:  
No smoking smart so great,  
That makes the heart lament.   

For empty purse no game,  
No food, no friend, no cote:  
For money all doth frame,  
Whose slave we are by lote.   

Where money friend doth fail,  
There fawning friends be gone:  
Farewell poor wretch all hail,  
Light purse makes heavy moan.   

These pains by proof be guessed,  
What need examples cost:  
Where purse is so depressed,  
As clapped in Samson post.   

Storms past, yet soon retires,  
And drowsy dumps decay:  
So God grant just desires,  
To drive these plagues away.    

The Lover describeth his trusty love.  
THough horse so wild in thousand parts,  
Should tear my corpse most dolorous:  
Though fried I were with piercing smarts  
And boiled in lead most piteous.  
Though sword should pierce my heart so cold,  
In bloody wounds my death to frame,  
Though pain of hell to me were fold,  
Most reckless wretch and ill by name.  
Though thousand miles on foot I far,  
With naked leg in frozen storms:  
Though blood of heart I spend in care,  
Through countries far in thousand harms.  
Though dread in fears doth work despair,  
And hope alone doth cherish me:  
Yet rack that rends each limb so fair.  
Shall not by smart take heart from thee.   

An admonition to his Friend.  
Learn honest mirth in humble courtesy,  
Let person, time and place, regarded be.  
Serve God in heart and love his statutes true,  
Then thee with goods and heaven he will endue.  
Flee idleness always, to labours frame,  
Of th'one comes good, of tother, sin and shame.   

He craveth regard of the cares he taketh.  
THe crooked clown that drawth the plough  
with all his yearly toil:  
Receives at last reward of work,  
bestowed on fertile soil.  
And shall my pains and restless woes,  
thus unrewarded be:  
Shall I be priest in simpler sort  
and vylder case than he?  
The feathered foul that flees aloft,  
obtains the things he seeks:  
And sundry where his fostering food,  
with chirping bill he péekes.  
Esteem me so.   

Desirous to requite for many gifts, one to his dear belove.  
NO man of sturdy thorns doth seek,  
the swelling grapes to have.  
No man of floods that vacant are,  
can waters justly crave.  
No man of candle clean put out,  
can lively light obtain:  
No man of Codrus simple soul,  
a princely gift may claim.  
Such let right judgement stand for me,  
of thee my parent made:  
For I to writhing thorns am like,  
in course of present trade.  
Therefore receive this simple sign,  
my springs yet dried are:  
But yet of thorns account this one,  
which now my briers are.  
My budding tree cannot as now,  
some other fruits disclose:  
My Garden green for thee alone,  
prepared this only Rose.  
But I a Briar well do seem,  
restore which nothing can:  
And I a Briar now perceive,  
that I a Briar am.  
For still the busy Briar pricks,  
but doth no gains pretend:  
So I with charges press thee still,  
but no reward I send.  
But if in time from thorns I may,  
of vine tree take the shapes,  
Thou shalt in steed of Briars sharp,  
receive my springing Grapes.   

Time always causeth some novelty and furthereth knowledge.  
NO man so old, but use, or time, or place,  
Shall teach him news though he pass Nestor's race.  
And learn him skill unknown to him before  
To shoes the things by which he set great store.  
That he shall judge he knew not that at all,  
Which as he thought he knew as principal.   

Being in extremity the Lover bewaileth his restless life.  
MOst greedy gripes with plunging pains,  
do pierce my ruthful heart:  
I pass the noisome night in groans,  
through rent with dreadful dart.  
When all rejoice in wished sport,  
my moaning mind doth cry:  
The harms so huge in doleful dumps,  
compels me wretch to die.  
My languished limbs in loathsome life,  
are rend from bone to bone:  
The reins the veins are clean consumed  
with heart so cold as stone.  
I curse each lingering hour of day,  
my bloody wounds to stratch:  
Once comes I know the irksome end,  
that shall my cares dispatch.  
The furies fierce and fiery flakes,  
that burn in hateful hell:  
Cannot surmount my passing plunge,  
my careless corpse to quell.  
O heavy heart when wilt thou break,  
when wilt thou rend in twain:  
For that alone my happy help,  
is end of all my pain.  
More is my grief, for privy pains,  
I only wretch do know:  
Nor durst my flashing flame, to friend,  
unfaithful men to show.  
I rage and rue I fry and freeze,  
up whelmed in woes full sore:  
My smarting eyes have spent their tears,  
farewell for evermore.   

Of Misery.  
Corpses clad with carefulness,  
heart heaped with heaviness,  
Purse poor and penniless:  
Back bare in bitterness,  
Lips laid with loathsomeness,  
O get my grave in readiness,  
feign would I die to end this stress,  
Remediless.   

To his Friend H.  
HOpe heart well, despair not,  
The truth tell and spare not.  
Ere God say thou shalt not,  
heart hold aye and halt not:  
Yet better 'tis thou spak'st not,  
When wisdom provokes not.  
Then wiseman thou seemst not,  
When silence thou keepst not.   

To be learned.  
OF learned oft, ask good advise,  
advised counsel keep:  
Things kept bestow on others wise,  
flee vice of slothful sleep.   

Flatterers.  
THey fawn in words and eke with tuiring eye,  
They will deceive, trust thou no flattering spy.  
For under view of Honey lies deceit,  
And eke there lurcks of tongue the poisoned beyt.   

The praise of virtue.  
NOt worldly wealth, nor rich array,  
nor Pearls of costly rate:  
Nor goods nor Gold that shines so gay,  
can make the gentle state.  
But virtue linked in learned life,  
that springs by noble pain:  
In them thy famous facts so rife,  
forever still shall reign.  
Besides the same all turns to dust,  
throughout the world so wide:  
To ashes good and Gold shalt rust,  
and thou to earth shalt slide.   

Of Counsel.  
THou must do well,  
Faith true obtain:  
Wit none repel,  
Friend dear entraine.  
Seek rage to press,  
First try heart true:  
Thy sins excess,  
Lament and rue.   

Of Offence.  
HOw much a man the greater is,  
By his offence that wries amiss:  
So much the more the common crew,  
That stately crime will note and view.   

To one that matched with a froward woman.  
TO get good wife 'tis hard, saith Cheremon,  
Tis better bury two then marry one.  
Who marry will, his heart will soon be spent,  
And after that he will also repent.  
A necessary ill the wife they call,  
But this is worst, it is perpetual.  
Wherefore my Friend thou dost me wary make,  
Whom I to wife and daily mate shall take.   

Of Lady Fortune.  
O Fortune frail, why dost thou take,  
of me so mighty power:  
To wicked men thou pleasant art,  
to good men dost thou lower?  
To those that nought by deed deserve,  
thou honours dost restore:  
And those that nought offend at all,  
thou plagst in rage full sore.  
The men that just and godly are,  
thou bringst to great decay:  
But those that most unworthy be,  
thou richly dost array.  
Thou driust to death the youthful imps,  
and men of age do bide:  
O fortune fond unequally:  
such times dost thou divide.  
That which thou tak'st from worthy men  
thou givest to persons ill.  
Thou no respect of virtue haste,  
but fond workest thy will.  
Unconstant, frail, sharp, false, untrue,  
is Lady Fortune's grace:  
To brickle glass most like she is,  
with that her flattering face.  
Nor dost thou keep in honours still  
those men of rich estate,  
Nor always dost thou frown on men,  
which first thou dame didst hate.  
But truth it is jehovah high,  
in throne imperial.  
He Fortune guides and gives rewards,  
he is the Lord of all.   

To his faithful Friend.  
Clear Phoebus runs in circle round,  
in course both day and night:  
And eke a heat dame nature gives,  
to fiery flames so bright.  
And fleeting fish the surging seas,  
to haunt do never cease:  
And still her fruits the worthy soil,  
gyuth forth as due increase.  
I pray therefore as long in course,  
as Phoebus' bright shall dure:  
As long as flame shall give a heat,  
and fish the seas procure.  
And earth doth give increase, so long  
that thou thy years mayst tell:  
And lead a happy joyful life,  
in blissful state, farewell.   

To a Friend requesting his opinion in marriage, he answereth thus.  
WHen riped years in wisdoms school,  
in maridge feign would match,  
By daily doom these precepts view,  
to scape the baited snatch.  
Perpend the grace, the trust and trade,  
of foreobteyned wife:  
Her manners mark, with wary mind,  
respect her wanton life.  
Her mother's mind and nature scan,  
with father's facts also:  
As is the vine, such is the sap,  
that on the grape doth grow.  
Beware the rout of rolling eyes,  
which secretly doth prie:  
When shamefastness is put to flight,  
than grace begins to fly.  
The virgin chaste of stowing time,  
no hour will idle spend:  
Lucretia applied her pains,  
her corpse from vice to fiend.  
Penelope at distaff spoon,  
her undefiled thread:  
Until her long desired mate,  
approchde to spousal bed.  
For idleness consumes the limbs,  
and breedeth vices vain:  
No Matron chaste, no grace there is,  
where sleing sloth doth reign.  
Thy soul it spoils, thy life it spills,  
it weakeneth stayed strength:  
The mighty holds, and trimmest towns  
it draws to ground at length.  
Refuse therefore such mate to match,  
though fair she be of face:  
For inward vice, with colours spread,  
doth outward view disgrace.  
No credit give to other men,  
to choose a wife of fee:  
For oft that other men displeasth,  
may pleasant seem to thee.  
If love be linked, and mate be cursed,  
and bend her frowning brow:  
Apply thy tongue to sugared speech,  
that she may leave to crow.  
Exhort, persuade, desire, entreat,  
and pray her still to be:  
Embrace her corpse in loving arms,  
and friendly amity.  
And sweetly kiss, her cherry cheeks,  
with gentle gifts her deck:  
And close thy hands most lovingly,  
about her ivory neck.  
Thus seek all says her sore to salve,  
by good and honest way:  
If this help not, but froward fem,  
will stiffly stand astray.  
Then pleasant speech suppress, and feign  
a sour unsavoury look:  
As though thou wouldst devour the walls,  
and hang the house on hook.  
With bitter words beswindge this dame,  
let no persuasion lack:  
Let homely stripes sometimes on fall,  
on young unruly back.  
But modest be, thy strokes to strike,  
let reason rule thy rate:  
If few serve not, her heart to help,  
thou mayest repent to late.  
Take faithful spouse of humble heart,  
and graft, in godly grace:  
Grave wise, discreet, learned, meek, and one  
that beauty bears in face.  
Who doth forego her dearest friends,  
and parents leauth each one:  
Herself, by troth she freely plight,  
to husband's power alone.  
In killing cares, both sick and whole,  
she faithful is to thee:  
She is thy joy, and comfort sweet,  
though rich or poor thou be.  
She will obey at all commands,  
in storms and cruel smart:  
In mirth, in grief, impoverishment,  
she bides and takes her part.  
If fierce disease shall crase thy corpse,  
her willing help she dightes:  
She cherisheth thee, she sweetly speaks,  
she watchth both days and nights.  
When crooked age shall creep on thee,  
with stealing steps so blife:  
She still provides, she runs and goes,  
to heal thy sickly life:  
Of bodies two, one corpse is made,  
so linked in lotted love:  
Which streming storms and bitter blast,  
can not by pains remove.  
Yea after death she life doth lend,  
when pale thou rotst in ground:  
In sons by her thy formed face,  
may always plain be found.  
So that thy corpse and shape be form,  
with long retained name:  
Do flourish fresh as springs the flower,  
to thy long biding fame.  
But who so leapt in living lewd,  
with harlots vile remain:  
These fruits doth lose, with name and fame,  
and spends his goods in vain.  
Defame shall eke abridge his days,  
corruption corpse shall slay:  
And livers lewd, sure God will judge  
no doubt another day.  
When as the vile and stinking Goats,  
shall pass to endless woe:  
To fiery forks and flames of hell,  
in Limbo lake byloe.  
By proof these rules of marriage,  
I do not surely know:  
But men of more experience,  
the same to me did sho.  
Which I for thee my tried friend,  
by pain of simple quill:  
Have rudely set in this poor verse,  
for want of cunning skill.   

Few care for the soul: all for the body.  
WHen as the crazed corpse,  
in groaning bed doth lie;  
The skilful art of physics cure,  
is sought for by and buy.  
Which right prescribeth rules,  
that thou must needs observe:  
By passing pains which thou dost keep,  
though thou therefore shouldst starve.  
Such bitter brunts thou bear'st,  
thy body's health to have:  
But who will take a little toil,  
his sickly soul to save?  
No, carnal men in cares,  
are carnally ybent,  
All gape for gain, there is no God,  
but God make us repent.   

To his Friend Tho. howel.  
WHere oft the floods do flow,  
upon the beaten bank:  
Their sands debar the grass to grow,  
to spread his April spranck:  
And where the son doth march,  
upon the grieved grass:  
In time it will the pasture parch,  
as though it never was.  
So where the son bright friends,  
my howel haunts to hit,  
There used life in present winds,  
will keeper clean forget.  
Their daily floods of talk,  
shall overflow thy grass:  
That keeper hath oblivious walked,  
as though he never was.  
And reason 'tis I mean,  
why shouldst thou keeper keep:  
Since thou mayest lose in keeping him,  
that nothing can but sleep.  
For sléepish dumps me shut,  
from taste of cunning style.  
Nor can I bolt my rudeness out,  
which lies on rusty file.  
Yet hold in mindful mood,  
our ancient amity:  
For faithful friends give present salve,  
for all the cares that be.   

An answer.  
NOt floing floods, the feeble bank that frets,  
Nor swelting heat, whose flames the pastures fry  
Nor slippery sand which faint foundation lets,  
Thy howel once may cause from thee to wry.  
Ne shall the show of shining sun bright friend,  
By used life or phrase of filled talk,  
Have power to put my keeper out of mind,  
Whose tried truth may not oblivious walk.  
And where thou seemest to say that sluggish sleep,  
Hath shut thee forth from taste of learned lore,  
From out they muse as from a Fountain deep,  
Doth flow the fruits of Lady learning's store.  
Thy wit, thy works, thy verse and stately style,  
Thy ways, thy deeds, who well doth scan & view:  
Shall find therein: nought forced with rusty file.  
Though I want skill to give thee praise that's due.  
Our link of love: and friendship fixed so fast,  
Thy howel howldes whilst limb & life shall last.   

The vanity of riches.  
THe stately Palace princely pight,  
the hoard of glistering Gold:  
The patrimony largde of lands,  
cannot from sickness hold.  
Nor can they cure the crazed corpse,  
or glad the mind at all:  
For who hath most of such a store,  
the more he fears as thrall.  
Gold is the father to the flock,  
of flatterers by lot:  
It is the sum of grief or woe,  
who bath, or hath it not.  
For who it hath, he quakth in fear,  
lest fortune rob his thrift:  
Who hath it not, laments because  
he knows not how to shift.  
Wherefore of rich or poor I judge,  
as wisdom small I hent:  
In best estate is he, with his,  
that lives always content.   

An Epitaph made upon the death of the right Honourable, the Lady Gartrid late Countess of Shrewisburie.  
THe steling sting of gasping death  
that byth by fatal force:  
To bring unto the wailed grave,  
this Countess courteous corpse,  
Had thought to thrust his spiteful spear,  
to wound this Fem to die:  
And quite to dim this glorious Gem,  
the flower of courtesy.  
And cloth her corpse in shrouding sheet,  
to work her endless woe:  
But O thou death, thou art deceived,  
for that is nothing so.  
Nor canst thou mar, or stop the trump,  
that sounds her during fame:  
More health than harm, more bliss than bale,  
to her, by thee there came.  
For she hath light in lasting life,  
of endless joys iwis:  
So where thou thoughst to spout thy spite,  
thou hast her brought to bliss.  
So envy gave thee not the power.  
thy malice mad to fill:  
But thou hast done this Countess good,  
unwares against thy will:  
For now her noble name shall bide,  
in sounder sovereignty:  
And after death doth virtue live,  
O death in spite of thee.  
For she of grace the garland gay,  
in goodly gifts did wear:  
Whose flowers do now in children wise,  
of Talbots line appear.  
Of Rutlandes race she nobly sprang,  
and linked with peerless pearl:  
Of Shrewisburie, who bore the name,  
a noble worthy Earl.  
Whom she hath left behind among,  
the blessed branches fine:  
The worthy imps that sprang of them,  
as of a virtuous vine.  
To poor, she was a pleasant port,  
to all a help she came,  
By tears that have been spent for her,  
the poor have showed the same.  
O noble heart whose Well of grace,  
shall spring and never dry:  
Who being high, didst bend thy breast,  
unto the poorst degree.  
Unto the weak she was a strength,  
unto the hungry food:  
Unto the rude, a lamp of light,  
unto the wisemen, good.  
Unto the youth, she was a guide,  
unto the aged joy:  
Unto the noble, ornament,  
unto the blind, a way:  
In town she was a shining star,  
for her all better were:  
In Country joy, at home a glass,  
to view in gladding cheer.  
Her beauty great, her virtues greatest,  
that sprang as flagrant flowers:  
Alas what treasure have we lost,  
for all the loss is ours.  
For she hath gained O Death by thee,  
but we have shipwreck made:  
And now in earth our help is leapt,  
our light is turned to shade.  
O what a loss: so many gifts,  
of grace so lost in one:  
For which each wight that knew her well  
cannot but greatly moon.  
But dry ye up your dréerie tears,  
she lives without annoy:  
O comely courteous Countess now,  
farewell O gem of joy.  
Farewell O spring of virtues sweet,  
farewell of help the store.  
Both high and low, bewail thy want,  
farewell for evermore:   

Of ingratitude.  
WHo rightly scans what thing is greatest grief  
And seeks by proof the truth thereof to try,  
Shall surely find ingratitude the chief,  
Surmounting far each other woe on high.  
Whose fretting force when friendly wight shall feel  
All mirth and joy to care doth strait convert.  
Yea wear the heart of craggy flint or steel,  
It scarce could shoonne to wail such bitter smart.  
Who therefore seeks by pains to please the proud,  
Unthankful wight compared well may be,  
To him that keeps a Cur which barks as loud,  
At Feaders' face as when he foe doth see.  
Or Viper eke, who long with careful thought,  
In woeful womb, her tender younglings feeds,  
By whom at last her baleful bale is wrought,  
Through their ingrate and most unfriendly deeds.  
Whose nature is to work the place most grief,  
Where they in time have had full great relief:  
Of all ingrate lo here the gotten gain,  
And only hire for well deserved pain.   

Of Death.  
SInce death doth lead to life,  
And life is lasting joy▪  
To stay why make men strife,  
Where nought is but annoy.   

Answer.  
WHy men such strife do sow,  
To stay in place of pain,  
Where you the cause would know,  
I guess its worldly gain.  
And since the flesh is frail,  
Each weak and feeble wight:  
When death doth once assail,  
Resistes with all their might.  
Then blame not wealthy wights,  
Which knows of need no lack:  
But live in deep delights,  
To die though they draw back.  
When needy soul in deed,  
Of death doth stand in dread.   

To one that feign would speed, yet doubtful to proceed.  
AS Cat would feign eat fish,  
Yet loath her foot to wet:  
So liest thou still and wish,  
Where travail gain should get,  
That labour first brings gain,  
Thou seest by little Ante:  
Who through hot summers pain,  
Doth shoes cold winters want.  
The sweet that Bee doth suck,  
Comes not by lying still.  
The grapes for wine men pluck,  
Are got by travails skill.  
The Merchant eke men know,  
Great goods by travail gains:  
The Ploughman seed doth sow,  
To reap reward for pains.  
Not wish I say therefore,  
But travail wealth doth win:  
Who so then will have store,  
By travail must begin.  
Strong monstrous mounts to reel,  
Rough craggy rocks to rend:  
And eke the sturdy steel,  
Oft travail makes relent.  
For travail is the way,  
Each noble gift to gain:  
Use therein no delay,  
And spare thou not for pain.  
For who so pain doth spare,  
To speak where he would speed:  
And makes each doubt his care,  
A dastard is in deed.   

The Lover being in the Country, showeth his good will to his Lady in the Court.  
THough corpse in Country be,  
in Court my countenance is:  
My joy, my care, my life, my death,  
mine endless bale or bliss,  
My pleasure, pine, and pain,  
my help my harm also:  
My griping grief, my greatest gain,  
my friend and eke my foe.  
And doubtful though to some,  
to scan this case may seem,  
Yet you I know no wisdom want,  
much deeper doubts to deem.  
Wherefore I will omit,  
my mind at large to tell:  
Lest by the way some watchman lay,  
to ring the larome bell.  
Such spiteful spider's snares,  
I aye do seek to shun:  
As not the foolish fly betrays,  
but greater harms have done.  
Who puffed with poison strong,  
like Momus mates do still  
Some discord cause and bate in place,  
where else might grow good will.  
But let them work their worst,  
look what I have profeste:  
If you command I will perform,  
I spare to speak the rest.  
And so I do conclude,  
and cease my ragged rhyme:  
As he that skill of school doth want,  
Pernasus mount to climb.   

To his Friend. R. H.  
WIth hateful haughty haunt not,  
For dainefull dizards daunt not:  
For witless vaunters faint not,  
For truthless taunters taint not.  
For spiteful spiders spare not,  
For curious carpers care not:  
But Hussie as thou hast begun,  
Hold on thy race in virtue run.   

The Lover to his L.  
THe fiery flames, that fast on me do flow,  
The secret sighs that waste my woeful breast:  
The icy cold I feel like flakes of snow,  
The hidden harms that breed my great unrest,  
By fancy's force do cause such troublous tide,  
That ship now shakes which late in road did ride.   

Answer.  
WHere reason rules, affection fond doth fly,  
And beauties beams no bitter bale may breed  
Where wisdom will, by virtues skill doth tie,  
Cupid's flames are quenched forth with speed.  
Let reason then thy will by wisdom guide,  
So shalt thou safely shun this trembling tide.   

Gold corrupteth.  
THough most where wealth doth flow,  
Men feigning friendship show:  
Yet faithful friend in deed,  
Is known in time of need.   

Answer.  
BUt now we feel and find,  
A thing to true in deed:  
Where man be foe or friend,  
The Gold and goods shall speed.  
For virtues all are shut,  
Unto the lower place:  
And money fit is put,  
Each learned head to face.  
If money none thou hast,  
Thou art not worth a fly:  
Thy credit clean is past,  
All virtues hushed do lie.  
A learned man, but poor,  
Is counted doting fool:  
Wise Virgil stands at door,  
To go again to school.  
Yet once I hope to see,  
All money go for dross:  
And virtue high to be,  
To win her wrongful loss.   

A Poesy.  
Esteem a friend,  
Let virtue crease:  
In friendly mind,  
Sometime is peace.  
As flowers spring,  
But soon do fall:  
Even so each thing  
Terrestrial.  
Hope feedeth heart,  
Ere love take place:  
Breed not a smart,  
Right to disgrace.  
As joyful lot,  
Doth me assign,  
By goodness got,  
O joy is mine.  
Vain nay, if me,  
Refuse me here:  
Nay soon shall see,  
Each wound me téere.   

The uncertainty of this world.  
AS Player plays on stage till part be done,  
So man alike his race one earth doth run.  
To day alive in silks and fine array,  
To morrow dead and clad with clot of clay,  
Of earthly things, lo here the slipper stay.   

A diet prescribed to his Friend G.  
MY friend to hold thy harmless health,  
a diet must thou keep:  
As physics Art shall thee instruct,  
men first did learn to creep.  
Abstain thou still to feed thy flesh,  
which swells in pampered pride:  
Tabstaine from sin a mean there is,  
as father's old have said.  
And first all noisome loathed meat,  
that white is do eschew:  
As lime and paper, tallow, chalk,  
and from all parchment new.  
From all meat sharp, as dagger swords,  
with knives and sharped spears.  
From black, as tar, and tar box, pitch,  
and sut that chimney smears.  
From hard, that cannot well digest,  
as millstone timber flint:  
But chief fly a female fool,  
O woes that do not stint.  
From all meat light as feathers, flocks,  
fine down and sifted hay:  
From heavy things, as lead and tin,  
with brass and iron aye.  
From all meat soft, as wool and flax,  
bombast and winds that blow:  
From things but gross as steeples, towers,  
trees walls and many more.  
From things but lean as rakes and forks,  
with wodcocks' bills and brain:  
With pothooks potled, whetstone smooth,  
all these are vices vain.   

Alution.  
O be not white through envious wrath,  
against the captives wise:  
Nor be thou sharp to sorrow them,  
least black as pitch thou rise.  
Nor be thou hard unto the poor.  
nor light to credit lies:  
Nor heavy be to press down wit,  
till truth the matter tries.  
Go not to soft in slothful sort,  
to men of antic store:  
And leave the wits that grosser be,  
which are but lean in lore.  
Pluck down no house, nor pen things false,  
nor grease thy book with gloze:  
Seek no man's death by envious sting,  
for witless men be those.  
Flee doctrine false which makes thee black,  
to lurk in loathsome hell:  
Seek not to far that God hath hid,  
fools brains be never well.  
Let chastity, prayer, abstinence,  
direct a christian sheep,  
No Pastor light Christ's flock must have,  
but men most grave them keep:  
Depaire no Church, nor ancient act,  
in building be not slow.  
Convey you not to other realms,  
the fruits that here do grow.  
Flee foolish guides that rove at large,  
which truthless tongue do strain:  
As potled tales they prate aloft,  
so th'end will prove but vain.  
To fast and pray, to help the poor,  
to profit all with good:  
This is a healthful physic note,  
to stop the lusty blood.   

The Rose.  
WHen as the mildest Month,  
of jolly june doth spring:  
And Gardens green with happy hue,  
their famous fruits do bring.  
When eke the lustiest time,  
reviveth youthly blood:  
Then springs the finest featured flower,  
in border fair that stood.  
Which moveth me to say,  
in time of pleasant year.  
Of all the pleasant flowers in june,  
the red Rosse hath no peer.   

Of Gold.  
O Gracious Gold,  
Whose glittering high:  
Doth cheer and hold,  
Each gazing eye.  
The sweet delight,  
That dwells in thee:  
Doth spoil each spite,  
And poverty.  
It lifts aloft:  
Who late was lo:  
And fool makes oft,  
For wiseman go.  
What joy, what gain,  
What worldly thing,  
Doth want to them,  
That Gold do bring?  
Gold buildeth towns,  
Gold maketh joy:  
Gold cheereth clowns,  
Gold quelth annoy.  
Gold all can do,  
Gold reigns alone:  
Alas what woe,  
Where Gold is none.  
Which I poor wight,  
By proof do see  
Which gladly seek,  
That will not be.  
But well I wear,  
If I might catch,  
White silver clear:  
Which all men snatch.   

The lover forsaken, bewaileth his estate.  
O Drooping heart depressed with deadly care,  
whose stretched strings be cracked in pieces small▪  
Thy secret sighs thy panting oft declare,  
What heavy hap in woe to thee did fall:  
Now cry thou clapped in chains as captive thrall,  
What heart can joy alas in misery,  
To bear the blasts, that well he would not see?  
The burdened Ass doth know his crib by course,  
The yoked Ox doth smell his strawie stall:  
The ridden horse the manger gives remorse,  
But my poor heart no salve may heal at all.  
Whom furious force aye threateneth fierce to fall.  
What shall I say, the time each truth shall try:  
Till than I wail my woe with weeping eye.  
Down deep doth droop my dread most dolorous.  
O heart dispatch to end my hidden pain:  
Shall good for harm be had in credit thus,  
Each honest mind with rattling rage to strain?  
Then farewell joy, welcome my woes again,  
O what a woe is this in grief to groan,  
And wail the want, where help I see is none.   

Being between two doubts, he taketh advisement.  
MY pen now ply thy pace,  
thy masters pains to paint:  
For heart now set in doubtful case,  
gins to fall and faint.  
Now wit declare thy might,  
now hands and learning shoe:  
What best for me a woeful wight,  
that weeps and wails in woe.  
Much better 'tis to stay,  
than clime and take no hold:  
And rashly grant by deadly lure,  
unto her love so cold.  
For where two minds are matched,  
and th'one no love will bear:  
There is nought else but sorrows hatched,  
Thy restless life to wear.  
What veils the glittering Gold,  
when love is forced to flee:  
And match with her that others hold,  
and nought regardeth thee.  
And she thy eyes so blacks,  
by wile of subtle kind:  
That though thou see her crafty knacks,  
yet will she make thee blind.  
Though thousands thou possessed,  
and heart doth hold in hate:  
All shall decay by wretchedness,  
for ill will breedeth bate.  
But where as love remains,  
and discord put to flight:  
There springs the fount of joys and gains,  
and concord stands in might.  
There is the Paradise,  
and Palace eke of peace:  
Where things but small of simple prize,  
to valours great increase.  
But out alas I die,  
a wretch in dangerous doubt:  
I see that death before mine eye,  
hath siedgde me round about.  
For heart that loves me best,  
I cannot love again:  
And she who causeth mine unrest,  
considereth not my pain.  
Lo how can I escape?  
Alas what remedy:  
The Gods have sure, sworn my mishap,  
between these golves to die.  
To bruise my baned bones,  
betwixt these raging rocks:  
In doubt of life I make my moans,  
and bear the cruel strokes.  
But heart thyself content,  
to fry and freeze a while:  
Though fickle fate be froward bent,  
yet fortune once may smile.   

He showeth his restless mind tormented for want of relief.  
ALone who sails the foaming floods,  
in ship that wants a guide:  
In stormy streams & thundering showers,  
in dark and trembling tide:  
Doth fear the harms of gaping golves,  
and renting rocks doth moon.  
And wails his most unhappy state,  
in tears and hearty groan.  
So I uphoyst by wyffling winds,  
in worse state than he,  
Do bide the brunt of bitter blasts,  
and all alone for thee.  
Alone for thee this servile yoke,  
on labouring neck I bear:  
For whom I oft do wish to die,  
me wretched wight to wear.  
I wail in tears the whole day long,  
as my poor heart doth know:  
At night again my bed I wash,  
with sobs of doleful show.  
jerie and moan, I rage and run,  
no food delight my part:  
No Music note or harmony,  
can help, my helpless heart.  
O spill me not, that yield to thee,  
if aught misdone I have.  
By great entreat and humble sule,  
my pardon here I crave:  
If mercy none thou hast, then give,  
thy dreadful doom forth on.  
And soon thou shalt of man condemned,  
see execution.   

Liberty corrupteth youth.  
BY licence lewd, we still are worse,  
When youthful hearts do range their corpse.  
Whose life to launch at liberty,  
Brings rich estate, to poor degree.   

The languishing Lover to his Lady.  
HEalth I thee send, if he may give,  
that which himself doth miss:  
For thy sweet breast doth harbour whole,  
my bloody bale or bliss.  
I need no scribe to scrie my care,  
in restless rigour spread:  
They that behold my changed cheer,  
already judge me dead.  
My baned limbs have yielded up,  
their wont joy, to die:  
My helthlesse hand doth nought but wring,  
and dry my dropping eye.  
The deathly day in dole I pass,  
a thousand times I crave:  
The noisome night, again I wish,  
the doleful day to have.  
Each hour to me most hateful is,  
each place doth urge my woe.  
No food me feeds: close up mine eye,  
to ghastly grave I go.  
No physics art can give the salve,  
to heal my painful part:  
Save only thou, the salve and sore,  
of this my captive heart.  
Thou hast the form that cut the wound,  
of my unholpen pain:  
Thou canst and art the only help,  
to heal the same again.  
In thee my wealth, in thee my woe,  
in thee to save or spill.  
In thee my life, in thee my death,  
doth rest to work thy will:  
O salve thou then my secret sore,  
sith health in thee doth stay:  
And grant with speed my just request,  
whose want works my decay.   

Because no answer was returned in long time.  
WHen shall this needless silence end,  
thy peevish pen to try:  
Why, shall the wound unstopped bleed,  
in woe continually?  
Correct this fault, this only one,  
than all thy body blessed:  
Shall have no spot or fault at all,  
for noble is the rest.   

H. to K. his Friend.  
O Friend in truth to try,  
thy cunning skill I crave:  
To help and cure my careful case,  
that brings my corpse to grave.  
To thee I do confess,  
the grief that gripes my heart:  
For lack of that which some possess,  
my countenance may me smart.  
Though nought I fear despair,  
yet give me salve for sore:  
My hands, my heart, my might my mind,  
are fixed for evermore.   

I. K. to his Friend H.  
WHat néedst thou thus to cry and care,  
before the stroke doth fall:  
And eke to seek a saving salve,  
where is no wound at all.  
To for see lurking evils in time,  
yet count I wit discreet:  
To bend thy bow ere broil be made,  
also I deem it meet.  
But pass thou not for moltring muck,  
the pestilent pool of woe:  
No grief, no grudge, no broil or bate,  
but doth from penny grow.  
The grave and wise Philosophers,  
as Serpents fled the same:  
And wilt thou then a christian man,  
therewith go spot thy name?  
Even now me thinks I hear thy sound,  
soft bussing at mine ear:  
Which says necessity compelles,  
to get this worldly gear.  
For when we want who well may live?  
But if we bond in store:  
Commodities than offereth made,  
a salve for every sore.  
Our credit eke the same doth crease,  
our friends the better are:  
Who meets rich man but him salutes,  
cap of and head full bare:  
If thou have goods thou mayst obtain,  
thy worthy countenance bend:  
Alas my friend ist lack of dross,  
that breeds thee wrong contempt?  
No no not so I answer thee,  
necessity is small:  
With little store is nature fed,  
it craves no hoard at all.  
Nor shalt thou want but mayst live well,  
though not abundance flow:  
He s●ekes no mean that still is bend,  
on hilke heaps to grow.  
If great be wealth, yet none be thine,  
a steward God thee made:  
If none thou hast, lament thou not,  
but rather be thou glad.  
Because thou clean delivered art,  
of great and heavy pack:  
And eke thou hast another day,  
a less account to make.  
But hope thou well: the sparrows small,  
our God hath care to see:  
And thinkest thou then O faithless man,  
that God forgetteth thee?  
Can riches make thee wiser man?  
or good or learned more:  
Or virtuous or younger man?  
alas these helps be poor.  
But men will kneel and crouch to thee,  
lo yet how fond we play:  
They honour not thy person man,  
but goods and clothes so gay.  
But goods get friends, but none of thine,  
they faun and flatter free:  
If fortune frown, these trusty gests,  
will scantly stand to thee.  
The truth itself hath verified,  
a richman's case to try.  
What Camel can creep out with ease,  
even at a needle's eye?  
What store of wealth enriched thee,  
when from the earth thou came?  
What riches eke shall follow thee,  
returning to the same?  
Therefore my friend content with skill,  
to cheer thy grieved mind:  
For want of vile and clammy clay,  
will countenance be unkind?  
No, virtues shall maintain thy store,  
that never shalt thou lack:  
Shall pelting trash a worthy heart,  
from earnest love drive back?  
Then let not want of wealth that rots,  
so pinch in pining plight:  
No glittering Gold no heaped hoard,  
can virtue put to flight.  
Thy wit, thy works, thy heart and grace,  
thy skilful head so wise:  
Thy just report by virtue goat,  
thy hidden qualities  
Which lurking lie in breast of thine,  
but once I hope the same  
Shall take the root to spring abroad,  
to crease thy gentle name.  
What shall I say? I will omit  
with pen thy praise to paint:  
Thou hast the goods that ever dure,  
my friend then do not faint.  
Despair thou not, for thou hast more,  
than well thyself dost know.  
No wealth thou want'st that true wealth is,  
receive this salve I shoe.  
If I could get to thy content,  
though Venus' face she had,  
Though Pallas power, though junos' wit,  
in peerless jewels clad,  
Though all the goods of Arabia,  
with thousand thousands free:  
She did possess, oh trust me well,  
yet would I give her thee.  
For would she have a prudent spouse,  
in safety sound to be:  
If I should choose, by practice proud,  
believe me thou art he.   

A Poesy.  
SMall time hath man on earth to stay,  
In time therefore take heed I say.   

Another.  
AS Flowers fresh to day,  
To morrow in decay:  
Such is th'uncertain stay  
That man hath here always.   

The Lover whose love begun in time of spring, declares how natures force then works in every thing.  
ALl things on earth do much rejoice,  
In sweet return of pleasant spring,  
The birds declare by their shrill voice,  
When joyfully they sit and sing.  
What pleasures great they take and find,  
without annoy of storm or wind.  
The nightingale than steps in place,  
Whose cunning tunes exceed the rest:  
The slanderous bird eke shows her face,  
In every nook as bold as best.  
The creking Crow and carrion Kite,  
Not pass the spring without delight.  
The doves which Venus birds men call,  
And other fowl of land and lake,  
Full well do know the time is fall,  
Wherein each thing, doth wish a make,  
Wherefore as nature them doth bind,  
Each one a Fear fails not to find.  
The Robine small, and peeping Wren,  
The Tidie trim, and Titmus eke,  
Full fast themselves, do couple then,  
And spares no sport that doth them leek.  
The Sparrow hops from spray to spray,  
Where he with Hen hath pleasant play.  
Each beast also: away doth shake,  
His weather worn, and winter hue:  
And cheerfully their chosen make,  
With happy hope do passed pursue.  
The wretched worms to join in joy,  
In pleasant spring are nothing coy.  
Sith nature's force doth this appear,  
In birds and beasts which be but brute,  
To grant him grace, why should you fear,  
Whom like leads to tempt his suit.  
Who seeks but that among the rest,  
Which natures law doth him behest.   

A Poesy.  
WHere vice abounds and virtue doth abate,  
No one thing stays in good or happy state.  
Fly vice therefore and virtue do embrace:  
Which will thee heave unto the highest place.   

Being vexed with the care of the world, be comforteth himself.  
MY fantasy, tormenteth me,  
for worldly thing to care:  
How to provide, mine age to guide,  
some steadfast land to bear.  
Each time of day, these cares me stay,  
but all I see is vain:  
My brains to beat, these goods to get,  
not one will ease my pain.  
For every man, doth what he can,  
to rid himself from jags:  
And some by hook, and some by crook,  
do fill their greedy bags.  
All honesty is forced to fly,  
and laws do hold their peace:  
They care not how, so goods do grow,  
their worldly carks to press.  
A thousand slights each days and nights,  
in head I do conceive:  
Yet none I find, can serve my mind,  
my worldly woes to leave.  
For if I lack, and bore be back,  
though wit and grace be great:  
Yet credit dies, and worship flies,  
no friends then shalt thou get.  
For now they do esteem men so,  
as riches mounts on high:  
The godly mind, they set behind,  
and virtues all do lie.  
These things do warn, to void the harm,  
some wealth in youth to peek:  
But yet alas, I Midas Ass,  
this gear in vain do seek.  
But why should I, thus woefully,  
in cares my years dispend:  
The thing to see, that will not be,  
until that God it send.  
Mark well in plight, the birds so light,  
that finely fed, do sing:  
They reap, nor sow, nor plough, nor more,  
they want no earthly thing.  
And view each hour, the little flower,  
and Roses fresh that grow:  
They card nor spin, on spindle thin,  
their common deeds to shoe.  
Yet Solomon, that Prince alone,  
in all his royalty,  
Was not so gay, as one of they,  
of peerless sovereignty.  
Short time God lend, our life to spend,  
in this most wretched vale:  
For space of hour, scant stand we sure,  
from dart of death so pale.  
The young truly, as soon may die,  
as men of elder age:  
All things are frail, and all shall quail,  
as fire shall them discharge.  
All dignity, is danger high,  
and poverty is hard:  
All wealth is dung, no joys be long,  
why should I then regard?  
The man is blessed, that lives at rest,  
in his estate content:  
Who lacks no things, what more have kings,  
of all his lands and rent?  
I see full plain, that some whose pain,  
have hoardward riches great:  
By sudden glay, are whipped away,  
for pains no fruit they get.  
Then fantasy torment not me,  
for humane things so scant:  
God will foresee, for his that be,  
they othing shall not want.   

Of Degrees,  
THe higher estate, the greater fear,  
The greater wealth, the lesser cheer.  
The poor degree, that lives content,  
He sings although his goods be spent.  
And who can sing so merry a note,  
As he that cannot change a groat.   

That men ought to be promoted to dignity, only by worthy deeds.  
NOt long descent and name,  
doth make a noble king:  
But noble heart and facts of fame,  
his royal state shall bring.  
Nobility deflowers,  
when deeds can get no grace:  
To host and brag of ancestors,  
it is a witless case.  
For noble deeds of them,  
account not for thy facts:  
For thy own deeds shall thee commend,  
and not an others acts.  
Nor men deserve the crown,  
and doughty diadem.  
By birth or wealth, less skill redound,  
by virtues great in them.  
For Fortune may as then,  
make kings as pleaseth her:  
Since she the rich and noble men,  
to scarlets can prefer.  
But greatest gold give place,  
to virtue left so frashe:  
For gold wise men that know the case,  
do count but trifling trash.  
In hearts be princes bold,  
and not in golden chests:  
For that man rules, and is not ruled,  
when this man ruled is.  
Nor beauty fair can blaze,  
a kingly honour high:  
For that doth vade as flowers do fall,  
and soon that grace will die.  
Let courage stout reply,  
and valiant hearts inflame:  
By puissance adventures try,  
thy famous facts to frame.  
Now sacked Troy is brent,  
by proof of policies:  
He is not meet of king's descent,  
that like a coward flies.  
Therefore he is a king,  
that like a king doth guide:  
And though no kingdom be for him,  
yet he is king in deed.   

A Poesy.  
Strange sight to see, what toil some worldings take  
For slipper slime that soon will them forsake:  
Whose greedy guts, no reason may suffice.  
The muck on mould so blinded hath their eyes,   

Another.  
SMall thing that righteous doth possess,  
More worth than wickeds great excess.   

The Lover to his L.  
WHen that he saw of worthy fame,  
chaste spouse by tried trade:  
Who can depaint the passing game,  
that then Ulysses made?  
When Paris got the gem of Greece,  
his sports surpassed then:  
Who brought her home a flower of price,  
unto his Country men.  
With joys the Nightingale 'gan raise,  
her right recorded song:  
Wherein she gets the peerless praise,  
The bushy birds among.  
The Merchant made, with windy sails,  
that richly turns again:  
Doth joy for gain of his avails,  
escaping deeper pain.  
The ward and heir of noble lands,  
when as his years are gone:  
Is glad he escapes his tutor's hands,  
for which he gaped long.  
Yet I in joys surmount them all,  
and more it pleaseth me:  
That to my hap thy lot did fall,  
as best it pleased thee.  
For thee than is my joyful part,  
and eke to do thee good:  
Here thee enclosed I hide my heart,  
and brew my hearty blood.  
Wherein such lively love behold,  
that pen cannot express:  
Nor can my tongue the same unfold,  
my wits descry much less.  
No truthless tales in thy dispraise,  
that blockish brains can frame:  
Shall turn my truth from thee aways,  
or spot thy guiltless name.  
Thou art my dear with virtues spread,  
God thee in pleasures keep:  
On thee I think on wakeful bed,  
when others sweetly sleep.  
I dream of thee in slumbering rest,  
and think thou present art:  
I think myself then surely blessed,  
from thee loath to departed.  
But when deluding dream doth vade,  
I sigh with groaning cheer:  
Me séemth I do perceive thy shade,  
alas thou art not here.  
I grope about the wales for thee,  
as to possess thee feign:  
But at the last full woefully,  
I see my fanside brain.  
Farewell I say my only care,  
God send it true to be:  
That which my fancy did declare,  
that lately dreamt of thee.   

I. K. to his Friend H.  
THe ship I saw but late bear lofty sail,  
And march amid the waves of waters wild:  
Whose courage stout I deemed no storm might quail,  
When I her vewde so fast & firmly field.  
With tempest tossed his forced now sail to stréeke,  
And in her prime doth hovering harbour seek.   

H. to his Friend K.  
THough blustering blasts cause ship, to harbour hast  
To whom the Seas with rigrus rage threats wrack,  
Whose cables cut & anchors worn & waste,  
Is forced stréeke sail in this so great a lack.  
When Neptune yet with mighty Maze in hand,  
Shall stay the surge of furious foaming flood:  
This ship repaired may safely sail to land,  
Nought dreading Aeolus breath that was so wood.  
So howel hopes his howlk such port shall find,  
When storms be past as will content his mind.   

That learning and knowledge is surest riches.  
Whom wealth doth highst advance,  
Oft falls by some mischance:  
But once win cunning skill,  
With thee it standeth still.   

The Lover receiving no recompense for entire love compareth himself to the unlucky soldier.  
THe Soldier still that wars,  
in many a stormy shower:  
Perchance returns without reward,  
in most unlucky hour:  
So I in soldiers trade,  
to fight, to watch and ward,  
And each way sought her once to please,  
which gives me small regard:  
For though I present were,  
to do what she would crave,  
Yet now an other shall possess,  
the thing I thought to have.  
Though I the toil did take,  
this pleasant plot to plough:  
Yet others reap the finest fruits,  
of my true tilladge now.  
What, served not my love,  
that breast so sweetly bare,  
And shall I thus an woeful wretch,  
be snapped in sugared snare?  
Then may I groan in grief,  
and eke abhor the place  
Where first I learned with earnest heart,  
to love that graceless grace.  
Is this your tried troth,  
that sprang from rooted heart?  
How frail is then the female flock,  
that counterfeits their smart?  
When all men do rejoice,  
yea rude and brutish beast:  
Then I in cursed cares do dwell,  
my carks are more increased.  
The blessed birds do sing,  
and Lady Ver retornes,  
And pleasant sights begin to grow,  
among the thriftless thorns.  
But yet do I lament,  
with tears where I remain:  
For that for troth and loyal love,  
thou lovest me not again.  
Adieu thou frozen heart,  
and voice of hardened ire:  
Yet tract of time shall try me true,  
as justice doth desire.  
And since thou false hast been,  
that seest and wilt not see,  
Perhaps thou mayst as yet repent,  
that thou forsookest me.  
But link where love doth light,  
thy course run out in this:  
Take heed, soon hot, soon cold they say,  
his love you yet may miss.  
Not all that glistereth bright,  
may bear the name of gold:  
Nor he that says he loves thee well,  
the truth perhaps hath told.  
Some love for riches store,  
as commonly we see:  
But never one I ever loud,  
more than I loved thee:  
But out alas farewell,  
I did it to my cost:  
I lived in hope but all in vain,  
my labours all are lost.  
Thou art my woeful wound,  
and cause of all my smart:  
Which dost me hate and clean refuse,  
the love of faithful heart.  
Now do I well perceive,  
and prove it to my pain:  
How great a grief it is to love,  
and not be loud again.   

E. P.  
BY fancy's force lo here my gain,  
Untimely death provoked my pain:   

Answer. H.  
SUch fond affects declares thee plain,  
Of feeble force or foolish brain.   

To T. A.  
LIke as the mazed Malarde lies,  
And fain would fly if not for fear,  
Lest Falcon fierce when he doth rise,  
Should yield alas her threatened cheer:  
Right so with me it now doth rest,  
That gladly would obey your hest.   

Answer.  
THough doubtful dread cause Malard wise,  
Oft stay the flight, where he would light:  
Yet time he spies, wherein to rise,  
And fly to fear in pleasant plight.  
When Falcon fierce shall nought annoy,  
Like time I trust will work our joy.   

jacke shows his qualities and great good will to jone.  
MIne own zwéet jone, let me not moon,  
no more I thee require:  
But as I crave, so let me have,  
the thing I do desire.  
And ich shall still, even at thy will,  
be ready at thy hand:  
To fling to spring and run at ring,  
whilst ich am able stand.  
With cap and knee, ich will serve thee,  
what should ich more declare:  
Thy mind to please, and body ease,  
is only all my care.  
Though icham not, so zéemlie chwot,  
as been the Courtnolls gay:  
Yet chaveave a flail, that will not fail,  
to thrash both night and day.  
And for manhood, cham zure cham good,  
for all our Town can zay:  
How stout ich stood, with Robart Hood,  
when Baldoone Uoke vetcht may.  
And eke ich pass, both more and 'las,  
in dancing Dountoones round:  
To trip to skip and handle a whip,  
cham zure my peers not vound.  
To clout a shoe, ich ma tell you,  
veowe cunnigare there be:  
And eke to theatch, whare can ye veatch,  
another like to me.  
In husbandry, icham truly,  
ycounted to excel:  
Ye and ich can, if need be than,  
weight at the table well.  
For once ich went, up into Kent,  
with the headman of our Town:  
Where ich did wait, at every bait,  
chee vore than cham no clown.  
Why for my manner, ich bear the banner,  
before my Lord of May:  
No Country man, there is that can,  
teach me though I do zay.  
And further more, thou knowest gay store  
of good will fall to me:  
Uor vather zed, when he is dead,  
that all mine own shall be.  
Both Calf and Cow, and our great Zowe,  
that viftene Pigs did varro:  
Even at one time shall then be mine,  
and eke our new whéelbarro.  
Beside all this, ich shall not miss  
of red ones to have store:  
That zawe no zunne, nor yet the moon,  
of years cham zewer a score.  
And all my jone, shalt thou alone,  
at thy commandment have:  
If thou wilt let, me friscoles vet,  
in place where ich do crave.   

The Lover almost in despair, showeth his great grief and craves redress.  
THou art the branch that sweetly springs,  
whose heart so sound and true  
Can only cheer me woeful wight,  
or force by want to rue.  
Then give to me the sap I thirst,  
which gift may give me joy:  
I mean thy firm and faithful love,  
whose want breeds mine annoy.  
Remember yet the friendly words,  
ypast between us twain:  
Forget him not, for love of thee,  
that sighs in secret pain.  
I oft do seem in company,  
a gladsome face to bear:  
But God thou know'st my inward woes,  
and cares that rend me there.  
And that I may gush out my grief,  
in secret place alone:  
I bid my friend's farewell in haste,  
I say I must be gone.  
Then hast I fast with heavy heart,  
in this my doleful case:  
Where walks no wight but I alone,  
in drowsy desert place.  
And there I empt my laden heart,  
that swelled in fretting moan:  
My sighs and plaint and pangs I tell,  
unto myself alone.  
What shall I say, do ask me once,  
why all these sorrows be:  
I answer true, O foe or friend.  
they all are made for thee.  
Once knit the link that love may last,  
then shall my dolours cease:  
It lies in thee and wilt thou not,  
the yielding wight release?  
O would to God it lay in me,  
to cure such grief of thine:  
Thou shouldst not long be void of help,  
if 'twere in power of mine.  
But I would run and range in storms,  
a thousand miles in pain:  
Not fearing foil of friends to have,  
my Countenance whole again.  
And wilt thou then all merciless,  
more longer torment me  
In drawing back, sith my good help,  
is only whole in thee?  
Then send me close the hewing knife,  
my wider wound to stratch:  
And thou shalt see by woeful grief,  
of life a clean dispatch.  
When thou shalt say and prone it true,  
my heart entirely loud:  
Which lost the life for Countenance sweet  
from whom he never moved.  
Writ then upon my mournful tomb,  
these verses graven above:  
Here lies the heart, his truth to try,  
that lost his life in love.  
Lo, save or spill thou mayst me now,  
thou sit'st in judgement high:  
Where I poor man at bar do stand,  
and loud for life do cry.  
Thou will not be so merciless,  
to slay a loving heart:  
Small praise, it is, to conquer him,  
that durst no where to start.  
Then heal the heart that loves thee well,  
until the day he die:  
And firmly fast thy faith on him,  
that's true continually.  
Then shall I bless the pleasant plot,  
where first I saw thy face:  
And say the Gods have thee endued,  
with gifts of goodly grace.  
Whose virtues mixed with pity great,  
her Counsel sought to save:  
Who being void of her good help,  
long since had line in grave.   

I. K. at his Friend's departure.  
AGainst necessity,  
there is no law they say:  
But shall such need bereave perforce,  
my dearest friend away.  
No stroke doth fall so fell,  
But wisdom yet may ware:  
So though my hope must needs begun,  
yet this doth crush my care.  
That he is only gone,  
Utility to gain:  
And still I Ho to see him well,  
in joy returned again.  
His friends that freshly far,  
will not his heart refel:  
God send thee safe thy soul's desire,  
to please thee passing well.  
Then shall I yet rejoice,  
that thou depart'st from me:  
To set thyself in sounder sort,  
as once I hope to see.  
When as thou shalt take road,  
within the Haven of bliss:  
Till then, to bear with patience,  
the chiefest help it is.  
God send thee well to do,  
in due delight to dwell:  
God send thee that thou most desirest,  
Mine own good Ho farewell.   

H. his answer to his Friend K.  
PErforce though Pilate be  
which hastes thy Ho. away  
From pleasant port, where still behind,  
his gem of joy doth stay:  
Yea though the furious floods,  
his beaten bark do waste,  
Which gaping gulfs oft threateneth sore  
to swallow up in haste:  
Yet distance none so great,  
nor plunge of present pain  
Shall cause me once my friend forget,  
whilst life in limb shall reign,  
Whose steadfast truth well tried,  
whose golden gifts of grace:  
Whose manly mind, whose friendship firm,  
who lives and will not brace?  
Let fortune work her worst,  
and spout her spiteful spite:  
In wealth in woe in joy in care,  
yet I in thee delight.  
To whom ten thousand thanks  
I yield for thy good will:  
And where thou wouldst me one good hap,  
I wish thee twenty still.  
Farewell O Titus true,  
whose like were hard to find:  
Farewell for faith a Phoenix firm,  
O courteous Keeper kind.   

A Poesy.  
EXpend my words which soul with heart doth write  
Let that be loud which loves thee passing well:  
In space comes grace, as worthy wits recite,  
Soul heart and hand thou hast no more I tell.  
Attend on God and wait his will to work,  
Be sober, wise, discreet in time and place:  
Esteem a friend where earnest heart doth lurk,  
Try ere thou trust, and shun no poorman's case,  
Higher who clims, the deeper down he fell,  
But set my broken bark in calm to start:  
Reject no right, lose not a heaven for hell.  
Apply to purchase praise by due desert.  
Deride no wight, the best good aid may mend,  
Beware betime, be wise, in courtesy:  
Use time and place as may to virtue tend,  
Right thus thou mayst thy praise amount on high.  
No wight, no wealth, no heart (but thou alone)  
Enforceth me at times to joy and moan.   

To his C.  
MY woeful heart with pinching pain oppressed,  
My careful corpse clad with heaviness:  
My restless limbs, that taketh no quiet rest,  
Do wish for death the end of deep distress.  
Why should I then prolong my days in pain.  
Why do I seek to heal my helthlesse heart:  
Or why doth life in lanquisht limbs remain,  
And still increase my bitter bale and smart.  
When heart when hands when corpse & soul to die,  
Do willing yield as loathing longer life:  
And death alone is end continually,  
Of worldly woes of cursed care and strife,  
Which fiercely flow on me to work my spite:  
Since I of force must now for go thy sight,  
Whose face to view was only my delight.   

To his feigned Friends.  
THough some perchance there be,  
That would me gladly spot:  
Yet shall they never see,  
Such chance to light my lot.  
Ne yet their crafty ways,  
So closely cloaked shall win  
To them but little praise,  
If once I do begin:  
Hereafter comes not yet,  
Ye●●●ce a time I trust:  
Will serve wherein to meet,  
With such as be unjust.  
Wherefore these words I use,  
I nothing need to tell:  
Nor you thereon to muse,  
Who knows my meaning well.   

A Poesy.  
IN morning still when thou dost rise,  
see that in mind thou have:  
To spend the day which doth ensue,  
as bed should be thy grave.   

Another.  
THere nothing is that nature here hath wrought,  
Shall not consume and turn at last to nought.  
FINIS.   

A farewell to his Friend T. Hooper.  
WHen as the soaking sap,  
crept up on sprays that bud:  
And blosomde branch with goodly green,  
'gan clothe the naked wood.  
When Winters hoary frosts,  
mild March enforced to flee:  
Then came my golden faithful friend,  
and sweetly cheered me.  
Whose face at first to view,  
me mused full wondrous:  
For I assoon had thought to see,  
of Troy king Priamus.  
He cheerde my drooping heart,  
in heavy ●ap that stood:  
With him to be, with him to talk,  
was all my chiefest food.  
Each drop of lively blood,  
that skipped in springing veins,  
Did leap for heap of passing sport  
of heart, where joy remains.  
Whom I have thirsted oft,  
in wishing heart full feign:  
Now is he come, but O alas,  
he soon is gone again.  
And wilt thou now depart,  
from me on sudden thus?  
Then may I say all joy is vain,  
and world grows worse and worse.  
And though that flowers in May,  
do cheer the laughing fields:  
Yet winters storms with pinching cold,  
the woods of leaves beguiles.  
Thus change of time and place,  
doth change a man's degree:  
And richest man in greatest joy,  
may chance in woe to die.  
So when the hour was come,  
that hope returns me fro:  
In heavy moaning wailing heart,  
farewell I say in wo.  
Farewell my Damon dear,  
now loath depart I sing:  
And lingering steps against their will,  
from thee my corpse did bring.  
And down into my heart  
there dropped the drops of care:  
And inwardly my sobs I soup,  
that rake and rend me there.  
Now all my joy is gone,  
and I in dumps am cast:  
O would to God thy sweet abode,  
might harmless ever last.  
If will were now in force,  
to thee my flight should be?  
Where are the Muses nine that sing,  
in heavenly harmony.  
But now we must departed,  
fair words false friend men say,  
Nor he that files his smoothed speech,  
is faithful friend always.  
The God divine thee keep,  
in firm felicity:  
And break the brags of cursed curs,  
that jar their teeth at thee.  
That so thy fatal thread,  
well spoon may steadfast stan,  
To run the race of Nestor's years,  
a golden aged man.  
And farewell friend in deed,  
farewell my tower of trust:  
Would I might always bide with thee,  
farewell since needs it must.   

To his froward Friend.  
MEn say in common tales,  
into a Proverb gone:  
More better 'tis a bad excuse,  
at all then to have none.  
And was I in the blame,  
you knew well what I meant:  
And though I winked in coloured sort,  
you knew my whole intent.  
If great your grace had been,  
you might perceive well this:  
For little signs are known full well,  
where great affection is.  
And eke of péering spark,  
doth grow a flashing flame:  
Lo now I see you will not know,  
though well you knew the same.  
But of such woman's minds,  
each man a store may find:  
Which still in things that pleaseth not,  
forsooth they will be blind.  
And where they fancy not,  
the thing they have in hand:  
They say good Sir be packing hence,  
I cannot understand.  
And since it is your wont,  
as plain I do perceive:  
I pray you give me licence now,  
to take my humble leave.  
For I must needs be dead,  
but not before to morrow:  
My death requires no earnest haste,  
I need not greatly sorrow.  
But yet I lie in care,  
I cannot sleep for love:  
No more than he that sleeps all night,  
and never once doth move.  
What shall I do poor soul,  
alack how I do moan:  
When that my stomach well is fed,  
my lust to meat is gone.  
Behold what care I take,  
my tears do flow as fast:  
As April showers do fall in june,  
when will my plaint be passed?  
Alas good simple peat,  
of dull and feeble brain:  
You know not well the wood for trees,  
God wot ye are full plain.  
But easy truly 'tis,  
your ignorance to show:  
In things which by your froward will,  
you never sought to know.  
Farewell my friendly foe,  
as plain God wot ye be:  
So pray I once that you may have,  
your two eyes well to see.  
And well to understand,  
of me your true love lost:  
If blind ye be, smell yet before,  
take heed beware the post.  
I doubt not but in space,  
you shall your sight obtain.  
When as perchance you may desire,  
your true love old again.   

The opinion he hath of his Friend absent.  
THy right descent from worthy ancestry,  
Hath justly got a praise by their good facts:  
Of all, as well the high as low degree,  
Much more yet goat thou hast by thy own acts.  
As well thy works thy will, thy wit do teach,  
Still seeking that, which passeth not thy reach.  
Like life thou leads, that poor for thee do pray,  
Upon their knees thy gentle race to fiend:  
Their needy suits with helping hand to stay,  
The thing which thou dost prudently pretend.  
Race rightly ruled, of breast in justice bold,  
Each virtue seeks her harbour here to hold.  
Lo what mishap hath maimed me so sore,  
Like one of thine that there I may not dwell:  
Esteem me not the less of Dunster store.  
Since heart is there, where care doth corpse expel.  
Acquaint fortune frowns on me so eagerly,  
Unnative soil that best I may not be.  
Except my mind I do not thee forget:  
Although far thence false fortune doth me set.  
Run rightly forth, as right thou hast begun,  
Then trump shall sound thou hast the conquest won.   

France's Flower in the commendation of the Author.  

THe Schools of skill maintained are,  
by younglings hot desire:  
And 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 all decrepide playnth,  
his Muses simple hire,   

For Nature now is girt to give,  
the price of much praise:  
To such a wight so worthy wealth,  
to pass his foundrisse days.   

O happy hand to frame the mould,  
in each consenting part:  
That dare when Muse most perfit is,  
compare itself with art.   

Pallas cleped learnings Queen,  
if Mars in armour were:  
The fierce attempt of Nature's will,  
may well and well forbear.   

For she alone can work her will,  
as Lady of her list:  
But feeble is the force of art,  
where Nature doth resist.   

No light but of the heaven,  
no fury but of hell:  
No virtue if Minerva fail,  
as science oft doth tell.   

Then muse no whit to see a gift,  
ygraft in this my friend:  
Whose pleasant verse by nature's skill,  
to thee doth pleasures lend.   

The plunging mind in deep desires,  
may here in arbour rare:  
Bereave unrest with pleasures rife,  
and rid his soul from care.   

As Pamphlets for repast, present,  
good will of writer's part:  
So Poems prove, and Poesy's praise,  
a well good willing heart.   

How due desert by just desire,  
reward may truly crave:  
The readers may consenting gree,  
if howel praises have.   
FINIS.  
F. Flowar.