A CROWN GARLAND OF GOLDEN ROSES. Gathered out of England's royal garden. Being the lives and strange fortunes of many great personages of this Land. Set forth in many pleasant new songs and sonnets never before imprinted. By Richard johnson.  
AT LONDON Printed by G. Elder for john Wright and are to be sold at his shop at Christ Church gate. 1612   

A PRINCELY SONG made of the Red Rose and together by king Henry the seventh, and Elizabeth Plantagenet, daughter to Edward the fourth, from whom our now Sovereign Lord King james linnially descended.  
To the tune of when Flying fame.  

WHen York and Lankaster made war,  
within this famous land:  
The lives of England's royal peers,  
did in much danger stand.  
Seven English Kings in bloody fields,  
for England's crown did fight:  
In which their heirs were all but twain,  
of lives bereaved quite.   

Then thirty thousand Englishmen,  
were in one battle slain:  
Yet could not all this English blood,  
a settled peace obtain.  
For father's kind their dear sons killed,  
and sons their fathers slew:  
Yea kindreds fought against their kind.  
and not each others knew.   

At last by Henry's lawful claim,  
this wasting war had end:  
For England's peace he soon restored,  
and did the same defend.  
For Tyrant Richard, named the third,  
chief breeder of this woe:  
By him, was slain near Leaster town,  
as chronicles doc show.   

All fears of war he thus exiled,  
which joyed each Englishman:  
And days of long desired peace,  
within the land began.  
He ruled his Kingdom by true love,  
to their his subjects lives:  
For every one had daily joy,  
and comfort of their wines.   

King Henry had such princely care,  
our further peace to frame:  
took fair Elizabeth to wife,  
that gallant Yorkest dame.  
Fourth Edward's daughter (blest of God)  
to scape King Richard's spite:  
Was thus made England's peerless Queen,  
and Henry's hearts delight.   

Thus Henry first of tudor's name,  
and last of Lankaster:  
With York's right heir, a true-love's knot,  
did link and tie full fast.  
Renowned York the White Rose gave,  
brave Lankaster the Red,  
By wedlock here conjoined to grow,  
both in one princely bed.   

These Roses sprang and budded fair,  
and carried such a grace:  
That Kings of England in their arms,  
affords them worthy place.  
And flourish may these Roses long,  
that all the world may tell,  
The owner of these princely flowers,  
in virtues do excel.   

To glorify these Roses more,  
King Henry and his Queen:  
First placed their pictures in red gold,  
most gorgrous so be seen.  
The Kings own guard, now wears the same,  
upon their backs and breast:  
Where love and loyalty remains,  
and evermore shall rest.   

The Red Rose on the back is placed,  
thereon a crown of gold:  
The White Rose on the breast as brave,  
and costly to behold.  
Bedecked most rich with silver stews,  
on coats of Scarlet red:  
A blushing hue, (which England's same)  
now many a year hath bred.   

Thus Tudor and Plantagenet,  
these honours first devised:  
To welcome long desired peace,  
with us so dearly prized.  
A peace that now maintained is,  
by james our royal King:  
For peacobrings plenty to the land,  
with every blessed thing.   

To speak again of Henry's praise,  
his Princely liberal hand:  
Gave gifts and graces many ways,  
unto this famous land.  
For which the Lord him blessings sent,  
and multiplied his store,  
In that he left more wealth to us,  
than any any King before.   

For first his sweet and lovely Queen,  
a joy above the rest:  
Brought him both sons and daughters fair  
to make this kingdom blest.  
The royal blood that was at ebb,  
so increased by this Queen:  
That England's heirs unto this day,  
do flourish fair and green.   

The first fair blessing of his seed  
was Arthur prince of Wales:  
Whose virtues to the Spanish court,  
quite o'er the Ocean sails.  
There Ferdinand, the King of Spain,  
his daughter Katherne gave:  
For wife unto the English Prince,  
a thing that God would have.   

Yet Arthur in his lofty youth,  
and blooming time of age:  
Submitted meekly his sweet life,  
to deaths impartial rage.  
Who dying so, no issue left,  
the sweet of nature's joy:  
Which compassed England round with grief●  
and Spain with sad annoy.   

King Henry's second comfort proved,  
a Henry of his name:  
In following time eight Henry called,  
a King of noble fame.  
He conquered Bullen by his sword,  
With many towns in France:  
His manly might, and fortitude,  
did England's fame advance.   

He Popish Abbeys first suppressed,  
and Papistry pulled down:  
And bound their lands by parliament,  
unto his royal crown.  
He had three children by three wives,  
all Princes raining here:  
Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth:  
a Queen beloved most dear.   

These three sweet branches bore no fruit,  
God no such joy did send:  
Through which the Kingly tudor's name,  
in England here had end.  
The last Plantagenet that lived,  
was named Elizabeth:  
Elisabeth last Tudor was,  
the greatest Queen of earth.   

Seventh Henry yet we name again,  
Whose grace gave free consent:  
To have his daughters married both,  
to Kings of high dessent.  
Margaret the eldest of the twain,  
Was made great Scotland's Queen,  
As wise, as fair, as virtuous,  
as ear was Lady seen.   

From which fair Queen (our royal King)  
by lineal course descendeth:  
And rightfully enjoys that crown,  
Which God now still befrendeth.  
For Tudor and Plantagenet,  
by yielding unto death:  
Hath made renowned Steward's name,  
the greatest upon earth.   

His younger daughter Mary called,  
as Princely by degree:  
Was by her father worthy thought,  
the Queen of France to be.  
And after to the Suffolk Duke,  
was made a noble wise:  
Wherein the famous English court,  
she lead a virtuous life.   

King Henry and his lovely Queen,  
rejoiced to see the day:  
To have their children thus advanced,  
with honours every way.  
Which purchased pleasure and content,  
with many a years delight:  
Till sad mischance by cruel death,  
procured them both a spite.   

The Queen that fair and princely damo,  
that mother meek and mild:  
To add more number to her joys,  
again grew big with child.  
All which brought comfort to her King,  
against which careful hour:  
He lodged his dear kindhearted Queen,  
in London's stately Tower.   

That Tower which proved so fatal once,  
to Princes of degree:  
Proved fatal to this noble Queen,  
for therein died she.  
In childbed lost she her sweet life:  
her life esteemed so dear,  
Which had been England's loving Queen,  
full many a happy year.   

The King herewith pocest with grief,  
spent many months in moan:  
And daily sight and said that he,  
like her could find out none.  
Nor none could he in fancy choose,  
to make his wedrd wise:  
Therefore a widower would remain,  
the remnant of his life.   

His after days be spent in peace,  
and quietness of mind:  
Like King and Queen, as these two were,  
the world can hardly find.  
Our King and Queen, yet like to them,  
in virtue and true love:  
Have heavenly blessings in like sort,  
from heavenly powers above.    

A delightful song, of the four famous feasts of England, the one of them ordained by King Henry the seventh, of the honour of Merchant Tailors, showing how seven Kings have been free of that company, and now ●●stly graced with the love of our renowned Prince Henry of great Britain.  
To the tune of Treatans' toy.  

ENgland is a Kingdom,  
of all the world admired:  
More statclinesse in pleasures,  
can no way be desired.  
The court is full of bravery,  
the city stored with wealth,  
The law preserveth unity,  
the country keepeth health.   

Yet no like pomp and glory,  
our chronicles record:  
As four great feasts of England,  
do orderly afford.  
All others be but dinners called,  
or banquet of good sort:  
And none but sour be named feasts,  
which here I will report.   

Saint George's feast, the first of all,  
maintained is by Kings:  
Where much renown and royalty,  
thereof now daily rings.  
Princes come from foreign lands,  
to be Saint George's Knights:  
The golden garter thus is worn,  
by sundry worthy wights.   

Saint George our English champion,  
in most delightful sort:  
Is celebrated year by year,  
in England's royal court.  
The King with all his noble train,  
in gold and rich array,  
Still glorisies the festival,  
of great Saint George's day.   

The honoured Mayor of London,  
the second feast ordains:  
By which the worthy citizens,  
much commendation gains.  
For Lords and judges of the land,  
and Knights of good request:  
To Gild hall comes to countenance,  
Lord Mayor of London's feast.   

Also the sergeant of the law  
another feast asords:  
With grace and honour glorified,  
by England's Noble Lords.  
And this we call the sergeant feast,  
a third in name and place:  
But yet there is a fourth like wise,  
deserves as gallant grace.   

The Merchant tailors company,  
that fellowship of fame:  
To London's lasting dignity,  
lives honoured with the same.  
A gift King Henry the seventh gave.  
kept once in three years still,  
Where gold and gowns be to poor men,  
given by King Hemies will.   

Full many good fat burks be sent,  
the fairest and the best:  
The King's large forests can afford,  
to grace this worthy feast.  
A feast that makes the number just,  
and last account of ●oure,  
Therefore let England thus report,  
of feasts there be no more.   

Then let all London companies,  
so highly in renown:  
Give Merchant tailors name and same,  
to wear the laurel crown,  
For seven of England's royal Kings,  
thereof have all been free:  
And with their loves and favours graced,  
this worthy company.   

King Richard once the second named,  
unhappy in his fall:  
Of all these race of royal Kings,  
was freeman first of all.  
Bullinbrooke, fourth Henry next,  
by order him succéeds,  
To glorify this brotherhood  
by many Princely deeds,   

fifth Henry which so valiantly,  
deserved fame in France,  
Became free of this company,  
fair London to advance,  
sixth Henry than the next in reign,  
though luckless in his days,  
Of Merchant-taylors' freeman was,  
to his eternal praise.   

Fourth Edward that right worthy King,  
beloved of great and small:  
Also performed a free man's love,  
to this renowned Hall.  
Third Richard which by cruelty,  
brought England many woes:  
Unto this worthy company,  
no little favour shows.   

But richest favours yet at last,  
proceeded from a King:  
Whose wisdom round about the world,  
in Prince's ears doth ring,  
King Henry whom we call the seventh;  
made them the greatest graced:  
Because in merchant tailors Hall,  
his picture now stands placed.   

Their charter was his Princely gift,  
maintained unto this day:  
He added Merchant to the name,  
of Tailors as some say.  
So Martchant Tailors they be called,  
his royal love was so:  
No London company the like,  
estate of Kings can show.   

From time, to time, we thus behold,  
the Marchant-Taylers glory:  
Of whose renown the Muse's pens,  
may make a lasting story.  
This love of Kings begot such love,  
of our now royal Prince:  
For greater love than his to them,  
was near before nor since.   

It pleased so his Princely mind,  
in meek kind courtesy:  
To be a friendly freeman made,  
of this brave company:  
London then in heart rejoice,  
and Merchant Tailors sing  
Forth praises of this gentle Prince,  
the son of our good King.   

To tell the welcomes to the world,  
he then in London had:  
Might fill us full of pleasing joys,  
and make our hearts full glad.  
His triumphs there performed and done,  
long lasting will remain:  
And Chronicles report aright,  
the order of it plain.    

The Lamentable song of the Lord Wigmoore governor of Warwick Castle, and the fair maid of Dunsmoore: as a warning to all maids to have care how they yield to the wanton delights of young gallants.  
To the tune of Diana.  

In Warwicke-sheir there stands a down,  
and Dunsmoore heath it hath to name:  
Adjoining to a country town,  
made famous by a maiden's name.   

Fairo Isabel she called was,  
a shepherds daughter as some say:  
To wigmoores' ear her fame did pass,  
as he in Warwick Casile lay.   

Poor lovesick Lord, immediately,  
upon her fame set his delight:  
And thought much pleasure sure did lie,  
possessing of so sweet a wight.   

Therefore to Dunsmore did repair,  
to recreate his sickly mind:  
Where in a summer's evening fair,  
his chance was Isabella to find.   

She sat amidst a meadow green,  
most richly spread with smelling flowers.  
And by a river she was seen,  
to spend away some evening hours.   

There sat this ma●den all alone,  
washing herself in secret wise,  
Which Virgin fair to look upon,  
did much delight his longing eye●●   

She thinking not to be espied.  
had laid from her her Country tyre,  
The tresses of her hair untied,  
hung glistering like the golden wire,   

And as the slakes of winter's snow,  
that lies unmelted on the plains.  
So white her body was in show,  
like silver springs did run her veins.   

He ravished with this pleasing sight,  
Stood as a man amazed still:  
Suffering his eyes to take delight,  
That never thought they had their fill.   

She blinded his affection so,  
That reasons rules were led awry:  
And love the coals of lust did blow,  
Which to a fire soon flam'd high.   

And though he knew the sin was great,  
Yet burned so within his breast:  
With such a vehement scorching heat,  
That none but she could lend him rest.   

Lord Wigmoore thus being drowned in lust,  
By liking of this dainty Dame:  
He called a servant of great trust,  
Enquiring strait what was her name.   

She is quoth he no married wife,  
But a shepherds daughter as you see:  
And with her father leads her life,  
Whose dwellings by these pastures be.   

Her name is Isabel the saire,  
Then stay quoth he, and speak no more:  
But to my Castle strait her bear,  
Her sight hath wounded me full sore.   

Thus to Lord Wigmoore she was brought,  
Who with delight his fancies fed:  
And through his suit such means he wrought  
That he enticed her to his bed.   

This being done incontinent,  
She did return from whence she came,  
And every day she did invent,  
To cover her received shame.   

But ere three months were fully passed,  
Her crime committed plain appears:  
Unto Lord Wigmoore then in haste,  
She long complained with weeping tears.    

The complaint of fair Isabella for the loss of her honour, at the end whereof she slew herself.  
To the same tune.  

LOrd Wigmoore thus I have defiled,  
And spotted my pure virgins bed:  
Behold I am conceived with child,  
To which vile folly you me led.   

for now this deed that I have wrought,  
Throughout this country well is known,  
And to my wo●ull parents brought,  
Whom now for me do make great moan.   

How shall I look them in the face,  
When they my shameless self shall see:  
Oh cu●sed Eve I seel thy case,  
When thou hadst tasted on the tree.   

Thou hidst thyself and so must I,  
But God thy trespass quickly found:  
The dark may hide me from man's eye,  
But leave my shame still to abound.   

Wide open are mine eyes to look,  
Upon my seed and heavy sin:  
And quite unclasped is the book,  
Where my accounts are written in.   

This sin of mine deserveth death,  
Be judge Lord Wigmoore I am she:  
For I have tread a strumpet's path,  
And for the same I needs must die.   

Bespotted with reproachful shame,  
To ages following shall I be:  
And in records be writ my blame,  
Lord Wigmoore this is long of thee.   

Lord Wigmoore prostrate at thy feet,  
I crave my just deserved doom:  
That death may cut off from the root,  
This body, blossom, branch and bloom.   

Let modesty accuse this crime,  
Let love, and law, and nature speak:  
Was ever any wretch yet seen,  
That in one instant all did break.   

Then Wigmoore justice on me show,  
That thus consented to this act:  
Give me my death, for death is due,  
To such as sins in such a fact.   

Oh that the womb had been my grave,  
Or I had perished in my birth:  
Or that same day may darkness have,  
Wherein ● first drew vital breath.   

Let God regard it not at all,  
Let not the sun upon it shine:  
Let misty darkness on it fall,  
For to make known this sin of mine.   

The night wherein I was conceived,  
Let be accursed with mournful cries:  
Let twinkling stars from skies bereaved,  
And clouds of darkness thereon rise.   

Because they shot not up the powers,  
That gave the passage to my life:  
Come sorrow finish up mine hours,  
And let my time here end in grief.   

And having made this woeful moan,  
A knife she snatched from her side.  
Where Lucrece part was rightly shown.  
For with the same fair Isabella died.   

Hereat Lord Wigmoore grieved sore,  
In heart repenting his amiss:  
And after would attempt no more,  
To crop the flowers of Maiden's bliss.   

But lived long in woeful wise,  
Till death did finish up his days:  
And now in Isabel's grave he lies,  
Till judgement comes-them both to raise.    

A Song of Sir Richard Whittington, who by strange fortunes, came to be thrice Lord Mayor of London, with his bountiful gifts and liberality given to this honourable City.  
To the tune of dainty come thou to me.  

HEre must I tell the praise,  
of worthy Whittington:  
Known to be in his days,  
thrice Mayor of London.  
But of poor parentage,  
borne was he as we hear:  
And in his tender age,  
bred up in Lancashire.   

Poorly to London than,  
came up this simple lad:  
Where with a Merchant man,  
soon he a dwelling had.  
And in a Kitchen placed,  
a scullion for to be.   

Whereas long time he passed,  
in labour drudgingly.   

His daily service was,  
turning spits at the fire:  
And to scour pots of brass,  
for a poor Scullions hire.  
Meat and drink all his pay,  
of coin he had no store:  
Therefore to run away,  
in secret thought he bore.   

So from this merchant man,  
Whittington secretly:  
Towards his Country ran,  
to purchase liberty.  
But as he went along,  
in a fair summer morn,  
London bells sweetly rung,  
Whittington back return.   

Evermore sounding so,  
turn again Whittington:  
For thou in time shalt grow,  
Lord Mayor of London.  
Whereupon back again,  
Whittington came with speed:  
A prentice to remain,  
as the Lord had decreed.   

Still blessed be the bells,  
this was his daily song:  
They my good fortune tells,  
most sweetly have they rung.  
If God so favour me,  
I will not prove unkind:  
London my love shall see,  
and my great bounties find.   

But see his happy chance.  
this Scullion had a Cat:  
Which did his state advance,  
and by it wealth he got.  
His master ventured forth,  
to a land far unknown,  
With Merchandise of worth,  
as is in stories shown.   

Whittington had no more,  
but his poor Cat as than:  
Which to the ship he bore,  
like a brave Merchant ●●n.  
Uentring the same (quoth he)  
I may get store of gold:   

And Mayor of London be,  
as the bells have me told.   

Whittington's Marchandire,  
carried was to a land:  
Troubled with Rats and Mice,  
as they did understand:  
The King of that Country there,  
as he at dinner sat:  
Daily remained in fear,  
of many a Mouse and Rat.   

Meat that on trenchers lay,  
no way they could keep safe:  
But by Rats borne away,  
fearing no wand nor staff,  
Whereupon soon they brought,  
Whittington's nimble Cat:  
Which by the King was bought,  
heaps of gold given for that.   

Home again came these men,  
with their ship loaden so:  
whittington's wealth began,  
by this cat thus to grow.  
Seullions' life he forsook,  
to be a Merchant good:  
And soon began to look,  
how well his credit stood.   

After this he was chose,  
Sheriff of this city here:  
And then full quickly rose,  
higher as did appear.  
For to this cities praise,  
Sir Richard Whittington:  
Came to be in his days,  
thrice Mayor of London.   

More his fame to advance,  
thousands he lent his King:  
To maintain wars in France,  
Glory from thence to bring.  
And after at a feast,  
that he the King did make:  
burnt the bands all in jest,  
and would no money take.   

Ten thousand pound he gave,  
to his Prince willingly:  
And would not one penny have,  
thus in kind courtesy,  
God did thus make him great:  
So would he daily see,  
poor people said with meat.   

Prisoners poor cherished were,  
widows sweet comfort found:  
Good deeds both far and near,  
of him do still resound.  
Whittington College is,  
one of his charities:  
Records reporteth this,  
to lasting memories.   

New gate he builded fair,  
for prisoners to live in,  
Christ Church he did repair,  
Christian love for to win:  
Many more such like deeds,  
was done by Wittington:  
Which joy and Comfort breeds,  
to such as looks thereon.   

Lancashire thou hast bred,  
this flower of Charity:  
The●●ah he be g●n and dead,  
yet lives he lastingly,  
Those bells that called him so,  
turn again Whittington:  
Call you back many me,  
to live so in London.    

The life and death of the great Duke of Buckingham, who came to an untimely end, for consenting to the deposing of the two gallant young princes, King Edward the fourth's Children.  
To the tune of Shore's wife.  

A Tale of grief I must unfold,  
a tale that never yet was told:  
A tale that might to pity move,  
the spirits below and Saints above.   

When wars did plague this maiden land,  
great Buckingham in grace did stand:  
With Kings and Queens he ruled so,  
when he said I, none durst say no.   

Great Gloster's Duke that wash the throne  
with blood of Kings, to mak● his own:  
By Henry Staffords help obtained  
what reason wild to be refraind.   

If any noble of this land,  
against great Gloster's aim did stand:  
Old Buckingham with might and power,  
in seas of woes did him devour.   

He hoped when Richard was made King,  
he would much greater honours bring:  
To Buckingham and to his name,  
and well reward him for the same.   

In Clarence death he had a hand,  
and 'gainst King Edward's Queen did stand,  
And to her sons bore little l●ue,  
when he as Bastards would them prove.   

King Edward swore him by his oath,  
in true aledgeance to them both,  
Which if I fail I wish quoth he,  
all Christians curse may light on me.   

It so fell out on All Souls day,  
by law his life was ta'en away:  
He had his wish though not his will,  
for treason's end is always ill.   

In London having pleaded claim,  
and Richard there by won the game:  
He challengd honour for his gain  
but was rewarded with disdain.   

On which disgrace within few hours,  
Great Buckingham had raised his powers,  
But all in vain the King was strong,  
and Stafford needs must suffer wrong.   

His Army failed and durst not stand,  
upon a Traitors false command:  
Being thus deceived onld Stafford fled,  
not knowing where to hide his head.   

The King with speed to have him found,  
did offer full two thousand pound:  
Thus Richard sought to cast him down,  
whose wit did win him England's Crown,   

The plain old Duke his life to save,  
of his own man did succour crave:  
In hope that he would him relieve,  
that late much land to him did give.   

Base Banester this man was named,  
by this vild deed for ever shamed:  
It is quoth he a common thing,  
to injure him that wronged his King.   

King Edward's children he betrayed,  
the like 'gainst him I will have played.  
Being true, my heart him greatly grafted,  
but proving false that love is past.   

Thus Banester his master sold,  
unto his foe, for hire of gold:  
But mark his end and rightly see,  
the just reward of treachery.   

The Duke by law did lose his blood,  
for him he sought to do most good:  
The man that wrought his masters woe,  
by lingering grief was brought full low.   

For when the King did hear him speak,  
how basely he the Duke did take:  
Instead of gold gave him disgrace,  
with vanishment from town and place.   

Thus Banester was forced to beg,  
and crave for food with cap and leg:  
But none to him would bread bestow:  
that to his master proved a foe.   

Thus wandered he in poor estate:  
repenting his misdeed to late:  
Till starved he gave up his breath,  
by no man pitied at his death,   

To woeful ends his Children came,  
sore punished for their father's shame:▪  
Within a kennel one was drowned,  
where water scarce could hide the ground▪   

Another by the powers divine,  
was strangely eaten up of swine::  
The last a woeful ending makes,  
by strangling in a stinking jakes.   

Let traitors this behold and see,  
and such as false to masters be:  
Let disobedient sons draw near,  
these judgements well may touch them near   

Both old and young that live not well,  
look to be plagued, by heaven or hell:  
●o have you heard the story than,  
of this great Duke of Buckingham.    

The woeful death of Queen jane Wife to King Henry the eight. and how King Edward was cut out of his mother's belly.  
To the tune of the lamentation for the Lord of Essex.  

WHen as King Henry ruled this land,  
he had a Queen I understand:  
Lord Semors daughter fair and bright,  
King Henry's comfort and delight:  
Yet death by his remorseless power,  
did blast the bloom of this sweet flower.  
Oh mourn, mourn mourn fair Ladies,  
jane your Queen the flower of England dies.   

His former queens being wrapped in lead,  
This gallant Dame possessed his bed:  
Where rightly from her womb did spring,  
a joyful comfort to her King,  
A welcome blessing to the land,  
preserved by Gods most holy hand.  
Oh mourn, mourn mourn fair Ladies,  
jane your Queen the flower of England dies.   

The Queen in travel pained sore,  
full thirty woeful days and more:  
And no way could delivered be,  
as every Lady wished to see,  
Wherefore the King made greater moan,  
than ever yet his grace had shown.  
Oh mourn, mourn mourn, fair Ladies,  
jane your Queen the flower of England dies.   

Being something eased in his mind,  
his eyes a slumbering sleep did find:  
Where dreaming he had lost a rose,  
but which he could not well suppose,  
A ship he had a rose by name,  
oh no it was his royal jane:  
Oh mourn, mourn, mourn fair Ladies,  
jane your Queen the flower of England dies.   

Being thus perplexed in grief and care,  
a Lady to him did repair:  
And said oh King show us thy will,  
thy Queen's sweet life to save or spill.  
If she cannot delivered be,  
yet save the flower if not the tree.  
Oh mourn, mourn, mourn, fair Ladies,  
jane your Queen, the flower of England dies.   

Then down upon his tender knee,  
for help from heaven prayed he:  
Mean while into a sleep they cast,  
his Queen which evermore did last.  
And opening then her tender womb,  
alive they took this budding bloom:  
Oh mourn, mourn, mourn, fair Ladies,  
jane your Queen the flower of England's dead   

This babe so borne much comfort brought,  
and cheered his father's drooping thought:  
Prince Edward he was called by name,  
graced with virtue wit and fame:  
And when his father left this earth,  
he ruled this land by law full birth.  
Oh mourn, mourn, mourn, fair Ladies,  
jane your Queen the flower of England's dead   

But mark the powerful will of heaven,  
we from this joy were soon bereaven.  
Sir years he reigned in this land,  
and then obeyed God's command,  
And left his Crown to Mary here,  
whose five years' reign cost England dear  
Oh mourn, mourn, mourn fair Ladies,  
jane your Queen the flower of England's dea●   

Elizabeth reigned next to her,  
Europe's pride and England's star:  
Wonder world, forth such a Queen,  
under heaven was never seen.  
A maid, a Saint, an Angel bright,  
in whom all princes took delight:  
Oh mourn, mourn, mourn fair Ladies,  
Elizabeth the flower of England's dead.    

A short and sweet sonnet made by one of the maids of honour upon the death of Queen Elizabeth, which she sowed upon a sampler in red silk.  
To a new tune or to Phillida flouts me.  

Go is Elizabeth,  
whom we have loved so dear:  
She our kind Mistress was,  
full four and forty year.  
England she governed well  
not to be blamed:  
Flanders sho succoured still,  
and Ireland tamed.  
France she befriended,  
Spain she hath soiled:  
Papists rejected,  
and the Pope spoiled.  
To Princes powerful,  
to the world virtuous:  
To her foes merciful,  
to subjects gracious.  
Her soul is in heaven,  
the world keeps her glory:  
Subjects her good deeds,  
and so ends my story,    

The life and death of famous Th. Stukely, an English gallant in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who ended his days in a battle of Kings in Barbary.  
To the tune of King Henry's going to Bullin.  

IN the west of England,  
borne there was I understand:  
A famous gallant living in his days.  
by birth a wealthy Clothier's son,  
Deeds of wonder he hath done,  
to purchase him a long and lasting praise.   

If I should tell his story,  
pride was all his glory:  
And lusty Stuekly he was called in court.  
he served a Bishop of the west,  
And did accompany the best  
maintaining still himself in gallant sort.   

Being thus esteemed,  
and every where well deemed:  
He gained the favour of a London dame:  
daughter to an Alderman,  
Curtis he was called than,  
to whom a suitor gallantly he came.   

When she his person spied,  
he could not be denied  
So brave a Gentle man he was to see,  
she was quickly made his wife:  
In weal or woe to lead her life,  
her father willingly did so agree.   

Thus in state and pleasure,  
full many days they measure:  
Till cruel death with his regardless spite:  
bore old Curtis to his grave,  
A thing that Stukely wished to have,  
that he might revel all in gold so bright.   

He was no sooner toombed,  
but Stukely presumed:  
To spend a hundred pound that day in waist:  
the bravest gallants of the land,  
Had Stukelies' purse at their command,  
thus merrily the time away he past.   

Taverns and Ordinaries,  
were his chiefest braveries,  
Golden angels flew there up and down:  
r●●ts were his best delight,  
With stately feastings day and night,  
in court and City thus he won renown.   

Thus wasting land and living,  
by this his lawless giving:  
At last he sold the pavements of his yard:  
which covered were with blocks of tin,  
Old Curtis left the same to him,  
which he consumed vainly as you heard.   

Where at his wife sore grieved,  
desired to be relceved,  
Make much of me dear husband she did say,  
I'll make much more of thee quoth he,  
than any one shall verily,  
I'll ●ell thy clothes, and so will go my way.   

Cruelly thus hearted,  
away from her he parted,  
And traveled to Italy with speed,  
there he slorisht many a day  
In his silks and rich array:  
and did the pleasures of a Lady feed.   

It was this Lady's pleasure,  
to give him gold and treasure,  
And to maintain him in great pomp and fain  
at last came news assuredly.  
Of a batlaile fought in Barbary,  
and he would valiantly go see the same.   

Many a noble gallant,  
sold both land and tallant:  
To follow Stukely to this famous fight:  
whereas three Kings in person would,  
Aduentrously with courage bold,  
within the battle show themselves in sight,   

Stukely and his followers all,  
of the King of Portugal,  
Had entertainment like to gentlemen,  
the King affected Stukely so,  
That he his secrets all did know:  
and bore his royal standard now and then.   

Upon this day of honour,  
each King did show his banner,  
Morocco and the King of Barbary,  
Portugal with all his train,  
Bravely glistered on the plain:  
and gave the onset there most valiantly.   

The Cannons they resounded,  
thundering drums rebounded:  
Kill, kill, as then was all the soldiers cry,  
mangled men lay on the ground,  
And with blood the earth was drowned,  
the sun was likewise darkened in the sky   

Heaven was sore displeased,  
and would not be appeased:  
But tokens of Gods heavy wrath did show:  
that he was angry at this war,  
He sent a fearful blazing star,  
whereby these Kings might their misfortunes know   

Bloody was this slaughter,  
or rather wilful murder:  
Whhere six score thousand fight men was slain,  
three Kings within this battle died,  
With forty Dukes and Carls beside,  
the like will never more be fought again.   

With woeful arms infoulding,  
Stukely stood beholding  
This bloody sacrifice of souls that day:  
he sighing said I woeful wight,  
Against my Conscience here did fight,  
and brought my followers all unto decay.   

Being thus molested,  
and with griefs oppressed,  
These brave Italians that did sell their lands  
with Stukely thus to travel forth,  
And venture lives for little worth,  
upon him all did lay their murdering hands.   

Unto death thus wounded,  
his heart with sorrow sounded:  
And to them all he made this heavy moan,  
thus have I left my country dear,  
To be so vildly murdered here:  
even in this place whereas I am not known.   

My wife I have much wronged,  
for what to her belonged:  
I vainly spent in idle course of life.  
what I have done is past I see,  
And bringeth nought but grief to me,  
therefore grant now thy pardon gentle wife.   

Life I see consumeth,  
and death I feel presumeth:  
To change this life of mine into a new:  
yet this me greatest comfort brings,  
I lived and died in love of Kings,  
and so brave Stukely bids the world adieu.   

Stukelies' life thus ended,  
was after death befriended,  
And like a soldier buried gallantly.  
where now there stands upon his graven,  
A stately temple builded brave:  
with golden Turrets piercing in the sky.   
FINIS.   

A most royal song of the life and death of our late renowned Princess Queen Elizabeth.  
To the tune of the Lady's fall.  

IN England reigned once a king,  
eight Henry called by name:  
Which made fair Anne of bullaine Queen,  
of England in great fame.  
UUho brought unto this Sentry joy.  
and to her King delight:  
A daughter that in England made,  
God's Gospel shine most bright.   

At Greenwich was this Princess borne,  
that gallant place in Kent:  
A house beloved of Kings and Queens,  
a house of sweet content.  
Even in her childhood she began,  
so stored with heavenly grace:  
That all Estates both high and low,  
her virtues did embrace.   

None like Elizabeth was found,  
in learning so divine:  
She had the perfect skilful arts,  
of all the muses nine.  
In Latin Greek and Hebrew she,  
most excellent was known:  
To foreign Kings Ambassadors,  
the same was daily shown,   

The Itallian French and Spanish tongue,  
she well could speak and read.  
The Turkish and Arabian speech,  
grew perfect at her need.  
Her music made her wonderful,  
so cunning therein found:  
The fame whereof about the world,  
in Prince's ears did sound.   

Yet when her royal parents lives,  
by death were ta'en away:  
And her dear brother Edward turned,  
to clods of earth and clay.  
Her cruel sister Mary sought,  
her lasting grief and woe,  
Regarding not the gifts that God,  
upon her did bestow.   

A bloody reign Queen Mary lived,  
a Papist in belief:  
Which was unto Elizabeth,  
a great heart breaking grief.  
A faithful Protestant was she,  
at which Queen Mary spited,  
And in elizabeth's mishaps,  
she daily much delighted.   

Poor maiden by the Bishop's wills,  
in prison she was put:  
And from her friends and comforters,  
in cruel manner shut.  
Much hoping she would turn in time,  
and her true faith forsake:  
But firm she was and patiently,  
did all these troubles take.   

Her sister forthwith gave command,  
her diat to be small:  
Her servants like wise very few,  
Yea almost none at all.  
And also would have ta'en her life,  
but that King Philip said:  
Oh Queen thy country will report,  
thou hast the Tiger played.   

The Lord thus put this King in mind,  
his chosen Saint to save:  
And likewise to Queen Mary's life,  
a sudden ending gave.  
And so Elizabeth was fetched,  
from prison to a crown:  
Which she full four and forty years,  
possessed with much renown.   

She popery first of all suppressed,  
and in our English tongue:  
Did cause God's bible to be read,  
which heaven continue long.  
Poor preaching likewise she ordained,  
with plenty in this land:  
And still against the foes thereof  
most zealously did stand,   

The pride of Rome this Queen abates,  
and spiteful Spain kept under:  
And succoured much Low-contry states,  
where at the world did wonder:  
That such a worthy Prince as she,  
should work such worthy things:  
And bring more honour to this land,  
than all our former Kings.   

The gold still brought from Spanish mines,  
in spite of all her foes:  
Throughout all parts of Christendom,  
her brave adventures shows.  
Her battles sought upon the Seas  
resounded up to heaven:  
Which to advance her fame and praise,  
her victory still given.   

The Spanish power in eighty eight,  
which thirsted for her blood:  
Most nobly like an Amazon  
their purposes withstood.  
And boldly in her royal camp,  
in person she was seen:  
The like was never done I think,  
by any Englih Queen.   

Full many a Trey for since that time,  
she hath confounded quite:  
And not the bloodiest mind of all,  
her courage could affright.  
For mercy joined with majesty,  
still made her foes her friends:  
By pardoning many which deserved,  
to have untimely ends.   

Tirone with all his Irish rout,  
of rebels in that land:  
Though near so desperate bold and stout,  
but feared her great command.  
She made them quake and tremble sore  
but for to hear her name:  
She planted peace in that fair land,  
and did their wildness tame.   

Though wars she kept with dangers great,  
in Ireland, France and Spain.  
Yet her true subjects still at home,  
in safety did remain,  
They joyed to see her princely face,  
and would in numbers run:  
To meet her royal Majesty,  
more thick than moats in Sun.   

But time that brings all things to end,  
a swift foot course did run:  
And of this royal maiden Queen,  
a woeful conquest won.  
Her death brought fear upon the land,  
no words but tales of woe:  
In subjects ears resounded then,  
where ever men did go:   

But fear exchanged to present joys,  
sweet comforts loud did ring:  
In stead of Queen the people cried,  
long live our royal King.  
Which name of King did seem most strange,  
and made us sore to muse:  
Because full many a year the name,  
of King we did not use:   

But such a noble King he is,  
and so maintains our peace:  
That we in heart may daily wish,  
his life may never cease.  
His Queen and his posterity,  
good angels still defend,  
This is my muse's chief desire,  
her melody to end.   
FINIS.   

A Song of a Beggar and a King.  

I Read that once in Africa,  
a Prince that there did rain:  
Who had to name Cophetua,  
as Poets they did fain.  
From Nature's works he did incline,  
For sure he was not of my mind,  
He cared not for women kind,  
but did them all disdain.  
But mark what happened by the way,  
As he out of his window lay,  
He saw a beggar all in grey,  
which did increase his pain.   

The blinded boy that shoots so trim,  
from heaven down so high:  
He drew a Dart and shot at him,  
in place where he did lie.  
Which soon did pierce him to the quick,  
For when he felt the arrow prick,  
Which in his tender heart did stick,  
he looketh as he would die.  
What sudden chance is this quoth he,  
That I to love must subject be,  
Which never thereto would agree,  
but still did it defy.   

Then from his window he did come,  
and laid him on his bed:  
A thousand heaps of care did run,  
within his troubled head.  
For now he means to crave her love,  
And now he seeks which way to prove:  
How he his fancy might remoous,  
and not this beggar wed.  
But Cupid had him so in snare,  
That this poor beggar must prepare:  
A salve to cure him of his care,  
or else he would be dead:   

And as he musing thus did lie,  
he thought for to devise:  
How he might have her company,  
that so did mase his eyes.  
In thee quoth he, doth rest my life,  
For surely thou shalt be my wife:  
Or else this hand with bloody knife,  
the Gods shall sure suffice.  
Then from his bed he arose,  
And to his Palace gate he goes,  
Full little than this beggar knows,  
when she the King espied.   

The Gods preserve your Majesty,  
though beggars all 'gan cry:  
Vouchsafe to give your charity,  
our children's food to buy.  
The King to them his purse did cast,  
And they to part it made great haste:  
The silly woman was the last,  
that after them did high.  
The King he called her back again,  
And unto her he gave his chain:  
And said with us you shall remain,  
till such time as we die.   

For thou shalt be my wife quoth he,  
and honoured like the Queen:  
With thee I mean to lead my life,  
as shortly shall be seen.  
Our wedding day shall appointed be,  
And every thing in their degree:  
Come on quoth he and follow me,  
thou shalt go shift thee clean.  
What is thy name, say on quoth he,  
Phenelophon O King quoth she,  
With that she made a low curtsy,  
a trim one as I ween.   

Thus hand in hand along they walk,  
unto the King's Palace:  
The King with courteous comely talk,  
this beggar doth embrace.  
The beggar blusheth Scarlet read,  
And strait again as pale as lead,  
But not a word at all she said,  
she was in such a maze:  
At last the spoke with trembling voice,  
And said O King I do rejoice:  
That you will take me for your choice,  
and my degree so base.   

And when the wedding day was come,  
the King commanded strait:  
The noble men both all and some,  
upon the Queen to weight.  
And she behaved herself that day,  
As if she had never walked the way,  
She had forgot her gown of grey,  
that she did wear of late.  
The Proverb old is come to pass,  
The Priest when he began his mass,  
Forgets that ever Clerk he was,  
he knoweth not his estate.   

Here may you read Cophetua,  
through sancie long time fed:  
Compelled by the blinded boy,  
the beggar for to wed.  
He that did lovers looks disdain,  
To do the same, was glad and fain,  
Or else he would himself have slain,  
in stories as we read:  
Disdain no whit O Lady dear,  
But pity now thy servant here,  
Lest that it hap to thee this year,  
as to that King it did.   

And thus they lead a quiet life,  
During their princely rain.  
And in a tomb were buried both,  
as writers showeth plain.  
The Lords they took it grievously,  
The Ladies took it heavily,  
The Commons cried piteously,  
their death to them was pain.  
Their fame did sound so passingly,  
That it did pierce the Starry sky,  
And thorough out the world did fly,  
to every Prince's realm.   
FINIS.   

A lovers Song in praise of his Mistress.  
To the tune of Apelles.  

IF that Appelles now did reign,  
who ever sought for to have fame:  
He might have won with lesser pain,  
a greater honour to his name.  
For with great pain he sought all Gréece.  
Till he had sound the fairest piece.   

Throughout all Greece he could not view,  
so fair, so feat, so sine withal:  
Nor yet his pencil never drew,  
so fair a piece and never shall,  
Wherefore if he had seen these days,  
He might have won a greater praise.   

Oh happy man might he have said,  
if he had lived to this time:  
For to have seen so fair a Maid,  
in all proportions made so fine.  
Her sullgent face, so fair, so clear,  
That Europe cannot show her peer.   

Plgmalion with his gravers then.  
could never work so fair a piece:  
Nor yet Apelles in his time,  
did never see the like in Gréece,  
For if he had he would have said,  
That Venus was not like this maid.   

She is a graft of noble groweth,  
and worthy is she of her fame:  
For why her virtues plainly showeth,  
that well she hath deserved the same.  
Wherefore my painful pen always,  
Shall never cease to write her praise.   

O that my pen could print her praise,  
according to her just desert.  
That I might say and see those days,  
that I desired with my heart  
For still I sought and ever shall,  
My Mistrens' praise might pass them all.   

Now proof and praise in one is knit,  
and hath blown to praise this maid:  
And justice doth in judgement sit,  
for to perform that I have said●  
Thus to conclude an ●nd to make,  
unto the gods I her betake.    

Another.  
To a new tune.  

THe be doth love the sweetest flower,  
so doth the blossom the April shower:  
And I do love that Lady truly,  
why should not I love her that loves me.   

The bird doth love the morning bright,  
to see the day is her delight:  
And I do love to see her face,  
in whom that I do love is my solace.   

The fish doth love the floods by kind,  
for want of it they are ●u p●nd:  
And I do love her presents also,  
in whom that I love and love no more.   

The Lybard doth love to lie and pray,  
upon the faces that goeth him by:  
And I do leave to look and gaze,  
upon my true loves most pleasant face.   

The Dear doth love in woods to dwell,  
as I to you the truth shall tell,  
And I do love as doth the dear,  
oh whereas I love would Christ I were.   

Troilus that Lord withal his might,  
Crossed of Troy that was so bright:  
And I do love as far as he,  
and ever shall until I die.   
FINIS.   

In praise and dispraise of women.  
To a pleasant new tune.  

WOmen to praise who taketh in hand,  
a number shall displease:  
But who so doth them most dispraise,  
doth most live at their case.  
Whereat I muse and marvel much,  
and shall do till I die,  
And if you think I say not true,  
ask them if that I lie.   

They are man's aid and only stay,  
and comfort at his need:  
They cherished him in all affairs,  
how over that he speed.  
And that that she for him may do,  
she doth it willingly.  
And if, etc.   

And when their husbands be far from hand,  
then will they spin and card:  
They will not gossip and go gay,  
but then they fare full hard.  
They rise up early and lie down late,  
they labour earnestly,  
To save a penny or a groat,  
ask them, etc.   

And if her husband chance to chide,  
she gives him not a word:  
Or if he fight she answers him,  
no more than doth a bo●rd.  
But out she goeth about her work,  
and takes all patiently:  
Crept she crown him with a stool,  
Ask them, etc.   

Or with her ten commandments,  
she takes him on the face:  
That from his cheeks down to his chin▪  
a man may see each race.  
The go dman then must wear a clout,  
the goodwife she will die:  
Her husband hurt so heavily,  
she takes, or else I lie.   

Then to his bed she will not come,  
nor with him will be 'greed:  
Unless she have a Petticoat,  
or else some other weed.  
And when she with her gossips met,  
she tells them by and by:  
how she her husband handled hath,  
ask, etc.   

Well done good gossip saith the one,  
your practice well we praise:  
I drink to you for your good deed  
the second gossip says.  
They all to put the same in ure,  
do promise by and by:  
Which they fulfil unto their power,  
forthwith, or else I lie.   

Good wives a judgement I you pray:  
your verdict Let me here:  
Where all be false or all be true,  
by you it must appears:  
How over that the matter goeth,  
the truth you must descry:  
Or else it is not possible,  
to know if that I lie.   
FINIS.   

The lovers fairing sent to his best beloved.  
To the tune of I wander up and down.  

MY comfort and my joy,  
this fairing I do send:  
Let not unkindness him destroy,  
that is thy faithful friend.   

A loyal heart I send,  
to thee the same I give:  
O cherish it, and keep it safe,  
and so the same will live.   

But if you it forsake,  
and will not yield it grace:  
Itlives, and dies, and soon is fled,  
within a little space.   

O sly no promise made,  
nor do me not disdain:  
One frown will strike so cruelly,  
that I shall live in pain.   

A smile revives me being dead,  
and is a joyful treasure:  
O let that sunshine ere be spread,  
for it is my chief treasure.   

Myself, and wealth, and all I have,  
a Fairing I do give:  
To thee that first my heart possessed,  
and still mayst make me live.   

Steel not thy heart nor make it hard,  
but entertain mine In●e:  
So may I boast, and still shall say,  
I shall much comfort win.   

Return me comfort back,  
let me not languish ever:  
For ● am thine, and ever shall,  
till death my life do sever.   
FINIS.   

The Maidens kind answer to her lover.  
To the same tunc.  

Take courage gentle love,  
I never will thee forsake:  
Nor while I live shall ever man,  
possession of me take,   

Thy Loyal heart I'll keep,  
and send mine back to thee:  
Mine is in fear to live in pain,  
but thine I am sure is free.   

The promise that I made,  
I vow and swear I'll keep:  
My love to thee shall ever wake,  
oh never let thine sleep.   

No frowns shall kill my face,  
but smiles shall still be seen:  
I long until I see thy face,  
that absent long hath been.   

My heart doth melt like ware,  
and never shall be hard:  
Women have never steely hearts,  
for then their sex were marred.  
All comfort I can send,  
I do return to thee:  
My heart, myself, and all I have,  
is thine eternally.   
Finis.   

A maids complaint for lack of a love: Expressing the anguish in mind she doth prove  

NO Maiden may so well as I,  
complain of her hard destiny:  
I am now in prime of years,  
yet there is no young man bears,  
A breast that harboureth a heart,  
that hath compassion on my smart.  
Therefore I am sore afraid,  
I shall live and die a maid.   

I cast as other maidens do,  
Amorous glances for to woe:  
young men to settle on my love,  
but those glances do not prone.  
They are like shafts by blindmen shot,  
against a mark that near is hot.  
Therefore I am sore afraid,  
I shall live and dic a maid.   

Twenty winters have I seen,  
as as many summers green:  
'tis enough to breed vispaire,  
so long a maideu head to bear,  
'tis a burden of such weight,  
that I would fame be eased of 't strait.  
But alas I am afraid, etc.   

I know that youngmen me reject,  
my beauty merits more respect:  
My quick grey eye my cherry cheek,  
where they may find that list to seeks  
Matter to increase lones fire,  
and to ffir them to desire:  
But alas I am afraid, etc.   

Higho I love, yet modesty,  
bids me not be too too free:  
In demonstrating my pain,  
lest rebuke and shame I gain.  
But where fire is there it smokes,  
anguish follows heavy streaks:  
Out alas I am afraid, etc.   

I love, yet love binds me to pain,  
love reiected's lovers bane,  
We maids are bound by modesty,  
at all assays to secrecy.  
Modestie's too strict a dame,  
to her will I cannot frame.  
Out alas I am afraid. etc.   

Time hath wrought an alteration,  
blushing is a fooliw fashion:  
All maids leave it, so will I,  
and to my sore, a salve apply.  
Babish blushing hinders all,  
who would to modesty be thrall.  
I will be no more afraid,  
I'll no longer be a maid.   

Bash full young men make us bold,  
when they love in bondage hold,  
They take from us that ruddy dye,  
that should upon our faces lie.  
Condemn us not then, lovo makes way,  
like fire that's hid in dryest bay,  
I will be no more afraid,  
I'll no longer live a maid.   
FINIS.   

The Lamentation of an Ale wife's daughter for the loss of her Virginity.  
To a new tune.  

IN the spring time when Plants do bud,  
and birds use chirping notes:  
When beasts do gather heart of grass  
and fish in water floats.  
It was my chance for to espy,  
a Nymph of Venus' train:  
Which in a grove wherein she sat,  
did mightily complain:  
I hearkened to her sad lament,  
I listened to her tale,  
Whereby it seemed that she had,  
set honesty to sale:  
Alas said she, that mother dear,  
an Alewise was to me:  
Or that it was my heavy chance,  
to use bad companv.  
Woe be to him that with the Dyle,  
of Angels me enticed:  
Thrice woe be to the golden baits,  
that often me surprised.  
Woe to the toys of youth too rash,  
Woe to the crafty snares  
Of Crooked age, that youth do catch,  
in n●ts at unawares.  
Woe to dame Nature for her pains,  
in making me the glass  
For others, for to scoff and laugh,  
as they the way do pass.  
Then gushed out the Silver streams,  
of water from her eyes,  
Which did bed●w her Roseate cheeks,  
and that in doleful wise.  
Ienki●. At which I came, & spoke these words,  
what fortune hath decreed?  
Or how? or why? have fatal fates,  
committed such a deed?  
That thou the mirror of our age,  
and pride of Nature's bower:  
far sweeter than the ruddy Rose,  
or gallant Gilly slower,  
Shouldst thus lament and pine away?  
whose cheerful countenance  
The hearts of young and ●ake of old,  
hath caused full oft to dance,  
Is't loss of love? Is't want of wealth?  
Is cause thou sleepest alone?  
Or Is't the death of some dear friend,  
that causeth thee to move▪  
100 Not so, my friend, what dost thou mean,  
to make the thing so strange:  
Experience teacheth after full,  
there needs must be a change.  
The golden bait enticed hath,  
the pretions' Pearl from met  
Which to be gotten back again,  
remains without remedy.  
jen. Your meaning (sweet) I do not know,  
I pray you tell it plain:  
Feign would I find some remedy,  
to ease you of your pain.  
100 I thank you for your kind good will,  
which you did show to me:  
In recompense whereof I will,  
my words make plain to thee.  
As nature had aborned me,  
with gifts of beauty rare:  
So for to deck and trim myself,  
was all my chiefest care,  
Then many suitors came to me,  
and most my betters were.  
Whom I disdained and set lightby,  
my mind was to severe.  
At length there came an aged man,  
of money store had he:  
Who with his bags and golden baits,  
hath bred my misery.  
My mother yielded her consent,  
and caused me do the samés:  
Which maketh me thus to lament,  
that I must live in shame.  
Let Maidens then example take,  
and warning by my fall:  
Lest they like me, should catched be,  
by coming to the call.  
Thus hast thou heard my friend my grief,  
I can no longer stay:  
Adieu, and twenty times farewell,  
this sorrowful month of May.  
FINIS.   

A new Sonnet of Coridon and Phillida.  
COridon arise my Coridon,  
Titan shineth clear:  
Cor. Who is it that calleth Coridon.  
who is it I hear.  
Phi Phillida thy true love calleth thee,  
arise then, arise then,  
Arise and feed thy flocks with me.  
Cor. Phillida my true is it she?  
I come then, I come then,  
I come and feed my flocks with thee.   

Phi. Here are cherries ripe my Coridon,  
eat them for my sake:  
Cor. Here's my oa●en pipe my lonely on,  
sport for thee to make.  
Here are threads my true-love fine as silk,  
to knit thee, to knit thee,  
A pair of stockings white as milk.  
here are reeds my true love fine and neat,  
To make thee, to make thee,  
a bonnet to withstand the heat.   

Phi. I will gather flowers my Coridon,  
to set in thy Cap:  
Cor. I will gather ●ears my lovely on,  
to set in thy lap.  
Phi. I will buy my true-love garters ga●  
for Sundays, for Sundays;  
To wear about his legs to tall,  
Cor. I will buy my true love yellow say,  
For Sundays, for Sundays,  
to wear about her middle small.   

Phi. When my Coridon sits on a hill,  
making melody:  
Cor. When my lovely on sits at her wheel,  
singing cheerly.  
Sure me thinks my true-love doth excel,  
for sweetness, for sweetness,  
Our Pan that old Arcadian knight,  
and me thinks my true-love bears that bell;  
For clearness, for clearness:  
beyond the nymphs that be so bright.   

Phi. Had my Coridon, my Coridon,  
been alack my swain:  
Had my lovely on, my lovely on,  
been in ●da plain.  
Cynthia Endymion had refused,  
preferring, preferring:  
My Coridon to play withal.  
the Queen of love had been excused,  
Bequeathing, Bequething:  
my Phillida the golden ball,   

Yonder comes my mother, Coridon,  
whither shall I fly:  
Under yonder beech my lovely one,  
While she passeth by.  
Say to her thy true-love was not here,  
remember, remember:  
To morrow is another day.  
doubt me not my true-love do not fear,  
Farewell then, farewell then,  
heaven keep our love always.   
FINIS.   

Coridon's Complaint.  

PHillida where hast thou been?  
Long it is since I have seen  
my Phillida.  
Every even when day was done,  
In the absence of the sun,  
have we met, my love to sport and play.   

Now thy absence makes me fear,  
Coridon's not held so dear,  
of Philida.  
As he erst was wont to be:  
Smile as thou wert wont on me,  
Phillida, my fairest Phillida.   

Coridon is now as true,  
As when first the heavenly hue,  
of Phillida.  
Made him all-admiring stand,  
And did love and life command,  
Phillida, my fairest Phillida.   

Such sad dumps thy absence breeds,  
That my Pipe of Daten reeds,  
fair Phillida,  
I lay by, and sighing sit:  
Sorrow sighs, and tears beget.  
Phillida, my fairest Phillida.   

With thee I can play and sing,  
And mine arms shall, like a ring,  
fair Phillida  
Circled thee: and then I hold,  
That's more desired of me then gold.  
Phillida, my fairest Phillida.   

But without thee still I say,  
I, in woe wear time away,  
my déarest love.  
Therefore let thy kind reply  
Cure me, or I faint and die.  
Phillida, let not thy fancy move.   
FINIS.   

phyllida's kind reply.  

WHerefore faints my Coridon?  
Thinks thou I am such a one,  
as Cressida?  
I will prove as firm to thee,  
As Lucrece or Penelope,  
Coridon doubt not of Phillida.   

Though I have been absent long,  
Faint not my sweet Coridon:  
thy Phillida  
Is, as thou art, true and just,  
Strong in love, but weak in lust.  
Coridon doubt not of Phillida.   

Nor, though our sex are given to range,  
Doth Phillida delight in change,  
my Coridon:  
If my absence made thee grieve,  
Let my presence now relieve  
Coridon, my dearest Coridon.   

As in me thou takest delight,  
So do I in thy sweet sight,  
my Coridon:  
I have been in yonder grove,  
Gathering flowers for my love:  
Coridon my dearest Coridon.   

The chiefest both for show and sent,  
So choice am I for thy content,  
my dearest love:  
Look, the livery of the spring,  
to deck thee Coridon I bring,  
then do not thy Phillida reprove.   

Such a loving simphathy,  
in our loue● (dear love) doth lie:  
I know right well.  
Such a heart wrought combination,  
that I fear no separation:  
Coridon such needless doubts repel,   
FINIS.   

A New sonnet of a Knight and a fair Virgin.  
To the tune of Salengers round.  

I Read how in King Arthur's time,  
a Knight as he did ride:  
Did meet a Virgin fair and bright,  
about the gréenewood side.  
Could she w●ll or could she woe,  
he lighted of his steed:  
And there he took against her will,  
her maiden head indeed.   

When this was done this maiden then,  
went raging to the King:  
Bewailing of her piteous case,  
and told him every thing:  
The King now hearing her complaint,  
in Stories as I read,  
Commanded the Knight he should be hanged,  
for this his heinous deed:   

The Queen alas considering this,  
it was a piteous thing:  
To cast away so fair a man,  
she begged him of the King.  
Unto the Knight than she began,  
now prisoner art thou mine:  
For thou shalt die for aught I know,  
except thy wits are fine.   

Yet I will give thee a whole years space,  
to know of woman's kind:  
What thing it is that women love best,  
if they may have their mind.  
Full sadly went this Knight away,  
some council for to find,  
To know the cause, to keep the day,  
that was to him assigned.   

When that the year was almost out,  
he came where he had seen:  
Twenty Ladies in a rout,  
all dancing on a green.  
When he drew near unto the place,  
his Question o have told:  
They vaded all before his face,  
save one that was full old.   

Amazed be ye sir Knight quoth she,  
what ist that you mislike:  
Perchance you may pick out of me,  
the thing that you do seek.  
He told her then, she said again,  
if I do it for you:  
You must agree to grant it me,  
that you may easily do.   

Content quoth he, come on quoth she,  
have with you to the Queen:  
And say that it is Sovereignty,  
that women love as I ween.  
Onward they go, the Queen did know  
the Knight was near at hand,  
She placed her Ladies all on a row,  
to hear the matter scanned.   

The Knight he gave his question this,  
my tale was soon expressed:  
It seems to me, that Sovereignty,  
is that that women love best.  
The Ladies all about the hall,  
their verdicts soon did give:  
This worthy Knight, hath hit so right,  
hath well deserved to live.   

Then Beldame stepped before the Queen,  
desiring that the Knight:  
Might grant to her upon the green,  
the troth that he did plight.  
What is that quoth he, marry quoth she,  
that I may be your wife:  
Alas quoth he, than woe is me,  
yet rather take my life.   

There was no shift, but marriage swift.  
and both laid in a bed:  
When she did joy to preeve a toy,  
he turned away his head.  
Sirquoth she, were not you better have me,  
being both shrewd and old:  
Then to have youth, that for a truth.  
should make you a Cuckold.   

But all this while she saw no sm●le,  
nor countenance of the Knight:  
She changed hew, she made herself new,  
her beauty was bran and bright.  
Then fell the Knight to lovers delight,  
good Lord what days are these.  
It was so strange to see the change,  
a could not sleep for fleas.   
FINIS.   

A new song of an Hostess and her Guests.  
To the tune of the painter.  

I Will not to Saint Katherine's go,  
to laugh no more:  
My Hostess chides and checks me so,  
I am sorry therefore.  
When I came in as merry as a pie:  
she hung she chin, she looked awry.  
She hold, she scold, she looked so coy,  
I could not be merry I could not joy.   

I saw her sit so maidenly,  
when I came in:  
To buss and kiss her curtuously,  
I did begin.  
The more I showed my countenance free,  
the more be shrewd, the worse was she:  
Her talk so shrill, the time so sour,  
I durst not tarry there half an hour.   

The beer was bitter for my taste,  
I tell you true:  
I came to soon to make such haste, as did ensue  
Yet after al● these comely shows,  
as best becomes those friendly shrews:  
The frowns were gone, and frolic she,  
contented was to welcome me.   

Then had we that and cheer at will,  
as served the place.  
A ready friend our pots to fill,  
and fetch apace.  
The Goodman he was not at home,  
the guests were cut over heart and come:  
The shrew became a courteous dame.   

The three hooped pot was filled round,  
for lack of cheer:  
Aneats-foot in the town was found,  
and we drew near.  
To take our fill of every joy,  
our Hostess was no longer coy:  
But thanks be to God our friends and us,  
our malice and all was ended thus,   
Finis.   

A Lamentable Ditty on the death of a nobleman who was executed in the time of King Edward.  

SHould fortune frown against the Gods,  
alas and should she so:  
Should worthy wights of noble blood,  
receive such mortal woe:  
Alas poor England now alas,  
Thy woe will shortly come to pass,   

In time of noble Edward's reign,  
whose same doth far resound:  
His uncle dear did truth maintain,  
and all his foes confound,  
But in the end alas alas,  
his woeful death was brought to pass,   

His Princely name and courage stout,  
which all men may report:  
Could not defend him from the rout,  
of those that did extort.  
But in the end alas alas,  
his woeful death was brought to pass.   

He was bereft of noble power,  
committed to his charge:  
And cast into the prison Tower,  
his torments to enlarge:  
Where as he lay alas alas,  
to doleful death was brought to pass.   

Who then did know the saigned clause,  
wherefore he was condemned,  
Is not the sentence of those laws,  
of all good men commended:  
O noble Duke alas alas,  
thy woeful death is come to pass.   

How wast thou led unto Tower-hill,  
with bills beset about:  
Even like a lamb contented still,  
before the wolvish rout.  
O Summerset alas alas,  
thy woeful death is come to pass.   

How did the Common people cry,  
with heaped voices shrill:  
Pardon pardon with hands on high,  
hoping to keep him still.   

He stood upright a noble Duke,  
with constant courage bold:  
Content yourselves this was his suse,  
the laws have me controlled.  
Alas poor souls alas alas,  
your woe will shortly come to pass.   

Pray for the peace of Edward King,  
your Sovereign he did say:  
That he may prosper in liu●ng,  
all ye good people pray.  
Lest that his foes alas alas,  
do bring his woeful death to pass.   

Our Summer sweet was thus bearest,  
and winter did ensue:  
What careful hearts to us were left:  
are since approved true.  
Oh England cry alas alas,  
that thy woe should come thus to pass.   
Finis.   

A pleasant new Sonnet entitled, mine own dear Lady brave,  
To the tune of Rogero  

Mine own dear Lady brave,  
would God it were my hap:  
To be the Spaniel that you have,  
to dandlo in yourlap.   

Or that ● were so feat,  
to please you with my skips:  
To take me up in your conceit,  
to stand and lick your lips:   

Or that my pranking pace,  
in all points could agree:  
To touch your train in every place,  
at least as near as he.   

Or that I could so brag,  
or simper with my tail:  
To take me up into your lap,  
to know what I do ail.   

Then should I hope and have,  
each dainty in the dish.  
And harbour like a pretty knave,  
according to my wish.   

And sleep between your paps,  
with striking on the ●ead:  
As tenderly each Lady raps,  
such puppies in their beds.   

Would God you would vouchsafe,  
to grant me half the grace:  
A lick or leap some time to have,  
in such a puppy's place.   

Should never feigning whelp,  
so closely keep you play:  
For I will neither yaune nor yelp,  
your secrets to bewray.   

But what it should behove,  
A Spaniel to profess:  
To cloak or hide, when you remove,  
my part shall be no less.   

And what doth want in him,  
my favour might supply:  
For though your puppy can do frim,  
yet not so well as I.  
Perhaps you will forget,  
your puppies dainty toys,  
When you and I were closely met,  
to play for pretty boys.  
Then pity now peruse,  
this written verse of mine:  
Or else the Dog I crave to choose,  
the happy state of thine.   
FINIS.   

A new Sonnet, of a cursed wife and her husband.  

PAssing along through Redriffe,  
I heard one sore complaining:  
Then straight I drew me near to him,  
to know the cause and meaning.  
Of this his sorrow, care and grief,  
which did his mind disaster:  
Alas says he what shall I do,  
my wife will needs be master▪   

For I may did woe worth the time,  
that ere with her I matched:  
For with her nails that are so sharp,  
my face she hath bescratched.  
To a Surgeon I was driven to run,  
for to go beg a plaster:  
So thus God knows unto my grief,  
my wife will be my master.   

I drndge I droil I toss I toil,  
till that the day be ended:  
At night I make to her account,  
what money I have spended.  
Or else my pockets she will search,  
and say I am a waster:  
Thus like a mome I live at home,  
and she will needs be master.   

For all the pains that I do take,  
yet still she will be chiding:  
Crcept siue groats each night I bring,  
at home there's no abiding.  
She says that I am good for nought,  
but for some foolish jester:  
With angry brows and deadly vows,  
she swears to be my master.   

Thus honest friend as you have heard,  
I daily live in sorrow:  
Of never a neighbour that I have,  
dare I once lend or borrow.  
If I should live as many years,  
as ever did King Nestor:  
Yet in my mind it still me fears,  
that she would be my master.   

I dare not stir forth of her sight,  
but when I am a working:  
For her jealous mind doth think I am,  
with one or other lurking.  
And if at any time I should,  
but chance to spend a taster:  
she'll call me knave, base rogue and slain.  
and swears she'll be the master.   
FINIS.