A gorgeous Gallery, of gallant Inventions.  
Garnished and decked with divers dainty devices, right delicate and delightful, to recreate each modest mind withal.  
First framed and fashioned in sundry forms, by divers worthy workmen of late days: and now, joined together and builded up: By T. P.  
¶ Imprinted at London, for Richard jones. 1578.   

A. M. Unto all young Gentlemen, in commendation of this Gallery and workmen thereof.  
SEE gallants, see, this Gallery of delights,  
With buildings brave, embossed of variant hue:  
With dainties decked, devised by worthy wights,  
(Which) as time served, unto perfection grew.  
By study's toil with phrases fine they fraught:  
This peerless piece, filled full, of pretty pith:  
And trimde it, (with) what skill, and learning taught,  
In hope to please your longing minds therewith.  
Which workmanship, by worthy workmen wrought,  
(Perused) lest in oblivion it should lie:  
A willing mind, each part together fought,  
And termed (the whole) A gorgeous gallery:  
Wherein you may, to recreate the mind,  
Such fine Inventions find, for your delight:  
That, for desert, their doings will you bind,  
To yield them praise, so well a work to wright.  
FINIS.  A. M.  

Owen Roydon to the curious company of sycophants.  
THe busy Bees whose pains do never miss,  
But toil their time the winter's want to wield:  
And heap in hives, the thing that needful is,  
To feed their flock till winter be exiled:  
Sometimes the Drones the Honey combs do eat,  
And so the Bees must starve for want of meat.  
The drowsy Drones do never take such toil,  
But lie at lurch, like men of Momus mind:  
Who rudely read and rashly put to foil,  
What worthy works, so ever they do find:  
Which works would please the learned sort full well,  
But sycophants will never cease to swell.  
Though (learnedly) themselves be void to writ,  
And have not known the height of Helicon:  
Yet, carpingly, they needs must spit their spite,  
Or else their former force, (they judge) is gone:  
Who only live, the silly Bees t'annoy,  
And eat the meat, whereon the Bees should joy.  
(Departed from hence) that cursed kind of crew,  
And let this Book, embrace his earned meed:  
Which was set forth (for others) not for you,  
What likes them best, that only for to read:  
And let the rest, without rebuke to pass,  
And help t'amend the thing that blameless was.  
(APPELLES) might suffice, to warn you well,  
(who) while he was a painting in his Shop:  
Came in (a souter) who began to swell,  
And viewed his Image all from toe to top:  
And scoffed at this, and did mislike at that,  
Of many a fault the Champion 'gan to chat.  
At length (Appelles) angry with his man,  
Dislyked much and gave him answer so:  
(Talk thou of that, wherein some skill thou can)  
Unto the slipper (souter) only go:  
The saucy (souter) was abashed much,  
And afterward, his talk was nothing such.  
So? (Momus thou) no further than thy mark,  
And talk no more, than skill doth give thee leave:  
But in thy heart, there is a burning spark,  
And (whiles thou lives) that sickness will thee grieve:  
But do thy worst, and do no more but right,  
The learned rout, will laugh at thy despite.  
FINIS.  O. R.  

THE GALLERY of gallant Inventions.  

To a gentlewoman that said: All men be false, they think not what they say.  
SOme women fain that Paris was,  
The falsest lover that could be:  
Who for his (life) did nothing pass,  
As all the world might plainly see:  
But ventured life and limbs and all,  
To keep his friend from Greekish thrall:  
With many a broil he dearly bought,  
His (Helen) whom he long had sought.  
For first (Dame Venus) granted him,  
A gallant gift of Beauty's fleece:  
Which boldly for to seek to win,  
By surging Seas he sailed to Greece:  
And when he was arrived there,  
By earnest suit to win his dear:  
Not greater pains might man endure,  
Then Paris did, for Helen sure.  
Besides all this when they were well,  
Both he, and she, arrived at Troy:  
King Menelaus wrath did swell,  
And swore, by sword, to rid their joys:  
And so he did for ten years space,  
He lay before the Trojans face:  
With all the host that he could make,  
To be revenged for Helen's sake.  
Lo? thus much did poor Paris bide,  
Who is accounted most vatrue:  
All men be false it hath been said,  
They think not what they speak (say you)  
Yes Paris spoke, and sped with speed,  
As all the heavenly Gods decreed:  
And proved himself a Lover just,  
Till stately Troy was turned to dust:  
I do not read of any man,  
That so much was unfaithful found:  
You did us wrong, t'accuse us than,  
And say our friendship is not sound:  
If any fault be found at all,  
To women's lot it needs must fall:  
If (Helen) had not been so light,  
Sir Paris had not died in fight.  
The falsest men I can excuse,  
That ever you in stories read:  
Therefore all men for to accuse,  
Me thinks it was not well decreed:  
It is a sign you have not tried,  
What steadfastness in men doth bide:  
But when your time shall try them true,  
This judgement then, you must renew.  
I know not every man's devise,  
But commonly they steadfast are:  
Though you do make them of no price,  
They break their vows but very rare:  
They will perform their promise well,  
And specially where love doth devil:  
Where friendship doth not justly frame,  
Then men (forsooth) must bear the blame.  
FINIS.  O. R.  

❧ The lamentable lover abiding in the bitter bale of direful doubts towards his ladies loyalty, writeth unto her as followeth.  
HEalth I thee sand, if he may give, that which himself doth miss:  
For thy sweet breast, doth harbour whole, my bloody bale or bliss,  
I need no scribe, to scry my care, in restless rigour spread:  
They that behold, my changed cheer, already judge me dead.  
My baned limbs, have yielded up, their wonted joy to die:  
My healthles hand, doth naught but wring, & dry my dropping eye,  
The deadly day, in dole I pass, a thousand times I crave  
The noisome night: again I wish, the doleful day to have.  
Each hour to me, most hateful is, each place doth urge my woe:  
No food me feeds, close up mine eyes, to ghastly grave I go.  
No Physics art, can give the salve, to heal my painful part:  
Save only thou, the salve and sore, of this my captive heart,  
Thou art the branch that sweetly springs, whose heart is sound & true  
Can only cheer me woeful wight, or force my want to rue.  
Then give to me, the sap I thirst, which gift may give me joy,  
I mean thy firm, & faithful love, whose want breeds mine annoy,  
Remember yet sure friendship had, ypast between us twain  
Forget him not, for love of thee, who sighs in secret pain.  
I often do seem in company, a gladsome face to bear,  
But God thou know'st my inward woes, & cares that rend me there:  
And that I may, gush out my grief, in secret place alone,  
I bid my friends farewell in haste, I say I must be gone.  
Then haste I fast, with heavy heart, in this my doleful case:  
Where walks no wight, but I alone, in drewsie desert place,  
And there I empt, my laden heart, that swelled in fretting moan:  
My sighs and plaints, and pangs I tell, unto myself alone.  
What shall I say? do ask me once, why all these sorrows be:  
I answer true, O foe or friend, they all are made for thee.  
Once knit the lynck, that love may last, then shall my dollars cease  
It lies in thee, and wilt thou not, the yielding wight release?  
O would to God, it lay in me, to cure such grief of thine:  
Thou shouldst not long, be void of help, if 'twere in power of mine,  
But I would run, & range in storms, a thousand miles in pain:  
Not fearing foil, of friends to have, my countenance whole again  
And will thou then, all merciless, more longer torment me?  
In drawing back, sith my good help, is only whole in thee?  
Then sand me close, y hewing knife, my wider wound to stratch:  
And thou shalt see, by woeful grief, of life a clean dispatch.  
When thou shalt say, and prove it true, my heart entirely loved,  
Which lost the life, for countenance sweet from whom he never moved  
Writ then upon my woeful Tomb, these verses graven above,  
here lies the heart, his truth to try, that lost his life in love.  
Lo, save or spill, thou mayst me now, thou sit'st in judgement high,  
Where I poor man, at Bar do stand, and loud, for life do cry.  
Thou wilt not be, so merciless, to slay a loving heart:  
Small praise it is to conquer him, that durst no where to start,  
Thou hast the sword, that cut the wound, of my unhalven pain:  
Thou canst and art, the only help, to heal the same again.  
Then heal the heart, that loves thee well, until the day he die:  
And firmly fast thy love on him, that's true continually,  
In thee my wealth, in thee my woe, in thee too save or spill:  
In thee me life, in thee my death, doth rest to work thy william.  
Let virtue mixed, with pity great, and loving mercy save  
Him, who without thy salve, so sick, that he must yield to grave,  
O salve thou then, my secret sore, sith health in thee doth stay:  
And grant with speed, my just request, whose want works my decay  
Then shall I bless, the pleasant place, where once I took thy glove,  
And thank the God, who gives thee grace, to grant me love for love.  
FINIS.   

¶ A loving Epistle, written by Ruphilus a young Gentleman, to his best beloved Lady Elriza, as followeth.  
TWice hath my quaking hand withdrawn this pen away  
And twice again it gladly would, before I dare bewray  
The secret shrined thoughts, that in my heart do devil,  
That never wight as yet hath wist, nor I desire to tell.  
But as the smothered coal, doth waist and still consume,  
And outwardly doth give no heat, of burning blaze or fume:  
So hath my hidden harms, been harboured in my corpce,  
Till fainting limbs and life and all, had well-nigh lost his force:  
Yet stand I half in doubt, which of these two to choose,  
To hide my harms still to my hurt, or else this thraldom lose.  
I will lay fear aside, and so my tale begin:  
Who never durst assail his foe: did never conquest win.  
Lo here my cause of care to thee unfold I will:  
Help thou Minerva, grant I pray, some of thy learned skill.  
Help all you Muses nine, my woeful Pen to writ:  
So stuff my verse with pleasant words, as she may have delight,  
With héeding ears to read my gréeif and great unrest:  
Some words of plaint may move perhaps, to pity my request.  
Often have I hard complaint, how Cupid bears a sway  
In brittle youth, and would command: and how they did obey.  
When I with scorning ears did all their talk despise:  
But well I see the blinded boy: in lurking den he lies,  
To catch the careless sort: awaiting with his Dart:  
He threw at me when I unwares, was wounded to the heart.  
To speak and pray for help, now love hath me constrained:  
And makes me yield to serve the sort, that lately I disdained.  
Sigh beggars have no choice: nor need had ever law  
The subject Ox doth like his yoke: when he is driven to draw.  
That Ruphilus this wrote: thou wonder wilt I know,  
Cause never erst in loving verse: my labour I bestow,  
Well, woeful love is mine, and weeping lines I wright,  
And doubtful words with dreary cheer: beseems a careful wight  
O thou Elrisa fair, the beauty of thine eyes  
Hath bred such bale within my dressed, and cau'sde such strife to rise.  
As I can not forget: until devouring death  
Shall leave to me a senseless ghost: and rid my longer breath,  
Or at the lest that thou: do grant me some relief  
To ease the greedy gripes I feel, and end my great mischief.  
As due to me by right, I can no mercy crave,  
Thou hast the power to grant me life: refuse not for to save.  
Put to thy helping hand, to salve the wounded sore,  
Though thou refuse it for my sake: yet make thine honour more,  
Too cruel were the fact: if thou shouldst seek to kill  
Thy faithful friend that loves thee so: and doth demand no ill.  
Thy heavenly shape I saw: thy passing beauty bright,  
Enforced me to assay the bait: where now my bane I bite  
I naught repent my love: nor yet forthinke my fact,  
The Gods I know were all agreed: and secretly compact.  
To frame a work of praise: to show their power divine  
By good advice this on the earth: above the rest to shine.  
Whose perfect shape is such: as Cupid fears his fall,  
And every wight that hath her seen, I say (not one) but all  
With one consent they cry: lo here dame Venus' air,  
Not Danae nor she dame Lede: was ever half so fair.  
Though Princes sue for grace: and each one do thee woe,  
Mislike not this my mean estate: wherewith I can naught do,  
As highest seats we see: be subject to most wind,  
So base and poor estates we know, be hateful to the mind.  
The happy mean is mine: which I do haply hold,  
Thy honour is to yield for love: and not for heap of gold.  
If ever thou hast felt: the bitter pangs that stings  
A lovers breast: or knowest the cares, that Cupid on us flings.  
Then pity my request: and wail my woeful case,  
Whose life to death with hasty wheels: do tumble on apace.  
Vouchsafe to ease the pain: that love on me doth whelm,  
Let not thy friend to shipwreck go: sith thou dost hold his helm.  
Who yieldeth all he hath: as subject to thy will,  
If thou command he doth obey, and all thy hests fulfil.  
But if thou call to mind: when I did part thee fro,  
What was the cause of my exile: and why I did forego  
The happy life I held, and lost there with thy sight,  
Well mayst thou wail thy want of troth: & rue thy great unright  
If thou be found to fail thy vow that thou hast sworn  
Or that one jot of my good will, out of thy mind be worn.  
Or if my absence long: to thy disgrace hath wrought me  
Or hindering tales of my back friends: unto such state hath brought me.  
I can and will accurse the cause of my ill speed:  
But well, I hope, my fear is more: then is the thing indeed.  
Yet blame me not though I do stand somewhat in fear  
The cause is great of my exile, which hardly I do bear.  
Who hath a sternles ship amidst the trustless Seas,  
Full greedily desires the port: where he may ride at ease.  
Thy beauty bids me trust, unto thy promise past,  
My absence long and not to speak: doth make me doubt as fast.  
For as the summers son, doth make each thing to spring:  
Even so the frozen winters blast, as deadly doth them wring.  
Unsuer thus I live in dread I wots not why  
Yet was there never day so bright, but there be clouds in sky.  
Who hath of puer Gold, a running stream or flood  
And is restrained for coming nigh, this treasure great and good.  
He must abide a time: till Fortune grant him grace,  
That he have power by force to win: his rich desired place.  
I need not thus to do: nor yet so much mistrust,  
I know no time can change thy mind: or make thee be unjust.  
No more than water soft, can stir a steadfast rock:  
Or silly flies upon their backs can bear away a block.  
Each beast on earth we see: that living breath doth draw,  
be faithful found unto their mates: and keeps of love the law.  
My wretched life to ease: when I do seek to turn,  
Thy beauty bright doth kindle me, in greater flame to burn.  
No day, no night, nor time, that gives me mirth or rest,  
Awake, asleape, and at my meals, thou dost torment my breast.  
Though weary loathsome life: in care and woe have clad me,  
Remembrance of thy heavenly face, gives cause again to glad me.  
Thus joyful thoughts a while, doth lessen much my pain  
But after calm and fair tides, the storms do come again.  
And I in cares do flame, to think of my exile,  
That I am barred from thy sight: I curse and ban the while.  
Would God I had the craft a Labyrinth to frame,  
And also had a Mynotaure: enclosed in thesame:  
And that our enemies all, might therein take some pain,  
Till Dedales' line I did them bring, to help them out again.  
Then should my sorrows cease, and drown my deep despair,  
Then should my life be blest with joys: and raised above the air.  
But as the mazed bird, for fear dare scantly fly,  
When he hath scaped the Falcon's foot: even so I know should I  
Scarce able be to speak, or any word to say,  
Lest Argus waiting jealous eyes, might haply me bewray  
But o Elrisa mine, why do I stir such war  
Within myself to think of this: and yet thy love so far?  
Why rather should not I: give up the life I have  
And yield my weary wretched corpse: unto the gaping grau  
If I hoped not that thou with faith didst bind thy life,  
This hand of mine with bloody sword, should stint my cruel strife.  
Not length of lingering time: no distance can remove,  
The faith that I have have vowed to thee: nor altar once my love.  
Believe this to be true, that streams shall sooner turn,  
Or frozen Ice to fire coals, on blazing flame to burn.  
Then I will seek to change: or altar once my mind,  
All plagues I pray may fall on me, if I be found unkind.  
Or if I mean to serve while I have living breath  
God grant my end then may be such as Agamemnon's death.  
I wish thy life no harm: but yet I would thou knew  
The woeful end that Cressida made, because she was untrue.  
These angry gods or men, asunder that do set us,  
Shall never pierce our minds in twain nor eke to love can let us  
As well they may divide the fire from the flame,  
And every beast that now is wild, as soon shallbe made tame.  
Let not this pistle long, my suit with thee deface,  
Who pleadeth for his life thou knowest: at large must tell his case.  
And all these words I writ, to one effect do tend,  
I am all thine, and not mine own: and herewithal to end.  
I pray thee to regard: thy health and my request,  
And that my love do never fleet out of thy secret breast.  
FINIS.   

¶ NARSETUS a woeful youth, in his exile writeth to Rosana his beloved mistress, to assure her of his faithful constancy, requiring the like of her.  
TO stay thy musing mind: he did this pistle frame,  
That holds the dear, & loves thee most: Narsetus is his name  
Would God thy friend had brought: the health that here he sends  
I should have seen my lacking joy, and heal that heart that rends.  
And ready is each hour: to sunder still in twain,  
Save now this pistle that I writ: doth lessen well my pain,  
And helps me to uphold a lingering loathsome life,  
Awaiting still the blissful hour, when death shall stint the strife.  
What doth it me prevail: to have king Croesus' wealth,  
Or who doth joy in golden gives, imprisoned with his health,  
I swear by jove to thee, whose godhead is ay just,  
These words I writ are not untrue: then do me not missed rust.  
Thyself shallbe the judge: and if thou list to view,  
The bared bones, the hollow looks, the pale and ledy hue,  
The stealing strides I draw: the woe and dreadful fears  
The boiling breast with bitter brine, the eyes be sprent with tears  
The scant and hungry meals: the seldom sleep I take,  
The dainty dames that others joy, do jest to me do make  
These hated hateful harms: when I them feel to grieve me  
Remembrance of thy beauty bright, doth strait again relieve me  
And then I call to mind, thy shape and comely grace,  
Thy heavenly hue thy sugared words, thy sweet enticing face  
The pleasant passed sports: that spent the day to end,  
The loathsome looks that liked not to leave so soon thy friend.  
Sigh froward fortune hath, my Mistress thus bereft me,  
Perforce I yield and am content, to like the lot is left me.  
If Pyramus were sad, when he found Thisbe slain,  
If Cresseds craft and falsing faith: did Troilus turn to pain,  
Aeneas' traitor false: o treason that he did,  
With bloody wounds and murdering sword, Queen Dido's life hath rid  
If these have won by death and end of pining pain,  
And I alive with torments great in dying deaths remain.  
The sound of instruments: or musics pleasant noise,  
Or riches rule, or proud estate, doth 'cause me to rejoice  
Or Venus' damsels dear, do please me even as well,  
As dying bodies joy to here, for them a passing bell.  
The griefs that gripe my heart, and daily do me slay  
It lessen would much of the smart, if thou vouchsafe to say:  
God grant his weary life: and sorrows to assuage,  
God yield him health and happy days with honour in his age.  
These words would win my life, despaired now to death,  
Thou should but save that is thine own, while I have living breath  
What heaps of hapless hopes, on me shall chance to fall,  
So thou do live in blissful state: no force for me at all.  
Amid my greatest grief, the greatest care I have,  
Is how to wish and will thee good: and most thy honour save.  
Be faithful found therefore, be constant true and just  
If thou betray thy loving friend, whom henceforth shall I trust?  
When shall I speak with thee? when shall I thee embrace?  
When will the gods appease their wrath? when shall I have such grace?  
Hath jove forgotten dame Lede for love: and how he prayed her,  
Transformed like a swan at length: the seely soul he trayde her.  
When fair fresh Danae was closed up in tower:  
Did he not rain himself a drop, amidst the golden shower  
And fell into her lap: from top of chimney hid?  
The great delight of his long love: he did attain thereby,  
What cruel gods be these? what trespass have I done?  
That I am banished thus from thee, what conquest have they won?  
I know their power divine: can for a while remove me,  
But whilst I live, and after death, my soul shall likewise love thee  
Not Alcumena she, for whom the triple night  
Was shaped first, can well compare with thee for beauty bright  
Not Troilus sister too, whom cruel Pyrrhus slew,  
Nor she, the price of ten years wars, whom yet the Greeks do rue  
Nor she Penelope, whose chasteness won her fame,  
Can match with thee Rosina chaste: I see her blush for shame.  
The child of mighty jove, that bred within his brain  
Shall yield the palm of filled speech, to thee that doth her stain.  
And every wight on earth: that living breath do draw,  
Lo here your queen sent from above, to keep you all in awe  
But now I fine my talk, I find my wits to dull,  
There liveth none that can set forth thy virtues at the full.  
Yet this I dare well say, and dare it to avow,  
The Gods do fear Rosinas' shape: and beauty doth allow.  
In Tantalus toil I live: and want that most I would,  
With wishing vows I speak, I pray: yet lack the thing I should  
I see that I do want: I reach, it runs me fro:  
I have and lack, that I love most, and loathest to forego.  
But o Rosanna dear: since time of my exile  
How hast thou done? and dost thou live: how hast thou spent the while  
How standeth health with thee? and art thou glad of cheer?  
God grant those happy restful days, increase may still each year.  
If any grief or care, do vex thy woeful heart,  
Then God I pray to give thee ease, and swagement of thy smart.  
Yet this I do desire, that thou be found to abide  
A friend: even such as shall mislike, with sudden change to slide.  
If pleasure now thou hast, to spend the dreiry day,  
Read then this pistle of my hand, to drive the time away.  
If all thy friends alive: would from thy friendship serve,  
A thousand deaths I do desire, in wretched state to starve.  
If I amongst the rest, should altar so my mind,  
Or thou shouldest charge I promise' brake, or else am found unkind  
Though Argus ielus eyes: that daily on us tend,  
Forbidden us meat and speech also, or message for to sand.  
A time will come to pass, and think it not to long  
That thou and I shall join in joy, and wreak us of our wrong.  
Which time I would abide: though time too long doth try me  
In hope again when time shall serve, thou wilt not then deny me  
Thus hope doth me uphold: for hope of after bliss,  
And loose thereby my present joy, in hoping still for this.  
I do commend to thee: my life and all I have,  
Command them both as thee best likes: to loose or else to save.  
I am no more mine own, but thine to use at will  
Thesame is thine without desert, if thou me seek to kill.  
Be glad thou little quere, my mistress shall thee see  
Fall flat to ground before her face: and at her feet do lie:  
Waste not to rise again, nor do her not withstand  
If of her bounty she vouchsafe, to raise thee with her hand.  
Say thy master sent thee, and humbly for me greet her,  
Thou knowest myself doth wish full oft: to be in place to meet her.  
If any word in this, hath scaped and do her grieve,  
A pardon crave upon thy knee, and pray her to forgive  
A guiltless hand it wrote, thou mayst be bold to tell:  
Not mind of malice did me move, herself doth know it well.  
Thou canst and I deserve: make glad my woeful spirit,  
I crave no answer to thy pain: nor force thee for to writ.  
It should suffice if thou: vouchsafe to read the same,  
This pistle then if thou mislike, condemn it to the flame.  
But now there needs no more, I will this pistle end,  
Esteem Narsetus always well: that is thy faithful friend,  
FINIS.   

The Lover forsaken, writeth to his Lady a desperate Farewell.  
Even he that whilom was: thy faithful friend most just,  
That thrice three years hath spent & passed, reposing all his trust  
In thy bewailing words, that seemed sugar sweet  
The self-same man unwillingly: doth with these lines thee greet.  
I can not speak with thee: and speaking is but pain,  
To speak and pray and not to speed: too fruitless were the gain.  
Enforced therefore I writ, and now unfold my mind,  
I love, and like as erst I did, I am not yet declined.  
Though time that trieth all, hath turned the love you aught,  
No changing time could altar me: or wrist awry my thought.  
And sure I do mislike, that women choose to change,  
Ungrateful folks I do detest, as monsters foul and strange.  
Sigh first I did you know: I never spoke the thing  
That did intent you to beguile, or might repentance bring.  
Thrice hath my pen fallen down: upon this paper pale,  
And scantly can my heart consent: to writ to thee this tale.  
Lest hasty judgements might, misdeem my guiltless mind,  
To charge that malice moves my speech, or some new friend to find  
The gods I vouch to aid: who knows the troth I meant,  
To serve or fleet from that I vowed, was never my intent.  
But as the Courser fierce, by piercing spur doth run,  
So thy deserts enforce me now: to see this work begun.  
Would God I had no cause to leave that I did love,  
Or loath the thing that liked me so: nor this mishap to prove.  
But sith no thing in earth: in one estate can bide,  
Why strive I then against the stream, or toil against the tide?  
And have you now forgot, how many years I sought,  
To get your grace with hot good will: how dearly I it bought.  
There is no one alive, that nature ever made  
That hath such gifts of virtues race, and such untruth doth shade.  
If faith might have been found, within a woman's breast,  
I did believe within thy heart, she chose her place to rest.  
Unskilful though I be, and cannot best deserve,  
Where craft for troth doth press in place, yet am I not to learn.  
And I did think you such: that little knew of guile,  
But seem now be placed for deeds, and please fulwel the while  
Why do I wonder thus? to think this same so strange,  
Who hath assayed and knoweth not? that women choose to change.  
Have you thus soon forgot, the doubts and dreads you made,  
Of youngmen's love how little hold, how soon away they fade.  
How hardly you believed, how often would you say,  
My words were spoken of the spleen: and I as often denay.  
How often did you protest with hands upstretcht to skies?  
How often with oaths unto the Gods? how often with weeping eyes?  
Did you beseech them all, to rid your spending days?  
When that you thought to leave your friend: to die without delays  
Me thought in heaven I saw: how jove did laugh to scorn.  
To see you swear so solemnly, and meant to be forsworn.  
But as the Sirens sing, when treason they procure,  
So smile baits the harmless souls: unto their bane allure.  
Thy fawning flattering words, which now full false I find,  
Persuades me to content myself, and turn from Cressida's kind.  
And all the sort of those: that use such craft I wish  
A speedy end, or loathsome life, to live with Lasars' dish.  
Yet pardon I do pray: and if my words offend,  
A crazed ship amid the stream, the Mariner must mend.  
And I thus to it and turned: whose life to shipwreck goes  
Complaynes of wrongs thou hast me done, and all my grief forth shows.  
And could your heart consent? and could you 'gree thereto?  
Thus to betray your faithful friend, and promise to undo?  
If naught your words could bind, to hold your sure behest,  
Nor aught my love ne oaths you swore, could bide within your breast  
Yet for the worldly shame, that by this fact might rise,  
Or for the loss of your good name, for dealing in this wise.  
Or thus to see me grieved: tormented still in pain,  
Thy gentle heart should have been pleased such murder to refrain.  
But through thy cruel deed: if that untamed death,  
With speedy dart shall rid my life, or leave my living breath.  
The gods than can and will: requited thy bloody act,  
And them I pray with lowly suit, for to revenge thy fact.  
God grant the earth may bring: naught forth to thy avail,  
Nor any thing thou takest in hand, to purpose may prevail.  
Thy most desired friend, I wish may be most coy,  
Wherein thou dost thee most delight: and takest the greatest joy.  
That same I would might turn: unto thy most mischief,  
That in thy life thy heart may feel, the smart of others grief.  
But sith no good can come: of thy mishap to me,  
I grant some blame I do deserve, that thus desire to see  
Thy blissful life so changed, from weak to wretched state,  
When friends do break the bond of love, then is their greatest hate.  
Thy deeds do sure deserve, much more revenging spite,  
Then heart can think or tongue can tell, or this my pen can wright.  
Thy beauty bright is such, that well it would invade,  
A heart more hard than Tigar wild: and more it can persuade.  
Then Tully's cunning tongue: or Ovid's loving tale,  
Well may I curse and ban them both, that so have brewed my bale.  
I fear to praise to far: lest haply I begin,  
To kindle fire that well is quenched, and burn me all within.  
For well I may compare: and boldly dare it say,  
Thou art the Queen of women kind, and all they aught obey.  
And all for shame do blush, when thou dost come in place,  
They curse each thing that gave thee life, and more disdain thy face.  
Then any living wight: doth hate the Serpent foul,  
Or birds that sing and flies by day, abhors the shrieking Owl.  
O that a constant mind: had guided forth thy days,  
I had not then assayed mishap: nor pen spoke thy dispraise.  
Decreed sith that thou art, for ever to forsake me,  
In sorrows sweet I will me shrine: till death shall list to take me.  
Bewail O woeful eyes, with floods of flowing tears,  
This great mischance thy loathsome life, that all ill hap up bears,  
Since parted is your joy, resign likewise your sight,  
I never will agreed to like, or look on other wight.  
Nor never shall my mouth consent to pleasant sound,  
But pale and lean with hollow looks: till death I will be found.  
And you unhappy hands: with liking food that fed me,  
Leave of to labour more for me: since sorrow thus hath sped me.  
Lament unlusty legs: be lame for ever more,  
Sigh she is gone for whom you kept: your willing pace in store.  
O hateful heavy heart: bewail thy great unrest,  
Consume thyself or part in twain: within my bloody breast.  
And ye my senses all: whose help was ay at hand,  
To length the life that lingereth now, and loathsomely doth stand.  
ye son, ye moon and stars: that gives the gladsome light  
Forbear to show your force a while: let all be irksome night.  
Let never soil bring forth, again the lusty green  
Nor trees that new despoiled are, with leaf be ever seen.  
Let neither bird nor beast: possess their wonted mind  
Let all the things that lives on earth, be turned from their kind.  
Let all the furies forth, that pine in Hell with pain,  
Let all their torments come abroad: with living wights to rain.  
Let peace be turned to war, let all consume with fire,  
Sigh I must die that once did joy, and loose that I desire.  
I hate my life and breath, I hate delighting food,  
I hate my grief I hate my death: I hate that doth me good.  
I hate the gentle heart: that ruth on my pain,  
I hate the cruel stubborn sort, that doth my life disdain.  
I hate all sorts of men, that have their life in price,  
And those I hate that follow death, esteeming them unwise  
I hate these careful thoughts that think on my sweet so,  
I hate myself then twice as much: if I forget her so.  
I hate, what would you more, I wots not what I hate,  
I wish her dead and laid in grave: I wish her better state.  
Come wild and savage beasts, stretch forth your cruel paws,  
Dismember me, consume my flesh: embrew your greedy jaws.  
Within your entrails: see a coffin ye prepare,  
To tomb this careful corpses that now, unwillingly I bore.  
Come lingering slothful death: that dost the wretch deny  
To show thy force and ridst the rich, that list not for to die.  
Is this the recompense? is this the due reward?  
Doth love thus pay his servants hire? and doth he thus regard?  
And doth he use to set, the harmless souls on fire,  
With fair sweet enticing looks: to kindle their desire?  
Fie false love that hast so decte, with beauty bright,  
A Lady fair with such untruth, to work such cruel spite.  
And ye that did pursue blind love with speedy pace,  
refrain your steps example take, of this my woeful case.  
Let this alone suffice, that in few words I say,  
Who can beware by others harms, thrice blest and happy they.  
Believe this to be true: that now too true I prove,  
But little troth in women's breast: and fleeting in their love.  
God grant each wight on earth, that serves with faithful mind,  
A better hap and that he may, a truer Mistress find.  
FINIS.   

The Lover in distress exclaimeth against Fortune.  
HOw can the cripple get, in running race the game?  
Or he in fight defend himself, whose arms are broken lame?  
How can th'imprisoned man whofe legs be wrapped in chains,  
Think this his life a pleasant time, who knoweth nothing but pains?  
So how can I rejoice, that have no pleasant thing,  
That may revive my doleful spirits, or 'cause me for to sing.  
My legs be lame to go, mine arms cannot embrace,  
My heart is sore, mine eyes be blind, for lack of Fortune's grace.  
All this is Fortune's fault, that keeps these senses so,  
She may advance them if she list, and rid them of this wo.  
It is her cruel will, always on me to lower,  
To keep from me her pleasant gifts, to make me know her power  
Alas, alas, fie Fortune, fie: why art thou so unkind,  
To me that fain would be thy son, and ever in thy mind?  
Now do I thee beseech, with pleasures me to fraught,  
To temper this my woeful life, or else to kill me straight.  
FINIS.   

another complaint on Fortune.  
IN doubtful dreading thoughts, as I 'gan call to mind,  
This world, and eke the pleasures all, that Adam's children find,  
A place of pleasant hue appeared to my thought  
Where I might see the wondrous works which nature for us wrought.  
All things of any price, approached to my sight,  
And still me thought that each man had, that was his most delight.  
The rich man hath his joy: his riches to embrace,  
So hath the huntsman his desire, to have the heart in chase.  
And other have their sport to see the Falcon flee,  
And some also in Prince's court: in favour for to be.  
The warring Knight at will, an horse doth run his race,  
And eke the lover, in his arms, his Lady doth embrace.  
When that I see each man enjoy his whole delight,  
Save I alas poor cursed man whom Fortune doth so spite.  
I fall strait to the ground, amazed with much grief,  
With bloody strokes upon my breast, I strive to rid my lief.  
And thus I think, how can fair pictures those delight:  
Whom nature from their tender age, defrauded of their sight.  
FINIS.   

¶ The lover being newly caught in Cupid's snares, complaineth on the Gods of love, and compareth his grief as followeth.  

THe hugy heap of cares, that in this world I find,  
The sudden sighs that sore molest my heart  
The foolish fancies that still run in my mind:  
Makes me to lay all joy and mirth apart,  
Lamenting still the causes of my smart.  
But o, alas, the more I weep and wail,  
The more my grief to me seems to prevail.   

The more I seek my pinching pangs to suage,  
By divers ways, such as I think be best  
The more it frets, the more it gins to rage,  
So that my senseless head can take no rest:  
Ah silly wretch, what doth thee thus molest  
Or what doth thus perturb thy restless brains,  
And from thy heart all worldly joy detains.   

Alas what this should be I can not tell,  
My youthful years can skill of no such change  
But if some ugly shape of fury fell:  
Or wicked wight that in this world doth range  
Hath witched me with this disease so strange.  
Or Cupid with his force of cruel dart,  
Hath stricken me and wounded thus my heart.   

Hath Cupid then such power on mortal wights?  
And strikes the blinded boy his dart so sure?  
That no man can avoid his subtle slights,  
Nor aught against his fury may endure?  
Hath Venus' force men thus for to allure?  
And why then? doth she not her son command  
To shoot alike and strike with equal hand?   

Is this the guise of powers that reign above,  
Us seely souls in snares thus for to trap  
And care they not to yield us death for love?  
joy they in woes our corpses for to trap?  
And pass they not what unto us doth hap?  
Can Gods above to man bear any hate,  
Or do they mock and jest at our estate?   

Ah foolish fool? what fancy rules thy head.  
Or what doth 'cause thee now this talk to move?  
What fury fell doth thee poor wretch now lead?  
To rail on all the Gods doth it behove?  
Sigh it is only Cupid God of love.  
That guiltless she with stroke of golden shaft,  
Hath wounded thus and thee of joys bereft.   

Even as the slender Bark that long is tossed  
By surging waves cast up from deepest seas:  
And Saylars still in danger to be lost,  
Do hale and pull in hope to take their ease:  
When stormy floods begin once to appease.  
Even so far I being in Cupid's power  
In hope at last to see that happy hour.   

Wherein I shall my wished joys obtain,  
And placed be within her gentle heart,  
Then shall I take my sorrows all for gain.  
When I have her that causeth now my smart,  
Then farewell Cupid with thy cruel dart  
And welcome she that pierced me with her sight,  
she is my joy, she is my hearts delight.   
FINIS.   

The Lover extolleth, aswell the rare virtues of his Lady beloved, as also her incomparable beauty.  

DEsire hath driven from me my will,  
Or Cupid's blaze hath bleared mine eyes:  
Knowledge me fails, my sight is ill:  
If kind or cunning could devise  
Nature to paint in better plight  
To set her forth with read and white:  
Or if men had Apelles art,  
Who could her mend in any part?   

Her face declares where favour grows,  
And tells us here is Beauty's grace:  
Her eyes hath power to bind and loose,  
Her countenance may friends embrace.  
Her cheeks bedecked with blood full fair,  
Her colour clear as is the air:  
Her hair, her hand, her foot also,  
Hath won the praise where ever she go.   

Her looks do seem to speak alone,  
When that her lips remove no whit  
Her inward virtues may be known:  
By using of her sober wit.  
Her gestures also comely are,  
My tongue lacks skill them to declare:  
The rest of her that are unnamed,  
In perfect shapes are lively framed.   

Now though that kind hath set her forth,  
And nature's works she hath possessed,  
Thief goodly gifts are little worth:  
If pity dwelled not in her breast.  
O, God forbidden such flowering youth  
Should be misliked for lack of ruth,  
For I with other might say then:  
Lo, this is she that killeth men.   
FINIS.   

¶ The lovers farewell, at his departure, persuadeth his beloved to constancy in his absence.  

THough Fortune cannot favour  
According to my will:  
The proof of my behaviour:  
Shall be to love you still.   

Intending not to change,  
While that my life doth last:  
But still in love to range:  
Till youth and age be past.   

Though I be far you fro,  
Yet in my fantasy:  
I love you and no more:  
Think this assuredly.   

Your own both true and just,  
Always you shall me find:  
Wherefore of right you must,  
Have me likewise in mind.   

And do not me forsake,  
Though I do tarry long:  
But take me for your make,  
I will not change my song.   

Though absence now a while,  
Do part us thus in twain:  
Think neither craft nor guile,  
For I will come again   

The same man that I went.  
Both in my word and deed:  
Though some men do relent,  
And grudge that I should speed.   

But if you do remain,  
And do not fro me start:  
My heart you do attain,  
Till death us two depart.   

And thus farewell adieu,  
And play an honest part:  
And change me for no new,  
Seeing that you have my heart.   
FINIS.   

A proper Ditty.  
To the tune of lusty Gallant.  

THe glittering shows of Flora's dames  
Delights not so my careful mind,  
Ne gathering of the fragrant flames:  
That oft in Flora's Nymphs I find.  
Ne all the notes of Birds so shryl  
Melodiously in woods that sing,  
Whose solemn Quires the skies doth fill:  
With note on note that heavenly ring.   

The shrieking Fish in streams that springe  
And sport them on the rivers side,  
The Hound the Hawk and every thing:  
Wherein my joys did once abide,  
Doth nothing else but breed my woe  
Sigh that I want which I desire,  
And death is eke become my foe:  
Denying that I most require,   

But if that Fortune's friendly grace  
Would grant mine eyes to take the view,  
Of her whose port and amorous face  
My senses all doth so subdue.  
That ranging too and fro to gain  
The pray that most delighteth me,  
At last I find that breeds me pain:  
she flies so fast it will not be.   

Then in myself with linger thoughts  
A sudden strife begins to grow,  
I then do wish such Birds at noughts:  
That from their lovers flieth so.  
At last I see the Fowlars give,  
Prepared for this Bird and me  
Than wished I lo his head therein:  
So that my bird and I were free.   
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover persuadeth his beloved, to beware the deceits and allurements of strange suitors.  

BE steadfast to thine own  
As he is unto thee,  
Regard not men unknown  
But love thine own truly  
For often deceits are sown  
By them that unknown be  
Wherefore cast of the rest:  
And thine own love thou best.   

For though that their false suit  
Seem pleasant in thine ear,  
Thou know'st often times ill fruit  
A pleasant tree doth bear.  
If thou chance to repute  
A rotten Apple clear,  
Better to love thine own  
And forsake men unknown.   

Thou dost well understand  
These words not spoken seilde  
Moore sure a bird in hand,  
Then twenty in the field.  
Thou knowest thine own sure band  
And how that it hath held  
Then change it for no new:  
But love him that is true.   

If suitors do thee move  
Or daily to thee writ,  
Yet grant to them no love  
Their pains for too requited.  
But think it doth behove  
Thee always to do right  
Then must thou love thine own  
And forsake men unknown.   

This counsel I thee give  
As farforth as I can,  
As I that whiles I live  
Wilbée thine only man.  
For sure it would me green,  
To see thee out of frame  
Or change at any time:  
Thy own not to be thine.   

Thus written by thine own  
To thee with all his heart,  
Disiringe the unknown  
Of thee may have no part.  
For if such change be sown  
No doubt thou killest my heart  
Wherefore I say beware:  
Always the unknown snare.   
FINIS.   

¶ The Lady beloved exclaimeth of the great untruth of her lover.  

WOuld god I had never seen,  
the tears of thy false eyen  
Or else my ears full deaf had been  
That herd those words of thine   

Then should I not have known  
Nor chosen to my part:  
So many evils in one  
To kill my poor true heart.   

As now in thee I find,  
Who bidst me from thee go:  
As false and full unkind,  
Alas why dost thou so?   

Was never man so false of oath,  
To none as thou to me  
Was never woman of more troth  
Than I have been to thee.   

And thou to leave me so,  
And canst no just cause tell:  
But wilt thou spill with woe,  
The heart that loves thee well.   

Me thinks that for my part,  
I may speak in the same,  
I say me thinks thou art,  
Even very much to blame.   

Pardy, it is but little praise,  
To thee that art a man:  
To find so many crafty ways,  
To fraud a poor woman.   

At whom all women smile,  
To see so fond on thee:  
And men although they wail,  
To see how thou usest me.   

To lure me to thy fist,  
To ease thy feigned pain:  
And ever when thou list,  
To cast me of again.   

The wretched hound that spends his days,  
And serveth after kind:  
The Horse that treadeth the beaten ways  
As nature doth him bind   

In age yet finds relief,  
Of them that did him woe:  
Who in their great mischief,  
Disdain not them to know.   

Thus they for woe and smart,  
Had ease unto their pain:  
But I for my true part,  
Get naught but grief again.   

The weary and long night  
doth make me dream of thee,  
And still me thinks with sight,  
I see thee here with me.   

And then with open arms,  
I strain my pillow soft:  
And as I close mine arms,  
me thinks I kiss thee oft.   

But when at last I wake  
And find me mockte with dreams  
Alas, with moon I make  
My tears run down like streams.   

All they that here this same,  
Will spit at thy false deed:  
And bid, fie on thy cursed name,  
And on thy false seed.   

That showest so to the eye,  
And bearest so false an hue:  
And makest all women cry,  
Lo, how ye men be untrue?   

But yet to excuse thee now,  
To them that would thee spot:  
I'll say, it was not thou,  
It was mine own poor lot.   
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover declareth his painful plight for his beloved sake.  

SInce needs ye will me sing, give ear unto the voice,  
Of me poor man your bond servant, that knoweth not to rejoice.  
Consider well my care, my pain and my unrest:  
Which thou with force of Cupid's Dart hast grafted in my breast.  
heal, and withdraw from me, the venom of that Dart  
Have pity, and release this woe, that doth consume my heart:  
The greatness of my grief, doth bid me seek release  
I seek to find to ease my pain, yet doth my care increase.   

I cease not to behold, that doth augment my pain:  
I see myself I seek my woe, yet can I not refrain.  
That should my woe release, doth most increase the same,  
The cold that should acquench the heat, doth most enrage the flame  
My pleasure is my pain, my game is most my grief  
My chief delight doth work my woe, my heart is my relief  
Such haps doth hap to them, that happeth so to love,  
And hap most hard: so fast to bind, that nothing can remove.   

For when the harm is fixed, and rooted in the heart,  
No tongue can tell, nor pen may writ, how grievous is the smart  
I have thought love but play, until I felt the sore,  
But now I felt a thousand griefs I never felt before.  
To tell what pains I bide, if that I could devise,  
I tell the truth, believe me well, the day will not suffice  
Grant now therefore some rest, since thus thou hast me bound,  
To be thine own, till body mine, lie buried under ground.   
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover having his beloved in suspicion declareth his doubtful mind.  

Deem as ye list upon good cause  
Ye may, and think of this or that,  
But what, or why, myself best knows,  
Whereby I think and fear not.  
Whereunto I may well like  
The doubtful sentence of this clause  
I would ye were not as I think  
I would I thought it were not so.   

If that I thought it were not so,  
Though it were so, it grieved me not,  
Unto my heart it were as though  
I hearkened and I hear not.  
At that I see I cannot wink,  
Nor for my heart to let it go  
I would it were not as I think  
I would I thought it were not so.   

Lo how my thought might make me free,  
Of that perchance it needeth not  
For though no doubt in deed I see,  
I shrink at that I bear not,  
Yet in my heart this word shall sink,  
Until the proof may better be  
I would it were not as I think,  
I would I thought it were not.   
FINIS.   

¶ An excellent Sonnet, Wherein the Lover exclaimeth against Detraction, being the principal cause of all his care. To the tune, when Cupid scaled first the Fort.  
Pass forth in doleful dumps my verse,  
Thy Master's heavy haps unfold:  
His grisled grief each heart well pierce,  
Display his woes, fear not, be bold  
Hide hole in heaps of heaviness  
His dismal days are almost spent,  
For fate, which forged this fickleness  
My youthly years with tears hath sprent.  
I loath the lingering life I led:  
O wished death why stayest thy hand,  
Sigh gladsome joys away be fled:  
And linkte I am in Dollars band.  
In weltering waves my ship is tossed  
My shattering sails away be shorn,  
My Anchor from the Stern is lost  
And Tacklings from the Maynyard storne.  
Thus driven with every gale of wind  
My weather beaten Bark doth sail,  
Still hoping harbour once to find  
Which may these passing perils quail.  
But out alas, in vain I hope  
Sigh Billows proud, assault me still  
And skill doth want with Seas to cope  
And liquor salt my Keel doth fill.  
Yet storm doth cease: but lo at hand  
A ship with warlike wights addressed,  
Which seems to be some Pirates band:  
With Powder and with Pellets priest.  
To sink or spoil my bruised Bark  
Which dangers dread could not a daunt,  
And now the shot the air doth dark:  
And Captain on the Deke him vaunt.  
Then Ignorance the overséear proud  
Cries to Suspicion, spare no shot:  
And Envy yelleth out aloud,  
Yield to Detraction this thy Boat:  
And as it is now Sea men's trade  
When might to cool the foe doth lack,  
By vailing foretop sign I made  
That to their lee I me did take.  
Then gathering wind to me they make,  
And Treason first on board doth come  
Then follows Fraud like wily Snake:  
And swift amongst them takes his room.  
These bind me Captive, ta'en with band  
Of carking care and fell annoy,  
While under Hatches yet I stand  
Thereby quite to abandon joy.  
Then hoisting sails they homeward high  
And me present unto Disdain,  
Who me beheld with scorning eye  
The more for to increase my pain.  
As Lady she commanded straight  
That to Despair they me convey,  
And bid with skilful heed he weight,  
That Truth be barred from me away.  
Madam (quoth I) let due desert  
Yet find remorse for these my woes,  
Of pity grant some ease to smart  
Let Troth draw near to quail my foes.  
But all for naught I do complain  
For why the deaf can moon no noise,  
No more can they which do disdain:  
But will in heart thereat rejoice.  
Wherefore twixt life and death I stay  
Till time with daughter his draw nigh  
Which may these furious foes dismay:  
Or else in ruthful plight I die.  
FINIS   

¶ The Lover in bondage looketh for releasement and longeth for the relief of his wedding day.  
WHen shall relief release my woe?  
When shall desert, disdain digest?  
When shall my hap, hap to me so?  
That my poor heart may come too rest.  
When shall it so? when shall it so?  
When shall long love be looked upon?  
When shall tried truth be homeliest?  
When shall hope have that hope hangeth on?  
That my poor heart may come to rest.  
When shall it so? etc.  
When shall I see she seeth right?  
When shall I hear she heareth me best?  
When shall I feel, she feeleth delight?  
That my poor heart may come to rest.  
When shall it so. etc.  
When stint all storms that thus aggrieve?  
When stint all stays that wrong hath wrist?  
When stint all strifes right to relieve?  
That my poor heart may come to rest.  
When shall it so? etc.  
When right shall see right time to boast?  
When right shall aright unright oppress?  
When right shall reign and rule the roast?  
Then my poor heart shall come to rest.  
Then shall it so. etc.  
When shall I watch the time to see?  
Now shall I wish the time possessed,  
Now shall I think each day years three  
That my poor heart may come to rest.  
When shall it so? etc.  
Now farewell heart, most smooth most smart,  
Now farewell heart with heart heartiest,  
And farewell heart, till heart in heart:  
By hearty heart may come to rest.  
God grant it so. etc.  
FINIS.   

¶ A fine and friendly Letter, of the Lover to his beloved.  
LIke as the Hawk is led by lure, to draw from tree to tree,  
So is my heart through force of love, where ever my body be  
The Hawk to pray doth double wing, her flight is fled in vain  
I make my flight in waste of wind, my hope receiveth no gain.  
Hawks that be high it hurts to light, two flights without reward  
My flight is two, and three again, alas Mistress regard:  
The Hawk brought low, is soon made high, by feeding on warm food  
Your mouths breath sets me aloft, there is nothing so good.  
Good Lady then strain forth the strings, whose tune may me revive  
And with strange tongue do not prolong, my joys thus to deprive.  
Within your breast my heart is hid, your will and it is one,  
Regard my smart, the cure is yours, and loss, when I am gone.  
Thus all your own, I recommend me wholly to your grace,  
As seemeth you best for to reward, my plight and woeful case.  
Which plight if you do counterpoise, with joys, as doth belong,  
My heart for joy would tune accord, to sing some pleasant song.  
FINIS.   

¶ The lovers fata farewell at his death.  
ALL wealth I must forsake, and pleasures eke forego,  
My life to end in woe and grief, my destiny is so  
For where I had perfixt, with suit to win my joy,  
I found I had right speedy death, all wealth for to destroy.  
Whose Image lo I am, though living I appear,  
Both body and soul be separate, my heaven it is not here.  
My heart I have bestowed, whereas it is not found  
Thou body then departed thou hence, why pleasurest thou the ground?  
And Death draw thou me near, O Death my dearest friend,  
Then with thy dart, shoot through my heart, my sorrows so to end.  
And when that death did hears the thing that I did crave,  
He weighed me, even as I was, a man fit for the grave.  
Come follow me saith he, thou man be not aghast,  
He that delighteth in earthly things, shall feel these pangs at last  
All ye then that list to love, this lesson learn by me,  
Or ye begin, note well, the end, is pain and misery.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover complaineth of his Lady's unconstancy  
to the Tune of I loath that I did love.  

YYou graves of grisly ghosts  
Your charge from coffins sand  
From roaring rout in Pluto's costs  
You Furies up ascend.   

You trampling steads of Hell  
Come tear a woeful wight,  
Whose hapless hap no tongue can tell  
Ne pen can well indite.   

I hate this loathsome life  
O Atropos draw nigh,  
Untwist the thread of mortal strife  
Sand death and let me die.   

For Beauties tainted trope  
Hath made my cares assay,  
And fickleness with her did cope:  
To forge my whole decay.   

My faith alas I gave  
To wight of Cressida's kind,  
For steadfast love I love did crave  
As courtesy doth bind.   

She likewise troth doth plight  
To be a constant love,  
And prove herself even maugre spite  
A faithful turtle Dove.   

But lo a woman's mind  
Cloaked hole with deep deceit  
And driven with every gale of wind.  
To bite at fresher bait   

For when bewitch she had  
My mind that erst was free,  
And that her comely beauty bade  
My wounded heart agreed.   

And fixed on Fancies lore  
As world can witness bear,  
Not other saint I did adore:  
Or Idol any where   

Ne will, no woe, or smart  
Can mind from purpose fet,  
But that I had a jasons heart  
The golden fleece to get.   

Ne for my part I swear  
By all the Gods above,  
I never thought on other fere  
Or sought for other love.   

In her the like consent  
I saw full often appear,  
If eyes be judge of that it ment  
Or ears have power to hear.   

Yet words be turned to wind  
A new found gest hath got  
The Fort, which once, to undermine  
And win I planted shot   

Her friend that meant her well  
Out of conceit is quite,  
While other bears away the bell  
By hitting of the white.   

In this our wavering age  
So light are women's minds.  
As Aspen leaf that still doth rage  
Though aeole calm his winds.   

No place hath due desert  
No place hath constancy  
In every mood their minds back start  
As daily we may see.   

What paps did give them food  
That weave such webs of woe  
What beast is of so cruel mood  
That counts his friend for fo:   

Yet women do reward  
With cares the loving wight  
They constancy no whit regard,  
In change is their delight.   

You gallant youths therefore  
In time beware by me  
Take heed of women's subtle lore,  
Let me example be.   
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover, having sustained overmuch wrong at his ladies hand wisheth speedy death.  

TO feeble is the thread  
That holdeth me in life,  
That if it be not succoured  
Short end shall stint the strife.   

For though the spindle run  
To draw the thread on length  
Alas thereby what hold is won  
If it be weak of strength   

Or how can it have aid  
Since rigour is so rife,  
In her whose hands to cut the thread  
Gave cruelly the knife.   

Whose edge of Envy hard  
In Venus' forge hath wrought,  
Whereby his death is thus preferred  
Whose life offended naught.   

But sith thy chief delight,  
My chief delightful foe,  
Is with such wrong to work the spite  
With speed come end this wo.   

And when my death hath done  
My duty at her will,  
A greater grief be not begun  
To last thereafter still.   

For after death, if strife  
Should still my life pursue,  
What then doth death but breed a life  
Of moan & mischief new?   

Wherefore if needs thou wilt  
Thy spindle spin no more,  
But that this thread with spoil be spilled  
Which led my life before.   

Provide then for the nonce  
Provide for me the best,  
That I may die at once  
From all thy minds unrest.   

And let not present death  
Prefer an after pain,  
But let the pains pas with my breath  
And not revive again.   

For thus by this you shall  
Two things at once fulfil,  
I shallbe free that have been thrall:  
And you shall have your william.   
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover exhorteth his Lady to be constant.  
To the Tune of Attend thee go play thee.  

NOt light of love lady,  
Though fancy do prick thee,  
Let constancy possess thy heart:  
Well worthy of blaming:  
They be, and defaming,  
From plighted troth which back do start:  
Dear dame:  
Then fickleness banish,  
And folly extinguish,  
Be skilful in guiding,  
And stay thee from sliding  
And stay thee. etc.   

The constant are praised  
Their fame high is raised  
Their worthiness doth pierce the sky,  
The fickle are blamed:  
Their light love shamed,  
Their foolishness doth make them die:  
As well,  
Can Cressida bear witness,  
Forge of her own distress,  
Whom Leprosy painted  
And penury tainted:  
And penury. etc.   

Still Muses are busy  
To tell us of Thisbe  
Whom steadfastness doth much commend  
And Camma is placed,  
To blame the defaced  
That light of love do send.  
Phedra,  
Is checked most duly  
Because that untruly  
Forced thereto by love light  
She slayeth Hippolyta.  
She slayeth. etc.   

A spring of annoyance,  
And well of disturbance,  
New-Fangledness in love hath been:  
It killeth the Master,  
It poisons the taster,  
No worldly wight by it doth win.  
Therefore,  
Good lady be constant,  
So shall you not be shent,  
But worthily praised,  
As you have deserved,  
As you have, etc.   
FINIS.   

The Lover wounded with his Lady's beauty craveth mercy.  
To the Tune of where is the life that late I led.  

IF pity once may move thy heart,  
To rue a woeful wight?  
If courtesy can force thy mind,  
To view my doleful plight?  
Sigh I cannot devise  
To quench this raging fire,  
With trickling tears I crave of thee  
Attend to my desire:  
Whom Venus feathered boy  
Hath crazed with deadly dart,  
Scent from the rays of those thy eyes  
Which bread my woe and smart.   

In viewing thee I took such joy  
As woeful wight in rest  
Until the blinded boy I felt  
Assault my captive breast.  
And since that time alas  
Such pinching pain I taste  
That I am now remediless  
If mercy make not haste.  
For hid in deep despair  
My tears are all my joy,  
I burn, I freeze, I sink, I swim  
My wealth is mine annoy.   

Like as the tender turtle Dove  
Doth wail the loss of mate,  
In mourning weed, so spend I time  
lamenting mine estate.  
The night renews my cares  
When weary limbs would rest,  
And dreadful dreams abandon sleep  
Which had my griefs repressed.  
I drench my couch with tears  
Which flow from gushing eyes,  
A thousand heaps of hidden thoughts  
In mind I do devise.   

Full often times it doth me good  
To haunt and view the place,  
Where I received my wound, alas  
By viewing of thy face.  
Full often it joys my heart  
To kiss that clot of clay,  
From whence thou shot those loving looks  
Which bred my whole decay.  
O blessed place I cry  
Though worker of my pain,  
Tender I crave most heartily  
To me my love again.   

Not woeful monsieur dom Dieg  
Or Priam's noble son,  
Constrained by love did ever moon  
As I for thee have done.  
Sir Romeus annoy  
But trifle seems to mine,  
Whose hap in winning of his love  
Did clue of cares untwine.  
My sorrows have no end  
My hap no joy can spy,  
The flowing Fountain of my tears  
Beginneth to wax dry.   

Let pity then requite my pain  
O worker of my woe,  
Let mercy mild possess thy heart  
Which art my friendly foe.  
Receive the heart which hear  
I yield into her hand,  
Which made by force a breach in Fort  
Which I could not withstand.  
Thou hast in Balance paysd  
My life and eke my death,  
Thy loyalty contains my joy  
Disdain will stop my breath.   

If constant love may reap his hire  
And faith may have his due,  
Good hope I have your gentle heart  
My grisly grief will rue.  
And that at length I shall  
My hearts delight embrace:  
When due desert by courtesy,  
Shall purchase me thy grace.  
Until which time, my dear  
Shall still increase my pain,  
In pensive thoughts and heaviness  
Because I shall remain.   
FINIS.   

¶ A Caveat to youngmen to shun the snares of Cupid's crafty sleights.  

IF ever wight had cause to moan  
or wail with bitter tears,  
His wretched life and woeful plight  
that still in languish wears.  
Then have I cause that late have lodged  
such love within my heart,  
With grief, with pain, with pining pangs  
my body boils in smart.   

O earth why dost not thou  
my woeful plight sustain?  
O surging Seas with swallowing gulf  
release me of this pain.  
For languishing love with doleful dooms  
hath laid my heart in brine,  
O woeful wretch, O wicked wight  
That so for love doth pine.   

The Son that shines with golden beams  
and dries the dewy flowers,  
Doth 'cause me wretch with blubbering eyes  
to gush forth extreme showers.  
The harmony of chirping birds  
that joys with silver songs,  
Each living wight, doth 'cause my cares  
to fill my heart with throngs.   

Each gladsome joy of mundaine glee  
That glads the worldly mind,  
Doth heap up cares on careful corpse  
against all course of kind.  
And so each thing that aught delight  
and rid the mind from pause,  
Contrariwise against all right  
a thousand cares doth cause.   

For when that I in sugared sleep,  
most sweetly should take rest,  
Then do I wring my woeful hands  
and beat my doleful breast.  
And if I chance on sleep to fall,  
a thousand dreams I have:  
And do suppose I her embrace,  
whose want will 'cause my grave.   

And then with gladsome heart I joy  
thus clean deprived of woe:  
But (o alas) when that I wake,  
I find it nothing so.  
And then my sighs from sobbing heart  
doth reave my breast in twain,  
And tears that run from blubbered eyes  
doth more increase my pain.   

And when I should sustain my life  
and feeble corpse with food,  
Unsavoury seems it unto me:  
each thing should do me good   

Amidst the nipping frosts I broil,  
in perching heat I freeze  
And thus against all course of kind:  
for love my life I lose.  
woe worth the time that first I lodged  
thy spoiling love in heart,  
You young men all be warned by me  
And shun blind Cupid's Dart   
FINIS.   

¶ The aged lovers note, at length to learn to die.  

WHy askest thou the cause  
Wherefore I am so sad  
Thou know'st when age on draws  
No creature can be glad.   

And sith she hath me rested  
And threatened me to die:  
Therefore I am sequestered  
All mirth for to deny.   

And now with feeble age  
The rest of all my days,  
My countenance must be full sage:  
Since that my life decays.   

Like as the heart of Oak  
By time doth rot at last,  
Like time doth age provoke  
With time my heart doth braced.   

Lo thus by course of time  
My youth is gone and passed,  
And now the turn is mine  
Of bitter death to taste.   

And note that I have said  
The cause whereof and why,  
My youthful parts be played  
And I must learn to die.   
FINIS.   

¶ The desperate Lover exclaimeth his ladies cruelty and threateneth to kill himself.  

MY joyful days be past,  
My plasant years be gone,  
My life it may not last  
My grave and I am one.   

My mirth, and all is fled  
And I a man in woe,  
Desires to be dead  
My mischief to forego.   

I burn and am a cold  
I freeze in midst of fire,  
I see she doth with hold  
That most I do desire.   

I see that she doth see  
And yet she willbe blind,  
I see in healpinge me  
She seeketh and will not find.   

I see how she doth wry  
When I begin to moon,  
I see when I come nigh  
How fain she would be gone.   

I see she knoweth my heart  
And how I do complain,  
I see she knoweth my smart  
she seeth I do not feign.   

I see my help at hand  
I see my death also.  
I see where she doth stand  
I see my cruel fo.   

I see, what would you more?  
she would me gladly kill,  
And she shall see therefore  
That she shall have her william.   

I cannot live by stones  
It is to hard a food,  
I would be dead at once  
to do my Lady good.   

she shall have her request  
And I will have mine end,  
Lo here my bloody breast  
To please her most unkind.   
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover being blinded with the faithless love of his Lady is contented to remit her fault upon promise of amendment.  

SInce that thou didst me love  
When lust did thee provoke,  
And that thou dost well prove:  
That I cannot revoke.  
My friendship fast, my love nor my good will,  
Show some relief, lest in despair I spill.   

How well I was content  
always to follow thee?  
How well I did assent,  
Thy thrall ay for to be  
Thyself can judge to whom I do appeal,  
By sentence lo, to yield me woe or weal.   

But if thou me forsake,  
As Cressida that forgot,  
True Troilus her make,  
And that thy heart is hot  
On him whom shame did force thee once his faith to fly,  
I see no hope but that he must yield forth himself to die.   

And though thou think that I,  
Am loath this too forego,  
Yet shall I rather die  
Then live and please my foe:  
But hindre him in love, all others doth refrain,  
Whose treason once did me purchase thy due disdain   
FINIS.   

¶ A worthy comparison of Virtue against all worldly pomp.  

WHen that I way with wit, and eke consider now,  
The fickle stay of her, that Fortune's wheel doth bow  
And turn even at her will, such luck, lo, as she list,  
No thread so surely spun, but that she may untwist.  
I can but ay lament, and wail the lack of them,  
That in her hold do trust, weighing they are but men.  
For if I were a Lord, and come of high degree,  
And had all thing at will, as best contented me:  
My Prince therewith well pleased, that nothing might offend,  
And all my deeds so done, that each man might commend.  
My parent of great state, and eke of worthy fame,  
That worldly men did wish, the honour of his name:  
My friends and mine allies so worthy in each press,  
That I need bear no wrong, that I could not redress.  
Of courage and of strength, so doughty of my hand,  
That Ladies might me love, that devil in foreign land.  
And enemies might me dread, for fear of overthrow,  
And that all this were true, each worldly wight did know.  
Yet were I but a man, and mortal in this earth,  
For death doth not accept, the worship of my birth:  
Since so I hold it best, that each man should contend,  
So to direct himself, that after this lives end,  
Yet virtue might remain, that sounds a Trumpet, lo,  
A comfort to a friend, a wound unto a foe.   

As some to simple turn from sage,  
And overthrow with every wind,  
Some eke correct with rigorous rage  
Whom wealth could never ford good mind,  
Hath won in prison such a field,  
As liberty could never yield.   
FINIS.  Virtute nulla possessio maior.  

¶ Of a happy wished time.  
Each thing must have a time, and time doth try men's troth,  
And troth deserves a special trust, on trust great friendship growth:  
And friendship is full fast, where faithfulness is found  
And faithful things be full of fruit, and fruitful things be sound  
The sound is good in proof, and proof is Prince of praise,  
And worthy praise is such a pearl, as lightly not decays.  
All this doth time bring forth, which time I must abide,  
How should I boldly credit crave? till time my truth have tried.  
And as a time I found, to fall in Fancies frame,  
So do I wish an happy time, at large to show the same.  
If Fortune answer hope, and hope may have her hire,  
Then shall my heart possess in peace, the time that I desire.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover persuadeth himself to patience against Envy and slanderous tongues.  
IF only sight suffice, my heart to lose or bind,  
What cause have I to move debate, whereby no peace I find?  
If that my restless will, by pain doth still renew,  
What force have I? but she consent, my foe for to subdue?  
To yield and suffer then, I think it for the best,  
And by desert as time shall serve, to purchase quiet rest.  
Let jealous envy lower with brows, and visage bend,  
I know the worst, no shameless tongue, shall altar mine intent.  
The Dice of Love are thrown, god speed the doubtful chance  
Misdeem who list, so she at last, my service will advance.  
To ask and to obtain, that Fortune were so swift,  
Sigh travail is the ready way, unto each noble gift.  
And feeble is the joy, that lightly is begun,  
As tender Flare can bear no stress, before that it be spun.  
Wherefore with sad advice, in hope my heart shall devil,  
And all the tale that I confess, in silence will I tell  
Unto herself alone, whose favour I require,  
None else shall know her name for me, to conster my desire.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover grievously complaineth against the unjust dealing of his Lady beloved.  

SInce thou unjust, hast caught a lust,  
To plough in barren ground:  
Who long thee love, he shall thee prove,  
Much better lost then found.   

As brickle clay, in Winter's day,  
That in the frost is wrought,  
So do I find, thy double mind,  
Much better sold then bought.   

It is as éefe, a broken sieve,  
Should hold the dropping rain:  
As for to bind, thy changed mind,  
That naught can do but feign.   

So may I say, both night and day,  
Cursing the time and place:  
Where I professed, to love thee best,  
Whose troth I find so scarce.   

Whose lying words, and feigned boards,  
Did me so far enchayne:  
When thou didst flit, by changed wit,  
That I could not refrain.   

But of my heart, to ease the smart,  
The best redress I know:  
Is to untwined, my constant mind,  
And let such fancies go.   

For though I serve, until I starve,  
I see none other boot  
Such doubleness, thy heart doth press,  
And crops it by the root.   

Yet will I pray, even as I may,  
That Cupid will requited,  
Thy froward heart, with such a smart,  
As I have by thy spite.   

For to be fed, with wake a bed,  
And fast at board among:  
Till thou confess, ah pitiless,  
That thou hast done me wrong.   

On bush and brier, may it appear,  
Whereby most men do pass,  
Thy feigned faith, how near my death,  
It hath me brought alas.   

That they uncaught, may once be taught,  
By reason to refrain:  
Their crafty wiles, and subtle smiles:  
That so in love can fayne.   

A due unjust, sith that I must,  
Of force declare thee so,  
The fault is thine, the pain is mine:  
And thus I let thee go.   
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover in great distress comforteth himself with hope.  

O Heavy heart whose harms be hid,  
Thy help is hurt, thy hap is hard,  
If thou shouldest braced, as God forbidden:  
Then should I die without reward.  
Hope well to have, hate not sweet thought,  
Oft cruel storms fair calms have brought:  
After sharp showers, the sun shineth fair,  
Hope cometh likewise after despair.   

In hope a King doth go to war,  
In hope the Lover lives full long,  
In hope the Merchant sails full far,  
In hope most men do suffer wrong:  
In hope the Ploughman soweth much seed,  
Thus hope helps thousands in their need.  
Then faint not heart among the rest,  
What ever chance hope thou the best.   

Though wit bids will to blow retreat,  
Will cannot work as wit would wish  
When that the roche doth taste the bait:  
To late to warn the hungry fish.  
When Cities bren of fiery flame,  
Great Rivers scarce will quench the same.  
If Will and Fantasy be agreed  
To late for Wit to bid take heed.   
FINIS.   

¶ In the commendation of faithful love.  
THe faithful cannot fly, nor wander to nor fro,  
faith only they hold them buy, though that the fickle go.  
A Pillar of more force, than Marble laid with hand,  
With Pickaxe may divorce, and lay it flat on land.  
Th'other so divine, that no art can remove,  
Once laid cannot decline, th'only Pillar love,  
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover wisheth himself an Heart in the forest, (as Actaeon was) for his ladies sake.  

I Would I were Actaeon, whom Diana did disguise,  
To walk the woods unknown, whereas my lady lies:  
A heart of pleasant hue, I wish that I were so,  
So that my Lady knew, alone me, and no more.   

To follow thick and plain, by hill and dale allow,  
To drink the water fain, and feed me with the sloe:  
I would not fear the frost, to lie upon the ground,  
Delight should quite the cost, what pain so that I found.   

The shaling nuts and mast, that falleth from the tree,  
Should serve for my repast, might I my Lady see:  
Sometime that I might say, when I saw her alone,  
Behold thy slave alone, that walks these woods unknown.   
FINIS.   

¶ An epitaph upon the death of Arthur Fletchar of Bangor Gent.  
YOU grisly ghosts which walk below in black Cocistus Lakes,  
Mi●s Datis dens, Erebus Dames, with hear of ugly Snakes  
Medusa with thy monstrous mates, assist me now a while,  
In dire waymenting verse to show, and dreary doleful stile.  
The fair untimely fatal end of Fletcher, now by death,  
Unto the Air his soul with jove, resigned his latest breath:  
Whose life full do we must commend, as it deserves the same,  
And conversation to each one, did seldom merit blame.  
A faithful friend to each he was, to none an open foe,  
Unto his Prince a subject true, till fates had lodged him lo.  
His acts did tend to no man's harms, no Parasite to praise,  
For greedy gain but still the troth, mayntaynd at all assays.  
His time he spent in virtues lore, as seemed his state full well,  
By serious study what he could, he sought for to excel.  
But what of all this same? the fates no wight in time will spare,  
When ghastly death hath pierced in earth, them must our bodies wear  
In age aswell in youths, in youths aswell in age,  
No certain time we have to bide, when death with us will wage.  
No thing can still abide, but comes to naught in end,  
The craggy Rocks the sturdiest oaks: stark rotten once is rend.  
And so hath Fletcher, now to death paid his due,  
What he is now we must be all, his Funeral then view.  
FINIS.   

¶ A Lady writeth unto her Lover wherein she most earnestly chargeth him with Ingratitude.  

O Wretched wight whom henceforth may I trust  
All men both false and fell I will them paint,  
If thou (unkind) be cruel and unjust  
Whom I always so faithful held and quaint:  
What cruelty? what trustless treasons just?  
Was ever hard by tragical complaint?  
But less than this, my merit if I may,  
And thy desert in equal balance lay.   

Wherefore (unkind) since that on live?  
A worthier wight of prows ne beauty,  
Ne that by much to thee that doth arrive,  
In comely port ne generosity.  
Why dost thou not 'tween these thy virtues strive,  
It may be said thou hast serbillitie:  
Then say that who of faith is holden stable:  
There may to him none else be comparable.   

For writ ye not that virtues have no grace  
Whereas this trust and stableness doth want,  
As other things, though much of comely face:  
Cannot be seen, where gladsome light is scant.  
A maid to false for thee, an easy case,  
Whose Idol, Lord & God thou wert most puissant  
Whom with thy words it easily had been done,  
To make believe both cold and dark the son.   

Cruel, what offence hast thou for to bewail,  
The kill of thy love if thou not repent?  
If ye account so light of faith to fail:  
What other sin can make thy heart lament?  
How treat you foes, if me ye do assail?  
That loves thee so, with such cruel torment:  
The heavens justles, I will say to be:  
In case they show the just revenge of me.   

If of offences all, that monstrous vice  
Ingratitude, do most a man offend,  
And if for that, an Angel of great price,  
Was forced to Hell, from heaven to dissend:  
If great offence, great chastisement entice  
When to reform, the heart doth not him bend,  
Take heed sharp scourge that God on thee not sand  
Thou art to me unkind, and dost not mend.   

If these also, besides some other spot  
I have (unkind) whereof thee to accuse,  
That thou my heart with hold'st, I mean it not,  
I speak of thee that madest thee my by lot,  
And robbest me since, against reason which I must  
Restore (unkind) for well thou wottest it plain,  
They shallbe damned that others goods retain.   

Unkind, thou hast forsaken me, but I will  
Not will thee willingly for none assays  
Yet this hard hap, and trouble for to fly,  
I can and will, end these my woeful days:  
In only way, in thy disgrace to die,  
For if the Gods had granted by their pays  
My death, given then, when I stood in thy grace,  
No wight had died in half so happy a case.   
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover unto his Lady beloved, of her disdaynfulnesse toward him.  
FOr beauty's sake though love doth dread thy might,  
And Venus thinks, by suit to prove thy dame:  
Though Pallas strives, by hope of equal right,  
For Wisdoms watch, as daughter thee to claim.  
Though Mercury would entitled be thy Sire,  
For thy sweet talk, so sweetly blazed forth:  
Though all the Gods, do burn in like desire,  
Thy graces rare, in heaven so much worth:  
Yet lo, thy proof I know, the trusly weight,  
Of Tigers milk, thou fostered wert from mould,  
And Cipres Well with dainful change of freight.  
Gave thee to drink infected poison cold.  
But yet beware, lest love renew in thee,  
The dreadful flame Narcissus whilom felt,  
With eager mood, and sight to feed thine eye.  
Of thine own, from others flame to swell:  
For love doth love with hot revenge to wreak,  
The ruthless Iron heart, that will not break.  
FINIS.   

The Lover in the praise of his beloved and comparison of her beauty.  
NOt she for whom proud Troy did fall and burn,  
The greeks eke slain, that bloody race did run:  
Nor she for spite that did Actaeon turn,  
Into an heart her beauty coy did shun:  
Nor she whose blood upon Achilles' Tomb,  
Whose face would tame a Tigers heart:  
Nor she that won by wise of Paris doom.  
Th'apple of Gold for Beauty to her part:  
Nor she whose eyes did pierce true Troilus breast,  
And made him yield, that knew in love no law,  
Might be compared to the fairest and the best,  
Whom Nature made to keep the rest in awe:  
For Beauty's sake, sent down from jove above,  
Thrice happy is he, that can attain her love.  
FINIS.   

¶ In the praise of a beautiful and virtuous Virgin, whose name begins with M.  
BEhold you Dames the reign in fames, whose looks men's hearts do lead  
And triumph in the spoil of those, upon whose breasts you tread.  
A myrt or make of M, whose mould, Dame Nature in disdain,  
To please herself, & spite her foes, in beauty raised to reign:  
Whose sunny beams & starry eyes, presents a heavenlyke face,  
And shows the world a wondrous work, such are her gifts of grace  
In forehead, feature beareth, brunt in face doth favour guide,  
In looks is life, in shape is shame, in cheeks doth colour hide:  
In body seemliness doth show, in words doth wisdom shade,  
All parts of her doth praise deserve, in temperance is her trade.  
In humble port is honour placed, in face is maidens smiles  
Her life is graft with Golden gifts, her deeds devoid of guiles.  
And as the Star to Mariners, is guide unto the Port,  
So is this M, a heavenly joy, to Lovers that resort:  
Who run and roam with inward wounds, & folded arms across,  
And hide their harms with cloaks of care, & feed their hope with loss.  
Her looks doth lift above the skies, her frowns to Hell doth throw  
All sues to her, she seeks on none, that daily proof doth show:  
Wherefore her saying late set forth, she burned and could not flee,  
Though meant in praise, yet far amiss, I take it written be.  
She is none such as if she would, that any would disdain:  
But for the smarts of others griefs, of pity she did plain,  
As one most loath of any life, for love of her be lost,  
Or that with blood or cruel deeds, men writ her beauties boast:  
For mercy is in M, her breast, and modest is her life,  
A courtuous maid, and like to prove, a constant worthy wife.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover deceived by his ladies unconstancy, writeth unto her as followeth.  

THe heat is past that did me fret,  
The fire is out that nature wrought  
The plants of youth that I did set,  
Are dry and dead within my thought  
The Frost hath slain the kindly sap,  
That kept the heart in lively state:  
The sudden storm and thunder clap:  
Hath turned love, to mortal hate.   

The mist is gone that bleared mine eyes,  
The lowering clouds I see appear,  
Though that the blind eat many flies,  
I would you knew, my sight is clear:  
Your sweet deceiving flattering face  
Did make me think that you were white:  
I muse how you had such a grace:  
To seem a Hawk, and be a kite.   

Where precious ware is to be sold,  
They shall it have, that giveth most:  
All things we see, are won with Gold,  
Few things is had, where is no cost.  
And so it fareth now by me,  
Because I press to give no gifts:  
she takes my suit unthankfully,  
And drives me of with many drifts.   

Is this th'end of all my suit,  
For my good will, to have a scorn?  
Is this of all my pains the fruit,  
To have the chafed in stead of corn?  
Let them that list, possess such dross,  
For I deserve a better gain:  
Yet had I rather leave with loss,  
Then serve and sue, and all in vain.   
FINIS.   

¶ A true description of love.  
Ask what love is? it is a passion,  
Begun with rest, and pampered up in play:  
Planted on sight, and nourished day by day,  
With talk at large, for hope to graze upon,  
It is a short joy, long sought, and soon gone:  
An endless maze, wherein our wills do stray:  
A guileful gain, repentance is the pay.  
A great fire bred of small occasion,  
A plague to make, our frailty to us known,  
Where we thereby, are subject to their lay:  
Whose frailty aught, to leave until our stay,  
In case ourselves, this custom had not known.  
Of hope and health, such creatures for to pray,  
Whose glory resteth chiefly on denay.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover to his beloved, by the name of fair, and false.  
O Cruel heart with falsehood infect, of force I must complain,  
Whose poison hid, I may detect, as cause doth me constrain:  
Thy name I shrine within my breast, thy deeds though I do tell,  
No mind of malice I protest, thyself doth know it well.  
If thy deserts then bids me writ, I cannot well revoke it,  
I shall not spare to show thy spite, I will no longer cloak it:  
As Troilus truth shall be my shield, to keep my pen from blame,  
So Cressida's craft shall keep the field, for to resound thy shame.  
Ulysses wife shall mate the sore, whose wishly troth doth shine,  
Well Fair and False, I can no more, thou art of Helen's line:  
And daughter to Diana eke, with pale and deadly cheer,  
Whose often change I may well like, two moonthes within the year.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Lover describeth his painful plight, and requireth speedy redress, or present death.  
THe slave of servile sort, that borne is bond by kind,  
Doth not remain in hope, with such unquiet mind:  
Ne tossed crasid Ship, with irksome surging seas,  
So greedily the quiet Port, doth thirst to ride at ease.  
As I thy short return, with wishing vows require,  
In hope that of my hateful harms, the date will then expire:  
But time with stealing steps, and dreary days doth drive,  
And thou remaynst then bound to come, if that thou be alive.  
O cruel Tigers whelp, who had thy hand in hold?  
When y with flattering pen thou wrotst, thy help at hand behold?  
Believe it to be true, I come without delay,  
A fool and silly simple soul, yet dost thou still betray:  
Whose mooveles love and trust, doth reason far surmount,  
Whom Cupid's trump, to fatal death hath summoned to account  
My faith and former life: fed with such friendly fire,  
Have not of thee by just reward, deserved such faults higher:  
I promiss thee not mine, but thy case I bewail,  
What infamy may greater be, then of thy faith to fail?  
How oft with humble suit? have I besought the son,  
That he would spur his Coursers fierce, their race more swift to run?  
To th'end with quicker speed, might come the promised day,  
The day which I with loving looks, and weary will did pray.  
But thou art sure disposed to glory in my death,  
Wherefore to feed thy fancy fond, lo, here I end my breath.  
I can not sigh nor sob, away by plaint I pine:  
I see my fatal fainting file, ye Sisters do untwine,  
The Ferryman I find, priest at the River side:  
To take me in his restless Boat, therein with him to ride.  
And yet although I starve, through thy despitous fault:  
Yet crave I not in my revenge, that harm should thee assault,  
But rather that thy fame, eternally may shine:  
And that each to thine avail, abundantly incline.  
That each thine enterprise, hath lucky lot and chance,  
And stable fortune, thine estate, from day to day advance,  
That Sun, that Moon, that stars, and eke the planets all,  
The fire, the water, and the earth, may friendly to thee fall.  
That many quiet years, thou number may with rest:  
Uoyd of all annoys and grieves, as may content thee best,  
And if that foreign love, torment and vex thy heart:  
God yield thy weary wanting wish, and swagement of thy smart.  
With froward flearing face, at me if Fortune frown,  
Thou dost rejoice and I not so, but joy thy good renown:  
And if I thee offend, for that I do thee love,  
Forgive it me: for force it is, I can it not remove.  
For I in secret sort, these lines to thee did I writ,  
My weakened wearied hand henceforth, shall seize for to indite:  
That letters to receive from me, thou need not muse:  
The messenger that next of all, of me shall bring the news.  
Dissolved from the corpse, shallbe my doleful sprite:  
That first (unsheathed) shall pass to thee, when he hath viewed thy sight,  
Contented he shall go unto the heavens above,  
In case that joyed rested place, may gain it any love.  
And now for that my death, thy name may spot and stain:  
If that the flying fame thereof, to others ears attain,  
I will not it were read, or known by other ways:  
That thou art only cause, I thus in ruth do end my days.  
Wherefore this Letter read, condemn it to the flame:  
And if thou do thy honour force, I know thou wilt thesame,  
And if in lingering time, unwares they chance to come:  
Wherein the entrails of the earth, shall hap to be my tomb.  
At lest yet grant me this, it is a small request:  
O happy withered pined corpse, God sand thy soul good rest.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Lady beloved, assureth her Lover to be his own, and not to change, while life doth last.  

Dear heart as erst I was, so will I still remain,  
Till I am dead, and more if more may be:  
Howsoever love do yield me joy or pain,  
Or Fortune list to smile or frown on me  
No changing chance my fast faith may constrain,  
No more than Waves, or beating of the Sea  
May stir the steadfast rock, that will not ply,  
For fair nor fowl one inch, no more will I  
A file or knife of lead, shall sooner carve  
The Diamant unto what form you will:  
Ere Fortune's dint, compel me for to serve,  
Or the ire of Love, to break my constant will,  
ye sooner shall, the law of nature starve,  
When Rivers take their course against the hill,  
Ere sudden hap, for better or for worse,  
Disturb my thoughts, to take a better course.   

With hearts consent, my love you do possess,  
A surer hold may chance, than many ween:  
The faith by oath, that subjects do confess,  
To their new prince, is seldom stronger seen:  
Not firmer state than that, which love doth sure express,  
Of King, ne kaiser hitherto hath been:  
So that you need not fortify your hold,  
With Tower or Ditch, lest others win it should.   

For though you set, no Soldiers for defence,  
For all assaults, this one may yet suffice:  
It is not goods can altar my pretence,  
No gentle heart, yields to so vile a prize.  
Though crown and septier, few would despise,  
Not beauty meet, to move a wavering mind,  
Yet more than yours, I wots not where to find.   

And fear you not, what form my heart once took,  
Lest any new print, shall the same deface:  
So deep therein, engraved is your look,  
As never may be wiped from that place:  
My heart like Wax, so lightly did not brook,  
Moore than one stroke, ere Cupid brought to pass  
One splint of scale, thereof to take away,  
The best reserved, your Image to portray.   

That like as what stone, itself best descendeth,  
And hardiest is with tool to be grave:  
Doth sooner break in pieces, than it bendeth,  
To looze the stamp, afore my hand it gave:  
Even so the nature, of my heart contendeth,  
As hard is this, as any stone you have:  
Though force do break it, unto pieces small,  
Those pieces somewhat, you resemble shall.   
FINIS.   

¶ In the praise of the rare beauty, and manifold virtues of Mistress D. as followeth.  
IF Chawcer yet did live, whose English tongue did pass,  
Who sucked dry Parnassus' spring, and taste the juice there was:  
If Surrey had not scald, the height of jove his Throne,  
Unto whose head a pillow soft, become Mount Helicon:  
They with their Muses could, not have pronounced the fame,  
Of D. fair Dame, lo, a staming stock, the chief of nature's frame.  
They would but have eclipsed, her beauties golden blast,  
Nor Ovid yet of Poet's Prince, whose wits all others past.  
Old Nestor with his tongue, and flowing dew so sweet,  
Would rather have bereft her right, then penned her praises meet  
In Helen's heavenly face, whose grace the greeks bought dear,  
For whose defence proud Troy did fall, such form did not appear.  
In Hector's sister lo: who Pyrrhus Father rapt,  
Did not abound such beauty bright, as now to D, hath happed:  
For D, doth pass as far, Dame Venus with her prize,  
As Venus did the other two, by doom of Paris wise.  
If she had present been, within the walls of Ide,  
They would not had such discord then, nor Paris judged that side.  
In mind all void of doubt, they strait agreed would,  
That D, should of good right, the Apple have of Gold.  
Whom as I must believe, that nature did created,  
To rob the hearts of noble Kings, and courage stout to mate:  
Her forehead seemly spaste, wherein do shine her eyes,  
No whit unlike to stars by night, or beam when Phoebus' rise.  
Her hair that shines like gold, her shoulders cover white.  
To which no snow on Mountain high, may be compared right:  
Her mouth well compassed small, in smilings utters forth  
A treasure rich of Orient Pearl, thereto no Gold more worth,  
I fear much Promethius fall, dare no further wade,  
Whom love embraced with the shape, that he so finely made:  
Yet this I dare presume, one thought of her may draw,  
A heart of Iron, and it subdue, unto blind Cupid's law.  
I sorrow to recite, the bitter tears that flow:  
Within the eyes of other Dames, that beauty know.  
I weep to wail in mind, the burning slights that flame:  
In troubled hearts of Nature's case in spreading of her fame,  
They all do curse themselves, of Nature makes complaint,  
That she on them had small regard, that did her thus depaint.  
Of her doth nobles spring, and suitors sue for grace,  
And Fountains eke of sugared speech, where voice can take no place,  
Here Pallas should have lost her praise, for wisdom great,  
Who gendered was of jove his brains, where wisdom took his seat.  
Here wise Ulysses wife, whose chasteness brewed her fame:  
Should matched be, ye mated eke, in venturing of thesame.  
Proud Tarquin with his force, which Lucrece did defile:  
Can not have spoiled fair D. so, with neither sound nor guile.  
This Dame I think be such, that heaven can undermine,  
And lift the earth unto the skies, each stone a star to shine.  
If passed time (alas) might now return again,  
And all the wits that ever was, would herein take the pain:  
They could not at the full, no due gifts express,  
A wight unfit to be in earth, in heaven no such goddess.  
Whose name shall flourish still, though Atropos with spite:  
In running from her devilish Den, bereave us of this light,  
Though Thesiphon do cut, her time of life a way:  
Her cankered Sword cannot assail, her fame for to decay.  
For we in these our days, ourselves may better quite:  
To give to her the chiefest praise, than Paris which did right.  
Less hatred cannot want, though power for to revenge:  
Our stately house as they did Troy, their force doth fail to singe.  
Their might if it were like, these verses we should rue,  
With no less pain than Ovid did, whose grief by Muses grew.  
FINIS.   

Pretty parables, and proverbs of love.  
I Spoke when I meant not, in speeding to gain,  
I sought, when I sped not, but travailed in vain:  
I found where I feared not, would writhe with the wind,  
I lost where I loved not, nor forced to find.  
Nothing in which, truth is not trusty,  
But double is such, and beauty but rusty:  
I cool with the cold, I leave that I like not,  
I know not the old, that rotteth and ripes not.  
I savour no such, that fond doth favour,  
I care not to much, for such sorry savour:  
I taste or I try, in part or in all,  
I care not a fly, the loss is but small.  
I labour at leisure, I prick without pain,  
In using for pleasure, beats in my brain:  
I spare not in birding, to beaten well the bush,  
Nor leave not in striking, as long as they rush.  
I try ere I trust, naught wasting but wind,  
Before I find just, they know not my mind:  
I jet not with Geminie, nor tarry not with Tawre  
In bluttring who blears me? I leave them with Law●●.  
For fire who findeth, in burning to bite,  
The wise man he warneth, to leap from the light:  
For seeing the weed, and losing from bands,  
The ploughing in Sea, and sowing in Sands.  
FINIS.   

Of patience.  
A sovereign salve there is for each disease:  
The chief revenge for cruel ire  
Is patience, the chief and present ease,  
For to delay each ill desire.   

Of lawless lust.  
AN everlasting bondage doth he choose,  
That can not tell a little how to use:  
He scant enough for shame puruayes,  
That all alone to lust obeys.   

Of will, and reason.  
I Count this conquest great,  
That can by reason's skill:  
Subdue affectious heat,  
And vanquish wanton william.   

Of three things to be shunned.  
Three things, who seeks for praise, must fly,  
To please the taste with wine  
Is one: another, for to lie  
Full soft on feathers fine.  
The third and hardest for to shun,  
And chiefest to eschew,  
Is lickerous lust, which once begun,  
Repentance doth ensue.   

Of beauty, and chastity.  
CHastity a virtue rare,  
Is seldom known to run her race:  
Where comely shape and beauty fair,  
Are seen to have a biding place.   

Of wisdom.  
WHo seeketh the renown to have,  
And eke the praise of virtues name:  
Of Wisdom rare he aught to crave,  
With gladsome will to work the same.   

Of a pure conscience.  
A Conscience pure withouten spot,  
That knoweth itself for to be free:  
Of slanders loathsome reketh not,  
A brazen wall full well may be.   

Of friendship found by chance.  
THe friendship found by chance is such,  
As often chance is seen to change:  
And therefore trust it not to much,  
Ne make thereof a gain to strange:  
For proof hath taught by hap is had,  
Sometime as well the good as bad.   

Of good will got by due desert.  
BUt I suppose the same good will,  
That once by good desert is got:  
That fancy finds by reason's skill,  
And time shall try withouten spot,  
Is such as hard is to be gained,  
And worthy got to be retained.   

Of flatterers and faithful friends.  
THe finest tongue can tell the smoothest tale,  
The hottest fires have oft the highest smoke:  
The hardiest knights the soonest will assail,  
The strongest arms can give the sturdest stroke  
The wisest men be thought of greatest skill,  
And poorest friends be found of most goodwill.   

Of a virtuous, life, age, and death.  
GOd wots my friend our life full soon decays,  
And virtue voids no wrinkles from the face:  
Approaching age by no entreaty stays,  
And death untamed, will grant no man grace.  
FINIS.   

A proper Posy for a Handkerchief.  
Fancy is fierce, Desire is bold,  
Will is wilful, but Reason is cold.   

¶ The Lover being overmuch wearied with servile life, compareth it to a Labyrinth.  

WIth speedy wings, my feathered woes pursues,  
My wretched life, made old by weary days:  
But as the fire of Ethna still renews,  
And breeds as much, by flame as it decays:  
My heavy cares, that once I thought would end me,  
Prolongs my life, the more mishap to lend me.   

O hapless will, with such unwary eyes,  
About mishap that hast thyself bewrethed:  
Thy trust of weal, my wailful proof denies,  
To woeful state whereby I am bequeathed:  
And into such a Labyrinth betake,  
As Dedalus for Minotaur did make.   

With helpless search, whereas it were assigned,  
Without revoke, I tread these endless Mayes:  
Where more I walk, the more myself I wind.  
Without a guide, in Torments tiring ways:  
In hope I dread, where to and fro I roam,  
By death ne life, and finds no better home.   

But sith I see, that sorrow cannot end,  
These hapless hours, the lives of my mischance:  
And that my hope, can naught a whit amend,  
My bitter days, nor better hap advance:  
I shall shake of, both doubtful hope and dread,  
And so be pleased, as God is best agreed.   
FINIS.   

How to choose a faithful friend.  
THough that my years, full far do stand aloof,  
From counsel sage, or Wisdoms good advice:  
What I do know by soon repenting proof,  
I shall you tell, and learn if you be wise.  
From fined wits, that tells the smoothest tale,  
Beware, their tongues do flatter often a wry:  
A modest look shall well set forth your sale,  
Trust not to much, before somewhat you try:  
So guide yourself in word, and eke in deed,  
As bad and good may praise your sober name:  
Assay your friend, before your greatest need,  
And to conclude, when I may do that same,  
That may you please, and best content your mind,  
Assure yourself, a faithful friend to find.  
FINIS.   

The Lover being accused of suspicion of flattery, pleadeth not guilty, and yet is wrongfully condemned.  
TO seem for to revenge, each wrong in hasty wise,  
By proof we see of guiltless men, it hath not been the guise:  
In slanders loathsome brute, when they condemned be,  
With rageles moods they suffer wrong, when truth shall try them free:  
These are the patient pangs, that pas within the breast  
Of those that feel their case by mine, where wrong hath right oppressed:  
I know how by suspect, I have been judged away,  
And granted guilty in the thing, that clearly I deny.  
My faith may me defend, if I might leaved be,  
God judge me so, as from that guilt I know me to be free:  
I wrought but for my friend, the grief was all mine own,  
As if the troth were truly tried, by prooft it might be known.  
Yet are there such that say, they can my meaning deem,  
Without respect to this old troths: things prove not as they seem:  
Whereby it may befall, in judgement to be quick,  
To make them be suspect therewith, that needeth not to kick:  
Yet in resisting wrong, I would not have it thought,  
I do accuse as though I knew, by whom it may be wrought:  
If any such there be, that here withal be vexed,  
It were their virtue to beware, and deem me better next.  
FINIS.   

The Lover describeth the dangerous state of Ambition.  
Behold these high and mighty men,  
Their changing state and tell me then:  
Where they or we, best days do see,  
Though we seem not and they to be  
In wealth.  
Their pleasant course strange traces hath,  
On tops of trees that groundless path:  
Full waveringly.  
For be it calm they tread not fast,  
Blow rough, blow soft, all help is past:  
Appearingly.  
With us, ye see, it is not so,  
That climb not up, but keep below:  
In calms our course is fair and plain,  
Huge hills defends from stormy rain:  
For why?  
The raging wind and stormy shower,  
On mountains high it hath most power  
Naturally.  
But we that in low valleys lie,  
Behold may such as wander high:  
So slydingly:  
Then what is he that will aspire,  
To heap such woe to please desire:  
That may in wealth by staying still,  
Spend well his days and fly from ill:  
To good.  
By having his recourse to God  
To love his laws to fear his rod:  
unfeignedly.  
To do that in his word we find,  
To help the poor, the sick, the blind:  
Accordingly.  
But though gainsaid this can not be,  
Deem men by deeds, and ye shall see:  
That these low valleys they can not bide,  
But up will climb, though down they slide:  
Again.  
The poor the rich man's place doth crave,  
The rich would fayne higher places have:  
ambitiously.  
The Squire, the Knight, a Lord would be,  
The Lord, the Earl would higher than he:  
Full dangerously.  
When these attain to their desire,  
Then meaner men are set on fire:  
To have the rooms which they in were,  
So that ye see all times some there:  
In heart.  
When one is gone, another is come,  
The third catching the seconds room:  
Full speedily.  
Thus climbing one to other's tail,  
The bows either break, or footing fail:  
Full totteringly.  
For when the top they have attained,  
And got is all they would have gained:  
Then down they come wit sudden fall,  
In doubtful case of life and all.  
And thus.  
Ambition reapeth worthy hire,  
Because he would such sport aspire  
Unequally.  
And there his brag is laid full low,  
That thought on high, himself to show.  
Deservedly.  
FINIS.   

The painful plight of a Lover remaining in doubtful hope of his ladies favour.  

THe bitter sweet, that strains my yielded heart,  
The careless count, which doth the same embrace:  
The doubtful hope, to reap my due desert,  
The pensive path, that guides my restless race:  
Are at such war, within my wounded breast,  
As doth bereave, my joy and eke my rest.   

My greedy will, which seeks the golden gain,  
My luckless lot, doth always take in worth:  
My matched mind, that dreads my suits in vain,  
My piteous plaint, doth help for to set forth:  
So that betwixt, two waves of raging Seas,  
I drive my days, in troubles and disease   

My woeful eyes, do take their chief delight,  
To feed their fill, upon their pleasant maze:  
My hidden harms, that grow in me by sight,  
With pining pangs, do drive me from the gaze:  
And to my hap, I reap none other hire,  
But burn myself, and I to blow the fire.   
FINIS.   

The Lover recounteth his faithful diligence toward his beloved, with the rewards that he reapeth thereof.  

MY fancy feeds, upon the sugared gall,  
My witless will, unwillingly works my woe:  
My careful choice, doth choose to keep me thrall,  
My frantic folly, fawns upon my foe:  
My lust alluers, my lickering lips to taste,  
The bait wherein, the subtle hook is placed.   

My hungry hope, doth heap my heavy hap,  
My sundry suits, procure my more disdain:  
My steadfast steps, yet slide into the trap,  
My tried truth, entangleth me in train:  
I spy the snare, and will not backward go,  
My reason yields, and yet saith ever, no.   

In pleasant plat, I tread upon the snake.  
My flaming thirst, I quench with venomed Wine:  
In dainty dish, I do the poison take,  
My hunger bids me, rather eat then pine:  
I sow, I set, yet fruit, ne flower I find,  
I prick my hand, yet leave the Rose behind.   
FINIS.   

¶ A Letter written by a young gentlewoman and sent to her husband unawares (by a friend of hers) into Italy.  

IMagine when these blurred lines, thus scribbled out of frame,  
Shall come before thy careless eyes, for thee to read the same:  
To be through no default of pen, or else through proud disdain,  
But only through surpassing grief, which did the Author pain  
Whose quiuring hand could have no stay, this carful bill to writ  
Through flushing tears distilling fast, whilst she did it indite:  
Which tears perhaps may have some force (if thou no tiger be,  
And mollify thy stony heart, to have remorse on me.  
Ah perjured wight reclaim thyself, and save thy loving mate,  
Whom thou hast left beclogged now, in most unhappy state:  
(Aye me poor wench) what luckless star? what frowning god above  
What hellish hag? what furious fate hath changed our former love?  
Are we debarred our wonted joys? shall we no more embrace?  
Will't thou my dear in country strange, ensue Aeneas' race:  
Italians sand my lover home, he is no German borne,  
Unless ye welcome him because he leaves me thus forlorn.  
As erst ye did Anchises son, the founder of your soil,  
Who falsely fled from Carthage Queen, reléever of his toil:  
O sand him to Bryttannia Coasts, unto his trusty fear,  
That she may vew his comely corpse, whom she esteems so dear:  
Where we may once again renew, our late surpassed days,  
Which then were spent with kisses sweet, & other wanton plays:  
But all in vain (forgive thy thrall, if she do judge awrong)  
Thou canst not want of dainty Trulls Italian Dames among.  
This only now I speak by guess, but if it happen true,  
Suppose that thou hast seen the sword, that me thy Lover slew:  
Perchance through time so merrily with dallying damsels spent,  
Thou stand'st in doubt & wilt inquire from whom these lines were sent:  
If so, remember first of all, if thou hast any spouse,  
Remember when, to whom and why, thou erst hast pleated vows,  
Remember who esteems thee best, and who bewails thy flight,  
Mind her to whom for loyalty thou falsehood dost requite.  
Remember Heaven, forget not Hell, and way thine own estate,  
Revoke to mind whom thou hast left, in shameful blame & hate:  
Yea mind her well who did submit, into thine only power,  
Both heart and life, and therewithal, a rich and wealth dower:  
And last of all which grieves me most, that I was so beguiled,  
Remember most forgetful man, thy pretty tattling child:  
The lest of these surnamed things, I hope may well suffice,  
To show to thee the wretched Dame, that did this bill devise.  
I speak in vain, thou hast thy will, and now saith Aesons son,  
Medea may pack up her pipes, the golden Fleece is won:  
If so, be sure Medea I will, show forth myself in deed,  
Yet gods defend though death I taste, I should destroy thy seed:  
Again, if that I should inquire, wherefore thou dost sojourn,  
No answer fitly mayst thou make, I know to serve thy turn:  
Thou canst not say but that I have, observed my love to thee,  
Thou canst not say, but that I have, of life unchaste been free.  
Thou canst not cloak (through want) thy flight, since riches did abound  
Thou needs not shame of me thy spouse, whose birth not low is found,  
As for my beauty, thou thyself, erewhile didst it commend  
And to conclude I know no thing, wherein I did offend:  
Retire with speed, I long to see, thy bark in wished bay,  
The Seas are calmer to return, than erst to fly away.  
Behold the gentle winds do serve, so that a friendly jail,  
Would soon convey to happy port, thy most desired sail:  
Return would make amendss for all, and banish former wrong,  
O that I had for to entice, a Scyrens flattering song.  
But out alas, I have no shift, or cunning to entreat,  
It may suffice the absence thine, that I my griefs repeat  
Demand not how I did digest, at first thy sudden flight,  
For ten days space I took no rest, by day nor yet by night:  
But like to Bacchus beldame Nun, I sent and ranged apace,  
To see if that I might thee find, in some frequented place:  
Now here, now there, now up, now down, my fancy so was fed,  
Until at length I knew of troth, that thou from me wert fled.  
Then was I fully bend with blade, to stab my vexed heart,  
Yet hope that thou wouldst come again, my purpose did convert:  
And so ere since I lived in hope bemixt with dreadful fear,  
My smeared face through endless tears, unpleasant doth appear:  
My sleeps unsound with ugly dreams, my meats are vain of taste  
My gorgeous raiment is despised, my tresses rudely placed.  
And to be brief: I boldly speak, there doth remain no care:  
But that thereof in amplest wise, I do possess a share:  
Like as the tender sprig doth bend, with every blast of wind,  
Or as the guideless Ship on Seas, no certain port may find.  
So I now subject unto hope, now thrall to careful dread,  
Amids the Rocks, 'tween hope and fear, as fancy moves, am led:  
Alas return, my dear return, return and take thy rest,  
God grant my words may have the force, to penytrat thy breast.  
What dost thou think in Italy, some great exploit to win?  
Not, not, it is not Italy, as sometimes it hath been:  
Or dost thou love to gad abroad, the foreign costs to view,  
If so, thou hadst not done amiss, to bid me first a dew:  
But what hath been the cause, I need not descant long,  
For sure I am, mean while poor wench, I only suffer wrong.  
Well thus I leave, yet more could say: but lest thou shouldst refuse,  
Through tediousness to reed my lines, the rest I will excuse:  
Until such time as mighty jove doth sand such lucky grace,  
As we thereof in friendly wise, may reason face to face.  
Till then farewell, and he thee keep, who only knows my smart  
And with this bill I sand to thee, a trusty lovers heart.   

By me, to thee, not mine, but thine,  
Since Love doth move the same,  
Thy mate, though late, doth wright, her light,  
Thou well, canst tell, her name.    

¶ A Letter sent from beyond the Seas to his Lover, persuading her to continue her love towards him.  

TO thee I writ whose life and death, thy faith may save or spill:  
Which faith observe, I live in joy, if not, your friend you kill:  
Suspect not that I do misdoubt, your loyalty at all:  
But pender how that lovers are, unto suspicion thrall.  
Which thraldom breedeth forth thrall, if wonted faith do fail:  
Against the Lover thus forlorn, do thousand Cares prevail:  
It little helps to have begun, and there to set a stay,  
They win more fame, that fight it out: then those that run away.  
Like as the willing hound that doth, pursue the Dear in Chase:  
Will not omit unto the end, his painful weary race:  
So Love (if love it be indeed) will steadfast still remain:  
What so betid, good hap or ill, and not revolt again.  
Such faith of you, sweet heart I ask, such faith: why said I so?  
What need I to demand the thing. I have had long ago:  
Your faith you gave, the case is plain, you may not seem to start:  
And I in earnest of the match did leave with you my heart.  
But now perhaps you may allege, long distance may procure,  
A cause whereby our former love, no longer may endure:  
If so you judge to far amiss, although that sail and wind,  
Convey my corpse to country strange, my heart remains behind.  
Examples many could I show, but needles is that pain,  
Mine own example shall suffice, when I return again:  
Mean while although to swim I want, Leander's cunning art,  
In all things else (except the same) I'll play Leander's part.  
In hope that thou wilt show thyself, to me an Hero true,  
And so although loath to departed, I say sweet heart adieu.   

A Ring I send, wherein is pend, a Posy (if you reed)  
Whereby you may, perceive always, of what I most have need.  
By me your friend, unto the end, if you thereto agreed,  
Although not so, your loving foe, I still perforce must be.   
FINIS.   

another loving Letter.  

BEcause my heart is not mine own, but resteth now with thee,  
I greet thee well of heartiness, thyself mayst Carver be:  
Muse not hereat but like hereof, first read and then excuse,  
I wish to you a pliant heart, when you these lines peruse.  
Hope bids me speak, fear stays my tongue, but Cupid makes me bold,  
And Fancy harps of good success, when that my plaint is told:  
Thus Hope doth prick, & fear doth kick, & fancy feeds my brain,  
In you alone doth now consist, the salve to ease my pain.  
You are my Paradise of joy, the heaven of my delight,  
And therewithal (which thing is strange) the worker of my spite:  
Which spite I seek not to revenge, but meekly to subdue,  
Not as a foe, but as a friend, I do your love pursue.  
I yield myself unto your power, and will not you relent?  
In humble wise I mercy crave, and is your mercy spent?  
Not sure, as nature outwardly, hath showed in you her skill,  
I doubt not but that inwardly, the like she doth fulfil.  
So good a face, so trim a grace, as doth in you remain:  
A Cressida's cruel stony heart, I know may not retain:  
Wherefore to ratify my words, let deeds apparent be:  
Then may you vaunt and prove it true, you freedom gave to me.  
Consider of my restless care, and way blind Cupid's ire:  
Then shall you find my painful love, doth claim but earned hire.  
Requited not this my courtesy, and friendship with disdain,  
But as I love unfeignedly, so yield like love again.  
Allow hereof as for the rest, that doth belong to love:  
Myself thereof will take the care, as time, in time shall prove.  
Mean while, I wish a Thisbe's heart, in you there may endure:  
Then doubt not, but a Pyramus, of me you shall procure.   

Yours at your will,  
To save or spill.   
FINIS.   

Proctor's Precepts.  
Leave vading plumes, no more vaunt, gallant youth,  
Thy masking weeds forsake, take colours sage:  
Shun vicious steps, consider what ensueth,  
Time lewdly spent, when on comes crooked age.  
When beauty brave shall vade, as doth the flower,  
When manly might, shall yield to ancient time:  
When young delights shall die, and ages bower,  
Shall lodge thy corpse, bemoaning idle prime.  
Learn of the Ant, for stormy blasts to get  
Provision, least untimely want do cum,  
And moves thee moon such time, so lewd neglect  
From virtues lore, where worthy honours won.  
Think how uncertain here, thou liv'st a guest,  
Amid such vice, that's irksome to behold:  
Think whence thou camest, and where thy corpse shall rest,  
When breathing breath, shall leave thy carcase cold.  
When dreadful death, shall daunt thy haughty mind,  
When fearful flesh, shall shroud in clammy clay:  
When pampered plumes shall vade, and dreads shall find,  
deservings due, for erring lewd astray.  
Run not to rash, lest trial make the moan,  
In ancient years thy green unbridled time:  
Old Age is loathed, with folly over grown,  
Young years despised, cut of in sprouting prime.  
Experience learn, let elder lives thee lead,  
In lively years, thy fickle steps to guide:  
Lest unawares, such uncouth paths thou tread,  
Which filthy be thought, pleasant to be eyed.  
In calmest Seas, the deepest Whorepooles be,  
In greenest Grass, the lurking Adder lies:  
With eager sting, the sugerest sap we see,  
Smooth words deceive, learn therefore to be wise.  
FINIS.   

Inuidus alterius rebus macrescit opimis.  
THe greedy man, whose heart with hate doth swell,  
Because he sees his neighbours good estate:  
lives uncontent, with what might serve him well,  
And eftsoons seems to blame sufficient fate:  
This grudging gluton glut, with golden gain,  
To serve his use, although he hath enough:  
Repines at that, which others get with pain,  
So that himself thereby, he doth abuse:  
He thinks that much, which passeth by his claw,  
And finds a fault for it through luckless hap:  
Although the matter valueth scarce a straw,  
He deems it small of gain, that gives no sap.  
He thinks his store, shall serve his senseless corpse,  
Or that no death at all, he deems there be:  
Else would he to his conscience have remorse,  
And seek to live content with his degree:  
For what avails, to horde up heaps of dross,  
Or seek to please unsatiate fond desire:  
Considering that, 'tis subject unto loss,  
And we (thereby ill got) deserves Hell fire:  
From which O Lord conduct us with thy hand,  
And give us grace to live unto thy praise:  
Preserve our Queen his subjects and her land,  
And grant in peace, she reign here Nestor's days.  
FINIS.   

The reward of Whoredom by the fall of Helen.  
FRom Limbo Lake, where dismal fiends do lie,  
Where Pluto reigns, perpend Helenas cry:  
Where fiery flames, where piteous howlings be,  
Where bodies burn: from thence give ear to me.  
I am Helena she, for whose wild filthy fact,  
The stately Towers of Troy, the haughty Grecians sacte:  
High Troy, whose pomp, throughout the world did sound,  
In Cinders low, through me was laid on ground.  
King Priamus through me, did end his life:  
And troyans all almost, I was the cause of strife.  
I am that Dame, whose beauty passing brave,  
Dame Venus praised, the golden Pome to have:  
Whose feature forced, Sir Paris boiling breast,  
To leave his land, and seek to be my guest.  
That trull which tossed, the surging Seas a main,  
From Graecian shore, to Troy unto my pain.  
That flirt, whose gallant sprouting prime,  
Through wild abuse, was scorched ere ancient time:  
I virtue shunned, I loathed a modest mind,  
I weighed not fame, my beauty made me blind.  
Each brave delight, my masking mind allured,  
My fancy deemed, my beauties gloze assured:  
Such worthy fame, did sound of Helen's hue,  
Although my deeds, reaped shame, and guerdon due.  
In gorgeous plumes, I masked, puffed up with pride,  
In brave delights I lived, my fancy was my guide:  
But fie of filth, your world is all but vain,  
Your pomp consumes, your deeds shall guerdon gain:  
See here by me, whose beauty might have boast,  
For splendent hue, throughout each foreign coast.  
But what prevails, to vaunt of beauty's gloze,  
Or brag of pride, whereon dishonour grows:  
If I had used my gifts in virtues lore,  
And modest lived, my praise had been the more.  
Where now too late, I loath my life lewd spent,  
And wish I had, with virtue been content.  
FINIS.  T. P.  

A lovers life.  
THe tedious toil, the cares which Lovers taste,  
The troubled thoughts, which moves their minds to fear:  
The pinching pangs, the dole which seems to waste,  
Their loathsome life, deep plunged in gulfs of care:  
Would move each shun, such snares of vain delight,  
Which irksome be, though pleasant to the sight.  
The mind full fraught, with care enjoys no ease,  
A boiling breast, desires unlawful lust:  
The heart would have, what best the mind doth please,  
And fancy craves, the thing which is unjust.  
Beside each frown, which eftsoons moves them deem,  
They abject are, if sad their Lovers seem.  
Or if occasion shun, their usual sight,  
Not seen, they think themselves unminded be:  
And then in dumps, as mazed they leave delight,  
And yield to grief, till one, each others see:  
So that with fear, their minds are always fraught.  
That live in love, experience some hath taught.  
Each lowering frown, from mirth doth move the mind,  
One jesting word, procures a thousand woes:  
So that like grief or more, through sight they find,  
Then absence sure, such cares fro fancy flows:  
Such goring gripes, such heaps of hideous harms,  
Such sorrowing sobs, from daunted lovers swarms.  
Rosamond a spoused Dame, her husband's death procured,  
For speaking but a word in jest:  
Itrascus too, full thirty years endured,  
The pangs of love, within his boiling breast:  
So that in grief they harbour, still their minds are cloyed with care,  
They dive in dole, they plunge in pain, & live in cruel fear.  
And divers more, as Axeres whose beauty passing fair,  
So Iphis heart, and boiling breast allured:  
That for her sake, he lived in extreme care,  
And cruel grief, while breathing breath endured:  
But at the length, disdain upon a tree,  
He hung himself, where she his corpse might see.  
FINIS.   

¶ A Lover approving his Lady unkind. Is forced unwilling to utter his mind.  

Willow willow willow, sing all of green willow,  
Sing all of green willow, shall be my Garland.   

MY love, what misliking in me do you find,  
Sing all of green willow:  
That on such a soddayn, you altar your mind,  
Sing willow willow willow:  
What cause doth compel you, so fickle to be?  
Willow willow willow willow:  
In heart which you plighted, most loyal to me,  
Willow willow willow willow.   

I faithfully fixed, my faith to remain,  
Sing all of green willow:  
In hope I as constant, should find you again,  
Sing willow willow willow:  
But perjured as jason, you faithless I find,  
Which makes me unwilling, to utter my mind:  
Willow willow willow, sing all of green willow,  
Sing all of green willow shall be my Garland.   

Your beauty brave decked, with shows gallant gay,  
Sing all of green willow:  
Alured my fancy, I could not say nay,  
Sing willow willow willow.  
Your phrases fine philed, did force me agree,  
Willow willow willow willow:  
In hope as you promised, you loyal would be,  
Willow willow willow willow.   

But now you be frisking, you list not abide,  
Sing all of green willow:  
Your vow most unconstant, and faithless is tried,  
Sing willow, willow willow:  
Your words are uncertain, not trusty you stand,  
Which makes me to wear, the willow Garland:  
Willow willow willow, sing all of green willow,  
Sing all of green willow, shall be my Garland.   

Hath Light of love lulled you, so soft in her lap?  
Sing all of green willow:  
Hath fancy provoked you? did love you entrap?  
Sing willow willow willow:  
That now you be flirting, and will not abide.  
Willow willow willow willow:  
To me which most trusty, in time should have tried,  
Willow willow willow willow.   

Is modest demeanour, thus turned to untrust?  
Sing all of green willow:  
Are faith and troth fixed, approved unjust?  
Sing willow, willow will:  
Are you she which constant, for ever would stand?  
And yet will you give me, the willow Garland?  
Willow willow willow, sing all of green willow,  
Sing all of green willow, shall be my Garland.   

What motion hath moved you, to mask in delight,  
Sing all of green willow,  
What toy have you taken, why seem you to spite  
Sing willow willow willow,  
Your love which was ready for ay to endure,  
Willow willow willow willow:  
According to promise' most constant and sure,  
Willow willow willow willow.   

What gallant you conquered, what youth moved your minds,  
Sing all of green willow:  
To leave your old Lover, and be so unkind,  
sing willow willow willow:  
To him which you plighted both faith, troth and hand,  
For ever: yet gives me the willow Garland?  
Willow willow willow, sing all of green willow,  
Sing all of green willow, shall be my Garland.   

Hath wealth you alured, the which I do want,  
Sing all of green willow:  
Hath pleasant devices, compelled you recant,  
Sing willow willow willow:  
Hath feature forced you, your words to deny?  
Willow willow willow willow:  
Or is it your fashion to cog, and to lie,  
Willow willow willow willow?   

What are your sweet smiles, quite turned into lowers,  
Sing all of green willow:  
Or is it your order, to change them by hours,  
Sing willow willow willow:  
What have you sufficient, think you in your hand,  
To pay for the making, of my willow Garland:  
Willow willow willow, sing all of green willow,  
Sing all of green willow, shall be my Garland.   

Farewell then most fickle, untrue and unjust,  
Sing all of green willow:  
Thy deeds are ill dealings, in thee is no trust,  
Willow willow willow willow.  
Thy vows are uncertain, thy words are but wind  
Willow willow willow willow.  
God grant thy new lover, more trusty thee find,  
Willow willow willow willow?   

Be warned then gallants, by proof I unfold,  
Sing willow willow willow,  
maids love is uncertain, soon hot, and soon cold,  
Sing willow willow willow:  
They turn as the reed, not trusty they stand,  
Which makes me to wear the willow Garland:  
Willow willow willow, sing all of green willow,  
Sing all of green willow, shall be my Garland.   
FINIS.   

A gloze of fawning friendship.  
NOw cease to sing your Siren songs, I leave each brave delight  
Attempt no more the wounded corpse, which late felt fortune's spite:  
But rather help to rue, with sorrowing sobs come moan,  
My luckless loss from wealth to woe, by fickle fortune thrown.  
I once had friends good store, for love, (no dross I tried)  
For having lost my goods on Seas, my friends would not abide,  
Yet having need I went to one, of all I trusted most:  
To get relief, he answered thus, go pack thou peevish post.  
His words did pierce my tender breast, and I as amazed did stand  
Requesting him with piteous plaints, to give his helping hand:  
Content thyself (quoth he) to serve my own estate,  
I have not I, yet am I grieved to see thy luckless fate.  
Ah fie of fawning friends, whose eyes attentive be,  
To watch and ward for lucre's sake, with cap and bended knee:  
Would God I had not known, their sweet and sugared speech,  
Then had my grief the lesser been, experience me doth teach.  
FINIS.   

A Maze of Maidens.  

WHo goes to gaze of every gallant girl,  
And casts his eyes at every glancing gloss:  
Whose masking mind, with every motion moved,  
In fine shall find, his fancy fraught with woes.   

For pleasure spent, is but a wishing vain,  
By crooked chance, deprived of brave delight:  
Cut of by care, a heap of hurtful harms,  
Our gaze ungaynd, which whilom pleased our sight.   

Our baunts do vade, our pleasures pass away,  
Our sugerest sweets, reaps sorrowing sobs in fine:  
Our braggest boast, of beauty's bravest blaze,  
To forowed brows, doth at the length resign.   

Our foolish fancy filled, with filthy vice,  
Pursues his hurt, unto another's harms:  
A hovering heart, with every gloze enticed,  
gains lothsome-love, whence naught but sorrow swarms.   

Leave then to gaze, of every glancing gloss,  
Contemn the sleights, of beauty's sugerest bate:  
Whose outward sheath, with colours brave embossed,  
Shuns cruel craft, and envious hurtful hate.   
FINIS.   

A short Epistle written in the behalf of N.B. to M.H.  

Dear Lady decked with comeliness,  
To countervail my clemency:  
Be priest, I pray, in readiness,  
To yield your courteous courtesy.   

Let me you find Penelope,  
In mind, and loyal heart:  
So shall I, your Ulysses be,  
Till breathing life departed.   

Yield love for love, to him who likes,  
To live in links of loyalty:  
And grant him grace, who nothing seeks,  
For his good will, but courtesy.   

Let me your bondmen, favour find,  
To gratify: my willing heart:  
Whom no attempt, to please your mind,  
Shall hinder me, to play my part.   

Permit me not, in lingering sort,  
To labour in a barrayn soil:  
Ne give occasion to report,  
How loitering love, reaps troubled toil.   

But let me say, my heart obtained,  
The gloss, which pleased my glancing eyes:  
And that I have for guerdon gained,  
The best that in my Lady lies.   

So shall I boast of that, which best  
Doth please the prime of my desire:  
And glory in a gained rest,  
Which through your favour I aspire.   
FINIS.   

A view of vain glory.  
WHat motion more, may move a man to mind  
His own estate, than proof, whose days unsure,  
Accounted are unto a puff of wind,  
A breathing blast, whose force can not endure:  
Whose lively shows consumes, whose pomp decays,  
Whose glory dies, whose pleasures soon be spent:  
Whose stoutest strength, to weakness subject stays,  
Whose thoughts be vain, and vade as though unment.  
What have we then to vaunt, or glory in?  
Sigh all is vain, wherein we take delight:  
Why should we boast or brag, sith naught we win  
In fine, but death? to whom yields every wight.  
To equal state, he bringeth each degree,  
He feareth none, all subjects yields to death:  
To dankish dust, he driveth all we see,  
Which in the world, enjoyeth any breath:  
Why vaunt we then, in that we see is vain,  
Or take delight, in that we prove but dross?  
Why glory we, or seek for golden gain?  
Sigh at the length, we reap thereof but loss.  
We loath to leave, our hutches filled with gold:  
Our annual rents, it grieves us to forego,  
Our buildings brave, which glads us to behold:  
Our pleasant sport, it grieves us to forego.  
We nothing brought, ne aught shall carry hence,  
Life lost, behind goods, money, land, we leave:  
And naked shall return, assured whence  
Before we came, when death doth life bereave:  
Line then, to leave thy life in every hour,  
Learn how to lead thy mind, from vain desire,  
Of filthy dross, whose sugerest sweet is sour,  
When dreadful death, shall yield our earthly hire.  
What is our world but vain, fraught full of vice,  
Wherein we live, alured by disceat:  
Which us in youth, to error doth entice,  
And stirs us up, in flamed by follies heat.  
Our minds are moved, with every fond desire,  
We gloze in that, the which we see unsure:  
We usual seek great honour to aspire,  
Whose greatest pomp, doth but a while endure:  
For proof the flower, bedecked with gorgeous hue,  
As soon with heat, of scorching sun doth fade:  
As doth the weed, the which unseemly grew,  
And shows itself, uncovered with the shade.  
The stately ship, which floats on foaming floods,  
With wave is tossed, as soon to surging Seas:  
Doth yield his pomp, though fraught with store of goods,  
As vessel weak, whose force the stream assays:  
Ourselves may show, the state of each degree,  
As Samson stout, whose force Philistians felt:  
For wealth, let Dives, glut with gold our Mirror be,  
Mark Nimrod's fall, whose heart with pride was swelled.  
And divers more, whose preter paths may learn,  
Our future steps, our vain unsteady stay:  
Whose elder lives, already past may warn,  
Us shun such snares, which leads us to decay.  
FINIS.  T. P.  

The fall of folly, exampled by needy Age.  

BEhold me here whose youth, to withered years,  
Doth bow and bend, compelled by crooked age:  
See here my limbs, whose strength benumbed wears,  
Whose pleasure spent, grey hears, bids to be sage.   

But lo to late I loath my life lewd spent,  
And wish in vain, I had foreseen in youth:  
These drowsy days, which moves me to lament  
My idle youth proved, what thereof ensueth.   

Unstorde old years, must serve for lusty prime,  
These feebled joints, must seek to serve their want:  
With tedious toil, because I used not time,  
Lo thus I live, sufficed perforce to scant.   

In flaunting years, I flaunting flourished forth,  
Amid delight, puffed up, with puffing pride:  
Mean garments then, I deemed nothing worth,  
Nay, scarce the best, might serve, my flesh to hide.   

I thought them foes, which told me of my fault,  
And judged them speak, of rigour, not good will:  
Who told of gain, me thought for hire did haut,  
Then lo, I lothde what now I wish by skill.   

Experience moves me moon, the more my grief,  
In lively years, because I did not shun  
Such idle steps, least void of such relief,  
As might have helped my age, now youth is done.   

But what prevails to wish I would I had,  
Sigh time delayed, may not be called again:  
A guerdon just, (for such as youth too bad  
Consumes, (it is) in time therefore take pain.   

Seek how in youth to serve contented age,  
Learn, how to lead, your life in virtues lore:  
Behold you me, attached with death his page,  
Constrained through want, my lewdness to deplore.   

What grief more great, unto a haughty heart,  
Then is distress, by folly forced to fall:  
What care more cruel or loathsome, (to departed  
From wealth to want) it grieves us to the gall.   

But what avails to boast, or vaunt of vain?  
What profit is't, to praise a passed pride?  
Sigh it consumed, is but a pinching pain,  
A heap of harms, whose hurt I wretch have tried.   

A direful dread, a surge of sorrowing sobs,  
A carking care, a mount of mestive moan:  
A sack of sin, couched full of cankered knobs,  
A wavering weed, whose force is soon orethrone.   

For proof behold, the boast of breathing breath,  
See see how soon, his valiaunst vaunt doth vade:  
Our pleasant prime, is subject unto death,  
By vices urged, in waves of woe to wade.   

I know the state, and trust of every time,  
I see the shame, whereto each vice doth cum:  
Therefore (by me) learn how to leave such crime,  
Foelix quem faciunt, aliena pericula cautum.   

Let me your Mirror, learn you leave what's lewd,  
My fall forepast, let teach you to beware:  
My ancient years with trial tripped, have viewed,  
The vaunt of vice, to be but carking care.   
FINIS.  T.P.  

¶ A proper Sonnet, how time consumeth all earthly things.  

AYE me, aye me, I sigh to see, the sith a field,  
down goeth the Grass, soon wrought to withered Hay:  
Aye me alas, aye me alas, that beauty needs must yield,  
And Princes pass, as Grass doth fade away.   

Aye me, aye me, that life cannot have lasting leave,  
Nor Gold, take hold, of everlasting joy:  
Aye me alas, aye me alas, that time hath talents to receive,  
And yet no time, can make a sure stay.   

Aye me, aye me, that wit can not have wished choice,  
Nor wish can win, that will desires to see:  
Aye me alas, aye me alas, that mirth can promise no rejoice,  
Nor study tell, what afterward shallbe.   

Aye me, aye me, that no sure staff, is given to age,  
Nor age can give, sure wit, that youth will take:  
Aye me alas, aye me alas, that no counsel wise and sage,  
Will shun the show, that all doth mar and make.   

Aye me, aye me, come time, shear on, and shake thy Hay,  
It is no boot, to balk thy bitter blows:  
Aye me alas, aye me alas, come time, take every thing away,  
For all is thine, be it good or bad that grows.   
FINIS.   

A Mirror of Mortality.  
SSall clammy clay, shroud such a gallant gloze,  
Dust beauty brave, be shrined in dankish earth:  
Shall crawling worms, devour such lively shows, of young delights.  
When valiant corpse, shall yield the latter breath,  
Shall pleasure vade, must puffing pride decay:  
Shall flesh consume, must thought resign to clay.  
Shall haughty heart, have hire to his desert,  
Must deep desire die, drenchd in direful dread:  
Shall deeds lewd done, in fine reap bitter smart,  
Must each vade, when life shall leave us dead:  
Shall Lands remain? must wealth be left behind?  
Is sense deprived? when flesh in earth is shrined.  
Seek then to shun, the snares of vain delight,  
Which moves the mind, in youth from virtues lore:  
Leave of the vaunt of pride, and manly might,  
Sigh all must yield, when death the flesh shall gore:  
And way these words, as soon for to be sold,  
To Market comes, the young sheep as the old.  
No trust in time, our days uncertain be,  
Like as the flower, bedecked with splendent hue:  
Whose gallant show, soon dried with heat we see,  
Of scorching beams, though late it bravely grew:  
We all must yield, the best shall not deny,  
Unsure is death, yet certain we shall die.  
Although a while, we vaunt in youthful years,  
In young delights, we see me to live at rest:  
We subject be, to grief each horror fears,  
The valiaunst hearts, when death doth daunt the breast:  
Then use thy talon here unto thee lent,  
That thou mayst well accounted how it is spent.  
FINIS.  T.P.  

A brief dialogue between sickness and worldly desire.  ¶ Sickness. 
TO darksome cave, where crawling worms remain.  
Thou worldly wretch, resign thy boasting breath:  
Yield up thy pomp, thy corpse must pass again,  
From whence it came, compelled by dreadful death.  ¶ Worldly desire. 
O sickness sore, thy pains do pierce my heart,  
Thou messenger of death, whose goring gripes me grieve:  
Permit a while, me loath yet to departed  
From friends and goods, which I behind must leave.  ¶ Sickness. 
Ah silly soul, entis'de with worldly vain,  
As well as thou, thy friends must yield to death:  
Though after thee, a while they do remain,  
They shall not still, continued on the earth.  ¶ Worldly desire. 
What must I then need, shrine in ghastly grave?  
And leave what long, I got with tedious toil:  
Prolong me yet, and let me licence have,  
Till elder years, to put your Brutes to foil.  ¶ Sickness. 
O foolish man, allured by lewd delight,  
Thy labours lost, these goods they are not thine:  
But as (thou hadst) so others have like right,  
(Of them) when thou, shalt up thy breath resign.  ¶ Worldly desire. 
Then farewell world, the Nurse of wicked vice,  
Adieu vile dross which moves men's minds to ill:  
Farewell delights, which did my youth entice,  
To serve as slave, unto unsatiate william.  
FINIS.  T.P.  

Aeger Dives habet Nummos, sed non habet ipsum.  

THe wealth chuff, for all his wealth,  
Cannot redeem thereby his health:  
But must to Grave, for all his store,  
Death spareth neither rich nor poor:  
Not Croesus wealth, nor Midas Gold,  
The stroke of careless death may hold:  
He fears no foe, he spares no friend,  
Of every thing he is the end:  
Though Dives had great store of pealfe,  
Yet still the wretch, did want himself.   

No Physics art, or cunning cure,  
May any man of life assure:  
Not high estate or beauty brave,  
May keep us from our careful grave:  
Not haughty mind or valiant heart,  
Against pale Death, may take our part:  
Not curious speech, or witty tale,  
Our dying corpse may countervail:  
Not force, no guile, no power or strength,  
But death doth overcome at length.   

The rich man trusteth in his Gold,  
And thinks that life, is bought and sold:  
The sight thereof so blears, his eye,  
That he remembreth not to die:  
He hath enough and lives in joy,  
Who dares (thinks he) work me annoyed:  
Thus is he made, to pleasure thrall,  
And thinks that death will never call:  
Who unawares with stealing pace,  
Doth end in pain his pleasant race.   

The greedy Merchant will not spare,  
For lucre's sake, to lie and swore:  
The simple sort he can by slight,  
Make to believe the Crow is white:  
Not science now, or art is free,  
But that some guile therein we see:  
Thus every man for greedy gain,  
Unto himself increaseth pain:  
And thinks the crime to be but small,  
When that they lose both soul and all.   

Who liveth here, that is content,  
With such estate as God hath sent:  
The hungry Churl, and wealth Chusse,  
Doth never think, he hath enough:  
Fortune to many, gives to much,  
But few or none, thee maketh rich:  
Thus every man, doth scrape and catch,  
And never more, for death do watch:  
Who still is present at their side,  
And cuts them of, amids their pride.   

Such is the world, such is the time,  
That each man strives aloft to climb:  
But when they are in top of all,  
In torments great they headlong fall:  
Where they do give account at large,  
How they their talent did discharge:  
There no man takes their golden fee,  
To pled their case, and set them free:  
Then too too late they do begin,  
For to repent their former sin:   

Wherefore I wish that each degree,  
With lotted chance contented be:  
Let not thy treasure make thee proud,  
Nor poverty be disalowde:  
Remember who doth give and take,  
One God both rich and poor doth make:  
We nothing had or aught shall have.  
To bear with us unto our grave:  
But virtuous life which here we lead,  
On our behalf for grace to pled.   

Therefore I say thy lust refrain,  
And seek not after brickle gain:  
But seek that wealth, the which will last,  
When that this mortal life is past:  
In heaven is joy and pleasure still,  
This world is vain and full of ill:  
Use not so lewd thy worldly pelf,  
So that thou dost forget thyself:  
Live in this world as dead in sin,  
And die in Christ, true life to win.   
FINIS.   

Win fame, and keep it.  
WHo sees the ill, and seeks to shun the same,  
Shall doubtless win at length immortal fame:  
For wisdom, vice and virtue doth perceive,  
She virtue takes, but vice she seeks to leave.  
A wise man knows the state of each degree,  
The good be praised, the evil dishonoured be:  
He sees the good, the evil he doth espy,  
He takes the good, the evil he doth deny:  
He follows good, the evil he doth eschew,  
He leaps the lake, when others stay to view.  
His honour stands, his fame doth ever last,  
Upon the earth when breathing breath is past:  
As Solomon whose wisdom recht unto the lofty sky,  
And David King, their praises live (though bodies tombed lie)  
They saw the good, the evil they did eschew,  
Their honour lives, the proof affirms it true:  
Then sith examples plainly, shows the same,  
Their praises live who seeks to merit fame.  
finis  T.P.  

Respice finem.  
LO here the state of every mortal wight,  
See here, the fine, of all their gallant joys:  
Behold their pomp, their beauty and delight,  
Whereof they vaunt, as safe from all annoys:  
To earth the stout, the proud, the rich shall yield,  
The weak, the meek, the poor, shall shrouded lie  
In dampish mould, the stout with Spear and shield  
Cannot defend, himself when he shall die.  
The proudest wight, for all his lively shows,  
Shall leave his pomp, cut of by dreadful death:  
The rich, whose Hutch, with golden Ruddocks flows,  
At length shall rest, uncoynd in dampish earth:  
By Nature's law, we all are borne to die,  
But where or when, the best uncertain be:  
Not time prefixed, no goods our life shall buy,  
Of dreadful death, no friends shall set us free.  
We subject be, a thousand ways to death,  
Small sickness moves the valiaunts heart to fear:  
A little push bereaves your breathing breath,  
Of brave delights, whereto you subject are:  
Your world is vain, no trust in earth you find,  
Your valyaunst prime, is but a brittle glass:  
Your pleasures vade, your thoughts a puff of wind,  
Your ancient years, are but a withered grass.  Mors omnibus communis. 
finis  T.P.  

A brief Caveat, to shun fawning friends.  

TRy, ere thou trust, unto a fawning friend,  
Give no regard, unto his sugared words,  
Make your account to lose, what you him lend,  
For collourd craft, the smoothest speech affords.   

Myself have tried, the trust of tattling tongues  
Who paint their prates, as though they would perform:  
(The more my grief) for they (which) whilom clungs,  
Like Bees (goods lost) sole left me in the storm,   

Where I was fain, in worldly woes to wave,  
And seek relief, of former friends, no fie:  
Perforce constrained, to seek myself to save,  
Or else unhelped, sance succour still to lie.   

I made my moan, the greater was my grief,  
To him which was, as servant to my state:  
But what prevailed, by proof I found him chief,  
Who not of me, but on my wealth did wait.   

Donec eris foelix, multos numerabis amicos,  
Temporasi fuerint nubila, solus eris.   
FINIS.  T. P.  

Beauty is a pleasant path to destruction.  

THrough beauty's sugared baits,  
Our minds seduced are:  
To filthy lusts to wicked vice,  
Whence issueth naught but care.   

For having tried the troth  
And seen the end of it:  
What wail we more with greater grief,  
Then want of better wit,   

Because so lewd we lulled,  
In that we see is vain:  
And follow that, the which to late,  
Compels us to complain.   

The boast of Beauty's brags,  
And gloze of loving looks:  
Seduce men's minds as fishes are,  
Enticed with baited hooks.   

Who simply thinking too,  
Obtain the pleasant prey:  
Doth snatch at it, and witless so,  
Devours her own decay.   

Even like the minds of men,  
Allured with beauty's bait:  
To heaps of harms, to carking care,  
Are brought, by such decaite.   

Lothus by proof it proved,  
Perforce I needs must say:  
That beauty unto ruinous end,  
Is as a pleasant way.   
FINIS.  T.P.  

T. P. his Farewell unto his faithful and approved friend. F. S.  

FArewell my friend, whom fortune forced to fly,  
I grieve to here, the luckless hap thou hast:  
But what prevails, if so it help might I,  
I would be priest, thereof be bold thou mast.   

Yet sith time past, may not be called again,  
Content thyself, let reason thee persuade:  
And hope for ease, to countervail thy pain,  
Thou art not first, that hath a trespass made.   

Mourn not to much, but rather joy, because  
God hath cut of thy will, ere greater crime:  
Whereby thou might, the more incur the laws,  
And bear worse Brutes, seduced by wicked prime.   

Take heed, my words let teach thee to be wise,  
And learn thee shun, that leads thy mind to ill:  
Lest being warned, when as experience tries,  
Thou wail'st to late, the woes, of wicked william.   
FINIS.  T. P.  

The History of Pyramus and Thisbie truly translated.  

IN Babylon a stately seat, of high and mighty Kings,  
Whose famous voice of ancient rule, through all the world yet rings:  
Two great estates did whilom devil: and places joined so,  
As but one wall each princely place, divided other fro:  
These Nobles two, two children had, for whom Dame Nature sought,  
The deepest of her secret skill, or she their birth had wrought:  
For as their years in one agreed, and beauty equal shone,  
In bounty and like virtues all, so were they there all one.  
And as it pleased Nature then, the one a son to frame,  
So did the glad old Father like him Pyramus to name:  
Th'other a maid, the mother would that she than Thisbie height,  
With no small bliss of parents all, who came to joy the sight:  
I overslip what sudden frights, how often fear there was,  
And what the care each creature had, ere they did overpass:  
What pains ensue, & what the storms in pierced hearts that dwell,  
And therefore know, what babe & mother whose chaste, & subtle brand  
No earthly heart, ne when they lust, no God hath yet withstand,  
Ere seven years these infant's hearts, they have with love oppressed:  
Though little know their tender age, what causeth their unrest,  
Yet they poor fools untaught to love, or how to less their pain:  
With well contented minds receive, and prime of love sustain.  
No pastime can they elsewhere find, but twain themselves alone  
For other playfeares sport, God wots, with them is reckoned none:  
joy were to here their pretty words, and sweet mamtam to see,  
And how all day they pass the time, till darkness dims the sky:  
But then the heavy cheer they make, when forced is their farewell  
Declares such grief as none would think, in so young breasts could devil:  
You look how long, that any let, doth keep them two a sunder,  
Their mourning hearts no joy may glad, that heavens the passeth under  
Andrea when again, they eft repair, and joyful meeting make,  
Yet know they not the cause thereof, ne why their sorrows slake.  
With sight they feed their fancies then, and more it still desire,  
You more they have, nor want they find of sight they so require:  
And thus in tender imp sprung up, this love upstarteth still,  
For more their years, much more the flame, that doth their fancies fill.  
And where before their infant's age, gave no suspect at all.  
Now needful is, with weary eye, to watchful mind they call:  
Their whole estate, & it to guide, in such wise orderly,  
As of their secret sweet desires, ill tongues no light espy.  
And so they did, but hard God wots, are flames of fire to hide  
Much more to 'cause a lovers heart, within it bounds to find:  
For neither cold, their minds consent so quench of love the rage  
Nor they at years, the lest twice seven, their passions so assuage  
But that to Thisbe's Mother's ears, some spark thereof were blown,  
Let Mother's judge her patience now, till she the whole have known.  
And so by wily ways she wrought, to her no little care,  
That forth she found, their whole devise, and how they were in snare:  
Great is her grief, though small the cause, if other cause ne were,  
For why a meeter match than they, might hap no other where:  
But now 'tween Fathers, though the cause, mine Auctor nothing else,  
Such inward rancour risen is, and so it daily swells.  
As hope of friendship to be had, is none (alas) the while,  
Ne any loveday to be made, their malice to beguile:  
Wherefore strait charge, strait given is with father's frowning cheer,  
That message word, ne token else, what ever that it were:  
Should from their foe to Thisbee pass, & Pyramus friends likewise,  
No less express commandment, do for their son devise.  
And yet not thus content alas, each Father doth ordain.  
A secret watch and bound a point, wherein they shall remain:  
Sight is forbidden, restrained are words, for scald is all devise,  
That should their poor afflicted minds, rejoice in any wise:  
Though pining love, gave cause before of many careful ill,  
Yet daily sith amended all, at lest well pleased them still:  
But now what depth of deep distress, may they indrowned be,  
That now in days twice twenty told, each other once shall see.  
Cursed is their face, so cry they oft, and happy death they call,  
Come death come wished death at once, and rid us life and all.  
And where before (Dame Kind) herself, did wonder to behold  
Her high bequests within their shape, Dame Beauty did unfold:  
Now doth she marvel much and say, how faded is that read?  
And how is spent that white so pure, it wont to overspread.  
For now late lusty Pyramus, more fresh than flower in May,  
As one forlorn with constant mind, doth seek his ending day:  
Since Thisbe mine is lost saith he, I have no more to loose,  
Wherefore make speed, thou happy hand, these eyes of mine shall close.  
Abasid is his princely port, cast of his regal weed,  
Forsaken are assemblies all, and loathed the foaming steed:  
No joy may pierce his pensive mind, unless a woeful breast  
May joyed be, with swarms of care, in hapless heart that rest:  
And thus poor Pyramus distressed, of humane succour all,  
Devoid to Venus' Temple goes, and prostrate down doth fall:  
And there of her, with heart I korue, and sore tormented minds,  
Thus asks he aid, and of his woes, the farthel thus unbindes.   

O Great Goddess, of whose immortal fire,  
Virtue in Erbe, might never quench the flame:  
Ne mortal sense, yet to such skill aspire,  
As for loves hurt a medicine once to name:  
With what dear price, my careful pined ghost,  
Hath tried this true, and over true alas:  
My greefeful eyes, that sight hath almost lost,  
And breast through darted, with thy golden Mace.  
Full well declare, though all that me behold,  
Are judges, and wonders of my deadly woe:  
But thou alone, mayst help therefore unfold,  
Else helpless (Lady) straight will knap in two  
The feeble thread, yet stays my linger life.  
Wherefore, if love, thy sacred God's breast?  
Did ever press, or if most dreadly grief,  
And causeless not thy inward soul oppressed:  
When crooked Vulcan, to your common shame,  
Bewrayed of stolen joys, thy sweet delight:  
If then I say the fear of further blame,  
Caused you refrain your lovers wished sight:  
And forced restraint did equal then impart,  
And 'cause you taste, what pain in love may be:  
When absence drives, assured hearts to part.  
Thy pity then (O Queen) now not deny  
To me poor wretch, who feels no less a pain:  
If human breasts, so much as heavenly may:  
Have ruth on him, who doth to thee complain,  
And only help of thee, doth lowly pray:  
Grant Goddess mine, thou mayst it undertake,  
At lest wise (Lady) ere this life decay:  
Grant I beseech so happy me to make,  
That yet by word, I may to her bewray  
My wondrous woes: and then if ye so please,  
Look when you lust, let death my body ease.  
THus praying fast, full fraught with cares, I leave this woeful man,  
And turn I will to greater grief, than mind immagin can:  
But who now shall them writ since wit, denayeth the some to think,  
Confusedly in Thisbe's breast, that flow above the brink?  
Not, I for though of mine own store, I want no woes to writ,  
Yet lack I terms and cunning both, them aptly to recite.  
For Cunnings clyffe I never climbed, nor drank of Science spring  
Ne slept upon the happy hill, from whence Dame Rhetoric rings.  
And therefore all, I do omit, and wholly them resign,  
To judgement of such woeful Dames, as in like case hath been.  
This will I tell how Thisbie thus, oppressed with dollars all,  
Doth find none ease but day and night, her Pyramus to call:  
For lost is sleep and banished is, all gladsome lights delight,  
In short of case and every help, each mean she hath in spite:  
In languor long, this life she led, till hap as fortune pleased,  
To further fates that fast ensue, with her own thought her eased:  
For this she thinks, what distance may, or mansions be between  
Or where now stands so cruel wall, to part them as is seen  
O feeble wit forduld with woe, awake thy wandering thought,  
Seek out, thou shalt assured find, shall bring thy cares to naught.  
With this some hope, nay, as it were a new revived mind,  
Did promise strait her pensive heart, immediate help to find:  
And forth she steres, with swifted pace, each place she seeks throughout  
No stay may let her hasty foot, till all be viewed about.  
Whereby at length from all the rest, a wall aloof that lies,  
And corner wise did buildings part, with joyful eye she spies:  
And scarcely then her piercing look, one blink thereof had got,  
But that firm hope of good success, within her fancy shot:  
Then fast her eye she rolls about, and fast she seeks to see,  
If any mean may there be found, her comfort for to be:  
And as her careful look she cast, and every part aright  
Had viewed well, a little rift appeared to her sight,  
Which (as it seemed) through the wall, the course the issue had:  
Wherewith she said (O happy wall) mayst thou so blessed be made,  
That yet sometimes within thy bands, my dear heart Pyramus:  
Thou dost possess if hap so work, I will assay thee thus.  
And from about the heavenly shape, her middle did present  
she did unlose here girdle rich, and pendent thereof hent.  
And with her fingers long and small, on tiptoe so she wrought,  
That through the wall to open sight, she hath the pendant brought  
That done she stays, and to the wall she closely lays her ear,  
To understand if any wight, on th' other side yet were:  
And whiles to hearken thus she stands, a wondrous thing behold  
Poor Pyramus in Venus' Church, that all his mind had told.  
Performed his vows and prayers eke, now ended all and don,  
Doth to his Chamber fast return, with heart right woe begun:  
Even to the same where Thisbie stayd, to see if fortune please,  
To smooth her brows and her distress, with any help to ease:  
He as his wonted usage was, the Chamber once within,  
Locks fast the door with fresh complaints, new sorrow to begin.  
But even lo as his back he turned unto the closed door,  
Aglimpse of light the pendant gave, his visage just before:  
Let in his face, with speedy pace, and as he nearer drew,  
With well contented mind forthwith, his Thisbe's sign he knew  
And when his trembling hand for joy, the same received had,  
And he ten hundredth times it kissed, then thus to it he said.  
THough many tokens joyful news have set,  
And bliss redust, to careful pined ghost:  
Yet mayst thou swear, that never lived he yet,  
Who half such ease, received in pleasure most:  
As thou sweet pendant, now in woeful breast  
Impersid haste, O happy Pyramus,  
Nay being a Lady, in whom such rathe can rest:  
Most blissful Lady, most mighty Venus,  
And mighty Thisbie (yea) Venus not displeased,  
My Goddess chief, my love, my life and all:  
For who but Thisbie would, nay could have eased,  
A heart remedyless, abandon thrall:  
Wherefore since thus ye please, to show your might,  
Make me whole happy, with gladness of your sight.  
While Pyramus all clad in joy, thus talks within the wall,  
No less content, doth Thisbie stand without and heareth all:  
And with those gladsome lights, where love doth sightly joy to play,  
And vanquish hearts her love she views in mind somewhat to say  
But maidenly fear plucks back the word, dread stops her trembling tongue,  
A rossy hue inflames her face, with stain of read among.  
Yet lo at length her mind thee stays, her senses do awake,  
And with a sweet soft sounding voice, this answer doth she make.  
Love Pyramus, more dear to me then life,  
Even as I first this way, for speech have found:  
Of present death, so let the dreadful knife,  
At this instant for ever me confound:  
If joyful thought my passing pensive heart,  
Did ever pierce, since parents cruel doom.  
Pronounced the sentence, of our common smart,  
No dear heart mine, for how alas may bloom:  
The fading tree, whose sap divided is,  
You, further sweet, I dare with you presume:  
Your passed woes, but pastimes beware I wis,  
In their respect, that did me whole consume.  
But now sharp sighs, so stop my willing speech,  
Such streams of tears, do dim my troubled sight:  
And inward fear, of parent's wrath is such,  
Lest longer talk, should give them any light  
Of our repair, that further to recite,  
My heaped ills I never dare ne may,  
Yet oftenly, we wisely hear may meet:  
At chosen times which shall us not bewray,  
And this for short, thy Thisbie shalt thou see:  
With morning light, here present eft to be,  
To this full fain would Pyramus, replied have again,  
But part as need, enforced they must, & as they did ordain:  
Ere morning's dawn they do arise & strait repair they then  
Unto the fore appointed place, Pyrame thus began.  
Mine entire soul, what prison dolours?  
What hard distress, and rare devised woes?  
Of me thine own, thy captive Pyramus,  
Have so sought, this life from body to unlose:  
Hard were to tell the tenth, that have it strained,  
With thought hereof, great wonders me amaze:  
How my poor life, the half may have sustained,  
O Thisbie mine own, whom it only stays.  
And at whose will the fates do lend me breath,  
Yet may I not the fatal stroke eschew:  
Ne scape the dint of fast pursuing death,  
Unless your bounty, present mercy show:  
And this I trust, there may no jealous thought,  
Have any place within my Thisbe's breast:  
To 'cause her deem, I am or may be caught.  
With love but hers whereon my life doth rest,  
No be assured, for yours I only taste:  
Yours was the first, and shall be first and last,  
Why my most sweet (quoth Thisbie) then again:  
I doubt not I, but know ye are all true,  
Or how may 'cause of your undoubted pain:  
With her be hid, who hourly as it grew,  
None other felt, but even what ye have had:  
Yet think not sweet, I taste your griefs alone,  
Or make esteem, as ye of me have made,  
But ten times more, if that more woe begone,  
Might ever be a wretched maidens breast,  
Where never yet, one jot of joy might rest.  
Well then my joy, (quoth Pyrame) since ye please,  
With so greater love, to guerdon my good will:  
Safe am I now, but great were mine ease,  
If more at full, I might my fancy fill:  
With nearer sight, of your most pleasant face,  
Or if I might, your dainty finger's strain:  
Or as I wont, your body once embrace,  
What say I ease? nay heaven then were my gain.  
Howbeit in vain, in vain (aye me) I waste,  
Both word and wind, woes me (alas) therefore:  
For never shall my heart, O Thisbie taste,  
So great an hap, nor never shall we more:  
In folded arms, as wont were to bewray,  
Each others state, ne never get the grace:  
Of any joy, unless we do assay,  
To find some mean for other meeting place.  
Behold (alas) this wicked cruel wall,  
Whose cursed scyte, denayeth us perfect sight:  
Much more the hap, of other ease at all.  
What if I should by force, as well one might:  
And yet deserves, it batter flat to ground,  
And open so, an issue large to make:  
Yet fear I sore, this sooner will redounded,  
To our reproach, if it I undertake:  
As glad I would, then us to help or aid,  
Sweet heart (quoth she) wherewith she stopped his tale:  
This stands full ill: to purpose to be made,  
And time it asks, too long for to prevail:  
Without suspect, to flat or batter even,  
Naythlesse, ye this, or what ye can devise:  
For our repair, by thought that may be driven,  
Say but the mean, I will none otherwise.  
ye Thisbie mine, in sooth, and say you so  
(Quoth Pyramus) well then I do you know:  
Where King Minus, lies buried long ago,  
Whose ancient Tomb above, doth overgrow  
A Mulberry, with branches making shade,  
Of pleasant show, the place right large about:  
There if ye please, when sleep hath overlade,  
And with his might, the City seas'de throughout:  
At the same Well, whose silver streams then run.  
And soft as silk, conserve the tender green:  
With hue so fresh, as springtied spent and done,  
Not winter's weed, hath power to be seen:  
Without suspect, or fear of foul report,  
There goddess mine, we salfely may resort.  
TO this she said, what she best thought, and often and often again,  
Was talk renewed, but yet at last, for ease of every pain:  
And death to eschew by other mean, who will them not forsake,  
At Minus Tomb, even the same night, they do their meeting make  
And so departed, but fore God wots, that day doth them offend,  
And though but short his long abode, the fear will never end.  
And sooner doth not cloak of night, aloft his shadow cast,  
But Thisbie mindful of her love, and promise lately passed  
Of fresh new love, far fiercer flames, that erst her heart oppressed,  
She féelth the force, and this (alas) divorced still from rest:  
She passeth forth in careful watch, till time have shapen so,  
That sleep with sweet, soft stealing steps his customed usage do  
And when she seeth both house and all drowned therein fast & deep,  
With fearful pace & trembling hand, she forwards gins to creep:  
she gains the door, out goeth she then, & neither far ne near,  
Appears wight save Phebe fair, with gladsome seeming cheer  
Sole Thisbie joyful of this guide, doth aye I trust it be,  
Good luck thy presence doth import, and bring at last to me:  
Moore hardy than before she did, provoke her foot to hast,  
No object gives her cause of let, till she the town have passed:  
And when she seeth the pleasant fields in safety to have gained,  
Then joy thereof all dread devours, which erst her only pained.  
What will ye more, th'appointed place at length she doth attain,  
Till Fortune please her love to sand, there minding to remain:  
And whiles she doth the fountain clear, with thoughtful hope behold  
And every let, her love may stay, unto herself unfold.  
A dreadful Lion down desendes, from Mountain huge thereby,  
With thundering pace, whose sudden sight, when Thisbie can espy:  
Not marvel was though terror then, & strangeness of the sight,  
Within a simple maidens breast, all counsel put to flight.  
Howbeit, though counsel failed, yet fear so did that place possess,  
That as the tender breast, whose age no fear did yet oppress:  
Now seeth his foe, with ravening jaw, him ready to receive,  
Sets wings unto his little legs, himself poor fool to save.  
Even so this Maid, her enemy flees, unto a hollow tree:  
For succour flies, whose ruthful moan, did succour not deny:  
But close her keeps. The Liones fierce, that in the Mountain wild,  
Devoured had, new slaughtered beasts, & empty belly filled:  
With moossell all imbrued with blood, draws to the crystal Well,  
He drank, and in his back return, this fatal hap befell.  
Amid this way a kercheife white, which frighted Thisbie had  
Let fall by chance, as fear and haste, unto the tree her lad:  
This Lion finds, and with his mouth, yet smoking all in gore,  
And armid paws it stains with blood, and all in sunder tore.  
That done away he winds, as fire of Hell, or Vulcan's thunder  
Blew in his tail, or as his corpse it seized to tear asunder:  
Now Pyramus who could not erst, the wrathful house forego,  
Hath past the town, and as he drew the fountain near unto:  
The cloth he spies, which when (alas) all stained so he saw,  
In sunder tore, the ground about, full traced with lions paw:  
The Silver streams with strekes of blood, besprent and troubled new,  
And there again that cursed trace, the woeful print to show:  
A sure belief did strait invade, his overlyving mind,  
That there the fatal end (alas) of Thisbie was assigned:  
And that her dainty flesh, of beasts a pray unmeet was made,  
Wherewith distressed with woodlike rage, the words he out abraid.    

The lamentation of Pyramus, for the loaf of his Love Thisbie.  

THis is the day wherein my irksome life,  
And I of lively breath, the last shall spend:  
Nor death I dread, for fled is fear, care, strife,  
Danger and all, whereon they did depend:  
Thisbie is dead, and Pirame at his end,  
For never shall report hereafter say:  
That Pyrame lived, his Lady ta'en away.  
O sovereign God, what strange outrageous woe,  
Presents (alas) this corsive to my heart:  
Ah savage beast, how durst thy spite undo,  
Or seek (woes me) so perfect love to part:  
O Thisbie mine, that was, and only art,  
My lives defence, and I the cause alone:  
Of thy decay, and mine eternal moan.  
Come Lion thou, whose rage here only show,  
Advance with speed, and do me eke devour:  
For ruthless fact, so shalt thou pity show,  
And me (too) here, within thy breast restore:  
Where we shall rest, together evermore.  
Ah, since thy corpse, thou graves within thy womb,  
Deny me not sweet beast, the self-same tomb.  
(Alas my joy) thou parted art from me,  
By far more cruel mean, than wonted fine:  
Or common law, of nature doth decree,  
And that increaseth, for woe, this grief of mine:  
Of that beauty only, which was divine,  
And sovereign most, of all that lived here:  
Not little sign, may found be any where,  
If the dead corpse (alas, did yet remain:  
O great cruelty, O rage of fortune spite,  
Moore grievous far, than any tongue may fayne:  
To reave her life, and in my more despite,  
Me to defraud of that my last delight:  
Her once t'embrace, or yet her visage pale,  
To kiss full oft●, and as I should bewail.  
But since from me thou hast the mean outchast,  
Of this poor joy, thy might I here defy:  
For maugre thee, and all the power thou hast,  
In Pluto's reign together will we be:  
And you my love, since you are dead for me,  
Good reason is, that I for you again:  
Receive no less but even the self-same pain.  
Ah Mulberry, thou witness of our woe,  
Right under thee assigned was, the place  
Of all our joy, but thou our common foo,  
Consented haste, unto her death alas:  
Of beauty all, that had alone the grace,  
And therefore as the chief of others all,  
Let men the Tree of deadly woe thee call.  
Grant our great God, for honour of thy name,  
A guerdon of the woe, we shall here have:  
For I nill 〈◊〉, she dead that ruled thesame,  
Pronounce (O Pluto) from thy hollow Cave:  
Where stays thy reign, and let this tree receive,  
Such sentence just, as may a witness be,  
Of dolour most, to all that shall it see.  
ANd with those words, his naked blade he fiercely from his side  
Out drew, & through his breast, it forced with mortal wound to glide,  
The streams of gory blood out glush, but he with manly heart,  
Careless, of death and every pain, that death could them impart.  
His Thisbe's kerchéefe hard he strains, & kissed with steadfast cheer  
And harder strained, and ofter kissed, as death him drew more near  
The Mulberries whose hue before, had ever white lo been,  
To blackish colour strait transformed, & black aye since are seen.  
And Thisbie then who all that while, had kept the hollow tree,  
Lest hap her lovers long abode, may seem him mocked to be.  
Shakes of all fear, and passeth forth in hope her love to tell,  
What terror great she late was in, and wondrous case her fell:  
But when she doth approach that tree, who 〈…〉 trasformed were  
Abashed she stands, & musing much, how 〈…〉 should appear.  
Her Pyramus with sights profound, and 〈…〉 that plained,  
she hard: and him a kerchief saw, how he bitten 〈◊〉 and strained:  
she never drew, but when the sword, and gaping wound she saw,  
The anguish great, she had thereof, her caused to overthrow  
In deadly swoon, and to herself she being come again,  
With piteous plaints, and deadly dole, her love she did complain  
That done, she did her body lean, and on him softly lay,  
She kissed his face, whose colour fresh, is spent and fallen away:  
Then to the sword these words she saith: thou sword of bitter gall.  
Thou hast bereaved me my Love, my comfort joy and all.  
With that dear blood (woes me) of his thy cursed blade doth shine  
Wherefore think not thou canst be free, to shed the same of mine,  
In life no mean, though we it sought, us to assemble could,  
Death shall, who hath already his, & mine shall strait unfold.  
And you O Gods, this last request, for ruth yet grant it me,  
That as one death we should receive, one Tomb our grave may be,  
With that again she often him kissed, & then she speaketh thus:  
O Lover mine, behold thy love (alas) my Pyramus.  
Yet ere I die behold me once, that comfort not deny,  
To her with thee that lived and loved, and eke with thee will die.  
The Gentleman with this, and as the lastest throws of death,  
Did pierce full fast at that same stroke, to end both life and breath  
The voice he knows, & even there with, casts up his heavy eyes,  
And sees his love, he strives to speak, but death at hand denies.  
Yet love whose might, not then was quenched in spite of death gave strength  
And caused from bottom of his heart, these words to pass at length  
(Alas my love) and live ye yet, did not your life define,  
By Lioness rage the foe thereof, and caused that this of mine  
Is spent and passed, or as I think, it is your soul so dear,  
That seeks to joy and honour both, my last adventure hear.  
Even with that word, a profound sigh, from bottom of his heart,  
Out cast his corpse and spirit of life, in sunder did departed:  
Then Thisbie eft, with shriek so shrill as dynned in the sky,  
Swaps down in swoon, she eft revives, & hents the sword hereby.  
Wherewith beneath her pap (alas) into her breast she struck,  
Saying thus will I die for him, that thus died for my sake:  
The purple scarlet streams down ran, & she her close doth lay  
Unto her love him kissing still, as life did pine away.   

Lo thus they loved and died, and dead, one tomb them graved there,  
And Mulberries in sign of woe, from white to black turned were.   
FINIS.   

❧ The lamentation of a gentlewoman upon the death of her late deceased friend William Gruffith Gent.  

A doubtful, dying, doleful, Dame,  
Not fearing death, nor forcing life:  
Nor caring aught for flitting fame,  
Amongst such sturdy storms of strife:  
Here doth she mourn and writ her will,  
Upon her liked lovers end:  
Grant (Muses nine) your sacred skill,  
Help to assist your mournful friend:  
Embouldned with your Nimphish aid,  
she will not cease, but seek to sing:  
And eke employ her willing head,  
Her gruffith's praise, with ruth to ring.   
WIth Poet's pen, I do not press to writ,  
Minerva's mate, I do not boast to be:  
Parnassus Mount (I speak it for no spite)  
Can cure my cursed cares, I plainly see:  
For why? my heart contains as many woes  
As ever Hector did amongst his foes.  
Each man doth moon, when faithful friends do,  
And paint them out, as well as wits do serve:  
But I, a Maid, am forced to use my head,  
To wail my friend (whose faith) did praise deserve:  
Wit wants to will: alas? no skill I have,  
Yet must I needs deplore my gruffith's grave:  
For William, white: for Gruffith, green: I wore,  
And read, long since did serve to please my mind:  
Now, black, I wear, of me, not used before,  
In lieu of love, alas? this loss I find:  
Now must I leave, both, White, and Green, and Read,  
And wail my friend, who is but lately dead.  
Yet hurtful eyes, do bid me cast away,  
In open show, this careful black attire:  
Because it would, my secret love bewray,  
And pay my pate, with hatred for my hire:  
Though outwardly, I dare not wear thesame,  
Yet in my heart, a web of black I frame.  
You Ladies all, that pass not for no pain,  
But have your lovers lodged in your laps:  
I crave your aids, to help me mourn amain,  
Perhaps yourselves, shall feel such careful claps:  
Which (God forbidden) that any Lady taste,  
Who shall by me but only learn to waste.  
My wits be weak an Epitaphe to writ,  
Because it doth require a graver stile:  
My phrase doth serve but rudely to recite,  
How Lovers loss doth pinch me all this while:  
Who was as priest to die for gruffith's sake,  
As Damon, did for Pythias undertake.  
But William had a worldly friend in store,  
Who writ his end to small effect (God knows)  
But I and H. his name did show no more,  
Rhyme Ruff it is, the common sentence goes,  
It hangs at Pawles as every man goes by,  
One rhyme too low, an other ramps too high.  
He praised him out 〈…〉 do use,  
And uttered all the 〈◊〉 that God had sent:  
But I? am she that never will refuse,  
But as I am, so will I still be bend:  
Not blasts shall blow, my linked love awry,  
Oh? would the Gods, with Gruffith I might die.  
Then had it been that I poor silly Dame,  
Had, had no need to blot this scratched scroll:  
Then Virgins fist, had not set forth the fame,  
How God hath gripped, my gruffith's sacred soul:  
But we is me, I live in pinching pain,  
No wight doth know, what sorrows I sustain.  
Unhappy may that drowsy day be named,  
Wherein I first, possessed my vital breath:  
And eke I wish, that day that I was framed,  
In stead of life I had received death:  
Then with these woes, I needed not to waste,  
Which now (alas) in every vain I taste.  
Some Zoilus sot, will think it lightly done,  
Because I moan, my mate, and lover, so  
Some Momus match, this scroll will overrun,  
But love is lawless, every wight doth know:  
Sigh love doth lend me such a friendly scope,  
Disdainful dogs I may despise (I hope)  
Wherefore I do, attempt so much the more,  
By this good hope, to show my slender art:  
And mourn I must (who) never marked before,  
What fretting force do hold each heavy heart:  
But now I see that gruffith's greedy grave,  
Doth make me feel, the fits which lovers have.  
My mournful Muse, (good Ladies) take in worth,  
And spare to speak the worst, but judge the best:  
For this is all, that I dare publish forth,  
The rest recorded is, within my breast:  
And there is lodged, for ever to remain,  
Till God doth grant (by death) to ease my pain.  
And when that death is 〈…〉  
With all the pains, that 〈…〉  
Yet to my Gruffith, will I 〈…〉  
Hap death, hold life, my 〈…〉  
Before I will our secret love 〈…〉  
To Tantal's pains, my body I despise  
So live I shall, when death hath spit her spite,  
And Lady (Fame) will spread my praise I know:  
And Cupid's Knights, will never cease to writ,  
And 'cause my name, through (Europe) for to flow:  
And they that know what (Cupid) can prevail,  
Will bless the ship, that floats with such a sail.  
If I had part of Pallas learned skill,  
Or if (Calliope) would lend her aid:  
By tract of time, great volumes I would fill,  
My gruffith's praise in wailing verse to spread:  
But (I poor I) as I have said before,  
Do wail, to want, Minerva's learned lore.  
By help (I hope) these ragged rhymes shall go,  
Entitled as lovers lives should be:  
And scape the chiding chaps of every foe,  
To praise that man, who was best liked of me:  
Though death hath shaped, his most untimely end,  
Yet for his praise, my tristive tunes I sand.  
In hope, the Gods who guide the heavens above,  
His buried corpse, alive again will make:  
And have remorse of Ladies linked love,  
As once they did for good Admetus' sake:  
Or change him else, into some flower to wear,  
As erst they did, transform Narscissus fair.  
So should I then, possess my former friend,  
Restored to life, as Alcestis was from Hell,  
Or else the Gods, some flagrant flower would sand,  
Which for his sake, I might both wear and smell:  
Which flower, out of my hand shall never pass,  
But in my heart, shall have a sticking place.  
But woe is me, 〈…〉 in 〈…〉  
Adieu delight? come 〈…〉  
To bluntish blocks (I see) I do to be plain,  
And reap but only sorrow for my share:  
For well I know that God's nor spirits can cure,  
The pains that I for Gruffith do endure.  
Since wailing, no way can remedy me,  
To make an end, I therefore judge it best:  
And drink up all, my sorrow secretly,  
And as I can, I will abide the rest:  
And sith I dare not mourn, to open show,  
With secret sighs and tears, my heart shall flow.  
Some busy brain, perhaps will ask my name,  
Disposed much, some tidings for to mark:  
That dare I not? for fear of flying fame,  
And eke I fear least biting bugs will bark:  
Therefore farewell, and ask no more of me,  
For (as I am) a Lover will I die.  
FINIS.