Lady Pecunia, OR The praise of Money.  
Also A Combat betwixt Conscience and Covetousness.  
Together with, The complaint of Poetry, for the death of Liberality.  
Newly corrected and enlarged, by Richard Barnfield, Graduate in Oxford.  
Printed by W. I. and are to be sold by john hodget's dwelling in Paul's Churchyard a little beneath Paul's School, 1605.   

The Author's first Epistle Dedicatory.  
LEd by the swift report of winged Fame,  
with silver trumpet, sounding forth your name  
To you I dedicate this merry Muse,  
And for my Patron, I your favour choose:  
She is a Lady, she must be respected:  
She is a Queen, she may not be neglected.  
This is the shadow, you the substance have,  
Which substance now this shadow seems to crave.  Richard Barnfield.  

To the gentlemen Readers.  
GEntlemen, being encouraged through your gentle acceptance of my Cynthia, I have once more ventured on your courtesies: hoping to find you (as I have done heretofore) friendly. Being determined to writ of something, and yet not resolved of anything, I considered with myself, if one should write of Love (they will say) every one writes of Love: if of virtue, why, who regards virtue; To be short, I could think of nothing, but either it was common, or not at all in request. At length I beethoght myself of a Subject, both new (as having never been written upon before) and pleasing (as I thought) because Man's Nature commonly) loves to hear that praised, with whose presence, he is most pleased.  
Erasmus (the glory of netherlands, and the refiner of the Latin Tongue) wrote a whole Book, in the praise of folly. Then if so excellent a Scholar, writ in praise of vanity, why may not I write in praise of that which is profitable? There are not two Countries, where Gold is esteemed, less than in India, and more than in England: the reason is, because the Indians are barbarous, and our Nation civil.  
I have given Pecunia the title of a Woman, Both for the termination of the Word, because (as Women are) she is loved of men. The bravest voyages in the World, have been made for Gold: for it, men have ventured (by Sea) o the furthest parts of the earth: In the pursuit whereof, England's Nestor and Neptune (Hawkins and Drake) lost their lives. upon the Deaths of the which two, of the first I writ this: 
The Waters were his winding Sheet, the Sea was made his Tomb,  
Yes for his Fame the Ocean Sea, was not sufficient room.  Of the latter this: 
England his heart, his Corpse the Waters have,  
And that which raised his Fame, became his grave.   
The Praetorians (after the death of Pertinax) in the election of a new Emperor, more esteemed the money of julianus, then either the virtue of Severus, or the valour of Pessennius. Then of what great estimation, this Lady Pecunia, both hath been in the world, and is at this present, I leave to your judgement. But what speak I so much of her praise in my Epistle, that have commended her so at large, in my Book; To the reading whereof, (Gentlemen) I refer you.   

Lady Pecunia. OR The praise of Money.  

I Sing not of Angellica the fair,  
(For whom the Palladine of France fell mad)  
Nor of sweet Rosamond, old Clifford's heir,  
(Whose death did make the second Henry sad)  
But of the fairest fair Pecunia,  
The famous Queen of rich America.   

2  
Goddess of Gold, great Empress of the Earth,  
O thou that canst do all Things under Heaven:  
That dost convert the saddest mind to Mirth:  
(Of whom the elder age was quite bereaven)  
Of thee I'll sing, and in thy Praise I'll write;  
You golden Angels help me to indite.   

3  
You, you alone, can make my Muse to speak;  
And tell a golden tale, with silver tongue:  
You only can my pleasing silence break;  
And add some Music, to a merry song;  
But amongst all the five, in musics Art,  
I worst can brook the Countcr-tenor part.   

4  
the Mean is best, and that I mean to keep,  
So shall I keep myself from that I mean;  
Lest with some Others, I be forced to weep,  
And cry Peccavi, in a doleful Scene.  
But to the matter which I have in hand,  
The Lady Regent, both by Sea and Land.   

5  
When Saturn lived, and wore the Kingly Crown,  
(And jove was yet unborn, but not unbred)  
this Lady's fame was then of no renown;  
(For Gold was then, no more esteemed then Led)  
than truth and Honesty were only used,  
Silver and Gold were utterly refused.   

6  
But when the World grew wiser in Conceit,  
And saw how men in manners did decline,  
How Charity began to lose her heat,  
And One did at another's good repine,  
Then did the Aged, first of all respect her,  
And vowed from thenceforth, never to reject her.   

7  
Thus with the World, her beauty did increase,  
And many Suitors had she to obtain her:  
Some sought her in the Wars; and some in peace;  
But few of youthful age, could ever gain her:  
Or if they did, she soon was gone again,  
And could with them, but little time remain.   

8  
For why against the Nature of her Sex,  
(That commonly despise the feeble Old)  
She, loves old men: but young men she rejects,  
Because to her, their Love is quickly cold:  
oldmen (like Husbands jealous of their Wives)  
Lock her up fast, and keep her as their lives.   

9  
The young man careless to maintain his life,  
Neglects her love (as though he did abhor her)  
Like one that hardly doth obtain a wife,  
And when he hath her once, he cares not for her,  
She, seeing that the young man doth despise her  
Leaves the frank heart, and flies unto the miser.   

10  
He entertains her, with a joyful heart,  
And seems to rue her undeserved wrong:  
And from his presence, she shall never part,  
Or if she do, he thinks her absence long:  
And oftentimes he sends for her again,  
Whose life without her, cannot long remain.   

11  
And when he hath her, in his own possession,  
He locks her in an yron-barred chest;  
And doubting somewhat, of the like Transgression,  
He holds that yron-walled Prison best.  
And lest some Rusty sickness should infect her,  
He often visits her, and doth respect her.   

12  
As for the young man (subject unto sin)  
No marvel though the Devil do distress him;  
To tempt man's frailty, which doth never linne,  
Who many times, hath not a Cross to bless him:  
But how can he incur the heavens Curse,  
That hath so many Crosses in his purse?   

13  
He needs not fear those wicked sprights that walk,  
Under the coverture of Coal-black Night;  
For why the Devil still, a Cross doth balk,  
Because on it, was hanged the Lord of Light:  
But let not Misers trust to Silver Crosses,  
Lest in the end, their gains be turned to losses.   

14  
But what care they, so they may hoard up gold?  
Either for God, or Devil, or heaven, or hell?  
So they may fair pecunia's face behold;  
And every day, their Mounts of Money tell.  
What tho to count their Coin, they never blind,  
Count they their coin, & counts not god their sin?   

15  
But what talk I of sin, to Usurers?  
Or look for mendment, at a Miser's hand?  
Pecunia, hath so many followers,  
Bootless it is, her Power to withstand.  
King Covetise, and wariness his wife,  
The parents were, that first did give her life.   

16  
But now unto her praise I will proceed,  
Which is as ample as the world is wide:  
What great Contentment doth her presence breed  
In him, that can his wealth with Wisdom guide?  
She is the Sovereign Queen of all Delights:  
For her the Lawyer pleads, the Soldier fights.   

17  
For her, the Merchant ventures on the Seas,  
For her, the Scholar studies at his book;  
For her, the Usurer (with greater ease)  
For silly fishes, lays a silver hook;  
For her the Townsman leaves the country village  
For her the Ploughman gives himself to Tillage.   

18  
For her, the Gentleman doth raise his rents,  
For her, the Servingman attends his master:  
For her, the curious head new toys invents;  
For her, to sores, the Surgeon lays his plaster.  
In fine for her, each man in his Uocation,  
Applies himself, in every several Nation.   

19  
What can thy heart desire, but thou mayst have it,  
If thou have ready money to disburse?  
Then thank thy Fortune, that so freely gave it,  
For of all friends, the surest is thy Purse.  
Friends may prove falls, & leave thee in thy need  
But still thy purse will be thy friend indeed.   

20  
Admit thou come into a place unknown,  
And no man wots of whence, or what thou art:  
If once thy fair Pecunia, she be shown,  
Thou art esteemed a man of great Desert:  
And placed at the Tables upper end,  
Not for thine own sake, but thy trusty friend.   

21  
But if you want your Ladies lovely grace,  
And have not wherewithal to pay your shot,  
Your Hostis presently will step in Place,  
You are a Stranger (Sir) know you not:  
By trusting divers, I am run in Det;  
Therefore of me, nor meat nor Bed you get.   

22  
O who can then, express the worthy praise,  
Which fair Pecunia justly doth deserve?  
That can the meanest man, to Honour raise:  
And feed the soul that ready is to starve.  
Affection, which was wont to be so pure,  
Against his golden Siege, may not endure.   

23  
Witness the Trade of Mercenary sin;  
(Or Occupation, if you list to term it)  
Where fair Pecunia must the suit begin;  
(As common-tride Experience doth confirm it)  
Not Mercury himself, with silver Tongue,  
Can so enchant, as can a golden song.   

24  
When nothing could subdue the Phrygian Troy,  
(That City through the world so much renowned)  
Pecunia did her utterly destroy:  
And left her fame in dark Oblivion drowned.  
And many Cities since, no less in fame,  
For Love of her, have yielded to their shame.   

25  
What thing is then so well beloved as money?  
It is a special comfort to the mind;  
More fair than women are, more sweet than honey:  
Easy to lose, but very hard to find.  
In fine, to him, whose purse begins to faint,  
Gold is a God, and Silver is a Saint.   

26  
The time was once, when Honesty was counted  
A Demie-God, and so esteemed of all:  
But now Pecunia on his Seat is mounted;  
Since Honesty in great disgrace did fall.  
No state, no Calling now, doth him esteem;  
Nor of the other ill, doth any deem.   

27  
The reason is, because he is so poor:  
(And who respects the poor, and needy Creature?)  
Still begging of his alms, from Door to door;  
All raged, and torn, and eke deformed in feature.  
In countenance so changed, that none can know him,  
So weak that every vice doth overthrow him.   

28  
But fair Pecunia, (most divinely bred)  
for sundry shapes, doth Proteus self surpass,  
In one Land, she is suited all in Lead,  
And in another, she is clad in Brass;  
But still within the Coast of Albion,  
She ever puts her best Apparel on.   

29  
Silver and Gold, and nothing else is currant,  
In England, in fair England's happy Land,  
All base sorts of Metals, have no Warrant,  
Yet secretly they Slip, from hand to hand.  
If any such be took, the same is lost,  
And presently is nailed on a Post.   

30  
Which with Quicksilver, being flourished over,  
Seems to be perfect Silver, to the show:  
As Woman's paintings, their defects do cover,  
Under this false attire, so do they go.  
If on a woollen Cloth, thou rub the same,  
Then will it strait begin to blush, for shame.   

31  
If chafed on thy hair, till it be hot,  
If it good Silver be, the scent is sweet:  
If counterfeit, thy chafing hath begot  
A ranke-smelt savour; for a Queen unmeet:  
Pecunia is a Queen, for her Deserts,  
And in the Deck, may go for Queen of hearts.   

32  
The Queen of hearts, because she rules all hearts;  
And hath all hearts, obedient to her Will:  
Whose Bounty, fame unto the World imparts;  
And with her glory, all the World doth fill:  
The Queen of Diamonds, she cannot be;  
There was but one, Eliza, thou wast she.   

33  
And thou wast she, O Sacred Sovereign;  
Whom God did aid with his Almighty hand:  
Blessing thy People, with thy peaceful reign;  
And made this little Land a happy Land:  
Thy peace on earth begun, in heaven made pure,  
There crowned with lasting joy: o joy most sure!   

34  
The time was once, when fair Pecunia, here,  
Did basely go attired all in Leather:  
But in Eliza's reign, it did appear,  
Most richly clad; in Gold, or Silver either:  
Nor reason is it, that her Golden reign  
With base Coin, eclipsed should remain.   

35  
And as the Coin she did repurifie,  
From base substance, to the purrest Mettles:  
Religion so, did she refine beside,  
From Papistry, to truth; which daily settles  
Within the People's hearts; though some there be,  
That cleave unto their wont Papistry.   

36  
No flock of sheep, but some are still infected:  
No piece of Lawn so pure, but hath some fret:  
All buildings are not strong, that are erected:  
All Plants prove not, that in good ground are set:  
Some tars are sown; amongst the choicest seed;  
No garden can he cleansed of every Weed.   

37  
But now more Angels then on Earth yet wear  
Her golden Impress; have to Heaven attended  
Her Virgin-soule; now, now she soiornes there,  
Tasting more joys than may be comprehended.  
Life, she hath changed for life (oh countless gain)  
An earthly rule, for an eternal Reign.   

38  
Such a Successor leaving in her stead,  
So peerless worthy, and so Royal wise;  
In him her virtues live, though she be dead:  
Bounty and Zeal, in him both soveranize.  
To him alone, Pecunia doth obey,  
He ruling her, that doth all others sway.   

39  
Bounty, that when she sickened, crazed and fainted,  
And when she left the earth had almost died;  
Hoping with her, in heaven to have been sainted,  
And 'mongst the rest an Angels place supplied:  
This King hath cherished, and his life assured,  
And of a long consumption, bounty's cured.   

40  
Plenty and Peace upon his Throne attend,  
Health and Content, upon his person wait:  
Conquest and Fame, his Royalty defend,  
May all good Planets smile upon his state.  
By whom all-drooping-vertues are revived,  
And dying-Bounty, made again long lived.   

41  
The hand of Heaven still take him to his keeping,  
Him, in no danger, in no doubt forsaking;  
A thousand of his Angels guard him sleeping,  
And all the host of heaven protect him waking.  
That he in safety, peace and rest, may reign,  
whilst the two Poles, the frame of heaven sustain   

42  
But now to her, whose praise is here pretended,  
(Divine Pecunia) fairer than the morn:  
Which cannot be sufficiently commended;  
Whose sun-bright Beauty doth the world adorn.  
Adorns the world, but specially the Purse;  
Without whose presence, nothing can be worse.   

43  
Not fair Haesione (King Priam's sister)  
Did ever show more beauty in her face,  
Then can this lovely Lady, if it list her  
To show herself; admired for comely grace:  
Which neither Age can wear, nor Time conclude  
For why, her Beauty yearly is renewed.   

44  
New Coin is yearly stamped in the Tower,  
But these fair days of joy, adds alteration:  
In fair Eliza's reign, none had that power;  
But kingly glory, clothes her new in fashion,  
Adds beauty to her beams, by adding more  
Than greyest hairs in life, ere saw before.   

45  
Stand forth who can and tell, and truly say  
When England, Scotland, Ireland and France,  
He ever saw Pecunia to display  
Before these days; O wondrous happy chance.  
Nor doth Pecunia only please the eye,  
But charms the ear, with heavenly harmony.   

46  
Like to another Orpheus can she play  
Upon her treble Harp, whose silver sound  
Enchants the ear, and steals the heart away,  
That hardly the deceit thereof is found.  
Although such Music, some a shilling cost,  
Yet is it worth but Ninepences, at the most.   

47  
But Ireland alone, this musics sound  
Being clad in Silver, challenge for their coin,  
What though amongst us much thereof be found,  
Authority, no subject doth enjoin  
Above his worth to countenance the same,  
Then men, not coin, are worthy of that blame.   

48  
Had I the sweet enchanting Tongue of Tully,  
That charmed the hearers, like the Sirens Song;  
Yet could I not describe the Praises fully,  
Which to Pecunia justly doth belong,  
Let it suffice, her Beauty doth excel;  
whose praise no Pencan paint, no Tongue can tell.   

49  
Then how shall I describe, with artless Pen,  
The praise of her, whose prais, all praise surmounteth?  
Breeding amazement, in the minds of men;  
Of whom, this present Age so much accounteth.  
Variety of Words, would sooner want,  
Then store of plenteous matters, would be scant.   

50  
Whether ye list, to look into the City,  
(Where money tempts the poor beholder's eye)  
Or to the Country Towns, devoid of Pity;  
(Where to the poor, each place doth alms deny)  
All things for money now, are bought and sold,  
That either heart can think, or eye behold.   

51  
Nay more for money (as report doth tell)  
Thou mayst obtain a Pardon for thy sins:  
The Pope of Rome, for money will it sell;  
(Whereby thy soul, no small salvation wins)  
But how can he (of Pride the chief Beginner)  
Forgive thy sins, that is himself a sinner?   

52  
Then, sith the Pope is subject unto sin,  
No marvel tho, divine Pecunia tempt him,  
With her fair beauty; whose goodwill to win,  
Each one contends; and shall we then exempt him.  
Did never mortal man, yet look upon her,  
But strait way he became, enamoured on her.   

53  
Yet would I wish, the Wight that loves her so,  
And hath obtained, the like goodwill again,  
To use her wisely, lest she prove his foe;  
And so, in stead of Pleasure, breed his pain.  
She may be kislt; but she may not be clipped,  
Lest such delight in bitter gall be dipped.   

54  
The juice of grapes, which is a soverai gne Thing  
To cheer the heart, and to revive the spirits;  
Being used imoderatly (in surfeiting)  
Rather Dispraise, than commendation merits,  
Even so Pecunia, is, as she is used:  
Good of herself, but bad if once abused.   

55  
With her the Tenant pays the Landlord's rent:  
On her depends the stay of every state;  
To her, rich Pressents every day are sent:  
In her, it rests to end all dire Debate;  
Through her, to wealth, is raised the Country Boor;  
From her, proceeds much profit to the poor.   

56  
Then how can I sufficiently commend,  
her Beauty's worth which makes the world to wonder?  
Or End her praise, whose praises have no End?  
Whose absence brings the stoutest stomach under,  
Let it suffice, Pecunia hath no peer,  
No wight, no Beauty held more fair, more dear.   
FINIS.   

The Author's prayer to Pecunia.  
GReat Lady, sith I have compiled thy Praise,  
(According to my skill) and not thy merit:  
And sought thy Fame above the stars to raise,  
(Had I sweet Ovid's vain, or Virgil's spirit)  
I crave no more but this, for my goodwill,  
That in my Want, thou wilt supply me still.   

The Combat betwixt Conscience and Covetousness, in the mind of man..  

NOw had the coal-black steeds, of pitchy Night,  
(Breathing out Darkness) banished cheerful light,  
And sleep (the shadow of eternal rest)  
My several senses, wholly had possessed.  
When lo, there was presented to my view,  
A vision strange, yet not so strange, as true,  
Conscience (me thought) appeared unto me,  
Clothed with good Deeds, with truth and Honesty,  
Her countenance demure, and sober sad,  
Nor any other Ornament she had.  
Then Covetousness did encounter her,  
Clad in a Cassock, like a Usurer,  
The Cassock, it was made of poor men skins,  
Laced here and there, with many several sins:  
Nor was it furred, with any common fur,  
Or if it were himself he was the fur.  
A Bag of money, in his hand he held,  
The which with hungry eye he still beheld.  
The place wherein this vision first began.  
(A spacious plain) was called The mind of man..  
The Carl no sooner, Conscience had espied  
But swelling like a Toad, (puffed up with pride)  
He strait began against her to inveigh;  
These were the words which Covetise did say.  
Conscience (quoth he) how dar'st thou be so bold,  
To claim the place, that I by right do hold?  
Neither by right, nor might, thou canst obtain it;  
By might (thou know'st full well) thou canst not gain it  
The greatest Princes are my followars,  
The King in Peace, the Captain in the Wars;  
The Courtier, and the simple Countryman:  
The judge, the Merchant, and the Gentleman:  
The learned Lawyer, and the Politician:  
The skilfulll Surgeon, and the fine Physician;  
In brief all sorts of men me entertain,  
And hold me as their Souls sole Sovereign,  
And in their quarrel they will fight and die,  
Rather than I should suffer injury.  
And as for title, interest, and right,  
I'll prove its mine by that as well as might.  
Though Covetousness, were used long before,  
Yet judas Treason made my fame the more;  
When Christ he caused, crucified to be,  
For thirty pence, man sold his mind to me:  
And now adays, what tenure is more free,  
Then that which purchased is, with Gold and fee?   

Conscience.  
With patience, have I heard thy large Complaint,  
Wherein the Devil, would be thought a Saint:  
But wot ye what, the Saying is of old?  
One tale is good, until another's told.  
Truth is the right, that I must stand upon,  
(For other title hath poor Conscience none)  
First I will prove it, By Antiquity,  
That thou art but an upstart, unto me;  
Before that thou wast ever thought upon  
the mind of Man, belonged to me alone.  
For after that the Lord had Man Created,  
And him in blissful Paradise had seated;  
(Knowing his Nature was to vice inclined)  
God gave me unto man to rule his mind.  
And as it were his Governor to be,  
To guide his mind, in Truth, and Honesty.  
And where thou sayst, that man did sell his soul;  
That Argument I quickly can control:  
It is a feigned fable, thou dost tell,  
That, which is not his own, he cannot sell;  
No man can sell his soul, although he thought it:  
Man's soul is Christ's, for he hath dearly bought it.  
Therefore usurping Covetise, be gone,  
For why, the mind belongs to me alone.   

Conciousnesse.  
Alas poor Conscience, how thou art decayed?  
As though of senses, thou wert quite bereaved.  
What wilt thou say (that thinks thou canst not err)  
If I can prove myself the ancienter?  
Though into Adam's mind God did infuse thee,  
Before his fall, yet man did never use thee.  
What was it else but Avarice in Eve,  
(Thinking thereby, in greater Bliss to live)  
That made her taste, of the forbidden fruit?  
Ofher Desire, was not I the root?  
Did she not covet? (tempted by the Devil)  
The Apple of the Tree, of good and evil?  
Before that man used Conscience, she did covet:  
Therefore by her Transgression, here I prove it,  
That Covetousness possessed the mind of man,  
Before that any Conscience began.   

Conscience.  
Even as a counterfeited precious stone,  
Seems to be far more rich, to look upon,  
Then doth the right: But when a man comes near,  
His baseness then, doth evident appear,  
So Covetise, the Reasons thou dost tell,  
Seem to be strong, but being weighed well.  
They are indeed, but only mere Illusions,  
And do enforce but very weak Conclusions.  
When as the Lord (foreknowing his offence)  
Had given man a Charge, of Abstinence,  
And to refrain, the fruit of good and ill:  
Man had a Conscience, to obey his will,  
And never would be tempted thereunto,  
Until the Woman, she, did work man woe.  
And made him break, the Lords commandment,  
Which all Mankind, did afterward repent:  
So that thou seest, thy Argument is vain,  
And I am proved, the elder of the twain.   

Conciousnesse.  
Fond Wretch, it was not Conscience but fear,  
That made the first man (Adam) to forbear  
to taste the fruit, of the forbidden tree,  
Lest, if offending he were found to be,  
(According as Jehovah said on high,  
For his so great transgression, he should die.  
Fear curbed his mind, it was not Conscience then,  
(For Conscience freely, rules the hearts of men)  
And is a godly motion of the mind,  
to every virtuous action inclined,  
And not enforced through fear of Punishment,  
But is to virtue voluntary bend:  
then (simple trul) be packing presently,  
For in this place, there is no room for thee.   

Conscience.  
Ay me (distressed Wight) what shall I do?  
Where shall I rest? Or whither shall I go?  
Unto the rich? (woes me) they do abhor me:  
Unto the poor? (alas) they, care not for me:  
Unto the Olde-man? he, hath me forgot:  
Unto the Youngman? yet he, knows me not:  
Unto the Prince? he; can dispense with me:  
Unto the Magistrate? that, may not be:  
Unto the Court? for it, I am to base:  
Unto the Country? there I have no place:  
Unto the City? thence, I am exiled:  
Unto the Village? there I am reviled:  
Unto the Bar? the Lawyer there is bribed,  
Unto the War? there, conscience is derided:  
Unto the temple? there, I am disguised:  
unto the Market: there, I am despised:  
thus both the young and old, the rich and poor,  
against me, silly creature shut their door.  
then sith each one seeks my rebuke and shame,  
J'll go again to Heaven, from whence I came,  
this said, me thought, making exceeding moan,  
She went her way, and left the carl alone,  
who vaunting of his late-got victory,  
advanced himself in pomp and Majesty;  
Much like a Cock who having killed his foe,  
bricks up himself and then begins to crow.  
So Covetise, when Conscience was departed,  
'Gan to be proud in mind, and haughty hearted:  
And in a stately Chair of state he set him,  
(For Conscience banished) there was none to let him,  
And being but one entry, to this Plain,  
(Whereof as king and Lord, he did remain)  
Repentance called, he caused that to be kept,  
Lest Conscience should return, whilst as he slept:  
Wherefore he caused it, to be watched and warded  
both night and Day, and to be strongly guarded:  
To keep it safe, these three he did entreat,  
Hardness of heart, with Falsehood, and Deceat,  
And if at any time, she chanced to venture,  
Hardness of heart, denid her still to enter.  
When Conscience was exiled the mind of Man,  
Than Conetise, his government began.  
This once being seen, what I had seen before,  
(being only seen in sleep, was seen no more,  
For with the sorrow, which my Soul did take  
At sight hereof, forth with I did awake.   
Finis.   

The Complaint of poetry, for the death of Liberality.  

1  
WEep heavens now, for you have lost your light,  
Ye Sun and Moon, be are witness of my moan  
the clear is turned to clouds, the day to night,  
And all my hope, and all my joy is gone:  
bounty is dead, the cause of my annoy:  
bounty is dead and with her died my joy.   

2  
O who can comfort my afflicted soul?  
Or add some end to my increasing sorrows?  
Who can deliver me from endless dole?  
Which from my heart eternal torment borrows.)  
When bounty lived, I bore the bell away,  
When bounty died, my credit did decay.   

3  
I never then, did write on verse in vain;  
Nor ever went my Poems unregarded:  
Then did each Noble breast, me entertain,  
And for my labours I was well rewarded,  
But now good words, are stepped in Bounty's place,  
Thinking thereby, her glory to disgrace.   

4  
But who can live with words, in these hard times?  
(Although they came from Jupiter himself?)  
Or who can take such Payment, for his Rhymes;  
(When nothing now, is so esteemed as Pelf)  
'Tis not Good words, that can a man maintain;  
Words are but wind; and wind is all but vain.   

5  
Where is Maecenas, Learning's noble Patron?  
(That Maro's Muse, with Bounty so did cherish?)  
Or fair Zenobia, that worthy Matron?  
(Whose name, for Learning's love, shall never perish)  
What though their Bodies, lie full low in grave,  
Their fame the world; their souls the heavens have.   

6  
Vile Auaricia, how hast thou enchanted  
The Noble minds, of great and mighty Men?  
Or what infernal fury late hath haunted  
Their niggard purses? (to the learned pen)  
Was it Augustus' wealth, or noble mind,  
That everlasting fame, to him assigned.   

7  
If wealth? Why Croesus was more rich than he;  
(Yet Croesus glory, with his life did end)  
It was his Noble mind, that moved me  
To write his praise, and eke his Acts commend  
Who ere had heard, of Alexander's fame,  
If Quintus Curtius had not penned the same?   

8  
Then sith by me, their deeds have been declared,  
(Which else had perished with their lives decay)  
Who to augment their glories, have not spared  
to crown their brows, with neverfading Bay;  
What art deserves such liberality,  
As doth the peerless art of Poetry?   

9  
But Liberality is dead and gone:  
And Avarice Usurps true bounties seat.  
F●● her it is I make this endless moan,  
●●●●ose praises worth no pen can well repeat)  
Sweet Liberality adieu for ever,  
For Poetry again shall see thee never.   

10  
Never again, shall I thy presence see:  
Never again, shall I thy bounty taste,  
Never again, shall I accepted be:  
Never again, shall I be so embraced.  
Never again, shall I the bad recall:  
Never again, shall I beloved of all.   

11  
Thou wast the Nurse, whose Bounty gave me suck,  
Thou wast the Sun, whose beams did lend me light:  
Thou wast the tree, whose fruit I still did pluck:  
thou wast the Patron, to maintain my right  
through thee I lived; on thee I did rely;  
●a thee I joyed: and now for thee I die.   

12  
What man, hath lately lost a faithful friend?  
Or Husband, is deprived of his Wife?  
But doth his after-days in dolour spend?  
(Leading a loathsome, discontented life?  
Dearer than friend, or wife have I foregone?  
then marvel not although I make such moan.   

13  
Fair Philomela, cease thy sad complaint;  
And lend thine ears, unto my doleful Ditty:  
(Whose soul with sorrow, now begins to faint,  
And yet I cannot move men's hearts to pity:)  
thy woes are light, compared unto mine:  
You watery Nymphs, to me your plaints resign.   

14  
and thou Melpomene, (the Muse of Death)  
that never singest, but in a doleful strain;  
Sith cruel Destiny hath stopped her breath,  
(Who whilst she lived, was Virtues Sovereign)  
Leave He●●on, (whose Banks so pleasant be  
and bear a part of sorrow now with me.   

15  
the trees (for sorrow) shed their fading Leaves,  
And weep out gum, in stead of other tears;  
Comfort nor joy, no Creature now conceives,  
to chirp and sing, each little bird forbears.  
the silly Sheep, hangs down her drooping head,  
and all because, that bounty she is dead.   

16  
the greater that I feel my grief to be,  
the lesser able, am I to express it;  
Such is the Nature of extremity,  
the heart it something eases, to confess it.  
therefore J'll wake my muse, amidst her sleeping,  
and what I want with words, supply with weeping.   

17  
Weep still mine eyes, a River full of tears,  
to drown my Sorrow in, that so molests me;  
and rid my head of cares: my thoughts of fears:  
Exiling sweet Content, that so detests me.  
But ah (alas) my tears are almost dun.  
and yet my grief, it is but new begun.   

18  
Even as the Sun, when as it leaves our sight,  
Doth shine with those Antipodes, beneath us:  
Lending the other world her glorious light,  
And dismal Darkness, only doth bequeath us:  
Even so sweet Bounty, seeming dead to me,  
lives now to none, but smooth-Tongd Flattery.   

19  
O Adulation, canker-worm of Truth;  
The flattering Glass of Pride, and Self-conceit,  
(Making old wrinkled Age, appear like youth)  
Dissimulations Mask, and follies Beat.  
Pity it is, that thou art so rewarded,  
Whilst Truth and Honesty, go unregarded.   

20  
O that Nobility, itself should stain,  
In being bountiful, to such vile Creatures,  
Who, when they flatter most, then most they feign:  
Knowing what humour best, will fit there Natures.  
What man so mad, that knows himself but poor.  
And will believe that he hath riches store,   

21  
Upon a time the crafty Fox did flatter  
The foolish pie (whose mouth was full of meat)  
The Pie believing him, began to chatter,  
And sing for joy, (not having list to eat)  
And whilst the foolish Pie, her meat let fall,  
The crafty Fox, did run a way with all.   

22  
Terence describeth under Gnato's name,  
The right conditions of a Parasite:  
(And with such Eloquence, sets forth the same,  
As doth the learned Reader much delight)  
Showing, that such a sycophant as Gnato,  
Is more esteemed, than twenty such as Plato.   

23  
Bounty look back, upon thy goods misspent:  
And think how ill, thou hast bestowed thy money:  
Consider not their words, but their intent:  
Their hearts are gall, although their tongues be honey:  
They speak not as they think, but all is feigned,  
And only to th'intent to be maintained.   

24  
And herein happy, I areade the poor;  
No flattering Spaniels, fawn on them for meat:  
The reason is, because the Country Boor  
Hath little enough for himself to eat:  
No man will flatter him, except himself:  
And why? because he hath no store of wealth.   

25  
But sure it is not Liberality  
That doth reward these fawning smel-feasts so:  
It is the vice of Prodigality,  
That doth the the banks of Bounty overflo.  
Bounty is dead, yea so it needs must be,  
Or if alive, yet is she dead to me.   

26  
Therefore as one, whose friend is lately dead,  
I will bewail the death of my late friend,  
Upon whose tomb ten thousand tears i'll shed,  
Till dreary Death, of me shall make an end:  
Or if she want a tomb, to her desert,  
On then, i'll bury her within my heart.   

27  
But (Bounty) if thou love a Tomb of stone,  
Oh then seek out, a hard and stony heart,  
For were mine so, yet would it melt with moan,  
And all because that I with thee must part.  
Then if a stony heart must thee inter,  
Go find a Stepdame, or a Usurer.   

28  
And sith there dies no Wight, of great account,  
But hath an Epitaph composed by me,  
Bounty, that did all other far surmount,  
Upon her Tomb, this Epitaph shall be:  
Here lies the Wight, that Learning did maintain,  
And at the last, by Avarice was slain.   

29  
Vile Avarice, why hast thou killed my Dear?  
And robbed the world, of such a worthy Treasure,  
In whom no spark of goodness doth appear,  
So greedy is thy mind, without all measure.  
Thy death, from Death did merit to release her,  
The Murderers deserved to die, not Caesar.   

30  
The Merchant's wife; and Tender-hearted Mother:  
That leaves her Love; whose Sonneis priest for war:  
(Resting the one; as woeful as the other)  
Hopes yet at length, when euded is the jar;  
To see her Husband; see her Son again:  
" were it not then for Hope, the heart were slain.   

31  
But I, whose hope is turned to despair,  
Near look to see my dearest dear again;  
Then Pleasure sit thou down, in sorrows Chair,  
And for a while thy wont Mirth refrain.  
Bounty is dead, that whilom was my Treasure:  
Bounty is dead, my joy and only pleasure.   

32  
If Pythias death, of Damon were bewailed;  
Or Pylades did rue, Orestes end:  
If Hercules, for Hylas' loss were quailed:  
Or Theseus, for Pirithous Tears did spend:  
then do I mourn for Bounty, being dead:  
Who living, was my hand, my heart, my head.   

33  
My hand, to help me, in my greatest need:  
My heart, to comfort me, in my distress:  
My head, whom only I obeyed, indeed:  
If she were such, how can my grief be less?  
Perhaps my words, may pierce the parcae's ears:  
If not with words, J'll move them with my tears.   

34  
But ah (alas) my Tears are spent in vain,  
(For she is dead, and I am left alive)  
Tears cannot call, sweet Bounty back again:  
Then why do I, against Fate and Fortune strive?  
And for her death, thus weep lament and cry,  
Sith every mortal wight, is borne to die.   

35  
But as the woeful mother doth lament,  
Her tender babe with cruel Death oppressed:  
Whose life was spotless, pure, and innocent,  
(And therefore sure, it soul is gone to rest)  
So Bounty, which herself did upright keep,  
Yet for her loss, love cannot choose but weep.   

36  
The loss of her, is loss to many a one:  
The loss of her, is loss unto the poor;  
And therefore not a loss, to me alone,  
But unto such, as go from Door to Door.  
Her loss, is loss unto the fatherless:  
And unto all, that are in great distress.   

37  
The maimed Soldier, coming from the war:  
The woeful wight, whose house was lately burnt:  
the silly soul: the woeful travelar:  
And all, whom Fortune at her feet hath spurned:  
Lament the loss of Liberality:  
" It's ease, to have in grief some Company.   

38  
the Wife of Hector (sad Andromache)  
Did not bewail, her husband's death alone:  
But (sith he was the trojans only stay)  
the wives of troy (for him) made equal moan.  
She, shed the tears of Love; and they of pity:  
She, for her dear dead Lord; they, for their City.   

39  
Nor is the Death of Liberality,  
(Although my grief be greater than the rest)  
Only lamented and bewailed of me;  
(And yet of me, she was beloved best)  
But, sith she was so bountiful to all,  
She is lamented, both of great and small.   

40  
O that my Tears could move the powers divine.  
That Bounty might be called from the dead:  
As Pity pierced the heart of Proserpina:  
Who moved with the Tears Admetus shed)  
Did send him back again, his loving Wife;  
Who lost her own, to save her husband's life.   

41  
Jmpartiall Parcaes, will no prayers move you?  
Can Creatures so divine, have stony hearts?  
Hapless are they, whose hap it is to prove you,  
For you respect no Creatures good Deserts.  
O Atropos, (the crueldst of the three)  
Why hast thou ta'en, my faithful friend from me?   

42  
But ah, she cannot (or she will not) hear me,  
Or if she do, yet may not she repent her:  
then come (sweet death) O why dost thou for bear me  
Ay me! thy Dart is blunt, it will not enter.  
Oh now I know the cause, and reason why;  
I am immortal, and I cannot die.   

43  
So Cytherae a would have died, but could not;  
When fair Adonis by her side lay slain:  
So I desire the Sisters, what I should not;  
For why (alas) I wish for Death in vain;  
Death is their servant, and obeys their will;  
And if they bid him spare, he cannot kill.   

44  
Oh would I were, as other Creatures are;  
Then would I die, and so my grief were ended:  
But Death (against my will) my life doth spare;  
(So little with the fates I am befriended)  
Sith, when I would, thou dost my suit deny,  
Vile Tyrant, when thou wilt I will not die.   

45  
And Bounty, though her body thou hast slain,  
Yet shall her memory remain for ever:  
For ever, shall her memory remain;  
Whereof no spiteful Fortune can bereave her.  
Then Sorrow cease, and wipe thy weeping eye;  
For Fame shall live, when all the world shall die.   

A Comparison of the Life of man..  
Man's life is well compared to a feast,  
Furnished with choice of all Variety:  
To it comes time; and as a bidden guest  
He sits him down, in Pomp and Majesty.  
The three fold age of Man, the Waiters be:  
Then with a earthen voider (made of clay)  
Comes Death, and takes the table clean away.   
Finis.   


A Remembrance of some English Poets.  

Live Spenser ever, in thy Fairy Queen:  
Whose like (for deep Conceit) was never seen.  
Crowned mayst thou be, unto thy more renown,  
(As King of Poets) with a Laurel Crown.   

And Daniel, praised for thy sweet-chast verse:  
Whose Fame is graved on Rosamonds black Hearse.  
Still mayst thou live: and still be honoured,  
For that rare work, The White Rose and the Red.   

And Drayton, whose well-written Tragedies,  
And sweet Epistles, soar thy fame to skies.  
Thy learned Name, is equal with the rest;  
Whose stately Numbers are so well addressed.   

And Shakespeare, thou, whose honey flowing vain,  
(Pleasing the World) thy Praises doth contain.  
Whose venus, and whose Lucrece (sweet, and chaste)  
Thy Name in fames immortal Book have placed.  
Live ever you, at least in Fame live ever:  
Well may the Body die, but Fame die never.    
Finis.