H. His devices, for his own exercise, and his Friend's pleasure.  
Vincit qui patitur.  
Imprinted at London, in Fleetstreet, beneath the Conduit, at the sign of the Saint john Evangelist, by H. jackson.  
ANNO. 1581.   


VIRTUS IN ARDVO    

To the Right Honourable, and most virtuous Lady, the Lady mary Countess of Pembroke.  
THE LITTLE POET ACCIUS NOT knowing which way to cover the smallness of his person, which was somewhat less than the mean, thought best to have a great picture drawn for his Counterfeit: This Poet no doubt had some meaning in this devise, for pictures often go there, where the person whom they represent are not admitted: And it might be that strangers seeing the great shape, would imagine Accius to be a tall man. Tewcer a cunning Archer, but a faint hearted Soldier, than wanted no courage when he was close covered with the Target of his brother Ajax. Ulysses, whose ripe wit made full amends for his weak body, thought no adventure dangerous, though never so perilous, if he were protected with the shield of Pallas. So I right Noble Lady knowing my ability to write, to be far less than the person of Accius, and so more likely to incur more rebukes: my courage therefore more faint than either Tewcers, or Ulysses, and so more needing some strong defence, have adventured to place in the forefront of this little treatise, the title of your name, as a great portraiture to a little body, as a sure shield to a weak Warrior, as a safe defence against any danger. For as they which should see the picture of Accius, would imagine it to answer his person: so if the Reader hereof, behold your name in the first leaf, he will deem the whole Book the more fruitful, and the framer thereof the more skilful: but if he shall once perceive your Honour to be Patroness to this labour, he will either love it, because he doth honour you, or will not dare to reproach it, because he perceiveth you are as ready, and knoweth you are as able to defend it, as either Ajax was to guard Tewcer, or Pallas to guide Ulysses. I cannot right virtuous Lady, imagine there was any greater cause that might induce Accius to frame so big a picture: or cause Ajax to shield Tewcer: or move Pallas to regard the safety of Ulysses: than myself now have to use your honours defence. Accius' his picture might with a stranger cover the shortness of his person: your name shall to the Reader be recompense for the greatness of my ignorance. Tewcer fled to Ajax because he was his own brother: I presume to seek aid of your Honour, because I am your poor servant. Pallas did defend Ulysses because she knew he followed and loved her: Your Ladyship (I trust) will be my protection, because I honour and serve you, which I have done in times past, now do, and ever hereafter will do, in such sort, that the world should be witness, if my ability to show it, were as great as my will is ready to perform it, I would be found equal in dutiful zeal towards your Honour, to Ulysses in hearty affection towards Pallas. Therefore right Noble Lady, let me be bold to remember you in behalf of myself, of that which Demosthenes is reported to have spoken to Alexander, in defence of the Athenians. You have (said he) most worthy Emperor, by fortune no greater good than that you may: by nature no better gift then that you wish to do good to many. The credit and estimation your virtuous life, and rare wisdom hath procured you: the honourable courtesy and sweet behaviour wherewith Nature hath plentifully endued you, shall not be either unfitly or unfruitfully used, if you shall vouchsafe to employ the one in defence, and show the other in good acceptance of this slender work of your servant, which as I did write at idle times in your house, to avoid greater idleness or worse business: so I present it humbly unto you, as a testimony of my bounden duty, ever craving your Honour to pardon my bold presumption: and still beseeching the Almighty to bless you in earth with much honour, and in heaven to crown you with eternal felicity.  
Your honours humble and faithful Servant. Tho: Hovel.   

¶ The Table of the Contents of this Book.  

NO assurance, but in Virtue.  
¶ Prosperity ought not cause presumption, nor adversity force despair.  
¶ Once warned, twice armed.  
¶ Flattery the Veil of Fraud.  
¶ No greater contrariety, then in the passions of love.  
¶ In uttering of sorrow, some solace.  
¶ Misery the end of Lechery.  
¶ The pains of Lovers great, but mine grievous.  
¶ Ruin the reward of Vice.  
¶ The best Natures soonest abused.  
¶ He likeneth his lot to Virgil's.  
¶ All of green Willow, Willow, Willow, Willow, Sith all of green Willow shall be my Garland.  
¶ All of green Laurel.  
¶ No new fancies shall alter old liking.  
¶ A Dream.  
¶ The lamentable end of julia Pompey's Wife.  
¶ Secrecy, for some sorrows, a needful remedy.  
The end of life, the beginning of bliss.  
They soonest yield remedy, that have felt like extremity.  
A Posy.  
Unthankfulness of mind, a monster in Nature.  
Noble minds either conquer or cover.  
Vng ie seruirey.  
Do or be still.  
He denies quickly, that gives slowly.  
Women are words, men are deeds.  
Envy ever depraveth desert.  
A Winter's morning muse  
Man's life likened to a stage play.  
To his Mistress.  
Reward doth not always answer desert.  
Who hurt, must heal,  
Of love.  
Of Bays and Willow.  
¶ An Epitaph upon the death of the Lady Katherine, late Countess of Pembroke.  
Vltimum vale.  
¶ In adversity is best seen Virtues excellency.  
¶ Sorrow disclosed, somewhat eased.  
¶ Omnis fortuna superanda ferendo est. Of sufferance comes case.  
¶ H. his Reply to his friend. A. M.  
¶ H. to himself.  
¶ Written to a most excellent Book, full of rare invention.  
¶ The complaint of a sorrowful wight, found languishing in a Forest.  
¶ Of Fancy.  
¶ Answer.  
¶ Ever sought, never found.  
¶ A Poesy.  
¶ Answer.  
¶ Every thing is as it is taken.  
To his Lady of her doubtful answer.  
Help best welcome, when most needful.  
Of the Golden world.  
Of Gold.  
A. W.  
Answer, H.  
Of Friends.  
Answer. E. L.  
Reply to the same.  
Another way.  
To his Friend M. S.  
In mediocrity most safety.  
To the same.  
That valiant hearts are desirous to aspire.  
¶ Answer.  
Another way.  
To his Friend E. R. of the Bee.  
Sure counsel, sound friendship.  
They perform not best, that promise most.  
Beauty the bait Vanity.  
Of Fortune.  
A Sonnet.  
To her Lover, that made a conquest of her, & fled, leaving her with child.  
Being burdened to fayne his good will, he answereth thus.  
Change of Country, shall not change fancy.  
Where ability faileth, will sufficeth.  
Man's impiety, fayns false Deity.  
In love small jars, sometime breed best content.  
What Nature severeth, Art hardly joineth.  
He wisheth well to the Crab and Maple Tree in Milfeelde, for the Lady's sake that met there under them.  
Being charged with fineness he answereth thus.  
Such Saints, such service.  
I follow what flieth from me.  
No grief to want of due regard.  
Of Anger.  
A New years gift.  
Another.  
Another.  
Another.  
An Epitaph.  
A Dream.  
Love asketh love.  
The variable thoughts of a Lover.  
R. T.  
Answer.  
Another way.  
Godliness passeth riches.  
His answer to one that wrote, faint hearts that fear to sin, fair Ladies seldom win.  
To I. N.  
H. To his mishap.  
Falsyfying of faith, breeds many complaints.  
To his Song, sent to his Mistress.  
A Poesy.  
Answer.  
The vanity of riches.  
Discord makes weak, what concord left strong.  
Of one that came to borrow money.  
Answer.  
Truth feareth no trial.  
He complaineth his mishap, with promise to keep her honour.  
G. To his Lady.  
For small offence, small punishment.  
¶ loves mightiness grows by lovers weakness.  
¶ A comparison of his troubles.  
¶ I. K. to H. being sick.  
¶ Answer H.  
¶ Of Friendship.  
¶ Answer. G. H.  
¶ H. To M.  
¶ Admonition to his Friend.  
¶ Who seeks this World's felicity, finds nothing else but vanity.  
To a Flatterer.  
Answer.  
Reason and Fancy do often vary.  
A Poesy.  
Certain Verses translated out of petrarch concerning Rome, written by him many years since.   
FINIS.   

¶ To the Reader.  

WHere none but Nature is the guide, Minerva hath no part,  
Than you her Nurcelings bear with him, the knows no aid of art.  
I wake my wits to please myself, nought reeking praise or blame,  
I force my pen to purge my brain, though matter small I frame.  
In which attempt, if lack of skill, have led my Muse awry,  
Let my well meaning mind the miss, in each respect supply.  
If patterns wrought by Art, of curious workman here thou seek,  
Thy travail than thou shalt but lose, to look and never leek.  
But if good will may thee suffice, peruse, and take thy pleasure,  
In Nature's school my little skill: I learned all by leisure.  
Here nothing placed is, that may the virtuous sort offend,  
Though envious Carpers' bark and snarl, at things they scarce can mend.  
Whose chiefest grace is wise to seem, by blotting others deeds,  
Whose painted flowers in proof full oft, fall out but stinking weeds.  
The chaste desire with honest rhyme, mistykes no whit in mind,  
But venomed Spiders poison take, where be doth honey find.  
With greater ease a fault is found, then well to weld the rest:  
It differs much to fell the tale, and words misplasté to wrest.  
By patterns here displayed to thee, thou mayst perhaps prevent  
The poisoning baits of bitter sweet, whose bliss brings sharp event.  
Disloyal love and filthy lust, thou here art taught to flee:  
With other Saws to sundry ends, though he wed rough they be.  
That life is like a Bubble blown, or smoke that soon doth pass,  
That all our pleasures are but pains, our glory brittle glass.  
That Fortune's fruits are variable, no hold in Princely mace:  
That women's minds are mutable, that death draws on apace.  
That worldly pomp is vanity, that youth unwares decays:  
That high estate is slippery, that only virtue stays.  
Here learn thou mayst: with divers notes, 'gainst fraud and flattery,  
That may suffice to warn the wise, to void such battery.  
And eke thou here mayst view and see, how Be wtie cruel haste:  
Doth make, to shun the gallant face, where she but late was placed.  
That she is Nature's privilege, and so is said to be  
Because the seldom gives that gift, but where she cause doth see.  
That beauty is a dumb deceit, not having word or art:  
And yet with stlente craft she can, persuade the hardest heart.  
She conqueres where she comes by kind: for Creatures fair procure,  
By naked looks, such yielding hearts, as they wish to allure.  
Whose vain delights if thou vesier, thy thrift goes to the ground,  
(And yet by honest love we see, the greatest wealth is found.)  
Apollo's troup my faults will pass, and way my want hercin,  
Whose friendly favour if I gain, I prize not Pan a pin.  
The travel mine, the pleasure thine, if ought thou here do leek,  
Thy good report, for pains employed is sole reward I seek.   Virtus honorem parit.  

¶ Faults escaped in the printing.  
In the Sonnet entitled Ruin the reward of Vice, the second line, for joy, read joys. And in the fift staff of the same Sonnet, the last line, for forcing, read falsing.  
In the answer to the written of Fancy, the last line, for you read your.  
In the Golden world, the xvij verse and first word, for Gor, read For.  
In the Sonnet entitled her lover that made a conquest of her, the viii. staff, the last line, for shameful, read shameless.  
In man's impiety, feigns false deity, the first verse, for feign, read feigned.  
In Sorrow disclosed somewhat eased, for settled sorrows, read sorrow.  
In such saints, such service, toward the end of the Sonnet, for when, read whence.  
In what Nature severeth, art hardly joineth, the last line of the first staff, for soon, read same.  
In the vanity of riches, after the sixth line read, For who hath most of such a store, the more he fears as thrall. Which is there lacking.  
In Discord makes weak, what, etc. the last line save one, for guide, read guile.  
In Reason and fancy do often vary, the first word, for there, read where.   

Delightful Discourses to sundry purposes.  

¶ No assurance but in Virtue.  

WHo wisely skans, the weak and brittle stays,  
That Nature's Imps, within this vale possess,  
The divers haps, the strange uncertain ways,  
That headlong forth we run beyond all guess,  
Shall soon perceive, that every worldly joy,  
Short pleasures yields, imixte with long annoy.   

Though whored of heaped store, for more delight,  
Our Coffers keep, to please our greedy lust:  
Yea, though our time we pass in joyful plight,  
And in this life repose our chiefest trust,  
Yet worldly pomp, when all is said and done,  
Doth vade away, like Snow against the Son.   

A time of birth Dame Nature doth us give,  
A time to die she likewise doth provide:  
No sooner do we first begin to live,  
But strait to death unwares a way we slide,  
And yet alas, our fancies are so frail,  
That all our joy is here to hoist up Sail.   

But such as set their Heaven of linger life,  
In pleasure's lap, whose froward tickle wheel  
(Saith wisdom's son) with frowning turn is rise,  
To drown their bliss, that blindly so do reel,  
By search shall find, each fléeting pleasure vain,  
When virtues Imps, with Virtue high shall reign.   

Then who so sees, the Sugar strawde on Gall,  
And shuns the same, by sacred virtues skill▪  
Shall safely stand, when Follies children fall,  
That heedless hold, Dame pleasures wanton will,  
Thus Virtue stayeth, when vices steps do slide,  
So are they blest, that do in Virtue bide.    

¶ Prosperity ought not cause presumption, nor adversity force despair.  

WHere Fortune favoureth not, what labour may prevail?  
Whom frowning fate will needs thrust down, what shall he win to wail?  
With patient mind to yield, is sure the soundest way,  
And cast our cares and grief on him, that fatal force doth sway.  
For Death with equal pace, doth pass to Prince's gate,  
And there as at the Cottage poor, doth knock in one like state.  
The time or manner how, the highest no more can tell.  
Then poorest Peysant placed here, in base estate to dwell.  
Scythe then such feeble stay, in mortal might we find,  
Why should the want of worldly dross, in dole once daunt our mind.  
The jylman poor in toil, that spends the weary day,  
Whose wealth will scarce supply his want, when some whoorde heaps that play.  
Falls not to flat despair, ne yet his labour leaves,  
Though scarce the stubble proves his share, when others shock the sheaves  
But lives with mind content, more free from care & strife,  
Then those that hunger highest hap, where dangers dwell most rife.  
Though proud ambition blind, puffed up with glory vain,  
Detest their state that riches want, with haughty high disdain.  
The Seas oft troubled are, by winds that whirling fly,  
When shallow streams yield water clear, in valleys low that lie.  
High Mountains set on fire, by lightning eke we see,  
When Pastures placed underneath, in nothing altered be.  
The foremost front in fight, are nearest deadly wound,  
The lofty tree is soonest blown down, & leveled with the ground.  
So such as thirst to climb, to danger most are thrall,  
Whose sliding glory sauced is, with honey mixed with Gall.  
For who so gripped with grief, if Fortune list to lower,  
As those that erst did feed at full, upon her fairest flower?  
Which change full oft hath fallen, through her unconstansnesse,  
And whom she lately laughed upon, thrown down remediless.  
Was Alexander great, that many dangers past,  
For all his mighty conquest won, not slain himself at last?  
A king's son eke I find, for Father's tyranny,  
Constrained to work a Smith in Forge, by hard necessity.  
Such is the fading force, of Fortune's fickle power,  
Whose fruitfulst fruit both ripes and rots, in less space than an hour.  
Such is her tickle trust, such are her slipper steps,  
That what she seems to sow in joy, with sorrow oft she reaps.  
Attribute all to him, that fate doth guide therefore,  
With willing mind embrace thy lot, where rich thou be or poor.    

¶ Once warned, twice armed.  

WHylste sly deceit, by sleight of smile cheer,  
yields tickling hope, to dandle on our days:  
We dread no guile, no doubling drift we fear,  
Our sound belief such settled trust doth raise.  
But when in fine, we find ourselves miss.  
We blame the fraud that so our fancies fed.   

And gripped with grief, our former trust we wail,  
exclaiming loud that falsehood so can fayne,  
When glozing shows clokt under friendship's veil,  
Falls out but sleight, to foster hope in vain.  
Lo thus full oft, what deemed hath been the sun.  
Proof Cynthia finds, whose course more low doth run.   

As some have tried through time and travel spent,  
Who trained by trust, have deemed good hap there placed,  
Had swayed the soil, where ruin all to rent,  
Hath due desert, with rigour down defaced.  
Whose short regard, for long employed toil,  
May warn the wise of fraud to fear the foil.    

¶ Flattery the Veil of Fraud.  

Fair words foul deeds, pretended and forethought,  
Who can but hate, that holds the fear of God:  
Fain you that list, such practice proves but nought,  
Uyle devilish drifts, provoke Ioues wrathful rod,  
Which sure will fall, if we in sin persever,  
Shame is the fruit, of fraud and foul endeavour.   

Wherein behold, some mask in Nets at Noon,  
Yet deem they walk in clouds of close disguise:  
Hoist up in thought, to reach beyond the Moon,  
When all the world, their covert cunning spies.  
But these to name, my pen and speech shall spare,  
Who meddleth least, least cumbered is with care.   

It me suffizen may to note their drifts,  
That ween by wiles, the world to weald at will:  
Their glozing shows, their sly and guileful shifts,  
To train such on, as find not out their skill.  
Whose turns to serve, though fools a time be dandled,  
The wiser wink, that see how things are handled.    

¶ No greater contrariety, then in the passions of love.  

IN will to strong, in work to weak is love,  
In hope to bold, in fear more faint than needs:  
In thought a thousand guiles it strives to prove,  
In guile, suspicion painful passions breeds.  
Suspicion easily yields to light belief,  
And light belief to jealousy is thrall,  
The jealous mind devours itself with grief,  
Thus love at once doth fry, freeze, rise and fall.  
On pleasure's paste to think, it takes delight,  
Whiles present bliss, by fond conceit it balks,  
Although the fruit it find, be pensive plight,  
For better chance, yet careless on it walks,  
These are the seeds that Venus' Baby sows,  
As taste they shall, the bitter crop that mows.    

¶ In uttering of sorrow, some solace.  

MY careful case, and pensive pining plight,  
Constraynth my Pen, against my will to wright:  
The plunged state, wherein I live and dwell,  
Doth force me forth, my doleful tale to tell.   

My heaped woes, all solace sets aside,  
Whose secret smart (alas) I feign would hide,  
But as the subject Ox, to yoke must yield,  
So vanquished wights, are forced forsake the field.   

My luckless lot, denies me all relief,  
I seek for help, but find increase of grief.  
I languish still, in long and deep despair,  
Yet shun to show the cause of this my care.   

I covet nought, that reason might deny,  
Ne do I seek by means to mount on high:  
But what I seek, if I the same might find,  
Then eased should be, mine uncontented mind.    

¶ Misery the end of Lechery.  

O Filthy Lechery,  
Fire of foul frailty,  
Nurse to ympietie,  
War, pride and ielouste,  
Whose substance is gluttony,  
Whose smoke is infamy,  
Whose sparks are vanity,  
Whose flame obscurity,  
Whose coals impurity,  
And ashes misery.    

¶ The pains of Lovers great, but mine grievous.  

THe Frost in flame that Lovers find,  
And swelting heat in chilly cold,  
So quite contrary are by kind,  
As strange it seemeth to behold,  
Strange is the fear that makes them faint,  
And strange the care that chokes their joy,  
Yet stranger passions me attaint,  
The only Nurse of mine annoy.    

¶ Ruin the reward of Vice.  

TO you fair Dames whose beauties brave do flourish,  
To you whose dainty days in joy are spent:  
To you whose praise Dame Nature seeks to poolish,  
To you whose fancy Venus doth frequent.  
To you I write with heart and good intent,  
That you may note by view of what I say,  
How Nature's gifts soon vade and slide away.   

Your lofty looks, time down full low shall raze,  
Your stately steps age eke will alter quite:  
Your frail desire that kindleth Cupid's blaze,  
Whose heat is prone to follow foul delight,  
The whip shallbe, that shall you sharply smite:  
When every vice that sprung of Fancies fits,  
Repentance brings, to those the same commits.   

Is not the pride of Helen's praise bereft?  
And Cressid stained, that Trojan knight embraced:  
Whose beauties bright but dark defame hath left,  
Unto them both through wanton deeds preferred.  
As they by dint of Death their days have ended,  
So shall your youth, your pomp, and beauties grace,  
When nothing else but virtue may take place.   

Then shake of Vice ye Nymphs of Cressida's Crew,  
And Virtue seek, whose praise shall never die:  
With filthy lust your bodies not imbrue,  
As did this Ilium Dame most wickedly,  
Whose bliss by bale was plagued so grievously,  
That lo her life in Lazars lodge she ended,  
Who erst in Court most curiously was tended.   

Her Corpse that did King Priam's son delight,  
Consumed with cares, sent forth sad sighs full cold:  
Her azured veins, her face and skin so white,  
With purple spots, seemed ugly to behold.  
Each limb alas corruption 'gan unfold,  
In which distress, and bitter strain of ruth,  
She begs her bread, for forcing faith and truth.   

No sorrow than might salve her lewd offence,  
Nor raze the blot that bred her black defame:  
Her doleful days alas found no defence:  
'Twas now to late to shun the sheet of shame,  
Which had bewrapt her wrackful blemished name,  
So broad was blown her crime and cursed case,  
That worlds bewrayed her frowning fates disgrase.   

Lo here the end of foul defiled life,  
Lo here the fruit that sin both sows and reaps:  
Lo here of Vice the right reward and knife,  
That cuts of clean and tumbleth down in heaps,  
All such as tread Dame Cressida's cursed steps,  
Take heed therefore how you your prime do spend,  
For Vice brings plagues, and Virtue happy end.    

¶ The best Natures, soon abused.  

Betwixt my hope and dread, grew such debate,  
When first I sought these naked lines to frame,  
That long I paused, as doubtful to dilate,  
Whether best proceed, or else leave of the same.  
Till hope at last, despair doth banish quite,  
And wills my Pen assay in verse to wright.   

Fear not (quoth hope) to show thy willing will,  
(Small seeds sometime may light on grateful ground:)  
If none had wrote but Clarks of Tully's skill,  
Sweet saws had sunk, which now afloat are found,  
Then cast of dread, despair no whit at all,  
Diseases great are cuerd with Medicines small.   

These cheerful words, no sooner 'gan revive  
My Muse, but strait in mind I me bethought,  
How Gnatos sect through flattery do contrive,  
Each guileful gloze, till they their wiles have wrought,  
Whose great abuse, though briefly here I touch,  
I spare to speak, what might be said of such.   

Of friendship sound, though sundry yield a show,  
Yet few there be, in whom is tried trust:  
Such fraud in friendly looks doth daily grow,  
That who most fawns, oft proves the most unjust:  
Who sooner shall well meaning minds betray,  
Then such as best can Sinon's pageant play.   

As Sailors erst, by Sirens songs allured,  
Devoured were that lacked Ulysses skill,  
So Noble minds by such have been procured,  
To credit toys, that turned to greater ill.  
The Serpent wise, to stop her ears deems meet,  
When Charmer seems to charm with voice most sweet.   

For like as shadow placed before the eyes,  
Is not the thing that it doth represent:  
Nor all proves Gold that shines when touchstone tries,  
Though fair it seem unto some foul intent:  
No more do words that pass from flattering sort,  
Yield such effect as they do oft report.   

Some friendship feign to give the greater gléeke,  
Displeasures doubt another sort constrains:  
To sooth up things, which they perhaps mislike,  
By means whereof unseen, great mischief reigns.  
Some fawn to serve their turn, where fortune smiles,  
But if she frown, they flee with all their wiles.   

¶ Such shows right well, compared may be to shade,  
That séelde is seen, but where the Sun doth shine:  
For as those shapes with every cloud do vade,  
So Flatterers fail if Fortune once decline.  
Use Serpents skill against this subtle kind,  
Floods drown no Fields, before some brack they find.   

As fire doth fine, and separate Gold from dross,  
And shows the pure and perfit from the vile:  
So tried is when wrackful storms do toss,  
The faithful friend from such as mean but guile.  
For like as Doves delight in buildings new,  
To Croesus' Court, so flocks Corebus crew.   

Let wisdom therefore wield your ways and deeds,  
Whose prudent poise brings darkest doubts to light:  
To quick mistrust in trustiest, treason breeds,  
The hasty credit oft deems wrong for right.  
Account of those, whom virtues reign doth guide,  
For such will stand, when glozing Gnatos slide.    

¶ He likeneth his lot to Virgil's.  

THough Virgil's Uearse, for lofty style were rare,  
Surmounting far my feeble Muse's might:  
Yet in this point my case I may compare  
With his, what time another claymde his right,  
And say with him, though I the seed did sow,  
Another seeks the fruit thereof to mow.   

Like as the toiling Ox the Blow doth pull,  
And hath but stalks, when others share the ears:  
Or as the sheep that Nature clothes with wool.  
Brings forth the Fleece, the shearer from him shears,  
Even much alike it fareth now with me,  
That forced the ground, where others reap the Fee.   

I bred the Bees, thou wouldst the Honey have,  
I tilled the soil, thou séekste by guile the gain:  
I own the Tree, thou dost the branches crave,  
Thou prickst for praise, where none but I took pain.  
What deeds deny, some win by naked words,  
I hatchte the brood, though thou possess the birds.   

Who so doth hold the light, whilst others Mask,  
No Masker is perdie, you know right well:  
Nor all whose shows would claim the greatest task,  
Deserves the same, when truth her tale doth tell.  
Though mine the wrong, yet seems the loss so light,  
As shame forbids me more thereof to write.    

¶ All of green Willow, Willow, Willow, Willow, scythe all of green Willow shall be my Garland.  

Embrace your Bays sweetly, that smile in love,  
And deck you with Laurel, that dwell in delight  
To me most unhappy, still spurned by despite.  
Is given writhed Willows to express my state rig●   

Pursuing the Panther whose sweet doth abound,  
A most cruel viper my hard fate hath found:  
Whose nature to Spiders I well may compare,  
That merciless murders, what's caught in her snare.   

The Lion doth tender the beast that doth yield,  
The Tiger seems constant, once conquered in field:  
Bellona shows favour to Captives that sue,  
But Venus refuseth my dolours to rue.   

How shall I to ease me unburden my breast,  
Of these pensive passions that breeds my unrest:  
When speech wanteth power, when voice is unpressed,  
And wit wanteth cunning to compass loves hest.   

Yet what avails words, where ears words do flee,  
Though words to the mind, true messengers be?  
Or what vaileth wit, where will is untoward?  
The sacrifice lost, where Saints be so froward.    

¶ All of green Laurel.  

TO sing of sorrow still,  
Attending Venus' will,  
Were now but lack of skill,  
Pity lies dead:  
Then cast of mourning cheer,  
Let joyful plight appear,  
Where clouds do never clear,  
Comfort is fled.  
Look up to the Laurel, and let Willow go,  
And trust to the true friend, embrace not thy foe,  
Sing all of green Laurel:  
By travail who striveth, to win thankless wight,  
Is like one that washeth a black a Moor white,  
Let all of green Laurel bedeck thy Garland.  
Though some distill their tears,  
That writhed Willow wears,  
Yet faint not at their fears,  
Seem not to dread:  
The wisest have done so,  
The valiant wrapped in woe,  
Have taken overthrow,  
By Fancy led.  
Where wit is constrained by will to give place,  
Their songs are of sorrow, that joys would embrace,  
Sing all of green Laurel.  
Let no deceitful shows of Venus' bright shine,  
Have power once to pierce the sound heart of thine,  
So shall the green Laurel set forth thy garland.  
Weigh not the wavering mind,  
That fleets with every wind,  
Till thou some stay do find,  
Trust not to far.  
Unto Dame Constancy,  
Bend still thy battery,  
Fly fast from flattery,  
With beauty make war.  
So shall thy well liking not harm thee at all,  
For faith fixed firmly, such favour will fall,  
That all of green Laurel, etc.  
When others in dolour their wrack shall bewail,  
Thy ship on the sound seas in safety may sail,  
Where crowned with green Laurel, in joy thou shalt sing.    

¶ No new fancies, shall alter old liking.  

THough Paris praise, Apollo's Imp 'gan stain,  
When change of choice his fickle humour fed,  
And Carthage cries, with strained voice complain,  
On perjured Prince, by night that faithless fled.  
Though jasons hest Medea found untrue,  
And others more there be whose fancy past:  
That scorn the old still haunting after new,  
Within whose hearts no léeking long may last,  
Yet till sir Phoebus' beams shall lose their light,  
And Ocean Seas do cease to ebb and flow:  
Until the day shall turn to perfit night,  
And Nature's course against her kind shall go.  
My fixed faith unspotted shall remain,  
What would you more, I vow I do not fayne.    

¶ A Dream.  

WHen Phoebus bright was settled in the West,  
And darkness dim, the earth had overspread:  
When silent night, that moves each thing to rest,  
With quiet pause, had placed me in my bed,  
In stombring Dream, me thought I heard a wight,  
His woes bewail, that grew through loves despite.   

Whose wearing weed and vestures all were green,  
Save that his loins with black were girded round:  
And on his breast a badge of blue was seen,  
In sign his faith and truth remained sound.  
He sighed oft and said, O blissful hire,  
When hope with hap, may joy in his desire.   

But still to hope, and find therein no fruit,  
To be in bed, and restless there remain:  
To seek to serve, and daily make pursuit,  
To such as set but light of weary pain,  
Doth breed such baleful dole within the breast,  
As quite bereaves all joy and quiet rest.   

Though taste of sour, deserve the sweet to gain,  
Yet cruel Fate I see the same denies:  
So that desire and wisdom proves but vain,  
Without accord and favour of the Skies.  
But steadfast hope, seem not (quoth he) to quail,  
The heavens in time, may turn to thine avail,  
Scarce had he thus his woeful speech concluded,  
When wake I did, and saw myself deluded.    

¶ The lamentable end of julia Pompey's Wife.  

SOre plunged in grievous pains and woeful smart,  
Bedewed with trickling tears on Death like face:  
Down trylles the drops on cheeks & sighs from heart,  
To hear and see her husband's doleful case.  
Thus goes this spouse, the woeful julia,  
Besprent with blood, when Pompey's Coat she saw.   

Down dead she falls in lamentable sound,  
Of sense bereft (so great was sorrows strain)  
The child conceived within by deadly wound,  
Untymely fruit came forth with pinching pain.  
When all was done, for love her life she lost,  
For Pompey's sake, she yielded up her Ghost.   

So dead she lay, bewailed with many tears,  
A Matron wise, a famous Ornament:  
O Caesar she had seen full cheerful years,  
If thou with Pompey couldst have been content,  
But civil wars hath wrought this fatal strife,  
To Pompey death, to julia loss of life.    

¶ Secrecy, for some sorrows, a needful remedy.  

LIke as the captive Wight, in chained links doth lie,  
And hopes at Sise to be released, is then condemned to die.  
Even so alas my lot, by frowning fate doth fall,  
That sought to feed on sweet delight, but found most bitter Gall.  
My restless labour lost, I justly may compare,  
To Sisyphus that never sleeps, and grief to Titius' care.  
For after sundry storms, when calm I think to find,  
More rougher rage a new doth rise, to strain my daunted mind.  
And when my quelling cares, I seek by means to cure,  
Most deepest dint of inward woe, alas I do endure.  
Prometheus' pinched with pain, nor Ixion whyrlde on wheel.  
More gripes by grief do not sustain, than I unhappy feel.  
The some of my unrest, yet covert will I keep,  
And secretly my sorrows sup, when others sound do sleep.  
To ease my pensive breast, a Uearse though here I frame,  
The bursting forth of sorrows mine, shall breed no further blame.  
My sides shall shrine this smart, my heart shall waste with woe,  
Ere I the secret of my cause, bewray to friend or foe.  
Save only to the Saint, that sways my life at will,  
Whose pity may prolong the same, or cruelty may kill.    

¶ The end of life, the beginning of bliss.  

WHy should we fear to die?  
Or seek from Death to fly,  
When Death the way doth make,  
Each worldly woe to slake,  
By whom we pass to joy,  
Where never comes annoy.   

Our tryflying triumphs here,  
Though we esteem them dear,  
Are like to vapours vain,  
That waste with little rain.  
Deluding Dreams in deed,  
Whereon our fancies feed.   

What yield our pleasures all,  
But sweetness mixed with Gall,  
Their prime of chiefest pride,  
Unwares away doth slide,  
Whose show of sweet delight,  
Oft dims our perfit sight.   

Though jove in lofty seat,  
Have placed Princes great,  
With Regal rule to reign,  
His glory to explain,  
Yet vades their pomp and power,  
As doth the withered Flower.   

Lo here the surest stay,  
The world doth yield us aye,  
Thy dearest friend to day,  
To morrow falls away,  
Whose want thou dost bewail,  
When tears may nought prevail.   

Scythe life is misery,  
Void of felicity,  
Full of anxiety,  
Given to impiety,  
The death I happy call,  
That doth bereave such thrall.    

¶ They soon yield remedy, that have felt like extremity.  

THe flames of fire and clouds of cold, repugnant in my breast,  
Hath quite exiled me from joy, and rest all quiet rest.  
Yet oft (alas) in show I smile, to shade my inward smart,  
When in my laughter waves of woe, well nigh do burst my heart.  
Whose dreary thoughts I would to God, were seen so full to thee,  
As mine afflicted mind in pain, doth power them out on me.  
So should perhaps thy frozen heart, now hard as Flinty stone,  
Within thy breast which melting tears, take ruth on this my moan.  
But as he well cannot discern, what tempest Sailors try,  
That never crossed the checking tides, that surge with waves on high.  
No more canst thou my cares descry, for want of riper skill,  
Although in deed the shows thereof, do plead for pity still.  
In vain therefore my pensive plaints, by Pen I do express,  
When both thy will and want of skill, denies to yield redress.  
The cruel fates (I fear) forbids; that I such bliss should find.  
Or sacred jove some other hap, hath to my share assigned,    

¶ A Poesy.  

scythe folly 'tis to wish, what may not be enjoyed,  
And wisdom to eschew the harms, wherewith we are annoyed.  
Let reason guide thy thoughts, when fancy most doth fight,  
And count him victor of the Field, that conquers beauties might.    

¶ Unthankfulness of mind, a monster in Nature.  

ON thankless Friend, whose travail is employed,  
With Ass' Dam shall reap ingrateful meed:  
Whose wanton fool by her sweet milk acloyde,  
Oft kicks the Nurse, that doth it choicely feed,  
As do the vipers brood, whose youngling long,  
When mothers care with tender love hath cherished:  
Requite the same with such ungrateful wrong,  
That in reward, her life by them is perished.  
Whose Nature is unkindly to devour,  
The womb whence first they took their living power.  
To whom we may the ungrateful sort compare,  
That viper like seek spoil▪ where they should spare.    

¶ Noble minds either conquer, or cover.  

AS Scipio smiled to cloak his covert smart,  
What time he saw his happy state decline▪  
So some alike do shadow grief of heart,  
With outward mirth, when inwardly they pine.  
And to the world yield forth such shows of joy,  
As few would deem, they once did taste annoy.  
When they in deed, with Scipio's grief complain,  
Their short regard, for long employed pain.    

¶ Vngie seruirey.  

TO serve but one, a constant courage shows,  
Who serveth more, he rightly serveth none:  
Base is the mind that bends so many Bows,  
Next God, a Prince we ought obey but one.  
One God, one Prince, he serves, defends and fears,  
Vngie seruirey, for his word that bears.    

¶ Do, or be still.  

THe shallow streams, do mumur more than deep,  
And Cowards brag, that dares no weapons prove:  
Those Dogs bite least, that greatest barkings keep,  
Some do but fain, whose shows seem far in love.  
Sound is the Tree, whence friendships fruit doth spring,  
Do or be still, let none but Sirens sing.    

¶ He denies quickly, that gives slowly.  

Lingering delays, slack payments do foreshow,  
Better no promise, than no performance:  
Sleight are the sorrows, slaked with comforts flow,  
Either send, or end, yield some assurance.  
shifting delay, mistyking off doth breed,  
They soon deny, whose Suitors slowly speed.    

¶ Women are words, Men are deeds.  

IF nought but words in women to be found,  
Then what are they, men, women, or Monsters,  
That yield like fruit? or else a hollow sound,  
Which substance none, but air forth utters.  
By deeds and not by words, men praise obtain,  
Monsters, no men, whose deeds their words do stain.    

¶ Envy ever depraveth desert.  

THou snarling Cur, that crept in Manger lies,  
And lets the Courser there to reach his right:  
Thy malice great, and swelling false surmise,  
Thought shouldst bark, before thou secret bite.  
But sith thy cankered nature (needs I see,)  
Must bite or burst, I open war denownce,  
Against thy kind, what ever so thou be,  
Which seeks by guile our buildings down to bounce.  
With Siren's voice thy tune thou seekst to fayne,  
As though in deed our brains so barren were:  
We could not compass trifling toys most plain.  
Unless our light we sought some other where.  
Thou barkst abroad of Books, from whence it came,  
But can thy head (in faith) no better guess:  
The toys themselves do bid thee cease for shame,  
Lest more thou spurn, more folly thou express.  
Well Momus mate, and son of Zoilus sect,  
That so canst carp at every willing mind:  
Raze nothing down, till something thou erect,  
Spare others spoil, sith nought in thee we find.  
Let them enjoy the fruits of their desire,  
That seeks good will, and craves no other hire.    

¶ A Winter's Morning muse.  

AS by occasion late, towards Brutus' City old,  
With quiet pace alone I road, in winter sharp & cold.  
In my delating brains, a thousand thoughts were fed,  
And battle wise a war they made, in my perplexed head.  
I thought on timely change, and mused on yearly waste,  
How winter aye devours the wealth, that pleasant summer placed.  
I saw the naked Fields unclothde on every side,  
The beaten bushes stand all bare, that late were decked with pride.  
Whose fainting sap was fled, and fallen from top to root,  
Each tree had new cast of his Coat, and laid him at his foot.  
The small and silly Birds, sat hovering in the hedge,  
And water Fowls by Winter forced, forsook the Fenny sedge.  
Thus Nature altering quite, her earthly children's cheer,  
Doth show what brittle stay of state, and feeble hold is here.  
Who as in slender things, she shows her yearly might,  
So doth she like attempt her force, in all degrees aright.  
For as I musing road, I plainly might perceive,  
That like both change and chance there was, man's state that did bereave.  
I saw the mounting mind, that clymbde to reach the Skies,  
Advanced up by Fortune's wheel, on tickle stay that lies,  
Fall soon to flat decay, and headlong down doth reel,  
As fickle Fortune list to whirl, her round unstable wheel.  
Was never Prince of power, so safe in his degree,  
But deemed sometime the meaner sort, to sit more sure than he.  
Then to myself I said, if Fortune stand unsure,  
And highest type of worldly hap, uncertain do endure.  
Why thirst we so to reign? why hunger we for heap?  
Why press we forth for worldly pomp, with breach of quiet sleep?  
Which like a moth eats out, the gain of godly life,  
With all that stretch their vain desire, to wrest this world in strife.  
Whose fruit of toiling pain, by sweat and sorrow sought,  
Is lost in twinkling of an eye, our name consumed to nought.  
Yea though by worldly wiles, we thousand drifts devise,  
A God there is that laughs to scorn, the wisdom of the wise.  
When thus along my way, I diversly had mused,  
I found whom Fortune high did heave, on sudden she refused.  
Then he by Virtue stayed, me thought the rest did pass,  
So far as doth the purest Gold, the vile and basest brass.  
Even he I deemed blest, that wearing virtues Crown,  
Doth live content, not caring ought, how Fortune smile or frown,    

¶ Man's life likened to a Stage play.  

scythe earth is Stage whereon we play our parts,  
And deeds are deemed according to deserts,  
Be wary how thou walkest upon the same,  
In playing thy part, thy course uprightly frame.   

Remember when thy tale is told, strait way  
Another steps on stage his part to play,  
To whom thou must resign thy former state,  
As one that hath already played his mate.   

All wealth, pomp, power, high hap and princely Mace,  
Must yielden be to such as shall take place,  
As things but lente, to play our parts withal,  
Our meed no more, than our deserts do fall.   

Not he that playeth the stateliest part most praise,  
Nor he that wears the riches rob always,  
But he whose virtues shall exceed the rest,  
How so his seat be with the great or least.   

Take heed therefore, and keep each Cue so right,  
That Heaven for hire unto thy lot may light.  
With greedy mind so wrist not worldly gain,  
That soul do spill, for sliding pleasures vain.   

Sufficed be with that sufficient is,  
And seek the things that bring eternal bliss,  
So shalt thou here not only purchase praise,  
But after eke enjoy most happy days.    

¶ To his Mistress.  

May name of servant, to familiar seem,  
For such whose service never swarude awry:  
Can Noble minds so base of those esteem,  
That freely yield for them to live or die?  
No, no, some further fetch conceived is,  
Which hath withdrawn from me that wont name:  
How so it be, if I be more amiss,  
Then sound good will hath once deserved blame.  
The wreckful Gods power down upon my head,  
Such sharp revenge as never man did feel:  
And let my Ghost in Limbo low be led,  
To Tantal's thirst, or proud Ixion's wheel.  
What wouldst thou more? if I not wish thee well,  
In Pluto's Den, then let me live and dwell.    

¶ Reward doth not always answer desert.  

SIth my desire is priest to please,  
Though not with glozing show:  
And eke my deeds if proof were made,  
Should tell what faith I owe.  
Where to shall I impute my hap,  
To Fate or want of skill:  
When nought I find but tickle trust,  
Where most I mean good will.    

¶ Who hurt, must heal.  

THe sparks of love within my breast, do daily so increase,  
That every vain on fire is set, which none but thou mayst cease.  
So that in thee consists my woe, in thee likewise my wealth,  
In thee with speed to hast my death, in thee to give me health.  
O pity then his restless state, that yields him to thy will,  
scythe lo in thee it wholly lies, my life to save or spill.  
That neither do I gloze or feign, I jove to witness call,  
Who knows the heat of fixed hearts, when they to love are thrall.  
And shall I thus a woeful Wight, in rigour still remain?  
Shall such as small good will me bear, thy grace from me restrain  
Shall false persuasion so prevail, to let our wished joy?  
Shall faith and troth for their reward, reap nought but sharp annoy?  
Or else shall want of pining wealth, retract my just desire.  
Do not the Gods at pleasure theirs, the low estate raise higher?  
Is not the world and all therein, at their disposing still?  
Doth it not rest in them to give, and take from whom they will.  
No reckless race 〈◊〉 shalt thou run, ne follow vain delight,  
In yielding help to cure his harm, that holds thee dearst in sight.  
Ne yet from tip of Fortune's wheel, thou shalt ne slide nor serve,  
Such hope I have of better hap, the Fates do yet reserve.  
Thy person, not thy pelfé, is all I wish and crave,  
Which more I vow I do esteem, than heaps of coin to have.  
The greatest Princes aye by proof, lead not the pleasantst life,  
Nor every maid that marrieth wealth, becomes the happiest wife.    

¶ Of love.  

ANd if Love be Lord, who or what is he?  
If Love be not, who then bereaves my rest?  
If no such thing, alas what aileth me?  
What breeds such broil, what wounds my yielding breast?  
To tell what 'tis, doth pass my knowledge far,  
But who so loves I see doth live in war.    

¶ Of Bayes and Willow.  

Show forth your Bays that boast of sweet delights,  
For I ne may such blissful hap attain:  
The Willow branch most fit for woeful wights,  
Behold I bear, a badge of secret pain.  
Which lo my sides enshryne, and shall do still,  
Till cruel Fate hath wrought on me her will.    

¶ An Epitaph upon the death of the Lady Katherine, late Countess of Pembroke.  

IF such do mourn, whose solace is bereft,  
And sighs seem sharp to those whom sorrows sting:  
If cares increase where comfort none is left,  
And griefs do grow, where pensive thoughts do spring  
Then be we sure, our Lord in sad annoy,  
Doth wail her death, whose life was all his joy.   

If he (alas) with sobs her loss bemoans,  
May servants spare their sighs abroad to send?  
Shall they in secret shroud their griping groans,  
When masters plaints may have no power to end?  
No, no, deep dole our pensive sides would pierce.  
If we in tears our sorrows not rehearse.   

Then mourn with me my woeful fellows all,  
And tryll your tears your drooping cheeks adown:  
Gushe forth a gulf of griefs, let floods down fall,  
To wail her want, that sprang of high renown.  
Who whiles she lived, did sundry seek to aid,  
But Death, O Death, thou hast them all dismayed.   

The cheerful spring that doth each soil adorn,  
With pleasant shows, whereby delight is taken:  
Doth move our minds, alas the more to mourn,  
Our Lady lost in source of sorrows shaken.  
Which lo in Ver to heaven hath ta'en the way,  
To her great gain, but oh to our decay.   

If Prince's love, if husband's care or Coin,  
If Noble friends, if proof of Physics lore:  
By long attempt could sickness undermoyne,  
Or search of foreign soil might health restore.  
We should not yet have seen the son to vade,  
Whose clipsed light, hath turned our shine to shade.   

But when the twyste of this our fyme is wownde,  
No means by man may serve the same to stretch:  
Our lots are laid, our bodies have their bound,  
Time swiftly runs with short and cureless breach.  
Though world we wield in seat of Princely sway,  
Yet swerves our state, as shade that slides away.   

The glittering shows of highest glory here,  
Consumes to nought, like clouds dispersed with wind:  
And all that Nature from the earth doth rear,  
Returns again, whence first it came by kind:  
But virtues web, which lo this Lady spun,  
Shall last for ay, new these her days be done.   

Her praise on earth like Palm shall flourish still,  
Her Noble deeds shall live and never die:  
Her sacred steps that sought each vice to kill,  
Shall mount aloft, though low in earth she lie.  
Who even when latter pangs oppressed her most,  
Did mercy crave in yielding up the Ghost.   

What would you more, her life and death was such,  
As deeper head could not commend to much.    

Ultimum vale.  

FArewell thou Pearl that Princes favour found,  
Farewell the Saint that shielded our annoy:  
Farewell the Haven whose harbour was full sound,  
Farewell the Bark that brought her Chieftain joy.   

Farewell thou Spouse to him that held thee dear,  
Farewell the Lamp that gave such gladsome light:  
Farewell of modest Dames a Mirror clear,  
Farewell the shrine where virtue shined bright.   

Farewell thou mind that mente to no wight ill,  
Farewell the heart that lodged honour aye:  
Farewell the hand that helped the needy still;  
Farewell the staff that sought the weak to stay.   

Lo here in tears my last farewell I take,  
What Heavens will have, the earth must needs forsake.    

¶ In adversity, is best seen Virtues excellency.  

WHen Boreas rough, had leavelesse left each free,  
And hoary Hiems 'gan his reign to hold:  
In walking forth, I might discern and see,  
A stately Palm, her branches green unfold.  
At sight whereof, when I a time had mused,  
By malice means, I saw the tree abused.   

I saw how swelling Envy in the top,  
Sat shrouded close, embracing slanders cup:  
By whom stood Hate, aye ready priest to crop,  
Each springing spray, so soon as they shot up.  
And Flattery eke, did fiske from place to place,  
By Sinon's art, to seek the Palms disgrace.   

As Tennis Ball, yet make the highest bound,  
When greatest power is placed to press the same:  
Or as a Bell sends forth the brimmest sound,  
When deepest down the Ringer plucks the frame.  
Even so in sort, this Tree did rise and spring,  
That Envy sought by burden low to bring.   

Which to your virtues may allude right well,  
Though Malice faint, to match you with her might:  
Yet few so sure in these our days do dwell,  
That Envy never spurns with deep despite.  
If such than be, or if hereafter shall,  
The Gods grant you, as to the Palm doth fall.    

¶ Sorrow disclosed, somewhat eased.  

scythe kindled coals close kept, continue longest quick,  
And secret smart with greater power, the pensive mind doth prick.  
Why should I cloak the grief, from whence such passions grow,  
Unless my brain by Pen I purge, my breast they overflow.  
When night with quiet pause, each creature calls to rest,  
Through quelling cares & pinching thoughts, I lie so sore oppressed,  
That from my settling down, until the time I rise,  
Sleep hardly wins the force to close, my watchful drooping eyes.  
The Skrich Owl me beside, her doleful tunes doth shréeke,  
Whose cries my cares may represent, that rest in vain do seek.  
To think on the mishaps, which daily me betide,  
When surest hope of sweet redress, I see away doth slide.  
The hardest heart by proof, doth yield an inward pant,  
When good desires are depressed, by wrack of Irus want.  
Want makes best natures fall, that else would upright stand:  
Want makes the valiant faint in fears, though strong be heart & hand.  
Want drowns in dolor deep, the pleasant'st wits that be,  
Want daunts the finste conceited head, and makes it dull we see.  
Want makes the old wife trot, the young to run outright,  
Want makes the noblest heart & mind, to seem but base in sight.  
Want makes the Lion stout, a slender pray to leek,  
Want plucks the Peacocks plume adown, want makes the mighty meek  
Want is the source whence sorrows spring, that hasts the life's decay,  
Want loads the heart with heaped cares, that crush all joys away.  
Need hath no law some say, extremes, extremes do urge,  
The passions that by want do pain, what physic well may purge?  
Unhappy is the hour, that such sharp sickness brings,  
And thrice unhappy is the wretch, whom want so deadly stings.  
Ay me that such sour sauce, false Fortune should procure,  
When slily forth she seems to throw, her train on golden lure.  
By sleight whereof she doth, a piercing poison place,  
Full closely couched on pleasant bait, to work our more disgrase.  
As I but lately tried, who do her guile so fast,  
That secretly I sup the smart, that my good days defaced.  
The time that I began to enter first to life,  
Would God the sister's three had cut, the thread with fatal knife.  
Would God that Death had been, with bow and arrows bent,  
To pierce the woeful heart of mine, which now with care is spent.  
Whose hard and crooked fate, increasing every hour,  
Doth force me wake when others sleep, where Fortune doth not lower.  
And when the dawning day, I do perceive and see,  
And how sir Titan vaunts himself, full brave in first degree,  
Whose gladsome golden beams, do move each thing to joy,  
Save only me, whose wrackful woes, have wrought my sad annoy.  
Then from my couch I creep, all clad with cloak of care,  
And forth to walk in desert woods, myself I do prepare,  
Where none but woeful wights, do wandering wail their grief  
Where violence doth vengeance take, where never comes relief.  
Where pleasure plays no part, nor wanton life is led,  
Where dainty looks no danger makes, nor nice desire is fed.  
Where former joys do vade, and turn to passions strange,  
Where all delights condemned are shut, in sharp repentance grange  
Where settled sorrows sits, with head hanged on her breast,  
And wrings her hands for follies past, her present pains that priest.  
Where Dolour ruthful Dame, with sad Despair doth dwell,  
Where Furies fierce do swarm & flock, not distant far from Hell.  
Even there in doleful Den, drive forth I do the day,  
Whereas my painful piercing woes, at no time find delay.  
Within whose troubled head, such throng of thoughts do rise,  
That now on this, and then on that, in mind I still devise.  
Among great thoughts thrown up, I down will set the least,  
How silly bird in prison penned, ta'en from the Nurse in nest.  
Doth joy in that her life, so much as though she might,  
From wood to wood, or field to field, at pleasure take her flight.  
By whom I learn how man, from Cradle aye brought up,  
In base estate that never felt the taste of pleasures Cup,  
Doth hold himself so well, content with his degree,  
That he in life doth seldom seek, his state more high to see.  
But I as Bird unlike, that flew in prime her flight,  
Through gallant groves & fertile fields, in joys & sweet delight.  
Which shall no sooner feel herself to be restrained,  
From her such wont liberty as sometime she retained,  
But forthwithall she doth, such inward woe conceive,  
That yielding up her pleasures past, her life therewith doth leave.  
When as the bird in Cage, doth sporting sing and play,  
Who never found the place wherein, she felt more happy day.  
Lo thus the greater oft, are taught by things but small,  
To know what restless grief it breeds, from fortune's grace to fall.  
I therefore wish my life, which all to long doth last,  
In simplest sort had ever been, from time to time ypaste.  
So I by custom should, have liked my present pay,  
Which now by taste of wrackful change, in woe do waste away.    

Omnis fortuna super and a ferendo est. Of sufferance comes ease.  

WHo wails at pain of sorrows deadly smart,  
By wailing much increaseth sorrows might:  
In greatest griefs who shows the quiets heart,  
By patience drives sharpst grief to speedy flight.  
Repine, grief grows, be still, grief soon decays:  
Sufferance the salve for grief at all assays.   

As Balls if thrown 'gainst stones do soon rebound.  
But fast they stick, if cast they be at dirt:  
So griefs nought harm where yielding none is found:  
Once faint, and then they cause some mortal hurt.  
By proof and trial, this most true we find,  
Lest hurt by grief is done to stoutest mind.   

Patience and stoutness lodged in thy breast,  
Shall void from thence, grief sorrow and unrest.   
A. M. Vt animo, sic amico.   

¶ H. His Reply to his friend. A. M.  

THe healthful wight, with pleasure well may sing,  
And courage hie to cheer the sick may show:  
But if disease his happy state should sting,  
Those lofty tunes would faint and fall more low.  
For Turret's tops that seems to reach the Skies,  
By thundering storms to shievers small are shaken,  
The strongest hold where stoutest Soldiers lies,  
maugre their might, more greater force hath taken.  
The soundest ship long tossed with tempest, leaks,  
In Wrestling winds, the hugy Cables fail:  
The brazen piece surcharge with powder breaks,  
And valiant hearts over whelmed in woe, do quail.  
The craggy Clyftes by floods are fret at length,  
The hardened steel obeys the hammers stroke,  
The stiffest bow still bent, doth lose his strength,  
Base Fortune's blows, all joy likewise doth choke.  
How may he then possess a quiet mind,  
That cause of rest doth séelde or never find.    

¶ H. to himself.  

WHom destiny shall deny,  
A happy life to find:  
Why should he wailing lie,  
With pensive heart and mind.  
What gain by mourning got,  
What lost by little care:  
When needs must light to lot,  
What destiny doth prepare.    

¶ Written to a most excellent Book, full of rare invention.  

Go learned book, and unto Pallas sing,  
Thy pleasant tunes that sweetly sound to high  
For Pan to reach, though Zoilus thee doth sting,  
And lower at thy laud, set nought thereby.  
Thy maker's Muse in spite of envies chin,  
For wise devise, deserved praise shall win.   

Who views thee well, and notes thy course aright,  
And syftes each sense that couched is in thee:  
Must needs extol the mind that did thee dight,  
And wish the Muse may never weary be.  
From whence doth flow such pith in filled phrase,  
As worthiest wit may joy on thee to gaze.   

How much they err, thy rare event bewrays,  
That stretch their skill the Fates to overthrow:  
And how man's wisdom here in vain seeks ways,  
To shun high powers that sway our states below.  
Against whose rule, although we strive to run,  
What love foresets, no humane force may shun.   

But all to long, thou hidste so perfit work,  
Seest not desire, how feign she seeks to find:  
Thy light but lost, if thou in darkness lurk?  
Then show thyself and seem no more unkind.  
Unfold thy fruit, and spread thy masters praise,  
Whose prime of youth, grave deeds of age displays.   

Go choice conceits, Minerva's Mirror bright,  
With Rubies rich fret, wrought by the wise:  
Pur●●ed with Pearl, and decked with delight,  
Where pleasure with profit, both in their guise.  
Discourse of Lovers, and such as sold sheep,  
Whose saws well mixed, shrouds mysteries deep.   

Go yet I say with speed thy charge deliver,  
Thou néedst not blush, nor fear the foil of blame:  
The worthy Countess see thou follow ever,  
Till Fates do fail, maintain her Noble name.  
Attend her will, if she vouchsafe to call,  
Stoop to her state, down flat before her fall.   

And ever thank thou him, that first such fruit did frame,  
By whom thy praise shall live, to thy immortal fame.    

¶ Where Sorrow is settled, delight is banished.  

THe Sable sad be wrapped hath my limbs,  
(A suit most fit for one replete with grief.)  
Whose strained heart in source of sorrow swims,  
Where wrackful woes at no time find relief.  
Whose food is fear, whose drink is dolour deep,  
Whose sauce is sighs, whose taste sharp passions are:  
Whose rest is ruth, where sorrows never sleep,  
Whose comfort clipsed is with clouds of care.  
Whose help is frozen, whose hap hath hard event,  
Whose hope is quelled with clog of cold despair:  
Whose trust is tired, whose toil in vain is spent,  
Whose pensive plaints but beat the barren air.  
Where nought I find, but drugs of bitter taste,  
Whose doleful days in dark annoy do waste.    

¶ The complaint of a sorrowful wight, found languishing in a Forest.  

WHen spring in lively green, each field hath decked anew,  
And strowde the soil with flowers sweet of sundry kinds of hew.  
What time the cheerful buds, & blossoms brave in fight,  
Invites the weary dulled mind, abroad to take delight.  
Then I by fancy led, a time to sport and play,  
To Forest fair of pleasant air, began to take the way.  
And as I passed through out a Ualley fair and green,  
Where sundry sweet & rare delights, I erst had heard & seen.  
All whuste I found it tho, such silence was there kept,  
As if it midnight than had been, and all thing sound had stepped.  
Whereat amazed I stood, and listening long, might hear,  
At last a doleful sounding voice, with low lamenting cheer,  
In shrubs hard shrouded by, a woeful wight there lay,  
Whose corpse through care & linger grief, was wellnigh worn away.  
Where pouring out his plaint he cursed the time, and when  
That first on earth he placed was, to lead his life with men.  
Whose self-love séemth so sweet, that friendship yields no taste,  
And double dealing gains such price, that plainness is displaced.  
Alas, quoth he the Babes, one womb brought forth and bare.  
Will now object, what are we bound, the one to others care.  
Whereas good nature bids, go meet thy friend's distress,  
And bear some part of his mishap, that he may bear the less.  
If friend to friend thus do, who faster friend should be,  
Then he (alas) in thy distress, that nought will do for thee.  
Ah woeful man he saith, thy lot hath fallen thee so,  
That source of sorrows thee besets, with waves of wailful wo.  
When he where favour most, thou shouldst by nature find,  
Doth causeless shake thee of in care, & shows himself unkind.  
O wretch in dolour drenched, O mind with moan oppressed,  
O gulf of grief, O sea of sighs, that strain the pensive breast.  
If well by Pen thou couldst, thy present passions show,  
The harl that hardened now remains, would soon relent I know.  
But sith my hap is such, as reap may no redress,  
Come forth you Forest Driads all, your mournful Tunes express.  
Draw near you Satyrs four, and strain your doleful cries,  
To wail the woes of him (alas) in languor deep that lies.  
Be witness woods and Fields, ye Trees record my bale,  
You Naides eke that haunt the Springs, repeat my woeful tale.  
And say unto the wight, that bides unfriendly bent,  
How death would be so sweet to me, as joy to his content.  
For better 'twere of both, then restless still remain,  
By ending quite my loathed life, to end my linger pain.  
Here sparing further speech, aside he cast his eye,  
And finding me, as one dismayed, away he sought to fly.  
Whose will when I perceaude, to shun my sight full bent,  
I to him stepped, and asked the cause, that moved him to lament.  
Whereto no word he gave, but stands like one amazed,  
And with a strange and ghastly look, long time on me he gazed.  
His face was thin and lean, his colour dim as lead,  
His cheeks were wan, his body weak, his eyes deep sunk in head.  
His heart strained, his mind tossed, his wit with woe near worn,  
A rueful thing it was (alas) to view him so forlorn.  
With deep fet sigh from breast, sent forth by inward pain,  
His feeble voice and faltering tongue, he 'gan at last to strain.  
And thus to me he said: O what art thou in woe:  
Me Miser wretch that here dost find, with grief perplexed so?  
Whose present state to learn, why dost thou thus require?  
Small gain to thee, great pain to me, to yield so thy desire.  
Yet scythe against my will, thine ears have heard the plaint,  
Which in this desert place I passed, to ease my breast attaint.  
Thus much at thy request, I further will reveal,  
As for the rest this corpse of mine, for ever shall conceal.  
Whom erst a friend I found, me causeless hath forsaken,  
What wouldst thou more this is the sum, that I with sighs am shaken.  
But cruel fate I fear, doth force it so to be,  
Adieu farewell, let this suffice, inquire no more of me.  
Which said away he goes, God knoweth a woeful wight,  
And leaves me there with sorrow freight, that sought to take delight    

¶ Of Fancy.  

THe kindled sparks of fire, that Fancies motions move,  
Do force me feel, though I ne see, nor know not what is love.  
Desire on ruth doth run, embracing grief for game,  
Whose joy is like the Flies delight, that fries amid the flame.  
It yields and mercy craves, yet wots not who makes wars,  
The only thing it sees or knows, is one that love prefers,    

¶ Answer.  

YOu love belike to freeze amid the flame,  
To weep in joy, to joy in great distress:  
To laugh in tears, to leap and yet be lame,  
Midst grievous mirth & gladsome heaviness.  
To sink in dread, and not to seek redress,  
You Titius like do play this woeful part,  
You love the Gripe that tears upon your heart.    

¶ Ever sought, never found.  

THe more I strive, the stronger is my thrall,  
The stronger thrall, the weaker still mine aid:  
The weaker aid, the greater grief doth fall,  
The greater grief, the more with doubt dismayed.   

Where life I reach, there dolor bids me die,  
In sweetest soil, I strain the greatest Snake:  
My cares increase, when comfort draws most nigh,  
From dainty prey, I piercing poison take.   

Still pinned in told, I parched am with heat,  
As fire I fly, upon the flame I run:  
In swelting gleams, my chylly corpse I beat,  
Congealed to Ice, where shines the clearest sun.  
Lo thus I live, and living thus I die,  
drowned in despair, with hope advanced high.    

¶ A Poesy.  

THe valiant mind, by venture gains the Goal,  
Whiles fearful wights in doubt do blow the coal.    

¶ Answer.  

BUt wary wights, by wisdom shun the snare,  
When venturous minds through haste, are wrapped in care.    

¶ Every thing is as it is taken.  

SOme only for disport, a kind of mirth doth raise,  
For which of some they find dislike, of some they purchase praise.  
The Tale that some clout up, with rude uncivil sense,  
Doth more delight the ears of some, than sweetest eloquence.  
The Fool sometimes doth please, when wise aside are shake,  
Then true it is that every thing, is as men list it take.   

Who hath by knowledge skill, of every foot the length,  
Or can he always hit the mark, that draws the greatest strength  
Some carp at others facts, that nought themselves will view,  
And some by high disdain do seek, to mend Apelles' shoe.  
What some in others spurn, themselves would not forsake.  
But wily Fox from lofty vine, doth vow no grapes to take.   

A word paste forth in sport, to earnest oft doth turn,  
So where there was no fire before, great flames on sudden burn  
Not one man's children all, eches Nature is not leek,  
But who hath mean to measure will, shall give the greater gléeke.  
First look then leap, the blind doth run in many a brake,  
And each thing still by proof we see is as men list it take.   

Who so doth rule his rage, by wisdoms sacred skill,  
No doubt shall shun full great annoy, that follows rashness still.  
And who his tongue can stay, till place and time do serve,  
His mind at large may better speak and greater praise deserve.  
Though friends like friends would shade, the sun beams for thy sake.  
Yet all things are assuredly, as men them list to take.   

But all not friends in deed, of friendship's bounds that boasts,  
Take heed, no house may long endure, propped up which rotten posts.  
Some rotten are at heart, yet bears a friendly face,  
And under cloak of fawning shows, a Serpent's sting thembrace.  
'tis hard to know of whom we certain count may make,  
For though they smile, yet thee they deem, as they thee list to take.   

As they thee list to take, such shallbe their report,  
Malicious minds are ever priest against the virtuous sort.  
Be chary in thy choice, lest fraud thy faith abuse,  
Of sundry sects embrace the best, the flattering flock refuse.  
Thus warily run thy race, eschew the lurking Snake,  
Embrace the good, as for the rest, no force how they thee sake.    

¶ To his Lady of her doubtful answer.  

TWixt death and doubtfulness,  
Twixt pain and pensiveness,  
Twixt Hell and heaviness,  
Rests all my carefulness.   

O vain security,  
That will not liberty,  
Fie on that fantasy,  
That brings captivity.   

My life is loathsomeness,  
My pleasure pastimelesse,  
My end your doubtfulness,  
If you be merciless.   

In doubt is iealoste,  
Hope helpeth misery,  
Most women commonly,  
Have answers readily.    

¶ Help best welcome, when most needful.  

THe bitter smart that strains my mated mind,  
Through quelling cares that threat my woeful wrack:  
Doth prick me on against my will I find,  
To plead for grace, or else to pine in lack.  
As fainting soul sokt up with sickly pain,  
Prayeth Physics aid in hope of health again.   

Whilst Sea rooms serves, the shipman fears no foil,  
In quiet port there needs no Pilots Art:  
But when through weary winters tiring toil,  
Clear summers calms to careful clouds convartes.  
And streaming storms at hand do danger threat,  
Then Master's aid is sought in peril great.   

So I right Noble Peer and Lodestarre mine,  
Whose Pinnace small an upright course hath run:  
In service yours, am forced now in fine,  
Mine anchors worn, my sails and tackling done,  
In humblest wise your honours help to crave,  
My foredriven ship from swallowing up to save.   

You are the Haven whereon my hope depends,  
And I the Bark upon the dry shore driven:  
You eke the land that cheerful Pilotte lends,  
And I the wight, whom Seas to wrack hath given.  
What resteth then, if Harbour you deny,  
But that my ship must perish, sink and die?   

For now to late to sound some other shore,  
And he that hath and should by nature aid:  
Withdraws his hand, and saith he may no more,  
Lo thus alas, I live like one dismayed.  
betwixt death and doubt, still surgde upon the sand,  
Stayed up by hope to light on firmer land.   

But oh, O me, where Autumn fruitless slides,  
A barren hope to Hiems falls by kind:  
In Harvest time, whose travail nought provides,  
A nipping Winter shall be sure to find.  
So careless youth that wastes his years in vain,  
In age reputes bereft of hope or gain.   

As years increase, uncertain hope seems hard,  
When sickness sharp hath gathered greatest force:  
Then Physics cure doth seem a sweet reward,  
Which you may yield, if please you take remorse.  
My stepdame strange, I Fortune yet do find,  
Which makes me more to dread some wrack behind.   

For where I seek the depth of hope to sound,  
To help myself, and stay my credit still:  
To front my course, doth crooked hap rebound.  
Through such I fear, as ever mente me ill.  
Or else in state I stand the most accursed,  
(If service long me shroud not from the worst.)   

Though some be slow to reach relief at need,  
And with delays the matter will delate:  
Yet Noble mind than showeth itself in deed,  
By giving strength unto the weakened state,  
I seek no store to live and lie at rest,  
I wish but aid in that I am oppressed.   

Which if you grant, you shall great honour gain,  
And eke encourage those of younger days:  
With cheerful hope themselves & friends to strain,  
To serve a wight that so his servant stays.  
And I released from wrackful woes unrest,  
Will blaze your praise till life shall fail my breast.    

¶ Of the Golden world.  

THe golden world is passed saith some,  
But now say I that world is come:  
Now all things may for Gold be had,  
For gain of Gold, both good and bad.  
Now honour hie for Gold is bought,  
That erst of greater price was thought.  
For Gold the Fool aloft doth rise,  
And oft is placed above the wise.  
For Gold the subtle show their skill,  
For Gold the wicked win their will.  
For Gold who shuns to wrest a wrong,  
And make it seem as right and strong?  
Who spares to plead as pleaseth thee,  
If bring thou do a golden fee?  
The Fatherless is quite forgot,  
Where golden gifts do fall to lot.  
for Gold the Widow is oppressed,  
And rightful heirs are dispossessed.  
Poor Irus cause at door doth stand,  
If Croesus come with Gold in hand.  
What mischief may almost be thought,  
That now for Gold not daily wrought?  
A heap of ills for Gold are cloaked,  
Yea vice for Gold hath virtue chokte.  
For gain of Gold the Flatterer smiles,  
And on thee fawns with sundry wiles.  
I will not here through golden traps,  
Say lovers light in Ladies laps.  
But brief to be, what can you crave,  
That now for Gold you may not have?  
Then truth to tell, and not to fayne,  
Right now the golden world doth reign.    

¶ 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.  
Thou lifts aloft,  
Who late was low:  
By thee Fools oft,  
The wise overthrow.  
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.  
As I poor wight,  
By proof do see:  
Which gladly seek,  
That will not be.  
But well I were,  
If I might catch,  
white silver clear,  
Which all men snatch,    

¶ A. W.  

THe want of Coin so gripes my breast,  
That what to do I know not best,  
I trudge, I toil, I seek, I sue,  
But aye good hap bids me adieu.    

¶ Answer. H.  

IF nipping need Legittimus constrained,  
in hand to gripe the heavy Hammer great:  
With which through want his Princely corpse he pained.  
on stithy hard, in Vulcan's trade to beat.  
If he (I say) of crowned king the son,  
〈◊〉 by fate was forced such bitter blasts to bide:  
Despair not thou thy wrackful race to run.  
for wealth as shade from each estate doth slide.  
Pluck up thy heart, thy hap not yet so hard,  
since Princes great have felt a fall more deep:  
King Dionise from regal rule debarred,  
for his relief a Grammar school did keep.  
By which thou mayst thy wandering mind suffice,  
That Fortune's wheel now up, now down doth rise.    

¶ Of Friends.  

AS fire doth fine and separate Gold from dross,  
And shows the pure and perfit from the vile:  
Right so is tried, when nipping storms do toss,  
A faithful friend, from such as mean but guile.  
Whylste Fortune smiles, and thou no want dost feel,  
Of friends no doubt thou shalt have heaped store,  
But if she once do whirl aside her wheel,  
They slink away, as though unknown before.  
Like Doves that leave the old and ruinous tower,  
And flocking fly to buildings brave and new:  
So feigned friends, when fortune seems to lower,  
Their flight do take, and bids thee strait adieu,  
Thus he which erst had friends on every side,  
Not having one, alone doth now abide.    

¶ Answer. E. L.  

IF perfit trial might as soon be had,  
Of perfit men, as of the pure Gold:  
It were not hard to know the good from bad,  
Their difference soon might easily then be told.  
For Fire less than in an hours space,  
Will find the fault of Gold, and make it plain,  
But men have means to counterfeit such grace,  
That they will ask at least a year or twain.  
And yet at last will not be tried at all,  
For some perchance will bide a toutch or two,  
And will not seem to fly when you shall fall:  
But offer you what they and theirs can do.  
Yet not so sound as they should be in deed,  
But make a means to make you serve their need.    

¶ Reply to the same.  

THat longer time the Friend than Gold should try,  
I never yet denied nor would defend:  
How feigned friends do fail, if fate do wry,  
Is total sum whereto my tale doth tend.  
For every thing hath certain time I know,  
The full effect to work of Nature's charge,  
The tender twig in time a tree doth grow,  
And little Babes in time do prove more large.  
Some fruit scarce ripe, when some do drop away,  
Some bloume, some bear according to their kind,  
Some soon shoot up, some longer space do stay,  
Each taketh the time that Nature hath assigned.  
The Marble stone in time by watery drops  
Is pierced deep, and eke in time doth fall,  
The stately towers with fine and curious tops,  
For time in time, no doubt tries all in all.  
Which trial first, occasion seeks to make,  
As fire by heat the Gold doth fine and pure,  
In need likewise occasion men shall take,  
A friend to try, from such as stand unsure.  
But some a time will seem to stay say you,  
And after fail, perceiving further need:  
No doubt you here have aimed the mark to true,  
For such is sure the fruit of subtle seed.  
These friends are like to one that undertakes,  
To run the race, whereby to gain the praise:  
Who running well, at first, on sudden slakes,  
And in the midst his race leaves off and stays.  
Not aye doth prove the glorious morning show  
The fairest day, ne all that shines is gold:  
And therefore friends in deed are hard to know,  
For some a storm or two, like friendship hold.  
The flowers yet in time from weeds appear,  
Whose difference first in spring we scarce discern,  
The sun o'ercast with cloud in time doth clear,  
And eke in time our friends from such we learn.  
For as one touch or two no perfit proof  
Doth make of friends, no more doth Gold one heat.  
Yet time us tells who links, who lies aloof,  
Who birds doth yield, and who the bush doth beat.  
Wherefore I end, as Gold by fire is tried,  
So friends by proof at needful times are spied.    

¶ Another way.  

WHen once you have false fortunes fickle wheel,  
perceived with pain, and tried with troubled toil:  
The sound to see, and forged friend to feel,  
it is not hard, for falsehood hath the foil.  
If then you find that Fortune stands your foe,  
let wisdom weld your wit, and all your ways:  
So feigned friends their faith that do forego,  
shall be ashamed, and you attain to praise.  
For though the wheel with care do cast you down,  
Yet Pallas plays, when Fortune false doth frown.    

¶ To his Friend M. S.  

IF friendship true be tried when wealth doth fail,  
from such as fayne, and flee if fortune dower:  
If he a friend that seems not then to quail,  
but seeks to help and aid his friend to power.  
My Staplee then a friend thou art in deed,  
That helps thy friend in time of nipping need.    

¶ In mediocrity, most safety.  

AS mean in Music soundeth best,  
So mean estate lives most in rest.  
The higher clymde, the fall more deep,  
The deeper fall, the doubler pain,  
Declining pain doth careful keep,  
In man each lively limb and vain.  
Which proves what change or chance do fall,  
Contented mean exceedeth all.    

¶ To the same.  

THe high estate is dangerous,  
The poor degree is burdenous.  
The wealthy sort are covetous,  
The needy soul is dolorous.  
The youthful Imps are prodigal.  
The aged be to riches thrall.  
The bolder men foolehard ye-call,  
And fearful wights are dastards all.  
Then ill eschew, embrace things clean,  
Well far the sweet and golden mean.    

¶ That valiant hearts are desirous to aspire.  

Each valiant heart and Noble mind,  
with leftie courage high:  
The mighty Mountain seeks to scale,  
and lets the Molehill lie.    

¶ Answer.  

THe mounting mind that hasts to climb,  
when Fortune whirls her wheel:  
With double dolour is depressed,  
if down he chance to reel.    

¶ Another way.  

TO climb to high must needs be nought,  
the fear to fall doth breed disease:  
To sink to low brings careful thought,  
despairing pain can never please.  
The golden mean gives quiet rest,  
Who lives between extremes doth best.    

¶ To his Friend E. R. of the Bee.  

WHere as thy mind I see doth mount,  
to build thy nest on high:  
I think it good in meaner sort,  
thy wings thou guide to fly.  
For lofty trees on Mountain tops,  
with every blustering blast  
Are shaken sore, when trees below  
do stand both firm and fast.  
The be whose force but feeble is,  
to Beasts of bigger power:  
Herself doth feed with Honey sweet,  
when greater taste things sour.  
Which proves the mean with mind content,  
more happy life we see:  
Than is to taste the sour, and sit  
in seat of high degree.  
From thorny shrubs and barren soil,  
sweet sap the Bee doth suck:  
When bigger beasts in fertile Fields,  
with nipping storms are stuck.  
And he within his simple Cell,  
doth dwell in safety sound:  
When such as seek to sail aloft,  
in dole are oft times drowned.  
Seek not therefore with troubled mind,  
at stately port to rive:  
But live content as doth the be,  
within his homely Hive.  
So shall thy food be Honey sweet,  
though Fortune smile or frown:  
And eke in safety shalt thou sit,  
when higher tumble down.    

¶ Sure counsel, sound friendship.  

OF lovers restless lives I list not write,  
Let learned heads describe their painful plight,  
But plain in terms, I wish thee even so well,  
As those that can fine Tales for Lovers tell.   

Whose friendly meaning if thou wilt receive,  
Detest disloyal love, to Virtue cleave,  
And seek by honest means thy state to stay,  
The virtuous life doth seldom bring decay.   

Count not the birds that undisclosed be,  
Weigh words as wind that yields no certainty,  
For polished words that deeds do never yield,  
May likened be unto the barren Field.   

provide in youth, thy aged years to keep,  
And let fair speech go lull the fond a sleep,  
Sir Machiavelli such cunning now hath taught,  
That words seem sweet when bitter is the thought.   

Whilst youth, strength, skill, wealth, friends & coin will stretch,  
Thou fair art borne, by many a guileful fetch,  
But if these helps but once begin to faint,  
Adieu farewell, cold comfort finds complaint.   

Take heed therefore, retire in time from those,  
To serve their turns, that teach their tongues to gloze.  
Whose golden shows, although do promise much.  
In proof fall out but Copper in the touch.    

¶ They perform not best, that promise most.  

WHat hold in hope, or trust to fair allure,  
She that my sweetest years beguiled can tell:  
By whom I learn there is no way so sure,  
Ne speedier mean to guide a man to hell.  
Lo, he that list such feigned hope to prove,  
Shall subject line, and near reign over love.   

The pleasure of her piercing eyes me thought,  
Should be the lights that lead to happiness:  
Alas I was to bold, but she more nought,  
To false such faith, and meaning nothing less,  
What heaven is hid in love, who seeks to see,  
Must sue and serve a better Saint than she.   

Though time hath stayed the rage of my desire,  
Yet doth her sight renew my festered wound:  
I curse she art that caused me to aspire,  
In hope of truth, where no trust could be found.  
But till my soul shall break this careful jail,  
Love may not mastered be, nor I prevail.    

¶ Beauty the bait of Vanity.  

A Flattering form hath shows that soon do pass,  
And vade away as doth the withered grass.  
The more it hastes to reach the ripest years,  
The more it faylth, and worse the form appears.  
Of pleasant Flowers, the Rose that hath no Peer,  
The Violets fresh, and lilies white and clear.  
Do not always retain their hew and sense,  
And flourish still with smell most redolente.  
So though thou seem of feature passing all,  
And bear'st the form and form as principal,  
Whose beauty shows, hath blazed thy shape in sight,  
Which thou in Glass to view, takest great delight.  
Yet time on poollisht form shall furrows plough,  
And writhed wrinkles peer on blemished brow.  
That loath thou shalt, to note thy changed hew,  
And hate thy form in Mirror bright to view.  
Lo Lady fair, that beauty is but vain,  
Experience shows, when Virtue void of stain,  
Doth flourish fresh, whom if thou do embrace.  
The more she grows, the greater is her grace.    

¶ Of Fortune.  

O Fortune false how double are thy deeds,  
Thy painted Flowers are nought in proof but weeds.  
Who are brought down, by thy most froward frowns,  
Still subject live, and trouble them redounds.  
To slipper haps annexed are their days,  
To lions force, their bodies are but prays.  
What so they win by merit or desert,  
Is from them rest, by power that doth subvert.  
Now wealthy men do tell the wisest tales,  
And muck is made an equal weighing schales.  
No reason yet, but right should be of force,  
And virtue would that want should find remorse.  
But as the tossed Bark bides better bliss.  
And sharpest thrall in time released is,  
And as the feeble reeds are rent by Seas,  
Yet spring again, when swelling waves appease.  
So hope I will, though now the ebb be low.  
A spring in time with former course may flow.    

¶ A Sonnet.  

IF weighty burdens may be light,  
Or fair denial det requite:  
If Justice can be termed error,  
Or dross for good and perfit treasure.  
If may may be without delight,  
Or Snow of other hew than white,  
If Cunning can be without skill,  
Or women without headstrong will,  
If Pardon where there is no sin,  
Or Loss where every man doth win,  
If Paradise in Hell you see,  
Or silent whereas women be.  
Then shall not Love be termed hate,  
Nor low degree the happiest state,  
But all this must prove contrary,  
And therefore Love is Loyalty.  
Flee it, and it will flee thee,  
Fellow it, and it will follow thee.    

¶ To her Lover, that made a conquest of her, and fled, leaving her with child.  

AT strife to whom I might,  
commit my secret tears:  
My heart the Mountains sight,  
and hollow Echo fears.   

I doubt the Dryads,  
amids the Forest chase,  
And thinking on the Seas,  
I dread the Marmayds' grace.   

What shall I trust the Skies?  
then me the winds bewray:  
Poor soul whom jove denies,  
each caitiff doth betray.   

Ha heavy heart, thy meed,  
O tell, tell out thy mind:  
Ponder his filthy deed,  
that left his shame behind.   

And like a Coward fled,  
fearing the child unborn:  
Whose mother he should wed,  
that hath the Babe forsworn.   

Was ever Maid so mad,  
that might her faith forego?  
Was ever boy so bad,  
to use a maiden so?   

His tears did me beguile,  
and clean oppressed my power,  
As doth the Crocodile,  
in seeking to devour.   

How could I well deny,  
when needs it must be so:  
Although a shameful I,  
should have a shameful no.   

O faithless friend my guylte,  
that first with guile began:  
O foolish friend that spilt,  
her mirror on the man.   

What hath thy Country done,  
or native soil avoid:  
To force thee it to shun,  
wherein thy Lover joyed.   

No foreign Haven can hide,  
ne colour thine intent:  
If life in Babe abide,  
that doth thy fault present.   

And when thy fame hath worn,  
within th' Italian cost:  
Thou shalt be laughed to scorn,  
of them that loud thee most.   

The Gods will have a share,  
in giving him his hire:  
That faithless falsely swore,  
and proved himself a liar.   

And I thy mortal foe,  
by filthy lust beguiled:  
To wreak me of my woe,  
will slay thy silly child.   

In stead of quiet grave,  
wherein his corpse should rest:  
Thy Imp his hearse shall have,  
in bowels of a beast.   

My dainty tamed womb,  
that to thy share befell:  
Shall find no doubt a tomb,  
amids the maids in hell.    

¶ Being burdened to fayne his good will, he answereth thus.  

IF mine thy little care,  
if thine my restless state,  
If thine the brunts in breast I bear,  
of mine to love or hate.  
Then try thou shouldst to true,  
that falsshood nought did frame:  
Though now my smarts thou list not rue,  
but makes my grief thy game.  
But out alas I die,  
this change is nothing so:  
For I in languish still do lie,  
and fawn on thee my foe.  
Who smiles to see my smart,  
and laughs when I do weep:  
Regarding nought my faithful heart,  
yet from me dost it keep.  
Thus heart to feign unskilde,  
in being whole is broke:  
In health is hurt, alive is killed,  
by dint of dolours stroke.  
And being mine, is stolen,  
and led by liking lust:  
Doth leave the way of certain stay,  
and lean to tickle trust.  
Thou sayest I do not love,  
would God thou didst not lie:  
Such fond affects may nothing move,  
such one thou sayest as I.  
The Sages sure were wise,  
yet forced now and then:  
By flashing flames of Cupid's fire,  
to she we themselves like men.  
Dame Nature's force will show,  
what so therefore befall:  
'tis sure my simple state so low,  
thou dost mislike with all.  
My thoughts do mount on high,  
though Fortune seem but base:  
Whose yielding walls before thee lie,  
to rear or down to raze.    

¶ Change of Country, shall not change fancy.  

TO sift my fate in foreign soil,  
a time though I depart:  
Yet distance none, ne time, nor toil  
shall pluck from thee my heart.  
But as I erst unfeignedly,  
have vowed me wholly thine:  
So will I stand assuredly,  
how ere the world incline.    

¶ Where ability faileth, will sufficeth.  

IF knowledge mine could compass willing will,  
To sound her fame, so well as deeds deserve:  
Or if in Verse by praise of Poet's skill,  
I able were to write what I reserve.  
Then should my pen put forth what now I hold,  
And to the world her virtues rare unfold.   

But sith in me such sacred lore doth fail,  
I leave the same to Sophos learned brain:  
As one whose bare and naked Muse doth quail,  
To undertake her glory to explain.  
Lest lack of skill that might in me appear,  
Should eclipse the light which now doth shine so clear.   

A perfit Pearl itself doth show so well,  
That nought it needs a foil to blaze the same:  
Her praise likewise, the rest doth so excel,  
That finer wits will spread her Noble name.  
What should I then upon her feature stand,  
Which shows itself like sun against the sand?   

Her curious shape, who views and doth not praise,  
In Noble mind she second is to none:  
Not Fortune, but deserts, her fame doth raise,  
For Fortune bows to virtues lofty throne.)  
Where lo she settled sits, in seat so bright,  
As Hesper clear with gleams of glittering light.    

¶ Man's impiety, feigns false Deity.  

LUst long is fain a God of love to be,  
Whose peevish power some deem is dangerous.  
A cunning Archer that could never see,  
Set forth he is, with shafts right perilous.  
A wanton winged boy forsooth he is,  
And Venus son, whom she doth clip and kiss.   

Down from the Heavens he shoots the flaming darts,  
That Fancy quickly burns with quenchless fire:  
Bereaving Reason quite in all her parts,  
Preferring will with doting fond desire.  
Is this a God? no, no, a Devil sure,  
To filthy lust that doth the weak allure.   

For Gods to Virtue, not to vices win,  
Their powers provoke to good and not to ill:  
'tis 'gainst their kind to foster filthy sin,  
Each heavenly grace, doth heavenly gifts fulfil.  
Then you that fain Dan Cupid is a God,  
recant in time, lest jove reach forth his rod.    

¶ In love small jars, sometime breed best content.  

WHat state more sweet, more pleasant or more high,  
Then loves delight, where hearts do jointly joy?  
If vile suspect, fear and jealousy,  
With gawling grudge did not the same annoy.  
Yet where this sour, with sweet some deal doth blend,  
loves perfection oft it doth amend.   

For thirst the water savoury makes to seem,  
And after fasting, meat is had in price:  
He knows not peace, nor can thereof esteem,  
That in the wars hath never broke the Ice.  
Hope is revived, and shakes of sorrows past,  
When service long doth reap reward at last.   

distance of Friends may suffered be with ease,  
When safe return exiles each former fear:  
The farther of, the more doth meeting please,  
Things hardly had, obtained, are holden dear.  
Despair not then, though eyes debarred be,  
From that fair sight, the heart doth hourly see.    

¶ What Nature severeth, Art hardly joineth.  

IN faith doth frozen janus double face,  
Such favour find, to match with pleasant may:  
May Hoary Hiems now sweet bliss embrace,  
Where fertile june by flat repulse had nay.  
No surely no, though jealous heads misdeem,  
A false untruth to me they soon doth seem.   

For Frost with Fire may never long agree,  
And May by course ought maintain Venus right:  
When shivering janus doth deny we see,  
The pleasing sport that May would most delight.  
Then jealous slander shut thy chaps for shame,  
Deprave them not, whose deeds are void of blame.   

Since sprinkling showers of sweet Aurora's flood,  
In Hiems reign are dried up with cold:  
Whose Silver drops bedews the blowming bud,  
And makes the fertile foil her fruit unfold.  
Who can believe? not I, I vow in deed,  
That janus old should gain such youthful meed.    

¶ He wisheth well to the Crab and Maple Tree in Milfeelde, for the Lady's sake that met there under them.  

THe cheerful bird that skips from tree to tree,  
By shilfull choice doth rooust and rest at night:  
Although by wing and will he may go free,  
Yet there he pearkes, where most he takes delight.  
As Thrush in thorn, and golden Finch in Fearne,  
Great birds in groves, the small in bushy hedge:  
The Lark allow, in lofty tree the Hearne,  
And some in Fen, do shroud themselves in sedge.  
So some men boast in Bays, whose branch they bear,  
Some Hawthorne, hold, as chief of their delight:  
Some woeful wights, the wreathed Willows wear,  
Some Roses reach, and some the lilies white.  
Some Plane tree praise, as greet Darius' son,  
Whose oft recourse thereto, doth well express,  
That virtues rife therein this Prince had won,  
To like the same above the rest I guess.  
The Oliander eke, whose Roselike flower,  
Fair Polyxena so passing well did please:  
Some lift aloft, and some the Pien pure,  
Yet trees I know that far surmounteth these.  
Not for their dainty fruits, or odours sweet,  
Ne yet for sumptuous she we that others yield:  
But for the Lady's sakes, which there did meet,  
I give them praise as chiefest in the field.  
O happy trees, O happy boughs, whose shade  
I shrouded hath such Noble virtuous wights:  
By whom you were, and are a Mirror made,  
Who of yourselves do yield no great delights.  
O fertile ground, in yielding wise that lends,  
Such causes great of Ladies perfit joys,  
O blissful place so fit for faithful friends,  
In pleasures rife, to rid them from annoys.  
What wonder may it he, to those shall hear,  
In Maple hard, or crooked Crabbe tree sour:  
Such sugared talk, such jests, such joyful cheer,  
Such mild affects, as if 'twere Cupid's bower?  
Now sith these Noble Nymphs ybreathed have,  
Upon these plants, in uttering forth their mind:  
If any seek their secrecy to crave,  
High jove I pray these trees may she we their kind.  
Help Satyrs eke, you Gods that keep the wood,  
The poisoning breath of Boreas rowh resist:  
And thou whose silver drops bedews each bud,  
Refresh these trees with sweet Aurora's mist.  
And jove if thou in Milféelde show thy might,  
Convert them soon, to fruits of more delight.  
That Maple may be Mulberry,  
And Crabbe trëe eke a Meddler be.    

¶ Being charged with fineness, he answereth thus.  

NOt fine good Lady mine,  
but plain as plain may be:  
Your curious head may fivenesse frame,  
it longeth not to me.  
My simple meaning plain,  
not carved with mincing style:  
Unfeigned friendship seeks to show,  
devoid of fraud or guile.  
No Gnatos part I play,  
ne like Corebus true:  
By glozing words to seek to paint,  
or publish more than true.  
My chief delight to please,  
is all which I desire:  
With nising Nymphs I list not deal,  
whose looks aloft aspire.  
Plain truth aye yields such trust,  
as needs no fined phrase:  
And my delight hath less desire,  
Dame beauties beams to blaze.  
Whose hests in heart I hold,  
and will till time I die:  
Yet truth might truly match delight,  
with things that seem more high.  
But needless here to tell,  
What all men sees right well.  
Where niceness fine is fled,  
Doth virtue spring and spread.  
Let fineness then be placed▪  
Where finenosse is embraced.    

¶ Such Saints, such service.  

THy countenance changed, though clokt in covert sort,  
Not all things well, long since did make report.  
Though thou unkind, and twice unkind again  
To me thy friend, wouldst not impart thy pain.  
See yet at last, how time the truth hath told,  
What thou wouldst not, lo time doth here unfold.  
No doubtful drift whereon demur depends.  
So close is kept, that time not tries and ends.  
And art thou changed? doth fancy so persuade?  
To heap thy harm, do secret flames invade?  
Wilt thou from me so hide thy cause of pine?  
Hast thou forgot, I rest still wholly thine?  
Where is become thy manly mind, which late  
Can so dehort thy friend, in frail estate?  
May one so well approved in Pallas field,  
By view of simple piece, seem thus to yield.  
Shall Bussard blind, thy constant dealing daunt?  
Art thou so fond with carrion kite to haunt?  
Or wilt thou stoop, and bend thyself to serve,  
A thankless Trull, whose deeds right nought deserve?  
Whose peevish pride, descries the Peacocks grace,  
Though she God wots, be far more vile and base.  
nought else but want of wit, makes pride presume,  
The feet well viewed, down falls the Peacocks plume.  
Whose own conceit, so dims her dazzled sight,  
That deem she doth for day, the duskish night.  
To base she is for thee to lure and call,  
Though she by lofty looks would conquer all.  
Thy food to fine her filthy gorge to fill,  
Of dainty pray to judge, she hath no skill.  
By course of kind, she doth for carrion crave,  
Be ruled by me, her diet let her have.  
Do way the Kite, that so doth scratch and scowl,  
My Keeper keep hence forth some finer fowl.  
For look as vessel aye, yields certain taste  
Of liquor, such as first therein was placed.  
So dunghill birds, on dunghill still we find,  
To show the branch when first they came by kind.  
Cast of therefore thy care and changed cheer,  
Call home thy heart, let wonted plight appear.  
Hoist up thy sails, and launch from wrackful shore,  
Who runs on rocks, oft bruised is full sore.    

¶ I follow what flieth from me.  

Ivy we the fertile tree,  
but fruit I none may get:  
Most dainty food I see,  
yet starve for want of meat.   

Where drink stands me before,  
there greatest drought I take:  
My thirst increased the more,  
when most I would it slake.   

So hunger strives to feed,  
when hap withholds repast,  
So thirst craves drink with speed,  
when thrall saith stay a cast.   

Thus Tantal's toil I try,  
against the stream that row:  
As hope would heave me hié,  
despair doth sink me low.    

¶ No grief to want of due regard.  

WHere sorrow sunk in breast, hath sokt up every joy,  
What comfort there but cruel care, the source of sharp annoy?  
Adieu delightful days that wretch right well may say,  
Whose good endeavour made him dream, till waked which cold decay.  
Adieu deluding hope, that lulde thee so on sleep,  
As sleep thy senses so bereaude, that waking yet dost sleep.  
Sith all the fruit thou findest, for long employed pain,  
Falls out but brakes & brambles sharp, how mayst thou tears refrain.  
When ruth is made reward, for faith that favour sought,  
What heart can choose but pine away, in plaint & pensive thought?  
And curse each practice still, through drift of glozing guiles,  
That dandled on true meaning minds, by fraud & hellish wiles.  
To serve their turns till they, unto the bones are worn,  
And then on sudden shake them off, in greatest need forlorn.  
Most like the worms that feed upon the kernels sweet,  
Forsaking husk when food is spent, to perish under feet.  
So they the hearts of men, do gnaw in pieces sinale,  
When youth and coin are both consumed, that leaves them to their thrall.  
As some by to much proof, have tried all to true,  
Enforced to bid their golden time, so fruitless spent adiewe.    

¶ Of Anger.  

APoyson piercing to the death,  
A Traitor to the life:  
A Foe to friendship's constancy,  
a friend to deadly strife.  
Armed against good counsels force,  
weak in adversity:  
A spoiler of such guiltless blood,  
as is condemned by thee.  
A troubled wit, a reaklesse hand,  
a wrathful heart to spill:  
A partial Judge, a jealous wife,  
where anger hath her will.  
A wasteful purse, a greedy Foe,  
a false suspecting thing:  
A tickle stay, a proud disgrace,  
a cruel Serpent's sting.  
A whip to ease, a rack to rule,  
a fury to good rest.  
A black infecting Spring they say,  
that poisons man and beast.  
A hasty heat, a burning flame,  
a wild devouring whelp:  
A forceless wind, a fury short,  
and last a silly help.    

¶ A New years gift.  

L LOng may you live, and happy years enjoy,  
A Among your friends, to stay in blissful state  
D devoid of Foes, safe shrouded from annoy.  
I In all your works: God grant you happy fate,  
K Kindle your care to compass heavenly things:  
P Press down the world, let not his power prevail.  
E Esteem him not, a Sirens song he sings.  
M Most happy they, where most his flatteries fail.  
B Begin no act, but first foresee the end:  
R Reach forth your hand to help the needy still,  
O Observe such rules as may your state defend.  
O Offence forbear: fear ever to do ill.  
K know God and seek his holy hests to hold,  
E Example give, to make the good more bold.    

¶ Another.  

L LEt wisdom weld your wit and all your ways,  
A Among the best your credit 'twill enhance:  
D Detest each Vice, by Virtue purchase praise,  
I In Noble mould, a Noble mind advance.   

M March on with those 'gainst frail desires that fight,  
A And gain the Goal where glory great doth dwell▪  
R Resist each wrong, endeavour to do right,  
I Embrace good will of such as wish you well.   

S Suspend to deem the worst, what ever breed,  
A And poised each point before you verdict give,  
V Until you sift the depth of doubts in deed,  
I It skill shall show to let the matter live.   

L Last bear in mind as course doth change the year,  
E Even so all Nature's works in time do wear.    

¶ Another.  

L LAy down your Pens, that pen unworthy praise,  
A Aduaunsing Dames which nought may claim by right:  
D Direct your course a Lady's fame to raise,  
I In each respect that well deserves your light.  
G Grace is a gift divine given from above,  
C Cancel the scrolls that others praise pretend:  
A All writs are void that substance none do prove,  
V Virtue and blood, this Lady both commend.  
E Each perfit good in her doth firmly rest,  
N Noble by birth, by Nature affable,  
D Disposed well, all ill she doth detest,  
I In every action modest and stable.   

S Set shape aside, where Virtue hath no place,  
H Here shape and Virtue both are joined in Grace.    

¶ Another.  

T Time and trust doth try both weak and sure,  
O O blissful hap that trust in time may reach:  
T The patient's pain which sickness doth procure,  
H Hath health or onde, at last to be his leech.  
E Effects (alas) I see do fall out hard,  
L Lost labour reaps the crop of lingering grief,  
A And friendship's force, through falsehood is debarred.  
D Despite denies desert to reach relief,  
I I see some smile as they were girt with gladness,  
S Stayed up by hope, though ●●●ncht in deep despair:  
P Preferring sport, but daunted down with sadness.  
E Enjoying nought, yet feign to fly in th'air.  
K Kept far from you (God grant) all such almoye,  
E Embraced to be with them that live in joy.    

¶ An Epitaph.  

WHat hides this hearse but quiet silent rest,  
The surest end of his uncertain time:  
Whom neither sword, nor fire, nor age oppressed,  
But to his Ghost gave way, in haste to climb  
Aloft, lo here the justice of such fatal breath,  
To have a God the author of his death?  
faith and good nature, honour death and rise,  
The Noble heart procureth favour most,  
These marks, these flowers of his age are rise,  
Wherein both soul and sh●●●e may justly boast.  
Where his desires lodge, the Gods can tell,  
Here lieth the corpse that lived and died so well.    

¶ A Dream.  

TO climb the high and haughty hill,  
Where Poets press for praise by skill,  
I list no labour waste:  
The water Nymphs I never viewed,  
Nor Ladies of the Lake persewde,  
That poor Actaeon chaste:  
King Arthur's Knights long since are fled,  
In force that did excel,  
And all those Ladies now lie dead,  
Whose lives old Poets tell.  
Revealing, their dealing,  
I purpose not to write:  
But dreaming, a strange thing  
Lo here I do recite.   

A fair Pavilion finely pight,  
In sleep appeared in my sight.  
Amidst whereof in green and white,  
The Goddess sat of all delight,  
Be set about with Ladies true,  
Which did to her such service due.  
As few I deem, the like hath seen.  
I done to any earthly Queen.  
Her Nymphs all they were,  
Of such comely there,  
Helen's face, may give place,  
Where they appear.   

THese Ladies on this Goddess bright,  
Attendance gave both day and night,  
To work what she would will:  
Some sitting here, some standing there,  
As for the time they placed were,  
According to their skill:  
For Venus then in Majesty,  
Me thought at Banquet sat,  
Attended on most curiously,  
As best beseemed her state,  
Some serving,  
Some carving,  
In Office as they stood,  
Some playing,  
Some singing,  
With glad and cheerful mood.   

That sure me thought in Heaven I was,  
To see this sight it so did pass,  
But at the last, this Banquet past,  
Of Suitors than a Noble rout  
There did appear, with drooping cheer,  
Beseeching Venus them to hear,  
Who strait inclined, with willing mind  
To poise the plaints that each put out.  
Where withal knéelde down,  
A wight of renown,  
Who cried thus, O Venus,  
Let fate cease to frown.   

Have pity on her painful plight,  
Whose life is led without dellight,  
In sighs and sorrows still:  
My youth said she with age I waste,  
For wealth my Parents me so placed,  
God knoweth against my will.  
With that another stepped in place,  
And craved with wailing voice,  
O Noble Goddess of thy grace,  
Grant me my wished choice.  
Thus seeking, Dame liking,  
They call on Venus' high:  
Still suing, renewing,  
Their plaints with watery eye.   

Some out do cry on jealousy,  
And some of great uncourtesy,  
With tears complain, that find disdain  
Where they have loved faithfully.  
Another sort, do eke resort,  
exclaiming loud on false report,  
Whereby their fame, and Noble name  
Without desert, oft brute doth blame.  
And some Ladies say,  
Their Lords run astray,  
Whose wanting, and scanting  
Oft works their decay.   

AS thus in course each made his plaint,  
I woeful wretch through love attaint,  
In press myself did vaunt:  
And unto Venus as I thought,  
I hasted fast, and her besought,  
My Lady's love to grant.  
But out alas, even therewithal  
A sudden thundering noise:  
As heaven and earth should fail and fall,  
My spirits from sleep did raise.  
Then waking, heart aching,  
I languished lay in woe,  
Bewailing, the failing,  
Of wished purpose so.   

And to myself lo thus I said,  
What straunged sight hath me dismayed.  
May visions rare, or dreams declare.  
Such sudden change from joy to care.  
From great delight, such moaning cheer,  
May Goddesses abide to hear?  
No, no, nought else but fancy sure,  
My yielding heart doth lead and lure.  
Ay the wight to mind,  
Where love doth me bind,  
Whose servant, attendant  
The Gods me assigned.    

¶ Love asketh love.  

I Saw of late a woeful wight,  
That willow twigs did wind to wear:  
Whose face declared the pensive plight,  
Which he through love did present bear.  
He looked aloft as though he would  
Have climbed to the starry skies,  
But still he stood as though he could  
Not once lift up his heavy thighs.  
His feathered hands he forced forth,  
And thither fain he would have fled,  
But woeful man it was no worth,  
For all his limbs were lad with led.  
You are the bright and starry sky,  
I am the man in painful plight:  
My limbs are lad I cannot fly,  
My wings may not sustain my weight.   

I read how love did Gismond wound,  
The child of Tancred Salerne king:  
Her favour Guistarde constant found,  
She fancied else no other thing,  
For riches nought, nor for his wealth,  
Whereof he had but little store,  
His virtue was her only health,  
She liked that well, she sought no more,  
They had their hoped hap and joy,  
If Tancred could content him so,  
But he by working their annoy,  
Unto himself brought greatest wo.  
You are that Gismond fair and bright;  
Would I had Guistards virtuous life,  
And Tancred chaste clean out of sight,  
Then would I wish for such a wife.   

Some say how Luna loved one,  
Of low estate and little fame,  
By name yclept Endymion,  
Whose love was quite devoid of blame.  
In Laëmi hill it thus befell,  
She saw him sit all sad alone,  
'tis I (quoth she) I know full well,  
For whom he mourns and makes his moan.  
She shamed not of Laëmi hill,  
Nor yet of lovers simple state,  
But soon consenteth unto his will,  
And him did choose to be her mate.  
O Luna look upon thy Love,  
Endymion makes his moan to thee:  
Be not abashed, let pity move,  
That love for love may yeelden be.    

¶ The variable thoughts of a Lover.  

I Live in hope and yet despair,  
Rejoicing most when grief doth grow:  
I mount aloft above the air,  
Yet lead my life in Limbo low.   

I never seek, though much I find,  
Yet find I nought and still do seek:  
I see what best contents my mind,  
When most in mind I do misléeke.   

One holds me in captivity,  
So sure that I ne once may swerver:  
Albeit I live at liberty,  
As free from bands that I deserve.    

R. T.  

THe ship that late I saw bear lofty sail,  
Deep launched in the waves of waters wild:  
Whose courage stout I deemed no storm might quail,  
When I her viewed so fast and firmly field.  
With tempest tossed, is forced now sail to stréeke,  
And in her prime doth hovering harbour seek.    

¶ Answer.  

THough streaming storms, force ship to harbour haste,  
To whom the Seas with rigour great threats wrack:  
Whose cables cut, and anchors worn to waste,  
Is forced streeke sail in her so great a lack.  
When Neptune yet with Sceptre placed in hand,  
Shall calm the furious rigour of the Flood:  
This Ship repaired, may safely sail to land,  
Nought dreading Aeolus breath, that her withstood.  
So H. doth hope his Howlke such port shall find,  
When storms be past, as will content his mind.    

¶ Another way.  

LEt none mislike a man for his mishap,  
But think how chance doth check the greatest might:  
Aeneas he, Ulysses worthy wight,  
By land and seas, did danger great entrap,  
None for deserts are luide in Fortune's lap.  
Chance rolls us round, and reaks ne wrong nor right,  
Ne lewd is he on whom lewd luck doth light.  
Was not Jobe just, though soaked in sorrows lap.  
They err that deem all goes as men deserve,  
At length Aeneas ran his weary race:  
Ulysses eke and Jobe, God did preserve,  
So I poor wretch whom Fortune doth disgrace,  
Do hope thilk God will guide my crazed barge,  
Which beats the seas, whilst none of her takes charge.    

B. ¶ Godliness passeth riches.  

THe slender store that virtuous wights possess,  
More worth than is the wickeds great excess.  
Yet strange to see what soil some worldlings take,  
For riches vain, that soon will them forsake.  
Whose greedy guts, no reason may suffice,  
The muck on mould so blinded hath their eyes.    

¶ His answer to one that wrote, faint hearts that fear to sin, fair Ladies seldom win.  

HE much more valiant is,  
whose steps are slow to sin:  
Then who so seeks unlawful means,  
his Lady's love to win.  
And greater praise deserves,  
his will that can subdue:  
Than thou which boldly brags, to gain  
the thing thou well mayst rue.  
A pleasure short thou seekst,  
procuring lasting pain:  
A poison sweet thou dost embrace,  
that sundry wights have slain.  
A door that lets in Death,  
a scourge that whips the soul:  
A vice that Virtue overthrows,  
who doth it not control.  
A flame of burning fire,  
that reaves all reasons rules:  
A gulf of foul desire,  
that oft makes wise men fools.    

¶ To I. N.  

GOod will put forth my Pen in haste,  
and made me bold to crave:  
And Love lay on me sore to seek,  
that I suppose you have,  
Pleasure drew forth my doubtful care,  
and held my hand aright:  
And Use transported like a guide,  
the vain desire I wright.  
Hope flattered so these troubled thoughts,  
that comfort of the pain:  
Would force me to appose thy 〈◊〉,  
with fancies of the brain.  
Slow of itself my little skill,  
but that thy truth professed:  
Will pardon both my light offence,  
and grant this póore request.  
To tell if air may alter grief,  
or where like luck betide:  
Thyself, that under Country Havens,  
dost seek thyself to hide,  
And if love be, what thing it is,  
if not, what moves my pain:  
Good Nedham write, or come in haste,  
and I shall write again.    

¶ H. To his mishap.  

THe Galley slave that stirs the fléeting Ore,  
In foaming Seas, to cut the mounting wave:  
With heavy cheer doth wish the gladsome shore,  
In hope that end his thraldom then shall have.  
Or else doth hope amidst his pining woe,  
That ship will sink, and end his travel so.   

The sickly wight whom Fevers pinch full sore,  
With gasping breath, and panting heart in bed:  
And yields himself content with Nature's lore,  
Revoltes again, who was by hope misled,  
If vital breath yet chance to fail him than,  
Now past his pain, becomes a happy man.   

An end of woes these silly folk obtain,  
An end of thralls at length by ●●●●●●es they find:  
devoid of cares, and I as wretch remain,  
To whom alive the Gods above assigned.  
That living yet, a thousand times should die.  
And long time dead, unburied yet should lie.    

¶ Falsyfying of Faith, breeds many complaints.  

MY idle head retains the busy hope,  
My gazing eye gives over her desire:  
My reaching hand would after favour grope,  
My legs yield up and leave me in the mire.  
'tis light t'outrunne, but not to outread the wise,  
Thus find I strife to hinder my devise.   

The time too short, to wear so speedy grief,  
I still pursue, that shuns my willing hold:  
Skill is to weak to yield my woe relief,  
My cares like clouds, infect my heart with cold.  
So that if heat should melt so cruel frost,  
My heart were drowned, and all the love were lost.   

Between two Adamants of equal weight,  
I am the piece of iron to behold:  
Without desert, lo I am made the bait,  
Denied the joy that my desires would.  
My taste of love, is lost as you may guess,  
That know how Sick-men savour bitterness.   

Who would his will, must bear the bitter lot,  
The Falcon's foot distraynth the Prince's hand:  
When love was made, his eyes were quite forgot,  
The highest towers in greatest danger stand.  
O slipper hold, that for a silly eye,  
Can find no peace, but ever seeks to die.   

Die, and do all the wretched train of love,  
To know the torment of my boiling smart:  
Her might on me poor man she meant to prove,  
Whom I had thought, should heal my wounded heart.  
O cruel penance to my poor desire,  
In such great heat to bring me to the fire.    

¶ To his Song, sent to his Mistress.  

Sung in the sweet place,  
Where as my Lady was  
walking.  
Think if thou shouldst stand,  
She would reach other hand,  
willing.  
Touch not her tenderness,  
Stoop to her stateliness,  
hie thee.  
Spirit without carcase,  
Mercury bodiless,  
ply thee.  
Tell her I will come,  
Knowing not how soon,  
speed well.  
Love may no let have,  
This is all I crave,  
farewell.    

¶ A Poesy.  

THe streaming storms, 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 unteast.  
By Fancies force do cause such troublous tide,  
That ship now shakes, which late in road did ride.    

¶ Answer.  

WHere reason rules, affections fond do fly,  
And beauties beams 〈◊〉 bittirnesse may breed:  
Where wisdom will, by virtues skill doth lie,  
cupido's flames are quenched forth with speed.  
Let reason then thy will by wisdom guide,  
So shalt thou safely shun this stormy tide.    

¶ The vanity of riches.  

THe stately Palace Princely plasse,  
the hoard of glittering Gold:  
The Patrimony large of lands,  
cannot from sickness hold.  
Nor can they cure the crazed corpse,  
or deck the mind at all:  
Gold is the Father to the Flock,  
of Flatterers by lot:  
It is the sum of grief or woe,  
who hath, 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 with mind content.    

¶ Discord makes weak, what concord left strong.  

THe quiet pause that silent night,  
Doth bring from travails past:  
Of day no sooner had by sleight,  
A nuumber on me cast.  
But in my sleep there did appear,  
Six savage men in moss and hair.   

A Faggot bound the foremost wight,  
Me thought in hand did bear:  
Which jointly and alone through might,  
All sought to break and tear,  
Yet still in vain their strength they tried,  
Each part to other was so tied.   

Till wresting long, a stick at last,  
One forth by sleight doth wring,  
Whereby the Bundle knit so fast,  
A sunder soon they fling.  
Then each a severde piece doth spoil,  
Which late conjoined, no force could foil.   

This done me seemed they vanishte quite,  
And there my Dream did end:  
Yet so amazed with the sight,  
That out a sigh I send.  
I cursed the fraud that friends defaced,  
Whose broken band each harm doth haste.   

The wrack of Realms hereby is wrought,  
The force of Foes increased:  
The spoil of famous Princes sought,  
And right by wrong suppressed.  
Fowl fall therefore the guide of those,  
That friendship's band do seek to lose.   

And happy they that do restrain,  
Their ears to hear when Siren's feign.    

¶ Of one that came to borrow money.  

IN loan what loss, I want and would,  
Two Gods I bring to entreat for Gold,  
Persuasion may procure the thing,  
That force would undertake to bring.    

¶ Answer.  

THe loss of Friends by bringing home again,  
Such Interest I seek not so to glean,  
Two Goddesses to match your Gods there be,  
Inopie and Impossibility.    

¶ Truth feareth no trial.  

THe Muses called a Court of late,  
Wherein they deemed of sundry deeds:  
To scan each cause in seat they sat,  
The summoned peer and law proceeds,  
The truth they sought of all men's hearts,  
And deemed of each by his deserts.   

So some were saved, and some I saw,  
Condemned to die by Justice might:  
Among the which by course of law  
Approached to bar a worthy wight,  
Whom festered Envy sought to spoil,  
By forged lies his faith to foil.   

Upon whose talk he was araind,  
Hold up thy hand quoth Doubt by name,  
Thou art accused to have stained  
Thy credit, and thy faith with shame.  
And brief to be, by verdict just,  
Condemned thou art for thine untruste.   

To whom the Captive 'gan reply,  
I grant if this be proved true:  
That I well worthy am to die,  
And here I crave no more of you.  
But perfit trial of my case,  
(The guilty only pleads for grace.)   

A quest was then impaneled new,  
And his accusers called in sight:  
Suspicion did the suit pursue,  
He was indicted by Despite.  
The Muses now with all the rest,  
Made Conscience foreman of the quest.   

Wherewith Suspicion fled for fear,  
Despite durst not maintain his suit,  
The cause was called, the captive clear,  
Thus did the last, the first confute.  
And he that erst should needs have died,  
No trespass made, when truth was tried.   

Lo thus behold, the guiltless wight,  
Had Conscience not been present tho:  
Through false report and deep despite,  
Condemned had been to death to go.  
By which you well may learn and see,  
The faultless oft condemned be.   

Let pity therefore move your mind,  
To stay your doom till truth be tried:  
So you by search shall easily find,  
That I from truth did never slide.  
As time by trial shall declare,  
I ask no more, so spoil or spare.    

¶ He complaineth his mishap, with promise to keep her honour.  

THe wandering Outlaw borne to woe,  
and bred a banished man:  
Untaught the subtle sleights of love,  
of love this tale began.  
When first my senses drank the sweet,  
that gave my body blood:  
I felt no Foe to let my love,  
nor God against my good.  
Till lust misreckned my delights,  
my wandering joys to end:  
And found her out to stay such toys,  
to stand my trusty friend.  
I boast the grant if all were given,  
it may, would God it might:  
O happy man, more happy maid,  
if all had hit aright.  
Mishap withholds no mean to hope,  
to purchase my pretence:  
Beauty me ravished first, and now  
renength without offence.  
Thus like a child again, untaught  
the sleights of dainty minds:  
Such nurture take I of my Nurse,  
as Nature justly binds.  
These sides enshrine her stately love,  
if other thoughts she have:  
She shall possess that I profess,  
and yet her honour save.    

¶ G. To his Lady.  

I See in love some farther fetch there is,  
Than reason can reveal to me that would:  
Accuse the cause that makes me think amiss,  
And find the fault of such untempered mould.  
Of sundry works do divers wonders grow,  
Yet skill shows why, and how they should be so.   

I see the Sun both move, and melt, and change,  
At once both dry and dew the dusty sand:  
Yet are the raging storms of love so strange,  
As I forbear the cause to understand.  
Except I should impute it to the worst,  
And curse the kind that never Lover durst.   

I see the star that guides my stirring love,  
The goodly Saint that sacrifice deserves:  
Sometime I sail, and sink for fear to prove,  
And oft my solemn obsequies reserve.  
Yet but for love her passing gifts divine,  
Nature had never made them half so fine.   

I see the secrets of my woeful eyes,  
Must seek to rest on no such perfitness:  
Would they had kept her still above the skies,  
Where first she took alluring comeliness,  
But sith her shape no mortal man may crave,  
Yield honour such as fits her best to have.    

¶ For finale offence, small punishment.  

MY Lady gives the rain to her despite,  
And lightly she believes what others fayne:  
With death she vows my service to requite,  
And pays me not with like good will again,  
So that she seeks to truss up my good will,  
With trusting those that ever meant me ill.   

The murdering Knife for my offenceless crime,  
I see prepared to gore my guiltless blood:  
The cruel voice of rough condemning rhyme,  
Hath scaped her mouth, and may not be withstood,  
Yet let her date my death with this one line,  
Here lieth my Servant buried in his Shrine.   

If mercy fail, there is no other charm,  
If that prevail, ungracious luck farewell:  
My guiltless trespass shall escape the harm,  
That envy wished on me to have befell.  
Of my estate, let her say yea, or nay,  
I most regard her doom for to obey.   

From heaven the grace of gentle minds descends,  
And like the maker should the matter be:  
Then let my Mistress when she wrath pretends,  
Affects of mercy in the Gods foresee,  
And when she grants to follow them in that,  
Let her recure and pardon she knows what.    

¶ loves mightiness grows by lovers weakness.  

IF power of war had yielded to renown,  
Of courteous hearts, the Gods had then agreed:  
Disgraded Saturn had not tumbled down,  
Nor love had durst in Goldlike Arts proceed.  
O cowardly Gods against your kind to see,  
Yourselves, your sons, the slaves of love to be.   

Can love take league with jove against his will,  
Or stain the stream of Neptune's water Springs:  
And could not Pluto keep his honour still,  
But give the Heavens and Hills to other kings?  
In faith the face amongst sweet souls should dwell,  
That conquered these, in spite of powers in Hell.    

¶ A comparison of his troubles.  

GReat swelling floods are soon dried up,  
with meaner calms I see:  
And mighty Frosts, with gentle heat  
are wont dissolved to be.  
The darkest clouds in th'air tossed,  
depart with no great wind:  
Yet can the tempest of my care,  
no quiet harbour find.    

¶ I. K. to H. being sick.  

THe sickly state, thou gripped art withal,  
When brute had blown and sounded to mine ear:  
From ear to heart, the sudden noise did fall,  
And there gins to change my choice of my cheer.  
For choice is past, needs must I match with moan,  
When hope is cracked, what comfort may endure?  
The best part eke of me, to grief is gone.  
Scant then the parts beside, may well be sure,  
Yet fear not H. quail not, be of good cheer,  
Thy Keeper bids thee have a hardy heart:  
Be like a man, the weather will be clear,  
If not for thee, yet cause not me to smart.  
So being bold in thine extremity,  
Thou shalt save two, that is both thee and me.    

¶ Answer H.  

THe plunged state wherein I restless lay,  
When these thy lines were brought before my view:  
A certain time began to cease and stay:  
And still me thought my pinching pain withdrew,  
To bear from thee, such comfort did ensue,  
But when at last, I learned had thy gréese,  
My comfort fled, bereft was all relief.   

And then a new my crazed corpse in pain,  
Lay languished long, not knowing what were best,  
A thousand thoughts within my troubled brain  
So moved my mind, that uneath could I rest,  
The slipping joys that worldly wights possessed▪  
Lo then I saw, full soon away did slide,  
And nothing was, that still might stand or bide.   

No Fort so strong, no Bulwark raised so sure,  
But time consumes and tumbleth down at last:  
Man's force is frail, and like the feeble flower,  
That bends and breaks with every little blast,  
His dangers great, his pleasures soon surpassed,  
As now by me appears, whose joys do vade,  
Whose grief doth grow, whose comfort glides to glade.   

Whose life like smoke, doth slily slynck away,  
Whose Rock is réelde, whose fatal thread is spun,  
Whose dream doth end, whose slumbering sleep doth stay,  
Whose web is woven, whose Glass is wellnigh run,  
Whose part is played, whose tale is told and done,  
Whose will doth yield to leave this wretched vale,  
Where nought is sure, but driry Death most pale.    

¶ Of Friendship.  

WHo holds himself most dear, and hath his want,  
Although he would, he may not store his friend:  
But he that seeks his secrets there to plant,  
Where wealth is free, shall find a quiet end.  
Give me the poorest man to triumph on,  
Or wealthiest friend, or let me live alone.    

¶ Answer. G. H.  

GJue me the equal friend, for greater state  
Will ever grudge the want of low degree,  
And eke the mean repine at wealthier mate,  
Thus envy breaks what friendship did decree.  
By just agreeing port no jar doth grow,  
Where wealth ne want denies the friendly show.    

¶ H. To M.  

THe crazed Bark full oft is saved by Pilots care,  
The greatest griefs by pleasant joys assuaged are.  
The daily toils by some quiet rest are always eased,  
The vering spirits by Music sweet, seem somewhat pleased,  
My only joy regard you this my woeful case,  
Sith none but your disdain, my sorrow can delace.    

¶ 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 fly and learn wit,  
Mark wise speech 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 sure will love thee,  
And good men will praise thee.  
When Virtue shall grace thee,  
All fame shall embrace thee.    

¶ Who seeks this World's felicity, finds nothing else but vanity.  

WHo seeks on earth to find, his Mansion sure to dwell,  
Forsakes his God, forgets his heaven, & hies him fast to hell.  
For why no flesh hath force, eternity to find,  
But as of Clay it came, to Clay it must convert by kind.  
If Beauty blind thine eyes, or Coin it be thou crave,  
Be sure thereof they clog thy soul, when carcase comes to grave.  
Not strength, not honours stage, nor Empire held alone,  
But conscience clear must only serve, before the heavenly throne acounts.  
Suppose before thy Prince, thy only tale surmounts,  
Triumph not thou, for th'angels trump, calls thee to more  
More pleasure here thou takes, in toys on earth below,  
More feeble thou, more force is theirs, to yield thine overthrow.  
No comfort do conceive, in vain and tryflying toys,  
No minutes mirth can countervail, aye during deep annoys.  
On earth the force of flood, and flame thou dost desire  
To shun, then chiefly seek to avoid, the force of endless fire.  
On earth thou dost desire, delights that be but vain,  
In heaven the whilst thou dost neglect, the joy that shall remain.  
Then die on earth to live, and live on earth to die,  
Repose thy trust in heavenly things, and joy eternally.    

¶ To a Flatterer.  

AS sounds from hollow things,  
d'ye nought but air imply:  
So words from faithless friends,  
show nought but flattery.    

¶ Answer.  

Calm Seas lest feared be,  
more danger when they swell:  
Yet in all Tides we see,  
they use to sound them well.    

¶ Reason and Fancy do often vary.  

THere frenzy bids us run, and Reason stay,  
And press our powers, that frailty nought prevail:  
Affection blind doth bear so great a sway,  
That we in greatest danger hoist up sail.  
We burn ourselves, and yet do blow the fire,  
And trust the aid that leaves us in the mire.   

Desire assays with Fancies wings to fly,  
When hap with holds, to yield our will success:  
Hope would advance itself unto the sky,  
Despair sinks down, and sits in sad distress.  
Desire, despair, hope, hap, by fancy priest,  
Thus join their battle in affections breast.   

Reason resistes, vain hope, hopes Led will swim,  
Wit would prevail, affection will not yield:  
Desire with Frailty ventures life and limb,  
Enforcing Reason to forsake the field.  
And thus with Fancies lore our reason led,  
In Folly's brake, we oft bring fools to bed.   

Look ere you leap, beware least footing fail,  
Example take by poor Actaeon's fall:  
We think that pretty fancy may prevail,  
And therefore listen to his luring call.  
But when most greedy Dogs do us devour,  
Fancy stands aloof, not able to secure.   

A little bewhing Cur doth oft procure,  
Assault of greater Dogs, as doth appear,  
So while we rashly yield to Fancies lure,  
More eager Curs are ready us to tear.  
Our own desire, affection, lust, and will,  
Are those same Dogs which do their masters kill.   

Yet neither counsel, wisdom, sense, nor art,  
Can bridle youth from his desired joy:  
Grave precepts have no power to stay his heart,  
From working of his own extreme annoy:  
And though ourselves do know such things are vain,  
Yet do we seek the self same things to gain.   

What madness thus to strive against all sense?  
To sue, where Reason would we should refrain:  
Against all counsel thus to make pretence,  
And void of wisdom so to beat our brain,  
To buy repentance with so deep desire,  
And with such heat to set our thrift on fire.   

And yet no help, when Fancy freightes our boat,  
But Follies force, perforce will hoist up sail:  
Till midst the waves of had I witted we float,  
We think our pleasant course should never fail.  
Unless Gods special grace do make a stay,  
Our nature weak thus works her own decay.    

¶ A Poesy.  

SIth nothing stays in good or happy state,  
Where Vice abounds and Virtue doth abate:  
Why do we not our lives with speed reform?  
That Conscience clear may feel no gnawing worm.    

¶ Certain Verses translated out of petrarch, concerning Rome, written by him many years since.  

A Flame from Heaven stream down upon thy head  
Thou wicked one, that from the water cold,  
And Acorns wild, (that whilom was thy bread)  
Art mighty made, enrichte by others Gold.  
Since thy delight is settled all on ill,  
Shame thee destroy, and sorrow soon thee spill.   

Thou Nest in whom the treasons hatched are,  
That through the world abroad are spread this hour:  
Slave to Wine, chambering and delicious fare,  
Where Lust doth try the strength of all her power.  
In Closets thine, young girls and aged Siers,  
With Beelzebub do dance in foul desires.   

He bellows, Fire, and looking Glass doth bear,  
Amidst them all, but why I blush to tell:  
Naked to winds, and bare foot late thou were,  
No beds of Down unto thy share befell.  
Course clothes did serve thy corpse from cold to shroud,  
Scarce God thy peer, thou now art grown so proud.   

Thou Babylon that builds thy Nest so high,  
By covetous fraud thy sack to brim dost fill,  
With God's great wrath and vices out that fly:  
Whose poisoning smell a world of souls do kill.  
Gods to thyself thou mak'st, not jove nor Pallas,  
In Venus and Bacchus is all thy solace.   

In searching long, what should of thee ensue,  
Myself with toil I feeble brought and low:  
But at the length me seemed a Sultan new,  
I saw prepared to work thy overthrow.  
That will erect Baldacco seat for those,  
Which (though not when I would) shall thee depose.   

Thy Idols on the ground shall scattered lie,  
Thy Towers proud to heaven that enemies be:  
And Turrets all by fire down shall fly,  
Then shall just souls the friends of virtue, see  
The golden world a new begin to reign,  
And ancient works show forth themselves again.   

Thou sorrows source, the sink of many a one,  
Thou School and Temple whence all errors grow:  
Once Rome, but now that cruel Babylon,  
For whom the world in tears doth overflow,  
▪ exclaiming on thy cursed wickedness,  
▪ Bewrapped in the veil of holiness.   

O Forge of false deceit, prison to ire,  
Where goodness dieth, and evils all are bred:  
To those that live, thou art a hellish fire,  
▪ The ruin eke of many wretches dead.  
A wonder strange though spared thou be yet,  
If Christ in fine not tread thee under feet.   

Thy ground was first on humble poverty,  
But now thy pride doth press thy Founders down:  
Thou shameless strumpet seeking suffraintie,  
Where rests thy hope? what in thy triple crown?  
In thy adulteries or base borne riches  
begot in guile? vain are all such witches.   

Since Constantine may now return no more,  
The mournful world that sighs thy state to see:  
Consume and cut thee quick unto the core,  
That all to long is forced to bear with thee.  
▪ Of Rome the fall, here petrarch doth unfold▪  
▪ As view they may, that list the same behold.    In patientia victoria. 
FINIS.